WELL, HOW WONDERFUL.

February 10, 2008 at 6:15 pm | Filed under bitchin' a ride, breaking up the girl, mr wonderful

(I was supposed to upload a Wordpress theme that I created— not just modified— and guess what? I couldn’t log in to my FTP or Plesk. Why? My account’s been suspended WITHOUT WARNING OR MY KNOWLEDGE. Hurrah hurrah. FUCK THIS.)

It hits me at the weirdest times, like on my way to the bathroom he uses when he’s at my place or worse, when I figure out a code and have to share my success as a geek with someone (which happens a lot lately, considering that all I ever do now when I’m home is code. Hello, escapism).

It’s lonely without lover.

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HAIR-RIBLE. OPEN TO SUGGESTIONS. MAYBE.

January 16, 2008 at 7:18 pm | Filed under camwhorage, mr wonderful

I’m due for a haircut; I’ve been due for one since, I don’t know, 1993. Okay, so maybe just late last year, but it feels like forever. My last haircut was April 2007 and the reason I’ve left my hair as is is because I want Norah Jones-esque curls. Except my mom said curls won’t suit my fat face and quite honestly, I think I agree. That, and my dry ends make brushing my hair a pain. So it’s time for a haircut.

Or maybe waves, not curls? Gaaah, I really want non-straight hair:

Egh. I’m bound to do something useless and just have the stylist at Fix do the usual: chop off two to three inches and add more layers. A stubborn and most lilkely to be wrong part of me wants bangs. Again. Even though the last time I grew them out and once again had normal layered hair, a gay friend looked at me and noticed FOR THE FIRST TIME IN THE MONTHS I’VE KNOWN HIM that I wasn’t “hideous” (that was the exact word he used).

Anyhoots. Bangs or no bangs?:

I know, I know. I have no non-retarded photos of me with bangs. Or without bangs. I am apparently incapable of just looking at the camera and not smiling or grinning like an idiot.

I’d like to go for a bob or super short hair, but I haven’t had short hair since forever:

HELP.

That’s all. Nothing exciting happening. My unemployed ass revolves around books, DVDs, and Sims 2. A conversation with the lover that took place the other night:

Helga: You know, our sims have sex everyday.
Lover: Nagpaparinig ka? (Trans: what are you trying to say?)
Helga: I should be able to just click on you: cuddle, kiss, make out, woohoo.
Lover: Oh my god.

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ON ARMPITS, INTIMACY, AND PUBLIC BEHAVIOR.

January 8, 2008 at 6:22 pm | Filed under Y!M conversations, mr wonderful, the helga manual

Despite looking like your average run-of-the-mill wouldn’t-know-better good-for-nothing Filipina adult who you’d think, at first glance, most likely spends her time doing average run-of-the-mill wouldn’t-know-better good-for-nothing Filipina stuff— I actually don’t. Or I’m actually not. Or: I’m actually not and I actually don’t.

It’s been pointed out several times by lover that I am not normal (actually, not just not normal but far from normal) and that I should be taking steps towards normalcy. And I am working on that, and anyway, that’s not the point. The point is: at the risk of being laughed at or having your respect levels for me plummet to -19, I’d like to come clean and say that I. Have a thing. For armpits.

All along, I thought having an armpit fetish was an acceptable thing. Until today:

WEIRDING OUT SOMEONE WHO LIKES TALKING DIRTY TO HIS PENIS. :(
KILI-KILI = ARMPITS

This thing for armpits began some time ago when I saw a picture of Jerry Yan wearing a sleeveless top for a Pepsi endorsement. Instead of saying the usual “Patingin ng titi!” (trans: your penis, show me it), I got so…interested in his armpits and his armpit hair that I said “PATINGIN NG KILI-KILIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!” (trans: I could have sex with your ampits if you showed me it).

I never actively pursued my men’s armpits, though, and it wasn’t a non-negotiable when it came to whether or not this guy would make a qualified partner in bed. Truth be told, only two of my exes had armpits yummy enough that made me want to pitch a tent in them and live there forever. One of them was 6′3″ and the other used to fight— professionally. So to say, they had (uhhh) big and (uhhh) very accomodating armpits that doubled as a pillow because back then, all I had was a tiny single bed that could hardly fit two people.

(Dear Lover,

Love,
Helga)

Lover’s armpits are another story, though. They’re not big, they’re not very accomodating, and quite frankly, they’re a couple of snobs. But I have never EVER met a pair of sexier snobs in my life. It can be said that I’m nearing the state of being obsessed. Lover didn’t sleep over the other night and I woke up to a dream of him showing me his armpits. So imagine my disappointment when I opened my eyes, rolled to my side, and saw not a sexy hairy armpit waiting to be kissed or have my nose buried in it, but empty space. I almost cried.

Having an armpit fetish is a dangerous thing for someone who hardly has any sense of privacy or for someone who is lacking inhibitions, both of which can be said of me. It’s also mighty embarrassing for lover that I am or have all three. Several times it has happened that we’re in a public place and I automatically reach up his sleeve to tuck my hand into his armpit. It’s something I do out of habit and as sort of like a replacement for a kiss or a hug.

