SOMEONE’S A STUDENT.

January 21, 2008 at 10:21 pm | Filed under camwhorage, ditz drivel

First day of formal web design class today and I was royally bored for the sole reason that I had to endure four hours of basic html/xhtml— stuff that I learned on my own when I was 12. Almost over ten freakin’ years ago.

The youngest in our small class of five is this 13-year old dude who just graduated grade school. He said he’ll be moving to the US for high school and he’s taking up web design so he could earn money during the wait (or something like that. The moment he said he was 13, I lost all interest). Several times, I heard him exclaim “I’m just a kid!” when we were made to work on an exercise). I kept thinking: “how lucky is this kid?” When I was 12 and had just discovered gURLpages and the wonderful world of HTML, it never hit me that I could make a career out of making and designing websites. There were no schools that offered courses or classes on it back then (hell, the school I’m attending now was founded only 7 years ago). I was just a kid fooling around with WYSIWYG editors, outlining her layouts and content on notebooks, and doing her best to make sense out of strings of code and tags.

I was young and stupid, though. Not realizing my full potential (naks!) at an early age and not taking seriously the fact that I knew how to code (during a time when all my peers did was chat on mIRC and ICQ and host their photos on face-pic.com), I merely dicked around the innurnets and went down the blogging path. Ten years later and I’m still dicking around. All I have to show is a good grasp of HTML and CSS and some knowledge on PHP. I am SO left behind. I don’t even know Flash! I only have Photoshop CS2! I just recently started using the pen tool for cutouts and I still prefer the lasso tool! I still code using Notepad!

Anyways, finally, I have a goal (one that isn’t amoral and doesn’t entail anything illegal): to be the first student to ever get a certificate of excellence from my school. The final project is to create a fully functional website and it’s quite alarming, how easy and simple it is. Did I just waste my mother’s money? To make up for the expense, I’m seriously tempted to make a porn site.

My new favoritest thing in the world: Hershey’s Cookies ‘n’ Creme milk drink. I was STAAAARVING the whole day because I forgot to eat the whole Sunday and I didn’t have time to ingest anything but coffee this morning, so I was super glad to come home to this (yeah, I’m shallow and easy to please like that):

Yummers.

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HAIR-RIBLE. OPEN TO SUGGESTIONS. MAYBE.

January 16, 2008 at 7:18 pm | Filed under camwhorage, mr wonderful

I’m due for a haircut; I’ve been due for one since, I don’t know, 1993. Okay, so maybe just late last year, but it feels like forever. My last haircut was April 2007 and the reason I’ve left my hair as is is because I want Norah Jones-esque curls. Except my mom said curls won’t suit my fat face and quite honestly, I think I agree. That, and my dry ends make brushing my hair a pain. So it’s time for a haircut.

Or maybe waves, not curls? Gaaah, I really want non-straight hair:

Egh. I’m bound to do something useless and just have the stylist at Fix do the usual: chop off two to three inches and add more layers. A stubborn and most lilkely to be wrong part of me wants bangs. Again. Even though the last time I grew them out and once again had normal layered hair, a gay friend looked at me and noticed FOR THE FIRST TIME IN THE MONTHS I’VE KNOWN HIM that I wasn’t “hideous” (that was the exact word he used).

Anyhoots. Bangs or no bangs?:

I know, I know. I have no non-retarded photos of me with bangs. Or without bangs. I am apparently incapable of just looking at the camera and not smiling or grinning like an idiot.

I’d like to go for a bob or super short hair, but I haven’t had short hair since forever:

HELP.

That’s all. Nothing exciting happening. My unemployed ass revolves around books, DVDs, a non-existent diet, and Sims 2. A conversation with the lover that took place the other night:

Helga: You know, our sims have sex everyday.
Lover: Nagpaparinig ka? (Trans: what are you trying to say?)
Helga: I should be able to just click on you: cuddle, kiss, make out, woohoo.
Lover: Oh my god.

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CABS, RUSH HOUR, MKAE.

