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!
Queen of Tactful Tack
Good afternoon bitches. Buy the Philippine Star – quick! There’s a lovely article written with me on it. Although the powers that be censored the thing (of course, it’s one of the country’s top 2 daily newspapers – I doubt they’ll publish anything in true blue profanity-infected-and-infested Bryanboy style), I have to say I love it. The people at Star are good — everyone go hail them. Click the graphic below for the full-sized version.
Despite not getting a full page printed shrine dedicated to my glorious self, I got HALF of a page, which isn’t bad at all. At least it ain’t a 1 column inch printed at the "Prostitutes for Rent" or something whatever classifieds section. I’m very very happy. Gotta love the illustration, too.
I wished they published my true secret for success.
"No such thing as super powers babe. I ain’t Nuclear Wintour as of yet. My key to success is excess and bulimia. Feed your soul, your heart and your mouth with as many things as you can digest – extremities, food, booze, fashion, travel, partying, people, everything. As soon as you get home, all you need to do is to do is to sit down in front of a Lalique bowl, stick two or three fingers up your throat and then purge it all out.
*No offense intended, of course, for those who have eating disorders. Bulimia is the only word I can think of to describe what I want to say."
At least they printed my "desperate to BECOME a housewife" plea.
That’s supposed to be:
"I need a gorgeous, eye-candy type, sober, stable, independent male (or female) flatmate so I can move out of my hellhole parent’s birdcage soon. Please be fabulous. Please be fun. And please be fantastic. No under the sheets obligation required. I just want it to be completely platonic… ok… I want it kind of like a mini version of the Big Brother House. I don’t want to be spend my weekday evenings alone on my own inside my future pad. Send me a message or call me. Lines are open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week: +63-915-785-1492 or email firstname.lastname@example.org.
Otherwise, I’ll just patiently wait for the movie offers, the book deals, the magazine contributing editorships, the TV commercials, the drama series, the handbag lines, the fragrance launches, the flopped nightclub and restaurant offers as I blog my way to fabdom."
Thanks, Naz (Queen Noor) for the great write up. Don’t y’all love it? I do! Now back to our usual programming…
I finally dragged my lazy, long-haired ass to the salon yesterday and got a haircut. I’ve been procrastinating for far too long on my ebony locks. Yes I need another lipodissolve session again. My arms are fucking enormous now. Don’t you dare make fun of my batwings.
I then went to People’s Palace for a quick snack and to meet Gian to return his CDs. Thursday nights are his nights – he spins at the Manila DJ Club for his weekly Fluxxe party.
Apres People’s Palance, I went to Tina’s house because Gian has to spin for his party.
There was a "Youthopia" party thrown by Pond’s (yes, Pond’s as in Pond’s – you know, the stuff that you use on your face/body/whatever that you can get from the supermarket) but Tina and I decided not to go there… we sorta wanted a quiet/relaxed night out. We went to Cuisine (at Embassy) to meet a couple of friends for drinks and chit chat.
We then went to Manila DJ Club (it’s my first time). Finally… after not going to Gian’s Fluxxe party (it’s been running for a couple of weeks now), I finally showed up. It was fun. It was scary at first because the first thing that greets you right in the parking area (they have valet) is ROCK and I mean hardcore ROCK music – there’s a couple of rooms, I think and then an outside patio/balcony area. Everything was fine after going upstairs to Gian’s room. The music’s alright – it’s definitely a different crowd compared to our usual haunts – it’s refreshing to an extent – it’s all good.
We cut our night short – it’s a weekday afterall. You know how rare… extremely rare… for me to go out during the weekdays.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
#1 – Bryanboy loves people from the state of Kansas (shit they have internet there?), Sacramento & Beverly Hills, CA and folks from (again) Melbourne, Australia.
#2 – I’ve finally flushed you down the toilet bowl along with my used tampon. I should have done that 10 years ago, right when I started getting my monthly period.
#3 – A desperate person can never have too much love. Send me more love – again – no photoshopped pictures please. Get a fuckin piece of paper and tell me you love me. Take a picture of it and email email@example.com. That’s how FUCKING easy it is.
Validate my fucking existence.
Everyone has a god damn camera this these days. Digital cameras, webcams, even most phones now have cameras. I’ve created a photo album where I’ll post all the love… and manna from heaven. Just give me and my assistant some time to compile and crop them to a reasonable size etc.
