THE FUTURE, HALF-BAKED GOALS.

February 19, 2008 at 5:22 am | Filed under ditz drivel, the helga manual

I’ve never been one to plan for the future, nor have I been one to speculate on what I’ll be X months or years from now. I always kind of didn’t like it when people would ask me about my future plans. Where do you see yourself 5-10 years from now? Where do you see yourself IN THIS COMPANY 5 years from now? What do you hope to achieve 6 months from now? Stuff like that. I always manage to say something stupid like “I don’t know, married with 3 kids all belonging to different fathers, two dogs named Big Boy and Come Boy, four cats named Stupsi, Machiavelli, Piggy, and Love&Kisses Mandy, and a boytoy on the side?” (answer to the first question) or “I don’t know, NOT HERE, I guess? Otherwise, sleeping with the boss?” (answer to the second question) or “I don’t know, hopefully not be 80 pounds overweight and maybe develop a drug habit or an addiction to beautiful things like gasoline rainbows?” (answer to the last question). Stuff like that.

It’s pitiful, really, but it’s how I get by. Because quite honestly, unless it concerns what I’m having for breakfast tomorrow, I suck at planning for the future.

So it’s a mystery how I get from one place to another (otherwise known as going from one sucky situation to a suckier one, because that’s how my life is, basically), considering that I don’t plan. If you really must know, though, movement in my life is brought about by me painting myself into a corner or by me eliminating all options but one (the GET THE FUCK OUT option). Oddly enough, it works. Of course, that’s not the point of this entry.

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FRIDAY FIVE vii: VALENTINE DATE-SASTERS.

February 8, 2008 at 3:24 pm | Filed under ditz drivel, lists, the helga manual

Valentine’s Day is nearing and for some reason, I feel slightly compelled to write an entry relating to the occasion. I’m not about to bitch about my lacking a physical Valentine this year (much like last year) because despite the fact that I’m often single (though involved…a situation that sucks more than being just plain single) whenever February 14 comes around, I’m still a big fan of the day. Which I spend celebrating my love for friends. All together now: Sige, maglokohan tayo, Helga.

Given that, I am severely lacking experience when it comes to Valentine’s Day dates. But I’ve had my fair share, and so because blogging about how sad I am gets old fast (and quite honestly, I don’t want to wallow; coping and getting back to happy mode comes to me almost automatically, much like the way I move cards around in a game of Free Cell: I just click click click and before I know it, Mr King’s telling me I just won. Again. Fuck, what was I saying. I don’t want to wallow. There), I give you my five worst Valentine’s Day dates EVER (#5 being the lesser nightmare, #1 being an example of why drunk girls should never make very drunken and bad and stupid decisions to go out with dudes who ask them out two days before Valentine’s Day. YEAH, WE ALL KNOW WHERE THIS IS GOING).

5 -

4 -

3 -

2 -

You think I’m stupid (and most likely drunk as I am typing this), but I’m trying to prove a point here. Also, I’m saving you time.

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SOMEONE’S A STUDENT.

January 21, 2008 at 10:21 pm | Filed under camwhorage, ditz drivel

First day of formal web design class today and I was royally bored for the sole reason that I had to endure four hours of basic html/xhtml— stuff that I learned on my own when I was 12. Almost over ten freakin’ years ago.

The youngest in our small class of five is this 13-year old dude who just graduated grade school. He said he’ll be moving to the US for high school and he’s taking up web design so he could earn money during the wait (or something like that. The moment he said he was 13, I lost all interest). Several times, I heard him exclaim “I’m just a kid!” when we were made to work on an exercise). I kept thinking: “how lucky is this kid?” When I was 12 and had just discovered gURLpages and the wonderful world of HTML, it never hit me that I could make a career out of making and designing websites. There were no schools that offered courses or classes on it back then (hell, the school I’m attending now was founded only 7 years ago). I was just a kid fooling around with WYSIWYG editors, outlining her layouts and content on notebooks, and doing her best to make sense out of strings of code and tags.

I was young and stupid, though. Not realizing my full potential (naks!) at an early age and not taking seriously the fact that I knew how to code (during a time when all my peers did was chat on mIRC and ICQ and host their photos on face-pic.com), I merely dicked around the innurnets and went down the blogging path. Ten years later and I’m still dicking around. All I have to show is a good grasp of HTML and CSS and some knowledge on PHP. I am SO left behind. I don’t even know Flash! I only have Photoshop CS2! I just recently started using the pen tool for cutouts and I still prefer the lasso tool! I still code using Notepad!

Anyways, finally, I have a goal (one that isn’t amoral and doesn’t entail anything illegal): to be the first student to ever get a certificate of excellence from my school. The final project is to create a fully functional website and it’s quite alarming, how easy and simple it is. Did I just waste my mother’s money? To make up for the expense, I’m seriously tempted to make a porn site.

My new favoritest thing in the world: Hershey’s Cookies ‘n’ Creme milk drink. I was STAAAARVING the whole day because I forgot to eat the whole Sunday and I didn’t have time to ingest anything but coffee this morning, so I was super glad to come home to this (yeah, I’m shallow and easy to please like that):

Yummers.

