Pictionary Galore: Guilty Pleasures and Errands
I’ll never forget what a friend said — I should never, ever, ever, ever, feel guilty about my pleasures.
That’s why I’ll let you in on one of my deepest, darkest secrets.
Screw the amazing confit de canard or seared escalope de foie gras I had from Josephine Chez Dumonet in Paris.
Assuming I got sentenced to death for a henious crime (rape, murder, etc.), this would be the last meal I’d ask my jail warden.
I ***LOVE*** Jollibee Chickenjoy. It’s the best fried chicken in the world.
To hell with hypertension and blocked arteries. Not even cardiac arrest would stop me from eating the crispest chicken skin. Dip ‘em in gravy before shoving it up your gob. It’s pure oral orgasm right then and there.
If you don’t live in the land of the brown, l’exotique and the natives and you are planning to go to this country, don’t forget to pay Jollibee a visit. You’ll thank me for it.
It’s 2:30PM here and I accomplished a lot of stuf today. I went to my friend’s office to pick up my airline tickets.
You gotta love those Cheap Monday jeans I got in Stockholm. They’re the BEST skinny jeans ever. Thank god I bought 2 pairs of the same style. I should’ve bought 5 pairs… silly me. God knows when I’ll go to Sweden again.
I also went to my office to pick up my mail. I haven’t been to my office since I left. Silly me. Jakob from Sweden has been bugging me to go there cause he sent me a Christmas card. He sent me a card back when I was in Paris and to my dismay, it’s still not there. I hate it. I’ll ask him to send me a card again.
A card that says something like how he’ll be the father of my first born child.
Hahahaha! Fuck it. I’m sooo disappointed with the third world postal system.
Filipino Postal System = EPITOME OF THE SLOW BOAT.
I’m starting to like this smile thing.
Moving on…. I got a surprise from all the lovely folks at Fudge Magazine. Thanks :) They sent me a copy with me on it. I’m a label whore alright. Loves it. :)
These Cheap Monday jeans are REALLY a godsend. I swear by them. I don’t know how you can get them without going to Sweden. Search it on google or something.
Here’s another smile smile photo. Enough already. I think it’s getting quite obvious that I’m faking it.
All I can say is…. GORGEOUS. FUCKING GORGEOUS.
I also went to the Peninsula Hotel valet shop to pick up my dry cleaning.
And of course, no trip to the city would be complete without…. SHOPPING! I bought 2 shirts at Paul Smith and I also went to Shoemart (aka "SM"). If you want cheap bargains, go to SM. I love that place. I think the last time I went there was back in 2004 when I bought a samsonite thing. I bought a shitload of socks… and 3 pairs of shorts (brown, beige and olive) for no more than US$50!!!!!
Today’s been productive. I love how I accomplished everything in no more than 4-5 hours.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
#1 – Bryanboy loves people from Abbotsford, NSW Australia, Negros Occidentail, Philippines (woah!), Camberwell, VIC Australia, Cincinnati, OH, Austin, TX, Englewood Cliffs, NJ, Coventry, CT, Stoufville, ONT Canada, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, Kearny, NJ, Columbia, SC, Orlando, FL, Lindfield, NSW Australia, Spartanburg, SC and of course, people from Bethesda, MD. Bryanboy loves you all. Identify yourselves bitches and lick my ass crack.
#2 – I feel sorry for those who judge a blog’s success by the amount of comments that one gets. It’s NOT the comments that make a blog successful. There are a few out there who want to spark a war between my blog and someone’s elses blog. Screw it though. My time is valuable and my mere 2 brain cells can’t handle anything more than what I currently have on my plate.
#3 – Send me some love! Send me some hate! Send me whatever it is that you can create! I love the latest batch of pics showing the infamous Bryanboy pose. These Americans sure know how to do it.
OOOOOOOOOOO Some 100% pure NYC love right from the middle of Times Square… I love you Colleen, I love you Kiersten!
Runnin’ pretty, New York City girl, Twenty-five, thirty-five, Hello, baby, New York City girl
You grew up ridin’ the subways, running with people… Up in Harlem, down on Broadway… You’re no tramp, but you’re no lady, talkin’ that street talk, You’re the heart and soul of New York City
And love, love is just a passing word… It’s the thought that you had in a taxi cab that got left on the curb… When he dropped you off and he stated firm
Oh, oh, oh [Oh, oh, oh]… You’re a native New Yorker… You should know the score by now [You should know by now]… You’re a native New Yorker
Even Shoelover loves me… Visit http://shoelover.typepad.com.
FINALLY…. some homegrown third world love! Melanie sent me this fabulous picture of her family doing a tribute to… ME! Look at all those luscious lips… I love the pout on each and every one of you. GORGEOUS! ADOPT ME PLEASE? I need a new family…
I think that’s about it. For now. I’ll update later in the evening.
