My, My, My Manila
The third world sweaty armpit of a metropolis that I call home is featured on next month’s Wallpaper* magazine. Click here to read the Wallpaper* guide to the national capital of the land of the brown, the l’exotique and the natives!
Thanks to Carlos C. who brought this wonderful news (via his blog) to my attention. My favourite haunts, M Cafe, Embassy, Firma (and more) are all there. And yes, Carlos is mentioned there, too!
Get your credit cards ready bitches and buy a one-way ticket to the city I love.
I’ll give free blowjobs to the boys and free handbags (and cheap lipstick) to the girls who rescue me from my boredom.
Plane fares are cheap, hotels are affordable, the food, the shopping and everything, including my fucking asshole that spit ping pong balls, won’t put you to debt or drain your trust fund.
Sucky sucky 5 dolla anyone? I’m your man. Me love you 10 dolla? You pay 20 dolla I give you free balut?
Visit Manila today. It’s not as bad as you think.
Toni & Guy Shampoo
For quite a while now (more or less 4-5 years) I’ve been ordering shampoo and conditioner from the Agua Spa of Morgans Hotel Group, formerly known as Ian Schrager Hotels. They have the best smelling shampoo ever (ok… they’re next to Frederic Fekkai’s Technician range) and I love how it gives my hair that "squeaky" clean feeling. In my opinion, it’s the Dior Homme of shampoos – simple, not too bubbly, clear, transparent, best of all, luxurious.
I didn’t like the shampoo at the Sheraton HK so I went to Watson’s and bought this little gem for my
kinky blonde pubic-hair-like afro curly locks mane:
What’s funny though is the fact that it’s only until yesterday that I realized that the damn thing is just like the shampoo from the Agua Spa.
I guess the million-dollar question is, does our local Toni & Guy carry the above-pictured shampoo?
I doubt it. I think I’ll check with Nelson first thing tomorrow morning.
After 3 long months of xanax drought, my dad’s driver finally found a pharmacy that carries Xanax (locally known as Xanor). My dad gave me this present earlier this morning before he went to the gym.
I know they look white on the screen, but yes, each of these pale, periwinkle-colored pills is a lifesaver.
I finally don’t have to go the shrink to ask for a new prescription for clonazepam.
My shrink’s schedule is a royal pain to my rectum.
How can that white-coated man possibly save the minds of the attention deficit disorder sufferers such as myself when all he does is spend 2 friggin hours (each day) at my local hospital before going to another one?
My advice: don’t overanalyze everything like I do. Anxiety attacks are the worst thing in the world next to disasters at the dry cleaners.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
#1- Bryanboy loves people from Etobicoke, Ontario (Canada), Brooklyn, NY, Crown Point, Indiana, Bobcaygeon, Ontario (Canada), Merchantville, NJ, Kill of the Grange, Dublin, (Ireland), Broomall, PA and of course, Somers, NY. Bryanboy loves y’all. Identify yourselves, you menstruating wet vaginas, by posting a comment on my blog.
#2 – I received my Saks Fifth Avenue and Neiman Marcus books today on my weekly FedEx from my office and boy I’m in for a treat. Have you guys seen the Zac Posen for 7 For All Mankind jeans? I thought they reeked.
There’s one piece (yes, just one piece) that’s nice, the embroidered one with the detachable charm made of semi-precious stones and beads. But the jeans with studs… ugh. It screams prostitute darlin, prostitute. Gimme that pair and I’d be the best-dressed bitch on your local red light district.
#3 – Lastly, here’s yet another photo from my dirty, working-class past. It’s amazing what my maid finds out whenever she cleans my room. My god, I fucking look like an underaged prostitute that would sell his ass in exchange for a drink in a bar. I think I was 15 or 16 when this photo was taken. Gag me please, gag me!
Don’t ask me who that girl was. The only thing that I can remember was the fact that I was dragged into that dirty bar/club/whatever (I think it’s called the Two Brewers) by some random young faggots in London whom, at that time, I didn’t know.
The only thing that makes me sleep at night these days is the fact that I think I’m much, much, much more prettier now than, say, a decade ago.
Ugly duckling evolved into an ugly but hot and horny flamingo indeed.
Hannah Matronic Needs Help
I know it’s 7:00AM and yes, my body is nagging at me that I should go to bed.
Before I do so, I thought I’d call in all my beautiful and young (yes, I repeat, young… well, old is ok as long as you have a vagina) readers who live in the city that never sleeps, New York City.
You see, one of my gal pals, Hannah Matronic, recently moved to Bronxville (I know what you’re thinking), to go to Sarah Lawrence College. Here’s a picture in her doghouse dorm box.
