Beauty & Premature Ageing
The title, the photo and the caption says it all.
I turned myself into a 66-year old OVERNIGHT.
If you think that was bad, wait till you see what I saw at Eluxury.com earlier today. Since when did they put people with awful plastic surgery on that website?
Speaking of plastic surgery, god I need it. Fast.
Anyone kind enough to give me the gift of good looks?
I don’t need to have good looks.
I mean, let’s face it, you only need good looks if you want to be a prostitute or something.
Does one need to have good looks in order to survive this big, bad, shallow world?
Nuh uh, I don’t think so.
Let’s talk about weight for instance.
When I was much, much younger, I wished I had an eating disorder.
A couple of years later, that wish was granted. I developed an eating disorder: I ate far too much.
Anyway, I don’t want to have problems good-looking people have.
People lusting over them only because of the way they look, people talking to them only because of the way they look, people offering them jobs just because the way they look, people giving them money just because of the way they look.
Enough beauty talk. That photo is fucking awful.
I don’t even know why I posted it here.
Besides, I’ve posted far too many fugly photos of myself on this site.
I need sympathy, bitches!
Motorola, The Philippine Daily Inquirer and Not Enough Circuses (my very good friend of godknowshowmany years, Ariel Lozada’s production team) are holding an event, featuring 5 of the Philippines’ young designers, Ivarluski Aseron, Ignacio Loyola, James Reyes, Yvonne Quisimbing-Romulo and Joey Samson on Tuesday, October 25 at the NBC Tent.
Ziggi Zigga Zara
was one of the best days I’ve had in a long time was perfect.
I have NO idea how I managed to get home earlier this morning when the moon and the stars are still up.
In fact, I got home at around 4:30AM.
For the past few months, my personal "ride of shame" had always been done in broad daylight. 7AM, 8AM, 9AM even 10AM. It’s extremely rare for me to be home before 6AM.
ride of shame = that icky, lonely, home-bound 20 minute-long journey with you (and only you) at the back of the car, staring at the window with your designer sunglasses, palpitations and headaches galore, after a night’s worth of debauchery
I think I had an early night cause I went out first thing in the afternoon.
I went to Louis Vuitton, bought a pair of boots, a Beijing Carnet de Voyage and a woollen scarf. Thank god they’re done cleaning with my Damier trunk.
I also went to Mix for a pair of Antik denim jeans and to Diesel for a t-shirt and a tank top.
Apres-shopping, I quickly dropped by at the Zara Store Opening. Had far too many cocktails and yes, those damn quail-egg nibbles are good.
After Zara, a friend and I quickly went to the supermarket to buy some supplies for our little "girls night in" mini-party.
Errr, sorry, wrong photo.
What are those things at Paris’ back, arms and elbows? Rashes? Marks? Whatever?
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
#1 – Bryanboy loves people from Camberwell, VIC, Australia, Warsaw, Poland, Trenton, NJ, Lake Hiawatha, NJ, Austin, TX, Assentoft, Denmark, Zurich, Switzerland, Pequannock, NJ, Orlando, FL, Bonn, Germany, Suasalito, CA and of course, people from Santa Monica, CA. Bryanboy loves y’all! Identify yourselves bitches and say hi!
#2 – Drew Barrymore is gonna model for Missoni. Lucky bitch. Click here for the article. Someone just fucking stop this blatant fashion hijacking by celebrities. Celebrities are fucking stealing models’ jobs!
#3 – Gotta finish my article tomorrow for Just Shop magazine.
#4 – Keep an eye out on my blog tomorrow for my new online project.
#5 – Elijah Wood is very, very, gay. Yuck. I don’t like the way he looks. In fact, he looks just like Harry Potter.
You know where to contact me if you need me. Email firstname.lastname@example.org or SMS +63-915-7851492.
Delay Delay Delay
A big hello to all of you. I know I haven’t updated much in the past two days. I’ve been terribly, terribly busy. Plus, my colds and cough are still here. I’m fine though –
don’t you dare thanks for worrying about me. your thoughts of sympathy are good but I need a new Chanel bag.
