10 a.m. Today’s (office) headline: Madwoman on the loose; stay indoors. Subhead reads, “What caused her breakdown is unknown. But there’s an obvious suspect – yesterday’s meeting.”
11 a.m. I haven’t heard about the “news”. So I went about the usual routine of going to work and attending to my chores – reading emails, checking layouts, getting mildly pissed. But today’s disposition has been sunny, with that rainbow-color dream of going to Ateneo in August, thereby raising my net worth from zilch to ten. And probably Canada next year. Hmm…
Until the Madwoman came garbed in her sparkling ballroom outfit matched with a bling-bling and approached me with that old familiar mean ice queen demeanor. Wait. Weren’t we the best of friends yesterday?
“We have to talk.” Ooh. Didn’t like that glazed look in her fluffy red eyes. And she started tapping the table nervously in controlled rage. Good, looks like she took her self-control medication this morning.
“Yesterday, you said this blah blah…I don’t like the sound of me getting the blame all the time yar yar yar…so, guys, guys, from now on, you two should be working together blar blar blar. Let’s change the way we do things here.”
Oh God, her eyes almost turned white. Or was it mine? Ahahaha.
I could actually see my reflection from her shiny beads while she ranted on disturbing my inner peace. The balance of life within her 3-kilometer zone had been tipped over to the dark side. This immature, lazy and unprofessional spoiled hag has always been the cause of everyone’s misery. I will write a petition to the president of the republic to send her off to Azkaban for persistent ill behavior. Not fit to mingle with any living creature.
5:30am. Mooning about what to wear today. My killer heels have been known for ultimate source of discomfort. One reason why I rarely wear one save for occasions that require women to look fab and tall. And if I do, I make sure the ever reliable Nike cross-trainers are with me. Or one of those P800 Brazilian flip-flops.
7am. I decided to dig from my old treasure chest a pair of black Naturalizer completely powdered with dust. This, my friend, is probably one of the best fashion investments I have ever made. I bought this pair six years ago during a sale event in Megamall for only P2500, and have been using it ever since. The soles are still intact, no cracks on the leather except for small punctured holes my orange kitty gave it thinking it was an enemy in disguise.
Naturalizer black leather
But I no longer have those black trouser socks to match the entire outfit with. Except for the one with silver stars I remember buying from a bargain store in London. I looked like a screaming jejelogs wearing a pair of odd socks to work. Shit.
10am. I was already knocking on the doors of a mega department store to address a wardrobe crisis. Bought 3 pairs of black socks for only P219. Yay!
11am. I arrived in the office and found my 3-week-old designer working so hard. I felt guilty for contemplating his termination last week. He produced good results today (finally), after too much coaching. Oh God. I have never done this too much supervision before. How do I make this guy work like a pro, someone who has an absolute authority over what he does?
Maybe I wasn’t that supportive. Because I tend to see those anomalies in his designs and have him revise it a number of times. I was born with a sixth sense.
Hmmm…
Bugger. Never mind.
I went straight to my desk and checked my emails. 2,948 remain unread in my Outlook’s inbox. Half of it was pure junk, I mean those unnecessary trail of replies like “Copy, boss” and “Thank you” that I’ve been postponing to trash. Oooh. Loads of seminar email invites with unknown speakers no one would probably like to attend.
Delete, delete.
1,215 more left. I’ll decide tomorrow.
2pm. Spent 2 hours completing a press article, and rummaging through my folders for high-resolution photos. Zipped and sent to a partner only to find an hour later everything bounced back. Maximum inbox quota exceeded. The culprit, aside from the owner of this email who obviously rarely reads his mails, was the 57mb TIFF image file. Took it out and used YouSendIt instead. It worked.
3pm. Late lunch. I didn’t like my bopis though. Tasted raw. Had Cornetto to quell the craving.
4pm. Replied back to over a dozen of emails asking for enlightenment.
5:30pm. I called up Ateneo Graduate School and inquired about a diploma course in Digital Marketing. They are no longer with IMMAP (a mobile marketing association something) and have recently partnered with Regent University in Colorado, US. Which I think was awesome (!).
Should I ask the company for sponsorship? If I do, that would mean 5 years with them. If not, I am in no obligation or whatsoever. I can fly out anytime.
Decision tomorrow.
6pm. Gone to Animal House. I need to buy my cat his medicine. He’s got renal problems already. Probably acquired from years of eating too much sardines.
6:20pm. I caught a glimpse of the Bloody van! Full heightened alert. Oh God, not today. I’m awesomely fat.
Scanned the entire hall for any sign of a tall, dark and handsome creature. Registered zero. It’s been seven months and counting. Bloody could be a wrinkled man by now.
I’ve written 4 paragraphs so far today, but I have to delete the last one. Am not happy with my proposition. It sounds lousy, given the fact that I am a marketer and have a natural eye and ear for a really sound campaign. I wanted something controversial, an out-of-the-box idea that would create a stir, and scandalous enough that would make everyone die of curiosity…
Does this worth your Big Idea?
Okay. All that pain for just a free IPad? Do you know that your big idea’s worth is more than the price of any expensive Apple gadget in the market? I’m not telling. Ahahaha.
Awts. I’ve wasted half of my day figuring out what to write about in that piece when I should have been cashing on some assignments, and sleeping by now.
Stalkeries is a collection of personal stories I wrote since 2008. Occasionally, I would add to this collection new ones as I journey through life as a single female urbanite. I do not claim to be a relationship expert, shrink, fortune cookie or something. But I do believe I have the essential traits to help out, like enough brains to figure out what the psychos are up to and compassion for the misguided and lost. And the good thing is I don't charge. Maybe soon.
Entries posted here do not necessarily reflect your opinion. But feel free to post if you have something to say. I love company.
11 a.m. I haven’t heard about the “news”. So I went about the usual routine of going to work and attending to my chores – reading emails, checking layouts, getting mildly pissed. But today’s disposition has been sunny, with that rainbow-color dream of going to Ateneo in August, thereby raising my net worth from zilch to ten. And probably Canada next year. Hmm…
