Marikina can kiss my fat ass.
The reason why I got up so early yesterday (7AM to be precise) is because I wanted to go the so-called "shoe capital" of the Philippines (aka Marikina) to a) visit the Imelda Marcos shoe museum and b) have custom-made shoes done for me.
Continue reading "Marikina can kiss my fat ass. Those shoes are mine, betch! PICTIONARY GALORE!" »
You know what I really miss?
Someone stole my childhood and I wish I could get it back.
Brighton, UK 2001
Why do I have this weird bollocking feeling inside me recently? In case you haven't noticed, I've been writing less and less. Instead, I've been extremely selective on what I'm saying and I found myself posting more and more photos, useless tripe and other bullcrap.
I used to be able to say anything that I want, air out my grievances, bitch, whine and whinge about people, experiences and situations but for some strange reason, it feels as if someone put a fucking gag order on me and now I have to fucking censor myself all the fucking time.
I MISS MY FREEDOM!
Fuck each and every one of you. The bollocking stops here and I'm gonna reclaim my old self back.
I should be able to say what I want and when I want it. Afterall, this is *MY* blog and you're just a fuckin reader. You can always fuck off where the sun doesn't shine *IF* you have problems because NOBODY'S GOT A FUCKIN SHOTGUN POINTED TO YOUR SCROTUM/LABIA/RECTUM TELLING YOU TO READ MY WEBSITE. I say live and let live... and don't bother coming back if you got problems with what I have to say. You must be a masochist if you have to come back over and over again. Besides, none of my other 161,000+ (June 2006) readers are interested about you.
I repeat. I *should* be able to say what I want.
I'm sure you're all gonna agree with me. Yes?
Even Bitchboy of the Washington Blade, who gave my little narcissistic shrine a mention (thanks doll) will agree with me.
PS. Discuss this blog post on my Online Discussion Forum.
PPSS. Alice from Myspace you can fuck off my case now. I'll see you in hell. I suggest that you borrow your dad's revolver, point it to your eyesockets and shoot em till the sheep cry bah-bah-bah-lah-lah-lah.
LATEST UPDATE (12:55PM): FUCK IT. I'M TOO TIRED AND I'VE BEEN UP SINCE 8PM YESTERDAY NIGHT. I'LL GO TO STARBUCKS TOMORROW WITH *MY* DRIVER AND MY MOM'S MAID.
OH AND JAKOB, MY LOVERBOY FROM BUMFUCK MIDDLE OF NOWHERE SWEDEN, I'LL DO OUR SIMPLE LIFE PICS LATER WHEN I GET UP. I'M GONNA SLEEP NOW. BABOOSH!
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Bryanboy Loves... and Random Cheesemax
1. Bryanboy loves people from Shanghai, China, Slacks Creek, QLD Australia, Paterson, NJ, the country of Singapore, Suita, Osaka Japan, Sekudai, Johor Malaysia, Buenos Aires, Argentina, Federal, Entre Rios Argentina, Huntsville, AL, Guildford, UK, Madrid, Spain, Dublin, Ireland, Corvallis, OR, Mahwah, NJ, Adelaide, Australia, Revere, MA and of course, all the super kawaii people of Tokyo, Japan. I love each and every one of you mother fuckers. Say hi, don't be shy. You know you wanna get my pregnant.
2. Is there anyone out there who wants to commit suicide? I need a suicide partner.
I hate this whole Labor Day Holiday bullshit. My maid, Eunice, embarked on a month-long vacation and won't come back till late May. My driver, who I've had for the past 5 months, took the day off to spend time with his family. Believe it or not, I can't, for the life of god, remember his name. I call him "Manong", which is a Filipino word for "respected elderly man".
And then there's my evil bitch troll of a sister, who promised me she'll drive me to Starbucks 4 HOURS AGO because I'm having this weird iced cafe latte craving. I wanted to take that opportunity so I can pose for the camera and have pictures of me taken... but no, her shitty boyfriend went here for lunch so now he's her main priority.
That guy makes me feel weird. He goes here ALL the time... for hours... sometimes to sleep over.
Don't get me wrong, I don't have anything against him. He's a nice young lad and he takes good care of the evil bitch troll sister.
You see, I roam around the house with nothing but boxers on. Ever since I was a child, I walk around the halls of my humble abode, half-naked. I wore nothing but tight, white, y-front briefs when I was a child and before I had my menstruation. When my tight, cherry got popped for the first time (hello incontinence), things changed so I had to switched to boxers.
Isn't it kinda stupid? To feel RESTRICTED in YOUR OWN house?
I don't feel good when there's a stranger out there who can see me in my underwear. I have no choice but to lock myself in my room and pray that god take him, or anyone for that matter such as an unwanted visitor, away.
So here I am, sleepless at 1PM, with no personal maid, no driver, no sister to act as a driver AND maid.
Fucking assholes. All of them are fucking useless assholes.
I was gonna borrow my mom's maid, Margie, but there's no one to drive me to Starbucks.
You know, I really feel shit.
So this is what it feels like not to have anyone when you need them most.
ALL I WANT IS A TRIP TO STARBUCKS AND GET MY
PICTURES DONE.
WHY OH WHY OH WHY OH FUCKING WHY DOES GOD
HAVE TO TAKE THAT TINY LITTLE THING AWAY FROM ME?
#3 - I think I know who to blame on today's misfortune.
It's those psychopath religious fanatics who have been emailing and texting me in the past couple of days giving me flak because I replaced Mama Mary's face with mine on this illustration.
Look assholes, save your religious sermon for someone else.
I'll update in a bit cause my evil bitch troll sister told me she's gonna drive me to Starbucks.
THERE IS A GOD AFTERALL!!!!!
HALLELUJAH HOUSE OF CHANEL!
I'm getting bored...
First things first... I'd like to give a big shout out to readers of Elle Girl magazine in the Netherlands. Thanks for loving and talking about me.
Ik HOUD van ELKE EN ELKE ÉÉN VAN U! VERZEND ME een BEELD VAN U DIE HOUDEN Het TEKEN Ik van de LIEFDE BRYANBOY! KUSSEN!!!
Ok. My Dutch is all wrong and that's what I get from using one of those online translator things. Hopefully y'all get the jist out of it. HAHAHAHA!
Moving on...
I finally managed to get my lazy fat ass to my dermatologists yesterday afternoon. There's a photo shoot I need to go to and I have to look pretty.
First stop: Coffee Bean
THANK god the whipped cream-serving bulldyke of a midget wasn't there. I don't want anyone to be spitting on my drink (unless they're cute, hot and rich... but then again, no cute, hot and rich person will work as a barista) after whingeing on my blog.
Just to be safe, I EXPLICITLY told the lovely lady behind the counter that I DO NOT WANT WHIPPED CREAM on my drink... my wish is her command.
