HEARTBREAK HIATUS.

May 28, 2007 at 2:57 pm | Filed under camwhorage, the single girl phenomenon

What do you do when a guy dumps you? You date his friend, of course.

But seriously, I think it’s about time I be nicer to myself. I’m going to stay away from boyfriends. I was my worst last Friday and it just shows what a…I think the word is “bitch”…I am: it was my friend’s birthday party and I made out with her boyfriend. I am not someone you’d like to be left alone with your guy.

I disgust myself sometimes.

Anyway, just got back from this Baby Boy’s christening in Quezon:

Isn’t my godson absolutely adorable? Funny story: I got to Quezon still drunk from Friday night. That pink retro dress in my last entry, the one I was supposed to wear? Didn’t happen. I just threw on a clean shirt, rushed to High Temperature (my friends’ bar), put on some make up, and then went to the church. So Eight’s dad handed me a candle, right? I was like, what a nice glittery blue candle dum dee dum dee dum. YEAH, I WAS NINANG. And I didn’t even have a gift.

Some photos. Because it’s a Monday:

My low-rise jeans and my sexy (pre-beer) tummy. See my mole and the lace of my undies? Yay!

Maling love! I was drunk (again) last night and Allah and I had the munchies when we got home. I now have a nice little cut on my right ring finger which I probably got when I was massacring the maling.

Photos of photos from Jen and Niel’s wedding last year:

I didn’t look as bad as I thought I did then, after all. I remember being the first to be made up and I hated how rough the gay make-up artist was with his sponge and brushes and how I was too sleepy to complain (sleepy, not hungover) and ALL THE AQUANET and trying to sleep without messing up my face.

AND THIS! THIS IS MY BEST MARY-KATE FACE!!!

Heh.

So yeah, I’m taking a break from heartache and stuff. The best friend’s coming over mid-June to look for a job (behind her mom’s back lololol) and nothing’s final yet, but I might have a room mate. I know I know, I’m not good with room mates but she’s my best friend and I figure that with having her around, the chances of me bringing home men (who will only end up, I don’t know, breaking my heart or something) will lessen. My only concern is that because of the lack of space, we’ll be sharing my bed and she has a boyfriend and I know they’ve already had sexy time on my bed several times. It’s okay, really, but just not on a regular basis.

Also, we’re looking into enrolling ourselves in a bartending course (so we can go to Florida, roflwaffle). I’m too lazy to google right now, maybe later at work (sigh. Work) but if any of you out there know where we can take lessons, please leave me a comment or email me (mynameishelga[at]gmail.com).

Bobby still has a fever, I’m worried now. His fur’s all blah and rough, meaning he hasn’t been grooming himself. My dad said cats really do get sick and stuff, so he doesn’t see the need to take him to the vet. Poor baby cat.

Monday again and I’ve been up since 7am. I’m going to die tonight.

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SO MUCH FOR A&As.

March 19, 2007 at 4:12 am | Filed under the helga manual, the single girl phenomenon

You fall in love with a person because your subconscious likes something about their subconscious, and it isn’t until much later that you discover that the thing your subconscious liked was the fact that this person was built to hurt you in precisely the way you most fear.

-Sarah Dunn

I like passenger seats and long car rides and the comfort of a seatbelt.

I like the words ’strident’ and ‘ennui’ and ‘tachycardia’ and ‘tribulation’.

I like crossword puzzles and Free Cell and sometimes, Scrabble.

I like being kissed on my forehead and being hugged while sleeping and biting your lower lip and my nose rubbing against your nose and cuddling and curling up really close next to you and lazy morning sex.

I like stuffing my mouth with food until breathing becomes a challenge, and then starving myself for the next couple of days to make up for the consumed calories.

I like hospitals and hotel rooms and waking up in strange places and staying up late in stranger places.

I like getting lost— in the city, in moments, in my own cigarette smoke.

I like the smell of tuna straight from the can and freshly-cut grass and laundromats and Coppertone and his hair at the end of the day.

I like the beach and the spray of saltwater on my face and the sting of the midday sun on my skin and feeling the sand grate, and the wind whip, against my body.

I like fries stuffed into my burger and green salads with lots of cheese and chicken swimming in gravy and caramel sundaes.

I like bad reality tv shows and movies that make me go ‘whoa’ and songs that make me hit the pause button while I write down a line or two.

I like noise and comfortable silences and conversations that go nowhere.

I like after-sex silences; after-sex conversations; after-sex cuddling; after-sex fights.

I like getting my heart tangled and realizing I was wrong just a little too late and picking up the pieces and having a bottle of alcohol swat away all emotions.

the boys i mean are not refined
they go with girls who buck and bite
they do not give a fuck for luck
they hump them thirteen times a night

-e.e. cummings

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2007 SUCKS SO FAR.

January 2, 2007 at 2:06 am | Filed under breaking up the girl, the single girl phenomenon

I’M SPECIAL, RIGHT? By that, I don’t mean ’special kid’ who needs to wear a bib at the age of 21 to protect herself from her drool; I’m talking Avril Lavigne Like-I-Was-Special-Cos-I-Was-Special kinda special.

