Nice to see a sudden change of tone from THAT online forum’s vitriol infestation.
Call center life must be oh so boing-boing-boring. Go back to your little cubicles and drink motor oil. It’s good for you.
To be famous is so nice.
Suck my dick.
Lick my ass.
In limousines we have sex, every night with my famous friends.
Motherfuckers are so nice.
Suck my dick.
Lick my ass.
After coming home at 4AM earlier today, who knew I’d be getting up 5 hours later with a massive headache, only to find myself console on a hearty (fatty is more like it) breakfast?
My head hurts after yesterday’s debauchery. Yep. After all that vodka I had yesterday, I feel like there are a thousand cosmonauts dancing inside my head. I’ve officially broken my little cardinal rule of going out – which is NEVER TO GO OUT ON WEEKDAY NIGHTS.
For the past year or so, I’ve had control… I’ve always told myself that I’ll only go out (stay out all night) on a weekend, which is usually a Friday or Saturday night. If I’m going out on a weekday night, it must be in a non-club/bar environment. Until yesterday.
What started as a "last minute shopping/meeting" with my gal pal Tina Daniac ended up into a restaurant-hopping, vodka-and-Embajada-dancing charade with Gian.
I went out early in the afternoon to meet up with Tina. I still don’t have an outfit for tomorrow’s Shu Uemura party and my little dinner thing. The invite says "Mysterious Glamour". I heard some people are gonna show up ala those masquerade balls in Venice but who knows. What is Mysterious Glamour anyway?
I guess that’s the mystery of it. As long as there’s glamour, who cares about the rest? ;)
Chances are, everyone will friggin show up in black. No surprise in that.
Tina and I went to a fabric store (saw some great-looking fabrics) so she can have one of her sewing people do something for me and a friend, in the last minute.
I went to Gucci to take a peek at the fall/winter stuff. Most of them are CRAPOLA. Am I the only one who thinks their new fall bags (the ones I saw at the stores, particuarly the newish pattern) are icky?
I ended up buying a pair of jeans and a belt. One can never have too many jeans. I probably have more than 200 pairs of denim jeans in my wardrobe — no kidding — but I only use 4 or 5 (on rotation) at the most. It sucks!
I guess I’m a fucking hoarder, just like your grandmother.
Bah. Despite showering off the night away and taking one heck of a good poo as soon as I got home earlier this morning, my stomach is still churning all that food I ate yesterday: had friggin salad, oysters, scallops, and some roast beef-thingie at Pepato at around 5PM followed by a ton of spring rolls, chicken satay, tom yam soup at People’s Palace a couple of hours later. I really do feel like a pregnant bitch.
If only I can stick my fingers up my throat I will – but I won’t. I probably have digested all that food to the point where puke won’t be coming out of my mouth if I purge.
Speaking of Gucci… UGH. Remind me NOT to go to back to the Manila store unless they clean up their fuckin act (bring in better pieces; bring in more ready to wear blah blah bullshit) together.
I thought I’d share a photo taken back in late December 2000 when me and my good friend Ariel Lozada went to Bali. I think I was 16 (+1) years old back then. It’s Gucci galore – bandana, glasses, shirt, everything. Gawd, go on… revel in that fugliness.
I miss those days when it was just plain ol’ AB FAB. Imagine going to the markets in Ubud (Bali) on a limo + 2 bottes of champagne at fuckin 10 in the morning.
I know, I know. if you live in the same third word cesspit called Metro Mania as I do, be sure to get your hairy ass to Manila DJ Club later tonight. Thursdays are Fluxxe days… tonight’s the 4th time they’re doing it. Print the flyer and bring it along with you.
Unfortunately, I won’t be able to go out tonight as I have mucho preparation to do for tomorrow’s dinner party.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
Jordan, Bryanboy loves you too, darlink.
Big shout out to people from Irkutsk, Russia, people from the Michigan (my aunt lives in Detroit btw) and folks from London, Ontario.
I’m sending out yet another message to last weekend’s he-knows-who-he-is closet case.
I saw you again last night.
This time with your fuckin boytoy.
Don’t underestimate my minions’ eavesdropping skills. Introducing your boylet as your "friend" to random strangers is vomit-inducing. If you keep on doing that every time you corrupt my visuals with your presence, I’ll have to pay a visit to the Betty Ford Clinic for bullemia. That’s right. Bull-e-mia. You’re a faggot. One heck of a fucking faggot. Now go get some cock shoved up your fuckin arse you nancy boy.
There’s no doubt that I’ll see you again soon.
And there’s no doubt I’ll bitch about you again soon.
Suck my dick.
Lick my ass.
