Allow me to indulge for a little bit as I rekindle bittersweet memories from my past.
I haven’t done a Bryanboy Life Archives post in a long time so here goes. Enjoy as I give some light to the skeletons in my walk-in wardrobe.
If you’re a parent, the worst thing that could ever happen to you is to give birth to an attention-seeking, greedy little child with short attention span.
Ever since I came out from my mom’s orifice, I have always been an attention-seeking whore… a subject of ridicule.
I went to a hardcore catholic private school and I’m telling you – it ain’t fun.
I’ll give you a kiss on the cheek and an oreo cookie if you can spot me in this picture. Click it for the full-size.
You see, schools in the Philippines shouldn’t fuckin force Catholicism and religion to kids. I remember having Protestant and Born Again Christian classmates… even they have to study Catholicism – but then again, they’re in a Catholic School. Bleurgh. Enough religious bullshit.
Anyway, I’ve put an enormous amount of effort just to make friends with anyone in my class.
I really have.
However, instead of gaining acceptance from my former classmates, everyone looked down at me as if I’m scum.
I don’t blame them.
I did all sorts of things to gain attention. I nicked stationery, stickers and pens for fun. I did a little extortion stint asking a couple of bucks from each student who wants to use the bathroom. Heck, I even faked one of my faggot ex-teacher’s signature on my own project because I submitted it late. Little had I known that he doesn’t use a pen with PINK ink.
Trust me, each and every year I was in school I was sent to the "guidance counselor"… and year after year, my parents have gone to the principal’s office to straighten things out.
Over the years, I’ve put both of my parents to an unbelievable amount of shame.
I was even sent to a shrink… at 12… yep. It was THAT tragic.
Alas, I don’t think they had Ritalin back in the dark ages.
These days, I’d do anything just to see my current shrink… if only I had the time. All it takes is for me to complain that I couldn’t sleep at night because of a handbag that I want and the next thing you know, he hands out three sheets of paper that allows me to get me candy from the pharmacist. It’s amazing!
Imitation My Ass
Knock knock cliche. I don’t think imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. I think it’s recognition and respect.
You’ve read my mind. Yes, there’s someone out there copying me.
It’s nothing new though. He’s the same person I busted before for copying me and stealing my posts.
Instead of plagiarizing my posts word per word, he’s stolen ideas and certain items except he’s done his own twist on it.
God I despise knock-offs.
And the damage doesn’t stop there. Here’s one that made me tick off.
(no, that’s not me btw.)
and then he used my name in vain…
It’s flattering to an extent because according to him, my blog is one of his favourites. Although I find it interesting on how he didn’t link my blog on his blog when all his other favourites are there – I think he’s scared for his readers to find out he’s copying me.
Here I am, doing my own thing, enjoying myself and having fun at the same time, trying to achieve acceptance from others as I search what my true purpose in life is.
I have always thought of myself as an outcast – I don’t belong anywhere. I have always thought nobody wants me for being me hence I’m on a constant, lifelong search for people who will appreciate me as it is.
Yet as you do your own thing in this planet, you trigger other people to BE you…. to copy you.
Has the world really gone bad? Why oh why oh why oh why?
I guess I shoud be flattered because there are people who want to be me.
Am I selfish for not wanting to see myself in others?
I know most people want to see themselves on other people because they want to be able to relate to one another.
I’m royally pissed. I think I’m breeding negativity here.
I’ll shut the fuck up – I think I’m better off with a gag order.
I’m going to light some L’Artisan candles, relax and indulge on vanilla ice cream.
I need to be surrounded by positive energy… so I’ll be positive.
P.S. I’m really not a bitch. I promise! It’s just that I am so pissed. Just give me time, please, I need time.
I need time to be able to control what I’m saying so I won’t hurt other people.
I need time to choose whatever comes out of my mouth so it won’t look negatively on me when I say something.
I need time to care the consequences of whatever I say.
I need time to… oh fuck it. I don’t need time to learn how to bullshit.
Because even a fuckin 5 year old can spot a knock-off.
And no, that ain’t bullshit.
P.P.S.S. Big shout out to all employees of McCann Erickson Philippines, particularly Peter. Byanboy loves y’all. God knows what Peter thought of me. Ignore whatever you’ve heard from him – they’re all false. Hah hah. *kiddin* I love you all.
