My nightmare is over. Well, the big one is definitely over. Anything beyond from this point are aftershocks.
I’ve been hiding a secret from y’all in the past few months. I don’t think I’ve mentioned anything about my mini depression about getting an HIV test. I know, I know, we all have skeletons in the closet and boy I’m happy to share this cadaver with you.
On Monday after going to my orthopedic doctor and neurologist, I decided to just do it, once and for all.
Even the pope, may GOD indeed bless his body
and soul, thinks I’m a good girl simply because I’ve
abstained from sex in the past 4 months.
The results were due today and when I picked it up, voila – negative.
I also went back to Asian Hospital today to get my MRI scan done for my neck pains. The radiology room was utterly, utterly boring. One of the guys told me to change into the hospital gown before the procedure. There were only a handful of people there so my sis and I decided to spice things up a bit.
I pranced around the dressing room and the waiting area in this tacky hospital yellow dressing thing. My sis wanted to take pictures. Gawd I look so fat in it. Yellow is simply not my color. Especially not hospital yellow.
The MRI scan was so surreal.
I’m not claustrophobic or anything but when I went inside the big white machine, I felt like I was inside a coffin. Literally. During the process I heard all these Star Wars/Space Intergalactic Chu Chu noises prrt prrt prrt crrt crrrt crrrt brrrt brrt brrt tooot toot tooot toooooooo tut tut tooooo tooo. Am I still alive? Am I dead already? Where am I? Am I an alien? Oh my god am I breathing oxygen?
I got a copy of the films they used and I tried to scan it but it’s hard. Here’s a pic of my neck. On some of the films it had part of my skull in it and I’m surprised to find out that I actually have a brain!!! I swear to god I’ve always thought I only had 2 brain cells and air inside it so imagine the joy I had with my experience with human anatomy.
Saturday will be the day for my MRI results. In any case, I’m still the happiest girl in the world re: my HIV test.
Bad grass never die sweethearts. I was born to make all of your fucking lives a living hell.
Big kisses from me to you.
Whether it’s a plant, an animal, a gorilla or a baboon, every breathing, living thing in this planet experience some form of change one way or another.
Some change for the better, some change for the worse.
In my case however, you’ll know I evolved for the better when I went from point A to point B effortlessly, with point A being dior lip gloss, a packet of charlie, some reductil diet pills and a pack of marlboro reds
and point B being dior’s new Dior Kiss lip gloss set, centrum multivitamins, arcoxia (etoricoxib) muscle relaxant/pain reliver for my back, lagaflex (carisoprodol paracetamol) pain reliever, and myonal (eperisone hydrochloride) muscle relaxant for neck pains.
At this point you’re probably thinking I stole my grandmother’s pill set to get a cheap high but no, after 2 weeks of procrastination, I finally got my ass to one of the top-notch hospitals (Asian Hospital) yesterday to consult with an orthopedic surgeon about my lower back pains and a neurologist for my neck pains.
I’ve had these pains for the past few months now after years of being in front of the damn computer all the time. I might have developed this weird twitch thing on my back.
Both consultations were kind of fun. However, it’s not as fun as the in-pronto head-to-toe-inspection by the Spanish unfashionable police I had. My orthopedic doctor was in his late 40′s (probably 50′s) and he was very comforting. I got the usual sermon on how I should stop or at least cut back smoking, take vitamins and calcium and do at least 30 minutes to an hour of exercise a day. I also had an on-the-spot inspection: he made me lie down and do all sorts of positions while he’s hitting certain parts of my body with this small, hammer-like tool. Bah!
The neurologist was quite ok, too. He’s around his 30′s, quite fit/muscular — you can tell it by the way the white coat fits on him. He’s not THAT good-looking but there’s something sexual about him.
He’s got this certain look in his eyes — he’s got
very big, round, dark eyes. God these dirty
He was very friendly and I think his eyes made me shut up/quiet for some reason. You just couldn’t help looking at him straight in the eye when he talks. He told me I need to get an MRI session on my neck/cervical spine and I’m doing that on Thursday.
