"Girls are Too Much Time"
says this guy’s own mother.
Meet Farris Hassan, a 16 year old American Republican past-beyond-the-twink stage who went to Iraq on his own to experience and understand what Iraqi people are going through.
This guy skipped school in order to fly to war-torn Iraq.
What on earth was he thinking? Click here to read the full article.
Dude, I may be obsessed about Chanel but I wouldn’t go to 31 Rue Cambon in a heartbeat. It requires wayyyy more than a business class flight on Singapore airlines.
Notice to the Public
#1 – I’m sorta incommunicado from the rest of the world. I still haven’t gotten a new phone because I’m not sure whether I left my phone and my wallet at a friend’s friend’s house (or his bar).
I’m going to get a new phone soon but I’m more concerned about the contacts and text messages on my Moto Razr. My phone contains numbers of various people I’ve met during my mini-winter escapade. Some of the messages (although short and nothing interesting) also have sentimental value to me.
My Goyard wallet also contains a handful of business cards (I think), particularly the ones from John Galliano’s assistants and store directress.
Please, please, please pretty please email me if you have seen my black Moto Razr and yellow Goyard wallet. Email firstname.lastname@example.org.
I swear, you can even have my fucking phone. It’s my contacts that I need… all my friends, lovers and frenemies. I’m a lonely mother fucker without them.
#2 – I love it when people spread the word about my crassy self and my car crass crash web site. But I don’t like it when people use my name to sell things that doesn’t have the Bryanboy Stamp of Approval.
While they’re not saying anything negative about me, someone has been using my glorious name to spam various online forums and forwarding emails about how to make money on one’s website.
Bryanboy’s 2006 Resolution
1. I will eliminate bullshit in my life. This includes bullshit people and bullshit things.
2. 2006 will be healthier year for me. I will haul my fat ass to the gym, even if it’s by rickshaw.
3. I will spend 2-3 weeks on a volunteer thing either in Nepal, Mongolia or Tibet. When? I don’t know. But I most certainly will. Fuck 6-foot high backpacks though… I’m bringing Goyard! I want to do something for humanity even for once. Not that I already don’t do anything good for man-kind.
4. I vow to find my own personal Aleksandr Petrovksy (sans marriage, kids, wrinkles and liver spots). I also vow to find romance in my life… that romance will come in the form of a little Oscar de la Renta number and I’ll wear it when I go to… Starbucks! I have to admit that the chances of this happening are slim to none because the older I seem to get, the younger (and poorer) the boys I tend to attract.
5. Someone will GIVE me a job that will allow me travel all over the world, all expenses paid. Why even bother applying for a job when someone can give it to me? All I gotta do is to find that special someone. God knows how I’m gonna pull this one off. Can I reiterate that I am good (I am VERY good) when it comes to sexual favours?
6. Logos will be kept at minimum during 2006. I promise to be more discreet. Expect a ton of alligators, polo players, Hs, Ys and interlocked Cs.
7. I will have my own apartment. Oh yes. I don’t care if my mom bought me a new queen-sized bed (apparently, I’m not yet ready for a king-sized bed) for Christmas! I will move out of my familia de horreur’s birdcage, by hook or by crook, so I can throw hallucinogenic drug-fuelled parties and STD-inducing orgies with all the town’s Tom, Dick and Harries.
I think that’s about it. I’ll be honest though – I’m not really big into these New Year Resolution things because laziness is my last name, procrastination is my best friend and it’s soo much easier to have a fuck you attitude on things.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
#1 – Bryanboy loves people from Bethany, OK, Lambeth, London UK, Minneapolis, MN, Pantai Valley, Malaysia, Rochester, NY, San Francisco, CA, Chula Vista, CA, Blackpool, England, Summit Argo, IL, Madison, WI, Mountain View, CA, Syracuse, NY, Phoenix, AZ, Las Vegas, NV, Highlands, TX and of course, people from Skåne, Sweden. Bryanboy loves you all! Identify yourselves, bitches and say hello to me, the national mascot of the land of the brown, l’exotique and the natives!
#2 – Lovely. NOT! Thanks for corrupting my mind. You know who you are.
#3 – Just because I went travelling for a month and a half it doesn’t mean the photos of your love should stop. Bombard my email account with imagery of your love. I’m a sad little bitch this New Year (I was supposed to go to this island but I’m too exhausted of travelling). Email email@example.com.
