Archive for the helga manual
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?
June 26, 2007 at 6:36 am | Filed under camwhorage, lists, the helga manual
I’ve been making lots of lists lately for the sole reason that I am out of stuff to blog about, and have resorted to documenting everything with my handy-dandy camera.
Anyway, because everyone else has come up with their “What’s Weird About Me” list, here’s mine. Bah.
1. When buying tees, I have the habit of getting one kind/style in different colors and even in different sizes. An example would be my (fake!) green Aeropostale top; I have it in medium and large. Also, in navy blue. I blame this on having all the colors of the basic Giordano tee when I was in grade school.
2. I never learned how to type properly. My fingers are all over the keyboard when I type. I never thought this was weird until my co-worker Joie noticed it. “Ang kulit mo mag-type! Pero ang bilis pa rin!”
3. My brain becomes paralyzed when assaulted with texts written in Filipino. It freezes as my eyes try to make sense out of the words. And then the words become one big blur. I can speak, write, and read in Filipino, of course, but with effort and with great stupidity. I once said: At nawalan siya ng eksena. It doesn’t help that my housemates are stupid, too, when it comes to speaking the language.
4. I like doing the dishes, the laundry, and cleaning the bathroom because I like the smell of soap, and the feel of bubbles on my fingers. If all things fail, I think I can make a career out of being a maid in Italy.
5. My favorite punctuation mark would be the comma, and I abuse it like anything. The comma would be followed by the semi-colon, and then the hyphen. This is weird, because I actually have a favorite punctuation mark.
6. I hardly have any sense of authority. That doesn’t mean I don’t know who my superiors are; it’s just that I socialize with them in a way that I would with my friends (I bonk my direct supervisor on his head with his keyboard wrist supporter whenever he coaches me). Those whom I can’t get chummy with, I avoid like the plague.
7. I pronounce Tuesday as Tee-yous-day. A video! Hosted on Photobucket because Youtube sucks.
I know it looks like I have a gap between my two front teeth. I do have a gap, but it’s not really that noticeable. Now stop making fun of me :( It’s not my fault that my momma was a hillbilly.
8. My favorite part on a man’s body would be his armpits. It’s a deal breaker. Unsnuggly armpits = bye bye.
9. I name every inanimate object, whether they be mine, or someone else’s. This may be somewhat normal, as we name things to stress our ownership. But have you ever met my water pitchers Oscar, Bettita, and Nicanor? And my hnagers whose names all start with the letter ‘P’? I thought so.
10. I’m OC when it comes to how my browsers/windows are arranged. If they’re not in order, I have to close everything and re-launch all my programs.
Bah. I can only name ten and they’re all lame.
Also, this is me pretending to be serious at work. But if you look closely, you’ll see that I’ve just started a game of Free Cell.
May 8, 2007 at 9:36 am | Filed under Y!M conversations, mr wonderful, technicolor lover, the helga manual
Mr Supervisor (rather, Mr Former Supervisor But Still A Supervisor) came up to me (of his own volition, not because I needed help) towards the end of my shift and described me as “volatile” and asked if I’ve been good. That means I flip and flop between irate and calm. Intermittently bitchy agent? More like irascible because someone’s being an idiot. Of course, volatile can also mean I’m explosive (which is a sexy way of putting it). On the other hand, it can mean I’m unstable (I think we already know that).
It’s generally not a good idea for me to have crushes on people who are physically within my reach and whom I come into contact with on a daily basis, if only because I’m a ding-a-ling who has the scandalous habit of acting upon my crushes. My theory is that it comes with my age and that when I eventually mature, I’ll (finally) develop a sense of inhibition. At least I’m crossing my fingers that I will. Maybe when I’m 22.
