Protected: Back to regular programming… Today’s 6/6/6! Camwhore Time! Bryanboy does Lunch! Yes, Lunch!
Excessively Preppy. Office Worker Chic
Boy oh boy, what an unbelievable weekend I had. It rained cats and dogs on Saturday night and it was pouring parties left and right. The awful H2O that fell from the sky didn’t stop my preppy-wannabe ass from hopping from one party to another.
I left the house at 7PM and it wasn’t even raining. As soon as I crossed the territorial borders of the big city with the bright lights, it started to pour. A friend called and even suggested that I should unleash the fur and the Jacket-a-wheelers cause it was pissing down with rain. Thank god I brought a Dior Homme dinner jacket with me.
Super super drunk but I still look fierce. And fugly. Look at the face. Hahaha!
Too bad she called in late. I friggin wore a white top and beige trousers. Eeek! My dry cleaners will have a ball as soon as I send in my shit. LOL.
Hat by Chanel, top from Neil Barrett, fish necklace from Chanel, pearl belt (worn as necklace) by Chanel, faux pearls necklace from a flea market, B bag from Fendi, bracelet by Hermès, trousers by Prada, shoes from Louis Vuitton.
Fucking 6:10AM here.
I’m at a loss of words. Can’t function straight.
But a promise is a promise.
Booze or not, let’s play pictionary. Text to follow tomorrow.
I need to sleep.
Nevertheless, I love YOU ALL.
Especially Pepper Teeheknowswhoheis. And Rajo L., whom I never got to spend quality time to talk… but there’s always a next time I’m sure.
CRL – One phrase: THANK you.
Now back to pictionary…
Cry Me a Mississippi River
Oh thank god. It’s nice to be back, in my room, with nothing but black boxers, a cigarette on my left hand… and smug look on my face.
That’s right — I’m back in the good ol comforts of my parents’ pig pen, humongous blue Globetrotter suitcase full of materialistic and orgasmic pleasure, shopping guilt and priceless memories.
I even came to the point where I called the airline to extend my stay in Hong Kong till Saturday because Tina, my gal pal, wanted to go back home today.
But reality sinked in and my heart (which means my wallet, my parents, my life…*kidding*) is nagging that I should just go back.
So off I went to the airport with her, went straight to the business class counter and used my charm to get away with the excess baggage – I had 45 kilos with me — oh yes — for free.
All I can say is that I wish I didn’t come home yesterday and extended my stay.
I miss Hong Kong… and shopping.
Rocky Rocked Our Rock-hard Hearts
I take back about everything I have said about male models.
Ok — maybe not.
On Sunday afternoon, post designer shopping madness, Tina and moi were doing a quick run down of the shops (hah) at Ocean Terminal in Hong Kong. We were kinda having a fight near the doors because I wanted to eat and/or go out for a cigarette but she wanted to go back to the hotel and take a shower.
Then comes this tall, bald looking (ok. not bald, but very short hair) guy walking up the stairs.
"Tina, look at that bald cutie. Oh my god!"
Tina D suddenly went to a frenzy and said "I know that guy! and he’s Filipino"
Then she went up to him and they apparently know each other. With my gal pal being well, motor mouth Miss Congeniality Tina D, she introduced him to me and me to him and invited Rocky to hang with us. Rocky wasn’t doing anything that day and was just roaming around.
With him being 6’2, he became our mascot-slash-bodyguard. Oh yes.
He tagged along with us, shopping and dining around Hong Kong. I’m telling you, his face/body is plastered in quite a few bilboards around that city, not to mention Singapore and Bangkok. He really is such a nice guy.
In fact, despite me being surrounded by people who work in fashion and not working in the fashion industry (contrary to what people think), he is one of the most down-to-earth, humble, hardworking people I have ever met.
He distances himself from other male models especially on shows cause all they talk is gym and boring/pretentious stuff… and he doesn’t like it when everyone speaks English — in the Philippines.
He even deprives himself of things, saves all of his money from campaigns, shows, etc, even to the point of just living on the US$15 a day personal budget (although if he WANTED to spend spend spend, he can do it easily) – just so he can give everything he earned to his family. Come to think of it, he recently bought a 600-square meter land in the province for his mom. Can any Filipino male model do that? I don’t think so.
