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.
When Your Hair Fails You…
My hair had grown sooo long I don’t even know how to fix it. Every day is a bad hair day here in Paris… it’s alright, the couture is more important than my coiffure. I don’t give a flying
french franc euro even if I look like a school teacher gone wild.
Ensemble: coat by Zara, cashmere turtleneck and boots by Yves Saint Laurent, cashmere cardigan by Marni, watch, bag and belts by Chanel, eyeglasses by Alain Mikli, gloves by Hermes.
I know you’re all excited with my loot. I’ll post them when I have the time. Soon. Goyard. Vuitton. Chanel. The most fabulous jeweled bag from Charles Jourdan. Sephora. Longchamp. Colette.
Time is precious, time is valuable. I’m in the most beautiful city in the world and I’m not gonna waste any precious second of it.
I love you all and I miss you.
Vive à Paris!
Paris, is no doubt, the most beautiful city in the world.
Fuck it though; the most important thing is the fact that looking at some of today’s pictures, I realized that I actually have a jawline!!!!! Seriously. For years, I’ve always thought I have a double chin and a nonexistent jawline.
Even my gal pal asked me whether or not I had an operation done.
What fuckin operation? Has it occured to her that there’s actually healing time involved when it comes cosmetic (surgical) procedures?
Enjoy these pictures as much as I did.
(Yes, I had to do the metro, even once, despite wearing my Lagerfeld Gallery fox)
(It’s always great to have one of your gal pals with you.)
Highlight of the Day: Effortless Entrance at Vuitton
I really wasn’t planning to go to Louis Vuitton because I like to delude myself into thinking I’ve matured and switch to Goyard. But since we’re on Champs-Elysees anyway, we just had to go inside the mamoth building that is responsible for fucking up everyone’s finances.
As we walked near the store, we noticed about 500 people waiting in line just to get in. No, there wasn’t any event – it was just a regular LV shopping day. I think they let people in batches of 4 or 5.
I told Tina, I ain’t joining THAT queue. I’m gonna go straight to the door.
So I did.
I asked the doorman politely… "bonsoir. are you still open?"
Doorman shot me back a scary face… then smiled… "for you, yes. come in!"
And off inside the store I went.
No queues. No hassles.
Tina on the other hand, ended up outside – I was almost done by the time she got in.
BTW, I know most of you go here to read what I have to say (and not look at pictures and just… well… pictures) – I know it’s been one huge pictionary event in the past month.
I have to admit I’m a bit exhausted of travelling. All I want to do is come back home.
More updates later as always.
Paris never ceases to amaze me.
The architechture, the intricate details of each and every little (and large) thing constructed in this city, the lights and sounds of Champs-Elysees, the boutiques along (and off) Rue St. Honore, the glamour of Place Vendome… I’m trying to digest and absorb as much as I want but this city is just pure sensory overload!
If Paris is sensory overload to me, then I must be sensory overload to them.
I’m telling you…. I walked for about 4-5 hours and no less than a hundred of Parisian boys (and men) from all walks of life whether rich, poor, groomed, business-man suited or public works (one of them is a garbage truck driver and another one was a delivery person) waved, hissed, smiled, winked, "blown a kiss", whistled, stopped, looked, said "hi!" and screamed "where are you from?". I’m sure it’s this exotic piece of brown ass that they want to fuck.
Let them eat cake!
Boulangerie et Patisserie rather.
Beat That, Oprah!
I saw this teeny, tiny, unknown-to-most-folks, shop while strolling around along Rue St. Honore.
Most of the other shops were closed because it was rather late.
I stopped to look at the windows and saw there was 1 guy (presumably store manager/sales staff). I opened the door and being the gentleman, he let me in.
I told him I’m looking for x bag in x color. He brought it, I didn’t like it and asked for another color.
After a minute or two, I said, "I’ll take it". We chatted where I get my Goyard, I said Harvey Nicks HK.
I asked him, "what time do you usually close? I’d love to come back tomorrow."
Then he said "Normally at 7, but you’re special so I’ll open the door for you."
Tina asked the gorgeous man as to what time it was… the guy said it’s 8:20PM
I giggled like a school girl and whispered to my gal pal Tina
"Beat That, Oprah!"
Meet my latest acquisition.
It’s 6:35AM here in Paris. I’m going back to bed.
Mauricio Oh Mauricio
There’s only one person in this world that I can rely to in times of sadness and despair.
