Shopping with Jane
I kicked off the night by a small meal at the Ligne Roset Cafe, followed by a visit at Chanel with my gal pal Jane because she needed to pick up her bag.
We both want these gorgeous pair of gray leather boots. The fuckers were almost US$2,000 a pair and since I’m going to Paris anyway, we both agreed we’ll just get it there so they’re much, much, cheaper.
Aren’t they gorgeous?
Also went to a shop that sold Chloe and found this gorgeous, gorgeous beige coat and it suited me well. Would you believe – I’m a size 36 in CHLOE!!!!!
I know, I know. Like Paris Hilton, I, apparently, have one pose/facial expression on my photos. It’s the trademark sideways/head tilted on the side etc.
I toyed around with the camera yesterday with me making these faces. Ugh. I look awful.
This is probably the first time you’ll see me wearing eyeglasses.
Yes bitches, I’m going blind. It won’t be long till I fucking need a guide dog (I wonder if my furry pets, i.e. William, can guide me on the yellow brick road to glamour.)
I’m like -1.50 on both eyes. Eyeglasses by Alain Mikli.
I finally got some booze into my system yesterday evening.
After hanging out with Jane, I met up with Simon (one of my few remaining Russkyi friends) and we went to this club called the "Three Monkeys".
The doorman asked Simon how old I was because apparently, in spite of the Lagerfeld Galery stole, the Marc by Marc Jacobs hardcore wool cardigan (that was as rough as a fuckin Brilo pad), they thought I looked under 16.
This is what I love about cold weather… closed pores, good skin, youthful looks.
Simon told him I’m 24, that bitch!
We stayed there for like an hour or two because it was soo damn boring and empty. It was a Thursday night afterall.
After Three Monkeys, we went to Propaganda, this bar/club packed favoured by the dirty commoner crowd (ha ha!) – think baggy jeans, jeans and more jeans, sneakers and t-shirts. A lot of foreigners and tourists also like this club because it’s the antithesis of the Muscovite club scene where cash should be flashed and crass is better than class.
Here’s the catch.
The "art director" (think Ian Schrager and Steve Rubell in Studio 54) REFUSED me entry. Simon can get in with his scruffy clothes whereas I was TOO glamorous for the club with my white-tipped fox stole etc.
Welcome to FACE CONTROL.
All clubs in Russia are armed with "art directors" who selects who can get in at their club. Face Control is what you call such art. Many people get refused entry to clubs because of a lot of reasons:
a) they look too ugly for their club
b) they look too beautiful for their club
c) they’re wearing the wrong clothes
d) there’s too many of you (i.e. a group of 5 arrived but they’ll only let 2 people in)
e) you arrived in the wrong car (this is where the Mercedes, Bentley or Jaguar comes handy)
f) you’re not "IT", you don’t have the attitude
g) you’re rude to other people
h) you look poor
i) you look too rich
etc etc etc etc etc
I still can’t believe I got refused entry to Propaganda! In fact, I’ve been here a couple of times last year.
Screw them though.
According to World’s Best Bars, Propaganda is:
Another Propaganda but we forgive them since this is Moscow and they’re the past masters of the dark art. A laid back clubby bar that attracts middle class Russians and moneyed ex-pats plus local and foreign students into techno and acid jazz.
Note the word MIDDLE CLASS.
After Propaganda, Simon and I went to this other club called "Skazka". Again, face control was in full force; in fact, there were a SHITLOAD of people outside waiting to come in,
I’m like, fuck it. Told Simon not to even bother trying because there’s all these people outside.
Where I’m from, I **NEVER** fuckin queue.
Where I’m from, bouncers kick people out in the VIP area just for me to have a table.
Where I’m from, everything is handed to me in a rose-gold platter encrusted in pave diamonds – think Patek.
You wanna know why?
BECAUSE EVERYBODY IN THE LAND OF THE BROWN, L’EXOTIQUE AND THE NATIVES LOVES ME… AND I LOVE THEM, TOO.
All dressed up and nowhere to go, we decided to go to this place called Galereya.
I asked Jane a couple of days ago that we check out Galereya sometime but she said it’s full of pretentious people. It’s the "poshest" place in Moscow where people go to see and be seen (actors, models, etc) and all people do here is show off their wealth etc whereas she’s a low-key kind of gal (although trust me, Jane is ELITNY.. she’s just not into the flash flash car crass crash kind of thing).
