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 email@example.com 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 firstname.lastname@example.org or SMS me at my new Russian mobile number, +7-926-437-6332.
Cruel, Cruel, Cruella
12:25AM and I just got back from the hotel. As soon as I’ve checked in at the hotel, I called my adorable friend Jane and we had dinner at NOA restaurant. She had to be somewhere by 9 so after dinner, I called another friend for couple of drinks and say my HIs and HELLOs.
It’s surprisingly warm for Moscow at this time of the year. I remember leaving Moscow exactly on this day last year and it was snowing; they sort of had a blizzard at that time.
Today however has been warm.
You know what they say – when it rains, it pours. When it pours, it’s too warm.
I shouldn’t have worn William (that’s HIS name) out – he sorta got wet. The powers of the Vuitton umbrella wasn’t enough to protect him from the wind/water. Oh well.
I don’t care what y’all think. When in Rome, do what the Romans do.
Before you forgot, this is MOCKBA we’re talking about, not Paris.
MOSCOW IS THE MOTHERLAND OF THE NOUVEAUX RICHE. NOBODY IN THIS WORLD CAN PERFECT THE ART OF BEING A NOUVEAUX THAN A RUSSIAN CAN!
Aeroflot completely revamped its business class; while they may not have the flat beds yet, their seats are quite comfortable and can fully tilt diagonally. Honestly, it’s the first time I’ve slept on a plane (usually those flat beds are a pest). It’s not even proper sleep – it’s one of those highly efficient DEEP though SHORT naps that make you feel well-rested.
The service is not bad – nobody helped me storing up my luggage on the overhead cabin, but when the food arrived, I’m telling you, the stewardess simply WON’T STOP FEEDING ME. Also, everyone is smiling one way or another. The cabin staff is polite. If you say “thank you”, they’ll say “welcome” or smile. They even won’t stop offering me drinks… and the other stewardess gave me my own bottle of mineral water – without me asking. I thought THAT was sweet.
Courses upon courses of food arrived – the enormous salmon appetizer, the salad with various green and cherry tomatoes (personally, I’m not a big fan of thousand island dressing), followed by soup (it wasn’t too bad; I was disappointed that it tasted as if it DID NOT come from a can), followed by main course – I had cod fish with vegetables.
There were 2 or 3 more courses left and I told the lady I’ll skip them because I’m full. It was some sort of dessert, followed by ice cream… and then your usual chocolates, cheese and whatsit. And if you’re still hungry, there’s a selection of sandwiches available.
I paid US$380 in excess luggage – a far cry from the US$800 or so I paid before. I should’ve fedexed some of the stuff I used in Beijing. Oh well, I should’ve known better. I’ll fedex some of my used and i-don’t-think-i-can-use-it-here clothes back to Manila when I have the time.
Being on the flight was terrible. It cemented the fact that I DO miss home. Those teeny pangs of loneliness are fucking killing me. More than half of the people probably wouldn’t understand a word of English other than “HELLO”.
If you think I’m a fashion victim, you should have seen the lady in front of me earlier on the Aeroflot Check-in Counter at the airport. That woman wore embroidered Maharishi-look alike pants, paired off with some huge brown and green fur jacket (she’s fat BTW) and her extra huge handbag looks like one of those Luella Bags, multiple by the size of ten and the colours scream 70s ACID PARTY – it was psychedelic galore – in FOX!!!!!!!!
There’s even a battalion of hideously-dressed people, I presume they’re atheletes cause they all wore this dirty white nylon jacket with the word “BULGARIA” on the back, the same tracksuit bottoms, etc. My god, some of them were sooo good looking. Fuck them though, I should practice what I preach to my friend Hannah Matronic: Good-looking guys are usually dirt poor. HAHAHAHAHAHAH! I’m so evil.
Anyway, the only thing I wore (or more less carried) with a logo is my Goyard traveling bag. Other than that, I wore a stripey lurex Marc by Marc Jacobs top, my Marc by Marc Jacobs jeans, my Frye boots, my Dior East/West Flight Bag, my Hermes down parka and my Goyard traveling bag.
BTW, My skin is sooo dry from the weather. My elbows and knees are turning white from the dry skin despite of lathering up Kiehls Crème de Corps thrice a day. I even wrapped my feet in petroleum jelly and some plastic bag + socks last night with hopes of them turning baby soft but bah…
Anyway, enough beauty dilemmas.
It better fucking snow this week in MOCKBA or else I’m taking the nonexistent Concorde back to the heartlands of the third world – the land of the brown, l’exotiqe and the natives. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. *kiddin*
I miss you all. I really do.
