Whether it’s a plant, an animal, a gorilla or a baboon, every breathing, living thing in this planet experience some form of change one way or another.
Some change for the better, some change for the worse.
In my case however, you’ll know I evolved for the better when I went from point A to point B effortlessly, with point A being dior lip gloss, a packet of charlie, some reductil diet pills and a pack of marlboro reds
and point B being dior’s new Dior Kiss lip gloss set, centrum multivitamins, arcoxia (etoricoxib) muscle relaxant/pain reliver for my back, lagaflex (carisoprodol paracetamol) pain reliever, and myonal (eperisone hydrochloride) muscle relaxant for neck pains.
At this point you’re probably thinking I stole my grandmother’s pill set to get a cheap high but no, after 2 weeks of procrastination, I finally got my ass to one of the top-notch hospitals (Asian Hospital) yesterday to consult with an orthopedic surgeon about my lower back pains and a neurologist for my neck pains.
I’ve had these pains for the past few months now after years of being in front of the damn computer all the time. I might have developed this weird twitch thing on my back.
Both consultations were kind of fun. However, it’s not as fun as the in-pronto head-to-toe-inspection by the Spanish unfashionable police I had. My orthopedic doctor was in his late 40′s (probably 50′s) and he was very comforting. I got the usual sermon on how I should stop or at least cut back smoking, take vitamins and calcium and do at least 30 minutes to an hour of exercise a day. I also had an on-the-spot inspection: he made me lie down and do all sorts of positions while he’s hitting certain parts of my body with this small, hammer-like tool. Bah!
The neurologist was quite ok, too. He’s around his 30′s, quite fit/muscular — you can tell it by the way the white coat fits on him. He’s not THAT good-looking but there’s something sexual about him.
He’s got this certain look in his eyes — he’s got
very big, round, dark eyes. God these dirty
He was very friendly and I think his eyes made me shut up/quiet for some reason. You just couldn’t help looking at him straight in the eye when he talks. He told me I need to get an MRI session on my neck/cervical spine and I’m doing that on Thursday.
God, what is happening to me? All these health issues aren’t funny. I really should get into a much healthier lifestyle.
In case you’ve wondered, my weekend was quite alright. We went out on Sunday night and had dinner at my favourite Korean restaurant, also had a haircut at Franck Provost. Sister and I did a little bit of shopping, bought a couple of tops. Also went to the Dior cosmetics counter and purchased a new set of lip gloss.
I saw this FUCKING AMAZING turqoise-like blue eye crayon thing at Dior and the damn thing was sold out. Who the hell would think blue eyeliner pencil would be popular in a fucking third world country. It’s always like that — whatever you think is nice is always sold out. Luckily it’s available in Sephora.com — I ordered 2 of those. I have to admit, I’m not really into makeup because it’s gay overkill (as if I’m not gay overkill already, ok, fine, I *do* use lip gloss and maybe, just maybe, some foundation if I’m having a bad case of greasy skin) but it’s only until recent I started being curious about it. The blue crayon is sooo fantastic — just put a line across your lower eyelid on your lower eyelashes and it looks hot and tres edgy!
By the way, I have a new crush. Sort of. God I love that word. "Crush". It’s soo teeny bopper but fuck it, crushes are nice to have. I like that mushy gushy feeling inside. It’s that thing of the past that I will never, ever, outgrow.
I went to my local patisserie (Bizu) to buy a box of their ultra yummy,
macaroons and there was this new guy working there.
Anyway, he does look like he’s FFTCDMWJ (fresh from the college doing minimum wage jobs) but he’s quite a looker. He’s a bit my height, looks very fit, and has a cute face. The only thing I didn’t like was his teeth. When I smiled at him when he gave me my order, his teeth was weird looking. I think he had a fang or something plus they’re just "right". It was freaky.
Honestly though, I wouldn’t mind having him if he kept his mouth closed. I’ve been single and been on the hunt forever simply because of the fact that cute, quality guys are so rare in this town.
Ha-fucking-ha. It could be that I temporarily had hallucinations and flashbacks when I first saw him hence the teeth trauma. In any case, my sister and I are going to go back tomorrow lunch to have a repeat performance/second look before we get our facials done.
Oh and he has a name. Mark, I think. I overheard one of the patisserie ladies calling him.
kiss kiss for now!
Disclaimer: get your barf bag handy. The picture you are about to see below is horrible. And no, I’m not talking about the Ungaro and the Cavalli.
