DISASTER. OH GAWD.

April 23, 2007 at 3:21 pm | Filed under a waste of human capital, camwhorage

Out of boredom, I dyed my hair. The first and last time I ever attempted to do so was a few weeks shy of my 18th birthday; I guess I did a pretty decent job, considering I was only 17 then.

Quick comparison.

I thought it appropriate to take a “Hi my name is Mhe-Annze, I’m from Balara, txtm8z?! EB?!?!” photo. Bah, I know I look fug there, but it’s okai! Cos I’ve got inner beautay! And all that jazz!

ARGH. Look at my eyebrows, look at my hair. So I did what seemed to be the sanest thing to do, up until 5 seconds ago (cos now I have nooo idea how I’m going to rinse it out— dunk my face into a basin of water?): I used the leftover dye on my eyebrows.

Next time, I find time to sit my ass in a salon and have a pro do it. Red highlights, yes. Or totally go Fiona Apple-brown. It’s instances like these that make me feel I’m a waste of kikay estrogen. I can do the dishes, do the laundry, scrub the floor, maybe throw in some ironing (and cooking, definitely cooking. And shoe-shining), and pee perfectly into a bottle. But I cannot, for the life of me, cut my own nails, pluck my own eyebrows, and dye my own hair.

Also, I think this is nervousness I’m feeling: tonight, I get to see what it really is like, being a corporate travel specialist. Ooh boy, after more than two months, I’m back to taking in calls. Also, I’m craving for Kublai’s eat-all-you-can buffet.

Can’t everyday be Sunday?

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TWITTERED.

April 20, 2007 at 1:36 am | Filed under the internets

A while ago, I swore to never sign up for a Twitter account. But these fine upstanding young men have been having somuchfun without me, and that just makes me suicidal.

So if anyone’s on Twitter, add me up: http://twitter.com/helgatheweber. Let’s be friends? No? Okay!

Also, I added a Twitter badge to my sidebar. Except it won’t update.

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‘FAGGORT’ IS THE WATCHWORD.

April 16, 2007 at 5:22 pm | Filed under Y!M conversations, camwhorage, the internets

You’re a gay if you didn’t get socially-retarded with us at Man Blog Poker Night last Saturday. As gay as Mikey is in this photo.

Maybe not gay. Just… not cool. Enough.

This is Mikey licking his monies:

This is Bim trying to reach for his nipple:

This is Ade. He’s pogi.

Shoot, wrong pic! NOT ADE, NOT ADE! This is Ade:

Poker Night photos here, here, and here.

Also, I injured myself again, accidentally kneeling on a headband while taking photos. Nasty, I know. Plus, the scab on my right knee is starting to peel, and I know that wounds are nothing new to me since I am one of the clumsiest drunks alive, but— am I supposed to just let it be? Answer, so I know whether or not I can take off the scotch tape that I’m using to keep the scab intact.

SO ANYWAY! We have a new Furby. This is Drew trying to look like Teddy Bear Mislang, and succeeding.

This is me drinking AGAIN and in my Kylie-esque hoodie, Sunday morning.

I’ve had The Work of Director Mark Romanek on repeat since after PBB last night up until this morning (while having my seemingly standard three mugs of coffee with my crossword puzzles), so I decided to channel a little bit of Fiona Apple— ratty underwear, but with a little lot more meat. Argh. Another week, another shot at anorexia.

This is just too cute:

I’m aware that my entries of late have all been picture posts with some text thrown in. Fuck you all, that’s how much fun I’ve been having.

(And that’s how fried my brain is. Alcohol + travel industry + not enough sleep + eating once a week— okay, okay, so maybe thrice a week = not good. Hand me the brain candy.)

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TURNING MONDAY INTO SUNDAY.

April 9, 2007 at 7:06 pm | Filed under camwhorage, joyful girl, technicolor lover

This post has a lot of photos.

Because I spent a huge chunk of my Sunday morning in bed and my Sunday afternoon-evening on the bus ride home to the city, it only seemed apt that I spend today pigging out (yeah, like I didn’t do that the whole long weekend) decked in unfabulous clothes while going around this side of the city— from a dental clinic in Philcoa to lunch at Trellis to dessert at Banapple to iced tea and cigarettes at Chocolate Kiss. Just as if it were a lazy Sunday afternoon.

My companion during the long ride home. Six hours from Quezon to Cubao because of traffic ON A SUNDAY? The cruelty.

And OMG OMG OMG. Lightsome.

I am aware that you can see my bra and a little of my little Asian boobies.

Meet Princess Jocelyn Salada who loved my strawberry crunch cheesecake just as much as I did.

Drew and Jocelyn.

Anna and Jocelyn have the same scrunchy faces.

I’m happy, she’s sleepy. Or sad. :(

Chicken Little-ish.

AND THEN WE RAN OUT OF GAS. LIKE SERIOUSLY, WE HAD TO WALK FROM BANAPPLE TO CALTEX. YOU’RE NOT A KATIPUNAN KID IF YOU’VE NEVER WALKED ALONG KATIPUNAN AVENUE EXTENSION, YO.

Princess Jocelyn Salada goes to Chocolate Kiss and fattens up on bottomless iced tea.

Start ‘em early.

Back in the city, back to work. And if anyone must know: D came back, and so did Chuchubells. I know I never mentioned the fallout Chuchubells and I had back in February. Losing my job and losing my man was both physically and emotionally taxing so I opted not to say anything here. But yeah, he’s back, too. He called me up Wednesday night (while my co-workers and I were speed-drinking and speed-eating at Cable Car during an extended break from work— good times) saying that we should catch up some time. And that he misses me, after all. And that his girlfriend’s coming home next month.

I’m tempted. So so tempted.

Also, I’m sick.

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I, THE ESCAPIST. AGAIN.

April 7, 2007 at 5:50 pm | Filed under camwhorage, ditz drivel

Wouldn’t it be awesome to disappear for a while and just live out of a backpack? All you need is a good pair of shoes, some clothes, a bottle or two of rum, and a desire for adventure. Come what may, baby, I’ve got all I need on my back. And if I run out of cigarettes, I can always bum from strangers.

The best friend and I got matching knee wounds. Note to self: do not circle around someone (like a cat!) when drunk, especially when I’m wearing nothing but shorts. And a shirt, of course.

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