God, what is happening to me? All these health issues aren’t funny. I really should get into a much healthier lifestyle.
In case you’ve wondered, my weekend was quite alright. We went out on Sunday night and had dinner at my favourite Korean restaurant, also had a haircut at Franck Provost. Sister and I did a little bit of shopping, bought a couple of tops. Also went to the Dior cosmetics counter and purchased a new set of lip gloss.
I saw this FUCKING AMAZING turqoise-like blue eye crayon thing at Dior and the damn thing was sold out. Who the hell would think blue eyeliner pencil would be popular in a fucking third world country. It’s always like that — whatever you think is nice is always sold out. Luckily it’s available in Sephora.com — I ordered 2 of those. I have to admit, I’m not really into makeup because it’s gay overkill (as if I’m not gay overkill already, ok, fine, I *do* use lip gloss and maybe, just maybe, some foundation if I’m having a bad case of greasy skin) but it’s only until recent I started being curious about it. The blue crayon is sooo fantastic — just put a line across your lower eyelid on your lower eyelashes and it looks hot and tres edgy!
By the way, I have a new crush. Sort of. God I love that word. "Crush". It’s soo teeny bopper but fuck it, crushes are nice to have. I like that mushy gushy feeling inside. It’s that thing of the past that I will never, ever, outgrow.
I went to my local patisserie (Bizu) to buy a box of their ultra yummy,
macaroons and there was this new guy working there.
Anyway, he does look like he’s FFTCDMWJ (fresh from the college doing minimum wage jobs) but he’s quite a looker. He’s a bit my height, looks very fit, and has a cute face. The only thing I didn’t like was his teeth. When I smiled at him when he gave me my order, his teeth was weird looking. I think he had a fang or something plus they’re just "right". It was freaky.
Honestly though, I wouldn’t mind having him if he kept his mouth closed. I’ve been single and been on the hunt forever simply because of the fact that cute, quality guys are so rare in this town.
Ha-fucking-ha. It could be that I temporarily had hallucinations and flashbacks when I first saw him hence the teeth trauma. In any case, my sister and I are going to go back tomorrow lunch to have a repeat performance/second look before we get our facials done.
Oh and he has a name. Mark, I think. I overheard one of the patisserie ladies calling him.
kiss kiss for now!
Let’s face it. There are only 2 types of places in this planet where a 400-pound man such as myself can turn into a beautiful, skinny, willowy swan. Either at your local liposuction clinic or the gym.
(ok, make that 3 places, cause you can snort cocaine in clubs and then dance the night away to burn calories. let’s forget drug abuse though. drugs are so… what’s a nice word… dark ages ago)
I once went to the gym for about 8 months, starting from January 2003. The one nearest my house was Fitness First – it was literally a 3 minute drive. Could be less, depending on how pomped up my driver was at the time.
I was one of the early birds. You’ll never see me at the gym after 11AM. For several months, I religiously went there from 6:00AM until 10:00AM. I abused all the cardio stuff I could possibly do — 30 minutes on the treadmill, a couple of minutes on the ellipticals, glides, blah blah, and a few minutes doing resistance.
I *never* did the weights because of personal insecurities and issues against the hordes of muscle maries lifting 50-pound weights. Why, why oh why oh why oh why should I, who, at that time, was 5-foot-9 weighing 100 pounds, subject myself to lifting weights, surrounded by steroid-injecting, drug-abusing, metabolism-obsessed, sweaty, bulging, muscular shitholes?
Deep down inside I have this nagging feeling that I’m gonna be the subject of ridicule and laughter for trying to lift a 5-pound dumb (yes) bell. So yes, I avoided the weights altogether.
I did go there one time and yes, a muscle mary bitch was even friendly to me and taught me how to do it right.
But no. I just don’t wanna go there.
