Back to Business
It’s back to business for me. As much as I want to think I’m still travelling, this bitch has got to do a reality check and start living his normal life.
On that note, let me do a public service announcement for those of you who are planning to fly via Philippine Airlines in the future. I hope whoever owns Philippine Airlines read this and/or any Philippine Airlines staffers/workers and such.
You see, the reason why I fly business class even on 1 hour and 40 minute flights is to separate myself from farm animals – cattle, sheep, goats, chickens – whenever I fly. I would rather pay premium money to ensure a comfortable flying experience: comfy seats, tons of space, pillows, blankets, etc than say be surrounded by unnecessary noise. It’s very rare for a screaming child to exist on business class rather than where mere mortals go to.
But the flight from Manila to Hongkong was one of the worst flights I’ve ever been in my entire life.
I like Philippine Airlines. Don’t get me wrong. The service is good. The staff is friendly. Everything is just great.
Yet there is this one man who wrecked that experience. Make that two because it takes 2 to tango.
Take a look at the elephant on this photo.
The man with the pregnant tummy had a mouth as big as his gut.
All throughout the flight, his voice can be heard from where we sat (seat 1K) right through the back of the plane.
He did NOT spare anyone in the flight some silence.
In his conversation with the other guy, he uttered all sorts of profanity in both the English and Filipino dictionaries.
What’s worse is the fact that this elephant is probably an airline/airport employee who only got upgraded… or worse, a free flyer… hitchhiker of the skies.
Every once in a while I’ll sit up straight to see the looks of everyone else’s faces near our seats and you can tell everyone wanted to try to sleep but they can’t because of this man.
I’m sure Judy Ann Santos, who is some big local actress in my country, who, btw, sat behind us, probably also had her ears wrecked by these elephants.
My friend and I tried to drop "subtle" hints, such as asking the stewardess whether they have EAR PLUGS or not – they don’t… not on short flights.
It was pure torture I’m telling you.
These 2 men sat at seat 1C and 1A, Sunday August 28, 2005, flight PR300, 8:00AM.
If you know anyone who works at Philippine Airlines, please print this post and ensure the elephant won’t fly again. Get him fired, get him roasted. Put him in a cage or better yet, send him to a fucking circus.
I just don’t want to see him ever again.
Excess, Excess, Excess
I’m at a loss of what to say right now so I’ll let the following pictures show you the kind of fun I had in Hong Kong. I’ll post all the photos we took in a photo album later tonight. I haven’t even unpacked my suitcases! Oi!
Cry Me a Mississippi River
Oh thank god. It’s nice to be back, in my room, with nothing but black boxers, a cigarette on my left hand… and smug look on my face.
That’s right — I’m back in the good ol comforts of my parents’ pig pen, humongous blue Globetrotter suitcase full of materialistic and orgasmic pleasure, shopping guilt and priceless memories.
I even came to the point where I called the airline to extend my stay in Hong Kong till Saturday because Tina, my gal pal, wanted to go back home today.
But reality sinked in and my heart (which means my wallet, my parents, my life…*kidding*) is nagging that I should just go back.
So off I went to the airport with her, went straight to the business class counter and used my charm to get away with the excess baggage – I had 45 kilos with me — oh yes — for free.
All I can say is that I wish I didn’t come home yesterday and extended my stay.
I miss Hong Kong… and shopping.
Rocky Rocked Our Rock-hard Hearts
I take back about everything I have said about male models.
Ok — maybe not.
On Sunday afternoon, post designer shopping madness, Tina and moi were doing a quick run down of the shops (hah) at Ocean Terminal in Hong Kong. We were kinda having a fight near the doors because I wanted to eat and/or go out for a cigarette but she wanted to go back to the hotel and take a shower.
Then comes this tall, bald looking (ok. not bald, but very short hair) guy walking up the stairs.
"Tina, look at that bald cutie. Oh my god!"
Tina D suddenly went to a frenzy and said "I know that guy! and he’s Filipino"
Then she went up to him and they apparently know each other. With my gal pal being well, motor mouth Miss Congeniality Tina D, she introduced him to me and me to him and invited Rocky to hang with us. Rocky wasn’t doing anything that day and was just roaming around.
With him being 6’2, he became our mascot-slash-bodyguard. Oh yes.
He tagged along with us, shopping and dining around Hong Kong. I’m telling you, his face/body is plastered in quite a few bilboards around that city, not to mention Singapore and Bangkok. He really is such a nice guy.