I love you all, as always. Email firstname.lastname@example.org or SMS +63-915-785-1492.
Blackbird singing in the dead of night. Take these broken wings and learn to fly. All your life. You were only waiting for this moment to arise.
Blackbird singing in the dead of night. Take these sunken eyes and learn to see. All your life. You were only waiting for this moment to be free.
Blackbird fly, Blackbird fly. Into the light of a dark black night. Blackbird fly, Blackbird fly. Into the light of a dark black night.
I love that song. I had to buy it off iTunes after hearing it yesterday… I just can’t get it off my head. In fact, it sorta kept me happy the entire day.
I even smiled for the camera… something I don’t NEVER do. What the hell though… fuck it! I’ll smile because I’m happy. This is probably the first or second time you’ll see my nasty teeth (they look much worse in real life) on this blog so consider this picture a milestone. I wish I have perfect teeth… just the way they have it on the red carpets of Los Angeles, CA. Americans (especially celebs) seem to have the ultimate smiles… 200,000-megawatt perfection… super straight, ultra white perfection.
I on the other hand got stuck with British teeth.
Screw my parents for being soo poor when I was a child. They probably couldn’t afford to get me some braces hence my bad teeth. My 8 years of smoking, my newfound addiction to coca cola and of course, my long-term love affair with tea pretty pretty much fucked up my pearly whites.
Ok… That’s a lie. I brought this subject up with my parents and they told me it was ME who didn’t want to wear braces because I thought they were ugly.
God.. if only I knew then what I knew now.
Ignore the hair. I wanted my hair to take a break from all the products that I use so I didn’t put anything on it. Yes, I fucking look like a lesbian. No, I don’t look like Sharleen Spiteri. Yes, I need to lose weight.
Yesterday was alright. It was an afternoon of pure pampering.
I had a massage, a foot spa session and a pedicure done. It’s nice to get my soles soft again. I also went back to my aesthetician cause I broke out over the weekend. I think I got 3 zits out of nowhere. They’re all gone though and I’m zit free again. Thank god for those injections.
I’ll keep this entry short and sweet. It’s 8:02AM and I have to go to a friend’s office to pick up my airline tickets. I’m spending the entire weekend at the beach!
You know where to contact me. Email email@example.com or SMS +63.915.785.1492.
I’ll update as soon as I get back. Good morning, good afternoon and good evening to all of you. I love you all!.
How Can Someone Be So Drunk And Still Look Good?
Here’s another reason why you should hate Paris Hilton. How in the world can she be drunk and still look fucking good?
I certainly don’t look that good when I’m drunk.
Hell, sober or not, I don’t look that good.
End of story.
Yesterday was a blast. I kicked off my day with a mini shopping trip to the city with my little sister.
I wanted to buy a present for a good friend (whose birthday is today) but I ended up buying a few things for myself. I picked up some incense, a necklace, a bracelet, a Gucci top, some Nars and Yves Saint Laurent cosmetics.
As always, no shopping trip is complete without paying a visit to my favourite haunt, M Cafe at the Ayala Museum. I had my usual lemongrass prawns + mango salad and oysters. I seriously love that place.
My sis even made me smile, in spite of having a bad hair day. Everyone knows I *NEVER* smile when it comes to photos. I hate it. I always end up looking like:
1) a rapist
2) a fake, plastic fantastic person
3) a psychopath
4) a devious, spiteful little bitch
5) and of course, a murderer
You be the judge and tell me what you think.
Apres dinner, my sis and I went home so I can shower, change clothes and go to a friend’s birthday party at Citrus.
I know I’ve been gone for (only) a month and a half but it felt as if I was gone for years. It was quite bizarre at first to see soo many familiar faces in the land of the "same old same old" – your friends, your former friends, your acquaintances, your new acquaintances, your backstabbers and your frenemies.
It’s all nice and wonderful though. It’s way better than staying at home in front of the computer (like what I usually do 95% of the time).
In spite of the booze, the palpitations and the pretense, I always learn something new every time I go out.
I always believed that I’m little miss imperfection in a bottle. Screw the cork open and I’ll create a spectacle. The more bottles you open, the further I perfect my act.
I admit – I still need to polish my social skills. Sometimes I feel like a fool for not being able to manage a decent conversation. When people ask questions, I want to be able to answer them eloquently.
The only time I can manage a decent conversation is when:
1) I’m being a bitch
2) I’m whining and complaining about something
3) the other person and I are gossipping about other people
I guess the hardest part is whenever people throw the ball in my court and ask questions about myself.
To an extent, I’m still uncomfortable talking about myself to other people, hence it’s easier to talk about others.