I love these girls. I really do.
I love you all, as always.
Email me – firstname.lastname@example.org! I’m a lonely, sad, miserable mother fucker with no phone and with no access to "friends".
Except for one (who, thank god, called my landline a few minutes ago.)
He’s from the Netherlands. He’s this aspiring young male model who will go to Milan this January for the shows.
I started talking to him a couple of weeks ago whilst I was in Copenhagen. Or somewhere. He’s nice and sweet though a little immature — I don’t blame him, he’s only 18, practically a fetus in my books.
Please support my sponsor:
Here are some pics of him at his modelling agency’s website.
and some of the pics that he sent me before… mind you, he’s such a cam whore as well. He must have sent me over 500,000 pictures of himself. I love it. Isn’t he adorable?
(I bet everyone in this planet, myself included, have pictures of themselves outside a Louis Vuitton store.)
He’s also the reason why I ended up going to Musee D’Orsay in Paris (he told me I have to have to have to have to have to go there) and take "I love Tim" pictures.
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Overall he’s a nice guy but the fucker is too high-maintenance. He’s someone who constantly demands attention and he has to be complimented, praised and admired all the fucking time.
Today, however, I unleashed the monster from within him… and it all started from a screen capture of one of our webcam conversations.
Yep – he loves his webcam alright.
Look closely at his fingernails and tell me whether you can see what I saw.
I for one don’t have 100% flawless nails 24/7/35 and I certainly won’t deny that there are times when my nails look as if they belong to a gardener or a farmer.
Take a closer look. Tim continously said his nails are white, short and clean.
If those aren’t long then I don’t know what is!
Anyway, he became a complete bitch, telling me I’m mean. Heck, all this guy tells me 99% of the time is the fact that I’m FUCKING mean.
I say something a little aloof, he comes around telling me I’m mean.
If I’m sooo fucking mean all the time, I don’t understand why he continues to talk to me.
Stupid fucking kids.
Don’t you just hate them?
I’m kidding!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHA =)
Remind me NOT to talk to
young immature people any more.
What I need is a young-looking, late 20-somethings (25, 26, 27, 28, 29) or 30-somethings (31, 32, 33….) *hint hint* who will spoil me rotten and treat me like a fucking princess.
Fuck all those boy toys. Everyone knows that they are only good while they last.
P.S. My Paris Photo Album is now up and available for public view. There are over 300 pictures in my collection. Feel free to browse it and tell me what your favourite photo OF ME is. Let me know what you think.
Click here to view the album.
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Debauchery Takes Its Toll
I will NEVER, EVER, EVER get drunk EVER again.
I went to a friend’s cocktail party late last night to see some good friends I haven’t seen in a month and a half. Kicked off the night with a shitload of vodka and gin.
I then had a quick stint at Embassy, Capones and a friend’s friend’s pad.
Everything happened soo fast I literally lost track of time.
I ended up going home at 11:00AM.
I think I might have lost my brand new yellow Goyard french wallet, my Moto Razr, my American Express and my Citibank chairman card.
I wanted to call my friend to see if I left it at her friend’s house but I don’t know her number offhand. I hope that’s the case.
Otherwise, shoot me.
All my friends, frenemies and lovers’ phone numbers are on my mobile phone – I simply can’t imagine living without it.
I’ll NEVER EVER EVER get drunk again. EVER!
(At least for the rest of this year.)
Mabuhay! Welcome to the Third World.
All the pores in my face are fuckin open again, thanks to the oh-so-glamorous third world heat and humidity.
I miss Beijing.
I miss Moscow.
I miss Stockholm.
I miss Copenhagen.
I miss Riga (oh yes…).
I miss Paris.
What you want…. baby I got it… what you need… do yo know I got it.. All I’m askin’… is for a little respect when you come home (just a little bit)… hey baby (just a little bit) when you get home (just a little bit) mister (just a little bit).
But I definitely missed the third world. There’s (still) no such place like home.
Even if my home looks like this.
and not this
I’ve been gone for a month and a half and nothing has changed in the land of the brown, l’exotique and the natives.
I went to Cuisine last night to meet up with old friends. As always, they (and only they) look fabulous.
There were a shitload of vienna sausages last night, the stench was awful.
Straight Filipino men.
Bah. All show and no action.