In fact, despite me being surrounded by people who work in fashion and not working in the fashion industry (contrary to what people think), he is one of the most down-to-earth, humble, hardworking people I have ever met.
He distances himself from other male models especially on shows cause all they talk is gym and boring/pretentious stuff… and he doesn’t like it when everyone speaks English — in the Philippines.
He even deprives himself of things, saves all of his money from campaigns, shows, etc, even to the point of just living on the US$15 a day personal budget (although if he WANTED to spend spend spend, he can do it easily) – just so he can give everything he earned to his family. Come to think of it, he recently bought a 600-square meter land in the province for his mom. Can any Filipino male model do that? I don’t think so.
On our last day in Hong Kong, Rocky and moi spent over 7 hours straight, non-stop, talking about everything under the sun – from 4AM until 11AM, without any sleep whatsoever. Even Tina couldn’t resist chiming in when she got up.
I’m not gonna go into detail on what we talked about but trust me, it made me feel guilty about shopping that day.
I saw something in Rocky I haven’t ever seen in my life – an older brother. I wish him all the best (because he deserves it all) and I hope to see him again.
Meet My New Best Friend, Kelly
Kelly and Me on Nathan Road
Tina, Rocky and I found Kelly, the Rubber Chicken, on the streets of Granville Road. I love her! Everyone in Hong Kong loves her! I used my Birkin bag everyday and put Kelly inside it and trust me – I got more attention from people because of Kelly, instead of my Birkin.
Kelly and Me Inside the Dior Store in Lee Gardens where I Bought My Dior Bag
Kelly and a Jean Paul Gaultier Store Sales Associate
It’s nice to make (and see) people smile because of a rubber chicken. Chinese people, particularly the ones in Hong Kong, are generally cold and don’t have a sense of humor. However, with Kelly’s head and neck popping out of my Birkin bag and flops as I walk the streets as if it’s one huge runway during fashion week, people smile, point, and even ask me whether or not they can touch the chicken.
Even police officers, immigration people and customs people LOVES Kelly. The smile, laughter and happiness that Kelly gives to people is priceless.
And of course, Kelly never flies economy on international flights or flights longer than 1 hour. It’s always business class or first for her.
More updates in a bit, including my EXCESS, EXCESS, EXCESS photos.
I love you all!
Eat Your Heart Out.
Boy oh boy the folks at Inquirer are generous. That’s why I love them. (ha ha – am I a freeloader too?)
And there I was — stuck for about an hour and a half inside the car yesterday en route to my travel agent, thinking/asking myself
"I wonder how much do those billboards on the freeway cost."
But this one is better.
You should’ve seen the billboards that we have on the freeway – they’re HUGE.
I think it would be absolutely fabulous if I have my face plastered on a billboard, followed by my website address and my cellphone number, followed by "Please fund my shopping sprees."
On that profound note, I’m signing off.
I’m gonna sleep, have beautiful dreams and wake up impossibly-fresh looking.
I gotta go to my aesthetician later for a last minute session, followed by a pedicure.
Also, thought you’d want to know, I won’t bring my 17-inch sony vaio laptop with me. I’m on a full-scale retail and conspicuous
consumption shopping expedition and a computer is nothing but nuisance.
I’ll be back either Wednesday night or Thursday — depends on when my travel buddy wants to go home.
By the meantime, validate my existence you mere mortals. Bombard my email account with messages (and pictures) of you holding a DIY "I Love/<3 Bryanboy" sign. firstname.lastname@example.org or +63-915-785-1492. Text messages are accepted. No phone calls please. I *NEVER* answer phone calls from numbers I don’t know.
I love you all!!
Musings of a New-Moneyed Masochist
5:09AM, Saturday, August 27, 2005.
As I’m typing today’s entry, the country’s #1 newspaper/broadsheet is probably being dropped off at various newstands around this third world hell hole that I live in. That’s right. 7,107 islands… and them some.
After all this time who knew I’d end up in the papers. I’m quite honored to be asked to contribute to the Philippine Daily Inquirer.
Well, not me personally, but my verbal diarrhea.
Oh yes bitches.
I have to admit – my article was written (and sent… I’m sorry!) in the last minute. I literally wrote it the same day as my deadline was because I’ve been horribly busy the past few days.