I was gonna add something to that "to an extent" sentence but I just realized why my blog exists!
Now I know why I’m such a pretentious, narcissistic cunt online. It’s because….
I HATE TALKING ABOUT MYSELF (IN PERSON OR IN PUBLIC), HENCE THE NEED TO PURGE IT ALL OUT ONLINE.
I think it’s true though.
I know I’m being completely rude. The reason why they’re asking questions about me is because they’re interested at me and would like to get to know me.
Anyway, back to yesterday’s events…. I have a manicure and pedicure appointment in an hour. I have to finish this post and get ready. Save the drama for a later time.
So yeah… I ended up drunk last night.
I was sooo FUCKING drunk I made statements like:
1) You know, I think I’m going to stop wearing tank tops and t-shirts for a month.
2) I think I’m gonna start wearing button-down shirts from now on.
3) I despise you!!!!!!
4) I’m not horny. I’ve lost my libido as soon as I landed at the (Manila) airport. (I told this to some guy who was cruising me at the toilets).
I wish I took more pictures last night but I was too drunk to function.
I love you all as always. Email firstname.lastname@example.org or SMS +63-915-785-1492.
No Facial Expressions
I thought I’d publish this addendum on the last minute.
1) Turn your speakers on.
2) Go to http://parisfacial.ytmnd.com/
3. Take note on how my gal pal Paris doesn’t change facial expressions.
4. Close the window (be sure to CLOSE the damn browser window)
5. Go to http://bryanboy.ytmnd.com
and tell me what you think.
Someone from an internet forum did this because he thinks I don’t change facial expressions.
Obviously he hasn’t seen my cum gargling picture.
I Want My Old Body Back!
After looking at one of my old pics, I realized shit, I want my old body back.
I had the body of an African gazelle. Look how beautiful I was… my long, thin arms, the gap between my elbows and my waist, my shoulders, my hips… skip the stomach part – I’ll forever be a pregnant bitch… not even quarterly liposuction sections can abort the fetus in my tummy.
I don’t give a fuck whether you agree with me or not but I think I fuckin looked DAMN good back then. Call me ugly, call me shit, call me fugly, I think I was once a gorgeous parakeet!
I love how I can be sooo full of myself sometimes.
What’s worse is the fact that this picture was taken only 3 years ago. It’s amazing what AGE can fucking do to one’s body. I turned into this tub of lard in no more than 1,000 days.
It’s 6:23AM and I’m having lunch in a couple of hours. I’m definitely gonna purge whatever it is I eat later… for old times’ sake.
This week is gonna be crazy.
It’s one of my friend’s birthday party tomorrow and I need to look good and presentable. I also have attend a party or two this weekend, one of which I have to dress up in my best "Shipwreck Glam" ensemble.
I think this is great. I’m finally having an opportunity to meet and interact with people again because I’m so sick and tired of being a lonely home tom.
I know it’s my fault why I’m a fucking loner.
I could easily go out each and every night but I’m just fucking lazy. I make no effort whatsoever about having a social life. I make excuses on how I don’t have anything to wear or how I live so damn far from civilization (actually, I do).
I’m also leaving in a couple of days to go somewhere el tropical – white sand, blue sky, cool breeze, sea, sun and sand in between my butt cheeks.
I started to pack my things and boy there’s a ton of outfit preparation (and shopping) that needs to be done.
I know, I know, I’m having the hardest time going logo-free. Especially if it’s Chanel we’re dealing with. Sorry to disappoint mother fuckers but shopping at the huge white store at Rue Cambon is pure torture if you want to ditch logo-a-gogo.
That being said, let me reassure you that I’m definitely gonna glam it up this later this year. Perhaps not in a "in-your-face" pile-it-all-up manner but something understated. Many of you have emailed, called and SMSed telling me I look good with my black ensemble in Paris. Fine. I’m gonna resurrect my black phase again so expect a ton of black clothes from me in the next few months. In fact, I even have black trunks/bathing suits en route to the third world from Tomas Maier.
Anyway, it just occured to me that I need to go back to the salon (again) sometime soon to get a trim. I want my hair a tad shorter and I want to get more highlights.
Bryanboy Loves and Random Cheesemax
#1 – I’m gonna give some internet discussion forum love today. Bryanboy loves people from General Mayhem, Killing Ifrit, Living With Style, Female Network, Skim Online, Houston Beats and of course, the lovely boys at Mens.Style.com.
#2 – Big shout out to people from Mount Laurel, NJ, Lynn, IN, Madrid, Spain, Ogden, UT, Chicago, IL, Dallas and Houston, TX, San Pedro, CA, Escondido, CA, Chandler, AZ, Des Plaines, IL, Marquette, MI, Bronx, NY, Carrollton, TX, Clayton, NC, Beaumont, Newfoundland, Brisbane, QLD Australia, Clifton Park, NY, Scranton, PA and of course, my homies at Cupertino, CA. Bryanboy loves you all! Identify yourselves bitches by posting a comment on my site.