In any case, I have to admit I enjoyed going to the gym. I had a little crush thing there who was quite alright. Every bloody day he was there, spent most of the time doing eye contact. It took us around 5 god damn months just to actually say hi to each other and in the end, I didn’t quite like him because he is a student. Icky eh?
Everything was fun up until the day where this
vicious, old-aged, vintage, fat, wrinkly just-
waiting grandmother-type chit chatted to my mom
on the elliptical.
The VO-AVFWJG had the fucking nerve to ask my mother "who is that faggot talking on his mobile phone on the treadmill? He’s been there for 30 minutes now and doesn’t he know mobile calls are expensive?"
To my mom’s amusement, she said "I don’t know".
Later that day, my mom told me about it and I asked her point blank why the hell she didn’t say anything about me being the result of her first fuck 18 (+4) years ago. She said she didn’t want to ruin the VO-AVFWJG’s moment.
Since then, I’ve never set foot to the gym because of embarassment. I enjoyed talking to my friends while I’m on the damn treadmill. Every day, I speed dial my friends and gossip. It was the only time for me to catch up with my friends from all corners of the planet. Early morning here, early evening in the US/late evening in Europe. Multi-task silvous plait. Burn calories and gossip at the same time — while being sober.
Fast forward 2 years later…
Earlier this morning when I got up, I noticed my love handles are getting bigger. Not that it’s new or anything. But this time, they’re really inflated. Somehow overnight, I got pregnant, gave birth and now I’ve got post-pregnancy fat.
One of my clients said he bought an elliptical trainer last week and he’s been enjoying it. Like myself, he works at home and going to the gym can be a pain sometimes. He does run every now and then — you know, run like running on the streets, something I could never, ever, ever be caught dead doing in public. He also said something about working out, blah blah bullshit.
I got inspired and thought, well, since I don’t want to go the gym, why not have my own mini-gym.
My mom mentioned she wants to buy a treadmill so we can all run while watching TV/doing rounds of phone gossip but she backed out because my dad said we’d eventually get sick of it… and they already go to the gym anyway.
Whatever. They need to sort out their issues. I’ve got my own.
I came across this website called FitnessQuest.com and ordered 2 things — the Total Gym 1700 Club and the Ab Lounge Ultimate.
I know they’re just basic home devices whatever and nothing as sophisticated as real gym equipment but I’m worried about space etc. I got them at a bargain too, roughly around $540 for both. I’m having it sent to my office in the US who will then FedEx it to me. I’d say about 3 weeks and I’ve got my own mini gym. Till then, all I can do is sit here and get myself as pregnant as possible.
Personally I have doubts with these "get-nice-abs-at-home" equipment but I thought I’d give it a try. I’ve never really met (or heard of) anyone who have used home equipment and gotten good results. Everyone got theirs at the gym.
God, I don’t even want a 6-pack. That’s just too… disgusting. So so outré. I want a flat, painfully small waist and long, skinny arms to match. Heck, all I want is a body of a skinny, pre-pubescent 11 year old boy. I want to be a pedophile magnet — at 22. Chicken at its finest. Looks can sometimes kill and if I had a body such as the one I just mentioned, all these dirty pedophile scumbags will die. Nya nyi nya nyi nya nya you can look but ya can’t have what you see you dirty old fart.
Enough fitness talk. I need a burger. A big, fat, juicy one.
Fucking hell. Get your cellphones and call Andy
Roddick and tell him how fucking hot he is!!!!!
A lot of stuff happened over the weekend, I don’t even know where to begin. All I know is that I’m feeling crap. I’ve never felt this crap in 2 or 3 years. I got up today at 12 noon with the worst body aches ever. Both my legs were sore to the point where it’s hard to walk, my neck and my shoulders hurt like mad and I had the worst headache ever, not to mention liquified poo and dizziness.
BTW, I don’t mind diarrhea. I actually love it. Well, not in a fetish kind of way but in a good way. I heard diarrhea makes you dehydrated and it also makes you lose weight. You know what I mean. Purge, purge, purge. With all the food intake I had over the past few months, diarrhea is one heck of a blessing in disguise. I’d take diarrhea and extreme body dehydration over anything else.