Cardigan by LAROK, white tank top by Calvin Klein, brown/rust-colored jeans from Acne Jeans (Sweden), boots from Fruit, bag from Hermès, amber and gold necklace from Kenneth Jay Lane, sunglasses from Dior
Boy I got a surprise for all of you.
You see, I often get asked as to who takes my photos. In addition to my familia de horreur members and friends, well, let me unveil one of them. Meet my maid, Eunice.
Eunice has been my maid for quite some time and she's the best, best, best friend a faggot like me can ever have. She's got everything about me memorised. She knows some of my deepest, darkest secrets. She's been with me through obesity and thin and up to this day, I've never heard a single word (.. or grunt) from her in spite of everything that she's done for me, like cleaning up all my puke on the bathroom floor after a good night out... or my soiled, skid mark-infested underwear.
My nonsexual wife anorexic daughter Hannah would complain about her "hunchback" maid, Simang, every once in a while.
HOY HANNAH, at least your maid ain't a lesbian!!!
Today's obligatory paparazzi shot.
I have a feeling my maid Eunice might be a lesbo. I've never seen her show any kind of perverted emotion towards guys.
OK... WAITTTTT.. she thinks that Piolo (spelling?) Pascual Filipino actor guy is cute.
Yuck!
She won't believe me when I told her that he's gay like a row of pink camping tents.
Oh well.
So yeah, I had my usual glycopeel cleaning/extraction facial.
For the first time in ages, I didn't feel any pain today. God knows why. I usually have low tolerance for pain, expecially while having a facial done. I know I scream like a pregnant prostitute bitch in labor every time my aesthetician extracts a white head from one of my blocked pore.
Today's lack of pain made me think about things I don't usually think about on a day-to-day basis.
For instance, sometime last week, I told a friend on how I'm starting to get bored. I expressed my desire to experience something new, like, learn a new skill or take up cooking classes.
She suggested that we learn a foreign language together... take up French at one of those Alliance Francaise centers. I told her sure, why not. We even checked the availability online and the session that we want won't start until October. There's a 3rd and 4th session but we're both planning to travel around June/July/August.
While the lady pricked my face, I realized I'm at that stage where everything is just stagnant. I'm turning into a stale, 20-something.
I mean, I know I've changed tremendously in the past 12 months. However, if I look at it on a different perspective, it feels as if I'm not going anywhere. My life's at a standstill and I'm doing the same things over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over again.
I told my friend this and she thinks "I've gone so far and achieved so much already".
I remember the old times when I used to deny myself from owning to what I've achieved in order to delude myself into thinking I have a tiny bone of humility inside me.
But I still can't can't help but ask myself the $64 million question.
WHERE AM I GOING AT THIS POINT?
Let's face it, I won't deny that all I do is shop, shop, shop, work, work, work, shop, shop, shop, spread my faggotry to the world, shop, work, eat, eat, eat, spread my faggotry to the world, shop, shop, spread my faggotry to the world.
It's gotten to the point where it's like a routine.
Shit, it's MY routine.
Everything used to be fun. Every time I get a material 'acquisition'...a bag, a jacket, everything... it brings a genuine smile to my face and I feel soo... contented. I know I once said that being severely materialistic makes up for my lack of non-material things in life. But in all honesty, I don't take my sense of materialism too seriously. Afterall, it's only material stuff!
Enough ranting. I already sound like a broken record.
I think it might be therapeutic if I list what I want to happen SOON.
(Would you believe I even went as far as researching VOLUNTEER OPPORTUNITIES in countries like ECUADOR and ROMANIA? I don't know what came over me considering there's over 80 million people who need help in my own backyard. My familia de horreur had always told me to stay away from hallucinogenic drugs and the people who take them.)
Before you go on a high horse and bombard me with your PREDICTABLE sanctimonious crap, I'm begging you to please avoid telling me to
An escape from reality is what I need. Away from the blog, the Chanel, the Fendi, the Goyard, the shopping, the facials, the cellphone, the internet, the familia de horreur and of course, the sheer thought at the back of my mind that I'm surrounded by vultures who are constantly looking for that perfect opportunity to devour me alive.
I need a holiday. A 1 or 2 month-long vacation. Somewhere extremely remote and far-flung but close to civilization. Somewhere where nobody knows me and I know nobody.
Somewhere like Skåne, Sweden.
I want to be surrounded by nature. I want to pick fresh flowers, see trees, ride a huge horse. I want to buy a lot of art materials and learn how to paint scenery etc., that sort of thing. I also want to get gangbanged by well-hung farmboys and have hot and horny mixed-race baby-making sex on top of a tractor.
Remember Jakob, the Swedish guy I met up with in Copenhagen> He's the only person in the world who managed to made me walk (and you KNOW I despise walking) for like 2-3 hours just to find that bloody Little Mermaid Statue?
Well, he offered to take me to his summer house in Varberg middle of nowhere bumfuck Sweden.
If I take him up on his offer that beats the purpose of me travelling somewhere where "no one knows me and I know nobody".
Hmmm pakipot ka pa alam mo naman kung saan matutuloy yan.
I wanna go to Skåne god dammit.
Oh I'm just soooo bored with life right now. All I need is change. That's all.
PS. Discuss this blog post here.
PPSS. The only thing that making life worth living is your love. And John Galliano.
Bryanboy loves Erick from Vandenberg AFB (Air Force Base?) California. Erick sweetie you do know that one of goals in life is to get gangbanged by the military/navy/army/men in black etc, right? PLEASE GET SOME OF YOUR AIR FORCE BUDDIES TO STRIP NAKED AND HOLD AN I LOVE BRYANBOY SIGN FOR ME.
Screw the don't ask don't tell policy. If I get gangbanged by men in uniform, I want MAXIMUM MILEAGE, MAXIMUM PUBLICITY. I want to make a shitload of MONEY and sell videos of it.
Failing that, the Bryanboy pose picture will do just fine. :)
You really love me do you now? Can I ride your aeroplane? It's my aeroplannnneeee...
Alex from Tasmania, Australia. Big kisses from me to you. I love ya lots darling even if you sent me a damn photochopped photo. I SAID NO PHOTOSHOPPED ONES... HAHAHA ;)
This set of photos is better than PORN!!! I jacked off 10 times and my balls are the size of raisins. Courtesy of Clair from Perth, Australia.
(This is what I call TRUE LOVE)
PPPSSS. OH MY GOD. THIS VIDEO HAS GOT TO BE THE GAYEST VIDEO I HAVE EVER AND I MEAN EVER SEEN.
I'm gonna go to sleep now. I have a photo shoot later today.
Dream of Domestication
Pay your surgeon very well to break the spell of aging. Celebrity skin is this your chin or is that war you're waging. First born unicorn, hardcore soft porn... Dream of californication. Dream of californication.
I'm becoming more and more domesticated these days and I fucking love it!
Scarf from Hermès, top by Bernard Wilhelm (very old), jeans by Cheap Monday, chocolat watch and black bowling bag by Chanel (Luxury by Chanel line), sneakers from Gucci.
