Archive for the helga manual
May 24, 2008 at 3:07 pm | Filed under mr wonderful, the helga manual
Lover, on my last entry and how a bunch of you commented on how hot my dad is/was: one day, i would just like half the compliments from our daughter’s friends that your dad gets. Sheesh.
Judging by how hot my boyfriend is and how well he’s aged, I told him he’s likely to receive such comments. I doubt, though, that I’d take nicely to our daughter’s friends calling him a DILF (because I am possessive like that). This is, of course, assuming that our daughter would be a blogger at age 12 (god knows what she has to blog about, though, at that age) and I’d be the cool mom who reads her blog but isn’t cool enough to approve of 12-year olds knowing what DILF stands for.
Several times in the past, lover and I have talked about what our daughters would be like, going as far as mapping out their lives. We’d have two: one would be named Asia (after a certain feature of mine) and the other would be named Tonette (a name I do not approve of and she will, therefore, lead a very tragic life).
Our sample babies (Tonette is obviously the ugly one):
Asia will grow up to be an exotic dancer while Tonette will most likely end up living the high life (in dark alleyways, no less). Both will have— to quote their father— “nice lips, gorgeous eyes, nice eyebrows, and eating disorders” and will be “asking for non-fat milk” because “their mother will be singing lullabies about staying thin.” Playtime would consist of me teaching them to hop, meow, and quack.
(I hope none of you are taking this seriously.)
I always joke about how I’d probably end up married (or not even) with 3 kids all belonging to different fathers, but really, that’s just a defense mechanism of mine because most of the time, I fear that I’m going to end up like one of my mom’s sisters— she’s single, in her late 30s, and childless. That’s a scary thought, especially for someone who sees motherhood (and the things that come with it in a perfect, domesticated world: a pet dog, a newspaper subscription, making breakfast for your family, apples in brown paper bags, ironing your husband’s work shirts, long afternoon’s doing the laundry, weekend tennis games etc etc) as normalcy. A scarier thought, though, is knowing that I could end up just like that and I’d be okay with it. It makes me wonder how I have come to want such a life. *insert HUHLOLZ here*
Anyway, I’m pretty sure that when lover and I have actual non-catbunny/bunnycat daughters, we’d make sure to either keep them out of, or in drug rehab.
May 18, 2008 at 9:44 am | Filed under ditz drivel, the helga manual
I’ve been in a bit of a funky mood lately and as much as I’d like to blame it on the dreary weather, I’d rather say it’s the lack of nicotine and human contact that’s got me feeling all Lindsay Lohan-ish after Wilmer dumped her. It doesn’t help that not smoking has got me orally-fixating; coupled with PMS cravings, it would be apt to say that my body is in biiiiiig twouble! I mean, look at my latest picture, taken two minutes ago:
=(
So I’ve decided it’s about time I do something and de-jelly my very rotund belly. The old me would’ve ran to the nearest drugstore or supermarket to stock up on laxatives, slimming tea, diet pills, and green tea (or if I was feeling lazy, run to my dealer for a few grams of somethin’-somethin’ in exchange of a blowjob), as the old me is all about quick fixes (and cheap thrills, like, smacking kids hard in the head). But no, the new me is past all that. The new me will strive hard to drop the pounds the healthy and legal way.
Or maybe I could just starve myself and hope to drop 5-10 pounds in water weight in two days. It’s tempting, really.
Today is Day 1 of my diet. I am happy to report that my dad has eaten all of my chocolate cupcakes, so that’s one less temptation. My plan is to eat healthy and perhaps, some exercise. I could take walks around our village but I get self-conscious when I’m on my own and my dad’s epic jogs are a bit too much for me to handle. So this has to make do:
Fitness magazine tips!
Wish me luck, please.
___
23 for 23 is turning out to be an epic fail. It’ll be back and I’ll make up for the skipped parts.
May 8, 2008 at 9:48 pm | Filed under 23 for 23, the helga manual
In 23 days, I turn 23. Like men and maraschino cherries in my alcoholic, vodka-based drink, I have always had a thing for turning a year older. I’d rather not ramble about my issues (because really, there is nothing more attractive than seeing an insipid almost-23-year old girl launch into a lengthy monologue about her imaginary growing pains) and how— despite finding myself in a fulfilling and emotionally-satisfying relationship— I still have my insecurities about people taking me seriously…
I think I just lost my train of thought. Let’s try that one more time without the digressions.
I’d rather not ramble about my issues and how— despite finding myself in a fulfilling and emotionally-satisfying relationship— I still have my insecurities about people taking me seriously. So instead of going into that, what I’ll do is post one birthday-related entry a day for the next 23 days (yes, this is also me boosting author-based activity in this blog). Thus, 23 for 23. These entries may be part of a birthday wishlist, a realization, a random thought or observation, memories from birthdays past…anything. OMG, I just cringed at how cheesy I am sounding right now.
So to start the list! Something from my wishlist:
Little Jenny Humphrey to go down. Blair Waldorf For The Mother Fucking Win. Yo, Gossip Girl writers! Heed this fan girl’s birthday wish, plz.