Identify yourselves you fuckin cunts and email me. As always, email@example.com.
Chill, My Minions, Chill.
Grab some vodka and valiums. NOW!
Sorry for the lack of updates. I’ve been terribly busy the past few days, juggling my time between tasks, dealing with friends and caterers, healthcare, etc. I know there are some of you out there who check my site several times a day to get a fix for your fabulous addiction and there’s nothing worse that going back to what you were doing, empty-handed.
Bah! Let’s get down and dirty shall we…
Fancy a Game of Fencing?
I was checking some of my blog referrers earlier and I noticed people from this forum (you gotta love online discussion forums) called "Pinoy Exchange" are talking about my little McFatty ass. As always, I just LOVE and I mean LOVE some of these sanctimonious twats who spend their day drinking motor oil.
Gotta love the amount of self-righteousness that infest that place.
Breeding? Sorry bitches, I’m bent. And I’m anorexic. I’ll leave the chicken feed to the breeders.
Class? What’s that? Is this something you buy at… Walmart? I’m an out of school youth. At 18 (+5 don’t tell anyone) years old, you’re supposed to be out of the classroom… unlesss you’re into hanging out in the cafeteria, pedophilia or handing out cigarettes to minors.
Purge my dear readers, purge. Stick 3 fingers down your throats and purrrrrrrge.
Let’s go fencing sweethearts – use a sword, or in this case, your pen… and I’ll poke & pack all that fudge in your hairy buttocks using my Louis Vuitton umbrella.
Whoever said that the pen is mightier than the sword should lick my lipstick, get shot in the crotch and get dumped on the nearest freeway, bleeding to death like roadkill because it’s definitely something that can put any rain, sword… or any pen, whether it be BIC or Montblanc, to shame.
Monogram madness eh. It’s just like what, 1999? 2000? Despite what y’all think, logo-a-gogo will always be here to stay.
At least it ain’t some corporate logo ala "A-family-member-went-into-a-business-conference-and-all-I-got-is-this-lousy-mug/t-shirt/umbrella-promo" tripe stamped on my saber stick.
Finally. After all this time I was able to visit my shrink on Monday afternoon to get my prescriptions refilled. I had to go to a different hospital though because he’s in a different one during afternoons.
If ever you’re in the Philippines, please don’t, under any circumstances, go to Makati Medical Center.
Unless you have attention deficit disorder.
Thank god I’m healed from that dreaded disease.
Each god damn floor feels like its bloody basement (rumor has it that the basement of this hospital is pretty much a better version of the National Mental Health Center).
That hospital is just plain awful and fuckin crowded.
Especially the pharmacy section where I had to sit for OVER an hour just to buy my meds. The queue is horrendous – there’s no such thing as a queue jump and I had to sit beside really weird people who look as if I’m a walking cadaver. That’s what I felt on Monday afternoon – a cadaver, fresh from the morgue.
God I looked awful that day.
(I left my camera at home on Monday and had to take one of those mobile phone self-shots. Har har!)
If I got a dollar from each stare that I got, I’d be buying a new handbag.
I admit – I like it when people stare, it validates my existence (of course), but definitely not from hospital people.
Friday Fun in the Sandbox
This message goes out to people who know who they are… or who WILL know who they are.
(OK, perhaps to a few, very few, no more than 25, select people.)
Um, hi? hello? ;)
Be sure to reserve your early Friday night (yep, this week), after the Shu Uemura party.
Make me feel special and be sure to come. Please?
You’ll know what I’m talking about soon!
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
People from Pompano Beach, FL, Omaha, Nebraska, Scottsdale, AZ, people from Bonn, Germany and people who read the Manila Bulletin. Get down on your knees and hail to the Patron Saint of Materialism – that’s me.
Remember kids: don’t buy your Vuittons from eBay. But them at the stores!
Is it the rain or what? I don’t feel so inspired recently.
As always, identify yourselves and email me: firstname.lastname@example.org.
The Beautiful People, Super Saturday, Names Names Names, La Embajada, Thievery Corporation, V is for Victor
Screw the Beautiful People
You see them everywhere – malls, the streets, at the club, at events, sometimes, at restaurants. Everywhere. The ones that people admire and look up to. The ones plastered on the newspaper, magazines, the ones you see on the tv, movies, etc. Screw each and every one of them. Screw the beautiful people.
Because one day, oh yes and I fucking look forward to that day, their good looks will fade away and turn into one of these:
Post-mortem teenage angst over. Fuck I’m 18+ + + + + +.