As always, feel free to contact me. You have my digits, you have my email address.
P.S. I love you all!
August Horoscope Fun
I don’t usually believe all this astrological, metaphysical and "psychic" hoolabaloo. I mean, would you really entrust your future on the advice of some bandana-wearing, big, old, fat bitch with an overturned fishbowl as her "crystal ball"?
Just imagine how many people out there who share the same zodiac sign (Aries) as I do.
Back when I was much, much younger (like 11 or 12), I used to call those US$3.99/minute "psychic hotlines" on a regular basis until my parents saw our phone bill and gave me a good slap in the face. I was so gullible back then. In reality however, those tele-"psychics" are probably bored housewives who ain’t got anything to do with their lives so they just spit off whatever they can think of to each and every caller they get.
How did I know they were fakes?
You see, I could easily pass off as a woman over the phone and those damn psychic-wannabes have always thought I’m a girl whenever I call them. I used to ask them silly questions like "when am I gonna get pregnant" or "when am I gonna have a boyfriend".
Did they knew I’m not really a girl but someone with 2 eggs and a hotdog?
I doubt it.
Here’s what Harper’s Bazaar said, who gave a couple of pages to Gisele Bundchen (just let the damn bitch die) this month:
(this is where I spent more than 30 minutes looking for other August ’05 magazines only to realize I left them in the car that my sister used to go to work today)
I’ll do a Part Deux later when she gets back.
Bryanboy Le Mannequin?
Apparently this French guy (well, click the graphic on the right) asked me whether or not I’m a ‘mannequin’. Oi vey!
That Citegay French Personals website is fun! I always get a ton of real-time messages whenever I go online there. The quality of the guys aren’t that bad either… at least compared to Fridae where most of the guys who message me are viagra-induced, wrinkly, old, hairy, obese crippled pensioners on their deathbed.
Take a look at some of the messages that I got (and the people who sent them) from that site. Click each thumbnail to see the full version. Some of them are cute, some of them aren’t my type – too butch, too straight acting, too hairy, too rough-looking, too old, too smelly, too masculine, too this and that.
Now, now, Tina Daniac – when are we going to enroll at Alliance Française for serious French lessons?
Speaking of boys, guess who wanted to add me to his Myspace account earlier…
Meet Brandon. He’s not too bad for a faggot is he? He’s hot in some pics, he’s alright in others. But he seems to be nice. So go boys (sorry girls) — hit on him before he vanishes.
One for the Girls
Enough of my gay guy hopping madness. This one is for any Rice Queen straight girls out there.
I browsed a copy of People Asia magazine and came across this guy. God knows whether he’s into boys or girls but I’ll stay on the safe side and assume he’s straight. He’s quite a looker, non? His name is Victor Consuji.(what is it with Filipinos and the name Victor?)
More regurgitation later.
I need to have dinner. One tablespoon of raisins, a bottle of evian, a packet of Marlboro Lights, some xanax and some fingers-up-the-throat purge action in the toilet.
As always, email me – firstname.lastname@example.org.
Breaking Newsflash: Earthquake in Japan!
Dead Rabbits Society
It’s finally here! I picked up my dead rabbit scarf/shawl/whatever at Vuitton last Friday, right on schedule. The Manila store had to do a special order for me from Paris. Apparently it’s super, super rare. It’s just like it is on the men’s runway except it’s a bit wider… and shorter than what I expected.
Who gives a flying fuck on all the dead rabbits used to create this wonderful, soft, warm piece. PETA can go spill paint all over my ass ala Sprouse, may god bless his soul wherever he is now. I love it though. I’m sure it will go to good use – keep my neck warm during my winter wonderland escapade later this year.
It’s a gorgeous little number that will look good with a plain white tank top or t-shirt, some fitted jeans and a knee-length or above-the-knee beige coat. Fantastic!
Sunday Shopping Fix
I was bored on Sunday afternoon so I called my gal pal Tina and thought we’d meet up to spend some time together.
Went straight to the Chanel counter at Rustan’s and bought Ruban Perle (Moonlight) and Double Perfection Fluide (45 Rose). Also went to Shu Uemura to get a new brush.
