Say a big pink hello to Max Foster.
He’s an anchor for CNN International, who is based in London. Despite him being almost balding, there’s something charismatic and CAMP with this guy when I was watching the TV earlier. And you know how I despise TV. I only watch CNN whenever I watch TV. I’m so over my couch potato phase. So to me, yeah, this moment was kinda special.
Y’all think he’s gay or not? Like most CNN imports, this charming, I-wish/don’t-mind-that-he-was-dirty-old-gay man came from the beeb (BBC). He does have a fugly photo too, fresh from the BBC website, circa 2004. Look at the awful face and imagine the look when he’s giving it to your shithole. Gawd, when I saw him on TV earlier, all I wanted to do is to smash my TV set, pull him out of the box, rip off that suit and see what kind of treasure awaits me.
He’s probably uncut. Oh well. whatever.
But yeah, I think whenever people from the beeb transfer to CNN, they somehow become cuter. That’s what "private funds" and "budget" does versus "public funds". More makeup, better clothes, plastic surgery….. hah! ;)
Penny Martin is God.
There is a GOD and her name is Penny. Screw nickles, dimes and pounds. Everyone get down on yer knees and hail the name "penny". Enough said.
Let’s go guy s-hopping now, shall we?
Admit it. If you use the internet and unless you are married (heck, even married people still hunt for shags on the side), chances are, you’ve probably created a profile at some website(s) looking for love, lust and well, lusting love and lovingly lust.
Like any internet geek such as yourself, I, one of the beautiful *vomit* ones, have all sorts of profiles EVERYWHERE. There’s one at myspace, friendster, outeverywhere, fridae, thingbox, gaydar and all sorts of places. Even at places where it involves an online translator where people speak french or russian.I believe in biodiversity and I think you have to put yourself out there. The world is a big, big place and you don’t want to miss opportunities.
Sadly, some of the opportunities I get are:
I’m at a loss of words when I saw that. Actually, not really. I’m used to it. If you’re a chink, chances are you’d probably be getting a ton of messages such as the one above.
What never ceases to amaze me tho is where the fucking hell do some of these "types" get the audacity to even think I’d go for them. I think perhaps just because I’m a chink they automatically have it programmed that I’d go for their hairy large buttocks. Can I say purge? Not that there’s something wrong with em, I mean, they’re humans too you know. But still. Gosh.
Fine. I promise I won’t be critical of other people.
Has it even occured to them that despite me being of the exotic kind, that I’d actually go for someone within MY age range? Or at least close to it? I give them A+ for Effort though. Seriously. It takes BALLS to message people. I think it comes with the ageing process.
Now don’t get me wrong, I have LOTS of friends and acquaintances with people coming from all sorts of ages, backgrounds and lifestyles. I do talk to people regardless of who/what/where/etc they are.
But sometimes… just sometimes….. well, let’s just say I kind of turn into Beyonce. Nasty Girl. That sort of thing.
Anyway. Next one on the line is…. Errm, Actually, this one more of a "confession-type" thingie. But you know what, I, Bryanboy, have no shame. He and his friends will most likely read this but fuck it.
For the longest time ever, I had this little only crush thing with a certain guy. Oh yes. For like over a year, I’ve checked his profile out probably like at least once a week. Or something. I thought he was cute. Well, he is kinda cute.
The way the profile system at OutEverywhere works is the fact that when you check someone’s profile out and vice-versa, the system leaves a "track" automatically, therefore notifying you that he/you had visited each other’s profile. But god, this guy must have thought I’m a stalker.
So after about a year or two of me checking his profile out, he FINALLY took notice and sent me a message. This was like way, way, way, way back ago.
I was gobsmacked when I got that message. Again, bukkake facial at its finest.
And you know what?
I let his message sit on my inbox for an ENTIRE MONTH because I just didn’t know what to say.
Do I seem "assey" to you, my blog readers?
Last time I’ve checked, I’m the epitome of nice. And sweet.
One month later, I decided to send him a reply once and for all when I moved on (and my little infatuation is over).
Guess what? I didn’t get a reply since. I think I scared him off. Hah bloody hah.
Well, aren’t Mormons come from like Utah? Bah.
Now you know why I’ll be perennially single.