Ignoring Jane’s hint not to go there, Simon and I decided to go and boy we had fun.
The place is beautiful, the food is very, very good, there’s this skinny woman with slick blond hair (not the cheap hooker blond hair) with a chinchila shrug… it’s a nice place.
And believe it or not, I didn’t get refused entry. In fact, the service is soo good there.
According to Conde Nast Traveler, Galereya is:
This is a creation of Arkady Novikov – the king of the Moscow restaurant scene who has made Moscow into a place where eating out is the norm, as in New York. It is fittingly glamorous, pulsing with atmosphere and full of beautiful people. Photographic exhibitions give the restaurant a creative edge; Mercedes and BMWs block the road outside. If your face doesn’t fit – too old, too fat, too lacking in Dolce & Gabbana, you won’t get in here. Galereya is not gourmet but everything, from the tuna tartare to the mashed potato, is divine.
I ended up at the hotel at around 4:30AM and promptly went to sleep.
It was an ok night, last night. Not too shabby despite the Propaganda entry refusal. It’s funny how in the past and when Simon and I go to "elitny" (Russian word for elite) places, it’s HIM who gets refused and it’s me who can get in. But this time, at fuckin ghetto Propaganda, it’s the other way around!!!!
At least I know where I belong.
At fuckin Galereya.
It was only Thursday… just a pre-emptive strike for this coming weekend.
BRING ON THE BLING BLING THE NOVYYE RUSSKIYE WAY!!!!!
More updates later. I gotta pack my bags and move to another hotel.
You know where to contact me, as always. Email firstname.lastname@example.org.
A Day of Nothingness
I don’t know what it is but I’m utterly homesick.
I was so homesick that I decided to go to the fuckin Philippine Embassy in Moscow just to see some of my fellow compatriots.
It seems as if I’m the only BROWN, EXOTIC and NATIVE person in the capital of the world’s largest country.
I haven’t met anyone whose ancestors belong to tribes with flat noses.
Anyway, I asked my driver to bring me to the Embassy.
I rang the bell and this wonderful and nice Filipino gentleman opened the door. I asked whether I can see the ambassador or not (THAT’S HOW THICK-FACED I AM – SAVE THE SLAP ON MY WRIST. I HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO DIPLOMATIC SKILLS).
He asked whether or not I have an appointment and I said no I don’t but it’s ok if I don’t see him/her because all I want to see are fellow Filipinos… something that will remind me of home.
He toured me around the consular section and there were 3 Russians on the queue waiting for their visas. I hope I made a good impression. I wore my Yves Saint Laurent Shirt, Hermes Belt, Hermes Down Parka, Gucci Jeans and my Birkin Bag.
When I went to the consular section, bam wham bam!
I FELT AT HOME!!!!
There like 4 Filipinos there – the gentleman (probably attache of some sort) who greeted me, another man, a woman (presumably his wife) and their daughter who is about 6 years old and crying ON TOP OF THE TABLE, throwing a bitch fit.
Yes, it’s home alright!
I mean, it’s not uncommon for Filipino workers to bring their noisy evil spawn to their workplace.
Heck, my dad used to bring me to his office back when I was a child and played PACMAN on his computer.
This was back in the dark ages.
I lingered around for about 5 minutes then *snap* *snap* *reality check* and told myself, alright, I didn’t pay good money to see some third world child crying on top of a table.
The gentleman was very, very nice.
What’s funny though is I asked whether or not the President is still at the APEC summit.
One of the guys ad his wife had NO CLUE where the president is… in fact, I had the impression they didn’t even know the President went to summit!
There you go… pure Filipino incompetence.
How very very very Filipino. I LOVE IT!!!!!!! It’s just like in Manila!!!!!
Yves Saint Laurent
After the Embassy, I went to a Russian bank to exchange traveller’s checks, followed by a quick trip to one of the shopping places. I settled for Yves Saint Laurent and bought a gorgeous cashmere turtleneck and some random knick-knacks.
More updates later! I love you all…
Muse by Yves Saint Laurent
I know I’m late on this one but I wanted to check your opinion.
I got this on my email a week ago and I find the bag utterly crap. Like the type that office workers, school teachers or bank tellers would wear. Or something.