I thought my article lacked structure… and substance.
But practice makes perfect.
I have NO writing skills whatsoever of any kind. Carrie Bradshaw my fucking asshole.
Whatever it is that you read from me comes from the cocaine-covered walls of my aorta, my mucus-covered lungs and drenched-in-motor-oil guts.
I showed the link to my mom yesterday and she couldn’t even believe I can write such thing.
In fact, she couldn’t even believe I know how to write — the only thing she knew that I knew is to do a John Hancock whenever I go shopping.
Nevertheless, my old, fat bitch of a moodrums is a proud, happy woman.
Wanna know what I wrote? Click the link below.
Musings of a New-Moneyed Masochist: Freeloaders Exposed
I asked my maid to buy 10 copies of the newspaper once the clock hits 6AM. I’ll scan and post a shot as soon as I get hold of a copy.
Bryanboy Blast Off!
A new friend (yet the warmest and one of the most good-hearted people I’ve met) of mine is throwing a little cocktail/booze party in my honor (gasp) tonight.
If you got the invite, please try to come. You know who you are. It’s always nice to hang out and spend time with people.
C.R.L - I am SO sorry for not making it last night despite me asking where your pad is. I tried my best to diassociate myself from laziness but with the rain pissing madly, I decided to stay indoors. I was out quite early yesterday because I had to pick up our passports and tickets from the travel agency — in Malate! My brain exploded from all the low-flying maya, pigeons and doves that I saw when I went to Robinson’s earlier. I have never seen such scenery before I couldn’t help but wonder whether or not Manila’s red light district is back in full swing again.
Excuses excuses excuses. Pfft.
I hope there will be a ‘next time’ and I hope my rain check didn’t bounce because of insufficient
On the subject of time, I still haven’t packed my Prada leather mini-trunk/large suitcase yet.
I promised myself all I’m gonna bring is my toiletry kit and empty Prada nylon bags but I couldn’t resist taking clothes and stuff out of my wardrobe.
My #1 rule whenever I travel is to exceed the free baggage allowance. Overpack, overpack, overpack and then shop.
By doing so, it gives me an excuse to buy more suitcases.
I’m honestly tired at the moment – been up all day yesterday but I won’t sleep until I see my article in print.
The later I sleep today, the later I get up.
Besides, I’m gonna do an all-nighter today. I have to check-in at the airport on Sunday dawn.
After the Bryanboy Blast Off! party, we might go to La Embajada (not sure) then to the airport.
Who knows, I’ll probably fly drunk.
Enough ramblings for now – I asked my maid to buy papers. I’ll post the scans when she comes back.
Saved by the Needle
I passed my Tuesday drama with flying colors. I went to my aesthetician as planned, had an emergency facial, Wednesday arrived and my monstrous zit went from a volcano down to an ant mound.
I mean, come on, how can a zit possibly survive this?
I know what you’re thinking – that tacky, cheap bracelet ain’t mine. Belongs to my aesthetician. Here i am, red-faced, just right after the treatments.
Heck, I accomplished a ton of stuff that night – had a glycopeel/cleaning/extraction facial, a powerpeel session and an IPL (Intense Pulse Light) session on my face. I even wanted to get a lipo dissolve session on my arms but my damn doctor refused me this time, telling me I just had a couple back in May.
What I do though is a chin implant. I hate being double chinned. But I’m scared of surgery – although the idea of going under general sedation is appealling. VERY appealling.
I’m happy with myself now though.
Surgery can wait until I turn 75 years old and wear Oscar de La Renta.
As soon as I got up earlier this afternoon, the first thing I did was call my gal pal Tina D. I told her how my doctor just got back from Hong Kong last week and she was rubbing the word "sale" to my face while she’s doing my IPL treatment.
Yeah – why didn’t we fuckin went to Hong Kong this month, when everything is on fuckin sale, plus the new fall/winter stuff are now on the shelves?
And then I had a realization.
We. Must. Go. Shopping.
Shopping. Shopping. Shopping. Shopping. Shopping.
And while we’re at it, we might as well go to fuckin Shanghai. or Beijing.
Even for a day.
Called our travel agent first thing earlier, booked flights, had to rush out and get a passport photo done for my visa application, gave it to the my travel agent and hopefully I’ll get my passport back this Friday.
When am I leaving for Hong Kong? Sunday.
When am I going to China? Monday.
Sunday this week, Monday next week.
