Let me introduce you to Napoleon High School Seniors 2004.
I’m still sick. My fever’s gone down but I still have that awful, awful cough and chest infection. God knows when it’s gonna clear up. I wish I’ve got SARS so I can like infect each and everyone of you.
Can you imagine, I’ve been cigarette-free for the past 28 hours, to be exact? I have a ton of Marlboro Reds here – oh the temptation of just lighting one then huff and puff galore. But no. I’m determined to just follow my meds and get my cough sorted out.
I’ve been thinking, if I were to go to a yank high school on Monday, where would I belong?
Preppy? Oh fuck no. I am so not clean-cut.
Geeks? Say what now?
Goths? Marilyn Manson is so dark ages ago. I think goths evolved into candy kids whatever, non? I’m so outdated with youth culture.
Jocks? Ha ha. Like I would play any sport. Very funny though.
Go on then. Where would you classify me? Definitely not the PTA. And please don’t say the Gay-Straight Alliance.
I am so gay that even gay guys are scared of me. Which is strange cause I’m not even gay. I’m bisexual.
Enough brain farting for me. I’m off to have my lunch.
Love you lots. Toodles!
This is the Damsel in Distress calling.
After this post, I expect to be sent a couple of thousand well-wishing notes, "hope you feel better soon" emails, and "I hope you die you ditzy, shallow bitch" memos, not to mention a ton of flowers, balloons and fruit baskets — no chocolate please, they’re fattening and they give you pimples.
It’s 3:42AM, got up an hour ago and here I am, sweating like a pig. I think it’s because of my meds. I got really sick Friday night/Saturday morning to the point where I had a doctor come up to see me in my room and inject some meds to make my 103.1 degree Fahrenheit (that’s 39.5 Celsius) go down.
Apparently I’ve got fever, sore throat, dry cough and a chest infection of some sort. The doctor prescribed me some cough syrup (Robitussin-DM), Augmentin, which is an antibiotic, Extra Strength Sinutab, and some paracetamol.
Thanks to my meds, I got diarrhea too.
But you know what, I love diarrhea.
I mean, I love having diarrhea, but I don’t love diarrhea as in I’ve got a liquid poo fetish. There are some sickos out there. You know what I mean.
A couple of years ago, I read somewhere that diarrhea can cause dehydration. Surely dehydration can’t be that bad cause like it drains water from your body, which is a good thing – some people get fat from water retention, right?
If I were to do an equation:
Diarrhea = Dehydration = Loss of Water
Loss of Water = Weight Loss
Weight Loss = Nice thing
I mean, one can never lose too much weight, right? Unless you’re anorexic.
Armed with a couple of paracetamol tablets in my handbag, I went to the Preview Magazine party on Friday night. Yes, with fever. Yes, despite the doctor telling me Friday afternoon that I shouldn’t take alcohol and I shouldn’t smoke. But fuck it, you only live once eh? And you know what they say about bad grass. Bad grass never die.
Tons of people at the Preview party on Friday night even if It rained sooo hard. While most complied to the "Modern Indigenous" dress code, some went way, way, overboard with the theme, especially a ton of faggots who end up looking "Mother Indigenous" instead of "Modern Indigenous".
But yes, I settled for plain black and plain Gucci yesterday in addition to a belt that I bought in the last minute. And boy do I look, well, rather large! If you’re fat in Gucci, you’re fat everywhere else!
So yes – prime proof that you can have fun despite being sick.
I got back at around 5AM on Saturday morning and that’s when the doctor injected me some paracetamol. My fever went down and I went to sleep.
The fun didn’t stop there though.
Despite having fever, hideous clear sunglasses (big mistake — but hey, you learn from mistakes eh?), a bad hair day, I took a quick stroll at the park with my sister and her friends and had lunch at our favourite weekend haunt, M Cafe. We also went to the cinema and I finally saw "Monster-in-Law" starring no other than fat-arsed J.Lo and J. Fo (so that’s the Jane Fonda person.). I love the film. You know how I like chick-flicks… and cute guys in chick-flicks. This Michael Vartan person yeah, I think he’s hot. If you know guys who are like that, please send them my way, thank you.
So here I am, suffering the consequences. I’ll get better though. I know I’ll get better. If I don’t, here’s a note to my lawyers: my clothing collection should be sold at Sotheby’s, my handbag collection goes to my sisters, my internal organs are to be donated to those who need them and please make sure I get a manicure, pedicure and armpit waxing from Tips N’ Toes before I get cremated.
It’s 4:46AM and I’ll go back to bed. Good night.
