LIFTED FROM TMB: SLUM [sic] BOOK (GALORE).

November 9, 2007 at 12:10 am | Filed under ditz drivel

(Cos it’s really called a SLAM BOOK, you silly men, you. I guess Slumbook is the Filipino version of the word? But anyways.)

Name: Helga “The” Weber
Nickname/s: The, LOLkitty, Helgrrr
Hometown: Some Shitty Building, Loyola Heights
Birthday: May 31, 1985
Zodiac Sign: Gay Man in a G-string Reprazent
Motto: No ID, no entry.

Describe yourself.
My name is Helga, but you can call me Fe. SAF, 22, looking for Mr Right Man who will take me seriously as his partner. Preferrably from the States or maybe Turkey, but Philippines is okay, too. I am sweet, sincere, sexy, no kids and very much available. I’m your typical Filipina— mahinhin (not malandi! Never!!!), God-fearing, I believe in ligaw, kind, caring, honest, loyal, faithful, and hard-working. Yet I am vibrant and fun and independent! Never a dull moment with me!

I enjoy long walks around Luneta Park, smelling flowers, bicycle rides around QC circle at night, eating fishballs and isaw at UP on Sundays, and watching TV. My hobbies include texting, cooking, collecting stickers, and writing to my pen pals at least once or twice a week.

I am seeking a loving and caring and stable and responsible man who has a great sense of humor and is not afraid to show his true feelings. Age range is 40-45.

Are you ready? I’d love to be with you, always and forever. Beauty fades, but character remains. Godbless.

Who was your first love?
God.

…Okay, so that’s not true. His name was Gene Paolo Dimalanta and we were fifth-grade classmates. He was the smartest kid in class and I guess that’s what spawned the silly schoolgirl crush. Twelve years later, I still find myself gravitating towards men who make me feel intellectually inadequate.

Define love.
Love is never having to say you’re sorry. Also, the only man who is worthy to make a woman cry is that man who will never make you cry. Text me! 09162325748!

HUH?

What is your ambition?
To be president and make Taylor Hanson my first lady.

What do you hope to achieve out of this?
I don’t know what this refers to, but to answer: a street in Cubao named after me.

Dedication.
Thanks, fren!! Take care cuz I don’t care, fren!!~

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(FAILING AT) STAGED DISTANCE.

October 25, 2007 at 11:27 pm | Filed under ditz drivel

Perhaps it’s the miserable weather that’s driving me to re-assess and reconcile certain aspects of my life and my person (whatever the hell that means); perhaps it’s Christmas nearing (two months from today) that’s causing this apprehension, making me want to cut particular ties as needed (or maybe just fall off the radar, yet come out unaffected and ready for the next round); perhaps it’s because his one more month is almost up and I’m disappointed (and surprised) at my indifference. You’d think that given the circumstance and the unexpected turn of events, I’d want time to stand still. Instead, I am rubbing my hands in anticipation, excited to see how long it’d take me to deal (quickly, I hope) and move on.

I’m sorry, but did you just call me a heartless wench? Because half of what I just said isn’t true.

Found a new poem:

I come in from a walk
With you
And they ask me
If it is raining.

I didn’t notice
But I’ll have to give them
The right answer
Or they’ll think I’m crazy.

-The Masks of Love, Alden Nowlan

And a comic strip:

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MONDAYS WERE MADE TO BE HATED.

August 28, 2007 at 4:22 am | Filed under camwhorage, ditz drivel, the internets

Ever since I noticed a few months ago that people have been Googling my name, I’ve made it a habit to do the same every now and then, if only to see if anything new would come up in the search results. So far, only boring stuff show up (this blog, an old LJ account, and my Twitter are on the first page), which is good. Not that I’m paranoid or anything, I’m just glad that all search results are directed here. Out of curiosity, I googled my brother’s name, too:

My brother’s name yields more awesome results than my name, so I find validation in being nominated for the Hot Hot Hot as Jalapeno Pinoy Blogger Award in the Pinoy Evil Blog Awards. Not that I have any clue as to what the whole thing’s for or how the nomination came about (besides my posting way too many photos of me in my underwear here), but it’s pretty cool.

(So I revisited The Helga Weber Numbers and I suddenly feel the need to resurrect it, if only as a dumping place for stuff that I can’t afford to post publicly.)

MONDAY RANDOM!

