Archive for the helga manual
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.
June 11, 2008 at 3:57 am | Filed under camwhorage, ditz drivel, the helga manual
Things are going pretty good, if I may say so myself. Despite consuming about four packs of cigarettes over the long weekend, gaining five pounds of belly weight from stress-eating, and developing pains in body parts I never thought were capable of aching— I made it.
That said, I’m totally ready to get geeky. I just need to sort out several things, shake off my insecurities, and prepare myself to go back to wearing what my dad calls “ridiculous shoes”.
Anyway, some pictures:
HAPPY HOMES FOOD <3
THE UNHEALTHIEST AND YUMMIEST FOOD EVERRRRR.
I’VE BEEN EATING HAPPY HOMES FOOD
AND THEIR BREADED PORK CHOPS SINCE I WAS A COLLEGE FRESHMAN.
TAKING A BREAK. SHEAR GENIUS ON TV.
ME, DYING, AND THINKING ABOUT MEDITERRANEAN CRUISES
AND HOW AWESOME IT WOULD BE TO GO ON ONE.
Hee!
June 8, 2008 at 10:53 pm | Filed under ditz drivel, the helga manual
1. Up until February, for the past…oh, six years, all I needed to do to have a cigarette was to take a few steps away from my bed or out of my room. Now, I travel a minimum of half an hour just to get my nicotine fix.
This isn’t very funny.
2. I notice that whenever people tell me how hot or sexy or gorgeous I am, my initial reaction is to bleat at them (and no, it’s not false modesty nor am I being coy).
I should stop with the bleating, really, and just learn to shut up (like a good woman) and say “thank you”. I mean, it’s not like there’s anything more to me than that. It’s not like I have anything else going on for me. I’m not intellectually brilliant or anything.
Heh.
3. I’ve been in Katipunan since Friday, “working”, needing to complete several designs and templates and sites before Tuesday noon. Tuesday noon! I am stressed and nervous and I feel like I’m about to disintegrate because I really want this. I miss my cat and my boyfriend.
I wanna get my baby a cat tree.
June 6, 2008 at 2:22 am | Filed under camwhorage, ditz drivel, pop culture and such, the helga manual
It dawned on me today that I haven’t been reading much lately. In fact and to be exact, I haven’t read a single book AT ALL since I moved in with my folks last March. Instead of beating myself up over this absolutely unforgivable disservice to my brain or coming up with a handful of excuses as to why I’ve devolved into some airhead who thinks Mitch Albom’s The Five Five People You Meet In Heaven is the apex of literature (for the record: I don’t), I decided to just grab Catherine Liu’s Oriental Girls Desire Romance (which I began reading months ago), curl up in bed, and devote the next couple of hours to reading.
Uh-oh. No coffee. More importantly, no cigarettes. It may seem silly to you— and this is the part of me I’d love to see led out behind the barn one night and shot— but I’ve been conditioned to only be able to work properly when I have a constant supply of caffeine and nicotine coursing through my, uh, veins (alcohol helps a whole lot, too, sometimes). Sure, reading non-fiction doesn’t really count as “work”, especially when there is no book review to be written afterwards; but reading requires brain activity and some level of reflection and rumination. Basically, what I’m trying to say is that I am even more stupid without my socially-accepted drugs.
Book in hand, I left my room and plopped down on the couch beside my mom. That proved to not be the brightest of ideas because as soon as I sat down and folded my legs beneath me, Pinoy Big Brother Teens came on and my mom told me to go online and vote for this dude.
My face, it went like this: -_-
Things that kept me from getting any actual reading done:
1. Kat DeLuna’s Whine Up video.
2. Pinoy Big Brother Teens and how the more I try to wrap my head around it, the more hopeless the general Filipino public seems to me.
3. Finding a place. Here’s the deal: I live ridiculously far from the city and three months of _this_ is really all I can take. The plan is for my older brother and I to get a place together near his school. I gave my mom our options: a 2-bedroom unit in Cubao, Anonas, Sikatuna Village, or Katipunan/Loyola Heights (I really really want to move back to my comfort zone).
Currently, I am going through the ads on Buy and Sell Philippines and Sulit.Com.Ph and while this isn’t exactly torture (I actually like e-hunting for apartments), I am quite the frustrated kitty. Is it truly possible to not be able to google a place/address? More importantly, do I really want to live in a street, area, or building that cannot be found on Wikimaps?
Sad kitty eats Oreo cookie now:
If by any chance you’re from North Carolina (huhlolz. But at least that’s on Wikimaps *grumble*), check out NC health insurance.
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.
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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. 
