So my shift manager has my yearbook photo up on his workstation. According to him, I am his “new inspiration”.
Helga: How did you get that???
Ken: I stole it from D. He was showing it off and I just grabbed it.
The hilarity.
Of course, D’s giving me the hardest time about this again. Le sigh. :blank:
D: Hey, take care on your way to work. I’m going out tonight.
Helga: Where ya going?
D: DJ and I are going out.
Helga: Hahaha ok, have fun.
D: Hehe, why the need for the hahaha?
Helga: Ok, have fun?
D: ‘Kaw talaga (I have no idea how to translate this into english. ‘Kaw is you, talaga is really).
Helga goes on to sulk smoke in the hallway couch with her copy of Kim Ficera’s Sex, Lies and Stereotypes. When men suck and you can’t do anything about it, turn to lesbian literature? After one stick, she goes back into her studio and gets all domestic: do the dishes, wipe the table, scrub and sweep the floor. Lalalala.
She then notices her pink phone lying on her green bedsheets. Two messages.
D: Oh, are you there?
D: You are such a snob today.
How about I drop-kick you. What exactly do you want me to say, “Wow, I’m glad you’re spending time with your girlfriend”???
Things I wanna do:
I know I’ve always been a big eater, but this is absurd. I’ll be traipsing around my co-workers in a bikini in four days and I’m supposed to be living on green tea and cigarettes, NOT stuffing my face with sweets, carbs, and fat. Last night, I weighed myself for the first time after more than a week of not wanting to face the truth: 108 pounds. And this is after not eating for 8 hours.
I’ve been putting off enrolling for college for more than a week now. The new semester began last Tuesday, and I guess the main reason I haven’t been hauling my ass to my college’s Records section is because my first class isn’t until Saturday at 8am.
No. Wait. That isn’t the reason. The truth is, I haven’t been cleared from last semester. I still have ONE requirement to submit, before I can finally make my way to fifth-year status. And you know what sucks? It’s only a four-page reflection paper that I need to pass to the college guidance center. A four-paged, double-spaced, Times New Roman size 12 paper is a piece of cake. I can churn out a two-page, single-spaced essay on trade liberalization and the Philippines in half an hour. I can write about Asian sweatshops and globalization in the same span of time it takes me to write an LJ entry. So why has it taken me MONTHS to get started on this four-page non-academic, I-don’t-even-need-references essay?
Because I. Am supposed to write. About. My experiences. And lessons learned. In college.
I’MNOTEVENDONEWITHCOLLEGEYET.
Every year, the guidance center requires us students to submit such requirements, and I’m pretty sure not one of those hundreds of papers are read. I am tempted to just actually write the first and last page and fill in pages two and three with lyrics from a song or re-hashed verses out of the Bible. =/
It’s one of my biggest annoyances, too, how people put their college years on a pedestal. Like it’s supposed to be the culmination of twenty or so years of existence. Like it actually prepares you for The Real World. I go to college to get an education, not to glorify whatever “life lessons” I may or may not have learned; and not to fucking feed my school’s ego by putting on paper such bullshit like “OMGZ, college was such an eye-opener for me, I became a citizen of the world after four years of being holed-up in the buildings of this institution.”
I love my course, I love my professors, I’m pretty sure I’m going to love the three classes I’ll be enrolling for later this morning. But I hate my college, I hate the administration, and I hate that I’m overstaying (yes, I know it’s my fault).
Just two more semesters.
I’m having a shitty day at work. =/
Once again, my insecurities kept me from trying out things that I’ve always wanted to do. Last week, an acquaintance asked me to VTR for his band’s next music video. It so happens that the video is for my favorite track off of their album (’Oo‘, le sigh). Being me (and in typical Filipino fashion), I replied with a “I’m shy. And I’m fat.”
The VTR was yesterday. I didn’t go. Another one was set, this time at the director’s house. I’m still not going.
Just like last year, when I was invited for a print ad go-see for a friend’s brother’s clothing line. My excuse was that I was too busy with school—- which was the truth. I was thin and tanned that time, just swamped with school work. Anyway, the billboard came out some months ago and the first time I saw it along EDSA, I giggled to the best friend: “my face should be up there.” :P
I need strawberries. And liposuction. Then maybe my confidence and body image would exponentially increase. ;)
On to D. He’s here, yay! I don’t know what’s up his ass, though. He’s been acting somwhat boyfriend-y, which is prompting me to act accordingly. This isn’t good, because I know I’ll end up stepping into “don’t go there!” territory (otherwise known as ‘looooove’). “Why do you have to be in your underwear in your Friendster photos?”, “Why aren’t you texting me?”, “Who’s that guy?”, “What is he to you?”, “Why are you avoiding my questions?”.
Or maybe it’s just ego. His.
Crossing my fingers for Friday night. Him. Me. Pizza. My place. Please.
Just one more sale, and I earn an extra 1500 this week. Please. Rent is expensive :P (And our commission scheme sucks).
I. Am. Sick. It’s either because of the physical hell I put myself through during my birthday, or this is my once-a-month sinusitis attack attacking. The weather isn’t helping at all. And the fact that I can’t stop smoking and having my it’s-becoming-daily tall mocha frap light? Uh-huh.
And because I am a sickie, I am extra-irate today. Shall I keep a tally of how many times I’ll be screaming “STFU!” at my callers? While on mute, of course.
If there’s one thing I REALLY need to buy for my condo unit, it’s thick curtains. It’s been raining hard these past two nights and let’s just say my windows aren’t doing a good job of keeping the rain out. Sponging the floor isn’t very fun.
D dropped by my place this afternoon and I seriously need to get a bigger or sturdier bed. Having a 6 foot 3 man sleeping on my single can’t be too good. I feel sorry for my bed springs. Of course, I have nooo idea how I’ll propose “I need a Queen” to my parents. Rawr.
An hour and twenty-five minutes to go before D gets here to the office. I need a hug. :(
Crap, Aa got me a regular frap and not the light one. Sabotage, I tell ya!
Copyright Helga Weber | May 2008 | Sitemap | Manila Barbie | Top
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Hi, my name's Helga Weber and welcome to my personal site. I'm 23. My first socio-political scandal will happen at the age of 35 and will include men, sushi, an African country, and lots of money. My lover is the greatest. More?