A quotation (it is beyond words how much comfort I find in this passage):

It is a world of impulse. It is a world of sincerity. It is a world in which every word spoken speaks just to that moment, every glance given has only one meaning, each kiss is a kiss of immediacy.

-Einstein’s Dreams, Alan Lightman

A photo:

A quasi-epiphany:

It hit me over dinner last Sunday night that perhaps the reason why life seems to be a more pleasant ride nowadays is that I no longer question the order of things. I just mock them, in my own seemingly innocuous way.

And a question:

One of the things I’ve learned from Mr Supervisor is that we tend to attract what we think about the most. It’s nothing new, really, as I’ve always known just how powerful channeling one’s positive or negative energy is (having taken an interest in Wicca back in highschool and looking for a rational explanation for spells. Well, as rational as you can get with Wicca); it’s just something I didn’t take seriously or didn’t acknowledge enough.

The question is: what’s one constant thing that’s been occupying my mind lately?

Bah.

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OH, FRIDAY RANDOM.

August 10, 2007 at 4:01 am | Filed under ditz drivel, made in the Philippines, technicolor lover

For no apparent reason, I am reminded of this time the best friend and I took on Pampanga on our own. Armed with bikinis, two days’ worth of clothes, Valium, and each other’s company (all you need in life, but throw in some cigarettes and rum in there) we made our way to a provincial bus station, sat in the front of an ordinary bus (so we could smoke during the two-hour ride) and started badgering the driver to leave. But anyway, not the point.

So this security guard comes up, stands on the steps in front of us, and starts trying to get me admit that I was Yasmien Kurdi from Starstruck. Or just anyone from Starstruck/a celebrity. And then the guard does the laughable: he pulls out a wallet-sized photo of him, hands it to me, and asks for my autograph.

Several levels of weird and crazy right there. Tell me this doesn’t only happen in the Philippines.

I’m feeling extremely irritable and territorial today and I’m trying my bestest to suck it up and remain pleasant. So I’m calling forth happy thoughts, such as how Mr Supervisor likened me to Avril Lavigne: like a strawberry milkshake with a shot of tequila. Amusing.

This is a couple of weeks late (and for good reason): …haha. Mr Supervisor reads my blog. Now, the face-palm awkward are-those-crickets-I-hear? moment only lasted, like, a day. It’s the omg-my-world-is-getting-smaller feeling that took longer to shake off. But what’s really a bother is the whole oh-noes-I-can’t-blog-about-how-hot-he-is-today-in-that-red-sweater-of-his-and-other-stories thing. See, I can’t even write properly anymore.

That said, I guess I should go shut up now about the whole thing.

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… …DITZ, YA SAY?

July 26, 2007 at 3:32 am | Filed under a waste of human capital, ditz drivel, the internets

I’ve gotten a number of hits from people googling, yahoo-ing, and msn-ing the word ‘ditz’. Usually, the keywords are something along the lines of what’s is ditz or what a ditz is or what is a ditz?, leading me to believe (judging by the wording, the bad grammar, and the fact that they have to search-engine ‘ditz’ when they could simply go to, like, dictionary.com) that most Americans (and probably a handful of kids from Burundi) don’t have the slightest clue what the term ‘ditz’ means.

Okay, that’s enough.

Unfortuately, dictionary.com offers two boring entries on ‘ditz’. Urban Dictionary (which is a website I try to avoid as much as possible, as its contributors are a bunch of idiots) isn’t being very helpful, either, having twelve definitions written in Moronese. And since there isn’t a Moronese-English option over at Babelfish: g’luck.

It’s getting more and more awkward here at work, ever since I was co-erced into being account muse for the upcoming PSOlympics. Also: doesn’t the whole muse-and-escort thing end in, like, grade school? I generally tend to keep to myself whenever I’m in the office, only talking to people from my department (corporate travel). Now, I have people talking about me RIGHTTOMYFACE at the smoking area and people from ATHOUSANDAISLES away pointing me out to other people. Christ. I’m feeling uglier and uglier by the minute and I’m crossing my fingers that…I don’t know, *they* change their minds? I seriously am not looking forward to prancing around a basketball court in a tacky skimpy outfit to be boo-ed, tittered, and hooted at by people. Or worse, be greeted by silence.

(Not me, please. I have the personality of a block of wood. And I’m fat.)

There are just some things I’d rather not deal with. Things like that kind of bullshit, my insecurities, and a chewed out inner right cheek caused by sucking on too much sugared jelly candies.

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