I’m going to a museum tomorrow morning. Promise. Funny how I haven’t been to a museum in Moscow ever when I spent over 2 weeks here last year!
As always, you know where to contact me. Email email@example.com or SMS +63-915-785-1492.
It’s 10:44PM here in Beijing and I’m packing my luggage to my next destination.
I bought 2 huge fur stoles, both foxes, one from Lagerfeld Gallery and one from a Chinese (unless I’m wrong) store called "White Collar".
Isn’t my new baby cute? It’s sooo huge it’s fucking gorgeous!
I strategically placed my RAZR phone there so you’ll have an idea of how big it is.
I don’t think I’ve got space on my luggage!!!!! FUCK!
What PETA doesn’t understand is the fact that if gorgeous creatures such as the one I bought aren’t turned into outfits (which, by the way, with proper care, will last for life – I’m doing them a favour), they will simply rot and turned into plant fertilizer after they die.
Look at those eyes!!! Shame they’re fuck. Sooo adorable though.
Here’s my money shot.
No more shots of similar nature. I’ll leave them to Helmut Newton, thank you very much. May his soul rest in peace.
Wanna know what I had for dinner?
Something that costs around US$1.80 from 7-11.
I know it looks awful but I was starving! It was delicious though.
Time-wise, room service is just as bad as going to a restaurant… I didn’t want to wait!!!
More updates later. Or tomorrow.
I love you all!
SEND ME TEXT MESSAGES YOU FOOLS! I AM SO FUCKING LONELY IT’S NOT EVEN FUNNY!
P.S. THIS MESSAGE GOES OUT TO ALL ANTI-FUR PEOPLE OUT THERE.
I WOULD RATHER BE CREMATED ALIVE WITH MY ASHES THROWN OUT ON THE SLOPES OF GSTAAD THAN WEAR SOMETHING LIKE
Don’t worry though – it’s just a personal opinion. you could wear North Face for all I care and I’ll still love you.
I’m THAT nice.
The Great Fall of China
I finally found the cure to depression.
2 xanax pills, Badger Sleep Balm, a night’s worth of sleep, a 40+ year old man/driver (who I think should be a photographer instead because he took good pictures) and a car.
Let me tell you this: BEIJING IS FUCKING BREATHTAKING.
And I mean BREATHTAKING.
The traffic jams and the travel time to go from one place to another is WORTH IT.
I slept at around 10PM last night, got up at fuckin 4AM (then again at 7AM) and I was out of the hotel by 9.
Went straight to the Great Wall of China (Badaling) and boy oh boy, I was the most gorgeous and best-dressed person on the wall.
(Yep, that’s a Starbucks Americano right there)
As any tourist spot in the world, there were HORDES and HORDES of tourists and I know this goes without saying, they all look fucking hideous. H-I-D-E-O-U-S. Hahahahahahahaha!
(Hey, don’t get me wrong. I LOVE tourists. A TON of them (particularly the Japanese, the Americans and the Spanish… who arrived via tour bus) took pictures of me. Man, if I got a dollar every time someone asked a photograph of me on the wall I’d be FUCKING rich (and on the top 10 of the Forbes’ list) by now.
I know any sane person will walk that gigantic brick architectural wonder with a pair of sneakers but come fucking on, it’s always nice to glam it up for all those photo ops.
I want my grandchildren (my adopted spawns’ offspring) to see pictures of me up the wall and say "my fabulous grandfather looked so American Vogue".
God I love the ego boost from all the stares I got earlier. Even those white tourists (a ton of Spaniards and Americans) took pictures of me because I’m SOOOO fucking beautiful.
I even rode this cute huge animal. It’s kinda like a horse but like it has these 2 weird mounds on its back. I forgot what they’re called. I see these whenever I watch the Discovery Channel and these are like all over the place in exotic places like Egypt or like Mongolia or whatever.
Apres Great Wall, I asked my driver to bring me to the Forbidden City.
It’s ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL.
I sashayed and powerminced its massive brick roads as if I’m a coked-up supermodel on the runway during New York Fashion Week whilst listening to my Hotel Costes 8 album on my ipod.
I’m ON A FUCKING ROLL!
I’m definitely coming back to Beijing… 36 hours is simply NOT enough. I’ll create a photo album (for more pictures) on this blog when I have the spare time.
I love you all! You know where to contact me. Email firstname.lastname@example.org or SMS +63-915-785-1492.
P.S. I know I owe you a big random cheesemax. I’ll do one as soon as I get to Moscow. Love ya all!
Bryanboy LOVES Beijing
The Bryanboy HAS LANDED.