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LIFE AS AN UNEMPLOYED 22-YEAR OLD WAITING FOR HER LIFE TO START.

January 4, 2008 at 4:28 pm | Filed under ditz drivel

I have decided that the concept of life as an unemployed 22-year old waiting for her life to start would make perfect chick lit material, and that I should put my talent (lolwhat?) for stringing words together to form sentences and paragraphs to good use by writing that sort of novel. But I’m lazy and chick lit heroines are required to have the one thing that I lack and that my friends, is a resume stating that she graduated top of her class from some prestigious and insanely expensive university.

So I’m royally bored. Last night, lover asked me what my plans were for today. I replied with “Nothing…and I LOVE it!”. And I do. I woke up at a little past 11 today and I couldn’t decide what, of my many options, to do first: play Sims 2? Finish watching Shopgirl? Finish watching Lucky Number Slevin (yes, I have a habit of watching movies in halves)? Watch The Ten for the second time? Shower? Clean our guest bathroom? Go online? Work on this blog’s new layout? Guess which of those I didn’t do (clue: it includes scrubbing, detergent, bleach, and a toilet brush).

It’s scaring me shitless, though, knowing that I have voluntarily rendered my bank account stagnant and I won’t be drawing a salary until further notice. The other day, I stood outside our bathroom as my housemate was taking a shower (conversations when the other party is naked and covered in soap suds makes for, well, good conversation) and I told her the amount I had in my bank account and how I only have enough to last me until the next month’s rent (I actually had enough to pay for three months plus a little more but our “contract” ends in February and then I move back home until I figure things out. Also, rent isn’t the only thing I pay for; I DO send an economically-disadvantaged kid in Bangladesh to school and donate to charity. Okay, so I’m lying and now I feel bad) and she told me that I had a lot. I said NO!!! DON’T YOU KNOW? I DONATE TO CHARITY! and she said “Well, you have your folks.”

True that.

Right now, my head is in my hands, as I think of ways to swindle money from my mom. Kidding, mom’s actually agreed to finance whatever “academic” whims I have that need financing (but I doubt she’d agree to send me back to an actual university or college for another eight semesters) and it’s annoying that now that I know I have a safety net in the form of a 46-year old woman, I’m starting to not want to do anything with my life. I’m probably going to end up the typical Filipino: 36-years old with 3 kids (different fathers, no husband) still living with her folks.

I need a good nudge and perhaps the will to start going through the reading materials that my personal career coach (who also doubles as the lover) has so sexily provided me. My eBooks, let me show you it:

Nevermind that he totally ignored the fact that I don’t have a dSLR or a camera that’s spiffier than my Cybershot.

So. What now. Life, are you there? It’s me, Helga.

Edit// I checked my email and found a letter from the past, from me, to me:

One year from now, when you read this, I hope you’ll be happy and loved. Same as the last letter you sent yourself. You read it just a few days ago; you had wished yourself (more than a year ago) to be happy and loved. You were, when that letter came. And now you’re not.

OMG, the emo-ness. But I am happy. And loved. But more importantly, loving. :cute:

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YOU WANTED AN ADDICTION AND YOU GOT ONE.

December 19, 2007 at 5:28 am | Filed under camwhorage, ditz drivel, pop culture and such

Me and my propensity to obsess over drama-filled “reality” tv shows, particularly those of the California-set variety (I guess those Upper East Siders are too classy to air out their dirt to the whole world via MTV). Tuesday morning, I saw myself shoving half a chocolate mousse cake (not half a slice of cake but HALF A FUCKING CAKE) down my throat while bitching about Spencer Pratt’s teeth. I’ve never been so far away from Hollywood.

Seriously. First, Laguna Beach; now, The Hills.

Can I just say that my heart swells every time I see The Hills’ opening sequence and hear the opening theme (Natasha Bedingfield’s Unwritten, which is my #1 Feel Good song). Especially that bit when it’s ending and the title scene glitters and sparkles on to the screen? This one?

Oh, the giddies.

Last Sunday, I dragged lover to Linden Suites for my college block’s yearly Christmas party. Technically, because I shifted out of Development Studies my senior year, they’re not my blockmates and they all really secretly hate me and probably a bunch of them made bets amongst each other that I’d end up pregnant or with an STD or stricken with cirrhosis or dead two point three months after leaving the hallways of Miriam College, but Clem begged me to show my fat face. And who am I to turn down an invitation to get hammered on a Sunday (or ANY day, for that matter)?

Unfortunately, I was sick for the most part of last week (upper respiratory tract infection, acute tonsilitis, fever, chills, a cough that wouldn’t quit, a dot that came five days late) and there were no boys to seduce (save for lover and well, he needs no seducing) so I pretty much behaved myself the whole night.

I AM HOLDING A MUG OF COFFEE WHILE LOOKING RETARDED!!!
(STFU ABOUT MY AZN BOOBS. LOVER CALLING ME EXPOSURE QUEEN IS ENOUGH)

Three things I learned that night:

1. Most of my batchmates are in Law school and they’re all losing weight. They suck.

2. One of us got knocked up.

3. My favorite professor gave one of the students from the batch before us syphillis.

I hate my job and my antibiotics. Still not in a blogging mood.

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