I was spending some quality time in the sheer rurality of La Provincia Laguna with my liver-spotted, "I can still walk so please don’t put me on some chair with wheels DAMMIT" 80-something year old grandmother when my buddy Gian went into a text messaging fracas at 5:30PM on how:
1) I shoud call Emergency Services (as if there’s a thing such as "Emergency Services" in the third world… wishful thinking eh?) and get an ambulance to rush me home in the metro.
2) I should shower up and come up with a todo outfit. "Todo" in Filipino means
extreme, excess, fashion victim hideous, Bryanboy. If you’re a reader coming from the non-Filipino kind, you pronounce it like "to" in "tom" and "do" in "door". TODO.
3) I should drag my fresh-from-late-grandparental-lunch-obesitation fat ass to the NBC Tent in the big city by 7PM because I’m going to present an award at the "Super" event along with my friend Kiko Escora, to the "I Love You" girls.
Alright. Perhaps I exaggerated a bit. Sorry Gian. But seriously.
Rain, 2 hour traffic and all, not even Speedy Gonzalez or any Vuitton Speedy for that matter, can achieve all that in 1 hour and 30 minutes. The distance alone is just as far as New York to London on a Concorde. And we all know what happened to that 30 year old baby – they’ve put the darling of the skies to rest and off to the aerial maosoleums she lies back.
I ended up getting home at 7PM from my gran’s.
And rather than coming up (I think "going out" is more appropriate) with an outfit, I went out with a crappy T-shirt and some buttocks-DEFIED-by-gravity Neil Barrett jeans. Go ahead. Feel free to revel in my royal
highness hidee hideousity.
This is the byproduct when you’ve got a panic attack, an anxiety attack, lack of time and lack of xanax all in one go.
Yep, it’s those faux pearls again. It’s not even effortless chic. It’s effortless *burp* *burp* *fart* *fart* cheek.
I ended up at the Super Event 3 hours late, at 10PM.
Yep, the cheek of it all. My
Had to go with my gal pal Tina and Gareth (ShaolinTiger.com), who was spending his last night in Manila.
Saw quite the usual suspects, friends and acquaintances – prima facie evidence that the scene is just small – my good friend (whom I terribly miss and owe a lunch/dinner thingie) Ariel Lozada who just got back from Paris, Kiko, Tim Yap, Tesa and Carlos, Jun, Xeng Zulueta, Hannah, Mimi Samson, Jenna, Victor, Dennis, Charmaine, etc.
I met quite a few people at the event — I didn’t expect people to be reading my little corner of the dirty world wide web. It was quite overwhelming, yet fun! The ever so gracious Tim introduced me to a ton of folks, particularly to folks at the Inquirer.
BIG KISSES FROM ME TO YOU, THE INQUIRER PEOPLE
It was a Super event indeed.
Names, Names, Names
It’s just as bad as labels, labels, labels. Bench, Penshoppe, Kamiseta. Calvin Klein, Tommy Hilfiger, Ralph Lauren. Oscar de la Renta, Marc Jacobs, Luca Luca. Paul Smith, Nicole Farhi, Clements Ribeiro. John Galliano, Alexander McQueen, Phoebe Philo. Cacharel, Lanvin, Balenciaga. Chanel, Fendi, Lagerfeld Gallery. D&G, Miu Miu, Versus (say what now). Valentino, Prada, Gucci. Dolce & Gabbana, Cavalli, Etro. Graff. Verdura. Garrard.
If you think I’m a superficial, materialistic, let-them-eat-cake cunt for playing the name drop shop till your head pops game galore, let me tell you that I’m even a complete sucker when it comes to remembering names.
I feel bad when people take the time and effort (hell yes) to introduce themselves (and other people) but when it gets done faster than the time it takes for your average coke whore snorting a bloody thick line, sometimes, just sometimes, I’d rather just freeze the moment, hand out candy and whip out my little red Smythson book to write down names.
So the next time I see you and vice-versa, please don’t be offended if I ask what’s your name again in the event that we say our next HIs and Hellos. Despite the fact that, chances are, we’ve probably seen each other many, many, many times.
Apres-Super, everyone went to Cuisine to have some drinks. I was starving that night but rather than having a full meal, it was encore un fois all over again. I have this thing about eating in front of a lot of people (mostly strangers) so rather than ordering proper food, I ended up having a ton of vodka red bulls and a small platter of foie gras. It’s just like at M Cafe on Friday.
Tina Tinio was in full force – I missed her tons after Monday’s dinner party.
Tim introduced me to Celine Lopez and Jenni Epperson (amazing gal), who were both fuckingtastic that night. Celine is genuine, warm and utterly, utterly friendly. Pretty pretty girls are pretty, pretty, girls!
