- Fashion Blog
8:08 am

Drunk and Ugh!!!!

18/09/2005, Clubbing

Drunk and Ughh!!!

8:03AM here and I’ve been home for the past hour and a half.

Tons of stories to tell but I’ll update when I get up later in the afternoon.

Quick Synopsis: Went to Cuisine, followed by Bob’s birthday party w/ Rajo L, then Hed Kandi.

God I’m sooo drunk and off my head.

Ignore all that excess flesh and flab that you see. Tank top by Jean Paul Gaultier, sunglasses, handbag and necklace by Chanel, necklace by Valentino, denim jeans by Gucci, shoes by Yves Saint Laurent.

and yes, I took public transport earlier today…. a cab!!!!!!!!!

I love you all!!



Updates later.


6:02 pm

Lovin Louis Vuitton, Klux Klux Kelly

15/09/2005, Clubbing

Lovin Louis Vuitton

Yesterday was productive.

MoonfestivalFuck the 2 hour drive from my house to the Lous Vuitton store. Rain or… rain, I was determined to go northbound. Had I left the house early in the morning (ike 2AM), it should take no more than 22 minutes and 18 seconds.

Believe it or not, I went out of the store empty-handed.

My ski bonnet (I’m totally excited about my snowboarding lessons… I’ve never done it before) and my nutria fur gloves arrived at the store but I can’t purchase them till tomorrow.

Ok, not quite the empty handed bitch cause I did get my Moon Festival Louis Vuitton invite.

I think I made the right decision to pick Russia versus France.

I need to call Chanel in Paris or New York to see whether or not they still have snowboards that they can send me by FedEx. I know they made snowboards at one point. Heck, I know Dior made Rasta snowboards last year.

Klux Klux Kelly


My oh my. I took Kelly out for the first time yesterday and boy it was a blast.

I think I had more fun than Kelly though. She was rather anti-social yesterday because I removed her Hermes ribbon neckpiece before we left home.

But the bitch ends up being gangbanged anyway.

You know what they say sweethearts

It’s the good girls that get pregnant first.

I’m at a loss on what to say – let’s play pictionary instead.











God my arms have never been so enormous. It’s at the stage where it’s getting absolutely ridiculous. As soon as it hits October on the calendar, I’m scheduling myself weekly lipodissolve sessions. I need my Paris Hilton arms back!!!! No more excessive flesh.

Don’t get me wrong – I have nothing against curves, flab, etc. on other people.

It’s just that I want my Paris Hilton arms BACK!!!!!

Not that I’ve ever had them in the first place.


Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax

#1 – Bryanboy loves people from Christchurch, New Zealand, Baton Rouge, Louisiana, Wilmington, Delaware and Amsterdam, Holland. Bryanboy loves y’all!

#2 – I also love Larae from Texas who browsed my site for several hours. S/he sent me a text at 6AM her time and it seems she can’t get enough. Hello there sweetheart! :)

#3 – Calling the attention of the MAC Cosmetics in the Philippines. When are you going to have MAC Clear Lip Glass? It’s out of stock at every MAC counter in this city… and it’s been 4 months since I first inquired. You lot still don’t have it until this day. My god, do I need to fly somewhere else just to get 5 tubes of cheapo but primo lip gloss?

#4 – It’s a known fact that there will always be a sad crying bitch whenever it comes to threesomes. Unless, of course, you take one up the ass while you give the other a blowjob. But yesterday’s threesome fiesta made half of the golden "discreet indiscretion" couple standing there, doing nothing. Maybe she was a voyeur? Who knows.

#5 – Little Miss Fancy Pants likes boys. I know it’s sad, considering the lesbian population in this country is dwindling. Despite all the rumors that she’s a lesbian… and despite the fact that she toys around with cracks and crevices in public, she has a straight lover of a man worthy of the International Male Catalog Award 2005. Oops, that didn’t come from me, I just heard it from the grapevine.

$6 – Belated Happy Birthday to Mickey L. Sorry for not making it to the party at Absinth!!!