Heck I even know some school teachers (not personally) who have better bags than this leather piece of shit.
(Sorry YSL… I **LOVE** you guys but I wouldn’t dare buy this bag.)
What do you think?
It’s like 9AM here in Moscow and I’m having breakfast at the hotel. I’m surrounded by bastard business men in suits… you know… the stereotypical men-in-black fuckers on a company expense account. Some are British, some are American, some are French
God… am I the only person around here who is normal?
Ok… maybe not. There’s a tourist couple wearing brown at 11 o’clock. Hahahaha!
I’ll update later. Promise.
You know where to contact me. Email email@example.com.
Winter’s at its full swing here in MOCKBA.
I’m telling you, it’s sooo fucking cold my balls are turning into the size of raisins it’s not even funny.
It’s been rather snowy today. It’s not even proper snow because it’s only like 0 or -1; it’s slush slush slush.
I met up with good ol’ Jane and her best friend Jane.
I learned something Russian today.
You have to make a wish if you’re a third person or sitting in between 2 people WITH the SAME name because it will become true.
That’s what I did.
No, I didn’t wish for a brand spanking new black crocodile Birkin bag with a clasp covered in pave diamonds.
We had dinner at this Italian place followed by dessert at this restaurant "Akademia" then we went to the Moscow version of Harvey Nichols/Saks/Joyce/Harrods: GUM Department Store.
I found 3 sweaters that I like – 2 cashmere ones from Marni and 1 blue + white + red plaid from McQueen.
Thank god their American Express terminal was DOWN otherwise I would have bought them (even if they’re like 30-60% overpriced).
I figured I’ll just buy them when I go to Paris… or Milan.
I need a chastity belt otherwise I will go there first thing tomorrow morning.
Who would have thought I’d spent my Saturday night completely WASTED?
(God my arms look fat on this photo)
Wasted in the sense where:
1) I didn’t have a strain of alcohol or illegal substances on my system
2) I didn’t go to a bar, night club or any public place where procreation is inevitable
3) I didn’t preen, pose, mince, dance or did any activity that results in weight loss
I had a nice little dinner by myself at my favourite MOCKBA haunt, the Vogue Cafe. The service is REALLY good. The coat check man still remembered me from last year. The pastries woman said hi. My waitress took really good care of me from start to finish. When she saw me hang my Dior East/West Flight bag on my chair, she gave me a mini-chair for my handbag. When she saw me whip out my Marlboro Ultra Lights cigarette, she quickly rushed to me with a lighter. It was comfort and service at its finest.
Anyway, I had a crab salad, veal tenderloin, some orange juice and 2 xanax pills.
All of my Russian friends were busy last night, i.e. some were still at work, some had prior engagements etc. In other words, yes, I was alone yesterday night.
I don’t mind it though; I’m sure they all have their lives and it would be rude of me to demand that I see them every single day when I’m gonna be here for the next 12 days.
I got back to the hotel by 7PM, slept at around 9PM and got up at 6AM.
I am sooo homesick. I have no idea why.
Travelling solo flight is definitely a mind-blowing experience. It makes you realize how alone you are in the world and how you miss things back home.
I have all the time in the world at the moment and I hate it.
At least my Russian sable fur hat is gorgeous.
Ignore my thunder thighs. I swear I’m not gonna eat carbs from now on.
I haven’t had a single grain of rice since I got here.
I miss my family, my home, my room (that feels like a fucking sauna, even with the airconditioning on).
I miss Filipino food.
I miss my maid, Eunice.
I miss my domestic, short-haired, breedless, cat, Pinkie.
I miss my dauchshund, Bruno.
I miss my crappy car and calling poor people to pay them US$10 to drive me around for an entire day because our family driver is soo unreliable.
I miss going out at night only to go home at around 9 in the morning, no questions asked from my familia de horreur.
I miss sashaying down the third world malls in my first world outfits with typical Filipino people thinking my Birkin bag is a working woman’s bag (i.e. bank tellers etc).
All I can say is, when the going gets tough, the tough gets Dee-yor.
That’s exactly what I said back in July 14,2005.
I’m currently staying for free at my hotel in Moscow. I redeemed some of my Starwood Preferred Guest points. I know it’s not a suite but hey, I’ll take it if it’s for free. I’m transferring though to another hotel in a few days.
My room is soo messy and it’s my fault. I’ve got all my shit scattered all over the place.
