01/12/2005, Clubbing, Moscow
It’s 1:51PM and I’ve sobered up my act. I’m having room service lunch.
God. I am soo tempted to delete the ARGHH post.
But I won’t.
(first time to have sex since I did the HIV test… who the HELL am I fooling?)
Fuck, we’re all adults anyway… and that includes my parents and my family members.
You know what’s even funny, I haven’t spoken to my parents (on the phone) in about 10 days. I’m soo embarassed to call them after everything on my blog. HAHAHAHA. I’m sure they don’t care but I’m not completely shameless.
I’ll call them when I get to Stockholm. I promise.
Yesterday was rather fun.
I met up with Nataly at around 7:30PM at this cafe called "KofiTim" aka Coffee Time on Tverskaya (right beside Piramida). Met up with one of her friends (who is a math teacher) for some gin tonic, sushi, tea, etc.
We went to Restaurant NOA to meet Jane for dinner. I had scallops – they’re sooo huge… and delicious. Jane had some sort of black spaghetti. The food at NOA is good; in fact, one of their restaurant chefs cooks for Jane’s family once or twice a week at their house.
Apres-NOA, Nataly and moi went to this bar called "12 Volt". I’ve been here a couple of times last year. There were soo many people there. Although technically it’s a gay bar, there were a shitload of lesbians and a handful of straight couples.
(She’s a lesbian. she’s nice, believe it or not. She fancies her straight girl friend, the red head behind me on the 2nd pic)
Nataly’s friend (the Evgenia guy) arrived and ooooh he’s soo cute.
Perhaps "cute" isn’t the right word to describe him. He was absolutely fit, not too muscular… think of swimmer’s bodies. He had short dark hair (I like guys with short dark hair) and nice eyes. Ugh.. he’s just nice.
It’s funny cause he could BARELY speak English.
Nataly was right – language should never be a barrier when it comes to good ol shagging.
Heck, if blind or deaf people can do it so can I.
I don’t think I’d want to meet him again though. Not this year at least… perhaps maybe next year when I come back to Moscow again.
Ugh. Enough of this faggot nonsense.
Nataly invited me to go to her university’s party at this club tonight. I think I’m going there. I mean, hey, it’s not common for a third world Filipino slut get invited to Russian university parties eh?
More updates to follow later.
I need to be fabulous and clean again. I need to shower off this third-party testosterone stench on my skin.
I love you all.
Oh. my. fucking. God.
Oh I fucking hate it.
Oh Jesus Mary mother of Christ.
Since this is my blog (aka my personal, online, "dear diary", I’m gonna open up like the honest BITCH that I am and say what’s coming out from my head/heart/ass.
Words cannot express my fuckin anger.
Ugh. I can’t believe I didn’t took pictures of him.
My friend Natalya, being the pimp that she is (HAHAHAHAHAHAHA), introduced me to one of her gay friends.
His name is Evgenia (like my friend Jane… that’s her real name but Evgenia, pronounced as "Jhhhhaneya" or "John-ya"), he’s fuckin 32, soooo muscular, have very short dark hair (just the way I like it), some light stubble, (like Dima), about 6-foot-2, have soooo super strong arms and rock-hard abs…
I CAN’T BELIEVE HE DIDN’T HAVE A CONDOM WITH HIM.
(SHIT, I CAN’T BELIEVE I DIDN’T HAVE A CONDOM WITH ME.)
As someone who had experienced a shitload of crap just to have an HIV test earlier this year (thank god I CAME OUT as fuckin NEGATIVE…. since then, I’ve never had sex…), I’m sooo fucking scared to have sex cause of the whole HIV/AIDS thing — I hope you know where I stand on this; I want to be fuckin 75 years old and wear Oscar de la Renta… I don’t want to be HIV-positive and have the face of death right in front of myeyes.
Anyway…we kissed, we wanked each other off, we hugged, i blew him, we did all sorts of stuff except anal cause we both didn’t have condoms… I mean, shit, I didn’t expect this really… I’m not a sexual person… I’m more of a cock-teasing bitch… just look, be looked at, but no touch. HAHAHAHAH
(REMEMBER KIDS – NEVER DO ANYTHING PENETRATIVE UNLESS YA HAVE RUBBER – YOU MIGHT CATCH A DISEASE YOU’LL REGRET FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE)
blatttttttttt…. (I can’t believe I’m speaking Russian)
we did the deed (but nothing pentrative), chatted for about 30 minutes and I told him I want to go to sleep – he told me he has to go home as well.