Which reminds me: why is there nothing monumental or defining about turning 22? It’s just like turning 8 or 14 and very much unlike turning, say, 1 (because it means I managed to not annoy my parents for 12 months, so they decided not to smother me in my sleep or to leave me in a basket outside some rich spinster’s doorstep who actually hates children and will probably do something horrible to me. Like feed me to mice or give me to the manong mambobote); or 18 (when my folks were more than happy to serve my debutante-ness upon a fluffy pink and silver platter, begging not-necessarily-eligible bachelors to whisk me off to a life of domesticity. There were no takers, though, and I blamed it on the fact that I knew jackshit about doing the laundry, making sammiches or shining black leather shoes back then. So I proceeded to skill myself in those areas of housewifery, and also, to give good head).
So I don’t know, maybe I’ll make something out of turning 22. Something that isn’t asinine or sarcastic, like most of my goals are (my 2007 Game Plan is one exception— I’m dead serious about that). One thing’s for sure: I’d like to have more Me Time this coming year. Or no, not Me Time, since I get enough of that during my daily commute to and from work; just more Quiet Time. I’d like to not find myself in a tizzy come the weekend.
Or maybe what I need is More Time. Okay, so that brings my wishlist to include two things: A Tan and More Time. Also, the complete Nancy Sinatra collection, please. There, three.
April 26, 2007 at 8:54 am | Filed under breaking up the girl, joyful girl, the helga manual
It’s the unexpected little things that will always make me happy. That, I realized yesterday early evening when I went to our building’s Starbucks (as I always do, when I have a few minutes to spare) to get my pre-shift caffeine fix. A few feet away from the counter, my barista crush looks up, flashes his very D-like braces at my direction and greets me with a “Hi, Helga.” I smile back, throw my money down and give my order. “Starting work?” Small talk, I love small talk. “Here’s your drink, Helga, see you again later,” as I leave.
Nevermind that he still spells my name as Helda.
Also, things like getting a Phase IV right on the first try (you are not Sabre-trained, you are not a travel agent— so yes, what the what is a Phase IV, right. Take my word for it: it’s complicated shit). Victory! Pwned!
And the way my direct supervisor calls all the girls in my batch “sweetheart” (I wonder what he calls the boys, then) and when he says “rock and roll” or “I’m ready to rock, are you ready to roll?” or “is that going to rock? Cos let’s roll” when I’m just about to make like a te-te-terrorist and wreak havoc on all flights from today until June 18. Of next year. Said supervisor also has very D-like braces, but then I think I think all men with braces have mouths that look like D’s.
I’m starting to answer to the name Heather. In real life. I’m not sure how I feel about this.
Today was a horrible day at work. And I survived. But just barely.
Michael: Angel bailed me out.
James: Angel?
Michael: Well, actually, Angel bailed you out.
James: Me?
Michael: Yeah, I told the police I was you.
[James gawks in disbelief]
Michael: Oh James, it’s just all in fun. And after I told them you had AIDS, they gave me my own room with a VCR and ice cream!
James: Michael, I don’t even like you! I have never liked you!
-Party Monster
Yeah, that’s basically today’s emotions.
April 25, 2007 at 9:28 am | Filed under a waste of human capital, the helga manual, the internets
I srsly love things that tell me what or who I am. Also, Wordpress is a douchebag (or maybe I’m just an idiot)— it won’t let me directly copy and paste the widget code aka embed the script; but because I love this meme so much, I went ahead and prntscrned all the frames and made my own gif. Awezome.
It’s been years since I last animated anything, so really, is there an option to not optimize gifs when saving? (And why can’t I find that option?) Cos it totally compromises the image quality.
I’m surprised, though, that I fell into the Nice N Cheesy category instead of Touchy Feely. But not rly. I guess it just shows that I’m beginning to differentiate between lust and love, and separate (at least) the ideas of them. If that’s a good thing or not, I have yet to find out.
Second day taking in calls and I swear, I’m gonna pwn this bitch. American business folks booking business trips are easy to talk to— they’re not irate, they’re oddly very grateful, they talk fast, and they’re willing to hold. It’s just the non-talk processes that kill me. My fingers hurt from pounding too hard on the keyboard. Also, I’m starting to refer to the asterisk as ‘display’. And it’s not a 0, it’s a sell.
And that’s it for boring. Honestly, I’m a bit drained. :(
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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. 