Which reminds me, I’m definitely going back to my evian + raisins + xanax diet soon. Or else I’ll turn into a cow. Ugh.
Also saw Romeo Candido, the director who rescued me from my Friday boredom blues.
After Cuisine, we all went to Embassy as always. It’s Saturday, what do you expect?
I lost my Dior chronograph watch on Saturday night at La Embajada. I remember having it on my wrist when I was playing pictionary with the cameras. Then I ventured out of the vip area to dance and burn some major calorification and next thing you know, my watch has a new owner.
Whoever you are you thieving son of a bitch, send me a message with your mailing address. I’d be more than happy to send you the case, the box, the card sets and the guarantee card that comes along with it. I hope you enjoy your newfound piece like I did.
Overall I had fun.
Gian, Gareth and I left the club early in the morning and met a couple of students from Ethiopia on the parking lot.
After dropping Gareth off at his hotel, Gian and I went to Gian’s place then off to New World to check-in. After having breakfast, Gian fell asleep (yep, he snores like a pregnant bitch in labor). I tried to sleep but I can’t.
There’s something wrong and I couldn’t figure out what it is.
I decided to go home instead. I left at around 9:30AM, all by myself, and endured the 30 minute drive from Makati to my house. Same old, same old, D-word inducing drama on the way back.
Nothing and I mean NOTHING can absolutely beat that feeling.
Just imagine: you after a night’s worth of going out, alone on one side of the backseat, clothes all dirty and grimy, shivering from the cold car airconditioning, staring at the window as you get driven past the dirty, chaotic, industrial city that you live in, having all sorts of thoughts in your head — and the only thing that keeps you intact is a pair of huge, black designer sunglasses.
This sort of thing happens to me each and every weekend and frankly, the only thing worse than this is being on a subway in NYC/London/Paris at 9AM, going home drugfucked or after a booty call.
Thank god I had my last (and only) half of a rivotril tablet to put me to sleep.
V is for Victor
Right. I checked my phone right when I got up and there it was – remnants that I’ve been drunk dialing and drunk texting people again. UGH.
Even people as far as Denmark.
Sorry babes (you know who you are) for the whingeing texts I sent you.
Bryanboy, booze and any electronic device that will allow him to communicate to random strangers do not mix.
Anyway, Gian, apparently, is having Victor as his intern. He was looking for V at Embassy and he made me text him. I saw V’s blog the other day when I was blog hopping and he was at this modellaunch.com website. I was reading one of my sent messages and I texted the guy "I am so gonna put you on my blog 2 get more votes" or something like that.
And since you, my dear readers, love me (please say you do, bitches), can you all spare AND share the love and give the guy some votes at the modellaunch.com website. Even if you do hate me, regardless, please do vote for him and make me, your mommy, proud. Or at least rescue me from shame.
And if that’s not enough, here’s another one off his blog.
Satisfied now? Now go get that mouse to click this link and vote for him.
I haven’t voted for anyone yet cause I think the site requires registration — and you know where I stand on male models. I quite find them errm, I dunno. See my old post about MALE models.
And one website with hundreds, if not, thousands of them: cheekbones, steroid-injecting, gym bunny tall ogres and all… is… well… excruciating HELL for me.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
Bryanboy loves people from Manila, Philippines (there, I finally said it), people from Reno, NV and people from Oklahoma City, OK.
#1 – Just because I’m bisexual it doesn’t mean my gaydar didn’t function on Sunday Morning. There you are in your full gay glory centre stage on your own – each and every move you make at 6 in the morning screams GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY to me. Well… and to 5 other people. It could be that or it could be the pills that you’ve been popping. Who knows. Whatever.
You know who you are and you don’t need a blindfold to pin the tail to the
I suggest that you buy the "Bryanboy’s Guide to Keeping it Straight" handbook if you want to keep things, well, straight. Otherwise, it’s bye bye career for you once people know that there’s a little Dorothy in her ruby red slippers hidden inside you. You could always become a chef if everything else fails. I know you’re no Ducasse but the rumor mill has it that you’re a good cook. No, not 2 eggs and a hotdog.
I love bagels, cream cheese, poached eggs and everything else that comes along with it. I’m anorexic.
Go on bitch, give me that "MAGNUM" look.
Cha-ching! There you have it!
#2 – I can’t believe I was within a 3-meter radius with a very dirty, very old man who gave some crybaby woman an STD; and this was well publicized! Fuck, I won’t even go into specifics. It will just unleash the lower middle class from within me. I’m supposed to be CLASSLESS.
#3 – Yep. That’s what I thought too, folks. He DOES look like a manwhore, especially with THAT top. (and no, this isn’t the man who gave some woman an STD).