She’s been there for like 3 weeks or so and the only stories that we’ve been hearing from her are awful.
I don’t blame her though cause she spent half of her cash allowance (till December – don’t ask, her parents are trying to teach her the value of money) on things like pedicures, manicures, bras, cab fares, trains, one of her faggot "friends" who had the nerve to call her cheap when she’s the one spending money on him not the other way around, let alone someone who wears Abercrombie Clearance… ON SALE.
To cut the story short, Hannah is used to the glitz and glamour of it all. In Manila, she’s a modelizing, short-skirt-and-pumps-wearing, Balenciaga-bag-carrying budding social mountaineer. She went to an international school, had her own driver, an abundance of clothes and a ton of fantastic accessories.
And now she ended up in a god damn college dormitory with no one to socialize with other than rich American kids slash social rejects… pretentious pseudo-intellectuals who would rather talk about mortality while drinking beer off kegs.
I mean come on, can it be any more boring than that?
And her parents are trying to teach her the value of money… which pretty much means living less than minimum wage as your allowance.
It’s either a Marc Jacobs coat or a one-way ticket to anorexia for a month.
I think it’s time for intervention from me. It’s time to resurrect the REAL "Don’t you know who I am? I’m Hannah Matronic!" Hannah that she left back in Manila.
Wanna know how sad it is up there? Nobody in her school wears heels! And now she had to do the same too just for her to ‘fit in’.
How bad is that?
Nevertheless, I need your help.
If you’re someone from NYC, send me an email (email@example.com) with your photo, your name, your age and how you would like to help my buddy Hannah.
You see, help comes in the form of companionship… and free drinks at fancy places.
Or heck, you can also buy her a pair of that Jimmy Choo boots that she’s been lusting for.
What you have to realize tho is the fact that she has nothing to offer you other than incessant whine on how her life sucks in Bronxville,
Zimbabwe Timbuktu Sahara Dessert NY state.
I hope I’ll get a ton of responses since most of my readers are female of the generous kind.
Generous meaning you won’t mind if you tag along Hannah and show her a good time around NYC, like introduce her to young people, bring her to cool parties where nobody drinks fuckin beer, my god, I can’t believe people drink such vile.
Gay males are ok too. She’s a great fag hag.
Definitely NO straight males. Unless you belong to the Forbes 500 list.
At which point I have to charge you a service fee in the 8-9 figures.
If you live in NYC, email me, firstname.lastname@example.org.
P.S. If you’re in Manila and you know Hannah Matronic, keep in mind that I am planning to send her a "care bear" (i.e. Marc by Marc Jacobs goodies) 25-kilo box via FedEx sometime soon. If there’s something you want me to include on that box, email or SMS me at +63-915-785-1492.
Allow me to indulge for a little bit as I rekindle bittersweet memories from my past.
I haven’t done a Bryanboy Life Archives post in a long time so here goes. Enjoy as I give some light to the skeletons in my walk-in wardrobe.
If you’re a parent, the worst thing that could ever happen to you is to give birth to an attention-seeking, greedy little child with short attention span.
Ever since I came out from my mom’s orifice, I have always been an attention-seeking whore… a subject of ridicule.
I went to a hardcore catholic private school and I’m telling you – it ain’t fun.
I’ll give you a kiss on the cheek and an oreo cookie if you can spot me in this picture. Click it for the full-size.
You see, schools in the Philippines shouldn’t fuckin force Catholicism and religion to kids. I remember having Protestant and Born Again Christian classmates… even they have to study Catholicism – but then again, they’re in a Catholic School. Bleurgh. Enough religious bullshit.
Anyway, I’ve put an enormous amount of effort just to make friends with anyone in my class.
I really have.
However, instead of gaining acceptance from my former classmates, everyone looked down at me as if I’m scum.
I don’t blame them.
I did all sorts of things to gain attention. I nicked stationery, stickers and pens for fun. I did a little extortion stint asking a couple of bucks from each student who wants to use the bathroom. Heck, I even faked one of my faggot ex-teacher’s signature on my own project because I submitted it late. Little had I known that he doesn’t use a pen with PINK ink.
Trust me, each and every year I was in school I was sent to the "guidance counselor"… and year after year, my parents have gone to the principal’s office to straighten things out.
Over the years, I’ve put both of my parents to an unbelievable amount of shame.
I was even sent to a shrink… at 12… yep. It was THAT tragic.
Alas, I don’t think they had Ritalin back in the dark ages.
