BOUNCING BACK ON DAISIES

July 31, 2006 at 5:59 am | Filed under breaking up the girl, joyful girl, technicolor lover

Saturday, my heart was breaking. Sleepy from three and a half frozen margaritas at one in the afternoon; sitting on concrete bleachers, my best friend to my left, and his girlfriend next to the person to my right. She had walked passed me, throwing smiles at everyone. I had turned to my best friend; quietly, I said: “Shit, she’s here. Shit, she’s here.”

The game starts. D gets the ball, prepares to take a shot. Our friend Camilo yells out, with the hugest grin on his face: “Sinong kasama mo kagabi!” (Trans: Who were you with last night!). This distracts him. He misses.

Our group stands up to move to the other side of the stadium for a better view. I beg the best friend to come with me. “I need to smoke. Crap, I want to get out of here.” Fuck, I don’t even watch basketball.

We finish our cigarettes, walk back inside, and take our seats. It starts raining and I am trapped.

The people next to me keep on screaming “Go DJ!” and “It’s a good thing the girlfriend’s here!” everytime he has the ball, everytime he’s about to take a shot. My heart is breaking; in my head, I am chanting Ely’s words: Suck it up, Helga, you’re a pro. My eyes stare blankly ahead, refusing to look at him, not wanting to see the smile on his face.

The best friend and I leave as soon as the game ends. I am ranting and bitter the whole ride back to Quezon City. D texts me: “Where are you going? Thanks for watching.” My friends tell me: “DO NOT REPLY! MAKE HIM BEG! DO NOT ANSWER HIS CALLS!”

I stop by the grocery on my way home. Six pm with a bottle of vodka, a bottle of Sprite, and a fresh pack of cigarettes. The alcohol is terrible, I do not finish my drink. I am ignoring D’s numerous messages and calls.

Sunday morning, 8am. Allah and I spend the dreary morning reading (I, Michael Moore’s Stupid White Men; Allah, Margaret Atwood’s Catseye), smoking, and reading out loud to each other from our respective books.

Early afternoon, we turn the TV on for our Sunday guilty pleasure (SOP Gigsters— so kill me now, Mark Herras is hot). My phone beeps.

D: Are you really not going to text me? I know you’re up watching Gigsters. What’s up?

It is the cutest thing ever and Allah, Anna, and I burst out laughing. I am mad and hurt, but I am amused and giddy over the fact that he remembers I religiously watch that tacky teenybopper fun show.

I tell him how I feel. And that he should’ve told me DJ was going to be at the game, because I wouldn’t have gone. “I told you I was going to watch. Or do you get a kick out of seeing the two of us at the same place at the same time?”

He claims he didn’t know she’d be there. She was supposed to have an exam for a company, and when he found out she could make it, he didn’t have credits in his phone to tell me. And what did he do wrong? It’s not like he told those people to yell “Go DJ!”. And that he would never hurt me on purpose. And do I know that he gets to spend more time with me than with her?

Helga: I guess I’m too demanding. Sorry…
D: Nope, didn’t say that. And don’t say sorry, I chose that.

I KNOW I’M EMOTIONALLY EASY. IT DOESN’T TAKE MUCH TO WOO ME. :blank:

Comments (6)

OF SHOPPING & MEN

July 29, 2006 at 2:57 am | Filed under joyful girl, technicolor lover

I know I said I wouldn’t go shopping. Lalalala, the day I said that, I ended up in Gateway— for necessities, though. Stuff like toiletries (bahtroom tissue, pantyliners, toothpaste, razors etc) and groceries (coffee and cigarettes). And, umm, new earrings.

Then the other day, I found myself at Debenhams purchasing a box of denier 15 tights in black worth almost what I make in one working day. So in working class Third World words— overpriced stockings. Five pairs of them. Sosyalan!

It’s the Mary-Kate Olsen wannabe in me.

I came home a happy nearly-broke bunny with more new earrings, three new pairs of panties, two new books, and diet pills. MK, I will be a half-assed Asian version of yooou!