Au Revoir Paris, Privet MOCKBA!
I believe that everything happens for a reason. Call me crazy if you want but I also believe in "signs".
If something is meant for me, then it really is meant for me.
The universe will drop subtle hints and give me signs so I’ll make the right decision.
Otherwise I wouldn’t be standing wherever I’m standing right now… with no regrets whatsoever about my life.
How insightful eh?
On that note, look at what I got in the mail on my weekly FedEx shipment from my office.
Isn’t it a sign?
A sign for me to go to where people "sing ra-ra-rasputin, lover of bryan the queen" and wear my new Hermes parka?
There are no more 1-bedroom suites left at Hotel Costes, Hotel Bel-Ami and Hotel Ritz at the time when I want to go to Paris so why even bother. There’s no more availability even at cheap but chic Hotel Pershing Hall, a hotel recommended by one of my acquaintances in Londres.
Isn’t that a sign too?
It’s gonna be Fashion week at the world’s fashion capital for god’s sake, not to mention the lack of time for me to get a Schengen Visa. 3 weeks left… oi!
If Monsieur Jacques Chirac or HE Ambassador Gérard CHESNEL personally invites my third world ass to spend my money in Paris, closed the Catacombs and provide a bed in the middle of all those bones so I can sleep at night (I’ll even pay for the bed!), then perhaps I’ll change my mind and reconsider.
But for now, it’s going to be au revoir Louis Vuitton event and Zdrastvuite MOCKBA for me.
I will have to make that dreaded phone call to LV’s brand manager later today, apologize and decline her invitation.
My god, this is going to be worse than breaking up with a guy.
I’m kinda heart-broken and I’m sure it will pass.
Afterall, the mental picture of my cute Russian friends teaching me how to snowboard is already giving me an orgasm.
I think I’m gonna bid goodbye to the LV invite in person. I’m gonna drag my Yves Saint Laurent boots (in my little walk of shame) to Vuitton later today anyway because she told me to pick up my invites for the Moon Cake Festival/Event (?). I might even comfort myself by going shopping (if there’s something new) and tip toe my way into the retail therapy waters.
I reserved a maroon/plum-coloured velvet scarf and I’ll purchase it today along with whatever fancies my eye.
Ooooooooooo I hate myself.
Bryanboy Loves and Random Cheesemax
#1 – Bryanboy loves people from Piscataway, NJ, Long Beach, CA, Haag, Germany, Oberlin, OH, Las Vegas, NV, Eklanda, Sweden, Mountainville, NY and Tacoma, WA. Big hugs and kisses from the fabulous third world y’all. Identify yourselves bitches by posting a comment on my blog.
#2 – It’s been a while since I posted proper (and decent) photos of myself. I’ll make sure my paparazzo takes a ton of pics later today when I go out. My best friend Kelly is back from hibernation and my Birkin bag needs major mileage.
#3 – Big hello to all my fans in Saudi Arabia. Thanks for the text messages. I love you all!
#4 – Identify yourself mystery caller! I received a call from an unidentified dialing object but hanged up before I answered.
#5 – Yeah, as if this is new. Hello, this blonde bitch has been feasting on mussels and flaps since god knows when.
As always, send your messages of love and hate to firstname.lastname@example.org. Text messages (and calls – if the weather permits) are also accepted at +63-915-785-1492.
I love you all!
P.S. Sing with me… 1, 2, 3. Ra Ra Rasputin Lover of Bryan the Kween… there was a Vuitton invite that really was gone. Ra Ra Rasputin, Bryan’s the third world love machine, it was shame how he carried on.
Oh dear. I had serious palpitations earlier.
