April 16, 2010 at 10:27 pm | Filed under ditz drivel, photos
I didn’t like my high school.
Like, if I got wind of the news (because I kind of don’t really care enough to actively keep myself updated when it comes to my high school) that the university had decided to shut the place down, I’d be all “LOL, that’s awesome.”
Some time ago, a fellow blogger told me I should write about my horrible high school experiences (I remember a handful; selective amnesia FTW). I never got around to doing it because those years pretty much sucked BIG TIME for me and why blog about that kind of stuff when I could write about my current awesomeness and weight loss products, amirite? My life would make a pretty okay coming-of-age film, really (B-movie kind of thing with an Asian adult actress with tiny breasts playing me). Anyway, I’m thinking a series of entries about my years at SMALL TOWN HIGH would be interesting. Or would at least make you feel sorry for me? Or hate me more.
Whatever, just don’t psychoanalyze me, please. Mr Boyfriend was a Psych major and that dude can tell me stuff I didn’t know about myself.
A few things y’all need to know first:
- I was ugly.
- I was a big Hanson nerd.
- I was a competitive swimmer.
- I wasn’t popular.
- I wasn’t friendly.
- I wasn’t well-liked.
- I didn’t like going to class.
- I liked them boyz.
- Them boyz didn’t like me back.
- I changed best friends like I changed my school shoes.
- I liked to drink and smoke.
- I yelled a lot.
- I was always looking for approval. From mah peerz.
- When my Formspring still allowed anonymous comments, some shining winners from my high school constantly left me hate messages saying that I’ll always be the plastic, cock-sucking whore that I was back then or something like that. Awesome. Nevermind that I never got paid for sex nor did I suck cock then. And I can’t even begin to comprehend how I was the plastic one when I was always backstabbed by them pretty girlz.
- OMG OMG, my favorite high school memory: people writing crap about me on arm chairs and bathroom stalls!
Lord, I wanna give High School Helga a huge hug. Thank goodness for college (and having the best time of my life) and growth and moving to the city and kittens and blogs and love and trees and vodka. And good genes. Now before any of you start sniggering at me and thinking “LOL HELGA WATTA LEWZER”, let me remind you of my kewtness:
(I have to tell you that my boyfriend has big guns, too.)
So.
I didn’t like my high school and my high school didn’t like me. No love lost, I’m still awesome. Stay tuned for stories! Maybe they aren’t as horrible as I remember them and maybe they turn out to be pretty lame but please, I ask of you: do not throw tomatoes at me.
April 16, 2010 at 8:42 pm | Filed under ditz drivel
This morning, my mom asked me if I wanted to have a bed frame made.
You see, I’ve been living in this apartment, sleeping in this bedroom for close to two years now and my room looks exactly the way it did when I first moved in. It’s just my mattress, a little wooden end table, and a couple of shoe boxes I use to prop my laptop on or store clutter in (batteries, flash card cases, auto insurance quote, ribbons, secrets— that sort of thing). My walls are bare. As much as I want to make my room my room, the lack of space is discouraging. My bed takes up 80% of the floor area and though I really, really want a desk or a shelf in there but the Laws of Physics dictate that I can’t.
I’ll take a bed frame, though. I broke the last frame I had, did I tell you guys? I doubt it and I will not tell you how; it has been three years and those things are best left unmentioned. I told my mom I want a low bed frame, preferably half a foot high (or less) and maybe with a headboard so I can put stuff on it. I don’t want it made of heavy wood. This will result in my bed taking up 85% of my room which really, really sucks but hey, I’ll manage (ugh).
Maybe some time this year, I’ll finally get around to decorating my walls. I didn’t think I’d be staying this long here and honestly, I don’t feel permanence. My last apartment, I had put up photos and when our year-long contract ended, my housemates and I packed up and left. I still have those photos somewhere.
I would like to actually own my own place. Maybe a two-bedroom condo unit or a colorful, little house that sticks out like a sore thumb in the city… which I realize is impossible, as Bayani Fernando has made sure to paint all little houses garish shades of pink and green. Pft.
I would also like a typewriter. It’ll be for my walls.
April 15, 2010 at 7:46 pm | Filed under ditz drivel
I dreamt of Justin Bieber last night.