#3 – Oooooooh I love these straight boys. You know how I love turning heterosexual, fanny-fucking boys into handbag-toting peeps. You know what to do to simulate the infamous Bryanboy pose – wear your best sunglasses, put one hand on your waist and do a nazi salute with a handbag! Email me your photos at email@example.com.
#4 – I now know what I wanna be when I get older. I wanna be the United Nations Secretary General! I swear to god, think of how beautiful and peaceful the world would be if I have the highest position in the diplomatic circle? With all the love I’ve been getting recently, I can unite the world in the name of vanityyyyyyyyyyyy!!!
Send your images of love and hate (NO PHOTOSHOPPED PICS PLEASE) to firstname.lastname@example.org. I’m having a whole new website with these pictures soon!
#5 – These images are sooooo fucking funny. Someone made them in attempt to insult me. Well, I found them hilariou – I like the one with the Chanel bag and the colourful dildos. Gorgeous, fucking GORGEOUS!
I think that’s about it. You know where to contact me. Email email@example.com (jesus man, how many times do I have to say that email address) or SMS my Moto Razr at +63-915-785-1492.
(say it with me. you know you want to.)
There goes my US$4.95.
I have to tell you people… I lurrrrrrrrrrrrve those folks at that forum Offtopic.com. The people there have been talking about me non-stop. Some guy even started a thread saying I’m probably the gayest person in Myspace (see my myspace profile).
One guy then asked the group whether the person below is me or not… and then some minimum-waging sweetheart showed off his photoshop skills and superimposed my blowjob pic there.
I love it! HI-FUCKING-LARIOUS. Thanks for making my day. Money well-spent. :)
Summer is Coming
Summer is fast approaching in the third world. Expect the battle of the beautiful bodies and the cellulite freaks in 2 months.
As always, boys have it all on the easy side. All they need to do is to ditch that beer, inject some steroids and start working out at the nearest gym.
Girls have it tough though.
I swear to god, I am so going to have this picture blown up to a posterific proportions and post it in front of my fridge.
I don’t care what one has to do to get that perfect body. I’m taking up bulimia classes first thing Monday morning and I promise I’m gonna take pictures of my first puke.
Even Lindsay Lohan admitted to drug abuse and purging. You go girl! Show these fat mother fuckers that the only way to lose unwanted pounds is by channeling Kate Moss and purging out our inner Fiona Apples.
No, I’m not surprised.
That lucky Nicole bitch has it all – the visible rib cage, the flat stomach, the gorgeous pelvic bones, lanky arms, the visble leg gap… everything a girl needs to look perfect on the beach.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
1. Bryanboy loves people from Bordeaux, France, Atlanta, GA, King of Prussia, PA, Cleveland, OH, Dreieich, Germany, Leaside, ONT Canada, Desert Hot Springs, CA, Madison, WI, Wakarusa, IN, Sykesville, MD, Geneva, Switzerland, Vienna, Austria, Ong Lee Village, Singapore, Dublin, Ireland and of course, my homies in La Habra, California. Bryanboy loves y’all! Identify yourselves bitches by posting a comment on my blog.
2. Those Etnies shoes are nasty. Why get Etnies when you can get Etro. I want these damn sneakers. I bought a pair of these at Vivre.com for US$236.99 (formerly US$475). Aren’t they gorgeous?
3. Phoebe Philo resigned from Chloe (Vogue UK)
4. Where the hell can I get the new Tom Ford sunglasses?
5. I drink champagne in the morning, I drink champagne in the afternoon. I drink champagne in the bubble bath, I drink champagne in my dressing room. Chammmmmmpagne! Chammmmmmpagne! Chammmmmmpagne! Chammmmmmpagne! Chammmmmmpagne!
6. Some of the items stolen from me last year: Chanel sunglasses (2), various YSL and Chanel cosmetics, Lalique ring, Fendi squirrel key chain, travellers cheques, Dior watch, Piaget watch, Dolce & Gabbana flip flops, Marni necklace. I hope you’re having a ball with my stuff whoever you are. Just because I have a carefree attitude with my shit (i.e. I don’t store them properly or I just leave them anywhere) it doesn’t mean you people can take advantage of my vulnerability. Fuckin thieves.
7. Buy that Hotel Costes 8 CD. I bought it a couple of months ago and I’m still listening to it religiously.
8. The folks at the Valet Shop of Manila Shangri-la hotel need a good spanking. I called to ask what time they close and the lady told me they are open until 9PM. I got there at 8PM on Friday (in spite of having a bad cold and slight fever) and the shop was closed. The concierge said they close at 7PM not 9. Totally wasted my time.
