Archive for mr wonderful
June 29, 2008 at 3:02 am | Filed under a waste of human capital, joyful girl, mr wonderful
It’s been a week since my last update and for good reason: I re-joined the labor force last last Friday. I’m currently employed by dotPH, being a total ditz in their creatives department. I’m actually half-creatives, half-sales & marketing…it sounds awesome, I guess. I’m just happy and absolutely relieved that after wasting two years on being a stupid call center agent, four months of web design school, and a month of bumming around, I finally have a real job.
To make things more fun, I work with my friends, Mordo and Ade! Now that is awesome.
Now here are the boring details: my hours are noon to 9 in the evening. I work in Emerald Avenue in The OC (The Ortigas Center, anyone?). Coffee, beer, cheap food, KFC chicken, and cigarettes are all within walking distance. I only know of two sites that are blocked at work: youtube and meebo. I have access to Yahoo Messenger. I have a non-Avaya phone, I do not hate it and I am not chained to it. I smoke three to four cigarettes during my breaks. I spent the whole week last week working on a template in Photoshop. I realize that making cutouts is therapeutic— not that I need therapy for anything. I’ll probably spend this coming week modifying and coding, though I was told I’ll be doing cold calls this Monday. You’re welcome to stalk me.
Several nights since I started, I’d go for a couple of beers after getting off work. I called it my two-beer habit. It felt good and it felt normal. I am spent by the time I get home and I am conditioning myself to get used to functioning on six hours of sleep and copious amounts of weak office joe and nicotine. Just like college, really.
(There’s nothing I miss more than heading home with you, knowing it’s only a matter of minutes before we find ourselves in our bed, tangled up in each other and naked.)
It was a tiring week and there was no better way to end it than going to Coke’s Buhay Coke ng Bloggers party. Everyone got a free carton/case of Coke Zero (I didn’t claim mine because lugging it home would be a byatch) and the beer was free and free-flowing— just like how a party for bloggers should be. A picture (care of Fritz!) of me looking like a tranny hooker junkie mess who got too drunk to work her corner that night, I love it:
A job, the greatest boyfriend, fantastic friends— life is good. And normal.
Other blog posts:
An Apple a Day, Happiness = Coca-Cola
Jehzlau Concepts
Ka Edong
Azrael’s Merryland
Macuha.com
Love in the Time of Coca-Cola
Mistervader
Godiane
Galwin Fabian
Websaytko
Fritzified
Jester in Exile (in his new home)
BrownPinay.com
AWHoldings (Plurk’s Arbet Loggins)
Baratillo.net
Think of Me
Momblognetwork
Kape ni Lattex
Buhay Coke Ng Bloggers At SM Hypermart
Something Sweet & More
Pinoy Life at Large, Arpee Lazaro
Pinoylife
Melo Villareal
Xeemomma
Rockerfem
Brian Ong
Micamyx
Jason King Ong (the Banana Dancer)
Cigarette Girl
Photos:
An Apple a Day Photos
Superbong
Hrudu
Micamyx
Fritz the Paparazzi
Juned
Juned’s Flickr
My Flickr
Shirley of Hollywood has awesome lingerie.
May 31, 2008 at 3:09 am | Filed under 23 for 23, mr wonderful, the helga manual
“Bartender, pour me a Helga. Dirty, shaken, and slightly Webered.”
And so started my ascent into a Helgaholic addiction with no hope for a cure. Who’d have thunk that deceptive mix of moonshine and honey could knock me off my feet in 300 words or less? It kinda sneaks up on you while you’re trying to figure out what the aftertaste is: Subtly sweet, slightly bitter, and burns the back of your throat a bit before the heady essence kicks in and takes you for the ride of your life.
Somehow that set the tone for our unlikely relationship, one that started with the statement, “I’m a fan.”* Me attempting to figure out what makes the Helga tick (perhaps in the hopes that knowing my enemy will help me conquer it), and her, effortlessly eluding definition, every step of the way. Before long I’d fallen into the Helga Trap.
How does one even classify such a creature?
The Good…
Helga writes with an unapologetic style that, for lack of a better superlative, can only be called brilliant. Her ability to find lulz in the most mundane things coupled with her wondrous command of the English language (injected with her own patented brand of self deprecating humor) have given a great many of us the kind of hard to suppress, physically manifesting mirth that can embarrass you had you been perusing her blog at Starbucks. Alone. (No, that wasn’t me, really.) It was first that innate sense of literary comedic timing that sucked me in, and because Helga is somehow able to port that perfectly into real life outside of the inurnets, has kept me captivated till now. Every hour spent with her is like a minute reading her entries, at times immersing you in self analysis as her sarcasm bites and takes hold, or just making you laugh out loud at the funnies she can seemingly conjure out of thin air.
The Bad…
What you see on here is the real deal, only I have it better than almost anybody else - I can kiss it. I’ve been trapped since the day she unabashedly held me over the railings of her lifestyle and with an evil grin promptly let me go, to see if I would sink or swim. And swim I did; an awkward dog paddle at first while I acclimated my stomach (and alcohol tolerance) to the questionable fare of her late night carousing with the spirits, to the more confident (yet still shaky) breaststroke that surprised even her closest friends who considered me a lost cause. Just to confess to you now Duckie, I cheated; it was mostly ice…and mostly Coke. And I only did that to be sober enough to help you find religion on your bed.
