Bryanboy.com - Fashion Blogger
7:01 am

Fly Me to Vienna, Gucci Gucci Goo and Tatler

24/06/2005, Life

Yesterday afternoon, Thursday, I decided to do some last minute shopping because I still do not have an outfit for the "Preview Magazine" party tonight. As I’ve said previously, the dress code is supposed to be "Modern Indigenous" but I simply cannot find anything "Indigenous" at the stores.

But then again, the only stores I went to earlier were Vuitton, Gucci, Prada then Yves Saint Laurent.

Guccidressingroom_1 

Guccichangingroom

I went to Gucci and bought a couple of things:

Gucci001

1) Black sneakers with leather and velcro straps
2) Black acetate/nylon pants; extremely fitted on the thighs and lower leg.
3) Black cotton long-sleeve top
4) Blue and brown bag
5) Limited-edition bag with studs

Gucci002

I figured later tonight, I’ll probably wear:

1) Dior Homme fitted jacket
2) Gucci black pants
3) Gucci black long-sleeve cotton top
4) Louis Vuitton Limited Edition Mink and alligator bag from last fall that I got at the Louis Vuitton Private Shoppers’ Night last week.

Lvmink

Shopping aside, I went to my cousin Donna’s little fundraising night called "Fly me to Vienna". It’s a 2-hour mini event to benefit independent Filipino artists and contemporary dancers.

I have to admit I’m not a "contemporary dance" person. I’m more of a "shove-cocaine-up-your-nostrils-and-dance-like-a-madman" person. I’m kidding — I’m sober as fuck.

I’m going to my best friend Tina’s house at around lunch time. I need to get a manicure done too. One of my friends will be doing my hair — I need a haircut badly.

Hopefully if there’s still enough time, I’ll probably go shopping for a nice, chunky neckpiece to match the outfit; if I found one I’ll ditch the Dior Homme jacket.

By the way, Rea, the local Brand Manager for Louis Vuitton told me yesterday she’ll email me some pictures from the LV Party last week. Apparently they’re gonna show up in Philippine Tatler. She’ll tell me when. I’m scared!

You know what they say about Tatler magazine – it’s social suicide to get your picture published there.

It means you’re a MatronAir or a senior

citizen publicizing your wrinkles, liver

spots and "wattles", clinging on to dear

god and botox before you go 6 feet

under the ground.

It’s 6:53AM and I’m off to bed. I got infected with a sore throat, cough and phlegm yesterday thanks to my dad. Hopefully I won’t develop a fever in the next 24 hours.

I’ll update later. Wish me luck!

Baboosh.

2:15 am

Fugly Bad Hair Day, We love Pink, and the FBI’s Most Wanted: Bag Lady Bandit

23/06/2005, Life

God what a busy day yesterday was – yesterday cause it’s fuckin 1:42AM here.

A couple of hours after I made yesterday’s post, at exactly 7:30AM, my mother and I went for a Phyto body scrub and full body massage at one of the local spas. It was amazing. Since my usual papparazi weren’t around (otherwise known as my sisters), my mood-ra (mother) took a pic of me. And boy I look so fugly. It didn’t do my all-new Louis Vuitton Pleaty denim handbag justice.

Even a US$1,700 bag looks fugly on someone with bad hair.

What do you expect? I had a full body massage, from head to toe. Even the lady at the spa massaged my ass.

I just love it when a masseuse lathers my butt with oil and goes all hot horny lesbian over em, thinking my butt cheeks are a pair of tits. Oh the pleasures of lesbian sex!

Fugly

God remind me, I need another lipodissolve session. I look so fat these days. Just a few more inches to go….

I also went to my aesthetician and dermatologist earlier for my usual facials. Nothing new there eh?

Since we’re talking about healthcare, there’s a new dental clinic that opened a couple of yards away from my dermatologist. I decided to go in to get my teeth cleaned cause my current dentist (whom I do my usual bleaching sessions) is on holiday.