There’s just something about me, oh god save me, that kind of um, either attracts… or scare… people off.
Believe it or not though, I’m shy when it comes to boys.
It is EXTREMELY rare for me to actually send someone **I KINDA LIKE** a message.
Yes, I’ve got no shame when it comes to most things. Seriously.
But when it comes to me sending random people I kind of fancy… erk… I just can’t do it.
Even in person. Oh yes. Even in person.
I guess I’m one of those passive-types.
If people (I don’t fancy, at least sexually) talk to me, which thankfully, some do, I think it’s fantastic.
But for me to come up to someone I like… that’s a different story.
I need balls dammit.
Oh just bloody go out there, my blog
reader, and pimp me out to someone.
Baboosh for now.
Just recovered from my recent weekend bender and it’s all living la normalite for me again from this point onwards. I also just finished — gasp — eating breakfast.
Saturday was fun! My little swimming party didn’t push thru because I left the house really late and got into the city by 7PM. Who the hell will parade in bathing suits in a hotel pool at that time of the night other than desperate, sex-starved, i’ll-pull-anyone-in-the-pool tourists?
There’s this hotel, New World Renaissance, that I usually stay at on whenever I’m having Saturday Night Fevers. I’m never the type of person who would get out of the club before the sun rises up. And since my parents forbid me to go home at 8 in the morning all looking fucked up, I would rather stay at hotels or at friend’s houses to recuperate.
Anyway, early Saturday night I went window shopping (Bottega, YSL, Gucci, Vuitton, Prada) and then to M Cafe, alone, while waiting for my friends to arrive. Kicked off my night with a light snack — foie gras with green apple tart, a lychee martini, a vodka red bull and a gin tonic before I get dressed.
While waiting for some of my friends to arrive, I rang up Hannah Matronic – the long lost "twin sister" I never had, that I recently "met" online. I thought it would be nice to meet her once and for all. And god, she’s like 4 years younger than me. She had her driver drop her off at my hotel, had a chat and showed her my little lip gloss collection. LOL.
Then Kiko Escora arrived, followed by Tina and Gian. We then went to Cuisine to have dinner. I settled for a salad and some more foie gras. This foie gras craving is the one responsible for me being fat. Ugh!
After Cuisine, we all went to the usual weekend spot, Embassy. I really need to start going to other new places. Each and every weekend everyone ends up at a Embajada one way or another. This Thursday I’ll definitely go to that other place, MDC/Manila DJ Club, where my friends are spinning/throwing yet another a la "Miss Shapes" party.
At La Embajada, Hannah and I hanged out and tak about all sorts of stuff. Heck, we even did some lesbian action just for the camera. Priceless!
Curious how the fuck does Bryanboy get drunk?
Life’s a bitch and we live in an alcoholic world.
We all left the club at around 5 or 6 or so in the morning and thought it would be fantastic to take some shots and play pictionary. Thanks June/Jun for the brilliant shots.
Post-partying, we all went back to the hotel and spent about 6 or 7 hours gossipping and chatting. Imsomnia galore at its finest. I slept for about 2 hours cause god damn Gian won’t stop waking me up. Hah! I checked out at about 4PM and Tina, Gian and Ignacio (just like the old days) went to Masas for some good ol Filipino food – food food food.
(Thanks, Ignacio Loyola, for the pics)
On a different note, I thought I’d let you in on my
TOP SECRET PROJECT.
You see, i-D Magazine, ShowStudio and Nick Knight had this little "Bring and Buy" project where people send in some of their outfits that they’ll sell for charity. I sent in my entry, an Issey Miyake hoodie back on July 21st. The deadline is today, July 25th. I checked the FedEx website and my parcel of love is now in London, ready for delivery today.
Here’s my little parcel of love:
I hope they like my entry. My entry is nothing compared some of the stuff they already receive. But hey, who knows eh? Anything for chariteeeeeeeee.
I’ll keep you guys posted later. As always, I love you all.
Welcome to the fantastic third world, Manila, Philippines!
5:02PM here and people are bugging me to take a bath and get ready.
Another colourful weekend coming up.
Hotel room – check
Outfit – check (Marc by Marc Jacobs)
Narcotics Anonymous – check
Benzos for come down – check
"Friends" – check
"Acquaintances" – check
Hot sex with a really cute guy – priceless.