Last Saturday over dinner, my local designer friend Tina and I were planning on what to do on our birthday this year. Her birthday is the next day after mine — although I have to stress out that she’s at least 10 years older than me. ;)
I haven’t thrown a huge birthday bash in ages. The last time I threw a party for myself was back when I turned 17 (+2), at the penthouse suite of an Ian Schrager Hotel in London. I had around 100 gatecrashers plus 20-or-so random internet geeks come into the party. I could never forget the look on the doorman’s faces when me and my thingie friend (ex-crush) called Dave from Edinburgh smuggled numerous booze and tons of bottles of Clicquot and Cristal inside 3 Prada and Vuitton suitcases the night before.
Back then, I had the hots for that ex-crush. Shame he ended up with this Indian or something girl called Shabana. If he only knew how I fancied him badly. Oh well.
I on the other hand, did the side dish instead of
the main course.
I basically ended up with Shabana’s friend — another guy called Dave — who was an actor for commercials, who, at that time, had Pot-o-Noodle and Tango adverts under his belt. He was alright looking I guess… but the sex was bad. It was my fault though. I couldn’t get an erection, not that it matters cause I’m a bottom bitch. I literally didn’t have the libido at that time – I was utterly drug-fucked, casualty at its finest, pro-bono cocaine sponsored by that Turk guy Ronnie, who brought this weird psycho ward friend who looked exactly like the thin man who had the hair smelling fetish in Charlie’s Angels.
Oh the memories. Since then, I haven’t really thrown any hedonistic birthday parties.
This year however, I can feel the call of nature… and peer pressure. After all, I’m turning 18 strong>(+5). Tina suggested that we should throw a joint birthday bash in the rooftop of one of her condos with everyone dressed up like a bitch. This includes all the guys — everyone has to wear high heels. Heels, lipstick and hair extensions galore.
Honestly, this is one fine line I’ve never crossed before.
Sure, I may be a bent queer mother fucker that carries a handbag but me in a wig and heels? Nuh uh. I’ve never done that, at least publicly. Personally I think it’s too much. I live in a small world and I don’t want any members of my clan see me abuse the powers of a stiletto.
Drag queens also scare me. Whenever I hear the word "drag", I get mental pictures of 6-foot tall, extremely hairy, gay white men with cheap K-mart make up, hooker-like stockings, cheap outfits and a voice that doesn’t match.
I honestly find them despicable. A complete insult
I don’t want to do drag. When I’m gonna dress up like a real girl, I wanna dress up like a REAL girl. Tall, lanky, Eastern European skinny son of a bitch that strut the runways in Milan. I want va-va-voom instead of bra-bra-broom! Drag queens want huge, watermelon-sized, stuff-a-turkey-on-your-chest big tits, I want it flat-chested. A mere raisin on top of a thin-crust pizza. That sort of thing. They like big curly, high blonde wigs, I like long, extremely thin, slick and straight hair. They like cheesy, cheap porn-star 12-inch high platform stilletos, I like $750 pumps with a 4-inch heel. They want hideously thick makeup, I want it simple, fresh and polished.
Even Galliano’s gone real world. Bye
bye theatrical. I don’t wanna be a
sucky sucky 5 dolla me love you
long time 10 dolla you pay 20 dolla i
gib free roast duck cheap Thai ladyboy.
In other words, I want it real…and flat chested.
And not fake. I feel sorry for those young, tissue-paper stuffing teenage girls. Hello young ‘uns… ya should be happy for your tits. Models have small tits. Remember: big tits are for mothers and hookers.
DO YOU BLOODY WANT TO LOOK LIKE A
WATERMELON CHESTED PREGNANT MOTHER?
THE ONLY REASON WHY BOYS LIKE HUGE TITS
IS BECAUSE THEY FANCY THEIR OWN MOTHERS.
THERE’S A TERM FOR IT. "MILF", MOTHERS I’D
LIKE TO FUCK. (bestfriendsmom.com)
The tentative date for our party is Saturday, March 19th. We can’t make it later than that cause we’re going to Boracay again on the 23rd, then I’m off to Singapore in April. I’ve got 54 days to drop to 100 pounds, lose weight, think and buy an outfit, get fantastically brilliant skin and wax my entire body. Should I wear trousers or a dress? Should I show some skin or the finest frocks ever?
Fucking hell, how hard is it to be a girl?