Oh, before I go to bed, can I just say…
DAVID MCCULLOUGH, THE GUY I HAD SEX WITH TODAY LOOKS ALMOST EXACTLY LIKE YOU EXCEPT HE DOESN’T HAVE ISSUES WITH HIS SEXUALITY (UNLIKE YOU **DID**). IT’S FUNNY HOW HE’S GOT EYEGLASSES (AND SO DID YOU)… OH I STILL (SORRY BABE) HAVE FEELINGS FOR YOU BUT WE HAVE OUR OWN SEPARATE WORLDS.
to cut the story short, this guy I just did tonight sorta looks like this guy I had the hots for about 3 years ago…
Anyway, I think I’d rather sleep.
I’m so drunk and my mouth smells like his crotch. I need to wash my face and brush my teeth.
Stockholm Here I Come
Just a couple more days to go and I’m off to Stockholm. I just sent a majority of my clothes to be laundried and I’m busy packing my shit before sending some of it via Federal Express.
As you can see, FedEx is a traveler’s best friend; Why pay a ridiculous amount in excess baggage when you can send your stuff in advance to your hotel and have all your stuff waiting for you when you arrive?
After all, I intend to set foot in Europe with nothing but empty suitcases and only my Goyard bag as hand luggage.
I have this nagging feeling in my gut that my gal pal from the third world, Tina D., ain’t coming to Europe after all. I mean, it’s already November 30 and she still hasn’t submitted her visa application to the French Embassy. We’re supposed to meet each other in Paris mid-December.
Oh I don’t know. To be honest, I’m NOT even supposed to go to Europe. She persuaded me to join her because she hates the people she’s supposed to go to Paris (ok, she doesn’t really hate them, but she said they don’t have any money and their attitudes are crap). LOL.
Fuck it though. I’m sure I’ll have a blast whether or not she decides to push through. I spoke to her yesterday night and in all seriousness, I don’t think she’s gonna come.
Oh well – that means I’ll get to have my room solely to myself (yay) and that means I’ll get to have a shitload of space for interracial sex orgies, drug-fuelles highs and of course, prime storage space for my conspicous consumption aka shopping.
I’m kidding. Bah!!!!
Natalya, Mark and moi went to Piramida yesterday evening to meet yet another one of Natalya’s friends. His name is Oleg and he’s an actor (theatre) here in Moscow.
(My black assymetrical top is from Balenciaga)
The Russians are really a nice, friendly and hospitable bunch.
They’d introduce me to their friends, treat me food/dinners/rides/vodka, invited me to a birthday celebration, brought me to their work places, drive me around town etc. They’re all oh so wonderful and they knew how to take very good care of me.
I can’t believe I’m leaving Moscow in 3 days and the thought of doing so brings tears in my eyes.
Travelling solo has its ups and downs – the ocassional pang of loneliness and homesickness etc. but it’s all worth it in the end.
I get exposed to soo many cultures, see soo many different things, meet all sorts of people from all walks of life.
Bah. I don’t want to be emotional. Last time I’ve checked, I’ve got the soul of a dirty brown bitch and a heart made out of fine
murano glass Italian marble.
Red Square at Night (and Moscow by Day)
Just got back here at the hotel and it’s only friggin 6:12PM. These pictures were taken at around 4 and it’s already fuckin dark. Ugh. Winter eh?
Can you believe it’s only 4 degrees celsius? Apparently this winter is one of Moscow’s warmer winters. By this time the city should be covered in a blanket of snow. Ya gotta blame global warming and old women matronairs who use airspray to keep their fuckin bouffants alive.
Yes, that’s a real monkey I’m holding in his/her winter regalia. Now THIS is real animal abuse, not me and my chinchilla fur; these monkeys must be fuckin freezing their balls off. Where the hell are those PETA fuckers when you need them.
I look sooo pale on that photo. I think it’s the camera flash… it’s too bright. Also, my skin is AWFUL! I haven’t had a facial in about 2 weeks now. I need beautiful skin when I get to Paris. Hell, I NEED cosmetic surgery AND a facial cause I sooo don’t have a fuckin jawline. UGH.
Believe it or not, I saw the SUN for the first (or second) time ever since I got here 2 weeks ago.
(view from my room)
Photos below were taken at Pushkinskaya Square where there’s a political demonstration whatever. It’s election time here in Moscow.
Yeah, like I care about fuckin politics. The only thing I like about politicians are their excesses, wealth and unlimited access to public funds.
I’m 23 years old and I haven’t even registered to vote let alone vote for anyone.
All politicians in my side of the third world are the same – they’re all old and they smell like soil on a rainy day. I should be the president you know… I’ll make my land sooo beautiful the first thing I’ll do is MASS CASTRATION and VASECTOMY for all males over the age of 13 and GENOCIDE just to get rid of all the bad and ugly elements of today’s society.