We were at my neighborhood grocery which looked nothing like my actual neighborhood grocery because in my dream, they had just moved locations (I know this because I went to the old one and was told to go next-door). I was there to get some ice cream and I remember they were out of my favorite flavor (Double Dutch) and there were just too many wonderful flavors that I couldn’t decide what to get. I vividly remember reaching for a pint of strawberry ice cream and putting it back because my dad likes chocolate; nevermind that I don’t even live with my dad.
And then Justin Bieber was there. Singing. Behind the left row of freezers that stored the ice cream (in this dream, two rows of freezers lined the grocery’s entrance). He was singing and I was frantically trying to decide which flavor of ice cream to get.
There weren’t a lot of people. I don’t remember seeing digital cameras. Just J-dawg singing to us.
I don’t even know what he sounds like.
I never decided on what flavor to get, by the way.
April 14, 2010 at 7:16 pm | Filed under lists, photos, the helga manual
“Please don’t turn into a hipster,” he said. “Your hiphophead boyfriend won’t be able to handle it.”
He doesn’t have to worry but you have to admit, I make a pretty wicked cute hipsterling (a baby hipster? A hipster n00b?):
(I’m never gonna have not red hair ever again. Blonde is an exception.)
Moving on: I just got back from a too-short vacation! Three days and two nights (plus the third night spent on the road, very much intoxicated) at the beach getting my drunk on. It was fantastic.
Anyway (awkward transition between blog topics is awkward), here’s a list of things I will never regret doing (someone needs four blog entries in two days and that someone is me, hurray!):
1) Dyeing my hair red.
2) Having that one last hotdog.
3) Drinking water before sleeping.
4) Peeing before leaving the house.
5) Being helpful to someone I don’t particularly like.
6) Taking public transportation to work instead of cabbing it.
7) Getting an insurance quote.
8) Writing things down.
9) Taking too many photos (I will whine about all the sorting and editing I’ll have to do but y’all know I love it).
10) Working out.
11) Giving my mom a hug!
12) Extra rice (like #9, I’ll whine about it but deep inside, I’m all “GIVE ME MORE CARBS!”).
13) Stopping after the fourth bottle of beer.
14) Waking up early/sleeping early.
What about you d00dz? What are things you don’t regret doing?
April 14, 2010 at 5:39 pm | Filed under ditz drivel
When I was in the fifth grade, I got punched in the face by a female classmate.
It was after school and we were running around and playing on the school grounds, waiting for our rides home or waiting for ourselves to tire from all the fun and games before heading home.
There is this stupid thing that little girls do: you grab the skirt’s hem of a fellow female friend or classmate and lift it, exposing her underwear or shorts. Lots of girls did it to me, I did it to a lot of girls. It’s embarrassing, annoying, and not even remotely funny (like most Filipino comedy shows and Willie Revillame) but we do it anyway. I think it’s a Filipino thing (is it?): finding glee in other people’s misfortune, finding amusement in other people’s embarrassment.
That particular afternoon, someone lifted my skirt. No big deal, I’ll just do it to someone else (don’t ask me to explain the logic of a fifth-grader). I ran over to her, lifted her skirt, and ran away (that’s how the game goes). She marched over to where I was and then punched me. In the face.
I was shocked and didn’t know how to react. It didn’t help that she was one of the popular kids while I was this ugly, dark-skinned girl with goggle marks around her eyes who didn’t have a lot of friends (or wasn’t friends with the right people). So she punched me and I didn’t punch back and that was that.
Fastforward to a little over a decade: we’re Facebook friends. Her photos show up in my live feed. Girlfriend is ugly. UGG-LEEE, I tell ya (the motorhome towing sort of ugly. WUT). The kind of ugly that makes me think: was she this ugly all along, all this time, all her life and I just didn’t notice it ’til I stopped being ugly?
I know I sound totally shallow and self-absorbed but plz, I got punched in the face. It’s okay, though, cos life punched her back with the ugly fist.
It amuses me.
Hi, I'm Helga Weber and welcome to my personal site. I'm 25 and in the process of learning how to make adventurous life choices. I dislike old people but I love grandma clothes. My goal in life is to build a ball pit right next to my bed. Currently searching for the perfect house coat. My lover is the greatest. 