On our last day in Hong Kong, Rocky and moi spent over 7 hours straight, non-stop, talking about everything under the sun – from 4AM until 11AM, without any sleep whatsoever. Even Tina couldn’t resist chiming in when she got up.
I’m not gonna go into detail on what we talked about but trust me, it made me feel guilty about shopping that day.
I saw something in Rocky I haven’t ever seen in my life – an older brother. I wish him all the best (because he deserves it all) and I hope to see him again.
Meet My New Best Friend, Kelly
Tina, Rocky and I found Kelly, the Rubber Chicken, on the streets of Granville Road. I love her! Everyone in Hong Kong loves her! I used my Birkin bag everyday and put Kelly inside it and trust me – I got more attention from people because of Kelly, instead of my Birkin.
Kelly and a Jean Paul Gaultier Store Sales Associate
It’s nice to make (and see) people smile because of a rubber chicken. Chinese people, particularly the ones in Hong Kong, are generally cold and don’t have a sense of humor. However, with Kelly’s head and neck popping out of my Birkin bag and flops as I walk the streets as if it’s one huge runway during fashion week, people smile, point, and even ask me whether or not they can touch the chicken.
Even police officers, immigration people and customs people LOVES Kelly. The smile, laughter and happiness that Kelly gives to people is priceless.
And of course, Kelly never flies economy on international flights or flights longer than 1 hour. It’s always business class or first for her.
More updates in a bit, including my EXCESS, EXCESS, EXCESS photos.
I love you all!
Eat Your Heart Out.
Boy oh boy the folks at Inquirer are generous. That’s why I love them. (ha ha – am I a freeloader too?)
And there I was — stuck for about an hour and a half inside the car yesterday en route to my travel agent, thinking/asking myself
"I wonder how much do those billboards on the freeway cost."
But this one is better.
You should’ve seen the billboards that we have on the freeway – they’re HUGE.
I think it would be absolutely fabulous if I have my face plastered on a billboard, followed by my website address and my cellphone number, followed by "Please fund my shopping sprees."
On that profound note, I’m signing off.
I’m gonna sleep, have beautiful dreams and wake up impossibly-fresh looking.
I gotta go to my aesthetician later for a last minute session, followed by a pedicure.
Also, thought you’d want to know, I won’t bring my 17-inch sony vaio laptop with me. I’m on a full-scale retail and conspicuous
consumption shopping expedition and a computer is nothing but nuisance.
I’ll be back either Wednesday night or Thursday — depends on when my travel buddy wants to go home.
By the meantime, validate my existence you mere mortals. Bombard my email account with messages (and pictures) of you holding a DIY "I Love/<3 Bryanboy" sign. email@example.com or +63-915-785-1492. Text messages are accepted. No phone calls please. I *NEVER* answer phone calls from numbers I don’t know.
I love you all!!
Ever since I started this blog, I made a personal promise that I’ll never post any entries while being under the influence of alcohol because god knows what I’ll end up writing.
Being the certified night owl that I am, no amount of tranquilizers can put me to rest – despite all the cocktails I had.
Yes – I’ve broken (again) my cardinal rule of not to go out during the weekdays. Today (or yesterday, rather) was an exception.
It’s Hannah Matronic‘s last night out in Manila.
She’s off to New York this coming Wednesday to study.
Although I’ve only known her for about 2 or so months, there’s this ‘connection’ between us. I love her no-nonsense, no bull, brutal, frank and honest opinions (gawd can I be any more patronizing?) – traits that’s very rare to get from people these days.
Kate T., a local designer, sang brilliantly for hours – a very talented individual indeed.
Saw quite a few familiar (and very friendly) faces and enjoyed hours of chat with folks. Tonight is definitely one of my best nights out. It was low-key but refreshing. This one will definitely go to my memory books.
Who knew Monday woud be such a blast? And who would have thought I’d be home by 1:52AM and still have great fun? I couldn’t help but wonder: Saturday nights are indeed overrated.