I had a realization earlier. I actually missed this sort of "domesticated bliss". It's light-years away from the booze, the nightlife, the partying, the bars and clubs, the toxicity of the city and the people. Looking back the past few months and all I did was party left and right.
At first I thought, "shit, I didn't really party that much."
I was wrong. I must have gone out at least twice or thrice a week, often finding myself come home at weird hours the following morning (no earlier than 6AM) after a night's worth of drunken stupor.
I'm not saying it's a bad thing. It's what I wanted and boy I had so much fun. I'll never forget the old times when I'd go to La Embajada (my favourite club here in the third world) with 1 or 2 people, if not, with my sister and her friends. We'd end up drinking copious amounts of champagne by ourselves in the little corner of the VIP room for 2-3 hours and come home early.
And then bam! I suddenly found myself meeting a ton of people left and right. Hundreds and hundreds of em. Whatever corner you set your eyes on, there's always someone to say "hi" to. I even have people coming up to me and saying hi! It IS overwhelming (and let me just reiterate what I have said many, many times) because 12 months ago, a lot of people didn't know who I was and don't give a shit about me. I'm not complaining. In fact, I even encourage YOU to come up to me and say hi because I don't bite.
For instance, I'll never forget what a friend told me a few weeks ago. She told me that at one point, people approached me and ask if I'm "Bryanboy". I'd go all shy, say hi then run to the nearest toilets and hide... and then I learned how to deal with people. Little by little, I managed to learn how to interact without running away.
I'll be honest. Think what you want to think but as someone who isn't used to being the center of attention, it's quite odd, hard and rough to be suddenly catapulted into the "spotlight", especially if you're coming out of nowhere. Shit, if you've been reading local newspapers and magazines in the past few months, you'll find the ocassional mugshot of me at a party or an event. It's crazy and often times, I'd think "oh my god I look soo ugly on that photo." Hahaha!
When you're in the limelight, it's inevitable to have people talk about you right in front of your face or behind your back, therefore you have to be extremely careful on everything that you say, every move you make, etc. Everything is magnified, scrutinized and at times, can be used against you.
It does make perfect sense, yes. But don't you find it rather ridiculous, to an extent? How can one be absolutely careful without losing their sense of self? Isn't it a bit contrived if everything that you say and do is dependent on what other people will be thinking of you? You might be better off saying NOTHING, do NOTHING and go NOWHERE at all.
Don't even get me started on people who take things seriously. Ugh.
You know there's something wrong and twisted if you're Filipino, brown and use a swastika as an online forum avatar, right?
Anyway, enough bullshit. Ugh! I don't even know what I'm talking about anymore. Today's entry is supposed to be about domestication.
To cut the story short, I'm glad the nightlife is out of my system (let's see how long it lasts) and here's a toast to more daytime fun.
I was dead bored this afternoon I thought I'd get out of the house and join the familia de horreur run their errands.
Why should I go to the Home Depot when I can go somewhere else?
I'm REALLY pissed off cause my arms are massive. My arms have never been this big before. I've got flesh all over the place god dammit.
My thighs are huge, too. THUNDER thighs! They look like tree trunks! UGH! I want Nicole Richie legs!
My sister and I went to Cafe Breton for some crepes.
CAUGHT IN THE ACT! I CAN NO LONGER LIE AND TELL PEOPLE I'M ANOREXIC.
(besides, people won't believe me anyway if I told them I'm a card-carrying ANA member because I am too fat for my own good)
Yes mom, I finished evrything on my plate.
The obligatory "running away from paparazzi" shot...
... if they won't stop following you, pose in front of the damn camera.
My sis and I went to the Home Depot to meet up with my mom. Guess what we found on the parking lot. My god, is it pictionary day today or what?
After the Home Depot, we all went to the supermarket to pick up some items. I didn't find anything interesting other than cigarettes (gotta love the fabulous third world.. an entire carton of 200 Dunhill Lights costs around US$8 here).
Remember what I said last year?
Big tits are for mothers or hookers. DO NOT, under any circumstances, get a boob job no matter how small your tits are. I don't care if it's gonna make you feel better about yourself. Boob jobs are for sluts who want to jumpstart their careers in the adult industry. Click here to read my previous blog entry.
You must be seriously sick in the head if you want to look as if you're gestating and lactating.
As if the crepes weren't enough, I also picked up a little tray of trash sushi for the road.
Remember kids, if worse comes to worst, bulimia is your best friend.
I love you all! Email bryan@bryanboy.com or SMS +63-915-785-1492.
PS. Discuss this blog post here.
P.P.S.S. Big shout out to LCF from Australia, Lexx from Burwood in Melbourne (Lexx made me say Happy Birthday Bess aka Makan Queen haha!) and Mark from Sydney. What's up with the recent Australian invasion???? I LOVE AUSTRALIANS!!! PLEASE FEDEX ME TSUBI JEANS AND AUSTRALIAN SURFER BOYS PLEASE.
Oh and keep on sending the love. You know where to send them. Email bryan@bryanboy.com. Sydney, Los Angeles and Augusta, Maine... I love each and every one of you. Let's have a foursome! I'll be the bottom bitch and you can all take turns fucking me with a carrot, banana and a cucumber.
If Looks Could Kill...
I can't even remember as to when exactly I last bitched about someone I really, really despise but here goes...
Before I do so, let me just say that everyone is entitled to their own opinion. You know me... I just don't have any shame sometimes.
In spite of whatever bitching that you see here, keep in mind that I'm a REALLY nice and sweet person. Promise.
Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a heroin syringe (hell, morphine is good, too) in my eye... but since I'm immortal, it's pretty much impossible to erase me from the face of this planet.
Now... meet Mr. Daniel Ondiz. He's this mongrel who lives in the UK who troll every single post I make in some online internet forum. He's half Filipino, half something something. Whatever. All roads lead to perdition but for some strange reason, he ended up somewhere in bumfuck Scotland. I assume his reformed prostitute mother married some sad git.
Bitch had the nerve to call me ugly.
Now I generally don't have a problem with that. Hello, it's a known fact that I have a face only a biological mother can love but when that statement is coming from someone who looks like a complete turd and then saying he's gorgeous and I'm not, then that's where the problem starts.
That Daniel made me choke on my own vomit when I saw one of his recent pics.
It's not even funny.
Shit, I am so glad he's gay. I have absolutely no words as to what his offspring would be like. I know any of my future offspring can give Saffie Monsoon a run for her money.
Looking at his photo will make ANYONE in this god damn planet feel BETTER about themselves.
Ooooooh I really despise him. He's such an asshole.
I even asked one of my best, best friends the first thing that came to his mind when I showed him his photo.
Life is beautiful my friend. Sadly, not this guy's.
I'm gorgeous, you're ugly INDEED.