Unfortunately, I started smoking again. Yesterday, to be exact… after a 6-day lung holiday.
Save the lung cancer sermon – I don’t need it. In fact, shove this imagery up your buttocks if you want. I look forward to the day when my lungs turn pitch black.
Err, ok, I take that back.
I’ll stop smoking. I promise.
I look forward to the day I turn 75 – at least I’ll get to wear Oscar de la Renta.
Going back to business, my god, I’m soo anxious to see what my best friend Kelly’s offspring are gonna be.
I actually know what they are already. (DUH)
It’s just that I can’t reveal them until Friday night. That’s what I said on the invite.
Everyone knows that patience is a word that does NOT exist in my vocabulary. A pretentious parrot such as myself will never, ever, voluntarily shut his mouth for a few days to stop himself from bragging.
Keeping this secret from each and everyone of you is nothing but pure torture!
I think y’all gonna die if you knew what’s inside those two eggs. I’ll give you a couple of hints:
- they’re both brown
- one of them has some of the world’s most exotic skins
- one of them is bigger than the other
- one of them can fit inside the other
I know it’s already quite obvious from those two pictures but please gargle and swallow that man cream cum like a proper whore so you won’t ruin it for everyone else.
Besides, it could be an iguana or a ferret.
You never know.
Keep an eye out on Friday, October 7, 2005.
And yes, I know what you’re thinking. Shut IT. Oh yes. Just STOP, STOP, STOP looking at my arms and my bulging stomach. I know I’m BALLOONING to UNBELIEVABLE PROPORTIONS. It’s hard being a surrogate mother. Contrary to what people think, I will never, ever, ever accept that dirty rumor our ancestors said over time. I REFUSE TO ACCEPT THAT the "joys of motherhood" is worth all that excess flesh and stretch marks that motherhood brings. That’s all bollocks, I’m telling you.
I’m not even a real mother yet I already have stretch marks.
Bah! I won’t dig my own grave any further. What would my future grandchildren think if they read this blog in year 2080 and see that I admitted having stretch marks on a public domain?
Louis Vuitton Goodies
Yesterday was quite productive. I accomplished a ton of stuff – went to my usual haunt in Greenbelt, enjoyed a huge lunch with my gal pal Tina. As always, I enjoyed our our favorites – baked oysters, foie gras with green apple tart, duck confit, green mango and prawns salad.
Picked up a few things at Louis Vuitton – bought a bag strap and a bracelet. My special orders from Paris also arrived – my ski bonnet and my fur gloves.
This Thing About My Age
Stop this ludicrous commotion about my age – all of you!
Since when did a number became so important in your backwater swamp gossip talks? Heck, the only set of numbers that are important to me is the number of unfortunate guys I’ve slept with, my American Express card number and of course, the number of times I ask my maid to fetch me a glass of water each and every day.
Let me clarify this once and for all.
I’m too old to be a runway model in Milan, too young to be a pensioner, too old to be a pedophile’s sexual prey, too young to be a parent (of any kind), too old to be barely legal.
In other words, I’m….
cha-chin,. cha-ching, cha-ching
However, I’ll leave it up to YOUR imagination on how many ++ (plus plus) you’d like to add to that age.
Have you guys forgotten my annual 18th birthday party this year when i failed dressing up like a proper
bloke on knickers ladyboy?
Now as for that special someone at the LVLU discussion forums who thought I’m 17 years old…
Well, I wouldn’t call you special for nothing.
Let’s leave it at that.
I’ve been thinking of going dropping by Tallinn, Estonia (and Riga, Latvia) mid-trip on my Russian holiday. Like most countries, I need a fucking visa to go to that "Nouveaux-Euro" country. One of their visa requirements is the fact that I need to have some invitation to visit their country, even as a tourist.
Blah blah blah Kabbalah.
Unfortunately, there are no Estonian embassies in South East Asia so I have to fedex my passport and visa application to some far-flung place (i.e. USA).
I’m just waiting a response from their immigration people to see what they have to say.
2 names baby.
Carmen Kass and Tiiu Kuik.
