Archive for urban primadonna
March 16, 2007 at 2:03 am | Filed under a waste of human capital, ditz drivel, urban primadonna
Just to say: because pay day is two weeks away, I have temporarily moved back in with my folks. There are pros (I have access to the intarwebs, even though its dial-up!!1) and cons (we never run out of food). So for the past few days, I’ve been taking public transportation back and forth Antipolo and Makati, and I realize: it fucking sucks. Like, no word or phrase or sentence can convey just how much I hate passing through C-5/Pasig at two to two-thirty in the afternoon. I’ve already been late three times this week.
Anyway. I usually take the bus from the office until Galleria, and then take a cab home from there. Tonight, I took the bus all the way to Valley Golf since our trainor let us out an hour early (for the sheer lack of anything to do to review for our US geography exam later). And two things happened:
1) The guy sitting next to me slipped me his calling card before getting off the bus. Well, not really slipped slipped. More like he put his card on top of the crossword puzzle I was answering (Rosario, Pasig and its All-Day All-Night Traffic Specials). Lulz, and his name is Jojo.
2) I ran out of phone credits just as I was about to text my mom that I was near our village (so my brother could pick me up at the gate). No working pay phone, no store where I could buy credits for my mobile. For ten seconds or so, I seriously thought I was fucked and would have to walk the five miles (or maybe even more omgz) home. Until I saw the guard house.
Life is so exciting.
I’m glad that alcohol the weekend still makes me giddy. And I’m gonna be a normal person next week in the 7am to 3pm shift.
And yes, Klassy, I remember:
Oh, Miriam College days.
September 25, 2006 at 8:57 am | Filed under ditz drivel, technicolor lover, urban primadonna
The weekend that was can be summed up in five words: alcohol. And more alcohol. Woohoo!
Three geeks and a girl. Friday night saw me east of the city at Home Alone Roel’s place with Gutch and Gelo. Notable how Gelo greeted me when Roel and I met up with them at 7-11 to buy drinks: “You look drunk.” It wasn’t supposed to be an all-night thing, so can the host tell me why I got home at 5am? :P
Starting early. I greeted the Saturday morning with a nasty headache, wondering to myself when the hell did I start having hangovers. This was cured by liters upon liters of water and several episodes of Veronica Mars. At a little past three, Sunrise’s resident fairy, Drew, giggled outside Anna and Allah’s room with an invitation to start the night early. He had psyched himself up so much that waiting for the sun to set for the alcohol to start flowing into our systems was unbearable.
The social weather and such. First stop was Drew’s— the crappiest watering hole (that’s just my humble opinion, of course) that offers the most disgusting drinks (save for the Jam Jar— that was actually almost good, but I don’t see it in their bar list anymore?) and plays host to the most exasperating crowd this side of the city.
Yes, yes, I admit that back in the day, I once gave the owner a lap dance and rendered one of his friends shirtless. Reformed Katipunan biotch, what can I say.
Hard chairs and wuss drinks. Drew’s was rented out for the night, so we had to leave after a gut-wrenching two liters of Jerbaxx (did I mention they also have the grossest names for their drinks?). It’s not like we wanted to stick around anyway :P
So off we went to Tribu where the five of us (3 girls and 2 gay people— I have resolved to surround myself with people of the harmless genders until things return to normal between D and I) managed to rack up over a thousand bucks in food and wuss drinks (rhum cokes, mango rhum shakes, and long islands?). I believe I had six long island iced teas which brought down the buzz that the Jerbaxx gave me. :hmph: We were later joined by a member of the forbidden sex, but yeah, Yero’s harmless enough.
A broken heel and forbidden beer. At 10, we headed back to Sunrise so Allah could get dressed for work and the rest of us could change into something Duran Duran-ish for Duran Duran night at Saguijo. So much for avoiding beer at the two bars we previously came from— I left with three bottles worth in my belly and a broken heel.
Soda thief! We’re not ones to call it a night at 3am, not without being idiotically drunk. We end up in the ever-so-familiar Meatshop for more rhum and more food. When we had downed the bottle of rhum, the guy from the table beside us stood up, grabbed our bottle of Coke Light, went “Amin nalang ‘to” and left. How… very working class. And yes, my heel was still very much broken.
Home, sweet, home. It is beyond me where the bottle of gin came from, but there it was. The sun was up, I was watching Veronica Mars, and taking a shot of gin and I don’t even remember what my chaser was. Breakfast!
D is still being a bitch and Surfer Boy and I were texting each other last Saturday night. Yeah, I finally worked up the courage to say “hi” and he replied!!! Again, he’s invited us to Siargao. Cum to Siargao. Cum. Just cum. Haha! :cute:
I think I’ll de-toxify this week.
September 14, 2006 at 9:37 am | Filed under bitchin' a ride, urban primadonna
On my way home yesterday, I told an old lady to hurry the fuck up, or move to the goddamn side.