Whew. Now that has been said, I'd like to thank you for allowing me the opportunity to vent. This is exactly why I love my blog. This little narcissistic shrine of mine is sooo therapeutic, it's better than seeing my shrink.
You see, I have the option to either:
a) keep all my derogatory thoughts about him to myself and be insane for the rest of my life or
b) cleanse my mind, body and soul by purging all my dirty sins in the form of a blog post no matter how defamatory it may be.
I'd rather choose the latter...
I have to be TRUE to myself you know. They don't call me the big brown bitch from hell for nothing.
Phone Fun with Bryanboy
Wait a sec.
Save your sanctimonious sermons. Before you castigate me and tell me I'm ugly too (so I don't have the right to criticize satan's spawn)
Well guess what? Even if Natasha Poly and Gemma Ward is one (very tiny) notch prettier than me, I do have the right.
Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I think he's ugly. Hahahahaha!
REPEAT AFTER ME: IT'S NOT A SIN TO MAKE FUN OF OTHER PEOPLE. BEAUTY IS IN THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER. IT'S NOT A SIN TO MAKE FUN OF OTHER PEOPLE. BEAUTY IS IN THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER.
We're all gonna burn in hell anyway so why should we deprive ourselves of some good ol' fun?
Ok. Next!
This is EXACTLY why I love posting my phone number online. It's little (priceless) moments like these that make life worth living.
Random stranger called my number earlier this morning and hung up. He did one of those "missed call" things and expected me to call him back.
I sent him a message telling him I don't call strangers who are not on my contact list.
A couple of hours later, random stranger calls again. Read the rest of the messages.
I also sent him/her a followup message 30 minutes later that said "Well?????".
Message #36 is the last message I got. I think I scared him/her away.
Thanks for giving me a good laugh. That really made my night. I was sooo bored earlier and I needed something to make me smile.
Sweet Scent of Logo-Free Success
I had a blast Friday last week. Definitely one of the best nights I've ever had in this town... and I managed it without a single logo in sight. You know how I'm trying to avoid anything that's got a logo this year, whether it's LV, interlocking CCs, Dior, etc.
After several months of planning, a good friend and I finally had a dinner date. She brought me to a French restaurant called "Je Suis Gourmand".
Words cannot describe how wonderful the food was. The foie gras and white asparagus was TO DIE FOR. My steak was fabulous. Each course is rich and scrumptious... perfection! Heck, it's been 6 days already and I'm STILL bloated from all that food intake last Friday.
For your reference, a 3-course meal for 2 plus several glasses of white wine will set you back about US$85. It's MONEY well-spent. Trust me on this one.
Je Suis Gourmand is located at GF Net1 Center Bldg., Fort Bonifacio, beside Neo Spa and BPI. Phone number is +63.2.815.8801.
Apres-dinner, my friend Ianne and I went to this bar called "Luce" to celebrate an acquaintance's birthday party.
Top by Marc by Marc Jacobs, belt and tie by Topshop, pin by Versace, handbag by Marc Jacobs Collection, jeans by Cheap Monday.
Bryanboy Loves... and Random Cheesemax
#1 - Bryanboy loves people from Eindhoven, Noord-Brabant Holland, Riga, Latvia, Manchester, UK, Langley, BC Canada, Champigny-sur-Marne, France, Hung Hom, HK, Rome, Italy, Ostrava, Moravskoslezsky Kraj Czech Republic, Visaginas, Lithuania and of course, all the beautiful people of Rio De Janeiro, Brazil! I love each and every one of you... say hi, mother fuckers!
#2 - Courtesy of one of the gayest blogs evar, Towleroad.com, Karl Lagerfeld appears to have a gorgeous friend.
I WANNA GET A CHIN AUGMENTATION PROCEDURE DONE. NOW!
#3 - An urgent cry for help. Can someone please watch/listen to this video and tell me the name of the track that's being played around the middle to the end of the clip? It's the track where all the gorgeous are mincing on the runway and where Zac is being interviewed. I think the song is either spanish or italian. I'm not sure.
All I know is that "na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na" thing got me obsessed. I downloaded a copy of that video on my video ipod and had the thing run on my speakers for HOURS!!!
Believe it or not, for the very first time in my life, I'm lusting over Zac Posen. Not his clothes, silly, but him and his slimy, dirty looks. I think he's kinda hot. For some strange reason, he's got this weird sex appeal, thanks to that video. I can totally envision him giving it to me hard up my bum. Curly hair and all.
#4 - I love it when people do the infamous Bryanboy handbag pose. Be creative! Be spontaneous! In fact, get the best muscle mary you can find, strip him naked, cover his crotch with an "I LOVE BRYANBOY" sign and get him to smile for the camera.
Big shout to all my fabulous lovers (and posers) below...
Kudos to Diesel @ Poochnation.com.au. Diesel is soooo cute!!!!!!!! I'll definitely pay him a visit if ever I get my ass down to Melbourne, Australia.
As always, you know how to contact me. Email bryan@bryanboy.com or SMS +63-915-785-1492.
Envy... Envy Me
Saucer of Gucci Envy please.
I've somewhat lost interest in blogging over the past few days because of this big, bad world I live in. There are many, many cold-blooded and resentful people out there who have nothing to do in their lives. Their bloodstreams overflow with venomous bile hence the need to spread hatred to others.
If you're gonna talk shit about me or other people, please.... for good times' sake, be careful (and selective) as to who you talk to. You're only making yourself look worse (you already LOOK bad darling) when your bitter messages reach the person you are talking about.
All I can say is... envy breeds malice, spite and ill-will. Why can't these people get over with their own personal failures and insecurities?
Let me share some quotable quotes. They came from THIS article published by The Catholic News... don't ask my why I quoted them in the first place. I don't know what to tell you other than the fact that I'm satan's shopaholic spawn. Shopping is my religion and the mall is my temple.
"Envy eats away at the insides of its victim, and from its self-torment malice ensues. Envy is particularly adept at noticing and pointing out the faults of others. What I cannot have, I will besmirch or bring low. Or I will say it’s not worth having in the first place."
"A levelling instinct dominates envy. It grows naturally, as Aristotle observed, in relationships between equals. If we’re all equal, why should you stand out? Envy is the besetting sin of all professional groups, a fact most noticeable in the faculties of universities, but not only there, of course. You find it also in prayer groups. The envious prayer group member finds it extremely galling that other people can pray “better” than he or she can. "
"Envy confuses being equal with being identical. We all have equal rights before the law, and equal access to God. But life is otherwise a field of unequal distribution. No matter where I look there’s someone who has something I don’t have, or something I have but in a finer way, or simply more of what I have. Comparison only condemns me to ceaseless torment. "
"The antidote to envy, on the other hand, is growth in self-love and self-acceptance. The envious are not grateful for, or happy in, what they are or what they have. They feel that they are nothing and their nothingness is exposed by the success, achievement, or good fortune of others."
Click HERE to read the full article.