Everyone heil Bryanboy!
Bryan the Lap Dog
From now on, I’m going to sit on people’s laps like a cheap hooker. That’s my new thing of the moment.
Nataly invited me to her gay best friend’s (Alex/Alexey) birthday dinner yesterday and boy I had so much fun. I mean, it’s not really common for somebody from the Philippines get invited to a Russian birthday party. LOL
The birthday boy and moi
The birthday boy and Nataly
It was at this simple and cozy place called "Yolki-Palki", a chain of restaurants offering home-style Russian food.
I had sooo much vodka and booze to the point where my face, my neck and my chest got soo red and flushed. I wasn’t surprised by the amount of vodka everyone had… they pretty much drink vodka like water – this is Russia afterall!
Everyone was warm and friendly. It felt as if I knew them for ages even though I only met them yesterday.
OK, OK… I was being the land of the brown, l’exotique and the natives’ official department of tourism representative. I fed these Russians wonderful stories about my homeland in the deepest, darkest cesspit of the third world. Hopefully some of them will go to the Philippines. Who knows. India and Egypt seems to be a popular destination for Russians because they, too, have this visa-visa-everywhere problem.
Anyway, it really was a nice night without pretense. No talk of material things, fashion, luxury, wealth etc.
After last night, shit, I realized that it’s actually so much fun to be in the real world living the simple life.
But for now, I need to cure my hangover, file my nails and take my anti-anxiety pills.
P.S. Just a reminder: December 1, 2005 is the First International Armpit Hair Shaving Day. Read more about it here. Please email me, email@example.com, a picture of your face and your hair-free pits. The best picture will win an award – a vintage double dildo with dog excrement skid marks.
Sundays Are Gay Days
It’s Monday, 10:38AM and I just got up about half hour ago. I came back at the hotel at around 4:30.
Not too shabby for a Sunday night out.
Yesterday was fun – I even went to an Ukrainian restaurant. I wish I took my camera with me.
Here are pics from my quest (well, yesterday’s quest) for mixed-race cosmonauts.
Watcha lookin at? Hump me Sergey, hump me!
Dima’s eyes are soo soo sexy… you know, like little miss stoner pothead eyes. Love, love, love em.
He’s sooo lovely.
I’m taller than this guy but look how his arms are twice the size of mine.
Vova and I have this little whistle thing THING. He’s soo adorable.
Now that you’ve seen me flit from one boy’s lap to another (i’m telling you, it won’t be long until I become a pregnant mother fucker – I fucking have mixed-raced half-white, half-iced-cafe-latte cosmonauts swimming inside my tummy now), it’s time to show some female action.
That’s Natalya from Ukraine.
Jane dolled up and piled on my designer goodies like a proper bitch. I LOVE IT. Yes, they were purposely done in a in-your-face, distateful manner on a Novi Ruski can do. Click here for an in-depth article about Novi Ruskis by The Times Newspaper UK.
To quote Simon Mills:
"You can spot a bunch of holidaying Novi Ruskis at 200 yards. It’s not just their brusque, bear-baiting mannerisms or the linguistic glottal-stopping. The men are portly, and look like plutonium salesmen with terrible taste in swimwear; the women sport an affluent effluence of logos, diamanté-studded accessories, metallic belts and the sort of vertiginous shoes that make the debt-set dollies of Cheshire look sartorially restrained."
Jane, being my friend and all, had to do the infamous Bryanboy pose. Hahahaha!
Mark oh Mark
I met up again with one of my first Russian friends, Mark. He now lives in South Russia and took a train just to see me in Moscow.
Not only he’s changed physically (he lost weight, he’s got long hair, he’s got facial hair), his life also changed tremendously.
Our conversations were really deep and heavy… how his life has been so good last year and how it’s been worse this year: he lost his flat, his father disowned him, some of his friends passed away… ugh.. his stories were quite scary.
Remember Natasha from last year? Click here for last year’s post.
Apparently she passed away this year. Mark and Sergey were unclear on how she died (their English aren’t perfect and they couldn’t find the right English word, however, they said something about her brain/head etc) so I assumed it was due to a brain tumor.
To The Club
Mark, Sergey, me and Nataly went to Propaganda yesterday (YOU DON’T KNOW HOW MUCH I HATE THE WORD "PROPAGANDA" AND HOW EVERY FUCKIN CITY IN THIS PLANET HAVE A BAR OR CLUB CALLED "PROPAGANDA") because it was gay night.
Yes, they let us in this time.