It’s just a shame that a newfound acquaintance is leaving. Nevertheless, I’m definitely gonna miss her. She’ll be back this December tho… ;)
God do I feel fuckin sentimental or what?
I think I’ll try to go to bed. Tomorrow’s gonna be yet another beautiful day. I’ll save the random cheesemax (honestly, there aren’t any!!! oi vey!!!) and shameless self-promotion later.
P.S. Send me more love bitches!
(Sorry, can’t resist.)
Rapunzel’s Getting a Haircut
I need a haircut. Badly. Like tomorrow.
The last time I got a haircut was probably what — 2 months ago? My hair is just ugh so long now that my head feels sooo heavy especially with all the
spunk gunk I put on it.
I don’t even need one of those fancy schmancy haircuts. I just want my hair cut very short and clean.
Friday Furs and Feathers
Went to the Shu Uemura party yesterday and it was a blast! Saw a ton of people from A to Z and boy the event was a success. I love the fake eyelashes – and yes – they even came in purple – but no – as pretty as they are fake eyelashes were, to me, at least to me, they’re like the cute cousin/married guy/straight guy you want to fuck – but you just can’t because the forces of nature won’t allow you to do so.
My excuse: despite my little lip gloss addiction, I’m still a boy, remember?
But to you real girls, long hair, breasts and vaginas out there, be sure to go to the nearest Shu Uemura counter pronto to see their fall/winter stuff.
I think I already told you lot that I love the rain, non? It’s been raining daily, non-stop, for the past 2 weeks now and sometimes, just sometimes, you just have to use that sort of weather to go ALL OUT when it comes to dressing up.
Fur? In Manila? That’s right bitches.
Fuck, if my memory serves me right, the last time I used fur in Manila was back when I was 15 or 16 and used to go to one of those "consortium" raves (icky factor that word: rave) back in the dark ages. Yep. I miss those bygone days where everyone doesn’t give a cow’s shit no matter what it is that you wear so it kinda gives you that go signal to be as crazy and creative etc. Effort at it’s finest.
As the 2 Tina-s that I know always say: "fight fight fight!" These days, you just have to fight… for survival. Pomp it up to the nines. Let bitches eat cake while you kick the floor with your heels and preen until yer eyesockets fall off. I love it. :)
(Moi at the Shu Uemura event)
Post-Shu, gal pal Tina D. and rushed off to the mall to buy booze etc.
Despite everyone being a couple of hours late (Manila Time is… Manila Time, which is pretty much getting up at 6AM and the only time you get a newspaper is the time when London’s Evening Standard goes on sale) on my little dinner party thing, I’m glad the ones I invited show up.
Heck, even I was late — invite said 8, I showed up around 8:30/9. Hah!
I know the dinner party invites were sent on such a short notice, it was a Friday… and some of the people I invited are very busy individuals with other pressing things to do on a Friday night. Some are even working. So even if they didn’t show up, it was perfectly understandable and there’s always a next time.
Actually, after last night’s dinner party, I don’t even know if there’s gonna be a next time.
I hope so.
I know myself, after booze and all, I can be completely OUT OF IT.
But the ones who did show up, are, well, fucking fun! Let’s face it – I’ve known most of these people for quite some time now (haha) and the original plan of this little dinner party is for it to be private and intimate.
And for the ones who I only got to spend some time with yesterday, well, I think you’re all nice, warm and friendly folks and I would most definitely want to see you again. It’s all good. I sincerely hope that you had fun as much as I did.
The moment everyone’s been waiting for (har har), let’s play pictionary shall we?
We still have a TON of booze left so if you want to do another party – give me a shout. Har Har.
Once again, thank you, thank you, thank you everyone for coming to my little dinner party.
Car Crash Camera
Oh god. Oh my fucking god. I still can’t believe it. I can’t. I just fucking can’t.
I just fucking can’t believe it.
Fuck it. As much as I want to keep it to myself (or should I say – to the people WHO KNOW), I just fucking need to purge this out of my system.
This is what happens if someone picks up your camera lying down somewhere and takes random pictures.
Forget a straight girl and a straight guy snogging. That’s nothing.
But those 4 pictures. Oh yes those 4 fucking pictures… are permanently etched in my head.