If that country can export fine specimen such as those two, I’m curious on what they have in store over there.
Grocery shopping you ask?
Believe it or not, I had my first ever encounter with someone Estonian yesterday. We exchanged quite a few messages and he seems to be nice.
Hold the malicious thoughts right there. All we did is talked about friggin Estonia.
I’ll keep you posted in the next few weeks to come whether or not I’m going to Tallinn as well.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
#1- Bryanboy loves people from Zaventem, Belgium, Reading, MA, Wellers Hill, Queensland, Australia, Pennsauken, NJ, Saint Paul, MN, Woodhaven, NY, Piedmont, CA and of couse, people from Manila, Philippines. Identify yourselves, bitches – Bryanboy loves each and everyone of you.
#2 – People from Finland are talking about me. God knows what they are talking about though – and I don’t care. It’s nice to get some attention from the far north. Click here to read the thread on some discussion forum. Big brownie points if you can understand what the hell they are talking about. Hello Finland!!!!
#3 – Jesus, the heat here is FUCKING killing me. I’ve got my airconditioning set to the coldest temperature it’s capable of but the heat seeps through our fucking roof – yes, we have third world roofing. We’re poor!
#4 – The Kate Moss cocaine video is out. Let’s all put this issue down to rest shall we?
More upates later. Promise!
As always, you know where to contact me… +63-915-785-1492 or email@example.com.
I thought I’d do one last whinge before I get some serious skin-tightening beauty sleep on my Pratesi-covered mattresses.
Ever since I started this blog, I’ve received far too many emails from you, my dear readers, on how I should come visit you for some serious R & R: reckless recreation.
We all know that geography is no boundary when it comes to my fans. Who knew there’s internet access in friggin Zimbabwe? Who knew I have fans who live in Ecuador? Even folks from Winnipeg, Alberta and Littleton, Colorado, they’re all feeding themselves with verbal diarrhea coming from my little third world rectum.
As much as I’d want to visit each and every one of you, one should realize that 99% of all the countries (and that includes friggin Iraq and Afghanistan) in the world show their disgust every time they see this snot-colored piece of document that we, citizens of the brown, the l’exotique and the natives, are born with.
That’s right bitches.
Immigration officials, visa officers, diplomats and consular services representatives wordwide frown upon anyone who holds the above-pictured passport because of all the bad deeds our ancestors did, dating back when the passport got invented.
You probably won’t believe the number of citizens of this third world hell hole cesspit would do anything just to get out of the country PERMANENTLY and ILLEGALY.
And it’s fucking true.
All the stereotypes you’ve heard from your neighbour are correct.
For instance, did you know that ALL Filipinos have some sort of a relative… or a distant relative, living in the United States of the Democrats, the Republicans and the Damned?
People from my land, the land of clear blue skies, coconut trees, weather la tropicale and boring malls would do anything just to get out of the country? It doesn’t matter whether they marry a sex-starved pensioner from Europe or smuggle themselves in cheap nylon suitcases one body part at a time: a lot of people will find a way just to get out… and most of them did.
What’s even worse are illegal immigrants who are a drain to a foreign government’s resources: benefits and welfare scroungers.
So here I am, a model citizen, suffering the consequences of my fellow shitizens.
Each and every god damn country in this planet now requires a friggin visa before allowing us to breathe oxygen in their country.
Some visas are easy to get, particularly the ones where no one from my country usually go to: India, China, Mongolia, etc, while most embassies now require us to give our entire lives documented in paper: bank statements, credit card statements, income tax returns, proof of assets, house & car titles, letters from our employers or proof of our businesses and everything else that you can think of.
And yes, they even want your first born child… or your bed sheet thread count if you’re impotent.
Now I don’t mind giving out such paperwork if I wanna go to a full blown shopping and reckless recreation expedition but doing so each and every time I want to go somewhere (or getting one visa after another one expires) is a fuckin hassle.
The documents are one thing but what’s worse is the drama dealing with the embassies.
Waking up at some ungodly hour just to submit your application at the embassy is one thing.
Queueing for hours is another thing.