These days, I’d do anything just to see my current shrink… if only I had the time. All it takes is for me to complain that I couldn’t sleep at night because of a handbag that I want and the next thing you know, he hands out three sheets of paper that allows me to get me candy from the pharmacist. It’s amazing!
Imitation My Ass
Knock knock cliche. I don’t think imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. I think it’s recognition and respect.
You’ve read my mind. Yes, there’s someone out there copying me.
It’s nothing new though. He’s the same person I busted before for copying me and stealing my posts.
Instead of plagiarizing my posts word per word, he’s stolen ideas and certain items except he’s done his own twist on it.
God I despise knock-offs.
And the damage doesn’t stop there. Here’s one that made me tick off.
(no, that’s not me btw.)
and then he used my name in vain…
It’s flattering to an extent because according to him, my blog is one of his favourites. Although I find it interesting on how he didn’t link my blog on his blog when all his other favourites are there – I think he’s scared for his readers to find out he’s copying me.
Here I am, doing my own thing, enjoying myself and having fun at the same time, trying to achieve acceptance from others as I search what my true purpose in life is.
I have always thought of myself as an outcast – I don’t belong anywhere. I have always thought nobody wants me for being me hence I’m on a constant, lifelong search for people who will appreciate me as it is.
Yet as you do your own thing in this planet, you trigger other people to BE you…. to copy you.
Has the world really gone bad? Why oh why oh why oh why?
I guess I shoud be flattered because there are people who want to be me.
Am I selfish for not wanting to see myself in others?
I know most people want to see themselves on other people because they want to be able to relate to one another.
I’m royally pissed. I think I’m breeding negativity here.
I’ll shut the fuck up – I think I’m better off with a gag order.
I’m going to light some L’Artisan candles, relax and indulge on vanilla ice cream.
I need to be surrounded by positive energy… so I’ll be positive.
P.S. I’m really not a bitch. I promise! It’s just that I am so pissed. Just give me time, please, I need time.
I need time to be able to control what I’m saying so I won’t hurt other people.
I need time to choose whatever comes out of my mouth so it won’t look negatively on me when I say something.
I need time to care the consequences of whatever I say.
I need time to… oh fuck it. I don’t need time to learn how to bullshit.
Because even a fuckin 5 year old can spot a knock-off.
And no, that ain’t bullshit.
P.P.S.S. Big shout out to all employees of McCann Erickson Philippines, particularly Peter. Byanboy loves y’all. God knows what Peter thought of me. Ignore whatever you’ve heard from him – they’re all false. Hah hah. *kiddin* I love you all.
Lovin Louis Vuitton
Yesterday was productive.
Fuck the 2 hour drive from my house to the Lous Vuitton store. Rain or… rain, I was determined to go northbound. Had I left the house early in the morning (ike 2AM), it should take no more than 22 minutes and 18 seconds.
Believe it or not, I went out of the store empty-handed.
My ski bonnet (I’m totally excited about my snowboarding lessons… I’ve never done it before) and my nutria fur gloves arrived at the store but I can’t purchase them till tomorrow.
Ok, not quite the empty handed bitch cause I did get my Moon Festival Louis Vuitton invite.
I think I made the right decision to pick Russia versus France.
I need to call Chanel in Paris or New York to see whether or not they still have snowboards that they can send me by FedEx. I know they made snowboards at one point. Heck, I know Dior made Rasta snowboards last year.
Klux Klux Kelly
My oh my. I took Kelly out for the first time yesterday and boy it was a blast.
I think I had more fun than Kelly though. She was rather anti-social yesterday because I removed her Hermes ribbon neckpiece before we left home.
But the bitch ends up being gangbanged anyway.
You know what they say sweethearts
It’s the good girls that get pregnant first.
I’m at a loss on what to say – let’s play pictionary instead.
God my arms have never been so enormous. It’s at the stage where it’s getting absolutely ridiculous. As soon as it hits October on the calendar, I’m scheduling myself weekly lipodissolve sessions. I need my Paris Hilton arms back!!!! No more excessive flesh.
Don’t get me wrong – I have nothing against curves, flab, etc. on other people.
It’s just that I want my Paris Hilton arms BACK!!!!!
Not that I’ve ever had them in the first place.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
#1 – Bryanboy loves people from Christchurch, New Zealand, Baton Rouge, Louisiana, Wilmington, Delaware and Amsterdam, Holland. Bryanboy loves y’all!
#2 – I also love Larae from Texas who browsed my site for several hours. S/he sent me a text at 6AM her time and it seems she can’t get enough. Hello there sweetheart! :)
#3 – Calling the attention of the MAC Cosmetics in the Philippines. When are you going to have MAC Clear Lip Glass? It’s out of stock at every MAC counter in this city… and it’s been 4 months since I first inquired. You lot still don’t have it until this day. My god, do I need to fly somewhere else just to get 5 tubes of cheapo but primo lip gloss?