On that profound note, keep in mind that the ultimate form of revenge to these bottom feeders is success.
Gucci Envy ME, anyone?
This blog entry goes out to people who deserve to read this message.
Besides, only the guilty knows what on earth I am talking about.
Set this is stone mother fuckers: don't drag me into your acerbic and foul lives. Live... and let live. I **WILL** be fucking successful regardless of whatever it is that I want to achieve in life.
I know bad grass NEVER die so... fuck you. Fuck EACH and EVERY one of you.
Moving on...
Beautiful Friday
I got up early yesterday morning cause I have a "Beauty Day" date with a friend. The first thing my mom told me was for me to stay indoors unless I wanna die.
You must have heard all the politics-related insanity going on in the capital of the land of the brown, l'exotique and the natives.
Riots or no riots, war or peace, heck, I don't give a flying fuck if all hell breaks loose... I was fucking determined to get my hair done...
... and that's exactly what I ended up doing.
I met up with friends at H-Salon in Rustan's Makati to get a color and highlights. I LOVE that place. The service is good and Henry is a doll! I'm gonna go there for color from now on for color.
I thought I'd get my eyebrows done while waiting for their turns to finish their treatments.
Man, it was TORTURE! I wailed like a pregnant bitch who is about to give birth. I have a feeling it was my voice that stopped the riots yesterday.
Thank you Henry Calayag! I LOOOOOVE the color of my locks. I got a ton of comments last night how my hair is sooo nice. The pictures don't do it justice.
This third world hell hole of a country can burn in hell for all I care but at least I've got FABULOUS hair!
Don't get me wrong... I love my country.... but I have to love my own ass first.
Seriously... some of these people should just stop all these riot/protest nuisance. It was effective for the first 2 times... but you can't recreate the past. You're scaring the tourists away and you're destroying the economy, including my livelihood. Being the local dollar earning prostitute that I am, how the fuck am I supposed to get well-hung clients from far flung places?
Ugh. I don't even wanna talk anything that has to do with politics. It's a touchy subject and the only time I'll talk about it in great detail is when I'm holding public office or when someone with ill-gotten wealth adopts me.
Anyway, yesterday was productive. I accomplished a lot of things. I bought 2 delectable clutch bags. One of them is real snakeskin and the other one is faux croc. I LOVE the way you open/close the bag. These lovely confections will drive a bag thief insane - it took me several hours to figure it out.
Yves Saint Laurent bag, Dolce & Gabbana eel skin and kid fur clutch, Mulberry bag, DSquared shirt, Tim Camino t-shirt.
I love my new Mulberry bag. It looks a bit weird in photos but it's lovely in person. The color is astounding.
Yes mother fuckers, I'll update InsideMyBag.com later today. PROMISE!
Mulberry bag, Hermes scarf, Goyard wallet, Goyard agenda, Alain Mikli eyeglasses, Gucci sunglasses, Shu Uemura face powder, Yves Saint Laurent concealer, pens, ipod, lighter, cash, passport.
I ***LOVE*** my Mulberry bag!!!!
It was a good day overall. There must be something in the air. Heck, we even went to the cinema to watch Big Momma. Celine and I packed far too many calories yesterday. We had 3 meals yesterday... in a span of 8 or so hours... oh, and I had 3 enormous scoops of Haagez Dazs ice cream while watching the movie.
We all went home after the film. I was exhausted at the end of the day.
And a little depressed.
7 of us went to the movie theatre. A gay couple, 2 straight couples and good ol singleton me.
JUST BECAUSE I'M A TRANSVESTITE HERMAPHRODITE, IT DOESNT MEAN I DON'T DESERVE TO BE LOVED.
SOMEONE JUST LOVE ME GOD DAMMIT.
This is Summer
Even my 2 younger sisters have boyfriends even if I don't like them that much. Fuck love and fuck being in a relationship.
I have to rely on myself to get love. It's only ME who loves ME, MYSELF and I.
Until I find someone who will love me, I'm gonna love myself by pouring out my frustrations by shopping.
This is summer right here. Well.. part of it. LOL.
Save the 5-inch Chloe shoe/sandal and Versace clip-on earrings for a rainy day. I wanna to dress up like a whore once or twice this year.
Dior Homme (can't remember) tuxedo vest, Ann Demeulemeester tank, Paul Smith shoes, Dolce & Gabbana jacket, Dolce & Gabbana t-shirt, Dolce & Gabbana polo shirt, David Szeto pearl necklace, Fruit cowboy boots, Chloe shoes, Versace clip-on earings, Marc Jacobs bag, Dior sunglasses, Tom Ford sunglasses, Marc Jacobs sunglasses, Zodiac chrono watch, Dior Homme tie, Versace pin, Louis Vuittn bag, Strenesse caftan, Ike watch, Etro sneakers, Eme Jota gazelle fur bag, Oscar de la Renta faux croc portfolio clutch, Nancy Gonzalez python minaudiere.
Bryanboy Loves... and Random Cheesemax
#1 - Bryanboy loves people from Ca Quarta, Veneto Italy, Cambridge, UK, Cagayan De Oro, Philippines, Chicago, IL, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, Long Beach, CA, Braddock, PA, Mount Laurel, NJ, Hawthorn, VIC Australia, Honolulu, HI, Easthampton, MA, Kilmacanoge, Wicklow Ireland, Cote D'Azur, France, Kanagawa, Japan, Toulouse, France, Roslyn, NY and of course, people from Liberec, Czech Republic. I love each and every one of you mother fuckers. Email me and tell me you wanna fuck my fanny.
#2 - Watch out for Podcast #4 coming out in 6 hours!
#3 - See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. YOU ARE EVIL.
#4 - Geography is no boundary when it comes to unconditional love and the infamous Bryanboy pose. Here's one from good ol New York.
#5 - Be sure to go to my Discussion Forums. www.bryanboy.com/forum. Say hi, don't be shy.
I've had it. I'm gonna work on my podcast and post here in a bit.
More updates later.
Talk to me you maggots! Email bryan@bryanboy.com or SMS +63-915-785-1492.
It's almost midnight here and I'll be awake for the next 6 hours.
I love each and every one of you. Someone please buy me a Boucheron watch!
Hello Superstar!
"When i woke up this photographer was humping me. It's like being a nympho... not nymhomaniac. What do you call those dead people? I can't remember. Huh? Necrophilia? I really was furious... I couldnt move!
Whatever it was in that drink... I was like a dead body... so it was like he was screwing a corpse! More twisted!
Wow... I never went back there."
-- Edie Sedgwick
Click HERE to watch a snippet from Ciao! Manhattan.
My newfound obsession with Edie Sedgwick, one of Andy Warhol's original superstars back in the 1960s, is starting to become unhealthy.
I must have spent no less than 20 hours in the past few days reading (and watching) everything there is to need about her.