(image courtesy of LouisVuitton.com, LVMH)
Louis Vuitton will close Paris Fashion Week with a party to publicise its biggest store yet, opening on the Champs-Elysées on 10 October for a select clientele. A hundred "VICs" (very important clients) suspected of spending up to $200,000 a year on the luxury brand have been invited to mingle with celebrities for a preview of the store and the chance to buy limited-edition items. Sharon Stone, Serena Williams and Uma Thurman are expected to attend the event, which will comprise dinner and a visit to Vuitton’s museum in Asniéres. The opening coincides with the launch of Louis Vuitton’s online store. (26 August, 2005)
I won’t divulge anything as of yet… but… is it France or Russia this winter?
a) France: rush to the French Embassy PRONTO to apply for a tourist visa (funny how I talked about the damn visa thing yesterday), go to the travel agent, book business class airline tickets to Paris for only a 1-week stay, try to get a decent hotel suite (because of the fact that it’s fashion week, rooms at the top hotels are scarce), deprive myself of shopping, dining, going out, etc for an ENTIRE MONTH otherwise it would be no serious shopping (other than food, booze and presents) for me in Paris…
- MIGHT be able to go to LV’s hottest ticket this year (take note of the MIGHTY word MIGHT)
- COULD BE a once in a lifetime opportunity. Well, at least for now.
- Uma Thurman. OH. MY. GOD.
- 1-week stay only. my parents are gonna flip out cause it’s only last month that I left.
- can’t go all out on shopping (I shouldn’t have gone to HK!!!!!!!) cause last month’s bills haven’t even arrived yet!
- what’s a trip to Paris without spending big buckeroos at Louis Vuitton. Loulou de la Falaise. Colette. Hermes. Dior. Chanel?
- it would be very sad to come home empty-handed (like that would ever happen, knowing me, but still…)
- winter outfits gone to waste because of warm, tank top + cashmere cardigan, October weather
b) Russia: let this once in a lifetime opportunity pass, sulk for several months but revel in caviar, blinis, vodka, gorgeous Russian eye candy during hardcore winter wonderland because I know the fall/winter outfits that I bought on my recent shopping expedition (including my precious Fendi and Hermes down jacket) won’t go to waste… but I have to wait until Nov 17 to make that happen.
- no rush, no stress
- my hotel is FREE for 12 days in Moscow because I’ve racked up over 140,000 points on my Starwood Preferred Guest account. 10,000 points = 1 free night at the Moscow Sheraton.
- caviar, blinis, vodka
- pure winter wonderland escapade
- I’ll get to see my Russian friends whom I haven’t seen since last year
- I’ll get to use my Dior snow boots, Fendi, my furs, my Hermes down jacket
- my Russian friends can finally teach me snowboarding (I’m REALLY LOOKING FORWARD TO THIS)
- I’ll get to visit North Russia where nuclear submarines are at
- very litte shopping (not set in stone cause I’ll be on a 1-day stopover in HK for last minute necessity buying) which leaves me more opportunities for next year, i.e. NYC on either Jan/Feb or Mar.
- MIGHT miss LV’s hottest ticket this year
- COULD ONLY BE a once in a lifetime opportunity. Well, at least for now.
- Uma Thurman. OH. MY. GOD.
As I’ve said, I’m not divulging any more details unless I get my act together.
And before you start bombarding me with messages of temptation of doing BOTH, no, it can’t be both this year.
Some of us have other important things to do, such as stay within the allocated "number of days Bryan is gone away from home" quota.
God I hate decision-making.
My head is spinning. I think I need a tranquilizer of some sort, like, pronto.
I just remembered that I need to lick my parents’ ass so I can move out NEXT MONTH. Enough with procrastinating.
That’s right. I need to work on my plan on how I’m gonna get my familia de horreur AKA parentals to say:
"Yes, Bryan, we won’t have any hard feelings if you move out of the infamous birdcage. Spread your wings dear son and fly. Fly! Fly! Fly to your new pad."
With the Paris option, how
am I are they going to cope?
My parentals will go straight to Asian hospital for cardiac arrest if I told them I want to move out in about 2-3 weeks AND go to Paris afterwards.
I’ll update you guys in a couple of hours. I’m 12 hours overdue for an article I’m writing. I need to finish it first before I start doing my cheesemax.
Be sure to visit later.
By the meantime, email me bitches! email@example.com.
Here’s a little act of kindness (and of course, publicity) for those who give it to me.
As some of you know, I ocassionally check sites that refer to my site from time to time. I like to keep track of what’s going on around the world, where my site is being talked about, etc.
You see, I’m a certified A-grade hoarder. I hoard clothes, bags, accessories and such.
Heck, I even hoard love, attention and hate mail.
Anyhoo, there’s another entertaining thread on some Filipino forum somewhere. Trust me, there’s quite a few hilarious posts there.