GAY SMUT at its finest.
I can’t believe you guys did that.
I think the million dollar question is – HOW?
I have emotional scars now dammit.
But gawd they’re HILARIOUS as fuck.
This will definitely go to the:
I would really appreciate if you do not bring this subject up ever again. Ever. Not now, not today, not tomorrow, not in 10 years time. That’s why I’m purging it out of my system now like a proper bullemic bitch. Once you’ve puked it out, off to the septic tank it goes.
Let’s pretend this never happened/I didn’t brought it up.
IT NEVER HAPPENED.
(what didn’t happen?)
(um, what the fuck are you talking about?)
That sort of thing.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
Jenni Jenni Jenni Jenni E – why the heck didn’t we have pictures of us twogether? I hope the next time I see you, we have a full-time papparazzi in tow. I love those boots! Tina D. was supposed to be little Ms. Photographer for the night but she decided to be "punong abala" or "hermana mayora". Hahahahahahaha!
Anyway, I like the name Prunella. Prunella Vulgaris to be exact. Apparently it’s a plant, too.
Thanks for dropping by at my little thingie majigie. ;)
I’ve got nothing else to say. I’m still having palpitations from those 4 pictures.
As always, email me – firstname.lastname@example.org.
And no, I’m not going to Godskitchen tonight.
Because God doesn’t have a kitchen and I’m anorexic and bullemic as fuck.
Can we go to the toilets instead?
(Suck my dick… Lick my ass)
Nice to see a sudden change of tone from THAT online forum’s vitriol infestation.
Call center life must be oh so boing-boing-boring. Go back to your little cubicles and drink motor oil. It’s good for you.
To be famous is so nice.
Suck my dick.
Lick my ass.
In limousines we have sex, every night with my famous friends.
Motherfuckers are so nice.
Suck my dick.
Lick my ass.
After coming home at 4AM earlier today, who knew I’d be getting up 5 hours later with a massive headache, only to find myself console on a hearty (fatty is more like it) breakfast?
My head hurts after yesterday’s debauchery. Yep. After all that vodka I had yesterday, I feel like there are a thousand cosmonauts dancing inside my head. I’ve officially broken my little cardinal rule of going out – which is NEVER TO GO OUT ON WEEKDAY NIGHTS.
For the past year or so, I’ve had control… I’ve always told myself that I’ll only go out (stay out all night) on a weekend, which is usually a Friday or Saturday night. If I’m going out on a weekday night, it must be in a non-club/bar environment. Until yesterday.
What started as a "last minute shopping/meeting" with my gal pal Tina Daniac ended up into a restaurant-hopping, vodka-and-Embajada-dancing charade with Gian.
I went out early in the afternoon to meet up with Tina. I still don’t have an outfit for tomorrow’s Shu Uemura party and my little dinner thing. The invite says "Mysterious Glamour". I heard some people are gonna show up ala those masquerade balls in Venice but who knows. What is Mysterious Glamour anyway?
I guess that’s the mystery of it. As long as there’s glamour, who cares about the rest? ;)
Chances are, everyone will friggin show up in black. No surprise in that.
Tina and I went to a fabric store (saw some great-looking fabrics) so she can have one of her sewing people do something for me and a friend, in the last minute.
I went to Gucci to take a peek at the fall/winter stuff. Most of them are CRAPOLA. Am I the only one who thinks their new fall bags (the ones I saw at the stores, particuarly the newish pattern) are icky?
I ended up buying a pair of jeans and a belt. One can never have too many jeans. I probably have more than 200 pairs of denim jeans in my wardrobe — no kidding — but I only use 4 or 5 (on rotation) at the most. It sucks!
I guess I’m a fucking hoarder, just like your grandmother.
Bah. Despite showering off the night away and taking one heck of a good poo as soon as I got home earlier this morning, my stomach is still churning all that food I ate yesterday: had friggin salad, oysters, scallops, and some roast beef-thingie at Pepato at around 5PM followed by a ton of spring rolls, chicken satay, tom yam soup at People’s Palace a couple of hours later. I really do feel like a pregnant bitch.