First we talked about those faggots in denial.
i’d rather dance with you says:
what is it with the closet? why do people seem intent on staying in it?
i’d rather dance with you says:
does it come with a champagne bar? naked go go boys? what?
i have no idea darling
i’d rather dance with you says:
if this closet is so fabulous, why am i not on the list?
i’d rather dance with you says:
not many people can say they look like dior couture when naked
i’d rather dance with you says:
she looks like john galliano designed her
i’d rather dance with you says:
Believe it or not, I have dial-up internet access in my room – I only found out today.
I slept early last night because I wasn’t feeling well. Actually, I felt shit since Tuesday, I think. Last night was the worst though; I was literally shivering because of the cold and my bed was drenched with sweat.
I’m feeling much better now. I had 4 paracetamol tablets since last night.
I just got back from a quick walk around OLD TOWN (the area where I’m staying) and boy, all I can say is that Riga *IS* beautiful.
I love the architechture, the colors and the details.
It’s a shame I’m leaving tomorrow
It’s also a shame I’m alone here – I don’t have pictures of myself in Riga.
That’s alright though… I’m sure there’s gonna be a next time.
Usually, however, "next time" is synonymous to "probably never again".
Only time can tell whether or not there will be a next time.
I love Riga.
It’s just that I wish there was someone with me right now.
It’s 3:48PM here. I need to sleep at around 7PM so I’ll wake up no later than 3AM because I have to be at the airport by 5AM. I also need to pack my shit, as always.
I’ll arrive in Paris first thing tomorrow morning with a quick stop in Oslo, Norway.
I can’t wait. The anxiety and the suspense is literally killing me.
I love you all, as always.
I got up at 4:30AM earlier this morning, packed my bags and arrived at the airport just in time.
I guess it’s goodbye to all things Scandinavian. Goodbye Sweden. Goodbye Copenhage. Goodbye Scandinavia.
Hello Eastern Europe. Hello Baltics!
As someone who is addicted to travelling, I’m no stranger when it comes to hotels and resorts.
From the Sanderson Hotel in London (where I booked a massive penthouse to celebrate my 19th birthday party) to the Sheraton Laguna Nusa Dua in Bali (where I spent New Year’s Eve with my Indonesian friends and had an enormous 2-floored suite and my own private pool), I know how to detect good and bad service.
I’m currently here in Riga, Latvia staying at the Ainavas Boutique Hotel.
I got out of the cab, left my luggage outside the hotel entrance (AKA the sidewalk) and went straight to reception.
I told the girl I want to check-in and I need help with my luggage.
She then gave me this smug look on her face and asked me for my last name.
(THE HOTEL LOBBY IS EMPTY, FYI.)
I wanted to slap the fat blonde receptiobitch, pull her hair, drag her to the ground and spit on her face only a rapist can.
I have 5 huge bags with me. She didn’t acknowledged my request for help with my luggage. There was no doorman/bellhop/nothing.
After 2 or so minutes, I decided to take matters into my own hands and went out of the hotel to carry my bags one by one.
THANK GOD I tipped the taxi driver about 8 Euros – no wonder he watched out for my bags.
He carried all my bags to the lobby and it’s only at that time when the hotel boys arrived.
Fucking slow bitches.
The misery doesn’t even end there.
Once I settled into my room, I called the female receptiobitch and asked whether or not they have internet access.
She said yes, they do have internet access and I need some codes if I have my own laptop.
I told her, ok, will you please send someone to my room so I’ll have those codes?
She said yes.
Why are they taking so long?
I read the hotel’s room service menu and decided to call the restaurant so I can place my order.
Nobody picked up the fucking phone after calling them several times. I figured they might be busy so I’ll call them later.
20 minutes. Still no person to help me with my internet problem.
I said that’s it. I’m going downstairs and get those codes and borrow a LAN cable.
So I did.
Receptiobitch gave me the codes and the LAN cable.
I went upstairs back to my room and to my dismay, I still have no internet access.
I called reception and a guy answered. He said one of his colleagues will go up to my room in 30 minutes. Since he was there, I complained how nobody at room service is picking up their phone. He said he’ll get the chef to call me.
The chef called after a couple of minutes and it was only at that time that I got to place my order.
UGH! My blood is boiling.
No wonder my European friends asked me "WHY RIGA?" or "WHY LATVIA?" or "IT’S EASTERN EUROPE!". A Swedish acquaintance even said "that’s the 4th world".
IF YOU’RE GOING TO RIGA, LATVIA, PLEASE, BY ALL MEANS NECESSARY, PLEASE AVOID, AVOID, AVOID THIS HOTEL. You’d be in for a shock.