There are a lot of things Bryanboy can buy. For everything else..
YOU CAN FUCK RIGHT OFF TO HELL.
I’ll update you on Late Saturday (US Time) or Sunday with pictures and class-A gossip.
Wish me luck! I love you, you, you, you and you. Each and everyone of you.
As always (and say it with me)
I NEED TO STOP SMOKING.
Can I ask a favor? Please? My chest hurts from all the chain smoking that I’ve been doing and I need someone… or a group of people to bug, harass, stalk me by all means possible, email, instant messenger, text messages, blog comments, whatever.
At least for the next 24 hours. Please?
At this rate I’d probably be like good ol Nan Kempner and die of emphysema before I say the word fabulous.
(Love you Nan, I really do. I’ll be just like you when I get older)
Gawd, I didn’t expect to ellicit a couple of responses from my little closeted faggot post. In fact, I even spent an entire hour talking to a closeted fag from the land of Starbucks, Seattle, WA.
He kept on and on and on and on how he’d rather stay in the closet and live a double-sided life than come out of the closet. The insensitive son of a bitch is in his early 30s, married, have 2 kids but ocassionally plays with men "on the side".
He claims it’s pointless that he comes out because it has no relevance on his life.
But when you’re fuckin married… and cheating on yer wife… I mean come on. That’s just harsh and bloody damn insensitive.
And you know how dirty some faggots can be. STDs and all that crap… passing it to your wife.
IMO, he’s not only fooling himself, not only he’s fooling his wife, his kids, and everyone else around him, he’s also USING them to cover up his inhibitions.
I dunno. He does have a good argument though — his sexuality really, is nobody else’s business except his. I didn’t have an answer for that.
*plays drama music*
Let’s go back to the Bryanboy Life Archives shall we?
A couple of years ago, I used to see this guy who was confused sexually. We started off as friends until things got heated up. Yes, he claimed he was straight – at least publicly. But when we were together, he was like "confused".
And before you start speculating, no, I didn’t convert the bastard.
He was such a drug junkie. On drugs, he was all you know — deranged. May god bless his soul wherever he is. Drugs or no drugs, I thought he was sweet. There was something about that guy that made me attracted to him and fall in love with.
I’ll never, ever, ever forget the time when he flew to London (where I was) to spend the weekend together. After 3 days of hanging out, we got soo hooked on each other. On the taxi way back to Luton airport, we held hands to the point where our hands were just utterly utterly sweaty and just cried.
(Luton Airport… oh the memories…)
At the airport, same thing. We were on a cafe, just sat there waiting for his flight, looking at each other’s eyes, poured our eyes out, saying we’ll miss each other blah blah blah. It was mushy mushy galore. The bond we had was unexplainable.
For about a month, we’ve taken turns each weekend to see each other. Either he goes to London or I fly to Edinburgh.
He was a totally different person when I was in Edinburgh. Especially when I met his friends at this pub. Oh god. The most surreal experience ever and I won’t even talk about it here.
But yeah, he was just a total mind fuck. I’ve chalked it up to experience. Never again I’ll deal with anyone with excess baggage. It’s not even Vuitton or Goyard for fuck’s sake.
When it comes to a guy, yes, a guy… I’ll never, ever, ever, ever deal with anyone who is "sexually confused", "i’m gay but i’m not out to anyone" and "i’m gay but i’m only out with friends and not to family".
Never again. It’s either you’re out or forget about it.
BRYAN IS REALLY BISEXUAL
God, after all that faggot drama, I had this nagging feeling to tell that I am really bisexual. It’s funny how everyone assumes I’m gay. Well, I can’t help it — I am so gay that I even scare gay guys off.
That’s alright though. I don’t care and I don’t give a fuck.
I like boys. I like girls. Perhaps I like boys more than, say, girls, but when I see a girl that I really really like, then bam! I’m not one of those disgusting members of the male species who claim they’re "bisexual" to cover up their membership to enchanted gaydom.
This "I’m bisexual but all I do is suck cock" attitude is rampant in the Filipino scene.
How VOMIT inducing. It’s purge galore at its finest.
You know who you are.
Fuckin wankers saying they’re bisexual to cover up their glittered assholes when all they want really is a cock up their throats and that’s about it.