If only I can stick my fingers up my throat I will – but I won’t. I probably have digested all that food to the point where puke won’t be coming out of my mouth if I purge.
Speaking of Gucci… UGH. Remind me NOT to go to back to the Manila store unless they clean up their fuckin act (bring in better pieces; bring in more ready to wear blah blah bullshit) together.
I thought I’d share a photo taken back in late December 2000 when me and my good friend Ariel Lozada went to Bali. I think I was 16 (+1) years old back then. It’s Gucci galore – bandana, glasses, shirt, everything. Gawd, go on… revel in that fugliness.
I miss those days when it was just plain ol’ AB FAB. Imagine going to the markets in Ubud (Bali) on a limo + 2 bottes of champagne at fuckin 10 in the morning.
I know, I know. if you live in the same third word cesspit called Metro Mania as I do, be sure to get your hairy ass to Manila DJ Club later tonight. Thursdays are Fluxxe days… tonight’s the 4th time they’re doing it. Print the flyer and bring it along with you.
Unfortunately, I won’t be able to go out tonight as I have mucho preparation to do for tomorrow’s dinner party.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
Jordan, Bryanboy loves you too, darlink.
Big shout out to people from Irkutsk, Russia, people from the Michigan (my aunt lives in Detroit btw) and folks from London, Ontario.
I’m sending out yet another message to last weekend’s he-knows-who-he-is closet case.
I saw you again last night.
This time with your fuckin boytoy.
Don’t underestimate my minions’ eavesdropping skills. Introducing your boylet as your "friend" to random strangers is vomit-inducing. If you keep on doing that every time you corrupt my visuals with your presence, I’ll have to pay a visit to the Betty Ford Clinic for bullemia. That’s right. Bull-e-mia. You’re a faggot. One heck of a fucking faggot. Now go get some cock shoved up your fuckin arse you nancy boy.
There’s no doubt that I’ll see you again soon.
And there’s no doubt I’ll bitch about you again soon.
Suck my dick.
Lick my ass.
Identify yourselves you fuckin cunts and email me. As always, email@example.com.
The Beautiful People, Super Saturday, Names Names Names, La Embajada, Thievery Corporation, V is for Victor
Screw the Beautiful People
You see them everywhere – malls, the streets, at the club, at events, sometimes, at restaurants. Everywhere. The ones that people admire and look up to. The ones plastered on the newspaper, magazines, the ones you see on the tv, movies, etc. Screw each and every one of them. Screw the beautiful people.
Because one day, oh yes and I fucking look forward to that day, their good looks will fade away and turn into one of these:
Post-mortem teenage angst over. Fuck I’m 18+ + + + + +.
I was spending some quality time in the sheer rurality of La Provincia Laguna with my liver-spotted, "I can still walk so please don’t put me on some chair with wheels DAMMIT" 80-something year old grandmother when my buddy Gian went into a text messaging fracas at 5:30PM on how:
1) I shoud call Emergency Services (as if there’s a thing such as "Emergency Services" in the third world… wishful thinking eh?) and get an ambulance to rush me home in the metro.
2) I should shower up and come up with a todo outfit. "Todo" in Filipino means
extreme, excess, fashion victim hideous, Bryanboy. If you’re a reader coming from the non-Filipino kind, you pronounce it like "to" in "tom" and "do" in "door". TODO.
3) I should drag my fresh-from-late-grandparental-lunch-obesitation fat ass to the NBC Tent in the big city by 7PM because I’m going to present an award at the "Super" event along with my friend Kiko Escora, to the "I Love You" girls.
Alright. Perhaps I exaggerated a bit. Sorry Gian. But seriously.
Rain, 2 hour traffic and all, not even Speedy Gonzalez or any Vuitton Speedy for that matter, can achieve all that in 1 hour and 30 minutes. The distance alone is just as far as New York to London on a Concorde. And we all know what happened to that 30 year old baby – they’ve put the darling of the skies to rest and off to the aerial maosoleums she lies back.
I ended up getting home at 7PM from my gran’s.