One thing in particular is this ‘Foxistar’ person who is certainly sure that I want to be a girl but even a sex change can’t change the truth… no amount of money will make me a girl.
It looks like this fucker knows me more than I know myself.
(BTW, I’m not sure whether or not posters can re-edit their posts once they’ve posted on the boards but I wouldn’t be surprised if s/he took it off. Anyway, at least I know… and have seen better)
A sex change?
Me being a girl?
Why on earth would I want mussels on my crotch when I love being a boy, I love my cock, I like jacking off and being jacked off?
I’m not THAT deranged to turn myself into a vagina.
Yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck.
In any case, isn’t it just adorable?
What’s even more amazing is when this wart-faced douche bag emailed me earlier today.
Then I replied… and he replied…
If I was a handbag designer, there’s no way I’d email "ugly, gay, almost famous" people who WANTS TO GET A SEX CHANGE out of the blue and bribe them with handbag endorsements in exchange for free publicity.
The right way to do it bitch is to at least kiss my ass, worship the third world soil I’m standing on and tell me I’m fucking gorgeous, fabulous, sexy and all things patronizing that you can think of. Once I’ve promoted you, then you can start the backstabbing and the filth.
Not the other way around.
Alas, you did quite the opposite.
I hope my efforts in giving you publicity pay off.
I just fucking love it. People will go to great lengths just to use you… kiss your ass, say bad shit about you, etc.
When the only thing I want to do is to have fuckin fun.
Nevertheless, I’m glad there are people out there – and these are the people who really MATTER – friends and genuine people – who know better. People who will never judge me based on what they see initially, but based on their own personal experiences of/with ME.
You know who you guys are and I truly appreciate each and every one of you.
I know I OWE absolutely no one any explanation – as you guys have told me over and over again – but it’s things like this that I can’t bear. Don’t worry, I’ll most definitely fine-tune myself and learn to adapt based on my experiences.
Back to the handbag bitch… who’s the bigger loser now?
Because I’ve let myself used and gave what s/he wanted.
But frankly, I don’t give a flying fuck.
Look mate, your handbag concept is nice, in fact, a handful of your bags are quite cool, but your attitude fuckin stinks. Whether or not you get something out of this post you at least owe me a couple of handbags.
May you rot in handbag hell.
*runs off to get a Fendi Spy bag in white mink*
La La Lacoste
As Fashion Week in New York goes into full swing, photos are flooding in, particuary the ones from Lacoste.
I knew s/he’s gonna reply in a heartbeat. S/he’s on
THEN WHO THE HELL WERE YOU TARGETTING?
As always, y’all know my email address. firstname.lastname@example.org.
Oh my fucking god.
The Cosmo Magazine Bachelor’s Bash was a blast.
I unleashed the inner Seventeen-magazine (ok… more like Teen Beat with JTT and Andrew Keegan on it… yuck..) reading teenage girl from within.
Never in my entire life I have publicly screamed my heart out like a fuckin desperate bitch.
And never in my entire life I have seen a vast number of faggots and females screaming their hearts out like fucking bitches in heat.
But yeah… I’m telling you, I probably spent a good half hour screaming "oh my god (because a lot of them were buttons, buttons, buttons – thanks IMS-E.)" and shrieking with my hands up in the air telling "I love you" to any random guy with a bulge on their crotch.
Whereas the girls behind me were going "Marry me _____!!" or "I wanna have babies _____!"
The place was friggin full, crowded and hot – my top was literally drenched with sweat when I went out of the tent… thank GOD I brought "back up" outfits with me in the car. No way I could’ve survived the night without changing clothes.
Let’s play pictionary for a bit.
What’s strange tho is I probably didn’t even see half of whatever happened there because I didn’t wear my contacts.
I was TOTALLY disappointed when I saw that Dennis Trillo person. I know he looks short in TV a`he looks fit.
But I didn’t expect him to be 4 feet 1 inch tall!
And the straight twin brother of my little "everyone-knows-he’s-homosexual-all-he-needs-to-do-is-to-come-out" eye candy thing wasn’t there either.
Enough of this ghetto local showbiz obsession nonsense. I revealed far too much about my deadly showbiz sins already. How so so lower middle class.