But I was prepared and faking a phone call. She turned around, I gave her a big toothy smile, pointed at my phone, and said (in my most annoying voice) sorry. “Saaaahraaaaaaay!!!”
Unfortunately, only the words ‘fuck’ and ‘goddamn’ seemed to register in her brain. :hmph:
I ain’t made for this country, yo.
(Karma got me in the ass when I got home, though. Stupid tricycle driver didn’t have enough change, so I was charged an extra 4 bucks for my fare. Four bucks is nothing, but it’s still four bucks.)
PS: I <3 Prison Break.
PPS: Why am I so pissed at the world. Oh. Right. D.
September 8, 2006 at 11:47 am | Filed under joyful girl, urban primadonna
Eleven hours and fifty-five minutes later, I finally leave the office. Forty-four minutes, I am paying for a tube of toothpaste and two new bottles of nailpolish (Joy— peachy-pink, and Diamond Gay— bluish-gray).
Okay, so this whole noting-the-minutes isn’t going to work. I just wanted to point out that I spent 11 hours and 55 minutes of my day AT THE FREAKING OFFICE yesterday.
I took the train home, and saw a cutie a few feet away from me on the platform. “Cutie” doesn’t seem to fit; “beautiful” would be more appropriate. Fair-skinned, curly hair, facial fuzz, glasses; a backpack, jeans, sneakers, and a long-sleeved white polo with the cuffs folded up to his elbows. Late twenties, early thirties? He catches my attention, I look. He looks back, I look away.
We get on the same train car, and I hold on to a pole while he is still a few feet away from me, holding on to a handle dangling from the ceiling. I notice his baller band on his right wrist: Instituto Cervantes, it says. Dios mio, if this guy smokes Marlboro Reds, he’s perfect!
Because we seem to be soulmates (:P), we both get off at the Katipunan station. Everyone rushes towards the escalator, me included. FUCK MAN, I’m tired and my feet ache— I usually take the stairs, but not today, buddy. He heads towards the nearly empty stairs and throws a look my way.
He was way ahead of me by the time I made it out of the escalator. I didn’t quicken my pace; after all, I walk fast enough as it is. I slip my ticket back into the ticket thing and push the bar— pushed it too soon, it was still jammed, and I hurt my hand. I let out a loud “OUCH! FUCK!” and ignore the several looks I got.
I catch up to him at the second escalator— the one that would lead us back out into the world and into our own separate ways. He is on the step before me.
I suck in my tummy (which causes my pants to slide a little down my hips and my shirt to ride up my belly a bit), fluff my hair, move to my left, step up to his step, and step up to the step in front of him. I turn sideways, lean my elbow on the rubber railing, blow at a strand of hair, and tilt my head to look at him.
Our eyes meet and because I am a C-O-W-A-R-D, I look away after one and a half seconds and proceed to walk up the remaining steps.
Lalalalala :spin:
September 7, 2006 at 9:56 am | Filed under bitchin' a ride, made in the Philippines, urban primadonna
I have nothing against walking, the sun, and walking under the sun. It’s something I actually enjoy doing provided the right circumstances, the right setting, the right people and provided that I won’t have to do it on a regular basis (and with my lifestyle— I don’t). But walking under the sun IN THE CITY, IN STILETTO HEELS AN INCH AND A HALF HIGH after a nine-hour shift at work just irritates the shittles out of me— especially when it could’ve been easily avoided if only the people around me weren’t such idiots.
(On my way home yesterday, a woman got on the bus somewhere in the Ortigas area and sat next to me— no, squeezed her sticky self next to me, even though we were occupying a three-seater. We were to get off at the same place: Farmers, and it was CRUCIAL for us to get off right there there there because the bus was taking the fast lane and the next stop would offset me by [I'm guessing] more than a hundred meters.
We were seated near the back of the bus and she took her time to get up and move when the bus was ALREADY AT OUR STOP. I had already stood up and was nudging her slightly [she was in my way]— a signal that she should hurry her ass down the exit because unlike her, I have to be somewhere. She didn’t. And so we I miss my stop and am inconvenienced. Unnecessary anger.)
Walking through Cubao isn’t my number one most hated thing in the world (that honor belongs to gaining weight) but it comes in pretty close. It’s a scorching Wednesday afternoon and the diseased masses of Cubao move as if they were going for a Sunday stroll in the park, seemingly unbothered by the vehicular fumes. Sometimes, they’re also unmindful of other people and act as if they own the fucking city and block the way. Oh look, stairs, perfect!; let me stop RIGHTHERE and send someone a message on my phone. Who the hell cares if I’m a goddamn obstruction— I don’t.
(You know what else I hate? Groups of people who stand around by the entrance or the exit and discuss where to go next or whatever. MOVE TO THE GODDAMN SIDE AND LET PEOPLE THROUGH.)
Stressed, sleepy, hungry, and angry, I comforted myself with a 16-ounce brownie tempation blizzard from Dairy Queen.
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. 