The Baddest…
She’s not without her contradictions. When she frolics with the demon T’Anduay and his erstwhile sidekick, K’ok, (jointly known as the sneaky inebriator duo, Rumcola), no doubt Helga rawks out with the best of them. I’ve also seen her unknowingly becoming the center of attention in a bar full of women trying to be just that; a beautifully giddy, funny, and incredibly indifferent foil to their vain attempts. But what truly sets her apart by a wide margin (besides lips surely drawn from one of Michelangelo’s wet dreams), are the random bursts of brilliance that rival her crappy cam’s pathetic excuse for a flash. The Helga I’ve come to know brings out the best in others, deftly extracting wit out of alcohol hazes and ingeniously infusing a routine night out with memories worth remembering. What’s even crazier is, she doesn’t even try.
And as it goes, she’s brought out the best in me. I’ve come to find that our humor runs along the same twisted path, ranging from the pathetically corny to the sweetest of inside jokes, which I feel truly privileged to be sharing with the likes of one such as Helga. (insert corny music here) I am the greatest when I’m with her; she’s the red and blue glasses that makes my 3-D movie look right. Life just gets more real when viewed through her eyes. I’m still a fan, and always will be. I guess I have it good. =)
It’s a big day for you baby, 23 for 23. Sounds perfect to me.
Happy birthday, Duckie. I love you.
So this is my birthday tribute to Helga - Thegreatest
*I started oddly enough, as a fan. I guess that puts me square in the ranks of the average internet romeo, hoping to write the perfect pickup line in attempts to elicit a response on Myspace or Fezbook, and hoping even harder not to get laughed at in the process.
And now that she’s 23, Helga needs to be serious about her savings accounts. Yes, she has two. Both are in a state of destitution.
May 25, 2008 at 3:15 pm | Filed under 23 for 23, breaking up the girl, mr wonderful
I’m turning 23 in less than a week and I’ve been asked several times what my plans are. I have nothing. Oddly enough, I have yet to find the desire to mark the “occasion” with alcohol and other shows of early-20s debauchery.
You know what I want— what I really want— for my birthday? Ice cream over cupcakes and him mouthing the words “I love you” at me from across the table.
Bah.
Check out Disposable Medical Express for a wide selection of adult and baby wipes, among other medical supplies.
_____
23 for 23 is me posting one birthday-related entry a day (or at least attempts to), ending on May 31st. See all posts here.
May 24, 2008 at 3:07 pm | Filed under mr wonderful, the helga manual
Lover, on my last entry and how a bunch of you commented on how hot my dad is/was: one day, i would just like half the compliments from our daughter’s friends that your dad gets. Sheesh.
Judging by how hot my boyfriend is and how well he’s aged, I told him he’s likely to receive such comments. I doubt, though, that I’d take nicely to our daughter’s friends calling him a DILF (because I am possessive like that). This is, of course, assuming that our daughter would be a blogger at age 12 (god knows what she has to blog about, though, at that age) and I’d be the cool mom who reads her blog but isn’t cool enough to approve of 12-year olds knowing what DILF stands for.
Several times in the past, lover and I have talked about what our daughters would be like, going as far as mapping out their lives. We’d have two: one would be named Asia (after a certain feature of mine) and the other would be named Tonette (a name I do not approve of and she will, therefore, lead a very tragic life).
Our sample babies (Tonette is obviously the ugly one):
Asia will grow up to be an exotic dancer while Tonette will most likely end up living the high life (in dark alleyways, no less). Both will have— to quote their father— “nice lips, gorgeous eyes, nice eyebrows, and eating disorders” and will be “asking for non-fat milk” because “their mother will be singing lullabies about staying thin.” Playtime would consist of me teaching them to hop, meow, and quack.
(I hope none of you are taking this seriously.)
I always joke about how I’d probably end up married (or not even) with 3 kids all belonging to different fathers, but really, that’s just a defense mechanism of mine because most of the time, I fear that I’m going to end up like one of my mom’s sisters— she’s single, in her late 30s, and childless. That’s a scary thought, especially for someone who sees motherhood (and the things that come with it in a perfect, domesticated world: a pet dog, a newspaper subscription, making breakfast for your family, apples in brown paper bags, ironing your husband’s work shirts, long afternoon’s doing the laundry, weekend tennis games etc etc) as normalcy. A scarier thought, though, is knowing that I could end up just like that and I’d be okay with it. It makes me wonder how I have come to want such a life. *insert HUHLOLZ here*
Anyway, I’m pretty sure that when lover and I have actual non-catbunny/bunnycat daughters, we’d make sure to either keep them out of, or in drug rehab.
May 12, 2008 at 4:13 pm | Filed under 23 for 23, mr wonderful
Because I am apparently an awesome girlfriend and because it is my birthday month, lover felt the need to spoil me some more by getting me David and Goliath shirts.
The good thing is: he’s getting me two.
The bad thing is: I want everything in their catalog. Yes, even the men’s shirts.
As if life as a 22-year old unemployed blogger isn’t hard enough. Sigh.
Anyway, lover and I already have one picked out:
We were both on the David and Goliath website the other day, browsing the women’s catalog, trying to decide on another design for me. Being the indecisive person that I am, and because David and Goliath shirts are serious bizniz, I told him I needed to sleep on it.
But now I need your help in narrowing down my choices. There’s nothing from the Little Losers series that I’d wear, so if any of you were planning on suggesting Miss BJ, Miss Lush, Miss Good Time, Miss Boobjob or Miss Trophy Wife, no thanks, teehee.
My choices are after the cut. I really like 2 & 4 (I only have one orange shirt and it’s so old and worn out). What about you?
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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. 