You know where to contact me as always: or +63-915-785-1492.


5:07 pm

Fleece, Flesh, Fluxxe, Random Cheesemax Galore

05/09/2005, Clubbing

Fleece, Flesh, Fluxxe

First things first – what was I thinking when i wore my Marc by Marc Jacobs fleece top when I went out Saturday night? I should’ve known better that rainy days in this third world prostitution den of a city that I live in does not translate justification to wear fleece, even if it’s Marc by Marc Jacobs. I didn’t put the effort to dress up because I’m still suffering post-travelling traumatic stress.

Ianne, Tina and moi went to M Cafe for long overdue drinks (and dinner. sort of. I had 12 baked oysters, foie gras, and prawn + green mango salad). Apres M, we went to Fluxxe at Manila DJ Club. That’s right… Gian and the Thursday Fluxxe crew threw a "one big fluxxe" party last Saturday, a change from their usual Thursday sked.




I have to cut back on binge eating. For the past 2-3 months I’ve been supersizing myself. The effects are now showing up on my body… all that excess flesh are now gathering dust on my arms and my stomach. It’s hideous. Utterly hideous. I think it’s time to get a couple of rounds of lipoddisolve shots to, once more, attempt to achieve Paris Hilton’s arms. I think I’ll wait till late October, before I go to Moscow on November.

I guess I have to make do with what I have – for now.

I need to learn how to love my body.

That’s right. I need to love my body.

Love my body.

Love my body.

Love my body.

Love my body.

Buy someone to love my body.

Love my body.

Love my body.

Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax

Cosmobash #1 – Bryanboy loves people from Alexandria, VA, Cologne, Germany, East Alton, IL and Pandora, OH.

#2 – The angels must have been listening to me. I have gotten hold of this week’s hottest ticket, thanks to one of my friends. Eat your hearts and vaginas out bitches because my lucky cunt got a VIP Ticket to Cosmo Magazine’s Annual Bachelor Bash. If you only knew how hard it was for HIM to get one of these tickets… imagine going in competition with a ton of cock-hungry and man meat-deprived Filipino women and she-males. Thank you, thank you, thank you Mr. Benefactor you. *big hugs*

It’s gonna be one party with a ton of fit Filipino lads wearing nothing but teeny pieces of cloth. Most of these are probably Asians with 4 or 5-inch cocks. The sad thing is, a 9 or 10-inch dick is pretty much unheard of especially here in chinky chinky gooky gooky land. Who the hell cares though – it’s not often you pack a ton of fit guys inside one room.

The only thing I need at this point is an outfit. If any of you are going to the bash, hope to see you on Thursday night. And don’t forget to say hi!

#3 – I finally found the time to post upload all my Hongky Tongk photos online. Click here to view the photo album.


4:28 pm

Monster Fortune Teller in Vuitton

31/07/2005, Clubbing

Ugh. I got home at like 7:30 AM. I just got up and it’s like 3PM.

I haven’t slept that much to be honest. I’ve slept for like an hour or two, got up, eat/drink, sleep again, wake up again, drink water, sleep again, etc. I need to go to my shrink and ask to get new prescriptions. I’m running out of supplies.

Going back to things…

Fortune Teller Fish Fiesta

You know, I think there’s something fishy going on as of late.

Yesterday was a very good example of it.

I simply didn’t have an outfit to wear and everything was just done in the last minute.

So off I went to Vuitton right at closing time (8PM) to get one of my Alzer trunks cleaned up (and get a crate replaced). Imagine going to the Vuitton store with half of the lights closed out.

And super shopper me had to buy something there. No self-control whatsoever.

I was having a bad hair day and it was fucking raining so I bought their new bandana/head silk scarf — in the denim pattern. Loves it!


Then I went to my friend Tina’s house to pick up her little present for me. I asked her to get me a very long strand of very small plastic pearls but being Tina as in Tina, which I love about her, she went over the top and gave me all these:


I literally had nothing to wear yesterday. I went out with a plain black tank top, some fitted jeans, an old Chanel denim bag (my first… and it’s not vintage yet cause I think it’s about 7 or 8 years old) and a Gucci shrug.