Jesus, I’m starting to sound like a tabloid reporter now. Enough already!
I’m meeting up with someone from the Manila Bulletin Monday afternoon for an interview. I know – oh god!
As always, identify yourselves bitches, say Hi!, post comments or email me. email@example.com.
It’s 4:15AM now and I wanna go back to sleep.
The typhoon, rain and all, being stuck in traffic for 2 hours inside the car from 2:38PM – 4:52PM, didn’t stop me from going out yesterday afternoon. I was utterly bored inside the house to the point where I’m just fucking desperate.
I have a love-hate relationship with rain. I love it because in some ways, it acts like a temporary pain reliever to the 34-degree celsius heat we people in the tropics have. I hate it because it’s, well, rain. Wet clothes, wet shoes, water droplets falling from the sky, wet everything.
Thank god someone rescued me from boredom and sent me a text message. An hour or so later, I dressed up, got into the car and went to a mall. I spent some time in a coffee shop discussing a possible project with a director before I met up with my gal pal Tina Daniac.
Then we had some oysters (yum) and looked around for stuff. Tina’s just moved to a new, bigger house and she was looking for some household chu-chu crap: we went to a Home Depot-like store called True Value.
I ended up buying a new optical mouse for my PC at an electronics shop because my wireless one had failed me – again. We stayed at the mall until 9PM or so before going to her new house.
Saguijo, M Cafe
After Tina’s, we went to this place called "Saguijo". I’ve heard of this place a TON of times in the past. I’ve always wanted to check it out because some of the people I know go there… but then again, some of my friends have been THERE and they didn’t like the crowd.
Anyway, it’s this apartment-like thing where there’s a non-smoking bar, a patio where people can smoke, a store called "I Love You" and a little exhibit room. Most of the crowd’s a bit on the indie/alternative/grungie bungie side so it’s definitely something different. A band called "Drip" (whom I don’t really know/haven’t heard of) was supposed to be playing there last night. Someone even gave me a flyer for an event called "Rockestra": perhaps you can make your own conclusions from there.
It’s funny cause Tina and I went there just to take a look at the store (being the shopaholics that we are) but we didn’t expect to see Tesa (who, btw, just *ugh* so pretty) and Carlos Celdran the moment we got there. Said our HIs and Hellos and chatted a little. Check out http://www.celdrantours.blogspot.com.
Saguijo’s alright. Perhaps not my usual scene but it’s refreshing to go to different places from time to time.
Tina and moi went to a nearby ATM machine and to Makati Medical Hospital to buy Xanax. We went to 3 drugstores all over Makati, which is a different area from where I live and as usual, the damn thing is sold out, that makes it a grand total of 8 fucking FARMacies who don’t carry my wonder drug.
What can I say… I guess there are far too many similar and deranged people in the third world.
And I’m just one of them. Har har.
Our final stop for the night was our usual haunt, M Cafe. We were starving and was hoping to have a proper, full meal but little did we know that there was a crowd/friday night thingie going on there. Saw some of our friends, Ronald Passion (who made me want to go to Thailand now for the full moon parties), Steve, Kiko Escora, etc. I ended up having a couple vodka red bulls, foie gras and green apple tart.
I ended up going home at around 2AM, which, to be honest, is FUCKING EARLY, in my standards. But then again it was a Friday… a weekday, my lungs were killing me and I feel sort of sick.
It’s my granddad’s (dad’s side) first year death anniversary today and we’re gonna go for late lunch at my grandma’s. He’s the only granddad that I’ve known (my other granddad died back in the 70′s… I was just eggs on my mum’s body) and he was a courageous, generous and loving man. I miss my grandpa to bits, I love him and I hope he’s happy wherever he is right now.
Here’s a picture of my grandpa’s hands inside his coffin a year ago.
People from Washington DC, people from Hartford, CT, people from Toronto and Montreal, Canada, people from Athens, Greece (yes, again… too many Greek fans emailing me), people from Tel Aviv, Israel (oh my) and people from Istanbul, Turkey.
As always, email me and show me some love – firstname.lastname@example.org.
P.S. I’m going out tonight, despite me not feeling well. Ugh! I’ll update when I get back tomorrow.
Hairy Mother Fucker
I love Jude Law. Seriously. I think he’s one hot trophy human dildo. But Jesus, look at those legs, especially the upper thighs. I can’t believe he’s one hairy mother fucker… well, I didn’t expect him to be THIS hairy. I bet Sienna AND the Nanny got a damn good flossing that their dentists will be proud of whenever they give this guy a blowjob.
Here’s some Kate eye candy, fresh from British Vogue.