9. More love from all over the world. By now you should know that true love comes in the form of photographs. NO PHOTOSHOPPED photos silvous plait. Email me prima facie evidence of your unconditional love at firstname.lastname@example.org. Be fucking creative god dammit. Go to your local fire station and get those firefighters hold that I LOVE BRYANBOY sign. Make them sweaty and get them naked.
I love these girls… kisses, hugs and chanel bags for you two.
10. I haven’t down a "Bryanboy Life Archives" tidbit in a long time. For those of you who are new to this site, "Bryanboy Life Archives" is where I take out skeletons from my colourful and not-so-closeted past.
This photo was taken in London 6 years ago, back when I was barely legal. I used to smile back then. Oh how I miss those days.
For more bits from the archives, click here, here, here and here.
11. Keep those text messages coming. Your messages of love and hate means a lot to a lonely mother fucker such as myself.
Thought I’d let y’all know that I’m an equal opportunity blogger.
I don’t blog for a certain crowd. I don’t blog for a certain class. Hell, I don’t even blog for any type of people.
I only blog for… MYSELF!
I think that’s it. It’s early Sunday morning (3:19PM) and I’m sick again. Damn cold and cough. I’m supposed to go out and have a ball. Fuck it, I’m sooo bored.
Rescue me from boredom. Entertain me mother fuckers. My email address is email@example.com. SMS +63-195-785-1492.
The Simple Life
I’ve been leading a simple life these days because of exhaustion.
I’m too burnt out to work, too burnt out to travel… I’m just EXHAUSTED of EVERYTHING.
Maybe I should fly to middle of nowhere Arizona and check myself into one of those rehabilitation clinics.
I devirginized both my Goyard and Ordning & Reda agendas yesterday evening. It’s sickening to know that I only have 2 life-threatening things to do this week.
A haircut AND a facial this afternoon.
How boring is that?
I need to get my life back on track.
I need a social life.
I need to be productive.
I need to do something nice, something exciting, something vibrant, something life-changing, something fulfilling, something innovative, something profitable, something… something.
Seriously…. I can’t help but feel sorry and sad for myself, looking at how empty my life (and my agenda) is.
Maybe I need a hobby.
I don’t know.
It’s a MIRACOL!
Every once in awhile, Hannah Matronic (my estranged wife) and I giggle on how barok (primitive) my English is.
I’m a card-carrying free speech advocate. I believe everyone should be entitled to say whatever the hell they want without the fear of being anally humiliated by the grammEr (yep… grammEr) nazis, the spell-check squad and the syntax police.
It’s not uncommon in the land of the brown, l’exotique and the natives to be attacked simply because your English skills suck. Not even Chanel or Goyard can save your life in the social weighing scale because English proficiency is considered as a status symbol in this country.
On that note… I feel like screaming
IT’S A MIRACOLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!
One of my good friends said someone called her to say I forgot my cellphone and my wallet somewhere… and they’re holding it for me until I drop by to pick it up.
I can’t believe there are angels out there and my Moto Razr and my Goyard wallet is still alive and breathing oxygen.
*fingers, legs and toes are crossed*
I’ll try my best to pick it up today or tomorrow.
Remi Martin Through The Ages
Meet Remi. Remi is a sweet little kid (I have to admit that he’s far from little because the fucker is about 6-foot-2 tall) from Sweden. Remi is one of my "original fanboys", as he once said in an email.
This photo was taken today….
I was supposed to meet him when I went to Stockholm but he backed out on the last minute cause he was scared that his English ain’t that good. That’s alright though.
He’s a great chat buddy if you don’t mind talking to delusional model-wannabes who needs a nose job (thanks Mauricio). I’m kidding.
Seriously, Remi is a really sweet kid. He’s the big little gay brother I never had. I mean, he claims he’s "straight"… I think they all do in Sweden, but my gaydar and his medicine cabinet says he’s a flamer!
I feel bad for him because he got beaten up by 2 guys right on New Year’s Eve! He was drunk and he claims he wasn’t able to defend himself. Poor Remi. Not even the gayest of the gays (aka me) got beaten up on New Year’s Eve.
Speaking of young gay people, Hannah Matronic and I are onto something. I’ll tell you more about it later.
Let this post be a tribute to my good acquaintance Remi Martin. It’s amazing how he exemplifies human evolution. You don’t need to go to a museum or a library to research the history of man… all you need is Remi!
Back when Remi is as fat as a boar.
Remi when he was a chubby little cherub
Remi in his mid-teens. Look at the skin!