Armed with the new bandana and the plastic pearls, I transformed myself into a Fortune Teller.



All I needed was a crystal ball to complete my look.

After Tina’s place, I went to a bar to meet Gian and I got introduced to some of his acquaintances and friends in London who are here in town. Then we went to good ol’ Embassy and this is where my nightmare began.


I created a monster. That’s all I can say.

For the next few weeks I’m gonna stay off the booze, off the prohibited substances, off the whatever. Things are just going out of control whenever alcohol is involved. Once I take booze, I cannot get myself to stop.

I probably had more than 10 vodka red bulls ast night, consumed about 3 bottles of champagne, endless gin tonics.

God knows how I managed to walk when I got out of the club at sunrise.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m not an alcoholic. In fact, for the past few months or so, I only drink booze once a week — on Saturdays when I go out. I don’t even drink booze at home!

The next time I go out, I’ll just have either orange juice, evian or coke.

I literally lose track of everything that comes out of my mouth when I’m ABSOLUTELY drunk. It’s not even funny.

I don’t even know how or what to feel right now – shame, embarassment, humiliation, anger, etc. I’m still numb with it all. Ugh!

To those of you (you know who you are) who I got in contact with, at the club, on the streets, on the phone/cell/net a few hours ago during my little drunk spectacle, can I have a request?

Can we pretend nothing happened?

Can we pretend we didn’t talk?

Can we pretend you didn’t hear from me?

You know, erase, erase, erase. Purge, purge, purge. Wave the magic wand and off you go to Neverland Ranch.

We never talked. I didn’t say anything. You haven’t heard from me, I didn’t hear anything from you.

Chances are, I don’t even know what I was talking about or who I’ve spoken to.

(Actually, I do…. but UGH. I don’t want to think about it.)

Purge, purge, purge.

(yes, that’s an old Chanel denim bag right there)

Anyway. I have diarrhea from all that booze I had yesterday and all that food I had today from lunch.

Diarrhea = Dehydration; Dehydration = Weight Loss.

Weight Loss = Fabulous.

I think I’m gonna go to the cinema later tonight. Watch some film. I don’t know.

My head is still spinning from yesterday’s drink drank drunk drunkard drama.

Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax

People from Oslo, Norway, people from Frankfurt, Germany, people from Glebe in New South Wales, Australia, people from Vancouver, BC, Canada.

Big shout out, lip-glossed airkisses galore to Tammi, Tina and Jasmyne. Bryanboy loves you, you and you.

As I’ve said before, Bryanboy really loves American Express. You should have one of their cards in your wallet. Like I do.


Enough Tara Reid talk. That bimbo probably has stretch marks on THAT inflatable flotation device on her chest I refuse to acknowledge her existence.

I need to take a poo now. As I’ve said, diarrhea galore.

You know how to contact me.


3:13 pm

Departure Time: 5PM Arrival: UNK

30/07/2005, Clubbing


It’s raining.

I’m going out of my mom’s birdcage tonight and I’m going clubbing.

I still don’t have an outfit.

I predict muti-strand pearl necklace. feather headpiece. vintage cashmere chanel cardigan in flamingo peach with navy blue trim paired with a tank top and jeans. 80′s excess….

But it’s too feminine.

And then I can do all black – vintage Ghost tank top, tight back pants.

I don’t know.

Oh I just don’t know.


If you’re going to the Big Fish event at La Embajada,

you might see me around the pink walls of VIP area

away from the crowd.

If you do, say hi.

I have short attention span and I tend to look around all the time so if you call out my name I might ignore you.

If that happens, just approach me, grab my arm and say hi.

And if you’re a fucking cute guy and if you fucking FANCY ME, just grab me, look into my eyes and kiss me on the lips.

I don’t care who you are as long as you don’t have a vagina (for now at least).