I look forward to next year’s bash.
Whatever happened after the bash is best kept to myself. All I know is I got home at around 7:30AM.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
# – Bryanboy loves people from Bendigo, VIC – Australia, Lambeth, London – UK, Burnaby, BC – Canada, Hildenborough, Kent – UK, Graz – Austria, Baulkam Hills, NSW – Australia and Sunbury, VIC – Australia. Bryanboy loves y’all and I wouldn’t hesitate to give each and every one of you sexual favors had I been to there.
#2 – Has anyone in this planet taken a sleeping pill/benzo which comes in small blue tablets with "P94" on one side of the pill? A friend gave me two of these last night and boy it helped me sleep! It was better than rivotril! I don’t know what they were called.
#3 – I can’t believe there’s nowhere in this city where one could go to (for booze/dancing/nice music/chill out/whatever) at 5-6AM. Anyway, me and a couple of friends ended up at Capone’s post-Fluxxe. Capone’s is this bar/small club where preppy Filipino (also known as "coño") kids go to.
I’m not feeling good today for some strange reason.
I feel sooo drowsy, cold and clammy.
I’ll update later. Email me as always, email@example.com.
Dirty Old Stalker
This man has been stalking me for the past few months now. His disgusting trash of an english ass won’t stop sending me messages. I think he wants to impregnate me and be his personal houseboy. As if I’d touch dirty dishes. Heck, I even ask my fucking maid to fuckin clear the ashes on my Hermès ashtray let alone wipe some elderly man’s poop chute before bedtime.
Go hunt some other sucky sucky 5 dolla fool you fucking twat cause this gook ain’t gonna touch your filthy AIDS stick.
My god, is he a fucking freak or what?
Someone should call the Scotland Yard on him for preying on young, innocent children such as myself.
Aren’t there any laws to protect the young and the restless?
His sheer existence on this planet is pretty much a crime to humanity… child abuse at its finest.
Even if I was a frigging whore I’d be selective of who I’d get fucked (and get paid by) because there’s no way I’m giving 15-minute gratification to a minimum waging pensioner in this life.
The gold digger in me will only procreate to people who belong to the Fortune 100 Bachelors list.
At least that’s what I learned in the "This Is How We Do Things Our Way" handbook of life.
I know, I know…
To further prove my bragging, self-validation-desperate, attention whoredom persona, I thought I’d do one of those "what’s inside your handbag" posts. The last time I did it was back in November of last year. I think I’m gonna do it more frequently from now on.
What do you expect? It’s fucking 2:44AM, I can’t sleep, and I’m in desperate need of a shower (hence the handbag spill at the back of my Chanel towel) – I’m too lazy to find a plain white backdrop for my goodies at this time of the night.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
#1 – Bryanboy loves people from Norwood, MA, Chula Vista, CA, Pensacola, FL and early birds from Singapore who surf the net at fucking 2:50AM.
#2 – Bryanboy loves email such as:
Of course Gucci won’t make me happy. What the fuck are you talking about?
I look forward to the day when someone gives me a fucking US$64,000 40cm Hermes black crocodile Birkin bag with pave diamonds. That will definitely fill one big void in my life.
The eternal emptiness that is inside me can go to fucking hell if I can get my hands on that bag.
Mind the gap bitches cause that bag will make me happy happy long time.
#3 – Everyone in the fucking Philippines is gone/leaving! Hannah went to NYC to study, two people I know are in Australia probably parading their bottoms at Palazzo Versace (lucky bitches), one is leaving for Paris this week, a couple are going to Hong Kong in 2 weeks.
And here I am stuck in the fucking third world!
At least there’s something to look forward to this week: a private dinner party & a Russian-themed birthday party both on Wednesday night… and then the Cosmo bash on Thursday.
Enough rambling for now. I need to go to bed cause I have to be up by 9AM.
I love you all.
Back to Business
It’s back to business for me. As much as I want to think I’m still travelling, this bitch has got to do a reality check and start living his normal life.
On that note, let me do a public service announcement for those of you who are planning to fly via Philippine Airlines in the future. I hope whoever owns Philippine Airlines read this and/or any Philippine Airlines staffers/workers and such.