And having incessant chit chat with someone who wants to pry on your personal life is another…although I have to give everyone credit for not asking me my guilty pleasures, the number of people I’ve slept with and the number of times I got my hair coloured in the past.
When one of my gal pals went to a European city last year for around 2 weeks, the local embassy took around 3 weeks to a month just to process her visa application… and the embassy had her passport the whole time!
Most of these embassies employ hardcore snob-to-the-max Filipino administrative assistants who would give you the cold shoulder as if you’re a mere pleb when in reality they should be the ones hailing you because of the economic benefit they’ll get from you when you spend your dosh at their local shoppingeries.
I guess one should never forget that there are still citizens such as myself who loves living in the land of the brown, the l’exotique and the natives.
Why would I want to live somewhere else when I’m living like a fucking queen here?
I have drivers (alright, crappy, dumb drivers), I have maids.
I have Vuitton suitcases and Chanel shades.
I never fly economy
Because I hate the sound of ‘mommy’
I don’t want your fucking jobs
Coz my dry cleaning bills are worth more than your handbag!
There goes my singer/songwriting skills. Now you know why I’ll never make it to the R&B section of your local music store.
It’s true though… I’ll never, ever, ever give up whatever I have here just to live anywhere else.
Going on holidays and vacations are fine, but knock-knock-cliche-snap-snap-reality, there’s no such place like home.
So yeah, if you want me to visit your country, go ahead and write to your government and ask them to friggin waive the visa requirement for model citizens such as myself.
Otherwise screw you cause I’ll only go where the wind blows.
My Pratesi and rivotril are waiting are for me. Good night/morning/afternoon everyone! firstname.lastname@example.org or +63-915-785-1492 if you need me.
Fuck the Playboy Bunny
Oh fuck it.
The Cosmo Magazine Bachelor Bash will start in less than 2 or 3 hours and my gal pal Tina is giving a massage to her beau.
Which means my Playboy bunny ears, tail and black-tie collar piece won’t be done in time.
Screw it. Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck.
I told her last weekend that I wanna come out as a playboy bunny tonight but I guess she had other priorities.
The perils of
living in the third world and not having stores that carry costume props asking favors from friends who have busy schedules.
There’s always a next time.
Fuck dressing up as a playboy bunny.
At next year’s Cosmo bash I’m flying to Thailand to get a friggin sex change, get a pair of tits that can give a pregnant bitch a run for her money and a vagina as tight as a 14 year old’s.
Then I’m going out as a fuckin dominatrix.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
#1 – Bryanboy loves people from Auckland, NZ, Irvine, CA, La Fiance, France, La Habra, CA, my fans from Dallas, TX and Echterdingen, Germany. I love y’all… each and every one of you. Keep the love coming.
#2 – Oui, Ja, Yes, Si. He of the guilty-and-gay-until-proven-straight homosexual kind was there last night at Jenni Ep’s party lookin good. Gawd. I feel like a fuckin school girl every time I see him at La Embajada.
#3 – I got around 9,400 hits yesterday. I wonder where all of that came from. Keep spreading the word around bitches, a ton of them are from the Netherlands and Venezuela. I love you all.
#4 – Since everyone in the land of the brown and the natives aka Las Islas Filipinas is reading this blog, I’m gonna clean up my site, open up ad space and bombard those folks on dial up with ad torture. Email email@example.com or SMS me at +63-915-785-1492 if you want your ads to be posted here.
#5 – I need another holiday dammit. I wanna go to the beach. It’s been ages since I had maximum sun damage on top of a designer beach towel. I need to get brown and burned, from scalp to toes, on top of my virgin Chanel towel.
#6 – A loyal fan turned my "I wish I’m plastered on fuckin billboards at the freeway" fantasy into a virtual reality. Now if only someone can turn that virtual reality into REAL 50 Feet Tall, 150 Feet Wide billboard I’ll forever be indebted.
#7 – Send more love dammit! Be fucking creative and send your love to Bryanboy@gmail.com. PLEASE AVOID PHOTOSHOP. I only made an exception to Merrill Lynch because the damn company, I’m sure, can’t take photos of all of their employees.