I’ll update either tomorrow, Sunday, or Monday, when I get back.

Pictionary galore.



5:07 pm

Sending the love..

23/07/2005, Clubbing

5:02PM here and people are bugging me to take a bath and get ready.

Another colourful weekend coming up.

Hotel room – check
Outfit – check (Marc by Marc Jacobs)
Narcotics Anonymous – check
Benzos for come down – check
"Friends" – check
"Acquaintances" – check

Hot sex with a really cute guy – priceless.

There are a lot of things Bryanboy can buy. For everything else..


I’ll update you on Late Saturday (US Time) or Sunday with pictures and class-A gossip.

Wish me luck! I love you, you, you, you and you. Each and everyone of you.

As always (and say it with me)


6:03 pm

A circus of a weekend

21/02/2005, Clubbing

A lot of stuff happened over the weekend, I don’t even know where to begin. All I know is that I’m feeling crap. I’ve never felt this crap in 2 or 3 years. I got up today at 12 noon with the worst body aches ever. Both my legs were sore to the point where it’s hard to walk, my neck and my shoulders hurt like mad and I had the worst headache ever, not to mention liquified poo and dizziness.

BTW, I don’t mind diarrhea. I actually love it. Well, not in a fetish kind of way but in a good way. I heard diarrhea makes you dehydrated and it also makes you lose weight. You know what I mean. Purge, purge, purge. With all the food intake I had over the past few months, diarrhea is one heck of a blessing in disguise. I’d take diarrhea and extreme body dehydration over anything else. 

I don’t think I’ve got the flu… it’s definitely something else though. I hope it’s just a bad case of the hangover and nothing too serious. I had to cancel my appointment earlier this morning with my dermatologists cause I felt sick to the bone.

Well, my sister finally graduated college/university. As planned, my familia de horreur went to the Westin hotel on late Saturday afternoon. We had dinner at this Chinese restaurant in Manila called "Emerald Garden". According to my dad the food was "authentic chinese" and it was good. The restaurant was jampacked — we had to wait 30 minutes to get a table. I’m not really a big fan of Chinese food. or waiting. Chinese food is soo… I don’t know. What’s a good word — domesticated? I really don’t know. I just don’t like chinese food, period.


After having dinner, I went back to the hotel to dress up. I was determined to go out. It was Saturday night afterall. If I’m gonna be in the city, I might as well ring up my friends and go out. Even if I haven’t slept for 48 hours, I had to go out.

My friend Ivan picked me up from the hotel at around 12AM and we went to this new club called "Embassy". God there were lots of people there that night. It was a good club. Not as good as the ones in London or New York but for Manila heck it was good. Besides, it’s nice to see that people put effort again. It was so crowded that night. And try going to a crowded club while being sober. You can’t dance. You can’t flirt. You can’t mince around.

The only thing I didn’t like is the fact that we had to pay to get in. I *never* pay to go to clubs. I mean, I’ll pay for drinks but entrance fees and such? Never. I’ll let this one pass though because it was new and we had to make connections etc. We’ll see how it progresses. Ha! What’s funny though is how when me and my friends left the club, my sister and her friends went to Embassy AND they didn’t pay. Gawd.


After a few drinks, Ivan and I went to the VIP area inside Embassy. Nice flooring, I thought. Saw a couple of my friends there, chit chatted for a bit, said hello to a couple of people then we left. Went to another club in Makati to pick up my mini-me prodigy, who, I have to admit, was lookin not bad that night — he read my blog afterall (hello John!) and then went straight to Malate to this club called "Bed" where I danced the night away.

I unleashed a little bit of the inner bitch that night. I can’t help it. I had to at least do something bitchy even if it’s only for 5 seconds. My mini-me prodigy (John) was talking to this old bald white man. I swear to god he was like ancient. I told him "don’t talk to these dirty old white trash people" — right in front of the old pensioner and grabbed John to go downstairs.