Ugh my blood is boiling.
I need my rivotril and I’m off to bed.
Baboosh for now.
P.S. Scottish guy if you’re reading this (hopefully not), thanks for teaching me a lesson. Really. I did love you at that time. I probably still do, I mean, I think the feelings are still there, in a way. Bah. That’s why I’ve blocked you on MSN. God knows whether you’ve blocked me too. Anyway, on the extremely rare opportunity that I see you online, everything flashes back as if it happened yesterday. Ugh. But seriously, thanks for everything and being part of my life.
Enough drama. Let’s all be fabulous!
Sweet dreams to myself.
Let me plant some seedlings first before we go
to the main course.
Three cheers for the girlie gang @ Handbag_Fetish at LiveJournal. I love you gals – it’s people like you and me who are responsible for keeping the global economies afloat. While everyone shops for stupid, silly things like food (purge), diapers (meow) and books (say what now), screw what everyone else thinks and flex that plastic like there’s no such thing as tomorrow on life’s NECESSITIES such as handbags and fantastic access-wa.
I love people from Malmo, Sweden, wherever that is. Big kisses from the fabulous third world from me to you. The same applies to people in Munich. Bryanboy loves you, you and you!
To my British friends and loyalists, I would like to wish a big tata, farewell, goodbye and peace out to our friend BNP founder John Tyndall. May your soul rest in peace and may your ashes remain white rather than gray. Afterall, gray is a colour; you certainly don’t want any coloured things miscegenating with white.
The same applies to people of the coloured
kind in London: note: please do not carry a
backpack unless you want to be mistaken
as a terrorist.
In fact, anyone over the age of 9 in this planet should never, ever, ever carry a backpack. Even if it’s Vuitton (may god bless my soul). Even if it’s a black Prada nylon backpack that should’ve died along with the 90s. Leave the backpacks to the white backpackers (who usually come in couples) of the Australian kind.
Another boring Friday morning for me here in the cesspit of the third world. My weekly FedEx shipment from the US arrived today with DVDs I rented from Netflix.com. One of them is called "A Home at the End of the World" starring no other than my fuck buddy Colin Farrell.
I rented this film because I was intrigued after seeing it on this blog.
The film was alright. Errr how would I put it?
Seriously, I’m at a loss of words it’s not even funny.
It was alright. If you want to see Colin Farrell act like a dumb, childish person then yes, please feel free to see this film.
Not too keen on the story line. It made me sad, yes, but that’s about it.
I guess it wasn’t clear to ME about Colin’s character’s sexuality.
I mean, did he fancy THE gay guy? I mean, yeah, they masturbated each other when they were kids, yes, he kissed the gay guy despite having a "girlfriend" claiming it’s a "brotherly kiss", and yes, he selected to live with the dying gay guy with AIDS over the girl and his own daughter.
And then one thing occured to me.
Colin is like one of those "gay for pay" people in a way.
He was "gay" to Jonathan because Jonathan provided some sort of a life (friendship, support, family, etc) to Colin ever since they first met when they were kids. And in a way, Colin was feeling guilty/thankful to Jonathan hence he’s being "gay".
UGH. Whatever. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. It’s giving me a fucking headache.
Now you can erase "FILM CRITIC" from my list of job prospects. I can’t even write a proper review for god’s sake.
CAN WE JUST STICK TO GAY PORN PLEASE? COCK, ASS, BOLLOCKS, SWEAT, CUM, NO DIALOGUES.
I dunno. It’s all too confusing to me. I’d rather stick to chick flicks and movies that doesn’t require friction of my mere 2 brain cells. I’m sure you people know how hard it is for inbred blondes like me.
5:44 AM where I’m at and boy do I feel so miserable.
You know you’re missing out on life when you spend your Friday 3AMs eating corn out of a can.
Yesterday was alright. Been raining on and off where I live. But that didn’t stop me from getting my treatments done.
I accomplished a lot yesterday actually. I had my usual facial, power peel, massage and a body scrub.
I also have bittersweet news – my aesthetician, Joyce, will quit on August 10 because she got her US immigrant visa approved and she’s moving to the USofA with her familia as a caregiver to wrinkly old people.