You see, the reason why I fly business class even on 1 hour and 40 minute flights is to separate myself from farm animals – cattle, sheep, goats, chickens – whenever I fly. I would rather pay premium money to ensure a comfortable flying experience: comfy seats, tons of space, pillows, blankets, etc than say be surrounded by unnecessary noise. It’s very rare for a screaming child to exist on business class rather than where mere mortals go to.
But the flight from Manila to Hongkong was one of the worst flights I’ve ever been in my entire life.
I like Philippine Airlines. Don’t get me wrong. The service is good. The staff is friendly. Everything is just great.
Yet there is this one man who wrecked that experience. Make that two because it takes 2 to tango.
Take a look at the elephant on this photo.
The man with the pregnant tummy had a mouth as big as his gut.
All throughout the flight, his voice can be heard from where we sat (seat 1K) right through the back of the plane.
He did NOT spare anyone in the flight some silence.
In his conversation with the other guy, he uttered all sorts of profanity in both the English and Filipino dictionaries.
What’s worse is the fact that this elephant is probably an airline/airport employee who only got upgraded… or worse, a free flyer… hitchhiker of the skies.
Every once in a while I’ll sit up straight to see the looks of everyone else’s faces near our seats and you can tell everyone wanted to try to sleep but they can’t because of this man.
I’m sure Judy Ann Santos, who is some big local actress in my country, who, btw, sat behind us, probably also had her ears wrecked by these elephants.
My friend and I tried to drop "subtle" hints, such as asking the stewardess whether they have EAR PLUGS or not – they don’t… not on short flights.
It was pure torture I’m telling you.
These 2 men sat at seat 1C and 1A, Sunday August 28, 2005, flight PR300, 8:00AM.
If you know anyone who works at Philippine Airlines, please print this post and ensure the elephant won’t fly again. Get him fired, get him roasted. Put him in a cage or better yet, send him to a fucking circus.
I just don’t want to see him ever again.
Saved by the Needle
I passed my Tuesday drama with flying colors. I went to my aesthetician as planned, had an emergency facial, Wednesday arrived and my monstrous zit went from a volcano down to an ant mound.
I mean, come on, how can a zit possibly survive this?
I know what you’re thinking – that tacky, cheap bracelet ain’t mine. Belongs to my aesthetician. Here i am, red-faced, just right after the treatments.
Heck, I accomplished a ton of stuff that night – had a glycopeel/cleaning/extraction facial, a powerpeel session and an IPL (Intense Pulse Light) session on my face. I even wanted to get a lipo dissolve session on my arms but my damn doctor refused me this time, telling me I just had a couple back in May.
What I do though is a chin implant. I hate being double chinned. But I’m scared of surgery – although the idea of going under general sedation is appealling. VERY appealling.
I’m happy with myself now though.
Surgery can wait until I turn 75 years old and wear Oscar de La Renta.
As soon as I got up earlier this afternoon, the first thing I did was call my gal pal Tina D. I told her how my doctor just got back from Hong Kong last week and she was rubbing the word "sale" to my face while she’s doing my IPL treatment.
Yeah – why didn’t we fuckin went to Hong Kong this month, when everything is on fuckin sale, plus the new fall/winter stuff are now on the shelves?
And then I had a realization.
We. Must. Go. Shopping.
Shopping. Shopping. Shopping. Shopping. Shopping.
And while we’re at it, we might as well go to fuckin Shanghai. or Beijing.
Even for a day.
Called our travel agent first thing earlier, booked flights, had to rush out and get a passport photo done for my visa application, gave it to the my travel agent and hopefully I’ll get my passport back this Friday.
When am I leaving for Hong Kong? Sunday.
When am I going to China? Monday.
Sunday this week, Monday next week.
It’s all too fast eh? But it’s all good.
Desperate housewives, desperate times, desperate measures.
So desperate that I paid my credit cards off in full today to give me prime time worthy, ball-busting, shopping space on my plastic.Gotta love online banking.
If you’re in Hong Kong or Shanghai and want to see me in my full glory, send me an email: firstname.lastname@example.org.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
Bryanboy loves people from Graz, Austria, Columbia, MD, Danbury, CT, Clarksville, TN and Cincinnati, OH.