This potato queen obsession is something that I want to erase off the face of the planet. These rancid vintage sex tourists won’t stop coming to the country if they know people are going to entertain them. No wonder why chinks like me are having a bad name. Just because we’re chinks it doesn’t mean we’re gonna succumb to these old pensioner’s pension checks.

Anyway, I got back at the hotel at around 5:30. My sister and her friends got back at around 8AM. I spent the entire afternoon sleeping — I got up at around 12:30. Had lunch on my own, got some soup and a huge burger.


We checked out of the hotel at 3PM. I thought we’d stop by at the Manila Film Center. We saw these giant paper mache Egyptian thingie majigies and then there were like 2 sniper guys in position. It’s strange to see a S.W.A.T. Team with guns and all. It looks as if they’re off to kill someone. We had no idea why they were there. They were nice though cause when we parked in front of the Film Center, my sis’ friend forgot to close the car door. One of the S.W.A.T police guys came up to us and said we should lock our car doors. We asked why considering there’s only 2 cars parked (our car and their car) and nobody else was there other than us and the S.W.A.T team and they said it’s for our safety.


We snapped some photos and off we went home. I got up late in the afternoon today with a couple of fresh donuts, coffee and diarrhea from the Chinese food, too.

6:17 am

Knackered to the bone. I hate Spaniards.

23/01/2005, Clubbing

It’s 6:02AM and I just got home. God what a night I had.

Now that I’m home, I feel a bit feverish… my head hurts sooo much it can split into several pieces.

A lot of stuff happened tonight I wish I brought my camera with me… but my sister forgot it completely so we left it at home.

One thing that really shocked me was the fact that I

encountered a head-to-toe inspection by the

Spanish unfashionable police.

Oh yes.

I went to Government (this local club) earlier. I spent a good couple of hours dancing like a fucking bitch. Thank god there weren’t a lot of people — I don’t like crowded clubs; I prefer it about 3/4ths filled.

Anyway… I danced like a proper glamorous cunt. Oh yes, everyone stared at me. Even a bloody, half-naked (they all do that) muscle mary came up and said something to me but I completely ignored him; I just smiled because I didn’t pay attention to what he said.

I really had a blast. It was like being Cameron Diaz on the Charlie’s Angels’ dancefloor. I was invincible — and sober. Well, I probably had far too many vodka red bulls but at least there weren’t any drugs, which was a good thing.

So there I was, dancing my booty off on the dancefloor, new Fendi shoes and brilliantly customized jeans and all… then a bunch of spaniards,  3 of them to be exact, 2 girl fag hags and 1 faggot hairy-faced son of a bitch, spent their night trying to pick me up.

I know, I know, I sound like I’m full of myself but it was so bloody obvious it wasn’t even funny. The guy was literally trying to dance with me but I’m just dancing with my friends.

Always use Paris Hilton as your role model: dance

like a slut but don’t let the horny wankers touch


So yeah, I ignored the 3 Spaniards and spent the night dancing, drinking and chit chatting with friends.

Even my prodigy was there, the young one who was trying to be ME, because I left the scene ages ago. We did the usual hi, hellos, but I didn’t pay attention to him that much — my Fendi deserves better.

He’s an aspiring, young, chu-chu person. I don’t blame him though, he’s like only 18 or something. Hopefully one day he’ll realize fashion is only fashion — it’s only clothes, it’s only material stuff. You shouldn’t take it seriously. Considering he can’t even buy the real thing and he’d rather go to flea markets.

I give him A+ for Effort though. He does try it hard… really hard and for that I give him credit. After all, he’s still fabulous (gag me — faux fur choking my throat) and he’s friends with a lot of up-there people.

I should give him a makeover one time. I think it

would be a lot fun. I won’t even tell you what he

WORE on his hair a couple of weeks ago — thank

god he showed up today with elastic trash-free


You know, go to the Gucci store to get new season stuff instead of buying consignment shop "vintage" (vintage means old and crap) Gucci. But then again, I hate Gucci these days… so utterly boring.

Anyway, so I danced and I danced, I drank and I drank until my babysitter younger sister drove outside the club and called me.