It’s all too fast eh? But it’s all good.
Desperate housewives, desperate times, desperate measures.
So desperate that I paid my credit cards off in full today to give me prime time worthy, ball-busting, shopping space on my plastic.Gotta love online banking.
If you’re in Hong Kong or Shanghai and want to see me in my full glory, send me an email: email@example.com.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
Bryanboy loves people from Graz, Austria, Columbia, MD, Danbury, CT, Clarksville, TN and Cincinnati, OH.
#1 – Anyone fancy some cottaging action? Unfortunately, I’m not. This is how STDs spread fast. Someone I keep running into various toilets is into it. I even saw him earlier this evening, shaking that dick as he shivered right after peeing. Oh my eyes! Oh your head!
#2 -To my pretty, pretty, pretty, beautiful fucking beautiful guardian angel, thanks for the Mario Badescu referral. Will definitely buy it the next time I go out. BTW, is it true that girls lick chocolate off guys’ bodies at the Cosmo Bachelor Bash? Oh. My. God. Oh. My. Fucking. God. I went to this page and it looks like the promo is open ONLY TO FEMALES. Someone please fund my sex change savings account quick – I’ll take care of the wig and my clitoris-exposing vagina micro shorts.
#3 – I’ve switched from Marlboro Reds to Marlboro Lights to Dunhill Lights. Quite impressive eh?
#4 – To those damn folks at LuisaViaRoma. I ordered on Aug 3/4 and I still have not received my order. What the fuck is going on and have you lot even sent it? You already charged me and I paid it off already – if I don’t get it before the 30th, expect a fuckin dispute from my bank!
#5 – I’m telling you, these boots are fuckin calling my name. It’s now available in my size (40 or 41) at Eluxury.com for US$1,825 a pop.
They’d better have these boots in fuckin Dior in HK otherwise….
Enough ramblings for now. I have to catch up on beauty sleep. No wonder I’m getting zits. This bitch doesn’t know when to rest.
P.S. Send me love, or post comments, ok? Please validate my existence. Thank you!
Where the fuck is your god?
You tell me bitch, cause my god punished me for all the bad deeds I did in this planet.
Someone told me last night that my skin looked great. Yes – it was Queen Naz Noor to be exact, while waiting for my vodka red bull from the bar.
Fast forward a couple of hours…
I slept at 5AM, then I got up 6 fucking hours later with my WORST nightmare.
A fuckin cheesemax the size of 79AD Mount Vesuvius slapped in the middle of my face.
Right between my thick, Amazonian foliage-like eyebrows to be exact.
Yes, I haven’t had a facial in far too long — 2 weeks, I think? I can’t even remember.
But god. God oh god oh god oh god oh god.
This is just fuckin ludicrous.
This is what I get for saying I don’t have random cheesemax oi vey!
KARMA BIT MY SCROTUM AGAIN.
This is even worse than my St. Tropez disaster last year.
I really can’t afford to have a zit. I just can’t.
Alliance Française de Manille is having a little French Fashion Illustration event today and I’m gonna miss it because of satan’s spawn stuck on my face.
My life is ruined. I have so many things to do, so many opportunities, so many so many many-many-many. Yes, many many many many.
Why oh why oh why oh why oh why do I have to be fucking human?
Why oh why oh why oh why oh why can’t I get volcanic immunity? Do I fucking need a fucking diplomatic passport?
Why oh why oh why oh why oh why do I have to be punished this bad?
I called my aesthetician and booked an emergency extraction facial/glycopeel cleaning and a powerpeel/microdermabrasion session later this afternoon. It’s gonna be syringe day today. Inject that mother fucker with weapons of mass destruction. 5PM to be exact.
While they’re at it, I might as well ask them to fuckin bombard the damn thing with fuckin cyanide. Morphine. Heroin.
Heck, they better make it lethal.
Sodium Thiopental (Pentothal), Pancuronium Bromide (Pavulon) and Potassium Chloride.
They’d better remove this thing on my god damn face no later than 7PM tonight or else I’ll commit suicide.
Oh yes. Suifuckingcide.
I’ll cover my head and suffocate myself using cling wrap whilst being locked inside a vintage Vuitton trunk.
I’m not kidding you.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
Oh screw all of you. Yes. Each and everyone of you. I’m not in the best mood today.