#1 – Anyone fancy some cottaging action? Unfortunately, I’m not. This is how STDs spread fast. Someone I keep running into various toilets is into it. I even saw him earlier this evening, shaking that dick as he shivered right after peeing. Oh my eyes! Oh your head!
#2 -To my pretty, pretty, pretty, beautiful fucking beautiful guardian angel, thanks for the Mario Badescu referral. Will definitely buy it the next time I go out. BTW, is it true that girls lick chocolate off guys’ bodies at the Cosmo Bachelor Bash? Oh. My. God. Oh. My. Fucking. God. I went to this page and it looks like the promo is open ONLY TO FEMALES. Someone please fund my sex change savings account quick – I’ll take care of the wig and my clitoris-exposing vagina micro shorts.
#3 – I’ve switched from Marlboro Reds to Marlboro Lights to Dunhill Lights. Quite impressive eh?
#4 – To those damn folks at LuisaViaRoma. I ordered on Aug 3/4 and I still have not received my order. What the fuck is going on and have you lot even sent it? You already charged me and I paid it off already – if I don’t get it before the 30th, expect a fuckin dispute from my bank!
#5 – I’m telling you, these boots are fuckin calling my name. It’s now available in my size (40 or 41) at Eluxury.com for US$1,825 a pop.
They’d better have these boots in fuckin Dior in HK otherwise….
Enough ramblings for now. I have to catch up on beauty sleep. No wonder I’m getting zits. This bitch doesn’t know when to rest.
P.S. Send me love, or post comments, ok? Please validate my existence. Thank you!
Where the fuck is your god?
You tell me bitch, cause my god punished me for all the bad deeds I did in this planet.
Someone told me last night that my skin looked great. Yes – it was Queen Naz Noor to be exact, while waiting for my vodka red bull from the bar.
Fast forward a couple of hours…
I slept at 5AM, then I got up 6 fucking hours later with my WORST nightmare.
A fuckin cheesemax the size of 79AD Mount Vesuvius slapped in the middle of my face.
Right between my thick, Amazonian foliage-like eyebrows to be exact.
Yes, I haven’t had a facial in far too long — 2 weeks, I think? I can’t even remember.
But god. God oh god oh god oh god oh god.
This is just fuckin ludicrous.
This is what I get for saying I don’t have random cheesemax oi vey!
KARMA BIT MY SCROTUM AGAIN.
This is even worse than my St. Tropez disaster last year.
I really can’t afford to have a zit. I just can’t.
Alliance Française de Manille is having a little French Fashion Illustration event today and I’m gonna miss it because of satan’s spawn stuck on my face.
My life is ruined. I have so many things to do, so many opportunities, so many so many many-many-many. Yes, many many many many.
Why oh why oh why oh why oh why do I have to be fucking human?
Why oh why oh why oh why oh why can’t I get volcanic immunity? Do I fucking need a fucking diplomatic passport?
Why oh why oh why oh why oh why do I have to be punished this bad?
I called my aesthetician and booked an emergency extraction facial/glycopeel cleaning and a powerpeel/microdermabrasion session later this afternoon. It’s gonna be syringe day today. Inject that mother fucker with weapons of mass destruction. 5PM to be exact.
While they’re at it, I might as well ask them to fuckin bombard the damn thing with fuckin cyanide. Morphine. Heroin.
Heck, they better make it lethal.
Sodium Thiopental (Pentothal), Pancuronium Bromide (Pavulon) and Potassium Chloride.
They’d better remove this thing on my god damn face no later than 7PM tonight or else I’ll commit suicide.
Oh yes. Suifuckingcide.
I’ll cover my head and suffocate myself using cling wrap whilst being locked inside a vintage Vuitton trunk.
I’m not kidding you.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
Oh screw all of you. Yes. Each and everyone of you. I’m not in the best mood today.
Go kill yourselves or something. Go get an eating disorder. Go cottaging. Go get a sexually-transmitted disease. Go get food poisoning. ALL OF YOU!
Except the ones who recently sent me love. Bryanboy loves you and only you…
(Alright… I know I said NO photoshopped text/signs but I gotta make an exception)
I can’t think straight. I need those shots. Pronto!
I’ll update later. Promise.
P.S. Send me love dammit. You know who you are. And you know how to fucking contact me being the shameless self-promotion impressario that I am. email@example.com.