Remi with a friend
Remi in high school
Remi’s class picture
Remi on New Year’s Eve when he got beaten up
People of Sweden
Jag älskar er alla, ni svenskar också!!!!!
Maila mig era mammaknullare och säg hej!!!!
I love you all, as always. Email firstname.lastname@example.org and tell me you love me.
No Doubt I’m Back in the Third World
Pop open those last few remaining bottles of Cristal and have an alcoholic 2006.
There is absolutely no doubt that I’m back in the third world.
My skin is now back to its sweaty and moist glory; I don’t even have to do anything, no movement whatsoever, to sweat like a rapist. Gone are the days where I have to apply industrial-strength grease to my elbows, knees, and feet to prevent them from drying — that’s what I did in Europe. LOL.
My pores are all open again and my body has expanded to ridiculous and enormous proportions because of my mother’s’ force-feeding and nutritional habits. In fact, I’ve been eating unhealthily again… I’m eating too much (and I’m taking far too much carbs)!!!!!!
Here’s proof: my nonexistent jawline is back!!!!
Goddammit I need a haircut badly. Tomorrow! Monday! The salon and my aestheticians will be open – I need some serious pampering ASAP!!
Since it’s New Year’s Day, my parents decided to visit that we visit my only living grandparent – my grandmother on my dad’s side.
It was a long drive down south to their
farm house in the province. Contrary to what you may think, no, we don’t have one of those infamous Filipino "ancestral" homes and haciendas that require the population of China as household help. I’m born and bred lower middle crass and I love it.
I was supposed to visit one of my aunts but fuck it – it’s been 36 hours since I last slept, my eyes were red and puffy and my skin is shit… I ended up asking my driver to take me home at 4PM.
Keep the love coming! Love comes in the form of pictures of yourself either a) doing the infamous Bryanboy pose or b) holding a sign that says you love me. STOP being a lazy mother fucker and please avoid photoshopping. Hah! Sorry for being a demanding bitch but I need to feel good about myself you fucking whores. Email your imagery of love and hate to email@example.com. Be spontaneous! Be creative! Hell you can even go naked and get your local muscle mary fire department to carry you while you’re holding a "I LOVE BRYANBOY" sign. Make me drool bitches!
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
#1 – Bryanboy loves people from Kew, VIC Australia, Lackarebck, Sweden, Jonsered Sweden, Ejby, Denmark Hunters Hill, NSW Australia, Severna Park, MD, Nashua, NH, Mont Park, VIC Australia, Helsinki, Finland, Oslo, Norway, Shanghai, China, White Plains, NY and of course, all the lovely people of Las Vegas, N-E-V-A-D-A!!!! Identify yourselves bitches and say hello.
#2 – One thing I noticed about Swedish guys (in Sweden, of course), is the fact that they love their hair long. It’s quite a distinct Swede style – blond hair slicked back on the front, long edges flapping on the side… if a Swede is a brat (that term is popular there), they’d wear eyeglasses to make them look… err… smarter?
Here’s a ***VERY*** Swedish look.
as for these…. (courtesy of Simon)… well.. they’re cute anyway.
Sadly, my hair is TOO thick for me to grow it that long, not to mention the unbearable, saunaific heat in the third world will make my batok (oh look… I published my first Filipino/Tagalog word on my blog… what a milestone!) aka the back of my neck, drip with sweat.
#3 – I can’t believe the Dior Homme top that I bought in Paris (which was like around 140 Euros) is US$300 in Eluxury.com! I should have bought them in EVERY color!
#4 – It’s HILARIOUS how my dad emailed me an article entitled "INCONSPICUOUS CONSUMPTION: Now that luxury has gone mass market how are the super-rich to flaunt their wealth?" from Economist.com. Click here to read the article. Imagine waking up with that article flashing on your inbox.
Don’t worry dad… I’m not super-rich and I will never be super-rich. Heck, fuck PRETENDING to be super-rich. It’s much more fun to be on the lower end of the scale because being crass is much more self-satisfying than trying to have class!
You know where to contact me. Email firstname.lastname@example.org. As always, I love you all!
"Girls are Too Much Time"
says this guy’s own mother.
Meet Farris Hassan, a 16 year old American Republican past-beyond-the-twink stage who went to Iraq on his own to experience and understand what Iraqi people are going through.
This guy skipped school in order to fly to war-torn Iraq.
What on earth was he thinking? Click here to read the full article.
Dude, I may be obsessed about Chanel but I wouldn’t go to 31 Rue Cambon in a heartbeat. It requires wayyyy more than a business class flight on Singapore airlines.
Notice to the Public
#1 – I’m sorta incommunicado from the rest of the world. I still haven’t gotten a new phone because I’m not sure whether I left my phone and my wallet at a friend’s friend’s house (or his bar).
