If you've been reading my blog you would've come across a caption I wrote for a picture in Boracay (the one where I was with some people for a fashion pictorial for a local magazine I used to be Editor of). I mentioned about this wannabe who has the audacity to call herself the editor/publisher of this 'has-been' magazine (or should I say the magazine that went kaput after 6 issues?). I mean, if you can't freakin' write even if your life depended on it, don't quit your day job. But this wannabe quit her job as a glorified saleswoman (probably of some non-BFAD approved meds) and decided that she wanted to become publisher and editor of a magazine. Anyway, this intellectually-challenged biatch hired me to resuscitate her magazine. Apparently, after a few issues of attempting to write, she became the laughing stock of the whole city because, yes, Virginia, she can't write!! I mean, it would have been forgivable if she just had a problem with her writing style because she could actually work on that. But the thing is, this two-faced lunatic had (and still has) a problem with grammar that was sooo bad it made me 'want to puke' (to quote the late National Artist Francisco Arcellana after a classmate of mine submitted her super trite poem in Poetry class in college).
Anyway, I joined this magazine and I actually had a great time editing, writing, and styling the fashion shoots (even if the latter was not part of my job description). After my last issue (my contract said 6 mos. or roughly 3 issues), this idiot wannabe asked me if I could do another one. I said yes (huge mistake) but told her that I'd be editing via email since I was going on a trip to the US. We agreed that she would pay me half of my professional fee considering that I wouldn't be able to do half of the job. So, I went to the US and waited and waited for articles to edit but nothing came. When I got back to the P.I., predictably, I ended up finishing the job (overseeing the layout, following up the writers, editing, proofreading, etc.). The only thing that I wasn't able to do was the fashion shoot (which was not even part of my goddamn job description!).
To make the long story short, when payment day came, Ms. Cheapskate still paid me half! The gall, the guts, the lack of conscience and honor -- my gawd, I wanted to slap her face 1001 times! I mean, yes I know we talked about her paying me half, but that was because of the premise that I would be doing half of the job via email! If she had a conscience and some semblance of dignity, knowing that I busted my ass doing that last issue, she should have paid me my usual fee! Actually, the money was not important (it was measly, proof that she is in fact a cheapskate who could not afford publishing a magazine), it's the fact that she had no HONOR, no delicadeza, and no sense of integrity that really irked me.
I still have a lot of things to reveal in the next few days about this girl and her bogus magazine, but for now, I just want to say that last Saturday, after watching Hitman with hubby dearest, I came face to face with the fugly loser and guess what, I didn't even recognize her! I don't know if it's just me and my short term memory, but I think it was because of her generic, unquotable, dense, plain, and dumb face -- I mean, who the hell can remember a face like that?! Aside from the generic-ness of her fugly face, she was wearing a baseball cap. Was she hiding from someone? Rumor has it that she's been borrowing money from people because she can't pay her office rent. Although that is actually not a rumor as a friend of mine told me Ms. Publisher tried to borrow money from her. Karma, karma, karma!
Again, to make the long story short, Ms. Dumbo said hello to me. The gall! And I thought I was the one with the short term memory. After everything that happened between us, she says hello and that's it?! She expects me to go all mushy, shake hands, kiss and make up? Nevah! She is C-R-A-Z-Y!
After 5 seconds of memory lapse, it finally dawned on me that the git who said hello to me was actually the lowlife publisher that I wanted to lynch a year and a half ago. Of course, I went ballistic. If I had a gun, okay, make that 2 guns, I would have shot her brains out ala Hitman (the memory of Tim Olyphant was still fresh in my mind). So bitchy me approached the gutless git and told her that she makes my skin crawl. I said I haven't forgotten what she has done to me and the fact that she had the audacity to say hello to me is the clearest manifestation of how thick-faced she really is, blah, blah, blah! The whole time I was spewing invectives at her, she just stood there like the idiot that she was with her mouth open sputtering incoherent words. Pathetic!
What I did last Saturday gave me a sense of satisfaction. I know I should have done that a year and a half ago, but I guess delayed gratification is much, much better.
Anyway, I joined this magazine and I actually had a great time editing, writing, and styling the fashion shoots (even if the latter was not part of my job description). After my last issue (my contract said 6 mos. or roughly 3 issues), this idiot wannabe asked me if I could do another one. I said yes (huge mistake) but told her that I'd be editing via email since I was going on a trip to the US. We agreed that she would pay me half of my professional fee considering that I wouldn't be able to do half of the job. So, I went to the US and waited and waited for articles to edit but nothing came. When I got back to the P.I., predictably, I ended up finishing the job (overseeing the layout, following up the writers, editing, proofreading, etc.). The only thing that I wasn't able to do was the fashion shoot (which was not even part of my goddamn job description!).
To make the long story short, when payment day came, Ms. Cheapskate still paid me half! The gall, the guts, the lack of conscience and honor -- my gawd, I wanted to slap her face 1001 times! I mean, yes I know we talked about her paying me half, but that was because of the premise that I would be doing half of the job via email! If she had a conscience and some semblance of dignity, knowing that I busted my ass doing that last issue, she should have paid me my usual fee! Actually, the money was not important (it was measly, proof that she is in fact a cheapskate who could not afford publishing a magazine), it's the fact that she had no HONOR, no delicadeza, and no sense of integrity that really irked me.
I still have a lot of things to reveal in the next few days about this girl and her bogus magazine, but for now, I just want to say that last Saturday, after watching Hitman with hubby dearest, I came face to face with the fugly loser and guess what, I didn't even recognize her! I don't know if it's just me and my short term memory, but I think it was because of her generic, unquotable, dense, plain, and dumb face -- I mean, who the hell can remember a face like that?! Aside from the generic-ness of her fugly face, she was wearing a baseball cap. Was she hiding from someone? Rumor has it that she's been borrowing money from people because she can't pay her office rent. Although that is actually not a rumor as a friend of mine told me Ms. Publisher tried to borrow money from her. Karma, karma, karma!
Again, to make the long story short, Ms. Dumbo said hello to me. The gall! And I thought I was the one with the short term memory. After everything that happened between us, she says hello and that's it?! She expects me to go all mushy, shake hands, kiss and make up? Nevah! She is C-R-A-Z-Y!
After 5 seconds of memory lapse, it finally dawned on me that the git who said hello to me was actually the lowlife publisher that I wanted to lynch a year and a half ago. Of course, I went ballistic. If I had a gun, okay, make that 2 guns, I would have shot her brains out ala Hitman (the memory of Tim Olyphant was still fresh in my mind). So bitchy me approached the gutless git and told her that she makes my skin crawl. I said I haven't forgotten what she has done to me and the fact that she had the audacity to say hello to me is the clearest manifestation of how thick-faced she really is, blah, blah, blah! The whole time I was spewing invectives at her, she just stood there like the idiot that she was with her mouth open sputtering incoherent words. Pathetic!
What I did last Saturday gave me a sense of satisfaction. I know I should have done that a year and a half ago, but I guess delayed gratification is much, much better.
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