They’re probably the most egotistical and pretentious creatures in the world, the stench is sooo strong their egos make up for what lacks in their jewelry department.
Vienna sausages, anyone?
God I’m so pale I need to go to the beach and catch up with my tan.
Oh the pretense of it all. It’s all fun!
This is what I love about this place….and this is the place that I call home.
I have a cocktail party to attend in about 5 hours and I need to get my fat ass beautiful. I’ll unleash the power of Chanel tonight.
I love you all, as always.
Merci, Au Revoir, Bon Soirée
As always, Paris never fails. I’ve been here for 9 days and in spite of everything nasty that happened to me, I had a bloody good time.
Almost every square inch of this city reeks of beauty and surprise. There is always something new to see and someone new to meet. I spent the entire afternoon walking around Paris, from Le Marais, to St. Germain De Pres, to Louvre-Rivoli and St. Honore to Madeleine, Les Halles, Republique, etc.
(First 3 pictures are from a shop called "Shine" near my hotel. It’s a shame they’re closed on Sundays. I haven’t even been inside it. Ugh. Those necklaces are fucking gorgeous.)
(A collection of vintage French Vogue)
(A trip to Paris isn’t complete without seeing Hermes… again, it’s a shame they’re closed. They have an abundance of gorgeous bags on the window!!! Where’s that baseball bat when you need it?)
Sadly, I have to bid adieu to the city of lights in about 12 hours. I have to wake up first thing tomorrow morning (or I could stay awake and just enjoy my last few hours). I also have to pack. God knows how I’m going to fit all of my shit in my suitcases. FedEx is NOT an option because there’s no time (and they’re closed at night).
Most cafes and restaurants are closed today so I thought it would be cool to channel my inner trailer trash and ordered a huge pizza and 10 chicken wings. Meet my last supper. In Paris.
I have many, many, many more beautiful pictures in my camera. I’ll create a photo album when I get back to the third world.
On that note, let me pack my bags.
Wish me a miracle.
I love you all.
Edit: Contrary to what people think, no, I am NOT anorexic. I’m PRO-ANOREXIA though.
Au Pied de Cochon
Last night wasn’t so bad after all. If anything, it was kinda tres super.
I was starving at around 12Midnight – my only meal yesterday was canapes from Fauchon.
Sadly, most restaurants in Paris were closed. I asked the hotel receptionist whether there are any brasseries nearby that’s open for the night. He said I could go to the “Au Pied de Cochon” at rue Coquilliere.
So I did.
The service and the food was excellent. I had a prawn cocktail followed by scallops provencale and a bottle of chablis.
(That’s a French family right in front of me. The 2 teenage kids went out so they’re not on the photograph. They were SOOO noisy; in fact, everyone was merry and singing… except for me. All I did is flash a smile or two whenever someone smiles at my direction.)
Au Pied de Cochon is not posh by Parisian standards but hey, any place that is open at fuckin 1 in the morning on Christmas day will suffice.
Apres dinner, I walked back to the hotel, snapping at random things that caught my eye.
As I walked near the hotel, this very young-looking French guy, perhaps no older than 22 (and about 4-5 inches taller than me) approached me and asked for a “fire”.
I channelled my inner blonde and asked him what he meant.
He grabbed a packet of cigarettes from his coat and waved it at me.
That’s when I knew he wanted a light.
The guy couldn’t speak English.
I gave him a box of matches that I had and said our au revoirs.
I walked for about 5 minutes and the guy shows up again.
This time he was saying all sorts of stuff and smiling.
I thought ah… he didn’t want a light. He wanted a Christmas fuck.
He then said something (in broken English) if he can kiss me because it’s Christmas/Noel.
I said “oui, pourquoi pas”.
The rest was history.
The best part of staying in Marais is the fact that there’s soo many alleyways and side streets you can go to if you want privacy.
And there you have it.
If Virginia is for lovers then Paris is for fuckers.
It’s 11:57AM, I want to have lunch and I’ll take more pictures. It’s my last day in Paris and I’m bound for another city first thing tomorrow morning.
Merry Christmas to each and everyone of you.
Seasons Greetings My Fucking Ass
and a Joyeux Noel to you too from my John Galliano-ed oversized wool & cashmere twinset (tank + cardigan) covered ass.