In fairness to them, their rooms are quite clean and cozy to be honest. They’re not the best but they remind of some hotel rooms in the Philippines.
I also like my courtyard view…
not sure about the view above it though…
It was the chef himself who delivered the food to my room. It was scrumptious.
I’ve been here for about 3 hours and the only thing that has been good so far is the immigrations officer who stamped my passport.
Boy he was hot.
So yes boys and girls, I don’t have internet access in my room.
I’m completely disconnected from the rest of the world.
Thank god there’s an internet cafe (wi-fi) about 50 meters from the hotel.
I’ll sleep early tonight, wake up early tomorrow, roam around, take pictures and fly my ass to Paris. I’m really looking forward to it.
For some strange reason, I’m feeling quite depressed.
I have no idea why.
It’s like, I have this lump on my throat or something.
Hopefully Paris will lift my mood up.
I love you all and I miss you all.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax to Death
My sincerest apologies to each and every one of you for not doing a Random Cheesemax post in ages as I have been sailing the seven seas only a solo traveler can.
1. My Copenhagen photo album is up. Click here for photos. I told my gal pal Tina D. earlier than most of my pictures in Copenhagen were taken during the night time because that’s the only time I’m with someone. In response, she told me that all I have to do is to wait for Paris (she’ll arrive on Thursday), we’ll create a spectacle of ourselves and then we’ll camwhore to death.
2. Someone book me for an impromptu liposuction as soon as I get back. Damn European cold weather fucked my Daria Werbowy weight-to-height proportion. It’s bathing suit season in the friggin third world and the Anorexia Anonymous gang will bawk at the weight gain I suffered in the past month.
3. Despite the fact that it has the same color as a first-world citizen’s snot, I value these little booklets filled with stickers and stamps as if they’re my birth certificate. I thought I dropped them at the Tivoli Park the other day and I spent no less than 4 hours looking for them (only to realize it’s in the safe).
I swear to god, I would die of shock, awe and horror if I lost my passport. I don’t want to be stuck in this beautiful yet lonely (and cold) city. I’d rather smuggle myself in FedEx boxes, one body part at a time, just to be back in the land of the brown, l’exotique and the natives.
4. I’m leaving for Riga, Latvia first thing tomorrow morning. It’s 8:58PM here and my flight departs at 9:35AM. I almost missed my flight from Stockholm to Copenhagen. God knows what time I’ll wake up. I’ll finish this blog post, pack my stuff and get my beauty sleep.
I really need to leave Copenhagen. Please, for the life of god, pray that I get up before 6AM. I really don’t want to miss my flight.
5. I’ve sent far too much stuff via FedEx over the past few years and the only time they failed me is when I sent a package from Moscow to Stockholm. Speaking of which, I most definitely need to come back to Moscow so I can pick up that package. Even for 1 night (which isn’t what I promised my friend Jane.).
I sent a box today to my hotel in Paris which contains William (my white dead fox), a Vuitton bag, my Birkin and a Gucci bag. I figured out that I’m not gonna use them in Riga, Latvia (I’m only there for 2 days) and it’s best to send it straight to the motherland of all things fabulous, Paris.
They better not fail me.
6. I can’t, for the life of god, find my cellphone charger and my Filipino SIM card no wonder I’m incommunicado. I hope I’ll find them when I pack my stuff.
7. OH MY FUCKING GOD. My younger-by-2-hours Olsen twin Hannah (who I promise to marry in a couple of years time provided we have a clause on our prenup that I can have sex with any guy I want without her asking for $$$), is a total nutcase.
You’re absolutely right Hannah. Just like what you said, we’re gonna be just like the two of these when we get older.
8. It’s always polite (and trust me, it doesn’t hurt) to say Goodbye.
9. They better have internet access at my hotel in Riga. Oh god.
10. Bryanboy loves people from San Diego, CA, Stevenage, UK, Reston, VA, Tranbjerg, Denmark, Fort Worth, TX, Berlin, Germany, Benninghofen, Germany, Nashville, TN, Jamaica, NY, Allston, MA, Kingston, ONT Canada, Milan, Italy, Hoevelaken, Gelderland Holland, Summit Argo, IL, Beacon Falls, CT, Assendlse, Roskilde, Denmark and of course, people from Heidelberg, Germany. Bryanboy loves each and every one of you. Identify your asses bitches by saying hi.
And there you have it. I’ll post as soon as I arrive in Latvia.
I love you all.