NORMALCY: I WILL HAS IT.

November 6, 2007 at 2:36 am | Filed under mr wonderful, the helga manual

Last Saturday was horrendous: not only did lover drag me to Jaipur, he also forced me to wear a bra. What a cruel, I know. That, however, is not the point. Early into the night, as we were seated at Jack’s, lover asked why I was being “so quiet”. Not wanting to confess that I had been thinking about WarBook and cephalopod footprint fossils and counting bases and eggshells ON A SATURDAY NIGHT OUT WITH HIM, I merely gave him a shrug and said that I was getting impatient waiting for my drink. After more minutes of silence from me, he asked if I could see myself interacting with the other girls who were at the table with us.

I looked at the girls (still thinking about WarBook and cephalopod footprint fossils and counting bases and eggshells), looked at lover, looked down at my hands, and then looked back at lover. I sheepishly shook my head ‘no’.

He laughs, quite condescendingly, then proceeds to tell me that I’ve been corrupted by my flatmates. And that I’m no longer normal.

ME, WITHOUT MY WIG & MAKE-UP, HANGING OUT IN THE BATHROOM.

Now the thing is, I am very aware that my friends and I are one dysfunctional bunch and that we tend to influence each other’s behaviors and personalities more than we care to admit. But I see myself to be the normalest and most reserved among us because unlike them, I still have my inhibitions. Thus, I am actually normal…when compared to them.

This doesn’t really pose as a problem because save for lover, they’re the only people I hang out with anyway. I’ve long given up on trying to make friends out of my co-workers (those people who give me blank stares and surreptitiously shuffle away whenever I say hi to them) and all my college friends seem to be pretty determined not to invite me to their little collegy reunions for fear that I might do something not normal and embarrass them. I mean Christ!— four years have passed since I humiliated Clem at her 18th birthday party by chasing her around barefoot and shrieking “Titi! Titi!”. Get over it and forgive me?

Moving forward, I like to lead myself into thinking that I’ve hit the jackpot with my current friends. Not only are they totally cool and amazingly intelligent people, they also fill the two qualifications I need in friends: one, they have to be borderline alcoholics; two, they have to live in my area. Yup, I’m happy with my pals. But being told by the person you love (and who supposedly loves you) that you’re NOT normal? It kinda makes you stop, think, and re-assess.

So when I woke up on Sunday, it was with great resolve that I shall be normal. Or attempt to be normal. After failing to bug the lover to a state of consciousness (because I was bored on a Sunday morning and needed someone to talk to), I got out of bed, went into the bathroom, sat on the toilet, and started making a mental list of steps to take towards normalcy. I named the list “STEPS TO TAKE TOWARDS NORMALCY”.

Twelve seconds later, it hit me that normal people don’t do what I was doing.

Feeling guilty for failing so quickly, I went back to bed and prayed. I figured that that’s what normal people do on Sundays. And then I carried on with my list:

STEPS TO TAKE TOWARDS NORMALCY (rough draft)

1. I will stop speaking LOLkittynese. There is nothing more not normal than bad grammar and misspelling such basic words like ‘why’ (whai), ‘like’ (liek), ‘there’ (thurr), and ‘liar’ (lier).

2. I will not be pre-occupied by WarBook 95% of the time. Not only is it unhealthy, it’s just so…geeky, and in a bad way. The other day, I impulsively gave lover a hug and instead of telling him how sexy he is, I said: “WARBOOK!!!!”

3. Find a new less-shitty and worth-the-stress-and-exhaustion job.

(Huh, where’d that come from?)

4. No more cracking jokes that only cause people to stare at me in horror. I will normalify my sense of humor and never again shall I think that randomly inserting Sheryl Cruz into a conversation is funny.

And that’s my super short list. I know it’s not much, but I’m kinda not sure if having a list with more than four items in it is normal?

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RANDOM CHEESE FOR A BETTER TOMORROW.

November 2, 2007 at 11:59 pm | Filed under camwhorage, memes and such

Hi, my name is Helga and my face in that photo up there is what I usually look like when I’m in a good mood. Just in case you’re a bit stupid, I’m the one in the brown hoodie.

It’s Friday, I’m in love. Not necessarily in a good mood, not necessarily focused, not necessarily in tip-top shape.

SO ANYWAY, BECAUSE I AM PERPETUALLY DISTRACTED BY WARBOOK AND NOW, MARS 2025, I’ll go down Lame Lane and do a meme.

But before I do, a question: how do you pronounce ‘meme’? Because I say ‘meeem’ and if you pronounce it any other way, YOU ARE WRONG.

Appetizer
How much money do you plan to spend this upcoming holiday season?
— Um. My whole 13th-month pay?

Soup
What was the last television show you watched, and was it good?
— Euromaxx on some local tv station. It’s something I can watch in complete silence. Meaning: no running commentary on how moronic the show is.

Salad
If you had to paint the walls of your living room tomorrow, what color would you choose?
— My landlords are a couple of assholes and this is a lame question.