I think that’s all for now. Last night’s party was one of the best parties recently and it better have a part 2.
I need to get dressed. Say hi to me later.
I’m nice and sweet.
Despite what y’all fuckfaced whoring scumbags think.
I love you all.
Protected: Poor & Miserable Creature, The Dee-yor has Landed, Vuitton Spring/Summer ’06, STOP THE HOMOCIDE!, Norwegians Wanted.
Breaking Newsflash: Earthquake in Japan!
Dead Rabbits Society
It’s finally here! I picked up my dead rabbit scarf/shawl/whatever at Vuitton last Friday, right on schedule. The Manila store had to do a special order for me from Paris. Apparently it’s super, super rare. It’s just like it is on the men’s runway except it’s a bit wider… and shorter than what I expected.
Who gives a flying fuck on all the dead rabbits used to create this wonderful, soft, warm piece. PETA can go spill paint all over my ass ala Sprouse, may god bless his soul wherever he is now. I love it though. I’m sure it will go to good use – keep my neck warm during my winter wonderland escapade later this year.
It’s a gorgeous little number that will look good with a plain white tank top or t-shirt, some fitted jeans and a knee-length or above-the-knee beige coat. Fantastic!
Sunday Shopping Fix
I was bored on Sunday afternoon so I called my gal pal Tina and thought we’d meet up to spend some time together.
Went straight to the Chanel counter at Rustan’s and bought Ruban Perle (Moonlight) and Double Perfection Fluide (45 Rose). Also went to Shu Uemura to get a new brush.
Took a quick trip where the clothes are, found nothing interesting but being the shopaholic me, I ended up buying a pair of brown, striped Baby Phat trousers. I know, I know, don’t laugh. Baby Phat is best for 14-16 year old girls in the Bronx but fuck it, the pants looked good on me. I also bought a T-shirt from Spanish designer Muchaha and a top from Anna Sui. All of them are old stock and are on sale.
Super Kawaii Origami
I’ll leave the Art of Origami to the Japanese.
Tina and I had an emergency Sunday craving for crabs (no, not the STD variety) so we decided to rush to The Red Crab restaurant. While waiting for Xeng, I huffed, puffed and folded one of paper placemats to create a paper crab.
Let me tell you in advance that it’s fuckin difficult. I followed the instructions religiously (see below) but my crab ended up as… crap.
After Red Crab, the three of us went to Nuvo for some hot tea and gin tonic.
Sunday was a great day indeed.
Sister’s Hell Hole Office Mates
I was cleaning out my camera because my memory stick is full and god knows how my sister’s office mates got in there. I know she borrows my camera from time to time. Take one good look at these photos.
So these are what British Expats in the third world do eh? Oh. My. God.
At least they aren’t wearing chav scum outfits. Hahahahahaha!
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
Big shout out to my devotees from Singapore and Central Africa – Congo to be exact! Bryanboy loves y’all out there, particularly Gloria M.!
Mademoiselle Celine R. Lopez – don’t I deserve a full color page after the almighty Queen Noor abused my brains? If only you knew how tormenting it was for me to answer questions. My 2 brain cells are as used and abused as a Makati Avenue pick up truck. *grin* Hope to see you soon!
Do designer clothes make you fashionable? Click here. I’d love to see the faces (and the looks) of the people behind their posts.
Here’s a pin I got for about $3 from a Vintage Shop. This message goes out to "he knows who he is". I bet he’s probably getting that mushy, mushy, "yeah I guess I love you too" feeling right now as he’s reading this message. It’s all about you babe – YOU, YOU and YOU.
Don’t deny yourself the fact that I love you. All you need to do is to reciprocate. Tell me you love me too and kiss me the next time you see me, if there will ever be a next time. Otherwise, buy me a Not Rational "Amy" bag for US$475. Click the pic for a larger image.
Whoever you are, wherever you are in the world, send me love via SMS Message at +63-915-785-1492. If you don’t have money to send me SMS, bombard my email account with messages of love, hate and cute guys with note-worthy jewels: Bryanty@gmail.com.