Send A Tip To My Asshole
I got two of these "SendATip" recently and I found both of them quite flattering. Thank you, thank you, whoever you are.
Please identify yourselves so I can send you a Lalique ashtray or a Tiffany & Co. letter opener as a thank you present. If you don’t, I’ll throw them off to my frenemies’ faces.
This SendATip.com website is fun and quaint. It’s a shame I don’t fucking know the email addresses of the people I love (and hate) otherwise I would’ve bombarded them with tips. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Anyway, it’s so fun that I actually sent one to myself.
When it rains it POURS…
Sorry for the lack of personal photos lately. It’s been raining heavily recently and I’m confined indoors, in the deepest corners of my mother’s birdcage. As soon as I have the next opportunity to fly fly fly away, I’ll be sure to post some photos.
And sorry Gian for missing your fluxe it whatever party for the 3rd time in a row.
I was planning to go out yesterday night but the thunder and lightning scared the heck out of me. I guess it really does take a miracle for me to go out on a weekday night.
Spare Change Anyone?
Guess who sent me spare change in the mail? It’s no other than Google!
That’s right folks — Google, the world’s #1 search engine sent me a check enough for a facial (speaking of which, I haven’t had one in quite a long time now) or 3 tubes of lip gloss.
What would YOU do if Google sent you a hundred and one dalmatians (and 36 stray hairs) in the mail?
Big, sloppy kisses to people from Greece! I love you all.
Change of Address
Hola mi amigas! Be sure to use www.bryanboy.com instead of http://bryanboy.typepad.com. Update your blogs and bookmarks with my domain name instead the typepad address. I’ve been thinking of moving to another server soon because of the bandwidth usage with typepad and all that geeky crap.
Time to purge, liposuck, diuretics and… ex-lax
That’s right my dear girls. After this photo (and this is an old size 38 Dior t-shirt), I realized I need to watch out my eating habits again because I look like I’ve got Tara Reid’s tits on my stomach. No kidding mates – if I keep on eating the way I’ve been eating the past month or two, it won’t be long until I give birth to a bouncing baby boy.
I know I’m not looking my best but heck, that’s the entire point of it. Hah bloody hah.
Have you guys even been to the satirical malepregnancy.com website? Trust me, I DO NOT want to be THAT. Think of it – bulging tummy, lactacting breasts, nipples as big as a pregnant dog’s milk udders.
Can you imagine? Me? A mother? I’m not a mysogynist (otherwise, I’d be hating myself), but, no thanks sweethearts, I’ll leave the gift of motherhood to that of the gullible high school teenage girl kind with boyfriends who are allergic to condoms.
The Quest for Healthcare
I admit. It’s been quite a while since I catched up on my healthcare. I can’t even remember the last time I’ve checked-in for manicures, pedicures, massage, my glycopeel cleaning/facial, etc. I haven’t even seen my shrink in AGES! I only have half a rivotril pill and 5 seroxat pills left. I’ve completely ran out of xanax. The next time I get a panic attack, I might just fucking get my driver to drive me up to the slums and get fuckin marijuana to calm me down.
That’s one thing I hate about this fucking country. Illegal substances are easier to get than fuckin prescription drugs.
There are about 5 drugstores within my residential perimeter (excluding the one where I’ll never show my face again) and all of them are usually sold out of rivotril and xanax. However, everything else that can put you to jail for life is just a phone call away.
Hypothetically, of course.
In any case, I’m hereby dedicating this Saturday solely for the purpose of healthcare. Eunice sweetie (my maid/super gal) will you please take care of all my appointments please? Thank you…
I’m going out to Gian’s weekly Fluxe-it! party on Thursdays (11PM onwards, Manila DJ Club, The Fort) this Thursday (duh) and that’s the end of my social calendar as far as this week is concerned.
Someone Make Me Gay Please?
I was cleaning out my sony memory stick/schlong earlier and found these 3 pics from the past weekend. Oh dear. Hannah amiga are you on a mission? We should cease and desist being photographed like this otherwise I wouldn’t be getting any cocks!
Change is possible my fucking arse.
I’d rather go to a Narcotics Anonymous meeting than go to an Ex-Gay convention where everyone probably supresses their hard-ons at the sight of members of the MAN-ure kind.
Can you imagine me at a room full of men, all claiming they’re ex-gays? Ugh. The fun and circus of it all. Like what that billboard says, tolerance for all my love ones, tolerance for all.
Ugh, I even have this thing for straight porn. Oh yes… and oh no, I don’t wank off to it. Eeew. I just watch it for pure entertainment. Want to know my favourite adult movie ever? The one movie that I can just sit down on the couch and feast on a bucket of KFC fried chicken and extra large tubs of gravy for hours?