I'm absolutely fascinated with her life; she's the classic poor little rich girl. Her fame was manufactured and she celebated her wealth on her sleeve, wearing all these fabulous clothes and jewelry until she was penniless. 
She also went from top to rock bottom in such a fast time... eventually dying at age 28 from a drug overdose.
I hope it's NOT gonna be my story. I have to admit that for some strange reason, all roads lead to that direction.
Minus the drugs, the wealth and the self-destruct button... haha!
I found another video on You Tube featuring a better video of her with Velvet Underground singing "After Hours" in the background.
Click here to watch that video.
I LOOOOOOOOVE EDIE SEDGWICK.
I love her sooo much that I even sang and recorded something for you guys...
My singing talent can seriously give that William Hung a run for his money - I CAN'T SING!!!!!!!!
"If you close the door, the night could last forever. Keep the sunshine out and say hello to never. All the people are dancing and they're havin such fun... I wish it could happen to me. But if you close the door, I'd never have to see the day again."
Click here to download the sound clip I made.
DON'T LISTEN TO IT UNLESS YOU'VE SEEN EDIE'S VIDEO, OTHERWISE YOU WON'T UNDERSTAND WHERE I'M COMING FROM.
Isn't my drag queen voice lovely? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Dazzling Daphne
I went to the TV station early on Sunday eveing for another live interview. This time it's for a lifestyle-related show called "ANC Life" hosted by Daphne Osena-Paez.
One of my very good friends took pics of her tv screen. Thanks babe. I STILL OWE YOU DINNER (OR LUNCH) FOR GOD'S SAKE!!!!!
If you're not from the land of the brown, l'exotique and the natives (aka Las Islas Filipinas), the picture below will give you an idea on what she looks like. I stole it from Herword because my maid left my camera batteries in the car. I wanted to kick my ass for NOT being able to camwhore. UGH!
Daphne and her assistant took a couple of pictures so hopefully I'll get it soon.
YOU HAVE TO SEE HOW GORGEOUS SHE IS!
Her presence swallowed me alive as soon as I arrived at the dressing room - the fantastic little black number, those yummy pearls, the gorgeous shoes, the Louis Vuitton Speedy, the Cartier Santos and of course, the HAIR!!!!! She was effortless chic at its finest; I was GOBSMACKED.
What are the chances of me being...
EFFORTLESS?
CHIC?
Probably slim to none. Perhaps effortless cheap.
I'm already having rashes with the thought of me being associated with those two words.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!
On the set, I couldn't help but stare at Daphne's legs. THEY ARE SOOOO SKINNY AND LONG!!!!
No, I'm not a lesbian.
Her legs are just sooooo long and skinny and nice and her shoes are gorgeous!!!!!!!!!!
Why aren't my legs like that?
SHIT.
I'M A MAN!
I keep on forgetting that.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAH!
Anyway, I think I did well on my interview based on the positive feedback I got from some of my very good friends (I'm doubting myself for not doubting their honesty - do i make any sense?) and readers who happened to saw the interview.
I wish there are classes or courses that I can take to express myself articulately and eloquently in public. Getting tongue-tied all the time and not being able convert your thoughts into spoken words is sooo not funny.
Nevertheless.... I think I did good!!! YAY!
Practice makes perfect... 2 live TV interviews in 2 weeks... what a great learning experience!
Ageing Gracefully
I thought I'd take the yellow brick road once again down memory lane and look how I've changed over the years.
Judging from some of my photos from the past, the only thing that I can say at this point is....
MAN, I AM THE EPITOME OF THE PHRASE "AGEING GRACEFULLY".
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
The camera doesn't lie.
It's official: I get prettier the farther I run away from my birth certificate.
Heck, if this is an indicator of what my future will be, I can't wait to turn 75 and wear Oscar De La Renta.
Think how hideous I looked back then, how fabulous I am now and how gorgeous I'll be tomorrow.
Priceless.
I'll post some of my recent pictures so you won't get shocked by what you are about to see.
Ready?
SET!
GO!
These pictures were taken in Amanpulo Island during Gisele's hey day. All throughout that holiday, I was deluded into thinking my name is Gisele Bundchen with the help of my size 24 Earl Jeans and all.
Man, I just remembered a funny story about the Dolce & Gabbana swarovski belt (the one that launched a million knock-offs) in that picture.
A couple of months after that photo was taken, I flew to London for a vacation.
I went clubbing on my last night in Londres and I arrived at the airport late and completely off my tits.
I dropped the belt to the floor (no closures, they were held with a velcro strap) while boarding the plane.
I was sooo drunk at that time. The only thing I wanted to do is to go to my seat and sleep.
After the captain did his speech, he went on about some lady who might have dropped a belt...
A few seconds later, he said something like:
"LAST CALL. IF NOBODY CLAIMS THIS VERY EXPENSIVE LOOKING **WOMEN'S** WITH HEAPS OF CRYSTALS, I'M GIVING IT TO MY WIFE"
Everyone on the plane laughed.
I looked at my waist and realized holy shit, my belt's gone missing!
You should have seen the look on my face as I gulped my gin tonic.
I didn't ask for my belt. I was soo embarassed to ask for it cause the captain said it's a women's belt.
That's when I realized, shit, I have pride!
Honestly speaking, these days, give me designer goods anytime and I'll throw my pride down the river.
Moving on...
One of the benefits of being skinny? A fantastic jawline.
Sadly, that jawline is GONE. GONE, GONE, GONE, GONE, GONE.
This picture is just plain ugly. I'm at a loss on what to say.
This is me having a Zoolander moment in Bali, Indonesia 5 years ago. This photo was taken at friggin 9 in the morning on my way to Ubud Market. Oh the memories.... I was too drunk on the photo.
THIS IS THINSPIRATION. HOW I MISS THOSE DAYS WHEN I WAS SKELETAL.
IT'S A SHAME MY MEMBERSHIP EXPIRED WITH ANOREXICS ANONYMOUS. THE MOTHER FUCKERS AT ANA EXPELLED ME AS SOON AS HIT 80 POUNDS.
Yep, even my US$7,000 Gucci python pants, which is size 38, was fuckin BAGGY on me. THIS PHOTO WAS TAKEN 6 FUCKIN YEARS AGO!!!!
I got a ton of mileage from those pants.
I wore them fucking everywhere.
Even to Trafalgar Square, just to be covered with pigeon shit.
I guess I used to smile lots back when I was younger.
This photo was taken about 7 or 8 years ago at a bus stop in Reykjavik.
ENOUGH OF THIS FUGLY NONSENSE.
ERASE ERASE ERASE ERASE ERASE.
PURGE, PURGE, PURGE, PURGE, PURGE.
The ugly duckling turned into a swan indeed.
Touch my bum... this is life!