#4 – It’s a known fact that there will always be a sad crying bitch whenever it comes to threesomes. Unless, of course, you take one up the ass while you give the other a blowjob. But yesterday’s threesome fiesta made half of the golden "discreet indiscretion" couple standing there, doing nothing. Maybe she was a voyeur? Who knows.
#5 – Little Miss Fancy Pants likes boys. I know it’s sad, considering the lesbian population in this country is dwindling. Despite all the rumors that she’s a lesbian… and despite the fact that she toys around with cracks and crevices in public, she has a straight lover of a man worthy of the International Male Catalog Award 2005. Oops, that didn’t come from me, I just heard it from the grapevine.
$6 – Belated Happy Birthday to Mickey L. Sorry for not making it to the party at Absinth!!!
You know where to contact me as always: email@example.com or +63-915-785-1492.
Au Revoir Paris, Privet MOCKBA!
I believe that everything happens for a reason. Call me crazy if you want but I also believe in "signs".
If something is meant for me, then it really is meant for me.
The universe will drop subtle hints and give me signs so I’ll make the right decision.
Otherwise I wouldn’t be standing wherever I’m standing right now… with no regrets whatsoever about my life.
How insightful eh?
On that note, look at what I got in the mail on my weekly FedEx shipment from my office.
Isn’t it a sign?
A sign for me to go to where people "sing ra-ra-rasputin, lover of bryan the queen" and wear my new Hermes parka?
There are no more 1-bedroom suites left at Hotel Costes, Hotel Bel-Ami and Hotel Ritz at the time when I want to go to Paris so why even bother. There’s no more availability even at cheap but chic Hotel Pershing Hall, a hotel recommended by one of my acquaintances in Londres.
Isn’t that a sign too?
It’s gonna be Fashion week at the world’s fashion capital for god’s sake, not to mention the lack of time for me to get a Schengen Visa. 3 weeks left… oi!
If Monsieur Jacques Chirac or HE Ambassador Gérard CHESNEL personally invites my third world ass to spend my money in Paris, closed the Catacombs and provide a bed in the middle of all those bones so I can sleep at night (I’ll even pay for the bed!), then perhaps I’ll change my mind and reconsider.
But for now, it’s going to be au revoir Louis Vuitton event and Zdrastvuite MOCKBA for me.
I will have to make that dreaded phone call to LV’s brand manager later today, apologize and decline her invitation.
My god, this is going to be worse than breaking up with a guy.
I’m kinda heart-broken and I’m sure it will pass.
Afterall, the mental picture of my cute Russian friends teaching me how to snowboard is already giving me an orgasm.
I think I’m gonna bid goodbye to the LV invite in person. I’m gonna drag my Yves Saint Laurent boots (in my little walk of shame) to Vuitton later today anyway because she told me to pick up my invites for the Moon Cake Festival/Event (?). I might even comfort myself by going shopping (if there’s something new) and tip toe my way into the retail therapy waters.
I reserved a maroon/plum-coloured velvet scarf and I’ll purchase it today along with whatever fancies my eye.
Ooooooooooo I hate myself.
Bryanboy Loves and Random Cheesemax
#1 – Bryanboy loves people from Piscataway, NJ, Long Beach, CA, Haag, Germany, Oberlin, OH, Las Vegas, NV, Eklanda, Sweden, Mountainville, NY and Tacoma, WA. Big hugs and kisses from the fabulous third world y’all. Identify yourselves bitches by posting a comment on my blog.
#2 – It’s been a while since I posted proper (and decent) photos of myself. I’ll make sure my paparazzo takes a ton of pics later today when I go out. My best friend Kelly is back from hibernation and my Birkin bag needs major mileage.
#3 – Big hello to all my fans in Saudi Arabia. Thanks for the text messages. I love you all!
#4 – Identify yourself mystery caller! I received a call from an unidentified dialing object but hanged up before I answered.
#5 – Yeah, as if this is new. Hello, this blonde bitch has been feasting on mussels and flaps since god knows when.
As always, send your messages of love and hate to firstname.lastname@example.org. Text messages (and calls – if the weather permits) are also accepted at +63-915-785-1492.
I love you all!
P.S. Sing with me… 1, 2, 3. Ra Ra Rasputin Lover of Bryan the Kween… there was a Vuitton invite that really was gone. Ra Ra Rasputin, Bryan’s the third world love machine, it was shame how he carried on.