Main Course
Name something clever or practical you have thought of that should be invented, but hasn’t yet.
— YOU KNOW WHAT WOULD BE AWESOME? If goddamn workforce just did it’s fucking job correctly and be able to accurately forecast our call volume BECAUSE WE’RE FUCKING FORCED TO CUT OUR LUNCH HOUR IN HALF TO RENDER OVERTIME AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!

Dessert
List 3 things you would like to receive as gifts this upcoming holiday season.
— a Lomo Fisheye
— a taser
— a sunny day

I hate this job.

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MORE LANDLORD RANTING.

October 30, 2007 at 2:57 am | Filed under bitchin' a ride, camwhorage

For Halloween, I went as a lesbian.

Okay, so the truth is: my last-minute plans of going as a Girl Scout or a missing remote control were foiled by the lover and I making an adventure out of going to Mordo and Jen’s place down south. Meaning, we took the train and the bus and then hung out at ATC while waiting for someone to pick us up— not exactly something I’d like to do in a Girl Scout uniform or with two cushions stuck to my side. MEH.

So anyway, a blight to what could have been a perfect weekend (practically spent in bed, recuperating from the Juans’s awesomtastic Halloween party) with the lover: more landlord issues. I’m seriously sick of dealing with our two psycho landlords who are obviously determined make our remaining months in their building a living hell.

For the past eight months, my two housemates and I have been renting out this two-bedroom condo unit in the perpetually noisy Xavierville Avenue. Since we pay for the rent and the utilities, we expect to be able do as we wish. After all, it’s not a boarding house or a dormitory, yet the landlords lay out silly rules as if it were. We can’t have people sleep over without a written request (which is “not guranteed and subject to approval”) and we also can’t have visitors stay beyond midnight (a rule we continually and purposely break).

It was kinda tolerable, really, even though the asshole night guard with the faded blue uniform would ring our doorbell at midnight to remind us that it’s time to kick out our visitors. We kinda just learn how to bring in our guests in the afternoon and keep them inside the unit til the next morning. I was able to shrug off that incident when the nice guard went up to our unit to inform us that the landlords were planning on having the lover’s car towed, even though it was a Sunday and the shops downstairs were closed and there was no shortage of parking slots ANYWHERE. I was also able to laugh at and make a joke out of that time when the crazy landlord wife confiscated our umbrellas that we left outside our door for drying. I mean, Jesus Christ, how petty can someone get?

Unfortunately, I reached my limit when the asshole night guard semi-bitched at me yesterday, at 3am. You’re a security guard and I know you’re just doing your job and carrying out orders but you don’t talk to me in an arrogant tone and you don’t threaten me, saying that you won’t ever let my guest in— especially my lover— while you’re on duty. You’ll have the right to ban my guests the day you fork over money to pay for our rent and our monthly bills, you understand? As for the landlords, we’ll consider following their stupid rules once they give us our copy of the contract that explicitly states that we can’t have visitors past midnight, that we can’t have people sleeping over (because our friends are thieves and druggies and pedophiles and are threats to the building’s security and would rather troll the building’s three floors at two in the morning than spend time with the awesome inhabitants of Unit 2A *insert rolling eyes here*), that we can’t have people parking in the building (by the way, we were told before we got the unit that we’re entitled to one parking slot), and that we can’t leave our umbrellas to dry outside the unit.

GAH. I’d like NOT to deal with this crap, thank you very much. Three things about them:

1) We don’t have a copy of our contract. The first time Allah attempted to ask for it, they asked her why. The second time, they yelled at her.

2) They don’t pay taxes.

3) This all started because we wouldn’t bring our laundry to their laundry shop.

I told my dad EVERYTHING (except that part that I usually have a naked man in my bed during the weekends. That, and the fact that there’s a five-year old Chinese kid I’m holding for ransom stowed away under the bathroom sink) and he wrote down on his nifty to-do list: Helga, lawyer. I seriously hope I don’t calm down and turn soft because I would love nothing more than to ruin their family’s holidays by ratting them out to the BIR.

Comments (27)

(FAILING AT) STAGED DISTANCE.

October 25, 2007 at 11:27 pm | Filed under ditz drivel

Perhaps it’s the miserable weather that’s driving me to re-assess and reconcile certain aspects of my life and my person (whatever the hell that means); perhaps it’s Christmas nearing (two months from today) that’s causing this apprehension, making me want to cut particular ties as needed (or maybe just fall off the radar, yet come out unaffected and ready for the next round); perhaps it’s because his one more month is almost up and I’m disappointed (and surprised) at my indifference. You’d think that given the circumstance and the unexpected turn of events, I’d want time to stand still. Instead, I am rubbing my hands in anticipation, excited to see how long it’d take me to deal (quickly, I hope) and move on.

I’m sorry, but did you just call me a heartless wench? Because half of what I just said isn’t true.

Found a new poem:

I come in from a walk
With you
And they ask me
If it is raining.

I didn’t notice
But I’ll have to give them
The right answer
Or they’ll think I’m crazy.

-The Masks of Love, Alden Nowlan

And a comic strip:

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THE PERRY BIBLE FELLOWSHIP.

October 20, 2007 at 5:13 am | Filed under the internets

http://pbfcomics.com, for awesome LOLOLOLOLs.

Thanks, Lili.

It’s the weekend!!!

Comments (13)