Took a quick trip where the clothes are, found nothing interesting but being the shopaholic me, I ended up buying a pair of brown, striped Baby Phat trousers. I know, I know, don’t laugh. Baby Phat is best for 14-16 year old girls in the Bronx but fuck it, the pants looked good on me. I also bought a T-shirt from Spanish designer Muchaha and a top from Anna Sui. All of them are old stock and are on sale.
Super Kawaii Origami
I’ll leave the Art of Origami to the Japanese.
Tina and I had an emergency Sunday craving for crabs (no, not the STD variety) so we decided to rush to The Red Crab restaurant. While waiting for Xeng, I huffed, puffed and folded one of paper placemats to create a paper crab.
Let me tell you in advance that it’s fuckin difficult. I followed the instructions religiously (see below) but my crab ended up as… crap.
After Red Crab, the three of us went to Nuvo for some hot tea and gin tonic.
Sunday was a great day indeed.
Sister’s Hell Hole Office Mates
I was cleaning out my camera because my memory stick is full and god knows how my sister’s office mates got in there. I know she borrows my camera from time to time. Take one good look at these photos.
So these are what British Expats in the third world do eh? Oh. My. God.
At least they aren’t wearing chav scum outfits. Hahahahahaha!
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
Big shout out to my devotees from Singapore and Central Africa – Congo to be exact! Bryanboy loves y’all out there, particularly Gloria M.!
Mademoiselle Celine R. Lopez – don’t I deserve a full color page after the almighty Queen Noor abused my brains? If only you knew how tormenting it was for me to answer questions. My 2 brain cells are as used and abused as a Makati Avenue pick up truck. *grin* Hope to see you soon!
Do designer clothes make you fashionable? Click here. I’d love to see the faces (and the looks) of the people behind their posts.
Here’s a pin I got for about $3 from a Vintage Shop. This message goes out to "he knows who he is". I bet he’s probably getting that mushy, mushy, "yeah I guess I love you too" feeling right now as he’s reading this message. It’s all about you babe – YOU, YOU and YOU.
Guilty as charged?
Don’t deny yourself the fact that I love you. All you need to do is to reciprocate. Tell me you love me too and kiss me the next time you see me, if there will ever be a next time. Otherwise, buy me a Not Rational "Amy" bag for US$475. Click the pic for a larger image.
Whoever you are, wherever you are in the world, send me love via SMS Message at +63-915-785-1492. If you don’t have money to send me SMS, bombard my email account with messages of love, hate and cute guys with note-worthy jewels: Bryanty@gmail.com.
Gag Reflex vs Gag Orders
As someone who has dealt with enough species of the male human kind, let me tell you upfront that the only thing worse than a blowjob gag reflex is a self-issued gag order.
Not too long ago, I remember being asked this (ok, perhaps not with the same verbiage) question several times:
“Do you ever feel pressure that you have to satisfy your readers with content?”
I’ve always been consistent with my answer.
NO, I’ve never felt any pressure from anyone or any outside forces of nature whatsoever. My blog has always been some sort of a sperm/blood bank of my personal purges – I flush whatever it is that I see/feel during a certain time.
I don’t give a flying fuckahontas about what people think. Some people (thank god) get “it”, whatever it is… and some people don’t.
It’s my little corner of the world wide web and it’s all about me – me, me and me.
Let’s face it, why the heck would I even attempt to satisfy readers when my short-term priority is to satisfy myself first amongst others, make myself happy and live how I want to live?
Perhaps I should state the unobvious: I do, to an extent, get a certain amount of personal satisfaction when I “unknowingly”, without any effort on my part, make other people happy – in other words, I just do what I want to do, say what I say, like it has always been, and whenever there are people coming up to me, telling me that I make them happy, I’m happy.
One loyal reader even pointed out, in person (oh yes), that the best thing she likes about me is the fact that I don’t do bullshit. I’m just “out there”, pouring out whatever it is I want to pour out.
Fuck what everyone else thinks.
Ah, the mantra we all would like to live by. You’ll probably get that ‘impression’ the first time you see me. I think this is how I’ve lived after all these years. Without that lucky phrase, god knows how I’ll survive in a country whose society lives by the “This is How We Do Things Handbook of Life”.
Over the weekend, I opened up to a couple of friends on how things are taking a turn recently.
A person can only take so much flak before he/she reaches a breaking point.
I think I’ve reached that point already.