It’s saddening cause she’s the only person I’ve entrusted over the past year and a half digging and extracting my face, scrubbing each and every slit and crevice on my body, etc. In other words, she’s the only person in this world I’ll get naked for each and every week; she knows my body and all the hidden secrets and gossip it has — more so than my ex-boyfriends and shag buddies.
But hey, I totally understand her need for greener pastures, so to Joyce – I’ll definitely miss you.
On that note, I did some normal things people do. I went to the gas station, went to an ATM machine and went to a fast food place – no more big macs for me. I’m on a diet. I only had fries and lemonade.
I was planning to go to some gay speed dating thing yesterday but as one of my friends said, gay, speed dating and Manila doesn’t belong to each other. It can never fit into one sentence.
A couple of moi-gang threw a mini "Miss Shapes" party at Manila DJ Club but being the hermit that I am, I decided to stay home. As always, I needed recovery time from the facial abuse I got yesterday.
So… here I am. All lonely, miserable and feeling crap.
Gawd I need change. I need a breakthrough. I need something to stimulate my poor soul.
Everything is just ugh, so tedious.
Anyone… or anyone who knows anyone with a big, thick 10-inch cock who wants to receive some sucking from me? I’ll do you for free. Yep – pro bono work. Charity indeed.
I love you, you love me, let’s get OD’ed on valiums.
No, it’s not Tinkerbell going to a funeral.
I won’t tell you what it’s for because I don’t know whether my FedEx package will arrive there just in time. If the FedEx rep I spoke to was accurate, they’ll most likely receive my entry this coming Friday. I’ll only publicize it here if they picked my entry and post it on their website. Fingers crossed. I hope they pick me. I’m so so nervous at the same time excited. It’s for charity anyway.
After much deliberation and thought, I decided to get rid of a really old Issey Miyake hoodie that I have at the back of my closet. I have no use for it at all. Some of the old things I selected from were my ultra used and abused approx. US$7,000 size 38 (yes, I was THAT skinny back then) Gucci python pants from Spring/Summer 2000 – flashback of the excess, my Alexander McQueen distressed denim jacket, McQueen mesh tank top or McQueen patchwork denim jeans.
I have really funny pictures of me back in the dark ages wearing these outfits. Currently I’m on my laptop, waiting for my younger brother to come home and sort my scanner out on my PC. As soon as he does, I’ll scan the pics and post it on Part 2. You’ll have a blast I think. Hah!
Bryanboy Trivia #260: When Bryan was a child, he plugged the TV, which was 110 Volts into a 220 electrical socket. He was lucky to be alive after being electrocuted, considering the outlet exploded right in front of his eyes. SInce then, he developed a phobia with all things electrical. He is scared of plugging things to sockets such as ipod/cellphone/digital camera chargers, holes, outlets, any cords etc to the back of a computer’s CPU, and turning on/off light switches, TV, DVD players etc. He always has to ask someone nearby to turn something on/plug something because of this phobia.
Enough of my excesses. Let’s go for minimal.
Curious what I recently had for lunch?
I need to purge now. And sleep. I’ve been up since god knows how long.
I’ll update later. I love you all.
Good morning to all of you worldwide cunts wherever you are. It’s 1:35AM on a Tuesday and I just got up. I’m starving!
Before I confess and unleash my inner demons to you my dear readers, I thought I’d pop in a couple of extra side dishes here and there. I hope all the sins, evil deeds and everything else that’s wrong, stays within this website. May god bless, forgive and fortify my soul.
First off, Sarah, thank you very much for bring to my attention my um, *cringes with shock and horror*, well, my alter-ago, www.brianboy.com – that’s Bryan spelt with an i, which makes it www.BRiANboy.com. Yes, my loyal readers, after months of concealing what my job is, Sarah finally discovered what I do for a living. NOT!
Next, I just got back from my pulmonologist and my paparazzi-slash-sisterette was able to take some shots. God I need a proper paparazzi this way I don’t have to pose. Hah! Crystal, here are some pictionary moments at the hospital parking lot. I’ve been trying to resurrect a skinny-off-duty-model-pre-brazilians-old-25-inch waist-earl jeans-wearing-effortless-rock-look but I made the dreaded mistake of wearing my fave cowboy boots instead of my Dior biker boots. Anyway, my arms look fat and it totally ruined the kodak moment.