Of course, lover had to analyze the shit out of it and kill it for me by saying that showing affection for armpits in public is actually a gesture more intimate than a kiss; posing questions such as “would you greet your friend by touching their armpits?” and “would you kiss your friend’s armpits?”. The answers to both questions are an obvious no…although there was this one time that Aa was passed out and drunk in my bed and I had to move her and she wouldn’t budge, so I bit her armpit— that doesn’t count, though, because I did it out of necessity, not because I had the desire to.

I’m curious: is armpit-touching in public something you actually notice? I know that no one sane would consider it acceptable public behavior (same goes for loudly commenting on your partner’s ass— something that I, once again, am guilty of), but is it something that would grab your attention if you see strangers doing it?

Helga: I’m blogging about your armpits.
Lover: You’re kidding me.
Helga: Nope. Lol.
Lover: Aww baaaaayb, lol.
Helga: They’re so sexy kasi eh hmp.
Lover: Fine. I’ll blog about your singit.

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IT WAS ABOUT TIME.

January 6, 2008 at 5:04 pm | Filed under admin, mr wonderful

Uhh. Updating for the sake of saying that I, uh, finally changed headers and the color scheme. Something I’ve been meaning to do since May last year. The last layout, the one that I’ve secretly always referred to as my Easter Egg layout, has been around since April 2007 (thus the easter egg colors, doi) and I’m glad to be rid of it. Still using the same theme, as I like this one.

It’s my face again because I am vain and because lover told me to use my eyes in that photo. So I decided to use my nose. The colors on the header’s left side are actually the colors of my dress that night/New Year’s. And you need to know all this because?

What’s a good color for the date? :(

In other news, today has been a real lazy Sunday spent at Starbucks with lover; my laptop against his laptop as we sit right across each other, talking over YM and Twitter. What a geeks.

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SINCE I WUZ GON.

January 2, 2008 at 3:45 pm | Filed under camwhorage, joyful girl, mr wonderful

I ended the year doing the most courageous, irresponsible, and courageously irresponsible thing in my 22 years of living: I quit work. I didn’t even properly hand in my resignation when I decided not to come in Christmas Eve. Like hell I’d spend the first few hours of Christmas in the office; it’s bad enough that my folks don’t celebrate the day, leaving me with nothing to be cheerful about.

But I did have lots to be happy about (even if my noche buena consisted of a Jamaican patty bought from a gas station convenience store, a dimsum swiped from lover, and a bag of potato chips) because I spent Christmas with lover. And okay, so I had Christmas dinner with my family, too, but Christmas sex > quality time with people you’re related by blood to and will probably never disown you even when you resort to online prostitution because you’re currently unemployed and have bills to pay, kk?

Notable conversations with the family:

#1: Mom (looking at the dress I was wearing, which barely covered my ass): That’s what you’re wearing?
Helga: Yeah?
Mom: It’s too short!
Helga: Fine. I’ll put on a skirt. (Puts on a mini skirt that added a quarter of an inch of coverage)
Mom: That’s better.

#2: Brother: So what now?! I thought I’d drop you off where you’ll eat and then I’ll go pick up Elaine (the girlfriend).
*silence, trying to figure out the night’s logistics and such, because my dad was being a priss and faking a headache so he wouldn’t drive)
Dad: Just pick up Elaine…dude.

#3: Mom: Si Daddy, parang artista. Suplado sa personal. (Trans: dad’s like a celebrity, a snob in person)

#4: Dad, putting in a CD of house music: Listen to this, this is nice.
Helga, after a few songs: *changes the track, quickly*
*silence*
Brother: …what was that???
Helga: A HALE SONG.

And then two days after Christmas, I found myself in hell (which can be found on Region I of the Philippine map under the town of Mangaldan, Pangasinan) for my mom’s cousin’s wedding (which I was a bridesmaid for. Those Mangaldan people, always getting me for their weddings. I was once maid-of-honor for another mom’s cousin and I didn’t even know the bride’s first name). I tell you: I hated that place when I was a kid, and I thought it wouldn’t be so bad now that I’m all grown up and shit but NO WAY, it was still just as bad. Actually, it was worse because there were more kids (I reckon about twenty of them) running and screaming around the compound, the old wrinkly people talked to you more cos you’re, like, nearer their age now and not some sulky ten-year old nagging her mom for cable tv, and the drunks hyphyer. All I wanted was to hole up in some room with a computer with internet and I went through all four houses looking for one and found none. Crazy.

La Union proved to be the third best thing since I changed my employment status to, well, unemployed and on my way to being broke. Except that bit when 20 people from Mangaldan decided to spend the night, but nevermind that. There’s something very zen about waking up at 9am, making my coffee, grabbing my cigarettes and an old issue of Cosmo, and spending an hour on the kubo by the pool with the rice fields and farm animals laid out in front of you.

And because I’m not in a blogging mood and have to catch up on all the internetty stuff I missed, here’s a shitload of pictures, starting with my new kitty, Poochie:

INSIDE HER BAG, ATTACKED BY A CAMERA

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