After seeing/hearing negativity, I couldn’t help being affected by such crap.
I genuinely admire those, who over time, develop some sort of a ‘numbing shield’ to such negativity. I’ve had that numbing shield for years but like what I said, it does break down at one point.
I know there is no way we can please everyone. Oh yes. It’s just impossible. Besides, why should anyone try to please everyone.
But then again, for some strange reason, I have this little (fuck yeah), little teeny voice hiding inside my esophagus that screams ala Ashlee Simpson that says that I don’t want to offend anyone either.
Acid reflux anyone?
One friend said that instead of being affected by crap, you use that negativity away and let it inspire you to do things better.
But doesn’t that translate that you have to change yourself?
Doesn’t it mean that you’re giving up a certain part of yourself/your personality just to satisfy others?
Bottom line: doesn’t it mean that you eventually DID get affected by such negativity?
Another friend said that I should just plain blank ignore the crap and just do things MY WAY. How I should never, ever, ever change myself despite anything.
That’s the sort of answer that I have in my head. And that’s what I’m more inclined to do.
There are just so many things I’d like to whine and write about but my self-issued gag order prohibits me from blowing the whistle and sing Scooby-scooby-doo-where-are-you?
Enough rambling. I think we’re going in circles. I can’t even say what I want to say in an eloquent manner.
I’d love to hear what you think. Feel free to post comments or as always, email email@example.com. If you really, really love me, send me an SMS message: +63-915-785-1492.
To be honest, I think I’d rather settle for the lesser evil. I’ll suck a cock instead of giving myself a gag order. Any offers?
[Edited 08/15/05 - 2:13AM: I just fixed a bug on the "comments" section. I got a couple of emails telling me you guys are getting a 404 error when you click on the comments link. Now that it's working (yay) - blast me with comments and fire away!]
Stop the emails about the car crash ‘gay’ smut pictures NOW.
Despite the fact that my mere 2 brain cells are nagging that I should post those 4 pictures here, unfortunately, I have to follow my heart.
It’s just one of those moments where you have to follow what your heart says instead of your brain.
I am bound by secrecy and have been requested by some of my friends NOT to post them anywhere (although they’ve passed it on to quite a few people in the party).
In fact, I was the last one who saw it!
Where was I when those pictures were taken?
I can’t believe I was GONE!
I just can’t believe y’all did that.
*cry* *laugh* *cry* *laugh*
Anyway, I don’t wanna wreck relationships — I value the relationships that I have with my friends more, than, say, the emotional satisfaction that you’ll get if I post them here.
The only reason why I brought it up here yesterday is the fact that I want to flush it out of my system. And in some ways, believe it or not, this blog has been sort of therapeutic to me.
But boy oh boy, I’m sure what they did was done all in the name of fun.
At first I thought it was funny… and artsy.
But after more than 10 hours of sleep and sobering up, uh, erm, uh, I’m not sure.
I dunno what to feel. Sad? Sorry?
Was it done in a bad taste or was it done just purely out of fun?
Blech. I don’t wanna talk about it. Here I am overanalyzing things again. (har har) That’s one of my diseases I suppose.
Stop the emails.
I don’t want to talk about it. Please make this the last time you/I will bring it up.
I toyed around cropping bits and pieces here and there so just be satisfied and contented with it.
I really don’t want to think about it EVER again.
I’lll update in a bit. I’m starving!
Rapunzel’s Getting a Haircut
I need a haircut. Badly. Like tomorrow.
The last time I got a haircut was probably what — 2 months ago? My hair is just ugh so long now that my head feels sooo heavy especially with all the
spunk gunk I put on it.
I don’t even need one of those fancy schmancy haircuts. I just want my hair cut very short and clean.
Friday Furs and Feathers
Went to the Shu Uemura party yesterday and it was a blast! Saw a ton of people from A to Z and boy the event was a success. I love the fake eyelashes – and yes – they even came in purple – but no – as pretty as they are fake eyelashes were, to me, at least to me, they’re like the cute cousin/married guy/straight guy you want to fuck – but you just can’t because the forces of nature won’t allow you to do so.
My excuse: despite my little lip gloss addiction, I’m still a boy, remember?
But to you real girls, long hair, breasts and vaginas out there, be sure to go to the nearest Shu Uemura counter pronto to see their fall/winter stuff.