Yesterday afternoon, Thursday, I decided to do some last minute shopping because I still do not have an outfit for the "Preview Magazine" party tonight. As I’ve said previously, the dress code is supposed to be "Modern Indigenous" but I simply cannot find anything "Indigenous" at the stores.
But then again, the only stores I went to earlier were Vuitton, Gucci, Prada then Yves Saint Laurent.
I went to Gucci and bought a couple of things:
1) Black sneakers with leather and velcro straps
2) Black acetate/nylon pants; extremely fitted on the thighs and lower leg.
3) Black cotton long-sleeve top
4) Blue and brown bag
5) Limited-edition bag with studs
I figured later tonight, I’ll probably wear:
1) Dior Homme fitted jacket
2) Gucci black pants
3) Gucci black long-sleeve cotton top
4) Louis Vuitton Limited Edition Mink and alligator bag from last fall that I got at the Louis Vuitton Private Shoppers’ Night last week.
Shopping aside, I went to my cousin Donna’s little fundraising night called "Fly me to Vienna". It’s a 2-hour mini event to benefit independent Filipino artists and contemporary dancers.
I have to admit I’m not a "contemporary dance" person. I’m more of a "shove-cocaine-up-your-nostrils-and-dance-like-a-madman" person. I’m kidding — I’m sober as fuck.
I’m going to my best friend Tina’s house at around lunch time. I need to get a manicure done too. One of my friends will be doing my hair — I need a haircut badly.
Hopefully if there’s still enough time, I’ll probably go shopping for a nice, chunky neckpiece to match the outfit; if I found one I’ll ditch the Dior Homme jacket.
By the way, Rea, the local Brand Manager for Louis Vuitton told me yesterday she’ll email me some pictures from the LV Party last week. Apparently they’re gonna show up in Philippine Tatler. She’ll tell me when. I’m scared!
You know what they say about Tatler magazine – it’s social suicide to get your picture published there.
It means you’re a MatronAir or a senior
citizen publicizing your wrinkles, liver
spots and "wattles", clinging on to dear
god and botox before you go 6 feet
under the ground.
It’s 6:53AM and I’m off to bed. I got infected with a sore throat, cough and phlegm yesterday thanks to my dad. Hopefully I won’t develop a fever in the next 24 hours.
I’ll update later. Wish me luck!
God what a busy day yesterday was – yesterday cause it’s fuckin 1:42AM here.
A couple of hours after I made yesterday’s post, at exactly 7:30AM, my mother and I went for a Phyto body scrub and full body massage at one of the local spas. It was amazing. Since my usual papparazi weren’t around (otherwise known as my sisters), my mood-ra (mother) took a pic of me. And boy I look so fugly. It didn’t do my all-new Louis Vuitton Pleaty denim handbag justice.
Even a US$1,700 bag looks fugly on someone with bad hair.
What do you expect? I had a full body massage, from head to toe. Even the lady at the spa massaged my ass.
I just love it when a masseuse lathers my butt with oil and goes all hot horny lesbian over em, thinking my butt cheeks are a pair of tits. Oh the pleasures of lesbian sex!
God remind me, I need another lipodissolve session. I look so fat these days. Just a few more inches to go….
I also went to my aesthetician and dermatologist earlier for my usual facials. Nothing new there eh?
Since we’re talking about healthcare, there’s a new dental clinic that opened a couple of yards away from my dermatologist. I decided to go in to get my teeth cleaned cause my current dentist (whom I do my usual bleaching sessions) is on holiday.
Boy oh boy, I found a nasty surprise today. Apparently I need fillings, yes, for the first time ever, done. I’ve got an appointment next week. I like this new dentist. Her name is Cynthia and I think she’s a lesbian. Don’t get me wrong though, my current dentist was nice – she was tall, skinny and she wore Prada – but it’s soo hard to get an appointment with her. Well, it’s easy if you’re spending a ton.
Anyway, I think Cynthia’s fab and I loves her.
Remember how I told you how I got so hooked into this showbiz hoola balloo?
Forget the pending subscription to Star Magazine. I found something better. I’ve been reading this blog, Pink Is The New Blog, recently.
All I can say is, OH MY GAWSH. There – we’re now officially members of the mutual admiration society. *kiddin*
I love Trent. I love all the showbiz goss. It’s just, it’s just, it’s just. Truly Outrageous! Hah ;)
On to other things….
You decide. Is this lady the same as the "Bag Lady Bandit" wanted by the FBI? I told you, there’s just something suspicious with that lady. ;) If you have any information concerning this case, please contact your local FBI
Ciao for now.
Remember me, remember them,
put em together, remember when!
