AN ENTRY TO BORE YOU TO DEATH.

November 2, 2008 at 9:43 pm | Filed under ditz drivel, totally domestic

Tomorrow will mark a week of living in my new address— a neighborhood light years away from real estate bliss (24-hour Quiapo-bound jeepneys pass through my street, for chrissakes) but it’s convenient. The Anonas LRT2 station, a decent supermarket, a wet market, an Andok’s, a McDonald’s, a Chowking, and a handful of little stores that sell cigarettes and ice are all short walks away. I’m back to my old getting-to-work routine of boarding two trains and walking a bit to get to my office. It’s been bearable, so far, and I don’t mind getting hot and sweaty during the walk from Ortigas station to Emerald Avenue (to those familiar with the area: I turn right at Guadix and pass by what I believe is the side of ADB, exit at Robinson’s Equitable Tower, cross, and then go through Garnet (?) before finally hitting Emerald. Pretty soon I’ll have sexy muscled calves, you’d think I took Winadrol). You are all free to stalk or have a smoke with me as I walk, I usually get off the train 1130-ish.

Since I am new to the hood, it’s all still very unfamiliar. I have yet to find a laundromat and I’m guessing I won’t find any in my vicinity since there are no nearby dorms or condominium buildings. I’ve been doing my own laundry, washing my clothes in the sink and rinsing them in the bathroom before hanging them out to dry in the tiny laundry area we have that currently houses our stove (need to have a table built for it). I also need to hire a cleaning lady to come in every Sunday because getting down on all fours and scrubbing the floors isn’t exactly my thing and mops and I don’t exactly get along.

Party soon. So long as some of you promise to help with cleaning up. :)

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HELGA & ALLAH COOKING GHETTO STYLE.

January 29, 2008 at 8:34 pm | Filed under breaking up the girl, photos, totally domestic

Lover going back home in a week. Would rather not talk about how much this devastates me. Maybe when the dreaded day comes.

Today, to keep my mind off of things, I put on some happy music (aka Hanson), broke a glass tile, and decided to make some carbonara. I whipped out the instructions my dad dictated to me while he drove me home from the grocery a couple of weeks ago and began the therapeutic process of cooking. Nevermind that everything I cook has this tendency to make my stomach stage a mutiny against the rest of my body (or maybe that was just that one time I put too much olive oil in my pesto).

Halfway through it, housemate #1 came home. So I give you: Helga and Allah, Cooking Ghetto Style. That’s what one gets with an ill-equipped kitchen.

KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE PAN, PLZ. AWAY FROM THE TUMMY.

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PATIENCE. RUNNING. THIN.

June 28, 2007 at 2:28 am | Filed under photos, totally domestic

Note to self: Helga. When you’ve just come home from a nine-hour shift at work (plus half an hour of unpaid overtime and a one-hour commute) and you didn’t get much sleep the previous day, the smart thing to do is take a quick shower and hit the sack. You don’t work out for half an hour. You don’t clean out your drawers. You don’t do the dishes. You don’t make a grocery list. You don’t sort your laundry. You don’t take your 6-kilos of sorted laundry to the washers. You don’t go to the supermarket to tick off items on your grocery list. You don’t spend twenty minutes cooking chicken and making a salad afterwards. You just DON’T. Because you’ll wake up with achy joints, a blasted headache, and a half-functioning brain that you’ll have to deal with until 4am the next day. Also, you’ll be sleepy.

Several things about the inhabitants of unit 2A. Or, several things about us as a household:

We are a house of juice-drinkers. We can only go for one day without fruit juice before one of us gives in and heads to the nearest sari-sari store to buy a litro pack of Tang. Well, not really, cos we’re not squatter like that. But don’t be surprised if we come knocking on your door with a glass in hand, asking for juice (and perhaps rum and tuition money). In exchange for sexual favors, if you play nice (like give us rum and tuition money).

We store our things on the floor. We don’t know what those nifty box-like things mounted on our kitchen walls are for (the ones with the little white knobs with rose imprints on the doors), but they’re pretty cool. Same goes for the rectangular things under the kitchen counters; the ones that appear when you pull them out, and then disappear when you push them back in? Awesome, right? Anyway, they make these nifty creaking and slamming sounds when we open and close them. Sometimes, when I need a good waking up, I do that for a few minutes until my ears hurt and I have successfully woken up another housemate.

We’re all really men, which should explain the abundance of condoms strewn randomly around the house. Okay, so that’s not true. It’s just that I emptied out one of my drawers and threw away A WHOLE LOTTA JUNK, including two empty bottles of lube, several condoms, and an ex-lover’s toothbrush. Said drawer now contains a Bible, a rosary, and an El Shaddai handkerchief. In blue.

It’s quite refreshing how seemingly content I am with how mundane my life currently is. I’m starting to fall into this comfortably boring routine of work, domesticity, and the standard weekend rum-a-thon with friends. And camwhoring.

(Yay, I finally figured out how to play with my camera settings. I hate that my stupid Cybershot doesn’t have manual mode.)

That’s all.

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WHERE MAGIC HAS YET TO HAPPEN.

November 5, 2006 at 1:31 pm | Filed under joyful girl, photos, totally domestic

What’s up, photos of my new room.

Wooden floors! <3

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