January 9, 2008 at 11:15 pm | Filed under bitchin' a ride, urban primadonna

When it comes to hailing a cab in the metro between the hours of three and eight in the evening, only one rule applies: it’s every man for himself. For someone who doesn’t know how to drive (you laugh, but wait ’til I kill myself because I had one too many rumcolas and ended up ramming my car into a wall) and for someone who doesn’t own a car, the term ‘Rush Hour’ basically translates to “I, Helga Gabrielle Weber, am fucked; I might as well grab myself a 1-piece chicken with rice meal, a Tomato-Lettuce-Cheeseburger, and a large fries from Jollibee and head back to the condo to play more Sims 2 (which is actually the reason as to why I ended up not leaving home early enough to avoid rush hour) because there is no waaay in hell am I going to get out of Katipunan; not right now, not in the next hour, not until 9PM”.

That was the case the other day. Tonight, I did not have the liberty of flipping the evening Katipunan crowd the finger so I prepared myself for the worst, left my laptop at home, and traveled lightly (ooh, so dramatic for a twenty minute cab ride to Pasig).

I waited seven minutes for a cab outside my building (I know it was seven minutes because that’s how long it takes for me to smoke a cigarette) and nothing. I flagged down a tricycle, got off at McDonald’s, and walked down Katipunan Avenue because lawd knows I’d have better luck getting a cab there. I checked the time on my phone: a little past seven. I figured that most students must have gotten home by now and I’d have an easier time getting a cab. WRONG.

Now like I said: it’s every man (or woman) for himself (or herself) this time of the day. No acts of gentlemanliness or kindness occur when it comes to getting your ass in a cab; and really, no one expects any sort of chivalry during desperate times. What I do expect, though, is some fucking decency; some evidence that these rich college kids aren’t a bunch of assholes and fuckheads.

Or maybe I’m too mannered when it comes to certain things. Am I the only one who thinks that there’s such a thing as, uh, cab hailing etiquette? And if there isn’t, well, there should be. Nevermind that you’re dealing with strangers and people you’ll never encounter again (thus, giving you the excuse not to be nice pffft)— it’s not right to steal someone else’s cab.

So I have here a super short list called The One Thing You Should Never To Do To Your Fellow Stranded-In-The-Metro-During-Rush-Hour-Waiting-For-A-Cab Men When You’re Stranded In The Metro During Rush Hour Waiting For A Cab:

1) DO NOT HOUND SOMEONE WHO’S WAITING FOR A CAB, IN HOPES OF BEATING THEM TO THE FIRST CAB THAT SLOWS IN FRONT OF THEM. There is nothing more annoying than this, I swear. On the same note: when waiting for a cab, keep a distance of at least ten meters between you and the person in front of you. Do not give them the impression that you are itching to pounce on the next cab that merrily rolls your way— a cab that’s rightfully theirs.

I remember this time when I was running late for work and it was 5pm on a weekday on Katipunan Avenue. I was standing outside Red Ribbon, desperate for a cab when two Korean girls sneakily made their way behind me. I looked at them, shrugged them off for being weird and Korean-y, and started walking towards 7-11 (better chance of getting a cab from someone getting off at the condo building). They were tailing me, planning to steal my cab! The non-English speaking Korean nerve!!!

So I killed them.

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ON ARMPITS, INTIMACY, AND PUBLIC BEHAVIOR.

January 8, 2008 at 6:22 pm | Filed under Y!M conversations, mr wonderful, the helga manual

Despite looking like your average run-of-the-mill wouldn’t-know-better good-for-nothing Filipina adult who you’d think, at first glance, most likely spends her time doing average run-of-the-mill wouldn’t-know-better good-for-nothing Filipina stuff— I actually don’t. Or I’m actually not. Or: I’m actually not and I actually don’t.

It’s been pointed out several times by lover that I am not normal (actually, not just not normal but far from normal) and that I should be taking steps towards normalcy. And I am working on that, and anyway, that’s not the point. The point is: at the risk of being laughed at or having your respect levels for me plummet to -19, I’d like to come clean and say that I. Have a thing. For armpits.

