Archive for the helga manual
August 14, 2008 at 12:10 am | Filed under ditz drivel, the helga manual, the internets
I’ve been scouring the internet lately, looking for quick and easy (oh, you know me, never up for a challenge unless there’s promise of vodka, undying love, and half-naked pictures of Ed Westwick when it’s all over) freelance gigs I could do during the weekends. It’s about time I start taking on “side jobs” and hopefully build a client base, seeing that ultimately (like, five years from now), my plan is to work from home.
Okay, the truth is: I’m running out of drug money.
It’s been a day and unsurprisingly, I’ve got nothing. Mainly because I got distracted by this list of funny job descriptions. A few favorites:
-Read things that don’t matter, then write papers saying they do matter, for points that don’t matter, in order to get a job doing something totally unrelated: Student
-Take numbers on pieces of paper, rearrange them and put them on different pieces of paper: Tax Accountant
-Teach your kids enough to complain but not enough to make a difference: College Teacher
-Make sure nothing ever happens: IT Security
-Run away and call the police: Security Guard
-Copy and paste the Internet: Student
-Talk in other people’s sleep: College Professor
And then a call for interns from a New York-based company:
DESCRIPTION: Ok, so maybe you don’t have any experience. Do you think you have potential? Do you learn easily? Do you need college credit? If so we are always looking for interns. Hey… it’s not just a job. It’s an adventure. Oh yeah, we’re a paperless office so we can guarantee you won’t ever have to file anything.
MANDATORY SKILLS: The ability to stay awake for long periods of time.
Funny job titles and listings (from the very entertaining Craigslist) here. Enjoy.
August 8, 2008 at 3:37 pm | Filed under ditz drivel, the helga manual
I made a stupid mistake: without thinking, I bought a pair of opaque fluorescent red tights. No, I did not have Blair Waldorf in mind when I made the purchase. Neither was I contemplating a career in the circus nor was I aspiring to be a third world scene queen. I just walked into the store, grabbed a pair, and paid for it. I was vaguely imagining pairing it with my new black dress (really, Helga, black and red? Together? Really???) and for some reason, I had this demented idea that I could pull it off and look cute.
Wrong =(
(Please ignore my ancient pink stand fan)
So now I am stuck with a pair of bright red tights that I will probably never wear because such flashy and daring pieces of clothing is just way out of my “fashion” zone (if you’ve met me in person, you’ll know that I dress quite boringly). But I won’t give up, not without a fight! I turn to the lover who is scarily well-versed in girly things like make-up and women’s clothes:
Helga: Where do I wear these red tights to? It’s very Blair heehee. I need something dark and plaid. A dark plaid coat. AND MAYBE NEW YORK CITY WEATHER.
Lover: Don’t force the issue.
A lot of help, that guy. Never the mind, there’s always Uncle Google. A quick web search for how to wear red tights and I was able to gather this much:
“DON’T WEAR OPAQUE FLUORESCENT RED TIGHTS, ESPECIALLY IF YOUR NAME IS HELGA WEBER OR A PERSON IN DESPERATE NEED OF WEIGHT LOSS PILLS OR BOTH.”
But like I said, I won’t go down without a fight. I turned to google images and made a search for “red tights” for ideas on how I could properly wear such an abomination. From the lulzy pits of search results came several sparks of hope:
Read the rest of this entry »
July 22, 2008 at 7:47 pm | Filed under joyful girl, mr wonderful, technicolor lover, the helga manual
Age 5: Kindergarten 2 Helga’s defining moment of the whole school year is her going up to the chalkboard and correctly solving the math problem in front of her peers (who were most likely not paying any attention at all). She may be incapable— at the age of 23— to count past a hundred, but she will always know that 2+3=5.
Age 7: Helga comes to terms with the fact that she will never be a Little Miss Philippines, a gymnast, a ballerina, or Candy Candy.
Age 8: Helga comes to terms with the fact that she will never be Wendy, surrogate mother to the Lost Boys, either. Makes a conscious effort to stop forcing herself to fly “in her sleep”.
Age 10: Physical Ed. She does 86 sit-ups and pwns everyone in her class— girls and boys.
Helga: We had to do sit-ups for PE. I did 86 sit-ups. I pwnd everyone
Lover: hahhaha. I used to be able to do 100 upside down. 4 sets of 25.
Helga: O YA? HOW OLD WERE YOU?!?!?!?!?!
Lover: yeah. Hmm…18? I had mad abs hehe
Helga: I WAS 10! WHEN I DID 86 SIT UPS!
Lover: Hehehe. Fine!
Age 11: Helga falls in love for the first time with a boy named Taylor Hanson.
Age 12: She kicks a boy in the nuts because he was talking smack about Hanson TO HER FACE!! Discovers the internet; she finds it awesome.
Age 17: Moves to the big city. Loses five pounds during her first week of college, prompting relatives to ask if she’s doing drugs. Spends a lot of nights hanging out at her neighborhood Starbucks, walking home at two in the morning with her male best friend from high school. While walking, they’d create lines of poetry that they’d yell at the moon.
Age 17.5: Male best friend from high school admits to her he’s gay. There is finally hope for her to be a fag hag fruit fly.
Age 18: Gay male best friend from high school drops out of college and moves back to the boonies. Helga starts dating and sleeping with the wrong and worst kind of men, but not as the result of.
