Fat Thighs

Set this in stone. I will never, ever wear tights again. EVER! I have no idea what went inside my head but I took my green tights yesterday for a quick spin around the city.

A friend and I fought awhile back because she won’t stop nagging at me after telling her to piss off because I didn’t want to talk about my problems. She kept bugging me about what’s wrong, why are things blah blah blah and all that bullshit. At that time, all I wanted is a tiny moment of silence because I was depressed and exhausted. The more I think about my problems, let alone talk, the more harassed and pissed I get.

I used to be the type of person who trust others way too easily but in this life, shit will always hit the fan and I’ve finally learned my lesson. It’s hard to find genuine friends these days, especially when you’ve got a crappy attitude like mine, because most people will drop you like a hot potato when they find out you have flaws or after fighting for the first time. However, when you get messages like this via email immediately after an argument, you know that person is a keeper — someone you should treasure yaddi yaddi yadda.

091106_martini"You are such a child sometimes. Perhaps the only way to pull yourself out of your hole is to grow up and realise that other people have more serious life-threatening problems than you do. That is part of the reason why I decided to do this. And maybe if you stepped out of your bubble, then you’d see this face-to-face. You know I love and care about you as a friend, but honestly sweetie, ‘real friends stab in the front’, so best to hear this now before you are in your grave dressed in couture and surrounded by wax versions of yourself."

Instead of getting pissed, I thought, ZOMG shit allelujah!, I guess I was wrong for thinking everyone is fair-weathered. There are actually people left in this world who will tell you what’s wrong with you instead of putting up a fake, saccharin-infested face then stab you in the back. Shit, now that I’m thinking about it, I cannot help but laugh. You probably won’t believe how utterly hilarious all that ass-licking, sugar-coated patronizing lip service bullshit I often hear from many, many people.I really should’ve been crowned Miss Gullible International for being the most gullible twat in the history of mankind. If only I got paid every time I heard "you should know who your real friends are" as a plastic fantastic attempt to comfort me/gain people’s trust, I’d be a fucking billionaire by now. If anyone one can turn back the clocks, I’d just respond by saying "yeah, it’s definitely not you". Hahaha!

God, not even Fendi can lobotomize my stupidity back then.

Anyway, I was touched with her email because she made the effort to save our friendship on our first fight… which made me think she really cared.

Sometimes it feels like the best way to deal with problems is to run away from them, go shopping and hope they’ll be gone but what I learned is that it’s actually better to face them, analyze what went wrong and come up with a solution to resolve it. I apologized to her a few hours after I got that email email and everything is fine, dandy and fantastic between us. At least that’s what I think. Hah!

Enough drama and let’s play pictionary!

As a little token of peace, she invited me for dinner. We’re supposed to do it last week but I’m swamped with work so we didn’t have the chance until last night. Talk about immaculate conception. That bitch fed me so much food until I conceived a monster inside me.

Once again, I forgot to take photos of whatever it is I shoved inside my mouth last night but let me tell you, whatever it is I ate was scrumptious!

Don’t even mention my big gut. I camwhored after we ate, which is about 40 minutes and 5 lychee martinis later.

You know, I’ve been avoiding the whole idea of getting rhinoplasty done for years because it’s best that we appreciate ourselves for what we are but I’m really starting to get sick of my onion bulb nose. I mean, it’s massive and it occupies a quarter of my face!

There 3 things on my wishlist: rhinoplasty, cheek AND chin implants. Oh, and liposuction too because I’m the poster child of obesity.

I’m soo scared of surgery though. The last time I had surgery was back in the dark ages when I got my tonsils removed. Gotta love tonsilitis. God knows what happened but all I can remember was a) the nurse injected something in my ass that made me fall asleep and whatever it was, boy it was fucking brilliant and b) i got to eat massive amounts of ice cream after the operation.

Fuck it though. That surgery was responsible for fucking up my voice and it will haunt me for the rest of my life.

Here’s something that could give J.Lo’s ass a run for her money.

Yes, my bum is big so shut it. I used to have a nice, little concaved butt my ANA, MIA, KARENINA buddies would be proud of. No matter what I do, I cannot seem to stop this ridiculous fattening-up stage in my life so I might as well just embrace it and accept that fat is beautiful.

Big is beautiful but big will never work in Chanel. Case in point: my grotesque gut. I borrowed my mom’s super old and super small Chanel belt (yes, she was thin in the dark ages but now she’s a fat cow) and I ended up having rolls of fat running all over the place. You’d think black conceals flaws but in my case, it’s crystal clear it didn’t work.

My buddy Mauricio asked me why I’m torturing his retinas with my obesity photos and he told me that I should just end the madness, quit the cruisazyness and stop eating otherwise, he’ll resign his Cacee Cobb duties and find me someone more effective, like Fidel Castro or Mussollini. Oh well.

Today’s Obligatory Paparazzi Shot(s)

I haven’t posted obligatory paparazzi shots in the longest time so I think you might enjoy these.

Remember kids, I love each and every one of you. Email bryanboy@gmail.com or SMS +63.915.785.1492.

As always, keep the faggotry alive!

Baboosh_3

PS. Discuss this blog post on my Online Discussion Forum.

PPSS. I still want couture-clad wax versions of myself when I die. I wanna be dressed in Oscar de la Renta.