All along, I thought having an armpit fetish was an acceptable thing. Until today:

WEIRDING OUT SOMEONE WHO LIKES TALKING DIRTY TO HIS PENIS. :(
KILI-KILI = ARMPITS

This thing for armpits began some time ago when I saw a picture of Jerry Yan wearing a sleeveless top for a Pepsi endorsement. Instead of saying the usual “Patingin ng titi!” (trans: your penis, show me it), I got so…interested in his armpits and his armpit hair that I said “PATINGIN NG KILI-KILIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!!!” (trans: I could have sex with your ampits if you showed me it).

I never actively pursued my men’s armpits, though, and it wasn’t a non-negotiable when it came to whether or not this guy would make a qualified partner in bed. Truth be told, only two of my exes had armpits yummy enough that made me want to pitch a tent in them and live there forever. One of them was 6′3″ and the other used to fight— professionally. So to say, they had (uhhh) big and (uhhh) very accomodating armpits that doubled as a pillow because back then, all I had was a tiny single bed that could hardly fit two people.

(Dear Lover,

Love,
Helga)

Lover’s armpits are another story, though. They’re not big, they’re not very accomodating, and quite frankly, they’re a couple of snobs. But I have never EVER met a pair of sexier snobs in my life. It can be said that I’m nearing the state of being obsessed. Lover didn’t sleep over the other night and I woke up to a dream of him showing me his armpits. So imagine my disappointment when I opened my eyes, rolled to my side, and saw not a sexy hairy armpit waiting to be kissed or have my nose buried in it, but empty space. I almost cried.

Having an armpit fetish is a dangerous thing for someone who hardly has any sense of privacy or for someone who is lacking inhibitions, both of which can be said of me. It’s also mighty embarrassing for lover that I am or have all three. Several times it has happened that we’re in a public place and I automatically reach up his sleeve to tuck my hand into his armpit. It’s something I do out of habit and as sort of like a replacement for a kiss or a hug.

Of course, lover had to analyze the shit out of it and kill it for me by saying that showing affection for armpits in public is actually a gesture more intimate than a kiss; posing questions such as “would you greet your friend by touching their armpits?” and “would you kiss your friend’s armpits?”. The answers to both questions are an obvious no…although there was this one time that Aa was passed out and drunk in my bed and I had to move her and she wouldn’t budge, so I bit her armpit— that doesn’t count, though, because I did it out of necessity, not because I had the desire to.

I’m curious: is armpit-touching in public something you actually notice? I know that no one sane would consider it acceptable public behavior (same goes for loudly commenting on your partner’s ass— something that I, once again, am guilty of), but is it something that would grab your attention if you see strangers doing it?

Helga: I’m blogging about your armpits.
Lover: You’re kidding me.
Helga: Nope. Lol.
Lover: Aww baaaaayb, lol.
Helga: They’re so sexy kasi eh hmp.
Lover: Fine. I’ll blog about your singit.

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IT WAS ABOUT TIME.

January 6, 2008 at 5:04 pm | Filed under admin, mr wonderful

Uhh. Updating for the sake of saying that I, uh, finally changed headers and the color scheme. Something I’ve been meaning to do since May last year. The last layout, the one that I’ve secretly always referred to as my Easter Egg layout, has been around since April 2007 (thus the easter egg colors, doi) and I’m glad to be rid of it. Still using the same theme, as I like this one.

It’s my face again because I am vain and because lover told me to use my eyes in that photo. So I decided to use my nose. The colors on the header’s left side are actually the colors of my dress that night/New Year’s. And you need to know all this because?

What’s a good color for the date? Anyone know anything about Wilmington NC real estate? :(

In other news, today has been a real lazy Sunday spent at Starbucks with lover; my laptop against his laptop as we sit right across each other, talking over YM and Twitter. What a geeks.

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