I’m going to get a new phone soon but I’m more concerned about the contacts and text messages on my Moto Razr. My phone contains numbers of various people I’ve met during my mini-winter escapade. Some of the messages (although short and nothing interesting) also have sentimental value to me.
My Goyard wallet also contains a handful of business cards (I think), particularly the ones from John Galliano’s assistants and store directress.
Please, please, please pretty please email me if you have seen my black Moto Razr and yellow Goyard wallet. Email email@example.com.
I swear, you can even have my fucking phone. It’s my contacts that I need… all my friends, lovers and frenemies. I’m a lonely mother fucker without them.
#2 – I love it when people spread the word about my crassy self and my car crass crash web site. But I don’t like it when people use my name to sell things that doesn’t have the Bryanboy Stamp of Approval.
While they’re not saying anything negative about me, someone has been using my glorious name to spam various online forums and forwarding emails about how to make money on one’s website.
Bryanboy’s 2006 Resolution
1. I will eliminate bullshit in my life. This includes bullshit people and bullshit things.
2. 2006 will be healthier year for me. I will haul my fat ass to the gym, even if it’s by rickshaw.
3. I will spend 2-3 weeks on a volunteer thing either in Nepal, Mongolia or Tibet. When? I don’t know. But I most certainly will. Fuck 6-foot high backpacks though… I’m bringing Goyard! I want to do something for humanity even for once. Not that I already don’t do anything good for man-kind.
4. I vow to find my own personal Aleksandr Petrovksy (sans marriage, kids, wrinkles and liver spots). I also vow to find romance in my life… that romance will come in the form of a little Oscar de la Renta number and I’ll wear it when I go to… Starbucks! I have to admit that the chances of this happening are slim to none because the older I seem to get, the younger (and poorer) the boys I tend to attract.
5. Someone will GIVE me a job that will allow me travel all over the world, all expenses paid. Why even bother applying for a job when someone can give it to me? All I gotta do is to find that special someone. God knows how I’m gonna pull this one off. Can I reiterate that I am good (I am VERY good) when it comes to sexual favours?
6. Logos will be kept at minimum during 2006. I promise to be more discreet. Expect a ton of alligators, polo players, Hs, Ys and interlocked Cs.
7. I will have my own apartment. Oh yes. I don’t care if my mom bought me a new queen-sized bed (apparently, I’m not yet ready for a king-sized bed) for Christmas! I will move out of my familia de horreur’s birdcage, by hook or by crook, so I can throw hallucinogenic drug-fuelled parties and STD-inducing orgies with all the town’s Tom, Dick and Harries.
I think that’s about it. I’ll be honest though – I’m not really big into these New Year Resolution things because laziness is my last name, procrastination is my best friend and it’s soo much easier to have a fuck you attitude on things.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
#1 – Bryanboy loves people from Bethany, OK, Lambeth, London UK, Minneapolis, MN, Pantai Valley, Malaysia, Rochester, NY, San Francisco, CA, Chula Vista, CA, Blackpool, England, Summit Argo, IL, Madison, WI, Mountain View, CA, Syracuse, NY, Phoenix, AZ, Las Vegas, NV, Highlands, TX and of course, people from Skåne, Sweden. Bryanboy loves you all! Identify yourselves, bitches and say hello to me, the national mascot of the land of the brown, l’exotique and the natives!
#2 – Lovely. NOT! Thanks for corrupting my mind. You know who you are.
#3 – Just because I went travelling for a month and a half it doesn’t mean the photos of your love should stop. Bombard my email account with imagery of your love. I’m a sad little bitch this New Year (I was supposed to go to this island but I’m too exhausted of travelling). Email firstname.lastname@example.org.
I love these girls. I really do.
I love you all, as always.
Email me – email@example.com! I’m a lonely, sad, miserable mother fucker with no phone and with no access to "friends".
Except for one (who, thank god, called my landline a few minutes ago.)
Rest in Peace, Daria.
Rest in peace, my baby. You’ve been here for a little over a month but Daria but you brought so much joy and happiness in my household. I terribly miss you. It was completely my FAULT. I tried to save your fragile life but I made a wrong decision in the process. I wish I have sent you to a different veterinarian instead of the one who said you have kidney and liver problems. I wish I didn’t allow you to be confined at their clinic – they made the wrong decision to put you on dextrose, causing you to bloat. I wish I could turn back the clocks and brought you to an acquaintance’s referral. I just hate you being gone!
I terribly, terribly miss you babe. I tried to avoid conversations with people over the past few days because I thought I could pretend to put a straight face and play numb… but I just can’t do it anymore.