Boy oh boy, I found a nasty surprise today. Apparently I need fillings, yes, for the first time ever, done. I’ve got an appointment next week. I like this new dentist. Her name is Cynthia and I think she’s a lesbian. Don’t get me wrong though, my current dentist was nice – she was tall, skinny and she wore Prada – but it’s soo hard to get an appointment with her. Well, it’s easy if you’re spending a ton.

Anyway, I think Cynthia’s fab and I loves her.

Trentjemlogo_blackRemember how I told you how I got so hooked into this showbiz hoola balloo?

Forget the pending subscription to Star Magazine. I found something better. I’ve been reading this blog, Pink Is The New Blog, recently.

All I can say is, OH MY GAWSH. There – we’re now officially members of the mutual admiration society. *kiddin*

I love Trent. I love all the showbiz goss. It’s just, it’s just, it’s just. Truly Outrageous! Hah ;)

On to other things….

You decide. Is this lady the same as the "Bag Lady Bandit" wanted by the FBI? I told you, there’s just something suspicious with that lady. ;) If you have any information concerning this case, please contact your local FBI
office.

http://www.fbi.gov/mostwant/unkn/baglady.htm

Fbiwanted

Ciao for now.

Remember me, remember them,

put em together, remember when!

5:26 am

Happy birthday to me. Ladyboy attempt #310 – Result: failed.

21/03/2005, Life

Whip out those orange Hermes and brown Vuitton gift boxes because it’s my 18th (+5 don’t tell anyone) birthday today. It’s funny how I’m getting closer to being a stale 20-something yet I can still feel youth running in my veins.

I threw a small party on Saturday night with some of my closest local friends and it was alright. We had dinner at Cuisine restaurant and went to the vip area of this club "Embassy" for booze.

Giantinabryan

(That’s Gian, who works for the designers "As Four" in New York, my designer friend Tina, who, at 36 or something, looks fantastic — yes, she’s really that young — she even has an 8 year old son, and then moi)

Before the party, my sister and I checked in at the New World Renaissance hotel (who owes a MAJOR reno/overhaul) on Saturday afternoon. Although the hotel is crap, it’s centrally located, as in, no more than 10 meters from the shops. Figured it’s better to stay there rather than going home at 6 in the morning as a casualty.

To be honest, I almost had no outfit to wear. I ordered a few outfits from Kitson Los Angeles and D&G in the US but both packages got stuck in customs. I guess I’ll save those outfits for my holiday this week. I ended up spening the rest of the afternoon on Saturday looking around at the mall to find something to wear but I ended up buying accessories instead.

I mean, I can’t show up dressed like this:

Cu004

I’m too fat to be wearing an outfit like that. Only real tall and skinny people can pull it off.

Oh the pleasure and the fun of borrowing your sister’s outfits and dressing up when no one in the general public is looking eh? When most of my peers have played dressed up with their mother’s clothes, pearls and make up, I’m telling you, I was deprived of such activity when I was a child. That’s alright though — it’s much fun doing it when you’re in your teens.

Anyway, I bought some sunglasses at Yves Saint Laurent, a couple of keychains from Prada (the airplane ones were cute, even bought one of the old robot charms), and a pair of green Juicy Couture tracksuit bottoms. I ended up wearing a generic white top with my Dior corduroys, Juicy Couture chain canteen bag and my Dior boots.

Cu005

Apres-dinner, my friends and I went clubbing and it was fun. Spent a few hours dancing, even saw this young arabicishbutnotfullblownmosquegoingarabic guy who looked like Jason Biggs.

As I have mentioned to one of my friends that night, overall, although it was fun, it felt as if there’s something missing. To be honest, I don’t know what that is. Perhaps I had one of those birthday blues — the bitter realization that, not only we’re getting older, we also need some form of a direction where our lives are heading at.

Oh well. I had fun though.