Go kill yourselves or something. Go get an eating disorder. Go cottaging. Go get a sexually-transmitted disease. Go get food poisoning. ALL OF YOU!
Except the ones who recently sent me love. Bryanboy loves you and only you…
(Alright… I know I said NO photoshopped text/signs but I gotta make an exception)
I can’t think straight. I need those shots. Pronto!
I’ll update later. Promise.
P.S. Send me love dammit. You know who you are. And you know how to fucking contact me being the shameless self-promotion impressario that I am. firstname.lastname@example.org.
Ever since I started this blog, I made a personal promise that I’ll never post any entries while being under the influence of alcohol because god knows what I’ll end up writing.
Being the certified night owl that I am, no amount of tranquilizers can put me to rest – despite all the cocktails I had.
Yes – I’ve broken (again) my cardinal rule of not to go out during the weekdays. Today (or yesterday, rather) was an exception.
It’s Hannah Matronic‘s last night out in Manila.
She’s off to New York this coming Wednesday to study.
Although I’ve only known her for about 2 or so months, there’s this ‘connection’ between us. I love her no-nonsense, no bull, brutal, frank and honest opinions (gawd can I be any more patronizing?) – traits that’s very rare to get from people these days.
Kate T., a local designer, sang brilliantly for hours – a very talented individual indeed.
Saw quite a few familiar (and very friendly) faces and enjoyed hours of chat with folks. Tonight is definitely one of my best nights out. It was low-key but refreshing. This one will definitely go to my memory books.
Who knew Monday woud be such a blast? And who would have thought I’d be home by 1:52AM and still have great fun? I couldn’t help but wonder: Saturday nights are indeed overrated.
It’s just a shame that a newfound acquaintance is leaving. Nevertheless, I’m definitely gonna miss her. She’ll be back this December tho… ;)
God do I feel fuckin sentimental or what?
I think I’ll try to go to bed. Tomorrow’s gonna be yet another beautiful day. I’ll save the random cheesemax (honestly, there aren’t any!!! oi vey!!!) and shameless self-promotion later.
P.S. Send me more love bitches!
(Sorry, can’t resist.)
Well hello there.
First things first, I have to make an exception and start my post with unconditional love and thanks to this man who temporarily etched his undying love for me on his face.
From the cocaine-covered walls of my aorta, muchos muchos love to you, too, even though "BRYANBOY" looks like BEIJINGBOY or BIJANBOY.
I’ll be honest. I did something I don’t normally do after a Saturday night out. Today was one of those extremely rare days: I got home no later than 7AM. In fact, I arrived at 6:41AM to be exact. And it doesn’t help getting up at 1 in the afternoon with one of my worst hangovers ever. Blurry vision, chalk-y tongue, headache and stiff neck galore.
My usual weekend haunt, La Embajada was jampacked last night. It was so crowded that you literally need to use your levitation skills in order to get from one place to another.
Even the VIP area was soo crowded. I usually have a place ‘semi-reserved’ for me (in other words, the waiters/bouncers tell people, unless their powers are more superior than mine, to get their lazy asses up because the queen bee is coming) and anyone related to me up to the 2nd degree but all it takes is one trip to the toilets and ya gotta wave buh bye to your spot. When you come back, you’ll just find yourself standing up, staring at your drinks behind the army of the unknowns who shamelessly took your seat.
Some skinny, short-haired vagina accidentally spilled wine on my Gucci jeans and Gucci belt. May god bless her soul and may she rest in peace wherever she is now.
"It’s only white wine, it won’t stain" my fucking asshole.
To add to the insult, little miss chinky slit vagina told me to go to the toilets to stuff tissue up my jeans so they dry up faster.
Hell, it’s just like telling me to wear a spacesuit and go to the Saharan dessert by myself.
Thank god Hannah Matronic was there. She kept my sanity intact.
Is it your first time at Embajada? Don’t you know that it takes 10 long years to go inside the toilets?
Sorry bitch, I just had to vent it out. I won’t hold it against you. Case dismissed. Peace and Merry Christmas. :)
I’m about to say something I’ll never, ever, ever, ever, ever say to anyone, whether in public or private because there’s still that "if you think local celebs are cute, you’re ghetto" factor. But fuck it though, this is my blog and I can say anything I want.
Raymond Fucking Guitterez, You’re hot!.