March 30, 2008 at 11:54 pm | Filed under lists, mr wonderful, the helga manual
It’s been a rough week for lover and me (a-ha, quick grammar lesson I picked up from Board X! When using “___ and me” or “___ and I”, the rule is, the “me” or “I” should make sense when the other person— represented by the blank— is removed), but I got over it and ended the week with a bang. By “a bang”, I, of course, mean A Much Needed Drink (Or Two. Or Three. Oh Who Am I Kidding, I Had Too Many).
Unfortunately, things are yet to get better for lover and it pains (whatta word) me that all I can do is show him my boobies and have goofy LOLcat cybersex with him to give him his happies. BAH. This morning, I kinda-drunk international-dialed him and this wouldn’t be a big deal and wouldn’t even merit a sentence in this blog had it not been the first time I heard his voice in almost two months (so sexeh, hiz voice!). It’s tough, folks, but I’m managing.
Over a year ago, Chris Brogan posted a list of 100 blog topics “I hope YOU write about”. It’s a long ass list and most of the topics are beyond my scope of interest (social media? Branding? Uh…blogging? What is this “blogging” thing you speak of?), so I do not hope to cover all 100 topics. I’ll definitely keep this in mind for days when I am in need of blog fodder.
Today’s blog topic is very random, as it is a very random Sunday. By the way, what’s YOUR favorite Alicia Keys song? Here’s ours:
WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE ALICIA KEYS SONG!
Helga: On The Wings of Love!
Allah: Wind Beneath My Wings!
Drew: Got To Believe In Magic!
Today, I give you my five rules for naming (my) kids (don’t worry, these rules have yet to be applied outside a Sims 2 setting).
1. Merging the dad’s and mom’s names is just wrong, gaudy, and totally not clever. In highschool, I had an insane crush on a guy named Rodmyr. Can you guess his folks’s names?
2. Not really a rule, but more like a pre-caution: have a name ready and make sure the nurse on duty is writing down the correct name. A former co-worker of mine is named Baby Regina. I’ve heard of a dude named Baby Boy.
3. The name has to be a…well, a full (aka REAL) name and not a nickname. I once met a girl named just Fe (and I no longer recall her last name, but it was pretty short, too. Like, three letters short), a just Dondy, a just Bob, and a just Mafe. First thing that came to mind: “Where’s the rest of your name?” How lazy were their parents? My pets have longer names.
4. Do not get creative with the spelling. Call me traditional, but I don’t see the need to be fucking around with otherwise okay-ly spelled names. Keeyauh? Alyxandreea? Marijayne? Qchristopher? Ccamryn?
5. Do not be trendy or “clever” when it comes to naming your kid. “Heaven” was bad enough a name. “Nevaeh” is punishment (of course, this is just preference. If you find those names cute…um). I also fail to grasp the logic behind names with apostrophes. Say’Yonce? Ramse’s? Asia’h? Da’nyelle? Makena’lei? W’H'Y’???
(All names mentioned in #4 and #5 can be found here. Just dig around a bit.)
What are your rules for naming (your) kids?
March 21, 2008 at 4:54 am | Filed under admin, bitchin' a ride, the helga manual
Helga Gabrielle Weber. Turning 23. Gemini. Youngest daughter. Is hoping her folks never feel the need to google her name.
Recently moved in with her folks. After six years of not living with them. Is slowly adjusting to eating actual and real breakfasts aka “PLZ, DAD, JUST ONE ORANGE, NOT TWO”. Will never adjust to parental nagging and questions on what time she’ll be home and what is she doing still up when she has class tomorrow.
Studied International Studies majoring in International Politics for four years. Attended an exclusive all-girls Catholic college. Was PWND by her Little Thesis That Could (But Wasn’t). Currently taking formal classes in web design. Aspires to be a web designer and graphic artist. Wish her luck. Or give her money. Either works, but the latter is preferred.
Fell down two flights of stairs twice. She was drunk. Once busted her wrist when she attempted to do a yoga position. She was drunk. Once crossed half of Katipunan Avenue at three-ish in the morning to sit on a U-turn slot’s cement road block. She was drunk. She managed to sit her ass on it, though, for a few seconds before sliding off the thing.
No longer drinks. As much as she used to. No longer gets drunk. On a nightly basis.
Still smokes. A lot. Marlboro Reds.
Loves cats. Has bites and scratches to prove it.
Has been operating on PST this past half and a month. And no, that PST does not stand for Philippine Standard Time.
Has days when she’s the target of unwanted male attention. Can’t decide which day was worse: that one morning on her way to school and she woke up in an FX and the bastard to her left had his fingers on her left boob. Orrrr that time she was on her cigarette break and the sleaze who looked up her skirt had the nerve to smile at her when she caught him.
Constantly drafts open letters to the Filipino masses in her head. These open letters usually begin with “You don’t know me and neither do I know you, but I know you well enough to know that you fucking suck. And smell. Really really bad. Especially when it’s 5pm and we’re all on our way home and you’re sitting thisfrikkenclosetome. Some sound advice: keep your armpits to yourselves. And please stop eating, you’re already too fat.”
And these open letters usually end with “And please stop talking don’t talk to me because no way in hell am I going to tell you where I live. Kk. Go away.”
Thanks to everyone who offered me hosting and everyone who wished they could give me some of their bandwidth (lol)— I really do appreciate it. I’ve solved my bandwidth issues, finally upgraded my Wordpress, and got helgaweber.com which shall serve as a playground or portfolio of some sort. I feel so flofeshonal now, teehee.
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. 