Enough of this taken from the car shots. Man I look like a street tramp. A Chanel sunglasses, Balenciaga Bag wearing street tramp.
Wanna see me rough? I’ll give you rough.
I haven’t shaved my face for like a week
and a half now. I think I’m gonna grow
Now that pictionary is over, I might as well proceed with my confession.
I’m infatuated with someone. Deeply, madly, infatuated with someone.
The one that is almost borderline obsession because I googled to search for everything there is to know about him.
It’s been a few days now and I just can’t flush him out of my head.
I really like him.
His eyes says it all. Oh yes his shiny, shiny, shiny eyes.
You see, I don’t even like muscle marys. At all. I find them icky. I find them intimidating. I find them… awful.
But there’s always exceptions to the rule. Yes. EXCEPTIONS. You know who you are so fuck me. (Hint: his first name is Raul, his last name is Bova)
It’s so horrible that I’ve been living the past few days on a diet of sheer wishful thinking.
Why can’t I get this guy?
Is he even a fag?
Is he really a fag?
Is he even "bisexual"?
Does he have a girlfriend?
A cover-up girlfriend to keep the public satisfied?
All I can do at this point is to pray to the good lord almighty and the patron saint of fagdom, Patsy Stone, that he turn out to be gay.
And no, I haven’t thought about stealing his underwear contrary to what people think. As if that’s even possible. Hell-o.
As one guy told me, infatuation is worse than heroin.
If you’re infatuated but he isn’t then it’s obsession. Obsession can be as soon as 5 seconds after you’ve checked each other out.
But he hasn’t checked me out.
Not that I know of.
All I want is for him to look at me eyes and the give me a good ol hug and then a nice little snog action.
Again – wishful thinking. Hah!
Yes, he’s attractive. The first time I saw
him – shit, I had goosebumps. I was
gobsmacked. Fuck clouds in my coffee,
it was bukkake facial slapped on my face.
Ready boys and girls?
Thanks, Tr3nt, for the picture.
Vomit inducing drama eh? I bet you were
just as disappointed as I am. Heh!
Oh well. I like him.
So har dee har har.
P.S. To you my dear friends at Marc Jacobs. Did you guys get my fax? I know, I shouldn’t have don that Gucci Gladiator bag.
P.P.S.S. Email me and tell me you love me. You know who you guys are. email@example.com Or better yet, post comments and tell me you hate me.
P.P.P.S.S.S. According to my pulmonologist, my pill popping days are over. I can now safely smoke like a chimney again and ditch my bronchitis pills. I’m a healed man! All I need now is this nasal spray for a few weeks and that’s about it!
As my newfound friend Lucifer from Mexico says, a bottle of Fracas anyone?
I’m off to have lunch. Yes, at 2:05AM. I’ll update later.
Typical Sunday late nighter here. I’m bored and I’ve got nothing to do. Blondes such as myself have to use moments of loneliness to exercise our intellect. Thought I’d create some friction using my mere 2 brain cells and purge whatever is left in my head.
Bryanboy loves TheBosh. Read my interview here.
I also created a MySpace profile after being bombarded with requests. Add me if you love me. www.myspace.com/bryanboy.
(BRB – I gotta take a poo)
Back. Not a lot in there.
Say hi to my friends at the LunchBox. Apparently, I’m the talk of the town where people with eating disorders gather around in a circle and purge their soggy biscuits in a synchronized orgy. Some bimbo pretended to buy an LV bag and used my photos on there. One of the members had impressive 007 skills and found her way to my blog. Hilarious.
Click here for the discussion thread. Registration required to read the spectacle. I love fat fans. These bitches are lucky. For years I’ve *forced* myself to develop an eating disorder but I simply can’t resist food. One day when I lose my anorexic-wannabe figure, you’ll find me in that place.
Thought I’d mention, my fat ass just finished an entire bowl of microwaved pasta and a can of coke. Insomniac/drug addict food. I really should switch to rabbit food soon. Less calories, less trips to the magic white bowl that flushes.
I’m off to see my doctor later this morning. I stopped taking my bronchitis meds cause they gave me palpitations. Even 2 grams of cocaine don’t do me shit as far as I remember. But these meds, I’m telling you, it feels like as if I’ve got some tribal drumbeaters shoved deep in my chest.
