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 Devil Wears Prada (NDI NA SYA EDITED:) )

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r a f a e l
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PostSubject: Devil Wears Prada (NDI NA SYA EDITED:) )   Wed Jun 24, 2009 5:01 pm

This story was originally written by Henry David Thoreau .

Beware of all enterprises that needs new clothes.

enjoy Smile .
i'll be posting one chapter every two to three days so better see it many times Smile.

PS: This story is ACTUALLY for girls but when i've read it(its an accident, but very long sotry,so focus on the story:) ), i somehow liked it . Laughing .







CHAPTER 1
I knew nothing when I first stepped on the infamous elevator of Elias-Clark Building for

my first interview. I had no idea that the city's most well-connected gossipers and

socialites and media executives were obsessed over the flawlessly made-up, turned-out,

turned-in riders of those sleek and quiet lifts. I had never seen women with such radiant

blond hair, and didn't know that those brand-names costs six grand a year to maintain in

that others in the know could identify the colorists after a quick glance at the finished

product. I had never laid eyes on such a beautiful men. They were perfectly tones - not

too muscular because "that's not sexy" - and they showed off their life long dedication to

gymwork in finely rubbed turtlenecks and tight leather pants. Bags and shoes i'd never

seen on real people with brands Prada, Armani, and Versace from every surface.l i had

heard from from an editorial assistant at Chic magazine - that every now and then the

accessories get to meet their makers in those very elevators, a touching reunion

between Miuccia, Giorgio, or Donatella can once again admire their summer '02 stilettos

or their spring couture teardrop bag in person. I knew things were changing for me- I

just wasn't sure if it's for the better.






I had, until this point, spent the past twenty- three years embodying small-town

America. My entire existence was a prefect cliche. Growing up on Avon, Connecticut, had

meant high school sports, youth group meetings, drinking parties at nice suburban ranch

homes when the parents were away. We wore sweat pants to school, jeans for Saturday

night, ruffled puffiness for semiformal dances. And college! Well, that was a world of

sophistication after high school. Whatever intellectual or creative interest I wanted to

pursue had some sort of outlet at Brown. High school fashion was perhaps the single

exception to this widely bragged-about fact. Four years spent muddling around

providence in fleeces and hiking boots, learning about the French impressionists, and

writing obnoxiously long-winded English papers did not prepare me for my post college job.






For the three months following graduation, i'd scrounged together what little cash I

could find and took off a solo trip. I did Europe by train for a month, spending much more

time on beaches rather than museums and didn't do a very good touch to anyone back

home except Alex, my boyfriend for three years. He knew that after five weeks i was

starting to get lonely, and since his teach for America training had just ended and he had

the rest of the summer to kill before staring in September, he surprised me in Amsterdam.

I'd covered most of Europe by then and traveled before, so after a not-so-sober

afternoon at one of the coffee shops, we pooled our traveler's checks and bought two

one-way tickets to Bangkok.






Together we worked our way through much of Southeast Asia, rarely spending more

than $10 a day, and talked obsessively about our futures. He was so excited to start

teaching English at one of the city's underprivileged schools. My goals were not so lofty: i

was intent on finding a job in magazine publishing. Although i knew it was highly unlikely

I'd get hired at The New Yorker directly out of school, I was determined to be writing for

them before my fifth reunion. It was the all i'd ever wanted to do, the only place i'd really

ever wanted to work.






Well, nothing ends the romance more swiftly than amoebic dysentry. I lasted a week in

a filthy Indian hostel, begging Alex not to leave me for dead in that hellish place. Four

days later we landed in Newark and my worried mother tucked me into the backseat of

her car and clucked the entire way home. In a way it was a Jewish mother's dream, a real

reason to visit doctor after doctor after doctor making absolutely sure that every

miserable parasite had abandoned her little girl. It took four weeks for me to feel human

and another two until I began to feel that living at home was unbearable. Mom and Dad

were great, but being asked where I was going every time I left the house- got old

quickly. I called Lily and asked if I could crash on the couch of her tiny Harlem studio. Out

of the kindness of her heart, she agreed.





I bravely extracted myself from the crippling couch i'd been crashing on for the past

week and concentrated all my energy on not getting sick. i figured i had about one and a

half week left of exchanging leftover baht and rupees before i completely ran out of cash,

and the only way to get money from my parents was ti return to the never-ending circuit

of second opinions. That sobering though was the single thing propelling me from bed, on

what would be a fateful November day, to where i was expected i one hour for my very

first job interview. I'd spent the last week parked on lily's couch, still weak and

exhausted, until she finally yelled at me to leave- if only for a few hours each day. i bought

MetroCard and rode the subways, listlessly dropping off resumes as I went. I left them

with security guards at all the big magazine publishers, with a halfhearted cover letter

explaining that I wanted to be an editorial assistant and gain some magazine editing

experience. Lily's phone had rung just the day before and, amazingly, someone from

human resources at Elias-Clark wanted me to come in for a "chat". i wasn't sure if it would

be considered an official interview or not,but a "chat" had sounded more palatable either

way.





I washed down Advil with Pepto and managed to assemble a jacket and pants that did

not match and in no way created a suit, but at least they stayed put on my emaciated

frame.


to be continued Smile

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Last edited by r a f a e l on Sat Jun 27, 2009 10:14 pm; edited 3 times in total
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PostSubject: Re: Devil Wears Prada (NDI NA SYA EDITED:) )   Wed Jun 24, 2009 8:12 pm



^^
^^
--wEe, kakatamad mak' basa,

--nasa gitna pa lahn au..

--wak muh madaliin ang pag tatapos aa??

--weEe nice

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PostSubject: Re: Devil Wears Prada (NDI NA SYA EDITED:) )   Wed Jun 24, 2009 10:01 pm

try chopping out paragraphs..nakakahilo kasi basahin...bloke bloke mga salita...hehe

wag dikit2..hehe
basahin ko mamya

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loneliness is too much to handle for me, but the taste of fresh blood pushes me on... don't you get it? its always darker in my eyes...



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PostSubject: Re: Devil Wears Prada (NDI NA SYA EDITED:) )   Thu Jun 25, 2009 7:02 pm



--kakahilo basahin, naguguluhan au..!!

--naliligaw au sa pagbabasa...

--paki auz aman oh..

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PostSubject: Re: Devil Wears Prada (NDI NA SYA EDITED:) )   Fri Jun 26, 2009 6:23 pm

oh yea . ayus n ba un ?
hha .
pkiayos n lang kpwa admins and mods .
hha .
di p nman ian msyado mganda .
pero as TIME'S'GOESBY (Laughing ) pganda n ng pganda ian Smile

ge . di ko muna mmdliin .
hha .

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PostSubject: Re: Devil Wears Prada (NDI NA SYA EDITED:) )   Sat Jun 27, 2009 10:15 pm

aun ndi na sya edited . i've read it's been filmed .Smile

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PostSubject: Re: Devil Wears Prada (NDI NA SYA EDITED:) )   Sun Jun 28, 2009 5:34 pm


^^
^^
--itutuloy muh pa ba or ndi na??

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PostSubject: Re: Devil Wears Prada (NDI NA SYA EDITED:) )   Mon Jun 29, 2009 5:16 pm

^yea itutuloy pa . eto na nga tntyp ko na Smile

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PostSubject: Re: Devil Wears Prada (NDI NA SYA EDITED:) )   Mon Jun 29, 2009 5:54 pm



--cge!

--haha.. cpag mag type!

--mukhang tatamarin au makbasa waAa..

rofl rofl

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