I told my friends I have to go out for a bit… need to tell my sister I don’t wanna go home yet — it was around 4AM. You know me though… I have my own car but I don’t drive cause I got rear-ended twice and my dad won’t let me renew my license.

Then there they were AGAIn: the 3 Spaniards were outside the club. Fag hags and hairy-faced short faggot, all sitting on the gutter.

I had a mini conversation with them. I swear to god they were ALL over me, like they’ve never seen my type before. I certainly don’t mind the attention, I mean who on earth bloody hates attention? I know I suffer from Attention Deficit Disorder but this sort of attention was a whole new level.

The faggot was all like telling me how I looked so fabulous and fashionable (ick). But being the fake modest bitch that I am, I told them "Oh god no, I actually look like trash today because I didn’t put effort. I was just planning to have a simple night out and I’m just wearing simple clothes."

Which was true because usually whenever I go out, it takes a lot of fucking preparation and I have to wear my latest and finest gear — something that nobody has seen me wear before.

Then his 2 fag hag friends asked me EVERYTHING about my gear… and I mean everything.

1) Plain black t-shirt by James Perse
2) Very old Diesel jeans that I cut the waist off, same with the legs and then spray-painted it gold all over the place
3) My overused and overexposed Dior Rasta messenger bag
4) Dior Rasta watch
5) Louis Vuitton cuff bracelet
6) Fendi sneakers

Here’s the thing: they EVEN asked me what my underwear AND socks were — Calvin Klein boxers of course.

It was fashion police trying to be fashion police but they were soooo tactless and obsessed about me. I swear I’m not kidding. If you think I’m tactless, they’re like 10X more tactless than me. PROMISE.

Not satisfied with my gear, they made me spill the contents of my bag onto the road so they can take a peek at it.

1) Louis Vuitton wallet
2) Mobile phone
3) Dior lip gloss
4) Dior foundation
5) Cash, receipts, tissue paper, miscellaneous paper shit

It’s funny how the faggot was sooo clueless. He even asked me about my Dior foundation, like what it was, whether it’s a condom case or not. At first I was shy to tell him "it’s fucking foundation" because that would imply I use make up. Then he played some sort of a guessing game on what it was…. I even thought he was just winding me up but no… he really was bloody clueless. God. Absofuckinglutely clueless.

So yeah… those 2 Spaniards were weird. They were nice and friendly but they were absolutely weird. When they asked about my age, I said 17… then I asked one of the fag hags how old I look like and they said I look younger.

Thank you Jesus, Mary, Joseph. There is a god afterall INDEED.

I got bored of my 3 Spanish fans so I told them I gotta go with my friends. I told them we’re going to this other club "Bed".

Fast forward 30 minutes later, little Mr. Spanish boy was there… right behind me as in literally.

He must have heard me telling my friend "oh look it’s my stalker" because when I went upstairs in the club, he stopped following me and stuff.

He wasn’t really THAT good looking. He’s doable, but only if you’re drunk. I think he’s one of those stale, 20-something Eurotrash expats who venture out in the far east to get an easy life. I’m taller than him, he has dark hair, a hairy face… well, not really hairy but he looks like the last time he shaved was about 3 days ago. Typical spanish looks. He wore some short-sleeved button down shirt (only taxi drivers wear them) and some pants. The 2 fag hags wore spaghetti strap tops. One of them was 28 years old but she looked like 21.

Hello!!!!!!!!! Spaghetti straps. Oh yes. Disgusting, innit?

Oh well.

He was doable but not really THAT doable. I’ve seen far cuter guys. Like the kid whose claim to fame is that he’s Paris Hilton.

Thing is, EVERYBODY here claims they’re Paris


Paris Hilton my bloody arse, your hat ain’t even Von Dutch (or should I say Von Vagina because it’s soo common), your Coach bag looks fake — it was pink. PINK Coach. Did Coach ever make pink square fanny packs? I have no idea. I never pay attention to Coach. American commercial trash that you can get from Nordstrom, Macy’s and the "for-the-masses" stores where you have to use a steel shopping cart to shop for stuff. His shoes were a bit dodgy and he was wearing a zip-up jacket that skater kids from 1997 used to wear.

