SO I KNOW.

October 11, 2007 at 10:53 pm | Filed under joyful girl, mr wonderful, the helga manual

So I don’t know, I guess this is me dealing quickly and getting over the initial giddiness of it all. No, it’s not me treating it as if it were some sort of novelty, because it’s not. It’s actually very “rock and roll!!!” as what Mr Supervisor would say, and did say. To put it in my own words, it’s all…lovely yet puzzling (because I’m not as consumed by it as I was in the past, maybe). And I’m actually quite surprised that I didn’t start nitpicking the whole thing and tearing it apart, like, three seconds after. All right, I admit: I did. But I did myself a favor and told myself to save it for another day.

So I don’t know, this is me typing fast and typing fast whatever comes to mind. When I was 17, I had an I-could-love-you-comma-the-whole-of-you (his words to me) kind of thing with this guy who told me to write in red and edit in white. Red anger, white anger. It made a lot of sense back then, until things turned sour between us and I realized that there was nothing to be angry (or sad. Just regretful) about. And now I’m typing fast and not editing and it’s not out of anger. I actually think it’s the sugar or the caffeine or this insane sense of urgency of wanting everything to happen all at once. And maybe or definitely something more.

So I don’t know, I’m trying to unlearn certain habits and certain character flaws that are totally manageable and ditchable if only I weren’t such a pussy or if only I weren’t so overprotective of myself. It’s not something that I can help, especially when this past year or so, people (who know and barely know me) have been telling me to “guard your heart”, “leave something for yourself”, “don’t settle”, “steel bars to the chest!” and other variations of the same thought. Not like I really needed to be told those things, as I’m the sort of person who can easily dismiss things and emotions and people…and that’s, like, really bad. I’ve been meaning to get rid of the self-absorbed brat in me, but it’s kinda difficult when being emotionally distant is one’s defense mechanism.

So I don’t know, it’s an amalgam of a bunch of emotions that I don’t know where the hell they came from and that I’m not used to and I feel like I’m thisclose to throwing in the proverbial towel because I can’t deal or I’m not sure that I want to deal with it. It’s rrrreally scary because the last thing I want is to hurtle through this and not be in control of…things.

So I don’t know, it’s funny— at the same time, I find myself not caring if I lose control and I don’t mind that it’s something bigger than I am. Nope, not at all. I feel like a schoolgirl, giggly and giddy. And then I feel bad for being such a ditz. And then I feel bad because it feels like I’m playing a game. And then I feel worse because I tell myself that I should be playing a game. To protect myself. But what’s there to protect myself from? It’s love! It’s my red hot beating heart, skipping a beat and beating faster! But my heart is an idiot, I remind myself. But it’s love! And the thought of him loving me, too— even if I don’t feel it (because I’m taking things at face value), even if I don’t feel it as much as I want to feel it (because I’m taking things at face value), even if I refuse to feel it— makes me feel tingly and lightheaded and happy and candy sprinkles-y.

So I don’t know, sometimes I feel bad because I don’t know what this is or what I’m getting into and for feeling like it’s not enough. Years ago, I cried through most of Wong Kar Wai’s 2046 because the movie hit too close to home. There’s this line from the movie: Love is a matter of timing. It’s no good meeting the right person too soon or too late. I just realized yesterday what Phil realized two years ago: it’s not love that’s a matter of timing, but relationships. It works perfectly for me.

So I don’t know, I’m also a bit sad and paranoid and I’m chalking that up to eventual saudade and something else I can’t quite put my finger on and maybe I’m just being silly (silly, not stupid), feeling the need to be like Sylvia: 1 — I will not overwhelm him by breathless over-enthusiasm. 2 — I will not throw myself at him physically. 3 — I will be moderate, yet intense and interested. In a way, this is me pre-empting myself because the whole situation is suspiciously like this Gavin DeGraw song which kinda sucks, so I’ll just shrug it off and quote a line from my favorite DeGraw song, instead: You’re so hypnotic on my heart.

So I don’t know, this is kinda nice. Loved (not just fucked!) incoherent. Loving incoherently.

I guess I was wrong when I thought: hey, this is weird, I’m not so consumed.

EDIT.
STEEL: It’s nice to know you’re starting to better understand and get a hold of your feelings. You’re not a heartless wench like I used to think you are after all.
STEEL: Ditz translation: GHEIZ00R

Which got me thinking: what is this GHEIZ00R that Satan Steel speaks of? So I checked the dictionary and found this visual definition:

Cool.

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TOP OF THE WORLD-ISH.

October 10, 2007 at 12:52 am | Filed under joyful girl, mr wonderful

Photo courtesy of BatDesignz.

It’s a bit foreign and scary and loads perplexing, but I’m amazed and pleasantly surprised. Who would’ve thought?

Someone emotionally-available, for a change.

Edit//
FORGIVE ME IF THIS ENTRY REEKS OF GAY, AS STEEL (whom I will defenestrate the next time I see him) POINTED OUT:

Steel aka Man. Rude. Evil.: Someone from the past. And WTF is up with your new blog post? It reeks with GAY!

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WEEKENDS MADE OF WIN.

September 18, 2007 at 4:44 am | Filed under camwhorage, joyful girl, mr wonderful

Just to be cute (and for kicks. And while dicking around Wikipedia), I answered the CAGE questionnaire. Simply put, the CAGE questionnaire is a method to screen for alcoholism, and I have nothing funny to add to that. Because my “alcoholism” and the nature of my drinking (I drink like I have a goal and that goal is the total obliteration of this body organ we call the liver), I realize, is not something to laugh about.

The questions:

1. Have you ever felt you needed to Cut down on your drinking?

Yes.

2. Have people Annoyed you by criticizing your drinking?

Yes.