I’d like to reach out to those of you out
there who buy counterfeit goods.
Please, please, please, please do NOT buy fake items, especially the ones from eBay (unless you have prime evidence they’re real, such as ORIGINAL receipts, tags, etc.)
Do you really think the $25 or something "Dior" tank top you saw is real?
I came across this lady’s blog earlier thru another blog thru another blog and saw:
"I say HOLY FUCKING SHIT.
This fella’ also has on the new Dior tank I just bought off ebay from
HONK KONG- where HE IS! Agh! I don’t understand how this slutty little
man has the cash for all that bling but I’m going to find his ass out!"
I presume you’re referring to the "Dior Not War" tank top, yes? Um, we don’t have the same tank top my dear fan. I got my tank top came from Christian Dior Boutique on May 27 while I was on holiday. While you got your foie (or should I say faux? either way, it’s the same) Dior from eBay. My Dior Not War tank top was HK$2,900 which is about US$373 based on today’s exchange rate. Click the graphic below for the full-size version. Capice?
YOU GOT SCAMMED BY THE EBAY SELLER!!!!!
Remember: counterfeit goods harbour terrorism.
Selling or buying them is illegal.
Have you not heard of those FBI raids who arrest ladies who throw "handbag parties"?
Just a friendly reminder from the fashion police in training.
It’s the best week ever ever ever ever ever ever everrrrrrrrrr!
My supercalifragisocialclimbing skills have paid off and I made my first step in mainstream youth, or should I say, stale20and30somethings culture: exposure at VH1. That’s right. I’ve got a little exposure at VH1′s Best Week Ever’s blog. Remember me, remember them, put em together, remember when!
Moving on, I thought I’d let you in on a little secret. I already shared this secret with some of my British fans on a different website but since you guys are more special and cultured compared to them (they’re all provincial British people who live in farms. trust me).
Anyway, on Saturday, my sisters and I had our weekly manicures, pedicures and back massages done at our local Tips & Toes Nail Bar.
I had a small discussion with them (plus a couple of my friends on the mobile phone) and I discovered that (in addition with 5 other people I know)
I’m not the only one who usually squats
on top of the toilet bowl to take a poop.
That’s right. When the dumping gets tough, the tough squats on top of the toilet bowl to take a poop. You know — I squat on top of the toilet bowl, like standing on it, feet on the rim and then squatting over the bowl, my arse delicately suspended in the air, I drop drop drop drop em like crazy.
Sitting down doesn’t work for me unless I’ve got diarrhea.
Apparently I’m not the only one who has this weird habit. There are 5 people I know locally. In fact, if I’m not mistaken, there are 1 or 2 of British gay boys who do this too, according to some of the responses I got in that forum.
Don’t get me wrong though. We, citizens of the Filipino kind, have the same kind of toilets Americans have. Except some of us have bidets etc. It’s not as if we have one of those "elephant-foot toilets" in Greece that I saw on TV or those "hole in the ground" things they have in Indonesia when I visited a friend’s house in Bali.
But yeah, in all seriousness, I like squatting on top of the toilet bowl. The entire pooping experience is effortless. You just squat there and off you abort the kids into the fishbowl. The pope will be very proud of you. Heck, even my cousin Donna does it. I think, to my knowledge, we’re the only ones in our clan who does it. Everyone else sits down with their feet on the ground.
Apparently this habit is good for the colon. Like that even matters when your colon gets pushed by several inches of penile meat anyway.
So what about you my darlings? Any other members of the squatting brigade? Go on. Don’t be shy. Admit it. If you haven’t squatted on top of the toilet bowl, give it a try and report your experience back to me. You’ll loves it.
Isn’t it the BEST WEEK EVER?
Remember me, remember them,
put em together, remember when!
It’s Holy Week once again. Its that time of the year when good old Jesus gets crucifixed and die… and for all the evil souls to come out and party! And when it comes to partying, everyone satanic in this damn country, myself included, will have to do their annual pilgrimage to good old Boracay to get a week’s load of sea, sun, sand, sex, tan, booze, drugs, whatever. Afterall, it’s summer – it cannot get hotter than what it is now.
I’m telling you, the heat here is crazy. It really isn’t funny. When I came out of the airconditioned supermarket earlier to buy cigarettes, all it took was no more than a 30-second walk to the parking lot and I was covered with sweat.
I really despise sweating. It’s the worst feeling in
Imagine all those nasty beads of moisture dripping down your head to your neck… then your chest and your back gets soo sweaty your clothes start to cling to your body. It’s soo ghetto.
Thank god my armpits are dry. And thank god I wore black earlier. Hah.