It’s times like this that I realize, shit, I’m so lucky to have my own maid in the land of the brown, l’exotique and the natives.
NEVER underestimate a household help’s magic. Even if they have ruined a Lucien Pellat-Finet sweater in the past by getting in laundried instead of dry-cleaned.
I’ve been in Moscow now for 3 days and today is the first day I saw slush since I got here. I hope it’s a sign that it’s gonna snow soon, this way I’ll get to wear my Dior snowboots.
Bring on the fucking blizzard you mother nature you.
Time Magazine will probably name you as "Person of the Year" when it could have been ME you fucking bitch.
I paid VERY good money just to experience a fuckin blizzard.
If all you’re giving me is fuckin slush (i.e. green mango/white grape shake) that I could’ve bought at a restaurant in the Philippines, I should’ve just stayed at home, throw ice cubes in my blender and throw it in the air like glitter at a Studio 54 party.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
#1 – Bryanboy loves people from Pittem, Belgium, Kingsthorpe, Queensland, Hartsdale, NY, Mobile, AL, Littleton, CO, Davis, CA, Lemon Grove, CA, Maryknoll, NY, Sunnyvale,CA, Austin, TX, Evanston, IL and of course, people from my home town, the national capital of the land of the brown, l’exotique and the natives, MANILA, PHILIPPINES!
#2 – Notable Mentions. I appeared at VH1′s Best Week Ever’s website again…. and at MetaFilter.com.
#3 – Chloe Paddington bags are available at the Chloe Boutique in Beijing. Oh yes, there’s a couple in black, olive green and a maroon-like color.
#4- Louis Vuitton in Moscow is the place where you can get all your Limited Edition pieces. Boy, they have a shitload of limited editions over there and it’s not as expensive as what you think. In fact, most of the pieces there are the same price in Manila. I think it’s Louis Vuitton’s policy to have the same price everywhere else (except in local currency conversions).
#5 – Lots of love from all over the world. I know I said NO PHOTOSHOP but I guess I’ll make exceptions because I’m FUCKING homesick. Miami, Copenhagen and Paris.
(Sebastian darling, I know Copenhagen loves me but will YOU fuck me?)
(Say hello to Pablo Chester, Paris’ Black Diva. Loves it baby, loves it!)
#6 – If you’re in Manila, will you PLEASE, pretty PLEASE, buy a copy of this month’s Fudge Magazine with Harry Potter on the cover? I think I’m there and I need you to scan the pages where I’m on it. I’ll forever be indebted – I’ll give you sexual favours when I get back. I promise. Email me the scans.
I think that’s it. I’m meeting a few friends today, it’s Sunday and I hope to get decent pictures done later.
As always, you know where to contact me.
I’m homesick you fucking bitches!!!!
Email firstname.lastname@example.org or SMS my Moscow number, +7-926-437-6332.
I love you all.
Rollin’ With Mah Homies
It’s official. Moscow is indeed my second home. I love, love MOCKBA.
It’s soo full of the nouveaux riche it’s like finding long lost brothers and sisters, wearing their in-your-face-wealth-is-stealth clothes in an enormous lost and found area.
In fact, I feel very old money already.
If you think I’m bad, you have to see some of the Russians I’ve seen – they’re all fabulously dressed – everything has a fucking label on it. I, on the other hand, mix up "designer" with non-designer pieces; for instance, I wore my Missoni oversized cardigan + belt, Fendi sweater, Hermes belt, ZARA corduroy pants and Frye boots.
I went to Stoleshnikov Pereulok yesterday, a little brick road, home of Dior, Hermes, Vuitton et al and a ton of women (and some men, their husbands/sugar daddy) gave me the smile, the approving nod and the hi/hellos/where are you froms.
I think it’s because of my Birkin bag and my oh so fabulous chinchilla.
Courtesy of Reality_Chic, who said my Chinchilla picture reminds me of her.
When I went to the Hermes shop to take a look at their stock, this Russian woman had a Fendi bag filled with CRISP, cold, hard cash, complete with rubber bands. It was around 900,000 rubbles, which is roughly around US$31,000. You should’ve seen the look on my face when I saw that – it was the same face I had when Jane brought me shopping last year.
