What to Look for in a Guy
Calling the attention of all single mother fuckers out there. Hear ye! Hear ye!
After all these years, now I know why I’m still fucking single. My standards are way too far up my own ass… I shouldn’t take my little guide religiously… and so…. seriously.
Whoever said love is blind should be shot to the ground and squished like roadkill. Fuck ‘love is blind’. Love is much better behind a pair of Boucheron (or in my case, Gucci) sunglasses.
For those of you out there who might be interested on what my standards are, feel free to read below. I added some nice celebrity (and pornesque) shots to illustrate what I meant.
1. He must be taller than you by at least a couple of inches… even with heels.
Save the midgets to the little people. People like you and me need a man who is taller than us.
2. He must be fit, well-proportioned and have better-than-average looks.
This is a tricky one. Someone who looks nice and presentable enough is good. On the other hand, going for someone who has a killer body and a hollywood smile is pretty much asking for trouble.
Skip the beautiful boys and go for the beautiful-but-not-so-beautiful kind.
3. He must be well-off.
One of our mantras in the Bryanboy School of Golddigging is "why date a parasite when that parasite can be YOU?". Let’s face it – nobody wants to date a fucking leech. Unfortunately.. most men here (who bat for my team at least) are fucking leeches. At least that’s what I’ve been told. Not that I’ve ever dated a guy here… in fact, I HAVEN’T!
Perhaps this is one of the main reasons why I’m still single in this cesspit of the third world. It already makes me sad knowing the fact that I’m not attractive. So why make me feel worse by going out with me only because you think I have money?
I’m not saying that we should all root for the wealthiest guy in the world… all I’m trying to say is it’s a matter of balance… like the picture above. Besides… who wouldn’t want to get nice orange boxes with brown ribbons once a week?
BTW.. AVOID students at all costs. That’s right. Those damn creatures (no matter how wealthy they are) will fuck you in the head.
4. Go for a gentleman.
It’s always nice when a guy treats you like a princess. A true gentleman is very, very hard to find these days. They are so hard to find that even our old hag Kate Moss goes for the young ones. I wonder, who the hell is this 20 year old mystery guy?
Would it be nice if you have a man at your disposal to help put your shoes on? Isn’t that sweet?
5. Always opt for the er.
Bigg-ER. Bett-ER. Great-ER.
Never sell yourself short. There is nothing wrong for wanting anything that ends with an ER. Bigger, better, greater.
Email me and tell me you love me. Email email@example.com.
I Finally Look Like a Boy Again.
It’s 4:46PM and I’ve been awake for the past 24 hours. I should really go to sleep but I thought it would be best if I post here before doing so.
I left the house early this morning to go to the salon. This is me at around 11AM.
The last time I had a haircut was a day or two before I left…. back in November.
Long hair doesn’t suit me because my hair is really thick.
I had some color work done, some highlights, a haircut and my nails…
Meet my coiffure… after 2 hours…
It’s amazing how a polo t-shirt can wipe an entire decade off my age.
I feel (and look) like I’m 14 again!
I’m knackered to the bone. I’m gonna hit the sack.
More updates later including my celebrity issue. Check in a couple of hours.
Y’all know where to contact me. Email firstname.lastname@example.org.
P.S. A big big hello/NI-HAO to all my readers in China, especially from my friends and frenemies at BBS Trendsmag !!!! I noticed a huge surge of traffic from there… I love you all! I miss Beijing.. and I wanna go to Shanghai!
The Simple Life
I’ve been leading a simple life these days because of exhaustion.
I’m too burnt out to work, too burnt out to travel… I’m just EXHAUSTED of EVERYTHING.
Maybe I should fly to middle of nowhere Arizona and check myself into one of those rehabilitation clinics.
I devirginized both my Goyard and Ordning & Reda agendas yesterday evening. It’s sickening to know that I only have 2 life-threatening things to do this week.
A haircut AND a facial this afternoon.
How boring is that?
I need to get my life back on track.
I need a social life.
I need to be productive.
I need to do something nice, something exciting, something vibrant, something life-changing, something fulfilling, something innovative, something profitable, something… something.
Seriously…. I can’t help but feel sorry and sad for myself, looking at how empty my life (and my agenda) is.
Maybe I need a hobby.
I don’t know.
It’s a MIRACOL!
Every once in awhile, Hannah Matronic (my estranged wife) and I giggle on how barok (primitive) my English is.
I’m a card-carrying free speech advocate. I believe everyone should be entitled to say whatever the hell they want without the fear of being anally humiliated by the grammEr (yep… grammEr) nazis, the spell-check squad and the syntax police.
It’s not uncommon in the land of the brown, l’exotique and the natives to be attacked simply because your English skills suck. Not even Chanel or Goyard can save your life in the social weighing scale because English proficiency is considered as a status symbol in this country.
On that note… I feel like screaming
IT’S A MIRACOLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!
One of my good friends said someone called her to say I forgot my cellphone and my wallet somewhere… and they’re holding it for me until I drop by to pick it up.
I can’t believe there are angels out there and my Moto Razr and my Goyard wallet is still alive and breathing oxygen.
*fingers, legs and toes are crossed*
I’ll try my best to pick it up today or tomorrow.
Remi Martin Through The Ages
Meet Remi. Remi is a sweet little kid (I have to admit that he’s far from little because the fucker is about 6-foot-2 tall) from Sweden. Remi is one of my "original fanboys", as he once said in an email.
This photo was taken today….
I was supposed to meet him when I went to Stockholm but he backed out on the last minute cause he was scared that his English ain’t that good. That’s alright though.
