Pink, Dilemma, Fear and Non-fat Yoghurt
Before we continue with today’s post, let me say hi to all the girls at Dutch Elle. I love you all! Thanks for crashing my website several times in the past 2 days. Hahaha!
Wearing a pale-coloured top in this third world shithole is no easy feat when you’re a sweaty betty like me and Mischa B. Yesterday afternoon was an exception. It was beautiful — not too hot and not too sticky. It’s amazing how I managed to roam around the block without a single sweat mark on my clothes.
I’ve been living in a cocoon for far too long and it’s been quite awhile since I last ran some errands. There’s a lot of things on my "to-do" list so I thought I’d go out for some fresh air. To celebrate the occassion, I thought it would be appropriate to wear pink.
It’s refreshing to wear pink. I don’t have that many pink items in my wardrobe because I used to hate that colour with a passion. I generally associate pink with fucked up prepubescent little girls with tiaras, fairy wands, pink vanity mirror sets, old rose teacups, Barbie and all that bullcrap.
The only time I’ll wear pink is when I really want to piss people off, like the time I went to my hotel’s gym in St. Petersburg, Russia (Grand Hotel Europe) two years ago. I stayed there for a week (it’s a fabulous, fabulous hotel) but the stench of testosterone in their gym was too fuckin overwhelming. On my second day at the hotel, I thought I’d shake things up a little bit by wearing a super flourescent yellow t-shirt that says "I LOVE SPICY TUNA" and my hallucination-inducing, BAM-WHAM-BAM neon pink Juicy Couture sweats with the word "juicy" (in HOT YELLLOW) emblazoned on my bum cheeks. You should’ve seen the look on everyone’s faces as I ran on the treadmill. That was priceless.
Since then, I started collecting pink things slowly but surely. A pink necklace here, a pink bracelet there, perhaps a few t-shirts, cardigans, whatever. Variety is the spice of life and it’s always nice to have a wide assortment of things available at your disposal. Although I know pink will never be a personal favourite, I know for sure that I can see myself wear it every once in a while.
My first stop was Starbucks where I picked up a venti iced tea. There are 3 things I like there: cafe americano, iced cafe latte or iced tea. I don’t like all those fattening frappuccino, mochaccino and everything-else-that-belongs-to-fuckin-ENCINO drinks that everyone else seems to love. Frankly, I’d rather drink bile!
Today’s Obligatory Paparazzi Shot
I was supposed to pick up my new frequent shoppers card at the department store (Rustan’s) because I lost my old one and then I thought it’s best for me to send Eunice to do it for me some other time. I started having a phobia because one of the sales staff at their fragrance counters scared the living shit out of me.
There’s this one guy who follows me around like a puppy dog. I can’t even have a proper look on other cosmetic counters without being harassed by this guy peddling his wares. I mean, I bought a lot of items from him in the past… he’s really nice, very accomodating, he reserves everything I want, blah blah blah but he got really agressive in the past what, 2 or 3 months?
You see, my first stop every time I go to Rustan’s are the Chanel and Dior cosmetic counters because they’re located right beside one of their entrances. Like any other beauty junkie, I like to talk to sales staff, ask their opinions, check out the latest lip gloss colours, highlighters, etc.
So… I went straight to Chanel the last time I went there and in no less than 15 seconds, I FUCKING SWEAR TO MAHATMA GHANDI’S GRAVE, Mr. Fragrance Dog ran straight to the Chanel counter, 3 or 4 bottles of fragrance in tow, offering me some samples, yaddi yaddi yadda. It was absolutely crazy. I’m not the type of person who will say "fuck off" because I know he’s only doing his job but he was harassing me. I never put on a bitch fit. Ever. Not in real life, I don’t. Even the time when I went to a restaurant and I had to wait more than an hour for a table because I was late for my reservation, I still didn’t bitch about it. I do now (hahaha) but you really won’t see me scream my lungs out to anyone in public. It’s just not me. I know many, many people who nag whenever they’re not happy. For instance, my once told a McDonald’s counter guy that they" close up shop" because the guy said it will take 8-12 minutes for them to make a Big Mac.
To be honest with you, if someone served a cockroach with my food, chances are, I’ll probably eat it… and then blog about it. Hahaha! Nah, I just hate complaining (in public)! Putting up a scandalous bitch fit for everyone else to see no matter how beneficial it might be for others is just not my thing. Even if you voice out your complaint, I don’t think it will accomplish anything because in this life, there will always be incompetent people and bad service. The stress factor is enough to give me wrinkles and sometimes, it’s just best to forget about it.
Anyway, I politely smiled at Mr. Fragrance Dog and told him I’ll pop by his counter later. Even the lovely girl at the Chanel counter rolled her eyeballs and told him to piss off.
He does it EVERY TIME I GO THERE. EVERY BLOODY TIME.
There is no question that his Bryanboy radar is on crystal meth. Either that or I probably smell REALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLY bad hence all this fragrance bonanza madness.
I really hate pushy people. The more people push me to do certain things, the more I’ll stay away from them. All my life I’ve been constantly pushed to do this, to do that and I fucking hate it.
I’m gonna cut this story short. Gotta love verbal diarrhea. The point is, instead of going to the department store, I ended up visiting the supermarket. I LOOOVE SUPERMARKETS!
Yes, 10 pounds. It should be easy, yes? I hope so.
I’ve been bingeing an awful lot recently and I thought I’d go back to basics and starve myself until I lose about 10 pounds. My ANA/MIA friends will definitely praise me for reinstating my club membership.
I bought a few bottles of diet coke, a couple of non-fat yoghurt, a carton of cigarettes and some of those plastic cups of diced peaches.
After the supermarket, I went to the hospital and asked my doctor for a prescription. I used to take Reductil (sibutramine) last year but I quit because I don’t have the discipline to take a pill EVERY DAY. I’m gonna make sure I do it this time around. I asked for a 30-pill prescription, 15mg, once a day, every day.
For those of you who wanted to know what it is, Reductil (aka sibutramine) is an appetite supressant. It works by ‘fooling’ your brain into thinking that you’re "full". However, it takes quite a few months before you see the effects. It’s not a miracle diet pill or anything.
I also popped by my aesthetician’s clinic for my usual facial and an IPL (Intense Pulse Light) session. I want fantastic skin god dammit!!! I wanna be gorgeous…
… AND GET RID OF MY BINGO WINGS, TOO!!!!!!!! I’M SOOOO OBESE YOU KNOW, I FEEL LIKE I’M A LITTLE CHILD CRYING IN A COLD, DAMP, DARK, LITTLE ROOM. I HATE BEING ALONE IN MY LIFELONG BATTLE WITH FAT. I HATE IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
As always, email firstname.lastname@example.org or SMS +63.915.785.1492. Send me a note and tell me you love me.
I love you all!
PPSS. Remember to keep the faggotry alive!
PPPSS. What the fuck are you waiting for? Christmas?