Believe it or not, even some of the world’s most fabulous clothes aren’t enough to cheer a lonely little girl like me on Christmas Eve.
(What I need is a fucking Vacheron Constantin watch and a Boucheron necklace. I’m kidding.)
I mean, it’s almost 9PM and I’m all alone.
In my hotel room.
Isn’t it sad? I thought I’d have a good ol’ grand Christmas in Paris.
I’m soooo fucking homesick!!!!!!!!!
Not even Kate Moss can keep me company.
I miss the third world.
I miss my familia de horreur.
I even miss my mom’s annual Christmas drama and her (or should I say the maid’s) Christmas chicken noodle soup – it’s been a family tradition to have chicken noodle soup on Christmas Eve.
I miss being dragged to the church for Christmas Mass by my father. Heck, Christmas is the only time I’ll go to church – to thank God for all the blessings, to ask God for MORE blessings aka more Chanel.
I spent the entire afternoon walking around Paris. I ended up spending an awful amount of time at Fauchon, buying edible presents – chocolates, tea, more chocolates, more tea, foie gras, pate, jam, preserves etc.
God knows how I’m gonna carry all of them home.
I don’t need empty suitcases.
What I need is a miracle.
I think I’m going to start packing my shit.
I know all of you are having fancy schmancy Christmas dinners and gift opening ceremonies with your respective families.
I have one thing to say.
Fuck each and every one of you.
Because I know I won’t have that 10 extra pounds to lose by 2006.
Merry Christmas and Seasons’ Greetings. I love you all.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
1. Bryanboy loves people from Owensburg, Indiana, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, Vancouver, BC Canada, Beijing, China, Heidkaten, Germany, Finksburg, MD, Toongabbie, NSW Australia, Playfair Estate, Singapore, Melbourne, VIC Australia, Chapel Hill, NC and of course, people from Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada. Bryanboy loves y’all!!! Identify yourselves, bitches and say hi!
2. My winter escapade is drawing to an end. I’ll be back in the land of the brown, l’exotique and the natives sometime next week!
3. Hannah Matronic, I got your email. Please send me your cellphone number ASAP. If I were you, skip Boracay. Let’s hit Embajada and Greenbelt next weekend… or better yet, throw a coming back party for me. Me, me, me, me, me. Because I’m special. I already had enough beer cans and footlongs it’s time for me to go back to my roots and eat good ol’ Vienna sausages, Filipino style.
4. Gonna take your mama out all night, yeah we’ll show her what it’s all about. We’ll get her jacked up on some cheap champagne, we’ll let the good times all roll out. And if the music ain’t good, we’ll it’s just too bad, we’re gonna sing along no matter what. Because the dancers don’t mind at the New Orleans, if you tip ‘em and they make a cut.
5. Are you sick and tired of the usual "old-world" elegance and charm? Here are 2 hotels in Paris you should stay at.
- Hotel Sezz (http://www.hotelsezz.com)
- The rooms are on the smaller side but it’s very modern and chic. The bathrooms are GORGEOUS though not for the faint-of-heart. The only downside is the fact that thick and transparent glass separates the bathroom and the bedroom; you can literally see what’s going on inside so be sure that the person you’ll go here with is someone you won’t mind looking at you when you do your rituals (bath/shower/shit/etc).
Anyway, the service is excellent and the people there sure do know how to take care of you. Virginie was my personal assistant there and she attended to all of my requests. Rooms start at 250Euros per night.
- Hotel Petit de Moulin (http://www.paris-hotel-petitmoulin.com)
- Prepare yourself because this hotel is one of the best hotels I’ve been in my life. Everything about it is a feast to one’s eyes. My pictures don’t do it justice… you have to see it for yourself.
The bedroom is on the larger side, the bathroom is to-die-for. The bath tub is HUGE. You can literally fit 3 or 4 people easily. The decor is just absolutely amazing – it’s Lacroix, darling. Location-wise, it’s on a quiet street in Marais and within walking distance to various places on the 3rd arr. Rooms start at 200Euros per night.
More updates later. This was supposed to be a long update but I’m late for my hair appointment.
Who knows, I might even miss it.
Merry Christmas to each and everyone of you. I love you all.
Lowest of the LOW
Yesterday morning was insane. I’ve hit a new personal low and I forgot to bring my camera. What happened yesterday totally ruined my entire day.