(Someone hand me a xanax NOW!)
65 Guy Creampie
starring Ariana Jollee (yes, she’s even on Wikipedia!)
Read this article (yes, an article). You can even see candid shots etc. Just imagine getting your bung hole filled with spunk of 65 Czech guys all in one day.
No Bangkok sucky sucky 5 dolla hooker can even do that I promise you.
It’s pure entertainment. You know when teenage girls flip over issues of magazines and think "Damn, I wish I was that skinny. I wish I was that pretty. I wish I was that good-looking."
Well fuck you all.
Whenever I see this film I think…
"Damn, I wish I was that chick."
"I wish I was the one getting filled up"
"I wish it was my hole getting banged"
"Is there an operation where my hymen can be repaired?"
Vaginal wash anyone?
Bryanboy Loves…and Random Cheesemax
Big kisses from me to you, especially to people from Sydney, Australia, people from Las Vegas, people from San Francisco, people from Dortmund, Germany and finally, people from Lund, Sweden.
My old Yves Saint Laurent aviators with the white edge is officially lost (and this applies to all of my other lost sunglasses and phones). May the new owner(s) enjoy its royal fabulousity. I also broke my Valentino flower resin cuff bracelet. One of its petals got chipped off. May you rest in peace in the deepest, darkest corners of my accessory archives.
I have a question for someone who knows who he is: Are you still alive? Where are you when I need you?
Send me your love, as always, email@example.com.
P.S. What’s the D-word? D is for Dior. D is for Donatella post-rehab. D is for Dr. Phil.
P.P.S.S. Stop searching google for bryanboy dammit. www.bryanboy.com is the place to see me.
7:04AM and I just got back home from a new friend’s "dinner party" for one of my friends..
Yes, without our driver. Yes, without my sister. And yes, I had to take public transportation in the form of a taxi cab without my hardcore sunglasses to protect me from the perils and the devastating rays of morning sunlight.
It was a long journey home, I’d say 45 minutes to an hour, on my own, trying to keep my eyes open inside of the cab while drinking orange juice, staring at the window all the time.
It’s almost always like this.
Well, not the cab scenario — I couldn’t remember the last time I took a cab, but still.
"Always like this" in the sense where I have to go home all lonely and just.. let’s just say the meds my shrink that prescribed me doesn’t work. Seroxat my fucking asshole.
Don’t even mention the D-word.
I am NOT D____________ and I refuse to acknowledge that I am D______.
Well, not that I know of.
Maybe I am, in a way, but to be honest, my problems are NOTHING and PETTY compared to, say, people with cancer, or whatever.
C’est la vie eh?
I had 2 outfits for the night – I showed up overdressed in gucci + rabbit fur + faux pearls cause it’s raining but I had to change, after a couple of hours, to an old Dior t-shirt cause it was hot… and I wouldn’t want to take a cab in full-blown "there you have it" outfit.
The dinner was fun. At first it was so-so because there was a lot of people there.
Then it became more intimate. Close friends and all, which was fun.
Saw quite a few of my friends – big shout out to everyone and say hi ;)
I told myself, no more alcohol and stuff. But I just have to give in.
Gawd, I just couldn’t give up, considering it was only saturday that I got drunked to the bone.
And it was a Monday night for god’s sake!
It’s a MIRACLE for me to go out on a weekday. Seriously. I’m usually confined to my mother’s birdcage but she had to make an exception cause it was one of my friend’s birthday. Oh well.
But after this… ugh. God knows what happens next.
I guess I have to deal with it.
I’m supposed to be young, carefree, irresponsible and stuff.
But as each day comes, I’m dealing with restrictions. limitations. etc. I feel there’s a nagging voice inside my head that says I’m doing too much.
I need to sleep. I’ll sleep for a few hours and I’ll wake up impossibly fresh-looking and, erm, whatever.
Good night my readers and I’ll talk to you soon.
P.S. Big shout out to people from the Philippine Daily Inquirer, Philippine Star (Newspaper), Summit Media, Preview Magazine, people from Miami, FL and people from Miscrosoft. I love you all!
Identify yourselves bitches and send me an email. firstname.lastname@example.org.
Ugh. I got home at like 7:30 AM. I just got up and it’s like 3PM.
I haven’t slept that much to be honest. I’ve slept for like an hour or two, got up, eat/drink, sleep again, wake up again, drink water, sleep again, etc. I need to go to my shrink and ask to get new prescriptions. I’m running out of supplies.
Going back to things…
Fortune Teller Fish Fiesta
You know, I think there’s something fishy going on as of late.
Yesterday was a very good example of it.