If I wore pastel colours I’d be committing the dreaded cardinal sin of wearing sweat marks on my clothes. Tres disgusting!
It’s quite late here at night, roughly around 11:30, and I’m busy figuring out what to pack for my little 6-day trip. I’ll only carry 2 check-in bags this time, my Vuitton mini trunk/large suitcase and a large keepall bag.
Speaking of Vuitton, I popped into their store last week and bought the most amazing beach towel ever. I thought I’d replace my so overdone old Vuitton, Chanel and Hermes beach towels so I took a peek on their new stuff. When I first saw the towel near the shoes, oh my god, I fell in love with it.
I got a little boosting/persuasion because of the fact that the Manila store only got 2 of that towel for this season — one in blue and another one is maroon. That’s it, 2 towel — 2 pieces, 1 color each. There was a matching beach bag with blue braided handles and gold bits/edges here and there but I thought it was too big of a beach bag. I thought the towel wasn’t that bad at all, around US$1,100. It’s soo soft and lightweight! The Hermes towels that I’ve been using forever were quite rough on the body and I hated it when I go to the sea and then lie down on the towel extremely wet. I end up having mini thread bits attach to me because of the Hermes fabric.
The new Vuitton towel however is a sure winner. I can just imagine it, think of the backdrop… crystal clear blue waters, blue sky, coconut trees, sun shining hard at 2 in the afternoon, the softest whitest sand you can think of (well, Amanpulo is better)… and then there’s good ol fat me on a little bathing suit, big black Valentino sunglasses, tanning my fat bottom and then add a touch of some bling bling action-figure accessories. And bam!
Gorgeous. Fucking Gorgeous. It’s bitch-eat-bitch
fest at the beach.
Anyway, it’s almost 12Midnight and I have to pack my stuff. Thought I’d drop by and say hi. I’m leaving the house at 4AM to go to the airport because my flight is at 7AM. Hopefully I’ll be on the island around 9. Early bird galore.
I’ll keep you posted regardless. Enjoy!
Whip out those orange Hermes and brown Vuitton gift boxes because it’s my 18th (+5 don’t tell anyone) birthday today. It’s funny how I’m getting closer to being a stale 20-something yet I can still feel youth running in my veins.
I threw a small party on Saturday night with some of my closest local friends and it was alright. We had dinner at Cuisine restaurant and went to the vip area of this club "Embassy" for booze.
(That’s Gian, who works for the designers "As Four" in New York, my designer friend Tina, who, at 36 or something, looks fantastic — yes, she’s really that young — she even has an 8 year old son, and then moi)
Before the party, my sister and I checked in at the New World Renaissance hotel (who owes a MAJOR reno/overhaul) on Saturday afternoon. Although the hotel is crap, it’s centrally located, as in, no more than 10 meters from the shops. Figured it’s better to stay there rather than going home at 6 in the morning as a casualty.
To be honest, I almost had no outfit to wear. I ordered a few outfits from Kitson Los Angeles and D&G in the US but both packages got stuck in customs. I guess I’ll save those outfits for my holiday this week. I ended up spening the rest of the afternoon on Saturday looking around at the mall to find something to wear but I ended up buying accessories instead.
I mean, I can’t show up dressed like this:
I’m too fat to be wearing an outfit like that. Only real tall and skinny people can pull it off.
Oh the pleasure and the fun of borrowing your sister’s outfits and dressing up when no one in the general public is looking eh? When most of my peers have played dressed up with their mother’s clothes, pearls and make up, I’m telling you, I was deprived of such activity when I was a child. That’s alright though — it’s much fun doing it when you’re in your teens.
Anyway, I bought some sunglasses at Yves Saint Laurent, a couple of keychains from Prada (the airplane ones were cute, even bought one of the old robot charms), and a pair of green Juicy Couture tracksuit bottoms. I ended up wearing a generic white top with my Dior corduroys, Juicy Couture chain canteen bag and my Dior boots.
Apres-dinner, my friends and I went clubbing and it was fun. Spent a few hours dancing, even saw this young arabicishbutnotfullblownmosquegoingarabic guy who looked like Jason Biggs.
As I have mentioned to one of my friends that night, overall, although it was fun, it felt as if there’s something missing. To be honest, I don’t know what that is. Perhaps I had one of those birthday blues — the bitter realization that, not only we’re getting older, we also need some form of a direction where our lives are heading at.
Oh well. I had fun though.
After checking out of the hotel yesterday, the sisterette, moi and the sisterette’s friends had lunch at M Cafe beside Ayala Museum. Sisterette Grace and I had a small row because she stole some of my kimchi before I even tasted it.