I think I already told you lot that I love the rain, non? It’s been raining daily, non-stop, for the past 2 weeks now and sometimes, just sometimes, you just have to use that sort of weather to go ALL OUT when it comes to dressing up.
Fur? In Manila? That’s right bitches.
Fuck, if my memory serves me right, the last time I used fur in Manila was back when I was 15 or 16 and used to go to one of those "consortium" raves (icky factor that word: rave) back in the dark ages. Yep. I miss those bygone days where everyone doesn’t give a cow’s shit no matter what it is that you wear so it kinda gives you that go signal to be as crazy and creative etc. Effort at it’s finest.
As the 2 Tina-s that I know always say: "fight fight fight!" These days, you just have to fight… for survival. Pomp it up to the nines. Let bitches eat cake while you kick the floor with your heels and preen until yer eyesockets fall off. I love it. :)
(Moi at the Shu Uemura event)
Post-Shu, gal pal Tina D. and rushed off to the mall to buy booze etc.
Despite everyone being a couple of hours late (Manila Time is… Manila Time, which is pretty much getting up at 6AM and the only time you get a newspaper is the time when London’s Evening Standard goes on sale) on my little dinner party thing, I’m glad the ones I invited show up.
Heck, even I was late — invite said 8, I showed up around 8:30/9. Hah!
I know the dinner party invites were sent on such a short notice, it was a Friday… and some of the people I invited are very busy individuals with other pressing things to do on a Friday night. Some are even working. So even if they didn’t show up, it was perfectly understandable and there’s always a next time.
Actually, after last night’s dinner party, I don’t even know if there’s gonna be a next time.
I hope so.
I know myself, after booze and all, I can be completely OUT OF IT.
But the ones who did show up, are, well, fucking fun! Let’s face it – I’ve known most of these people for quite some time now (haha) and the original plan of this little dinner party is for it to be private and intimate.
And for the ones who I only got to spend some time with yesterday, well, I think you’re all nice, warm and friendly folks and I would most definitely want to see you again. It’s all good. I sincerely hope that you had fun as much as I did.
The moment everyone’s been waiting for (har har), let’s play pictionary shall we?
We still have a TON of booze left so if you want to do another party – give me a shout. Har Har.
Once again, thank you, thank you, thank you everyone for coming to my little dinner party.
Car Crash Camera
Oh god. Oh my fucking god. I still can’t believe it. I can’t. I just fucking can’t.
I just fucking can’t believe it.
Fuck it. As much as I want to keep it to myself (or should I say – to the people WHO KNOW), I just fucking need to purge this out of my system.
This is what happens if someone picks up your camera lying down somewhere and takes random pictures.
Forget a straight girl and a straight guy snogging. That’s nothing.
But those 4 pictures. Oh yes those 4 fucking pictures… are permanently etched in my head.
GAY SMUT at its finest.
I can’t believe you guys did that.
I think the million dollar question is – HOW?
I have emotional scars now dammit.
But gawd they’re HILARIOUS as fuck.
This will definitely go to the:
I would really appreciate if you do not bring this subject up ever again. Ever. Not now, not today, not tomorrow, not in 10 years time. That’s why I’m purging it out of my system now like a proper bullemic bitch. Once you’ve puked it out, off to the septic tank it goes.
Let’s pretend this never happened/I didn’t brought it up.
IT NEVER HAPPENED.
(what didn’t happen?)
(um, what the fuck are you talking about?)
That sort of thing.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
Jenni Jenni Jenni Jenni E – why the heck didn’t we have pictures of us twogether? I hope the next time I see you, we have a full-time papparazzi in tow. I love those boots! Tina D. was supposed to be little Ms. Photographer for the night but she decided to be "punong abala" or "hermana mayora". Hahahahahahaha!
Anyway, I like the name Prunella. Prunella Vulgaris to be exact. Apparently it’s a plant, too.
Thanks for dropping by at my little thingie majigie. ;)
I’ve got nothing else to say. I’m still having palpitations from those 4 pictures.
As always, email me – firstname.lastname@example.org.
And no, I’m not going to Godskitchen tonight.
Because God doesn’t have a kitchen and I’m anorexic and bullemic as fuck.
Can we go to the toilets instead?
(Suck my dick… Lick my ass)