Paris Hilton indeed.

Nobody, and I mean nobody here in the fucking Philippines wear DIOR for god’s sake! It’s not funny!





Ugh. This is just me blabbing my arse off. Ignore me. I’m nice and sweet.

Anyway, I thought he was quite cute — take all of the junk minimum wage clothes off — and then tell him to fuck my arse.

But I don’t think he’d be capable of doing that because he’s bloody 17 and he’s a fuckin kid. I need a guy that’s about 2 or 3 years older than me. Give me a bit a maturity, you know… but not viagra.

All I can say is, show me your goods and I’ll show you mine.

Whoever has the best goods wins the crown. Aren’t we being a bit too shallow and  pretentious now?

No further comments your honor.

I’m off to bed. I need to wash my face, brush my teeth and do my Obagi ritual.

Good night everyone and I love you all.

1:59 pm

Paul Van Dyk

10/12/2004, Clubbing

God. I just got up a couple of minutes ago.

Note to self: do not go clubbing on a weekday ever again.

I just got up after sleeping for 7 full hours. I don’t usually sleep that much but I was soo knackered when I got home.

I met up and spent quality time with an old friend (and his friends) last night at this Paul Van Dyk thing after a little more than a year of not really talking to each other. It’s a long story, but it was nice to see him again.  It was alright — there were LOTS of people, the tents were packed and everyone was dancing and on drugs. Although his music is nice, I’m not really into trance-y tunes etc. I like house and I like it deep. I like it vocal. I like it funky. I like it dark. I like it dirty.

CasualtyIt’s funny cause since 2002-mid 2003, pretty much each and every weekend consisted of going to clubs, popping pills, snorting all sorts of every imaginable powder available, from coca plants to horse anesthesia. Even if I did all sorts of stuff when I was much, much younger, that time has to the the most drug-fuelled period ever. I took a year and 6 month-long hiatus (i.e. detox) from that and I came back to the ‘scene’ yesterday and people are still doing the same thing.

Yesterday I told my friend we’ll try to be sober — not necessarily as sober as the pope… but no pills… or K. It was good. I had a couple of vodka red bulls until temptation struck us — chemical substances at times like this were inevitable. So off I got 2Gs of C. I gave one to my friend and I kept one for myself. I took 2 hits in the toilets and nothing else. I just couldn’t get myself to do more of it. I couldn’t be bothered at all.

OutfitI’m not dissing people who *still* do it. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against those people. I mean, it’s fun and all… but personally, after time, you just get sick of it… really sick of it. My father had always told me since we were kids, "too much of everything is bad" – and it’s true indeed. Yes, bad habits die last… but at least I evolved.

I think i’ll lay off chemicals for a bit (just as I have done for awhile now) and focus on some of the most important things in life — family, work and myself… without the influence of anything.

Anyone wants some leftovers then? I’d give it for free. *kiddin*

Last night’s outfit:

- Abercrombie & Fitch top
- Old Alexander McQueen Jeans
- Old cowboy boots I got at for $13 then I spray painted it silver
- Chanel bag and Chanel belt
- Urban Outfitters brooch that I put on the pocket
- Dior gambler bracelets
- Franck Muller watch

6:04 am

Icky clubbing pictures

18/11/2004, Clubbing

Dsc_0144_1 For some strange reason, a couple of people took pictures of me when I went clubbing in Moscow and St. Petersburg. God knows where they published my pictures. 2 people sent me a message on this Russian personals site I joined  telling me they found me etc. My skin looks bad, the lighting is poor, I’m all sweaty, I’m probably not sober, my pose is shit and it’s just not right!


On that page, I’m on picture #s 10, 11, 12, 19 and 21. Yuck!

I wanna crawl up and die.  So so embarassing. :(