No, there wasn’t any face control.
No, we all didn’t look gay.
OK, I looked pretty gay.
(Duh! What straight man would wear a Dior hat, a Marc Jacobs cardigan, a RED striped t-shirt from Urban Outfitters, a Chanel belt and a dead fox draped on his body?)
Apparently the woman in the middle is a famous Russian star. I have absolutely no idea on who she is.
I know I need to lose 15 more pounds. It’s NOT fun to be a heavyweight champion you know.
Dontcha just hate taking pictures inside a gay club and all these men in their finest (or rather not-so-finest) wifebeaters act as a backdrop? Ugh.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
#1 – Bryanboy loves people from Ulsan, Korea, Kew, VIC Australia, Melbourne, Australia, San Diego, CA, Nashville, TN, Oxford, United Kingdom, Pudu, Malaysia, Calgary, AB Canada, Toronto, ONT Canada, Kangkar, Sinapore, Taipei, Taiwan, Mortdale, NSW Australia, all the lovely people from MOCKBA, Russia and of course, my hometown – the national capital of the land of the brown, l’exotique and the natives, Manila, Philippines!!!!
#2 – If you’re in Manila, have you bought a copy of Fudge Magazine yet? Please buy a copy of Fudge AND MEGA Magazines. I got a text message from Tanya (thanks babe) that I’ve got a photo there or some sort (Mega). Buy a copy bitches, scan the page with my photo on it, email it to me and I will forever be indebted to you. I wanna see if I look pretty there or not.
#3 – I’m going to STOCKHOLM, SWEDEN this Saturday. I gotta buy some furniture and say hello to Scandinavia. If you’re in/near Stockholm (or know anyone in Stockholm) and would like to rescue me from feeling the effects of being a lonely planet solo flight traveler (aka being lonely and miserable), please EMAIL me – firstname.lastname@example.org or SMS +63-915-785-1492. Let’s have coffee. or a drink. YOUR TREAT. Hahahahaha! Because I’m soo damn poor now.
#4 – BRYANBOY LOVES SINGAPOREANS!!! I’m telling each and every one of you bitches… I am soo goin to Singapore early next year. Heck, you better give me a a shitload of cigarettes and chewing gum to celebrate my arrival. I love you all!
#5 – Mike B. from Tampa, Florida says it all.
Keep the love coming bitches. I need some FOOD!
As always, you know where to contact me. Email email@example.com or SMS my Moscow mobile number, +7-926-437-6332.
SMS Messages are fucking cheap. Don’t just sit there and do NOTHING. Grab your mobile phone and tell me you love me.
I love you all.
From Moscow with Love
It’s 1:30PM and I just got up.
I ended up coming back to the hotel at friggin 7AM, just like the good ol’ days in Manila, Philippines.
Ugh my head and eyesockets hurt from all that booze I had yesterday.
Went to all these places, from this ethnic/arabic place that looks like a huge tent inside followed by a quick stint at Billionaire, Skazka, Fabrique and then this American diner called "Starlight" or "Starlite" which was quite cheesy though lovely – it’s just like in the movies where teenage Americans yankee doodle people hang out and drink milk shakes LOL.
Oooooooooh I’m so happy with all the love I got last night.
last but not the least…
Did you know that Russians give us, citizens of the land of the brown, l’exotique and the natives (aka Philippines), a run for our money when it comes to the MAIL ORDER BRIDE business?
Go check it on google yourself.
"Philippines Mail Order Brides" (1,480,000 results) vs "Russia Mail Order Brides" (2,220,000 results)
On that note, I proudly present you
This is Jane doing one of those Russian bride poses.
I love you all. I really do.
I’m gonna do a Random Cheesemax maybe later or tomorrow.
I need to take a shower, have lunch and meet Mark.
Kool, Kold Kremlin
It’s 6:19PM here in MOCKBA and I just got back from a 5-hour expedition around Moscow with my personal guide.
Spent a couple of hours in/around Kremlin… it really is beautiful.
I’ll keep this post short and I’ll play pictionary instead.
You gotta love men in uniform. Ugh. Sooo hot. Not the fat one in the middle though.
If this ain’t winter, then I don’t know what it is.
I know, I know. I JUST HAVE TO HAVE TO HAVE TO HAVE something with a logo on it. It’s my biggest weakness. Don’t worry… I’ll definitely go logo-free when I go to Paris.
They’ve closed down Red Square because of some concert/event whatever.
That canon is SOOO huge I could fit inside, I swear.
That’s it for now. I have to go. We’re gonna have a huge night out today. Jane just called me and I gotta meet her.
I love you all!
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.