I know it’s too late for me to tell you this. AT FIRST, I thought I’d get you from the breeder simply because you were so beautiful, small and I wanted a "toy". I originally wanted a small dog for "novelty purposes" – a dog to pamper based on my selfish needs and not YOUR real needs, a dog to dress up and be seen with etc. My original intentions to get you were based on pure selfishness.
But I fell in love with you a few days after we met. You became my only best friend. I’ve put my own personal gain and selfishness aside because I know you deserved to be loved and cared for. You’re not just for "now", you’re a companion for life.
Words cannot express my sadness or how I truly feel. I am so sorry for irresponsibly taking your life away from you. I love you – you will always be remembered and I will never forget you.
(This message goes out to my readers: I know you guys are a nice bunch but I would appreciate it if you don’t say/ask me anything in regards to Daria’s death. I’d like to thank you, in advance, for YOUR condolences – I hope y’all understand. This is one of my personal flaws – I tend to play MUTE, DEAF and BLIND when it comes to personal problems. It’s a nasty, permanent flaw, unfortunately…)
Life Went On
Don’t I deserve an Academy award for putting up a fake face over the weekend in spite of Daria’s death a few days ago?
Errr.. iIt wasn’t a fake face actually; I *DID* have a lot of fun.
It felt like as if I had a huge lump in my throat and the only way to numb myself from feeling such lump is through copious amount of alcohol, make-up and clothes that a transvestite prostitute would be proud of.
I think I’ll stick to my 2-year old breedless, classless, "domestic short-haired" cat, Pinkie. I don’t want to waste any more lives at my EXPENSE.
I have a heart too, you know… 138/90 and 92 beats per minute.
I got up at 5:30AM earlier this morning and left the house at around 7:00AM to do some errands.
I quickly dropped by at my gal pal’s place and had some early morning gossip. Went to Starbucks afterwards, had a latte and drove back to my aesthetician’s clinic only to find out that they’re closed because of the All Saint’s/Souls Day holiday season.
Show Me Some Lovin’ Lovin’
Here are a couple of fan pics for you to point your fingers at and laugh. Thank you, thank you, thank YOU! Bryanboy loves you all and like what I said before, if only I can give you sexual favors, I would.
Meet Thom from the UK. Here I am thinking an extra "H" on one’s name is a very Filipino trait but little had I known it also exists halfway across the world.
Thom darling, I give you A+ for effHort.
You gotta love those kids in Singapore doing the Bryanboy pose. My god, the Philippine Embassy in Singapore should have a fucking BRASS MONUMENT of ME with my pose.
Worship me! All of you! I want y’all to put your left hand on your waist and your right arm in the air!
Last but not the least, Bryanboy loves people from Malaysia, especially Malaysian schoolkids.
Malaysia, Truly Asia!
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
#1 – Bryanboy loves people from Seaside, CA, Bombay, India, Paris, France, Queenstown Estate, Singapore, Valencia, CA, Maylands, WA, Australia, San Francisco, CA, Markham, ONT, Canada, Newmarket, QLD and of course, people from Copenhagen, Denmark. Bryanboy loves you all! Identify yourselves, bitches and say HI!.
#2 – Whenever I go out in public, I always take a quick trip to the toilets every once in a while to smell my armpits.
Being the complete sweaty betty that I am (trust me, in this weather, even a trivial thing such as BREATHING NORMALLY can make me sweat), I know I’m NOT the record-breaking, best-smelling person in the world so I do make the effort to lift my arms up, shove my nose to my pits and figure out whether or not my armpits stink — IN PRIVATE.
(BTW: Thank god my pits don’t usually get wet. It’s my PALMS and forehead that’s my problem.)
Anyway, rumor has it that there’s this one person locally who doesn’t seem to care (or at least make an effort) about his/her armpits. It’s not the first time I heard such gossip about ____. It’s quite sad that people talk about this person about that BO problem but NOBODY has the balls to confront that person – I know I CAN’T… cause I have a vagina.
But then again, who am I to judge when I haven’t really smelled that person?
If you think I have body odour or bad breath (guilty as charged, especially when I go out – I love oysters and booze – perfect recipe for halitosis!), please send an anonymous (or NOT SO) anonymous tip via www.sendatip.com. I invite you to send a tip to THAT person, i HOPE he knows who he is, so they’ll know what’s going on without revealing yourself.
I still can’t do it AND I won’t do it either… though I guess it would look as if it came from me because I posted that website URL on my blog. LOL.
Patsy Stone once said "one whiff of a cocoa bean and our customers would fly like vampires before garlic."
I don’t want to be that coca bean. I’m sure NOBODY does.
But this person that I’m talking about is worse than cocoa bean AND garlic, COMBINBED!
Oh I don’t know what to think anymore.
I love you all! As always, you know how to get hold of me. Email firstname.lastname@example.org or SMS +63-915-7851492.