Age 19: Spends the whole first semester of her junior year a drunken stoned mess. Is still dating and sleeping with the wrong and worst kind of men, the result and cause of.
Age 20: At a hundred and five pounds and looking wonderfully wanarexic skinny (yet needing a steady supply of blemish acne cream for the pimple farm on her forehead), she flips the nightmare that is her Little-Thesis-That-Could-But-Wouldn’t the middle finger. Makes the biggest mistake of her life. Is still dating and sleeping with the wrong and worst kind of men.
Age 21: Is still dating and sleeping with the wrong and worstest kind of men.
Age 22: Helga sets a record and goes through four men in less than four months. Man #5 comes along and she falls in love.
Age 23: Remedies the mistake she committed at age 20 by getting a normal job. Life, it is wonderful.
=)
June 15, 2008 at 3:07 pm | Filed under memes and such, the helga manual
J tagged me to do this meme and I’m supposed to tag six other people to do the meme, but I can only think of tagging one person: Penny.
1. What was I doing 10 years ago?
At thirteen, I was a competitive swimmer and part of the Royal Dolphins. After school, my dad, my brother, and I would travel two hours to San Pablo, Laguna to train for two to three hours. Weekends were spent training at Baker Hall inside the UPLB campus or, if the pool was closed for the weekend, at the Makiling Botanical Gardens or Pook (the only Olympic-sized swimming pool in Los Banos) pools.
I also made my first static webpage on the now-defunct gURLpages, spent a lot of time on kiwibox.com and posting at the Hansonline forums (Hanson’s official site before they changed it to hanson.net).
2. What are 5 things on my to-do list today?
Nothing! It’s a lazy Sunday at Drew’s, but I guess: take out the trash, buy cigs, maybe go to the Toycon at Megamall, go through my blogroll, and maybe meet up with some friends tonight. Except for the first two, nothing’s final.
3. Snacks I enjoy:
Oishi’s wasabi-flavored potato chips, chocolate cupcakes, cheese, leche flan, cake, and diet pills (heh).
4. Places I’ve lived:
Paco, Manila (where I was born); La Union; Los Banos, Laguna; Katipunan Avenue/Loyola Heights, Quezon City; Antipolo, Rizal.
5. Things I’d do if I were a billionaire:
I can’t even imagine having that much money, but I’ll go ahead and be cute here: travel, live wastefully for a year, give the money to my folks to manage.
6. People I want to know more about:
Artsy-fartsy people. Actually, no. No one specific, really.
June 13, 2008 at 3:01 am | Filed under the helga manual
Helga from over two years ago:
I don’t want to go back to college I want to audition for Pinoy Big Brother and keep working at eTelecare instead. My new goal in life is to be absolutely and horribly jaded by the time I hit the age of 24. I also plan to be kinda-unbelievably rich by that time so I can quit my job and start hunting for that ambassador who will make an ambassadress out of me.
And then I live happily ever after until the age of 35. Or until my first socio-political (and very much public) scandal.
Written in May 2006, a couple of weeks shy of turning 21. Back then, I—
1. was listening to Brazilectro to accompany me during those hot summer nights
2. had a short-lived interest in female serial killers
3. was young and thirsty for life, or perhaps just the next quick fix or cheap thrill or what-have-you
4. had a fairly decent disposable income that mostly went to overpriced Starbucks coffee, cigarettes, and cab fare
5. dreamed of getting it right, though I was stuck in between that and being a mess
I’m turning 24 next year and I am obviously in need of brand new lifetime goals, if only to give myself something to look back on when I’m 26-going-on-27. I’d say 23 is an apt age to ask myself, in big bold letters: WHAT DO YOU WANT TO DO, HELGA, WHAT?
To be quite honest, it’s a bit hard to answer when you have no clue what it is you like or love— anymore. I like sex. I like cats. I don’t know where exactly those two combined would lead to, but I sure hope it doesn’t include me being naked with animals and a video camera. But hey, if that’d make me big in Japan (or India), then why not.
But seriously, if I could have things my way, I’d own a pretentious little sidewalk cafe playing folksy/angry chick music all day (like…Ani DiFranco, Jill Cunniff, Emiliana Torrini, Karin Brennan, Rachael Yamagata, Fiona Apple…you get the idea) that caters to pretentious cafe poets and philosophers and musicians and the likes. They’d all want to speak to whoever owned the place because “my god, this place is so charming and so different and so special!” but they’ll never have the chance because I’ll be at the Starbucks downtown, sitting on a smoking table in my power dress and my Barbie-pink puta pumps and typing, nay, designing away on my snazzy laptop. I’ll have some fashionable or girly caffeinated drink and a pack of Marlboro Reds by my side. It’s the same thing come evening, except the caffeine has been replaced by alcohol. The drug habit is optional. Same goes for health insurance.
And back home in my three-bedroom condo in a nice part of town— because I didn’t feel like accessorizing that night— is the man I love. Husband, boyfriend, the interstitial guy— it doesn’t matter. He’s older than I am, way older, and is probably watching TV (the news) or reading a book (some intelligent book) in bed, waiting for me. I come home at 1am, barefoot and clutching my Barbie-pink puta pumps. I brush my teeth, wash my face, and crawl into bed with him. There’s good coffee and a pack of cigarettes waiting for me in the morning. My life is complete.
Funny how I have the constant need to re-affirm myself. This time, I will live beyond the age of 35.
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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. 