Bryanboy Loves... and Random Cheesemax
#1 - Bryanboy loves people from Bintulu, Sarawak Malaysia, Bod, Norway, Stillwater, OK, Quincy, MA, Zegvelderbroek, Netherlands, Binghamton, NY, Huddinge, Sweden, San Francisco, CA, Elsternwick, VIC Australia, Richmond Hill, ONT Canada, Neset, Norway, Madison, WI, De Valk, Netherlands, London, ONT Canada and of course, all the gorgeous boys and girls in Segeltorp, Sweden. I LOVE YOU ALL. I REALLY DO!
#2 - Flak makes the world go round.
Missy from Miami, FL emailed me and asked what kind of flak I get on a day-to-day basis. Here's a random sampling.
FYI, This is PETE BURNS. I think he's actually better-looking than me. Non?
#3 - I almost got a cardiac arrest when I opened my inbox earlier looking at this, courtesy of KS from Malaysia who recently went to Hong Kong. This is probably the BIGGEST Louis Vuitton bag in the world.
LONG LIVE CAPITALISM AND CONSPICUOUS CONSUMPTION.
I **LOVE*** THE BRYANBOY POSE.
Thank you, thank you, thank you.
#4 - BRYANBOY LOVES THAOVU and the entire Vietnamese community in the United States of George W. Bush.
As always, you know where to send pictures of your unconditional love. Email me you lazy bitches: bryanboy@gmail.com.
Whew!
I think that's it for now.
You all know where to contact me. SMS +63-915-785-1492 if you're gorgeous, generous and well-hung like a stallion.
Baboosh!
Fabulous! Adopt Me Please?
Or maybe not.
I was doing my finances earlier as I need to submit all my 3rd quarter receipts to my accountant first thing on Monday morning and I came to the following conclusion:
- All my expenditures at Hermes are considered as a lifetime investments
- All my expenditures at Chanel are considered as a long-term investments
- All my expenses at Dior are considered as short-term investments
- Everything else is instant gratification
- If I keep on spending the amount of money that I've spent between June 1, 2005 to date, I will only last until September 30, 2007 before I'll be left with $0 under my name.
- My Amex bills (2 cards) for this month is enough to buy a 2005 Porsche 911 but I ended up spending it all on clothes, accessories, shopping and travel expenses... and I gotta pay it off in full. This is a big leap when my overall spending on one of my charge cards on July 2005 is a mere US$900.
- I may have nice accessories but I have the crappiest car ever and I still live with my parents.
- I don't justify the value of my accessories... I still look like a cheap $150 prostitute whether or not I'm carrying the Birkin, the 2.55 or the East/West Flight bag.
I also came across this thought:
Why on earth did my parents chose to be normal, good-natured, law-abiding citizens?
Where's the fun in that when they could've chosen to be riding the gravy train like friggin politicians, army generals or political cronies.
Seriously, I wish I was a politician's unwanted love child.
At least I'll be sent to friggin places all over the world to "study" when in reality I'm just another political spawn enjoying their ill-gotten wealth.
But no, here I am, stuck in self-made, nouveau riche hell with annual clothing budgets and such.
How unfortunate.
I have to work in order for me to spend the way I want to spend. If I don't work then I won't be able to spend.
(Ok... I can, but, it will require a ton of ass-kissing to my parents and I'll be locked up inside the birdcage until I die.)
Isn't that really sad?
Why oh why oh why oh why can't I have boxes upon boxes of hardcore cash delivered outside my doorstep each and every day coming from illegal gambling?
Why oh why oh why oh why can't I be a beneficiary of a congressman's monthly funding budgets? You know, why should they spend dough on some bridge in the middle of nowhere, Philippines when they can send me to Paris and buy my first ever haute couture cross-dressing dress?
That's the way it works here unfortunately.
Fuck, it's not fabulous if you're working in order to spend. I think it's fabulous when you do not have to work in order to spend.
BTW, I hope I didn't offend any spoiled rotten politicians' children with this post. I love you all - at least we have something in common - we like to fuel the global economy with our expenditures. The difference however is the fact that you have more spending money than I do and I have to work for mine, which is a sad thing.
To those of you my foreign readers, gawd, if you only knew how powerful these young honchos are - they have men with guns who will kill you if they don't like you.
So... there's really not much that we can do but to embrace their fabulousness. Oh yes, those people are fabulous too. I'll give you a pictionary example.
Children of the Il-Gotten Wealth Kind have to keep a low-profile and live in plain jane clothes. Here's an example. It's a picture of The Royal Triplets of the Rice Fields who have to wear their ultra fabulous tribal clothes on their normal, day-to-day lives. Isn't it so Gaultier mixed with Marni?
(BTW, I invite you to visit our homeland, the land of the brown, the l'exotique and the natives. It has a ton of beautiful places like the one above)
Not even Calamine Lotion can fix the itch that they have whenever they WANT to go all out and spend such ill-gotten wealth. If they go arriba arriba in Roberto Cavalli, Versace and Dolce & Gabbana, they'd be subjects of scrutiny (or should I say security) in our homeland. They know they can't do it. So they do it a different way - they buy mansions and they buy fancy cars.
If these Royal Triples of the Rice Fields have nothing to hide, they'd be like this, all out in the open, in the pages of Vogue, of course.
Triplet #2 is realy a cross-dresser. Don't be fooled by her looks. This is what HE looks like when he goes shopping:
And you know what they do to those with ill-gotten wealth. They put them in prison. Or maybe not if they have connections in the government, which chances are, they do.
And normal people like me don't.
Anyway, I don't want to judge anyone. I'm sure they're great, genuine people with the same problems that we have. I'm sure they have their own hardships and struggles, you know, like the pain they get everytime a scandal breaks out etc.
But god oh dear god, is there any politician out there who would want me to be their adopted child?
I'm only 16 years old! I'm still a minor!
You can launder your money thru money - spend it on me - buy me more clothes, shoes and accesories! If the FBI or CIA wants to know where the money came from I'll tell them I'm a prostitute!
Afterall, with my good looks, my charm, 20 bottles of vodka and some Xanax, anyone who is anyone would be willing to pay me 7 figures just to give them a little ass spanking.
Welcome to the land of the brown, the l'exotique and the natives.
Baboosh!
Chill, My Minions, Chill.
Grab some vodka and valiums. NOW!
Sorry for the lack of updates. I've been terribly busy the past few days, juggling my time between tasks, dealing with friends and caterers, healthcare, etc. I know there are some of you out there who check my site several times a day to get a fix for your fabulous addiction and there's nothing worse that going back to what you were doing, empty-handed.
Bah! Let's get down and dirty shall we...
Fancy a Game of Fencing?
I was checking some of my blog referrers earlier and I noticed people from this forum (you gotta love online discussion forums) called "Pinoy Exchange" are talking about my little McFatty ass. As always, I just LOVE and I mean LOVE some of these sanctimonious twats who spend their day drinking motor oil.
Gotta love the amount of self-righteousness that infest that place.
Breeding? Sorry bitches, I'm bent. And I'm anorexic. I'll leave the chicken feed to the breeders.
