Drunk and Ughh!!!
8:03AM here and I’ve been home for the past hour and a half.
Tons of stories to tell but I’ll update when I get up later in the afternoon.
Quick Synopsis: Went to Cuisine, followed by Bob’s birthday party w/ Rajo L, then Hed Kandi.
God I’m sooo drunk and off my head.
Ignore all that excess flesh and flab that you see. Tank top by Jean Paul Gaultier, sunglasses, handbag and necklace by Chanel, necklace by Valentino, denim jeans by Gucci, shoes by Yves Saint Laurent.
and yes, I took public transport earlier today…. a cab!!!!!!!!!
I love you all!!
Updates later.
Baboosh!
Hannah Matronic Needs Help
I know it’s 7:00AM and yes, my body is nagging at me that I should go to bed.
Before I do so, I thought I’d call in all my beautiful and young (yes, I repeat, young… well, old is ok as long as you have a vagina) readers who live in the city that never sleeps, New York City.
You see, one of my gal pals, Hannah Matronic, recently moved to Bronxville (I know what you’re thinking), to go to Sarah Lawrence College. Here’s a picture in her doghouse dorm box.
She’s been there for like 3 weeks or so and the only stories that we’ve been hearing from her are awful.
I don’t blame her though cause she spent half of her cash allowance (till December – don’t ask, her parents are trying to teach her the value of money) on things like pedicures, manicures, bras, cab fares, trains, one of her faggot "friends" who had the nerve to call her cheap when she’s the one spending money on him not the other way around, let alone someone who wears Abercrombie Clearance… ON SALE.
To cut the story short, Hannah is used to the glitz and glamour of it all. In Manila, she’s a modelizing, short-skirt-and-pumps-wearing, Balenciaga-bag-carrying budding social mountaineer. She went to an international school, had her own driver, an abundance of clothes and a ton of fantastic accessories.
And now she ended up in a god damn college dormitory with no one to socialize with other than rich American kids slash social rejects… pretentious pseudo-intellectuals who would rather talk about mortality while drinking beer off kegs.
I mean come on, can it be any more boring than that?
And her parents are trying to teach her the value of money… which pretty much means living less than minimum wage as your allowance.
It’s either a Marc Jacobs coat or a one-way ticket to anorexia for a month.
I think it’s time for intervention from me. It’s time to resurrect the REAL "Don’t you know who I am? I’m Hannah Matronic!" Hannah that she left back in Manila.
Wanna know how sad it is up there? Nobody in her school wears heels! And now she had to do the same too just for her to ‘fit in’.
How bad is that?
Nevertheless, I need your help.
If you’re someone from NYC, send me an email (bryanboy@gmail.com) with your photo, your name, your age and how you would like to help my buddy Hannah.
You see, help comes in the form of companionship… and free drinks at fancy places.
Or heck, you can also buy her a pair of that Jimmy Choo boots that she’s been lusting for.
What you have to realize tho is the fact that she has nothing to offer you other than incessant whine on how her life sucks in Bronxville, Zimbabwe Timbuktu Sahara Dessert NY state.
I hope I’ll get a ton of responses since most of my readers are female of the generous kind.
Generous meaning you won’t mind if you tag along Hannah and show her a good time around NYC, like introduce her to young people, bring her to cool parties where nobody drinks fuckin beer, my god, I can’t believe people drink such vile.
Gay males are ok too. She’s a great fag hag.
Definitely NO straight males. Unless you belong to the Forbes 500 list.
At which point I have to charge you a service fee in the 8-9 figures.
Um yeah.
If you live in NYC, email me, bryanboy@gmail.com.
Baboosh!
P.S. If you’re in Manila and you know Hannah Matronic, keep in mind that I am planning to send her a "care bear" (i.e. Marc by Marc Jacobs goodies) 25-kilo box via FedEx sometime soon. If there’s something you want me to include on that box, email or SMS me at +63-915-785-1492.
Attention, Attention
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.
But ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!
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.
Baboosh!
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.
Fuck bullshit.
Because even a fuckin 5 year old can spot a knock-off.
And no, that ain’t bullshit.
Baboosh again!
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.
As a closing note, my god, you Australian people have a really scary 
#4 – Thank you very much 
Plane fares are cheap, hotels are affordable, the food, the shopping and everything, including my fucking asshole that spit ping pong balls, won’t put you to debt or drain your trust fund. 
Nick Knight (yes, the REAL Nick Knight of Pirelli calendars, Dior ad campaigns and Gwen Stefani’s album cover), the gang at ShowStudio and i-D Magazine are auctioning off fashionable contributions from highly-influential people in fashion, including Bjork, Mrs. M. Prada, the folks at Yves Saint Laurent and yours truly. Hahahahaha!