3. Have you ever felt Guilty about drinking?

Yes.

4. Have you ever felt you needed a drink first thing in the morning (Eye-opener) to steady your nerves or to get rid of a hangover?

Chyea-ah.

Phew. That was easy.

Two “yes” responses indicate that the respondent should be investigated further [...] A score of 2/4 or more is considered “alcoholism.”

NO WEI!!!

So anyways, this weekend— like any other weekend— was spent ingesting absurd amounts of alcohol. From chugging down can after can of beer at Top Gear’s 3rd year anniversary party/car show at Tiendesitas to chugging down bottle after bottle of beer at JayJ’s last Saturday night (surprisingly enough, I wasn’t that blitzed: I came home before my housemates did, my heels were intact, and there were no beer or food stains on my white dress), to the standard Sunday Night Rum-cola Supreme with the Barbies. Again, I found myself not plastered plastered after about eight of us consumed several bottles of Tanduay. Either we didn’t drink enough or my alcohol tolerance is improving. I’m leaning towards the former.

I know it’s cropped and stuff and my neck and chin look weird (I was awesomely drunk and my face in the uncropped photo is a total oddity), but I super love this shot from two Saturdays ago. I must admit, though, that I don’t remember posing for a photo and that I can’t remember if we were at Pier 1 or JayJ’s when Drew took this:

MMMM.

I seriously need to take it easy on the alcohol and spend more time in bed. This company also needs better office furniture.

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AGAIN, I HATE MY JOB.

September 10, 2007 at 11:56 pm | Filed under a waste of human capital, bitchin' a ride, mr wonderful

I’m getting more and more aggravated with my job, and I’m seriously thinking about resigning and making a career out of selling colon cleansers. This is how I usually feel on Mondays, the most stressful day of the week, but this has been my disposition the whole week last week. In the beginning (aka these past six months), I was somehow able to contain my annoyance; now, the novelty has worn off, I’m quickly losing my patience with the account, and I constantly find myself in a bad mood.

The only thing holding me back from tendering my resgination is that I don’t have time to look for (yet) another (call center) job. I need to get out of this industry, and I swear I will. Eventually.

Moving on to happier un-stressful things, I once again had a calorie-laden sexy-mancandied weekend involving the sinful combinations of cupcakes and ice cream, rum and cola, and (a lot of) fried chicken and rice. Life in binaries, how fun.

Diet. This week. Waking up on a Sunday morning chanting “Cupcakes cupcakes cupcakes!” speaks volumes about how out of control we are.

Something the mancandy sent me that got me giggling at 730pm:

“You really don’t see it?”

I really don’t. :cute:

(He’s been insisting the whole weekend that I have Vanessa Hudgens angles. I’m amused, but I think it’s simply old age affecting his eyesight. Also, I’m going easy on the blush.)

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ON (THE POSSIBILITY OF NEVER FALLING IN) LOVE (AGAIN).

September 8, 2007 at 3:26 am | Filed under mr wonderful, technicolor lover, the helga manual

I may be a sucker for romance (and I know I totally don’t look like it because I [act like] I’m badass and tough and seem to be the kind of person who knows jujitsu and aikido and can beat the shit out of your Navy Seal brother with a pair of glowsticks) …

… but I’m actually quite The Stupette when it comes to talking about matters of the heart. Perhaps it’s because being a sucker for romance does not necessarily translate into being a sucker for love. Or maybe it’s really because I’d really rather talk about double-sided tape, ring-necked pheasants that go ‘RRRRR!’, and Sheryl Cruz than theorize about love and analyze relationships. Also, because my EQ hasn’t gone up a bit since I first discovered the joys of sleeping with boyfriends inhaling toluene six years ago, I still stand by— and am quite content with— the belief that relationships are all about legalizing libog.

I’ve come to learn how to take things at face value and I try my best to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground (and more importantly, my head completely out of the clouds), but since I’m an emotionally-easy emotional wuss, I do have my moments. Like when I’m watching Only You or The Holiday or Breakfast At Tiffany’s or listening to Total Eclipse of the Heart. All these emotions, though, can be swatted away with a bottle of rum (or sobriety. Sometimes), so I still win.

It’s been years since I was last in love, though Aa aka the best friend has contradicted this statement, claiming and insisting that I loved a certain DBS person I carried on a thing with for a year and eight months a couple of years back. Umm, HOW ABOUT NO? Too, I know that if one checks out the annals of this blog, there exists an entry where I wrote about my admitting to someone that I loved him.

The truth is, I was being an idiot and used the term ‘love’ to justify my idiocy, because everyone (translation: a lot of people and a much younger Helga) has this idea that love or being in love causes one to commit a variety of stupid things and/or think stupidly when really, love should be a case of for you I want to sing a happier song / for you I’m gonna try to right all my wrongs / for you I’m gonna break my bad habits, yes? At least initially.

So I conclude that since I have a penchant for forever making excuses (as shown in the first line of the previous paragraph) for all strong emotions (other than that of wanting to get shitfaced drunk on a Saturday night) that courses through this cold-blooded body of mine, and because I have this too ideal idea of love that exists only in select lines out of movies (an example: “But I am mad about Jose. I honestly think I’d give up smoking if he asked me” from Breakfast at Tiffany’s) … I conclude that there is a huge possibility that I’m going to live life emotionally frigid.

Because everything about me needs validation from other people:

Helga, texting the mancandy: *giddy giggling*
Chatty: In love!
Helga: Huhwhat?
Drew: Hindi noh, ganyan talaga yan.

Mancandy: If I weren’t so secure about myself, I’d be worried that you still haven’t told me you love me.

(or something like that)

…
What the fuck was this all about?

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