I simply didn’t have an outfit to wear and everything was just done in the last minute.
So off I went to Vuitton right at closing time (8PM) to get one of my Alzer trunks cleaned up (and get a crate replaced). Imagine going to the Vuitton store with half of the lights closed out.
And super shopper me had to buy something there. No self-control whatsoever.
I was having a bad hair day and it was fucking raining so I bought their new bandana/head silk scarf — in the denim pattern. Loves it!
Then I went to my friend Tina’s house to pick up her little present for me. I asked her to get me a very long strand of very small plastic pearls but being Tina as in Tina, which I love about her, she went over the top and gave me all these:
I literally had nothing to wear yesterday. I went out with a plain black tank top, some fitted jeans, an old Chanel denim bag (my first… and it’s not vintage yet cause I think it’s about 7 or 8 years old) and a Gucci shrug.
Armed with the new bandana and the plastic pearls, I transformed myself into a Fortune Teller.
All I needed was a crystal ball to complete my look.
After Tina’s place, I went to a bar to meet Gian and I got introduced to some of his acquaintances and friends in London who are here in town. Then we went to good ol’ Embassy and this is where my nightmare began.
I created a monster. That’s all I can say.
For the next few weeks I’m gonna stay off the booze, off the prohibited substances, off the whatever. Things are just going out of control whenever alcohol is involved. Once I take booze, I cannot get myself to stop.
I probably had more than 10 vodka red bulls ast night, consumed about 3 bottles of champagne, endless gin tonics.
God knows how I managed to walk when I got out of the club at sunrise.
Don’t get me wrong – I’m not an alcoholic. In fact, for the past few months or so, I only drink booze once a week — on Saturdays when I go out. I don’t even drink booze at home!
The next time I go out, I’ll just have either orange juice, evian or coke.
I literally lose track of everything that comes out of my mouth when I’m ABSOLUTELY drunk. It’s not even funny.
I don’t even know how or what to feel right now – shame, embarassment, humiliation, anger, etc. I’m still numb with it all. Ugh!
To those of you (you know who you are) who I got in contact with, at the club, on the streets, on the phone/cell/net a few hours ago during my little drunk spectacle, can I have a request?
Can we pretend nothing happened?
Can we pretend we didn’t talk?
Can we pretend you didn’t hear from me?
You know, erase, erase, erase. Purge, purge, purge. Wave the magic wand and off you go to Neverland Ranch.
We never talked. I didn’t say anything. You haven’t heard from me, I didn’t hear anything from you.
Chances are, I don’t even know what I was talking about or who I’ve spoken to.
(Actually, I do…. but UGH. I don’t want to think about it.)
Purge, purge, purge.
(yes, that’s an old Chanel denim bag right there)
Anyway. I have diarrhea from all that booze I had yesterday and all that food I had today from lunch.
Diarrhea = Dehydration; Dehydration = Weight Loss.
Weight Loss = Fabulous.
I think I’m gonna go to the cinema later tonight. Watch some film. I don’t know.
My head is still spinning from yesterday’s drink drank drunk drunkard drama.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
People from Oslo, Norway, people from Frankfurt, Germany, people from Glebe in New South Wales, Australia, people from Vancouver, BC, Canada.
Big shout out, lip-glossed airkisses galore to Tammi, Tina and Jasmyne. Bryanboy loves you, you and you.
As I’ve said before, Bryanboy really loves American Express. You should have one of their cards in your wallet. Like I do.
Enough Tara Reid talk. That bimbo probably has stretch marks on THAT inflatable flotation device on her chest I refuse to acknowledge her existence.
I need to take a poo now. As I’ve said, diarrhea galore.
You know how to contact me. email@example.com.
I’m going out of my mom’s birdcage tonight and I’m going clubbing.
I still don’t have an outfit.
I predict muti-strand pearl necklace. feather headpiece. vintage cashmere chanel cardigan in flamingo peach with navy blue trim paired with a tank top and jeans. 80′s excess….
But it’s too feminine.
And then I can do all black – vintage Ghost tank top, tight back pants.
I don’t know.
Oh I just don’t know.
If you’re going to the Big Fish event at La Embajada,
you might see me around the pink walls of VIP area
away from the crowd.
If you do, say hi.
I have short attention span and I tend to look around all the time so if you call out my name I might ignore you.
If that happens, just approach me, grab my arm and say hi.
And if you’re a fucking cute guy and if you fucking FANCY ME, just grab me, look into my eyes and kiss me on the lips.
I don’t care who you are as long as you don’t have a vagina (for now at least).
I’ll update either tomorrow, Sunday, or Monday, when I get back.