I don’t think I’ve got the flu… it’s definitely something else though. I hope it’s just a bad case of the hangover and nothing too serious. I had to cancel my appointment earlier this morning with my dermatologists cause I felt sick to the bone.
Well, my sister finally graduated college/university. As planned, my familia de horreur went to the Westin hotel on late Saturday afternoon. We had dinner at this Chinese restaurant in Manila called "Emerald Garden". According to my dad the food was "authentic chinese" and it was good. The restaurant was jampacked — we had to wait 30 minutes to get a table. I’m not really a big fan of Chinese food. or waiting. Chinese food is soo… I don’t know. What’s a good word — domesticated? I really don’t know. I just don’t like chinese food, period.
After having dinner, I went back to the hotel to dress up. I was determined to go out. It was Saturday night afterall. If I’m gonna be in the city, I might as well ring up my friends and go out. Even if I haven’t slept for 48 hours, I had to go out.
My friend Ivan picked me up from the hotel at around 12AM and we went to this new club called "Embassy". God there were lots of people there that night. It was a good club. Not as good as the ones in London or New York but for Manila heck it was good. Besides, it’s nice to see that people put effort again. It was so crowded that night. And try going to a crowded club while being sober. You can’t dance. You can’t flirt. You can’t mince around.
The only thing I didn’t like is the fact that we had to pay to get in. I *never* pay to go to clubs. I mean, I’ll pay for drinks but entrance fees and such? Never. I’ll let this one pass though because it was new and we had to make connections etc. We’ll see how it progresses. Ha! What’s funny though is how when me and my friends left the club, my sister and her friends went to Embassy AND they didn’t pay. Gawd.
After a few drinks, Ivan and I went to the VIP area inside Embassy. Nice flooring, I thought. Saw a couple of my friends there, chit chatted for a bit, said hello to a couple of people then we left. Went to another club in Makati to pick up my mini-me prodigy, who, I have to admit, was lookin not bad that night — he read my blog afterall (hello John!) and then went straight to Malate to this club called "Bed" where I danced the night away.
I unleashed a little bit of the inner bitch that night. I can’t help it. I had to at least do something bitchy even if it’s only for 5 seconds. My mini-me prodigy (John) was talking to this old bald white man. I swear to god he was like ancient. I told him "don’t talk to these dirty old white trash people" — right in front of the old pensioner and grabbed John to go downstairs.
This potato queen obsession is something that I want to erase off the face of the planet. These rancid vintage sex tourists won’t stop coming to the country if they know people are going to entertain them. No wonder why chinks like me are having a bad name. Just because we’re chinks it doesn’t mean we’re gonna succumb to these old pensioner’s pension checks.
Anyway, I got back at the hotel at around 5:30. My sister and her friends got back at around 8AM. I spent the entire afternoon sleeping — I got up at around 12:30. Had lunch on my own, got some soup and a huge burger.
We checked out of the hotel at 3PM. I thought we’d stop by at the Manila Film Center. We saw these giant paper mache Egyptian thingie majigies and then there were like 2 sniper guys in position. It’s strange to see a S.W.A.T. Team with guns and all. It looks as if they’re off to kill someone. We had no idea why they were there. They were nice though cause when we parked in front of the Film Center, my sis’ friend forgot to close the car door. One of the S.W.A.T police guys came up to us and said we should lock our car doors. We asked why considering there’s only 2 cars parked (our car and their car) and nobody else was there other than us and the S.W.A.T team and they said it’s for our safety.
We snapped some photos and off we went home. I got up late in the afternoon today with a couple of fresh donuts, coffee and diarrhea from the Chinese food, too.
It’s 3:13 in the morning and i just got up. I hate early nights — I slept at around 10PM yesterday cause I was just dead tired (and tipsy).