I haven’t stopped smoking. I’ve cut back though. Down to half a pack per day. Except on weekends. Hah. In fact, I haven’t smoked a cigarette from 2PM on Saturday until I got up yesterday.
Speaking of vices, I thought I’d share an old story from the Bryanboy Life Archives. I still haven’t disposed these cock drugs so if you know anyone whose got a problem getting their pecker up, let me know.
A few months ago, while hopping from one drugstore to another to get Seroxat & Xanax to no avail (it’s pretty much out of stock everywhere. too many insane people in this city I guess), I came across a newly-opened pharmacy in town who was willing to dispense pretty much anything they have – I was able to get a month’s supply of Seroxat without prescription despite leaving mine at home. All it took was me filling out this form asking for my shrink’s name, phone number and hospital. I happily obliged.
Once I had my insanity pills in my hand, I suddenly got an orgasm: my pill-buying experience was effortless! If you do the math correctly, why not, you know, buy other pills… I then had a *good* panic attack. Ok. Which ones should I buy?
I quickly channeled my inner Pete Doherty-slash-Internet Geek and immediately thought of the tens thousands of spam I get in my email accounts on a daily basis. I mean, surely if they promote it by spam, it must be good — too good to be true.
It took me about a minute to think of what I’m gonna get. Being the novice at prescriptions, trust me darling, I’ve only done streetwear for years, I somewhat had a hard time calculating — don’t blame me, I only have 2 brain cells.
Ambien? sleeping aid. No.
Phentermine? diet pills. No.
Oxycontin? narcotics anonymous pain killers. No.
Viagra? cock drug. I still have the libido of a 16 year old, thank you very much. But still, I’m a botom bitch, so even if I had a 26-inch hard, throbbing cock, it would be useless cause I take it up the shithole. Well, after my SSRIs, that’s a different story, anyway, so, no, mot definitely Not.
And then it suddenly occured to me — Cialis.
That’s right. What the hell is Cialis? I mean,
it starts with the letter C, like Chanel, so
surely it can’t be that bad, right?
I sashayed my way back to the counter, flashing the counter girl with my biggest smile, giving her high voltage "I always get what I want" attitude and told her I want 10 pills of Cialis.
That’s right. 10 pills. Surely it can’t be that bad and I could easily dispose it if I didn’t want it in the first place.
A couple of seconds later, she came back with 8 pills. Unfortunately they were out of stock. I paid her in cash, about US$110 for all 8 pills.
Like a fashion victim coming out of an
Hermes store, I quickly opened one of
the boxes when I got inside the car and
then reality hit me. Not in my buttocks.
But in my balls.
One look at the insert and at the back of the box and it said "Indication: Treatment of Erectile Dysfunction".
My god — I bet everyone at the pharmacy were laughing their asses off as soon as I got out of the store.
I swear to god, never again I’ll go to that pharmacy. I don’t have the face to show after this whole hoola baloo.
And never again I’ll touch prescription. Like what I said before, sober is the best way to go.
And vodka red bulls.
Memories eh? They’re nice to have.
Lesson learned: don’t buy drugs if you don’t
know what they are.
I had to learn it the
hard blonde way.
So again, if you know anyone who needs this cock drug, let me know.
BTW, here are more pics of my new Balenciaga bag as requested by one of my readers. I added a watermark so those bitches can’t use pics and pretend they bought shit. As my friend Gian said, we can smell poverty from afar.
Enjoy! I’ll use my bag later when I go to my pulmonologist.
P.S. Infatuation should be removed in the dictionary. You’re in, you’re fat, you’re uation, which is a shortcut for ovulation. In other words, infatuation SUCKS.
P.P.S.S. I like you. No matter what they say.
P.P.P.S.S.S. Speaking of like, when are you getting me a 26-karat ring ala Paris Squared? It doesn’t have to be a diamond you know, you can start with Cubic Zirconia. That’s fine coz we all know diamonds don’t last forever. CZs on the other hand lasts as long as we both enjoy. At least they’re disposable. You know who you are.
P.P.P.P.S.S.S.S. For the love of god already, please email me and tell me you love me. firstname.lastname@example.org. Text messages/SMS can be sent to +63-915-785-1492.