And rather than coming up (I think "going out" is more appropriate) with an outfit, I went out with a crappy T-shirt and some buttocks-DEFIED-by-gravity Neil Barrett jeans. Go ahead. Feel free to revel in my royal
highness hidee hideousity.
This is the byproduct when you’ve got a panic attack, an anxiety attack, lack of time and lack of xanax all in one go.
Yep, it’s those faux pearls again. It’s not even effortless chic. It’s effortless *burp* *burp* *fart* *fart* cheek.
I ended up at the Super Event 3 hours late, at 10PM.
Yep, the cheek of it all. My
Had to go with my gal pal Tina and Gareth (ShaolinTiger.com), who was spending his last night in Manila.
Saw quite the usual suspects, friends and acquaintances – prima facie evidence that the scene is just small – my good friend (whom I terribly miss and owe a lunch/dinner thingie) Ariel Lozada who just got back from Paris, Kiko, Tim Yap, Tesa and Carlos, Jun, Xeng Zulueta, Hannah, Mimi Samson, Jenna, Victor, Dennis, Charmaine, etc.
I met quite a few people at the event — I didn’t expect people to be reading my little corner of the dirty world wide web. It was quite overwhelming, yet fun! The ever so gracious Tim introduced me to a ton of folks, particularly to folks at the Inquirer.
BIG KISSES FROM ME TO YOU, THE INQUIRER PEOPLE
It was a Super event indeed.
Names, Names, Names
It’s just as bad as labels, labels, labels. Bench, Penshoppe, Kamiseta. Calvin Klein, Tommy Hilfiger, Ralph Lauren. Oscar de la Renta, Marc Jacobs, Luca Luca. Paul Smith, Nicole Farhi, Clements Ribeiro. John Galliano, Alexander McQueen, Phoebe Philo. Cacharel, Lanvin, Balenciaga. Chanel, Fendi, Lagerfeld Gallery. D&G, Miu Miu, Versus (say what now). Valentino, Prada, Gucci. Dolce & Gabbana, Cavalli, Etro. Graff. Verdura. Garrard.
If you think I’m a superficial, materialistic, let-them-eat-cake cunt for playing the name drop shop till your head pops game galore, let me tell you that I’m even a complete sucker when it comes to remembering names.
I feel bad when people take the time and effort (hell yes) to introduce themselves (and other people) but when it gets done faster than the time it takes for your average coke whore snorting a bloody thick line, sometimes, just sometimes, I’d rather just freeze the moment, hand out candy and whip out my little red Smythson book to write down names.
So the next time I see you and vice-versa, please don’t be offended if I ask what’s your name again in the event that we say our next HIs and Hellos. Despite the fact that, chances are, we’ve probably seen each other many, many, many times.
Apres-Super, everyone went to Cuisine to have some drinks. I was starving that night but rather than having a full meal, it was encore un fois all over again. I have this thing about eating in front of a lot of people (mostly strangers) so rather than ordering proper food, I ended up having a ton of vodka red bulls and a small platter of foie gras. It’s just like at M Cafe on Friday.
Tina Tinio was in full force – I missed her tons after Monday’s dinner party.
Tim introduced me to Celine Lopez and Jenni Epperson (amazing gal), who were both fuckingtastic that night. Celine is genuine, warm and utterly, utterly friendly. Pretty pretty girls are pretty, pretty, girls!
Which reminds me, I’m definitely going back to my evian + raisins + xanax diet soon. Or else I’ll turn into a cow. Ugh.
Also saw Romeo Candido, the director who rescued me from my Friday boredom blues.
After Cuisine, we all went to Embassy as always. It’s Saturday, what do you expect?
I lost my Dior chronograph watch on Saturday night at La Embajada. I remember having it on my wrist when I was playing pictionary with the cameras. Then I ventured out of the vip area to dance and burn some major calorification and next thing you know, my watch has a new owner.
Whoever you are you thieving son of a bitch, send me a message with your mailing address. I’d be more than happy to send you the case, the box, the card sets and the guarantee card that comes along with it. I hope you enjoy your newfound piece like I did.
Overall I had fun.
Gian, Gareth and I left the club early in the morning and met a couple of students from Ethiopia on the parking lot.