OK, maybe I shouldn’t say that. The thought of dealing with your mom is probably enough to turn anyone off. Since most of my readers are people of the non-Filipino kind, his mom is the female, highly-opinionated version of Jessica and Ashlee Simpson’s dad.
(oh btw – if this woman doesn’t like you, she can effortlessly throw hardcore verbal diarrhea to your face jerry springer style, on national television)
It’s interesting how much stuff I know about showbiz these days eh? Hah!
God I hate showbiz.
Ugly People of the World… Speak Up NOW!
Or forever hold your
Most fugly people, like me (see – I do normal things normal people do, too), read something while taking a poo in the toilet. Whether it’s your daily newspaper, your favourite fashion magazine or the book that you bought 6 months ago but you only read about 2-3 pages a day, it’s always nice to have your mind wandering somewhere while you drop the kids into the swimming pool.
I thought I’d share in yet another piece from my favourite "only read it while you’re taking a poo" book, The Hookup Handbook: A Single Girl’s Guide to Living It Up by Andrea Lavinthal and Jessica Rozler.
One thing that brightened up my day is how they have this piece about "himbos" – that’s right bitches – the male version of a bimbo. It made me think – after a rather accurate description of "himbos", gawd I must have been so stupid in the past because I’ve been with one of those abominable creatures.
Read this piece and tell me, would you want to hook up with a himbo?
I say pass the pepper and salt bitch cause there’s no way I’m eating my steak bland.
When you look at it at a different perspective, the best material things in life always come from someone who isn’t blessed in the looks department.
Passionate sex (here’s a doggie bag bitch, go vomit whatever you last ate), lots of gifts (a girl like me can never have too much of Chanel), free drugs (bring in the snow cause you’re my litte snowman), free booze (cry me a cristal baby, cristahhhhhhhhl), nice cars (there must be something nice about you to compensate for your errrm..) and the million-dollar mansions (daddy, can i visit your zoo?).
Is there a gold digger hidden inside you? To compensate the lack of personal pictures lately, let’s play a little pictionary game shall we…
Take a look at these random faces for instance and tell me whether or not you recognize these people:
Seriously – would you do the despicable deed if they offered you a couple of million, cold, hard, and bundled inside a Goyard trunk?
With the help of MSN Messenger and a couple of American gay friends online, I asked them to give me links to pictures of "who they think what a himbo is". Now take a look at these people.
Quite interesting eh?
Now who would you choose – the former or the latter? Weigh the advantages and disadvantages between the two.
My verdict: you can’t expect and you won’t receive much from a himbo. A himbo is no different than a hoover vacuum in the middle of a hoot-hoot-hooter’s bar.
In the spirit of golddiggerdom and despite my applied rule of ageistics and physics (older than 20, younger than 35), if you were to ask me, I’d take the IKEA Founder anytime. It doesn’t take a consultation with my astrologist or a knock on cheap Swedish wood babe to know that man will probably die of cardiac arrest if i told him in person "daddy i wanna i kee ya".
Good luck if you chose Aaron Spelling bitches cause that man will never, ever, ever die. That man will live on and on and on and on and survive all sorts of world war 1, 2, 3, even star wars. For all we know, we can be on our deathbeds wearing Oscar de la Renta and Aaron will still be alive and well.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
People from Akron, OH, Montpellier, France, Hembrug, Netherlands and people with white collar 9-5 jobs in Austin, Texas. Bryanboy loves you all!
It’s never too late to send your undying love to me. Send photos of yourself holding an "I Love/<3 Bryanboy" sign to email@example.com. Remember – NO photoshopped pictures please.
#1 – Yes, you’re fucking hot, too. It’s nice to rub up against you last night, even if it was only for a few seconds.
#2 – Yes, I am a masochist. Thanks for asking. I let people use me all the time. It’s like being inside a gas chamber with mirrored walls. All you can do is lie down, have convulsions and slowly stare at yourself dying.
#3 – Has anyone noticed that Eluxury/Louis Vuitton is trying their best to drain my bank account? The mother fuckers at LVMH are coming up with more and more gorgeous stuff.
#4 – Chanel recently held a show in Shanghai. Public transportation has never been this chic.
#5 – Victor Basa, is this the bracelet you talked about last night?
#6 – Last, but not the least, thank you so much to 2 individuals who recently gave me some of the best and genuine advice I have ever heard (and have not even heard from the people I expect to hear it from) in ages.
I love you all!
And yes, I will definitely play it up!