I’M A SPECIAL GIRL AND I WANT MY LIFE TO HAVE A FUCKING DRESS REHEARSAL TO PREPARE ME FOR THE REAL THING.

Yes. Helga The Weber fucked up. Again.

I knew this day would come, and I’m actually sadder than I thought I’d be. What a way to fucking greet 2007: drunkenly and intentionally spilling my drink on Austin’s (yes, that’s Chuchubells’ real name) cousin, being taken home, sitting in the back of the car with him in front— drunk and mad and blabbering, me intoxicated beyond coherence and just sitting there quietly (I fucking hope!), letting myself into our compound, sitting in the dark— in our driveway, beside the exercise machine, trying to figure out how I managed to fuck up.

I should’ve gone to Rockwell with my friends. They ran into Mark Herras.

And so it is over, and I had the gall to be the one to end it. “K, we’re done.” No reply, no acknowledgement. Fine. I’ll take what Ely said and accept that I might not ever get that. Allah called him up and a woman answered his phone. Yeahok, I AM LETTING IT GO. I am sad, I like the guy A LOT, but I am letting it go.

D and I are friends. At last. GOD, IT IS TAKING HIM FOREVER TO REPLY TO MY E-MAIL (but he e-mailed me first, okay) AND I NEED TO TALK TO SOMEONE WHO WILL MAKE ME FEEL LESS SHITTY. Aa couldn’t do it, neither could my housemates. I know D is the one person who can. And that’s just sad. 

Sit on the bed alone, staring at the phone.
He wasn’t what I wanted, what I thought, no. (HE IS!)
He wouldn’t even open up the door. (HE WOULD!)
He never made me feel like I was special. (HE DID!)
He isn’t really what I’m looking for. (HE IS!)
He never made me feel like I was special. (HE DID! HE DID!)
Like I was special, cos I was special.

NYE2007 photos to follow.

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IT ENDED BAD, BUT I LOVE WHAT WE STARTED.

November 19, 2006 at 5:05 am | Filed under breaking up the girl, technicolor lover, the single girl phenomenon

I don’t want to wax emoetic over the fact that D just dumped me last night, three hours before my shift for work. Boyfriend is in Galera right now, and after two days of being incommunicado, he finally texts me. What we had was awesome, but hey, let’s stop blah blah blah. I told him I always kept my end of the bargain (kinda), and that I respect his decision, but I’m not about to be friends with him.

And that I don’t know which is sadder: the possibility of me never having good sex again, or that I’ve finally lost him :cute:. But enough about that. Let’s quote one of my favorite break-up songs: LiLo’s Over (by the way, I’ve reconstructed my Oh Well— WHAT WASTED UNCONDTIONAL LOVE!— playlist to include some RnB songs for major heartbreak. Oh why did I have to fall for a man who listens to RnB).

I watch the walls around me crumble, but it’s not like I won’t build them up again.

I realized over coffee, cigarettes, and the Oh Well playlist that I’m capable of getting even without getting mad first. In a demented and masochistic way, of course. Running to his ex and spilling the beans (oh, did I mention? They broke up last week) isn’t something I’d do— that’s, like, totally B-class you-slept-with-my-boyfriend-you-slut! drama; and I’m all for the bitch-slut-whore-you-slept-with-my-friend!!! kind of thing. B+ drama, what’s up.

In other news, I fell down the stairs last Thursday and sort of sprained my lower back and my left arm. The new boytoy and I were supposed to go out for drinks Friday night, but I was too plastered from lunch (I kidnapped one of my co-workers and made it my mission to turn her into a Southern version of me. Translation: Project “Let’s Make Vida An Alcoholic”. We started drinking at 12 noon) and had to take a nap to prep myself for another night of fun social casualties. I woke up Friday night with MAJOR CHILLS, like mehn, my teeth hurt so much from chattering non-stop for two hours.

The spoiled brat in me kicked in— boytoy offered to take me to the hospital the next day (after WE have OUR car carwashed), which turned into “Do you want me to bring you to the hospital right now?”, to which I replied with an “Are you fucking kidding me, can’t you see it HURTS to even move my toes right now???”

He got me out of my miniskirt and put me in sweats, socks, and his jacket. Basically, his “I’m gonna rape you tonight” statement turned into “I’m getting you medicine, and you better eat something”.

Oh, and I’m at work. I refuse to take more paracetamol and mefenamic acid, because I am aiming for the clinic to send me home by lunch. So I can sit in my Vortex, smoke a pack of Marlboro Reds, and listen to the Oh Well playlist.

I won’t be the one to chase you, but at the same time you’re the heart that I call home.

:cry:

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I CAN ONLY BE YOUR LOVER, NEVER YOUR GIRLFRIEND.

November 5, 2006 at 10:25 am | Filed under breaking up the girl, technicolor lover, the single girl phenomenon

I’ve been trying my hardest to not write about my relationship woes. But after a bottle of rhum, two hours of sleep, a ten-minute shower at 1am, a mad dash to get from Katipunan Avenue to Makati (while listening to Aimee Mann, Suzanne Vega, and Norah Jones), slipping on what’s supposed to be non-slip steps, scarring my shin, and still ending up NINEFUCKINGMINUTES late for work— please. I need this.

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