Class? What's that? Is this something you buy at... Walmart? I'm an out of school youth. At 18 (+5 don't tell anyone) years old, you're supposed to be out of the classroom... unlesss you're into hanging out in the cafeteria, pedophilia or handing out cigarettes to minors.
Purge my dear readers, purge. Stick 3 fingers down your throats and purrrrrrrge.
Let's go fencing sweethearts - use a sword, or in this case, your pen... and I'll poke & pack all that fudge in your hairy buttocks using my Louis Vuitton umbrella.
Whoever said that the pen is mightier than the sword should lick my lipstick, get shot in the crotch and get dumped on the nearest freeway, bleeding to death like roadkill because it's definitely something that can put any rain, sword... or any pen, whether it be BIC or Montblanc, to shame.
Monogram madness eh. It's just like what, 1999? 2000? Despite what y'all think, logo-a-gogo will always be here to stay.
At least it ain't some corporate logo ala "A-family-member-went-into-a-business-conference-and-all-I-got-is-this-lousy-mug/t-shirt/umbrella-promo" tripe stamped on my saber stick.
Hospital Horror
Finally. After all this time I was able to visit my shrink on Monday afternoon to get my prescriptions refilled. I had to go to a different hospital though because he's in a different one during afternoons.
If ever you're in the Philippines, please don't, under any circumstances, go to Makati Medical Center.
Unless you have attention deficit disorder.
Thank god I'm healed from that dreaded disease.
Each god damn floor feels like its bloody basement (rumor has it that the basement of this hospital is pretty much a better version of the National Mental Health Center).
That hospital is just plain awful and fuckin crowded.
Especially the pharmacy section where I had to sit for OVER an hour just to buy my meds. The queue is horrendous - there's no such thing as a queue jump and I had to sit beside really weird people who look as if I'm a walking cadaver. That's what I felt on Monday afternoon - a cadaver, fresh from the morgue.
God I looked awful that day.
(I left my camera at home on Monday and had to take one of those mobile phone self-shots. Har har!)
If I got a dollar from each stare that I got, I'd be buying a new handbag.
I admit - I like it when people stare, it validates my existence (of course), but definitely not from hospital people.
Friday Fun in the Sandbox
This message goes out to people who know who they are... or who WILL know who they are.
(OK, perhaps to a few, very few, no more than 25, select people.)
Um, hi? hello? ;)
Be sure to reserve your early Friday night (yep, this week), after the Shu Uemura party.
Make me feel special and be sure to come. Please?
You'll know what I'm talking about soon!
Bryanboy Loves... and Random Cheesemax
People from Pompano Beach, FL, Omaha, Nebraska, Scottsdale, AZ, people from Bonn, Germany and people who read the Manila Bulletin. Get down on your knees and hail to the Patron Saint of Materialism - that's me.
Remember kids: don't buy your Vuittons from eBay. But them at the stores!
Is it the rain or what? I don't feel so inspired recently.
As always, identify yourselves and email me: bryanboy@gmail.com.
Baboosh!
What an awful, awful day today was.
Don't laugh - for some strange reason, God decided to punish me over the weekend for all the bad deeds I've done to mankind. He gave me a hideous zit on my left cheek. I don't blame him though, I know I've been a really bad girl.
But come to think of it, he gave it to me right when I was suffering from a cough, colds and a chest infection/bronchitis.
Fuck it, it probably wasn't even God. I bet it was Satan.
So off I went to my aesthetician first thing earlier in the morning. I had my zit injected, I also had an emergency extraction facial just to be sure I'm black/whitehead-free and I also had the usual microdermabrasion session. Gotta stay/gotta be flawless you know. I've got a gay couple flying in from Kuala Lumpur to visit Manila and I gotta play Little Miss Tour Guide, something I really despise because there's absolutely nothing to do in Manila, not to mention the crap weather (heat and rain) and the lack of places to go to. I'll probably just buy them dinner and a couple of drinks at some bar and let them explore on their own. I told one of the guys that I don't go out during the day unless it's life-threatening.
Anyway, my driver was off today so it was my fat bastard bitch of a sister who drove me to my aesthetician today. On our way back, I told her to stop on the road, in front of a shop, because I want to buy today's newspapers. She stopped, I went out of the car and went inside the shop to buy newspapers.
I went out of the shop, not even 1 minute later, and she was NOWHERE to be seen.
I was standing there, on the road under the blistering heat, wearing nothing but a sweaty white t-shirt, gray tracksuit pants, white trainers and black chanel sunglasses. It was hot as in hotter than hell. I just had a facial done so my face is all red, I don't have a cellphone, my handbag or even extra cash with me. Nothing. I felt absolutely naked. I was my "crash moment" (love that new term, thanks Oprah and thanks Hermes). I was so vulnerable that you can sing Mary had a little lamb in front of me and I'll just die right then and there.
I went back to the shop and asked the lady whether she can send my sister a text message or not. Thank god she was nice. My sister replied back, saying that she's about 150 meters away from me, all I had to do was to walk straight (it's just 1 long, main road). Apparently she had to park there otherwise, she'll block traffic on the road.
That's fucking bullshit. Bullshit bullshit bullshit.
Guess what I did? Guess what I fucking did?
I HAD TO FUCKING WALK 150 METERS,
IN MY CURRENT STATE OF
VULNERABILITY, WITHOUT A PHONE,
WITHOUT A HANDBAG, WEARING
SKANKY CLOTHES, MY FACE IS ALL
RED, I'M TIRED, THEN ADD THE
NAUSEOUS HEAT. MY SISTER IS A
CRAZY DERANGED BASTARD.
There's only one thing in this world that you can do to seriously piss me off.
If you want, you can go ahead and steal my handbag, steal my credit cards, my phone, my money, my wallet, my drugs, you can get me fat, make me step on dog's poo, make me touch some animal's genitalia, make me eat animal internal organs, heck, you can even rape me, sexually abuse me, molest me, give me a sexually-transmitted disease, mutiliate me, castrate me, whatever.
Do anything you want to do to me and I won't complain.
As long as you don't make me WAIT or WALK.
Don't get me wrong. I do walk. But with the following stipulations:
a) only in temperatures of 65 degrees F (or 18 Celsius) or colder unless I'm on vacation;
b) only if I'm fully dressed up, lip gloss required
c) only if it's 10-15 meters or less.
The most I'll walk at any given time is 50 meters and I have to have nice music blaring on my ipod or on the background.
But walking in crap clothes, in crappy hot weather, with a crappy face?
Come on, it's just as bad as MURDER.
Oooooo my blood boiled earlier, I wanted to strangle my fat cow bitch of a sister.
If only my mum's cousin didn't arrive when we got back, she's probably in the funeral home by now, getting her makeup done.
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Shower me with attention and inflate my ego. Email photos of your love and I'll add you to my ever-growing collection. Be creative! Be spontaneous! Send them to bryan@bryanboy.com today! |