After dropping Gareth off at his hotel, Gian and I went to Gian’s place then off to New World to check-in. After having breakfast, Gian fell asleep (yep, he snores like a pregnant bitch in labor). I tried to sleep but I can’t.
There’s something wrong and I couldn’t figure out what it is.
I decided to go home instead. I left at around 9:30AM, all by myself, and endured the 30 minute drive from Makati to my house. Same old, same old, D-word inducing drama on the way back.
Nothing and I mean NOTHING can absolutely beat that feeling.
Just imagine: you after a night’s worth of going out, alone on one side of the backseat, clothes all dirty and grimy, shivering from the cold car airconditioning, staring at the window as you get driven past the dirty, chaotic, industrial city that you live in, having all sorts of thoughts in your head — and the only thing that keeps you intact is a pair of huge, black designer sunglasses.
This sort of thing happens to me each and every weekend and frankly, the only thing worse than this is being on a subway in NYC/London/Paris at 9AM, going home drugfucked or after a booty call.
Thank god I had my last (and only) half of a rivotril tablet to put me to sleep.
V is for Victor
Right. I checked my phone right when I got up and there it was – remnants that I’ve been drunk dialing and drunk texting people again. UGH.
Even people as far as Denmark.
Sorry babes (you know who you are) for the whingeing texts I sent you.
Bryanboy, booze and any electronic device that will allow him to communicate to random strangers do not mix.
Anyway, Gian, apparently, is having Victor as his intern. He was looking for V at Embassy and he made me text him. I saw V’s blog the other day when I was blog hopping and he was at this modellaunch.com website. I was reading one of my sent messages and I texted the guy "I am so gonna put you on my blog 2 get more votes" or something like that.
And since you, my dear readers, love me (please say you do, bitches), can you all spare AND share the love and give the guy some votes at the modellaunch.com website. Even if you do hate me, regardless, please do vote for him and make me, your mommy, proud. Or at least rescue me from shame.
And if that’s not enough, here’s another one off his blog.
Satisfied now? Now go get that mouse to click this link and vote for him.
I haven’t voted for anyone yet cause I think the site requires registration — and you know where I stand on male models. I quite find them errm, I dunno. See my old post about MALE models.
And one website with hundreds, if not, thousands of them: cheekbones, steroid-injecting, gym bunny tall ogres and all… is… well… excruciating HELL for me.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
Bryanboy loves people from Manila, Philippines (there, I finally said it), people from Reno, NV and people from Oklahoma City, OK.
#1 – Just because I’m bisexual it doesn’t mean my gaydar didn’t function on Sunday Morning. There you are in your full gay glory centre stage on your own – each and every move you make at 6 in the morning screams GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY to me. Well… and to 5 other people. It could be that or it could be the pills that you’ve been popping. Who knows. Whatever.
You know who you are and you don’t need a blindfold to pin the tail to the
I suggest that you buy the "Bryanboy’s Guide to Keeping it Straight" handbook if you want to keep things, well, straight. Otherwise, it’s bye bye career for you once people know that there’s a little Dorothy in her ruby red slippers hidden inside you. You could always become a chef if everything else fails. I know you’re no Ducasse but the rumor mill has it that you’re a good cook. No, not 2 eggs and a hotdog.
I love bagels, cream cheese, poached eggs and everything else that comes along with it. I’m anorexic.
Go on bitch, give me that "MAGNUM" look.
Cha-ching! There you have it!
#2 – I can’t believe I was within a 3-meter radius with a very dirty, very old man who gave some crybaby woman an STD; and this was well publicized! Fuck, I won’t even go into specifics. It will just unleash the lower middle class from within me. I’m supposed to be CLASSLESS.
#3 – Yep. That’s what I thought too, folks. He DOES look like a manwhore, especially with THAT top. (and no, this isn’t the man who gave some woman an STD).
Jesus, I’m starting to sound like a tabloid reporter now. Enough already!
I’m meeting up with someone from the Manila Bulletin Monday afternoon for an interview. I know – oh god!
As always, identify yourselves bitches, say Hi!, post comments or email me. firstname.lastname@example.org.
It’s 4:15AM now and I wanna go back to sleep.