After 4 agonizing (and boring) hours on the plane, this sleepless bitch from hell finally arrived in Mr. Mao’s homeland.
(I know – don’t laugh. One of my sisters told me my hair looks like a fucking christmas tree because of the highlights – copper and light brown)
And because I’m sooo fucking beautiful, the folks at the St. Regis upgraded me to a fucking suite, complete with my own sitting area, a room for my excess baggash (all 84.7 kilos of it).
I even wrote something on the plane, a couple of hours ago because I was DEAD bored.
I have never been so bored in my entire life.
It’s no fun channeling Hans Solo; this is exactly the thing I hate about traveling alone – you and nothing but you, on business class, surrounded by empty seats on the plane cabin.
The only time I opened my mouth for the past few hours was a) when breakfast was served and b) when one of the cabin crew sat down beside me and did a little, warm (and sweet) chit chat.
Other than that, man, I’m telling you, not even my ipod, books and magazines can keep me entertained.
Fine – I browsed a copy of the November issue of American GQ and yes, I got some nanoseconds’ worth of titillating visual fun thanks to some of the pictures of half-naked men with stubble.
What keeps my sanity intact though is the little screen with the map that shows where exactly you are in the world. I LOVE that screen, especially on long haul flights. Apparently we’re flying at 37,500 feet at 861 km/h with an outside temperature of -51 degrees centigrade.
Anyway, fuck you all.
Now that I’m here in Beijing, I’m off to see TIANAMEN SQUARE.
More updates later.
Grande Puta Maricona Putain de Salope
3:41PM and I just got back home from the big bad city.
My gal pal Tina D. hanged out with me at one of the embassies earlier (I’m surprised she managed to read a book whilst waiting for me… I mean, god… for her to read a book….shit man, I’m impressed!)
I got up at fucking 5AM earlier (only had 2 hours of sleep) to go to one of the embassies to pick up my visa.
I got there at around 7:30 and queued for about 2 hours. Ugh. The hassle and distress eh?
There’s this family of three – husband, wife and a 4 or 5-year old rodent, evil bitch troll son who welcomed me as soon as I entered the embassy lobby.
Guess what satan’s spawn aka rodent said?
"Oh mommy look at that fag! fag fag fag!"
How can someone so young be sooo fuckin homophobic! I swear to god, I wanted to stuff the kid inside my Balenciaga bag and throw the rodent out of the double-digit-floored window.
I don’t blame the kid though. Look at me – no decent and respectable human male would wear my little ensemble.
The parents apologised profusely but the kid was a pest.
Not contented with his verbal abuse, the little bitch lied down on the floor and used his body as if he’s a mop… he did one of those "snow angels" thing right then and there.
If only I brought my bottle of sedatives with me that 5-year old rodent would be dead by now – good ol drug overdose.
Let’s see what he’d end up in about 15 or so years.
I hope he turns out to be a faggot.
The family’s probably applying for residency at the country where I’m going so I’m 100% sure that little piece of shit will take it up the arse with white cocks before he even hits puberty.
I hope that happens.
See – I don’t look like I’m an illegal immigrant afterall. I got all the visas I wanted. Apparently it pays to be fucking beautiful, even if I look like a bloody 12 year old on that photo.
As if I’d be an illegal immigrant anyway. I live like a princess in the land of the brown, l’exotique and the natives.
NOBODY WILL DO A GOOD JOB PROMOTING THE HIGHLY FABULOUS CESSPIT/ARMPIT OF THE THIRD WORLD CALLED ‘LAS ISLAS FILIPINIANAS’.
One day… oh yes one day… set it in stone bitches… I’ll become an AMBASSADOR OF GOODWILL!
Anyway, Tina D nailed it right there when we had this conversation:
Tina D: My god, I’m so glad we were born pretty.
Me: That’s true. Beautiful people get everything in this life. Fame. Fortune. Sex.
Tina D: I can’t even imagine what it’s like to be not-pretty.
Me: You’re the only one who’s pretty, not me bitch.
Tina D: You’re pretty too… compared to them (points at random strangers)
Me: But they’re not faggoty and camp as a row of pink tents like I am. Try being a flamer for a day.
Tina D: That’s true.
We had lunch at our favourite haunt, the M Cafe, had our usual oysters, lemongrass prawns + mango salad, guava + tamarind + scallops soup and some gindara fish. Loves it!
Oh I’m the happiest heshehoochimammipapimale today!
More updates later you fucking whores.
I throwing a little dinner party tonight with some of the people who appreciate me for being me, with no judgment whatsoever – the ones whom I don’t need to explain anything cause they understand me, me and me!
I need to sleep… and I have 4 hours to do so.