Twice now, I have willingly given up the chance to meet up with Surfer Boy. Rather, twice now, I have chosen D over Surfer Boy. Thursday night, he had invited Aa and I to Zambapalooza— an event organized by the Manila Surfer’s Association. I accidentally told D and he pulled a “partying and boys again???” line on me.

So I ended up at D’s place instead of 6 Underground that night. I had work, but decided to screw the first half of my shift. Umm, yes. <3<3<3

He makes me happy.

And it’s not just about sex. :)

Comments (3)

“EXCUSE ME FOR FEELING!”

July 26, 2006 at 9:02 am | Filed under a waste of human capital, ditz drivel, technicolor lover

Last night, I came to work with 12 pesos and 30 centavos in my wallet. Not counting, of course, the 150 pesos I paid for my cab— 100 of which I had to borrow from Allah because my bank’s ATM wasn’t dispensing cash.

But hohoho, commissions from these past two weeks were credited last night. I’m money-ed again :woohoo:. Must resist the following:

• the daily Starbucks habit
• shopping

The rent is due in one week, after all. :hmph:

D is the hottest biatch on earth. I’m wearing my white undies that I had him sign with his initials and the only thing that’s keeping me from pulling down my jeans in front of him is the fact that over 200 people would bear witness to such a scene. Rawr.

Anyway. In other news, I smell a scammer.

Also. I’ve had enough of my bosses flirting with me. Seriously. I’m not being arrogant or cheeky here. It’s flattering, sure, but it’s uncomfortable and D always takes it against me.

PS: Allah bought the Stars Are Blind CD single. Five versions of the song, yo. We’ve been playing it over and over again (alternating it with Fiona Apple’s The First Taste— stripper music!) since Saturday. I caught my next-door neighbor singing along two days ago :D.

PPS: Sunday night was B-Movie night. The Hillz was flipping horrible, but we’re big Paris Hilton geeks. SO.

PPPS: Even though the gods are crazy! Even though the stars are blind! If you show me real love, baby, I’ll show you miiii-iiiine!
Wouldn’t it have been more awesome if it were titled Gods Are Crazy? :)

EDIT// I AM VERONICA MARS. FUCKING VERONICA MARS, YA HEAR!

Scammer scammer. Basically, I have her CC/system log-in ID because the customer she processed an order for called back complaining no one could pull up her information. I took note of the agent’s ID because I found three things wrong with the order:

• invalid order number given to the customer
• Louisiana state abbreviation was ‘LO’
• credit score: customer was informed she had 5/0/0. I retrieved credit: 2/150/150

I was peeing when it hit me: in the beginning, all new agents have the same password. My CC log-in is cc882213. Scammer’s CC log-in is cc893648— meaning scammer is from a later wave/batch. So. I log in using scammer’s CC ID and the default password. VOILA, MOTHERFUCKER, “Welcome *insert scammer’s name here*!”.

Comments (3)

TALKING DIRTY AT WORK…

July 21, 2006 at 9:14 am | Filed under a waste of human capital, ditz drivel, technicolor lover

…is sexy call center rock. :spin:

I have a twitch in my right eye. ZOMG, am I finally working too hard?

Comments (8)

SO I KINDA HATE MYSELF.

July 18, 2006 at 3:35 am | Filed under technicolor lover

(Edit: Because it might be misinterpreted, these messages are from D :D)

Damn, so it’s that easy— just ‘bye’. Haaaay. I asked you before if that’s gonna happen and you said it wouldn’t because you said it’s different with me. And now what :(

Should there be a limit to what we have? I want you to be there. Haaaay, I don’t know. That’s why I asked you before.

You do know that you’re just not a lay for me, right? Because if you were just that, it’d be easy to let go, but it isn’t.

Umm. :blank:

In other news, Charles Gordon Windsor Jr is my new dream boy.

Daisy (Julia Roberts): I fucked up.
Charlie (Adam Storke): Yeah. But you gave it a 100 percent effort!

Comments off