I met up with my Russian gal pal Jane again (I’ve known her for like a year yet it was only a few months back that I found out her Russian name is Evgenia/Eugenia). We went to her dad’s favourite Italian restaurant in Moscow, the Palazzo Ducale. It is one of Moscow’s poshest restaurants.
The food was scrumptious. I had a shrimp cocktail (generous, generous servings) and some fillet. Even the bellini was divine. Jane had a salad and risotto.
Jane’s been a complete gentlewoman to bring me there. We had a great table… in fact, it was so great that my brown Fendi logo-a-gogo v-neck matches the decor. Hah!
Apres-dinner, we had a little kiddie fun with her leftovers because her food was soooo black.
Err.. SHE had kiddie food fun.
After all, I’m the epitome of class, high-low-hi-whore society and glamour (as in G-L-A-M-O-U-R MAGAZINE).
Jane, you bitch, you looked really, really, really scary on these 2 pictures.
It’s official. I now have emotional scars. I’m scarred for life!
After Palazzo Ducale, we had coffee at some coffee shop that’s quite trendy with the 20 and 30-something Moscow crowd. I forgot the name.
Jane had to go home after coffee and I met up with another old friend, Kate.
The Red Cap
I joined Kate, Nastya (who I called Nasty Nastya), another Kate (who left for St. Petersburg today) on a little "hen night" at Red Cap.
This is what I love about Moscow – it’s a city full of the unpredictable.
Who would have thought there’s actually a STRIP CLUB just for women?
Kate knows the manager there so I was able to get in for free, otherwise I would have paid US$100 for the entrance.
IT WAS QUITE OVERWHELMING TO BE HONEST! IT WAS SOOO SURREAL!!
IT’S LIKE, OH MY GOD, IT’S THE FIRST TIME TO BE IN A STRIP CLUB!
IT’S NOT EVEN LIKE A STRIP STRIP STRIP CLUB FILLED WITH DIRTY OLD PENSIONERS LOOKING FOR A SHAG… IT’S A STRIP CLUB FILLED WITH NEW-MONEYED RUSSIAN GIRLS, 18 – 30 YEARS OLD.
All these young girls actually pay a shitload of money only to be surrounded by a ton of STEROID-ANDROIDS (oh yes, the muscle mary to girl ratio was like 3 muscle marys for every girl/patroness).
I was laughing so hard inside when you hear things like "ooo you choose a guy for me", "who do you like best on the stage?", "she went to the bar to order a guy for her".
These girls pay like US$50 for 30 minutes of TALK time – yes – just talk… and hugs… and whatever.
God… these "hen" nights…
When those 3 girls ordered their guys and I told them it’s best for me to go home.
How old were the girls? 22, 18 and 20.
I on the other hand, the oldest of the bunch, chickened out and went home at 3:30AM.
THANK GOD THOSE STRIPPERS DON’T SPEAK ENGLISH.
AND SINCE MY FAMILY MEMBERS (ESPECIALLY MY PARENTS) ARE READING MY BLOG
NO, I DIDN’T TOUCH ANY OF THE STRIPPERS.
NO, I DIDN’T HAVE SEX WITH ANY OF THEM. GOD KNOWS WHERE THEY STICK THEIR POLES.
ALL I DID WAS SIT ON ONE CORNER OF A TABLE LOOKING AT THE ENTIRE PLACE BECAUSE IT WAS SOOO SURREAL.
Best of all I didn’t spend anything, not even a single cent, penny or rubble – Kate took care of EVERYTHING, including my 4 gin tonics and 2 red bulls.
The only thing I paid for is my cab fare back to the hotel.
Overall I had a jolly good time.
HANNAH MATRONIC, you should’ve come to Moscow. I know you like your muscle mary Filipino male models/C-list celebs without any money!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Wake up and smell the fresh air babe. You have to come here. THIS IS THE OFFICIAL HEADQUARTERS OF THE INTERNATIONAL ASSOCIATION OF YOUNG, UNDER-25, SUGAR MOMMYS/MATRONS-IN-TRAINING! I feel sorry for your brown Filipino ass celebrating thanksgiving in Middleofnowhere, NY state.
Don’t be depressed bitch. We’ll see each other in December.
(yes, there’s this nagging voice deep down inside that I DOOOOO miss home)
As always, you know where to contact me. Email email@example.com or SMS me at my new Russian mobile number, +7-926-437-6332.