He’s a great chat buddy if you don’t mind talking to delusional model-wannabes who needs a nose job (thanks Mauricio). I’m kidding.
Seriously, Remi is a really sweet kid. He’s the big little gay brother I never had. I mean, he claims he’s "straight"… I think they all do in Sweden, but my gaydar and his medicine cabinet says he’s a flamer!
I feel bad for him because he got beaten up by 2 guys right on New Year’s Eve! He was drunk and he claims he wasn’t able to defend himself. Poor Remi. Not even the gayest of the gays (aka me) got beaten up on New Year’s Eve.
Speaking of young gay people, Hannah Matronic and I are onto something. I’ll tell you more about it later.
Let this post be a tribute to my good acquaintance Remi Martin. It’s amazing how he exemplifies human evolution. You don’t need to go to a museum or a library to research the history of man… all you need is Remi!
Back when Remi is as fat as a boar.
Remi when he was a chubby little cherub
Remi in his mid-teens. Look at the skin!
Remi with a friend
Remi in high school
Remi’s class picture
Remi on New Year’s Eve when he got beaten up
People of Sweden
Jag älskar er alla, ni svenskar också!!!!!
Maila mig era mammaknullare och säg hej!!!!
I love you all, as always. Email email@example.com and tell me you love me.
No Doubt I’m Back in the Third World
Pop open those last few remaining bottles of Cristal and have an alcoholic 2006.
There is absolutely no doubt that I’m back in the third world.
My skin is now back to its sweaty and moist glory; I don’t even have to do anything, no movement whatsoever, to sweat like a rapist. Gone are the days where I have to apply industrial-strength grease to my elbows, knees, and feet to prevent them from drying — that’s what I did in Europe. LOL.
My pores are all open again and my body has expanded to ridiculous and enormous proportions because of my mother’s’ force-feeding and nutritional habits. In fact, I’ve been eating unhealthily again… I’m eating too much (and I’m taking far too much carbs)!!!!!!
Here’s proof: my nonexistent jawline is back!!!!
Goddammit I need a haircut badly. Tomorrow! Monday! The salon and my aestheticians will be open – I need some serious pampering ASAP!!
Since it’s New Year’s Day, my parents decided to visit that we visit my only living grandparent – my grandmother on my dad’s side.
It was a long drive down south to their
farm house in the province. Contrary to what you may think, no, we don’t have one of those infamous Filipino "ancestral" homes and haciendas that require the population of China as household help. I’m born and bred lower middle crass and I love it.
I was supposed to visit one of my aunts but fuck it – it’s been 36 hours since I last slept, my eyes were red and puffy and my skin is shit… I ended up asking my driver to take me home at 4PM.
Keep the love coming! Love comes in the form of pictures of yourself either a) doing the infamous Bryanboy pose or b) holding a sign that says you love me. STOP being a lazy mother fucker and please avoid photoshopping. Hah! Sorry for being a demanding bitch but I need to feel good about myself you fucking whores. Email your imagery of love and hate to firstname.lastname@example.org. Be spontaneous! Be creative! Hell you can even go naked and get your local muscle mary fire department to carry you while you’re holding a "I LOVE BRYANBOY" sign. Make me drool bitches!
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
#1 – Bryanboy loves people from Kew, VIC Australia, Lackarebck, Sweden, Jonsered Sweden, Ejby, Denmark Hunters Hill, NSW Australia, Severna Park, MD, Nashua, NH, Mont Park, VIC Australia, Helsinki, Finland, Oslo, Norway, Shanghai, China, White Plains, NY and of course, all the lovely people of Las Vegas, N-E-V-A-D-A!!!! Identify yourselves bitches and say hello.
#2 – One thing I noticed about Swedish guys (in Sweden, of course), is the fact that they love their hair long. It’s quite a distinct Swede style – blond hair slicked back on the front, long edges flapping on the side… if a Swede is a brat (that term is popular there), they’d wear eyeglasses to make them look… err… smarter?
Here’s a ***VERY*** Swedish look.
as for these…. (courtesy of Simon)… well.. they’re cute anyway.
Sadly, my hair is TOO thick for me to grow it that long, not to mention the unbearable, saunaific heat in the third world will make my batok (oh look… I published my first Filipino/Tagalog word on my blog… what a milestone!) aka the back of my neck, drip with sweat.
#3 – I can’t believe the Dior Homme top that I bought in Paris (which was like around 140 Euros) is US$300 in Eluxury.com! I should have bought them in EVERY color!
#4 – It’s HILARIOUS how my dad emailed me an article entitled "INCONSPICUOUS CONSUMPTION: Now that luxury has gone mass market how are the super-rich to flaunt their wealth?" from Economist.com. Click here to read the article. Imagine waking up with that article flashing on your inbox.
Don’t worry dad… I’m not super-rich and I will never be super-rich. Heck, fuck PRETENDING to be super-rich. It’s much more fun to be on the lower end of the scale because being crass is much more self-satisfying than trying to have class!
You know where to contact me. Email email@example.com. As always, I love you all!
Bang & Olufsen + Louis Vuitton
I got a message from one of my little birdies about the new Louis Vuitton MP3 player aka BeoSound 2 (in conjunction with Bang & Olufsen).
I know BEO launched Serene Mobile a couple of months back but little did I know about the new MP3 player.
Here I am thinking I’m gonna stay away from Louis Vuitton (and their temptations) for awhile but if they keep on coming up with stuff like this, I’d say screw it.
Gimme, gimme, gimme, buy! buy! buy!
More info at:
"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.
Please support my sponsor:
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.
Please support my sponsor:
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.