I love you all.
You know where to contact me – Email email@example.com or SMS +63-915-785-1492.
P is for Productivity
Hola chica amigas, long time no talk!
I know I was supposed to do a sex issue a few days ago but I’m currently in a bind. I’ve been ultra busy… and sick (well, not really. I just had some slight fever from those damn vaccinations that I recently had – flu, pneumonia, hepa, etc) the past few days.
I don’t even know where to begin.
I had some awful chest pains not too long ago after eating fatty foods.
YES – FATTY FOODS YOU HEARD THAT RIGHT.
My doctor recently told me to get a blood test done (cholesterol and lipid profile) and it looks like I’m still (thank god) a healthy baby boy.
I know what you’re thinking – a cholesterol test?
Like how old am I? 12?
While my cholesterol levels are normal, I need to cut back on my meat consumption.
I’ve been doing this no-carbs thing for the past few days (with hopes of me losing the last… it’s always the last… 20 pounds).
BTW, Big apologies to TRLCRL. I was looking forward last Saturday to see you again but the damn fever kept me bed-ridden!
I HOPE TO SEE YOU MONDAY NIGHT… EVEN FOR A FEW SECONDS.
I THOUGHT WE’RE MARY KATE AND ASHLEY? BRYANGIRL, I MISS YOUR HUGS!!!!
Anyway, my Sunday’s been good.
Managed to get one last facial before I leave. Please pray to the good lord almighty that I won’t get a zit. I know my zits – they’re volcanus eruptus the size of Mount Vesuvius if I don’t get a facial every 2 weeks.
I also have a new haircut… and colour.
I think I’ve gone overboard with the highlights. Dennis at Provost told me I have to do copper (hello ginger minger) and light brown (like before). I was so stressed earlier I had no choice but to nod and say yes.
My sister told me my hair looks like a christmas tree. I’ll take pictures of it tomorrow. Promise.
I don’t think it’s that bad. Seriously.
You know how I am though — Mr. Exaggeration G. Alore.
I started to pack my shit seriously this time around. Can’t trust the household help to do it cause they’re hopeless.
God I’m soo bad.
Oi vey! At least my household help knows
her my fashion ABCs.
Even if she ruined one of my L P-F cashmere sweaters.
McQueen Black Scarf, Zara Chocolate Scarf, Missoni Striped Cashmere Belt, Missoni Mohair Scarf, Hermes Bandana, Hermes Scarf, Louis Vuitton Denim-Print Silk Scarf, Louis Vuitton Rabbit Fur Scarf, Marc by Marc Jacobs Diagonal Stripes Long-Sleeve Top, Gucci Purple Sheer Cotton Long Sleeve Top, Marc by Marc Jacobs Blue and Red Stripe with Dog Long-Sleeve Top, Dior Homme T-Shirt, Beige Zara Cotton V-neck Cardigan, 2 bangles from Urban Outfitters (black and purple), Mango crystal brooch (green) and Linda Farrow Gallery Sunglasses
Logo-a-gogo v-neck sweaters from Fendi, Marc by Marc Jacobs wool top, Missoni oversized cardigan, Cullen cashmere crewneck, Balenciaga assymetrical batwing top, Marc by Marc Jacobs cardigan, Yves Saint Laurent, Fendi and Chanel sunglasses.
Vintage fox fur gilet, Mango purple turkey feathers bolero, vintage Prada fur collar, Fendi rabbit gilet, Elie Tahari rabbit vest.
Louis Vuitton umbrella, Louis Vuitton oversized scarf, Louis Vuitton fur gloves, vintage leather gloves, 2 furry ivy caps by Mango, black Chinese Mao-like hat (unknown), Chanel No5 belt, Valentino belt with tassles, Hermes red belt, Gucci belt, Topshop metal belt, Mango belt, Zara beaded belt, Valentino swarovski belt, Chanel fish belt.
Goyard bag, Marc by Marc Jacobs striped top, Marc by Marc Jacobs fleece top (can you tell I LOVE Marc by Marc Jacobs already?), Zara faux fur gilet, Zara faux shearling jacket.
Vivienne Westhood hat, Chanel bag, Gucci bag, Dior East/West bag, Zara hat, Vuitton bag with Hermes scarf, Dior saddle bag.
Frye boots, Zara boots, Yves Saint Laurent boots, Dolce & Gabbana suede trainers, Pucci boots, Gucci trainers, Louis Vuitton low-cut boots.
More to follow later. I gotta sleep and get up in 3 hours!!!!
You know where to contact me. Email firstname.lastname@example.org or SMS +63-915-785-1492.