I went out yesterday to meet Harvey, an acquaintance from London who is here on holiday. 4 years ago, I gatecrashed his house party in Tooting Broadway (yep. so so far.) along with a bunch of people I met online. He was here about 5 months ago and decided to come back cause he made friends blah blah.
We talk about lots of stuff. For 4 hours.
I met him at Starbucks at around 3PM. I had a latte and bought some mints.
And since I haven’t been to the big city in like 2 weeks (Makati), and the shops were literally about a 30 second walk, I decided to take a look.
I haven’t done proper browsing in a long time.
We went to Prada cause I’ve been looking for this white and turqoise silk/cashmere top but it was gone.
Then we went to Yves Saint Laurent, I bought a canvas Kahala Yachting tote in white canvas and gold leather.
Then we went to Vuitton, I bought a multicolore bracelet. I have this addiction thing with Vuitton bracelets.
Here’s a pic of my loot:
Then we took a look at Gucci. There was this nice big bag I wanted but didn’t have enough motivation to pick it up cause I’m with someone. I generally like to shop alone.
After the shops, we went to this cafe to have more drinks. I had 2 gin tonics, about 4 or 5 vodka red bulls and a perrier. Then we started talking about stuff again.
Apparently he likes this shithole of a place, Manila.
He made quite a bit of friends from all walks of life, which is nice, and he’s been to a ton of places locally even I wouldn’t be caught dead going to.
Oh yes. We’re talking about the slums, my dear. The dreaded word that nobody here really likes to talk about.
I mean, I don’t really like talking about it. Sure, it does exist. And yes, I am aware of it, not to mention I did feel guilty about all my blessings etc. But hell, in no way I have a fault whatever.
After several hours, I didn’t want to get too drunk and I was dead tired at 7PM so I called my driver to pick me up and to go home.
The slums conversation didn’t end in the big city.
When I got home, my mom was watching a documentary about the unstoppable population boom in the Philippines.
Yes, people in the slums who earn no more than US$50 per month but have not 5, not 6, not 7, heck, not even 10, but 17, 19, 21, 23 **and** 25 kids.
There was this old lady who had a child every bloody year for the past 25 years. She lives in this matchbox-sized shanty house, the same with all her kids **AND** her kid’s kids — she has 9 grandchildren already.
These people had no idea what they’ve gotten into. Well, I think they do, but they chose to lead a blind eye. Despite living in extreme poverty, they continously add more and more to the global population burden by irresponsible breeding.
And it’s mostly the catholic church’s fault. The catholic church has a huge influence here and they prohibit their followers from using artificial contraception (i.e. pills, condoms, vasectomies, etc).
Both my mom and I were COMPLETELY appalled
with what we saw. I’m gonna reiterate what she
said before — these people are nothing but poultry.
They spend their lives while laying a ton of eggs
In fact, there was even this small area about 30 miles from where I live and it was named "Addition Hills" because of the fact it was an instant population factory. 100,000 people, 60% are under the age of 15 and it keeps on adding more and more and more kids every year. Even the kids have fucking kids. Some of them only eat once a day because they simply cannot afford to feed 18 mouths. It was absolutely awful.
Sometimes I don’t even know what to feel.
Should I feel sorry for them? Or should I feel
despise and wish genocide to do them a HUGE
These days, I’m leaning towards the genocide bit because it’s just sad. Really sad. There’s far too many rodents and vermin in the world already yet they continously and irresponsibly add more cockroaches in this planet.
Bah. I can’t believe I’m stressing out over this. I have my extraction facial in about 13 hours and I have to be fresh looking or else I’ll get another sermon from my aesthetician.
I just looooove going thru some of my old stuff. I was bored out of my mind while cleaning my room — the only place in the house where household help are banned — not that I’ve got anything to hide — trust me, it’s just not viable to have vibrators, handcuffs and porn in this house. Everything will always be discovered by someone.
You think you’ve got skeletons in your closet? If you’ve got skeletons, I’ve got cadavers in my wardrobe. Yes. Cadavers. No amount of dead bones can beat the hell out of rotten, flesh-infested cadavers. My past is THAT bad.