It’ Sunday, early early morning and I just got up about an hour ago. I pretty much spent my entire Saturday, sleeping. Entire day gone to waste. I got home at around 1 or 2PM yesterday. I can’t for the life of god, exactly remember as I didn’t pay attention to the time. Anyhoo, I’m feasting on a bar of cadbury dairy milk because I have a sugar craving. No wonder I’m getting fat.
Onto the juicy bits, shall we?
My designer buddy Gian and I checked in at Linden Suites on Friday afternoon because it was the same day as his overhyped/well-promoted/much anticipated fashion show.
That’s a Gian Romano tank top I’m wearing ova there, paired off with gray Neil Barrett jeans and a Dior Homme jacket. Anyway, Gian’s been working on his collection for god, 4-5 months, after he did his internship with As Four in NYC.
To be honest, I haven’t had the chance to take photos of the clothes/models on the runway because everything was sooo fast. I thought the menswear bit are much much better, and stronger than the womenswear, particularly the jackets. My favourite piece has got to be this black women’s biker-type jacket etc. It’s got such good construction and tailoring.
I saw some of my old-time, the usual, model friends (Razel, Ria, Amy) backstage:
I’ll probably post pictures of the collection once it’s out on the papers. Overall I think it was a hit. Congrats Gian for the good work – I hope everything sells out so you’ll have the dough for our little trip this fall. ;)
After the show, we all went back to the hotel to chill-out, change outfits and relax. We went to Cafeteria for a quick meal before going to Embassy, ugh, as usual. Everyone, for some reason, ends up at Embassy one way or another.
Saw quite a few familiar faces and a couple of new ones. It’s all good. I even had a girl come up to me telling me she reads my blog; I thought that was sweet. I was sooo drunk (and well, whatever) that night nothing registers on my mind anymore. But yes, I thought you were fun — so please, when you can, email me to say hi. ;)
There was even this really really cute short midget-type guy who was behind me in the queue on the toilets. I forgot his name. I thought he had nice teeth.
And I thought he was sweet because after using the toilets, he came up to me to hand back some rolled paper note I left at the toilet. Not that it mattered anyway, it was less than $2! LOL.
And then there’s this couple, Victor and Jenn. Victor is one of those male models that Gian used for the show. That’s right my friends, "male model".
I’m probably gonna get flack for this but seriously, what is the first thing that comes to your mind whenever you hear the term "male model"? In my case it’s not even zoolander.
It’s like whenever I hear that term, I get instant
hallucinations… visions… mental images of tall,
gigantic steroid-taking, gym-bunnying, rock-hard
abs, ogres who take off (and of course, wear)
their clothes, all in the name of "male beauty",
a concept that I kind of don’t understand.
I’m sure you all know the stereotypes — the ones who would use their bodies to befriend, blackmail and sleep with any faggot booking agent, designer, scout, photographer, PR person, society matron, industry fanatics, whatever, just to get some work. And since their careers don’t last too long, they all end up being hiv-infected prostitutes, waiters, failed actors, or worse, porn stars.
I dunno. I just find them kind of intimidating in a way. Big bodies and all. Ugh! Or maybe I’m just used to hanging out and seeing girl models. Either way, whatever. It’s just me being judgmental.
But Victor and his girlfriend were nice. We had small chats here and there and Victor was kind of suggesting that I get a hobby of some sort. Well, my blog is my hobby and I kinda like to shop. Does that count? Hahaha. I didn’t know how to answer that one to be honest.
And fuck the gym. Oh yes, fuck the gym.
I kinda had a fight with Gian because I was too fucked up in the hotel. He wanted to sleep that bad (after clubbing/nose powdering) but being the insomniac that I am, I stayed up all day packing my stuff and being all noisy etc.
And then there was the little drama with Razel. Oh well.
Anyhoo, my driver arrived late, something like 12 or whatever at the hotel, then we dropped Gian off at home, then went all the way down south to drop Jenn and Victor home. Had another trip at McDonald’s — simply couldn’t resist having a nice, good ol Big Mac after all that crap.
I hope I’ll patch things up with Gian. Soon. Otherwise, I’ll just confine to my newly purchased Balenciaga bag for now — Michael Salientes, you are **such** a bad influence.
Baboosh for now.