Cu007

After checking out of the hotel yesterday, the sisterette, moi and the sisterette’s friends had lunch at M Cafe beside Ayala Museum. Sisterette Grace and I had a small row because she stole some of my kimchi before I even tasted it.

Cu008

6:38 pm

You know you’ve evolved when…

01/03/2005, Life

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

Helloworld_1

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.

  Cleanliving_3                                                            

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

thoughts.

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.

DiorcrayonI 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,

go-fuck-my-calorie-count-as-if-it’s-unsafe-sex-but-

who-the-hell-cares-i-could-have-this-as-my-last-

meal

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!
xx

B

4:40 pm

My 18th (+5) Birthday Party

24/01/2005, Life

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.

Dragnorwegian

I honestly find them despicable. A complete insult

to womanhood.

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.

Thailadyboy 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.

Ungarocavalli

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)

Bestfriendmom

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?

9:00 pm

A boring life. Why can’t I be Melania Knauss with a young, non-fat Donald Trump sans bad, carrot hair.

21/01/2005, Life

Repeat after me:

I need a bloody boyfriend.
I need a bloody boyfriend.

I need a bloody boyfriend.
I need a bloody boyfriend.

I need a bloody boyfriend.
I need a bloody boyfriend.
I need a bloody boyfriend.
I need a bloody boyfriend.

I need a bloody boyfriend.
I need a bloody boyfriend.

Reality hit me when I got up about 2 hours ago. It’s not funny waking up at 7PM with "You’re so Vain" playing on my ipod. I spent the entire day sleeping at my younger sister’s bed because my bedroom is full of shite. I haven’t had the maid change my sheets and my bed is full of clothes and paperwork.

Anyway, here’s my realization: you know there’s something wrong in your life when you’re 18 (+4) years old and:

1) You spend a majority of your time working at home.

2) You sleep on your younger sister’s bed because your own bed is full of crap.

3) You barely get out of the house. When you do get out of your bird cage, the only people you end up socializing/having some form of a human-to-human contact with are the ones from either the medical (aestheticians, massage therapists, salon stylist, manicure and pedicure ladies) and retail (shop assistants, store managers, door openers, store security guards) industries.

4) You have far too many profiles at various online personals web sites and get far too many messages but you ignore all of them and not take them seriously because you think you’re far too superior than all of those junk.

5) You’re surrounded by couples. Everywhere you go, every thing you see that have genitalia is coupled with something. The planet is one huge couples-for-christ convention where everyone’s motto is procreation. Your friends are either married… or have a bf/gf.

6) The only form of intimacy in your life is whenever you snuggle with your faggot cat and the sounds of his purr makes you sleep. It’s so wrong and so intimate to the point where your own cat thinks you’re another cat.

Fedex_logo 7) You get orgasms not by traditional sexual methods but 3 things: whenever you flex your credit card to go shopping, whenever you open paper bags with your recently purchased stuff and whenever the FedEx guy arrives… not because he’s cute — instead, you know that package from Neiman Marcus, Saks Fifth Avenue or Dior is inside the FedEx van.

8) And when you do go out with your friends to go clubbing, you’d rather put on a huge dose of high-voltage pomp, attitude and arrogance instead of being the lonely, desperate-for-a-fuck lonely debbie standing alone at the corner of the club. You shrug off people who show interest because you *never* socialize with mere mortals.

9) You’ve lost your libido last year, back when you were 17 (+2) years old because you’ve slept with every Tom, Dick and Harry out there. However, there may be (extremely rare) times when you get horny (aka mating season) — and when that happens, you buy plane tickets to somewhere far flung, fuck the brains out of all their citizens and suck as much cockerel as possible. You’d rather travel for to get a one night stand than do "locals".

My god. What a boring life eh?

You’re so vain… You probably think this song is about you. You’re so vain! I’ll bet you think this song is about you, don’t you? Don’t you?