It’s a shame I wasn’t born in the 70′s, I would’ve spent my teenage years in the colourful 80′s. Think neon bangles, asymetrical tops and high hair. Oh yes. The higher the hair the closer to god. But alas, the 80′s brought me nothing but tacky grief.
Anyhoo, I thought I’d share a couple of pictures. Blast from the past they say.
Picture of me on my 6th grade graduation. Look at how I appear to be winking in front of the camera. Gross, isn’t it? I look like I got a stroke or something. At 12.
A picture of an anorexic 17 or 18 year old me swinging an extra large Hermes handbag — actually — this ain’t a handbag, this is fuckin luggage. Take note of the hair. It’s a wig that belongs to one of my friends who have leukemia when I visited her in a hotel. Yeah, leukemia… or whatever disease it is that makes your hair fall off when you get chemotherapy. Look at those arms. My god, I miss them. You can’t really get any skinnier than that. I think I was like 85 pounds or something. Click the thumbnails for 3 other wannabe trannie whore pics.
Man I looked like a cheap trash whore.
Picture of me and my best friend Tony 2-3 years ago in Amanpulo. My cheeks are soo chubby and my mouth looks like it’s gonna spit/puke any second. Ya think being a chav is a 2004 thing? He’s been a chav before chavs were born in this planet. Ya can’t get any chavvier than someone who was born from Liverpool. It took me a good 3 whole days of 8-hour sunbathing to achieve that tan whereas he ended up looking like a lobster.
Speaking of Tony, whom I owe a phone call this week, the poor guy is flying to New York from London today for 6 weeks. Like everyone else in this world (except me), he’s venturing out to the big apple to find a better job. He quit his job last year because he’s just utterly sick of London. According to him, he’ll spent the next 6 weeks looking for a job in the music industry… and a company who can sponsor him a visa. If he’s lucky, good. If not, he’ll go back to London and live his life. I told him a few weeks ago that getting a US Working Visa is like asking for the moon to turn blue. I mean, with all the illegal immigrant boat people all over the world, I have the impression getting a working visa is hard. I just wish him luck though.
Anyway, I’m off. My mom’s throwing one of her dinner parties with her stanky friends and I have to take a shower. I smell like a goat already and it ain’t funny.
Hugs and kisses.
I’m terribly, terribly sorry for the lack of updates. I can’t believe I’ve just put you guys on a limbo and haven’t updated in ages. I’ve been extremely busy at work and I’ve been feeling down lately.
In any case, let’s get down to business.
Sometime last week, I rejoined this UK-based gay personals website called OUTINTHEUK.com. I promise you, that site is the breeding ground of bitchiness. In fact, I don’t even go there to make friends or to make sucky sucky 5 dolla offers to uncut europeans. Instead, I go there for their "boards". The boards feature is just like any online forum, except everyone there reeks of bitchiness and drama. It’s a good thing really — put those social skills into action.
I was bored one time so I decided to give these
bland Brit gay/bi boys an instant sex change.
If I were god, I’d give everyone in this planet fantastic plastic bodies… bodies that could make them earn several millions of dollars a year. So, armed with Macromedia Fireworks and Style.com, I gave them (and myself) the gift of beauty. OUTer beaty.
Click any of the thumbnails below to see my creations.
A new window will pop up with a long graphic containing a batch of hot chicks. They’re child-safe so don’t you worry about nipples and orifices being exposed to your offspring.
If the image map doesn’t work, use these links instead:
I think there were 1 or 2 guys who complained how they didn’t like their dresses and how they want to be a slut versus a glamorous gal but I told them I don’t do porn — I only create beautiful people.
Now that’s all said and done, there’s this one guy, Hembers and he turned me into Paris Hilton.
They’re very hot chicks, don’t you agree?
So out of all the hot chicks you’ve seen, who do YOU think is the hottest? Answers on comments please.
Ciao for now.