cruella deville moments

we all have our moments when we simply want to be the classy version of bella flores - be really bitchy but still sound and look lyk you get your tan in st tropez or the hamptons and ski at aspen. think meryl streep in the devil wears prada. chos!
sometimes i have this illusion that i were as gorgeous as  julia saner or song hye kyo but as filthy super wealthy as a walton or a rinehart. then i could be as bitchy as la bella and i will be forgiven - simply because i am super fabulous, gorgeous and filthy rich. kidding!

but simple and poor as i am, i have really super wealthy friends whose moments of cattiness are real gems.  and i share them to you so you will learn from the masters. double chos!

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i was once window shopping in an expensive mall in one of asia's shopping havens (no, not singapore). it was around eleven in the morning and the shops had just opened. i went inside this upscale shop looking for a bag. but the shop girl was masungit, who didn't bother to entertain my questions. when i asked her if the bag i was lusting after had other colors (i wanted brown, the one displayed was black), she gave me a malutong na "NO!". angrily, i walked out, but not without saying "chaka bitch" to her face.
over late lunch, i told my suzie friend about this. her retort: "bakit hindi naman high-end ang xxx ah?!" (for her, a brand that retails a manbag for $1,500 (and that's the cheapest ha) is not yet high end.
her advice? we should go back to the store with loads of purchases from other more expensive brands with an alalay carrying the shopping bags ala julia roberts in pretty woman.
but i told her i am neither pretty, a woman nor rich.
"but dahlin, julia roberts was not rich either in that film. she even looked lyk a tranny in her destitute prostitute costume. in other words, she was simply pretty with a rich sugar daddy!"
 triple chos!

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in a malate bar and restaurant decades ago when it was still the in place to go. greenbelt and bonifacio high street were still an architect's dream at that time.
it was past nine in the evening, starless, humid and dry. my friend (another fiesty creature, mind you) and i were ravenous, craving for ice cold beer for me and wine for her and the restaurant's sumptuous salpicao, among other favourites. since it was a weekend and a summer, i was in my shorts, shirts and leather sandals (hindi pa uso noon ang suzie na  tsinelas from brazil).
at the door, the waitress stopped us and informed (rather scolded) us that we can't have a table inside because i was wearing sandals. it would have been fine with us, but the way she told us was so offensive. nakaka-babae!
(we usually enjoy dining outside of the restaurant because of the ambience, garden and all, but it was too hot that night).
my friend, in her usual high pitch, high society assumptionista voice, told the waitress: "ija, baka hindi mo alam kung magkano ang sandal na yan. sampung taon mong sweldo dito hindi mo kayang bilhin yan. oh tagalog yan para maintindihan mo!"
then we left.
the following week, she complained about the waitress's behaviour to the owner. pronto, the waitress was fired! chos!
(the restaurant is now gone, by the way, just lyk malate.)

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at an ultra high end restaurant in makati, on top of an office tower along ayala. (apologies. hindi po ako nagyayabang ha.) this restaurant is notorious for its very strict dress code (dinner jacket and all kahit lunch time) , which is a major headache for most of us reporters who are used to casual outfits when covering events.
anyway, i was in a hurry because i was already late for the press conference. it was friday, casual friday, so i was in my vintage dark blue ralph lauren jeans, tom ford cerulean long-sleeve shirt (with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow) and paul smith white shoes.
as usual, the receptionist (this time she was polite) told me that i could not get inside because i was not dressed properly. i told her i was not there to dine, but to attend a press conference. it was three o'clock for christ sake. trying to be helpful, she offered to lend me an old, smelly black dinner jacket.
"you want me to wear that?"
"yes sir."
"but it looks like you just borrowed it from some funeral parlor. it's smelly too."
"then you cannot get inside sir."
luckily, i saw the ceo of the company that owns the office tower getting out of one of the rooms. so i called him and told him my predicament. the ceo smiled and told the receptionist to let me in without the jacket because i am his personal friend.
tarush!

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that's all!