After a night’s worth of clubbing with 2 French guys and a Dutch person, we all went to the Hotel Plaza Athenee to have our petit déjeuner – it was 8AM and we didn’t have any sleep whatsoever.
The breakfast was scrumptious, especially the pastries and the omelette. The service was excellent. The people at the cloak rooms were friendly (I wore my chinchilla). Heck, even our waiter was cute. In fact, I think I’ll stay at the Plaza Athenee the next time I go to Paris, just like Carrie Bradshaw. The hotel is absolutely beautiful.
Apres-breakfast, the boys and I quickly strolled Ave Montaigne and revel in the plush surroundings – all the designer boutiques were right in front of my eyes. Took a quick look at a couple of shops… decided not to buy anything. Not when these 3 guys are with me. Shopping is best done when you are alone.
Before having breakfast at Hotel Plaza Athenee, they promised me that they’ll take me back to my hotel, (which is in Le Marais 3rd arr.), via taxi, because I didn’t have cash with me at that time. I literally had 1 euro in my handbag… which is around US$1.20 and my visa card. I thought I don’t need to bring my ATM cards or other cards because it’s just one night out.
The horror started when we reached Champs-Elysees. They all wanted to stroll along Champs-Elysees. I wanted to go to my hotel and sleep… it was fuckin 10 in the morning; I’ve been awake since 2PM the other night.
Since they promised me they’ll drive me home, I gave hints on how I’m tired and exhausted, that it’s very late and I have to go etc. I hope that would prompt them to stick to their promise, but now, one of them wanted to browse the Virgin Megastore.
I told myself "fuck it". I told them I’m going home. By metro or by slow boat, it doesn’t matter. Thank god I have my 1-week metro pass. I don’t care to take the metro, even if I reek of smoke and alcohol, looking like a prostitute. I would’ve taken a cab, like I always do, if I had more money in my pocket or if the cab takes cards.
Sadly, it’s rare for a cab to take credit cards in Paris… a taxi with a credit card terminal is probably nonexistent, unlike in the Scandinavian countries where taxis are ultra modern, complete with GPS guides, credit card terminals, push-button screens and more.
So off I went to the metro from Champs-Elysees. I was supposed to change train at Hotel De Ville but there was some incident at Chatelet station so they closed it down. Somebody apparently got killed in the tracks or wotsit.
I went on a different metro line and ended up at Arts et Metiers station.
Believe it or not, I got LOST and walked around the area for 3 WHOLE hours. I literally couldn’t find my hotel’s street. I didn’t have a map with me – I felt soo stupid for not bringing it.
To top things off, some vicious and street tramp teenage-looking ethnic girl and her boyfriend (presumably animal rights protesters) pulled my Chinchila jacket, causing a HUGE rip at the back.
I would’ve reported that incident to the police but I really could not be bothered.
So there I was, in the middle of Paris, freezing my ass wearing nothing but jeans, a striped red t-shirt and a pearl necklace on.
To top things off, I somehow ended up on this street where there’s a ton of sex shops selling sex toys, costumes and "live peep show" girls.
I went into one of those sex shops selling sex toys, with tears on my eyes, asking for help with directions. This scruffy-looking guy, a tout for the sex shop I assume, must be in his 40s, who had that dirty "I’ll give you a good fucking" look in his eyes, tried to help me with directions, in spite the fact that he doesn’t speak English. At all.
This is what his handwriting looks like. Mind you, the directions were wrong.
There were also 2 strippers who were in the sex shop, trying to look around whether there’s a sweater for me. There was this fake leather bondage and discipline-like coat but I told them no thanks, I’ll pass.
I went out of the sex shop, walked for about 30 more minutes and found a cheap store that sells 2nd hand clothes and I bought a knee-length, olive-green, "army" coat for like 30 euros.
To cut the story short, I looked from one bus stop to another (map) and finally found a route to go back to the hotel… at 2PM!!!!!!!!! Full blown blisters on my feet and all.
It was literally the worst day ever. It ruined my evening yesterday. Not even my gorgeous hotel room, designed by Christian Lacroix, can remove the repugnant stench of yesterday’s event off my head.
Breakfast at Hotel Costes
I thought I’d share some pictures from last Tuesday. Keep in mind they were taken at around 9AM at Hotel Costes. My eyes are red from the booze and I’ve gained weight.
More updates soon.