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)
My gut tells me that it’s going to be a beautiful day today. I slept early last night to make sure I get out of bed by 6AM — I did.
And there’s no other way to start my day than getting email presents! Here’s a really nice illustration by Irene A. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you (from the nicotine-covered walls of my cardiac arteries to the bottom of cocaine residue covered aorta) for starting my day nice. It’s sooooo beautiful! It’s just as beautiful as I am – and let me tell you, I am so beautiful that if only I could make a clone of myself and fly to Canada or friggin Belgium to marry him, have sex, have 3 kids and a dog, I fucking will!
Bryanboy loves you, Irene.
I’ve got a ton of stuff to do today…
1) Go to Tina’s place for a fitting session for my outfit
2) Get a haircut and a manicure
3) Buy booze and drinks for tonight’s dinner party
4) Buy flowers, party favors (no, not THAT kind of party favors)
5) Go to the caterers by lunch time
6) Take a quick look at the mall for last minute shopping.
7) Go to the Shu Uemura event at around 3:30PM
8) Go to my dinner party
9) Go to La Embajada (again) or wherever the wind blows me tonight.
I’m a bit nervous on my little dinner party/Shu Uemura afterparty that I’m throwing tonight. I haven’t thrown a dinner party in a long time. I hope the people I invited show up and the people I didn’t invited, well, since Manila only has 4 walls, can understand why I didn’t invite them, because it’s really a small, "private" party, that sort of thing.
Alright, maybe there’s inter-friend politics involved but bah. Friend A and Friend K hates Friend D, that sort of thing. I can’t please everyone ya know.
And I most definitely don’t want to please
everyone. Why should I bear all the pains in
this world? It’s like blaming me for whatever it
is that you want to blame on me: third world debt,
poverty, war against terror, your cheating husband,
your kids being on drugs, you getting fat, etc.
Get a rampant rabbbit instead. Click here.
(Be sure to load your speakers’ volume up before ya click on that link)
The next time I throw a party it will celebrate "Bryanboy’s contribution to mankind" and I’ll invite everyone and I mean everyone, from New York to London and Reykjavik to Shanghai.
I’m gonna leave the house in about 1 hour so I’d better get going.
Don’t y’all hate morning breath? I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet!
And since it’s a Friday, I’ll use my "Weekend Going Out Coupon – valid 1 time use" today therefore I’ll be home tomorrow to share pictionary galore, random cheesemax and madness.
Email me whilst I’m gone – email@example.com.
Nice to see a sudden change of tone from THAT online forum’s vitriol infestation.
Call center life must be oh so boing-boing-boring. Go back to your little cubicles and drink motor oil. It’s good for you.
To be famous is so nice.
Suck my dick.
Lick my ass.
In limousines we have sex, every night with my famous friends.
Motherfuckers are so nice.
Suck my dick.
Lick my ass.
After coming home at 4AM earlier today, who knew I’d be getting up 5 hours later with a massive headache, only to find myself console on a hearty (fatty is more like it) breakfast?
My head hurts after yesterday’s debauchery. Yep. After all that vodka I had yesterday, I feel like there are a thousand cosmonauts dancing inside my head. I’ve officially broken my little cardinal rule of going out – which is NEVER TO GO OUT ON WEEKDAY NIGHTS.
For the past year or so, I’ve had control… I’ve always told myself that I’ll only go out (stay out all night) on a weekend, which is usually a Friday or Saturday night. If I’m going out on a weekday night, it must be in a non-club/bar environment. Until yesterday.
What started as a "last minute shopping/meeting" with my gal pal Tina Daniac ended up into a restaurant-hopping, vodka-and-Embajada-dancing charade with Gian.
I went out early in the afternoon to meet up with Tina. I still don’t have an outfit for tomorrow’s Shu Uemura party and my little dinner thing. The invite says "Mysterious Glamour". I heard some people are gonna show up ala those masquerade balls in Venice but who knows. What is Mysterious Glamour anyway?
I guess that’s the mystery of it. As long as there’s glamour, who cares about the rest? ;)
Chances are, everyone will friggin show up in black. No surprise in that.
Tina and I went to a fabric store (saw some great-looking fabrics) so she can have one of her sewing people do something for me and a friend, in the last minute.
I went to Gucci to take a peek at the fall/winter stuff. Most of them are CRAPOLA. Am I the only one who thinks their new fall bags (the ones I saw at the stores, particuarly the newish pattern) are icky?
I ended up buying a pair of jeans and a belt. One can never have too many jeans. I probably have more than 200 pairs of denim jeans in my wardrobe — no kidding — but I only use 4 or 5 (on rotation) at the most. It sucks!
I guess I’m a fucking hoarder, just like your grandmother.
Bah. Despite showering off the night away and taking one heck of a good poo as soon as I got home earlier this morning, my stomach is still churning all that food I ate yesterday: had friggin salad, oysters, scallops, and some roast beef-thingie at Pepato at around 5PM followed by a ton of spring rolls, chicken satay, tom yam soup at People’s Palace a couple of hours later. I really do feel like a pregnant bitch.
If only I can stick my fingers up my throat I will – but I won’t. I probably have digested all that food to the point where puke won’t be coming out of my mouth if I purge.
Speaking of Gucci… UGH. Remind me NOT to go to back to the Manila store unless they clean up their fuckin act (bring in better pieces; bring in more ready to wear blah blah bullshit) together.
I thought I’d share a photo taken back in late December 2000 when me and my good friend Ariel Lozada went to Bali. I think I was 16 (+1) years old back then. It’s Gucci galore – bandana, glasses, shirt, everything. Gawd, go on… revel in that fugliness.
I miss those days when it was just plain ol’ AB FAB. Imagine going to the markets in Ubud (Bali) on a limo + 2 bottes of champagne at fuckin 10 in the morning.
I know, I know. if you live in the same third word cesspit called Metro Mania as I do, be sure to get your hairy ass to Manila DJ Club later tonight. Thursdays are Fluxxe days… tonight’s the 4th time they’re doing it. Print the flyer and bring it along with you.
Unfortunately, I won’t be able to go out tonight as I have mucho preparation to do for tomorrow’s dinner party.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
Jordan, Bryanboy loves you too, darlink.
Big shout out to people from Irkutsk, Russia, people from the Michigan (my aunt lives in Detroit btw) and folks from London, Ontario.
I’m sending out yet another message to last weekend’s he-knows-who-he-is closet case.
I saw you again last night.
This time with your fuckin boytoy.
Don’t underestimate my minions’ eavesdropping skills. Introducing your boylet as your "friend" to random strangers is vomit-inducing. If you keep on doing that every time you corrupt my visuals with your presence, I’ll have to pay a visit to the Betty Ford Clinic for bullemia. That’s right. Bull-e-mia. You’re a faggot. One heck of a fucking faggot. Now go get some cock shoved up your fuckin arse you nancy boy.
There’s no doubt that I’ll see you again soon.
And there’s no doubt I’ll bitch about you again soon.
Suck my dick.
Lick my ass.
Identify yourselves you fuckin cunts and email me. As always, firstname.lastname@example.org.
Chill, My Minions, Chill.
Grab some vodka and valiums. NOW!
Sorry for the lack of updates. I’ve been terribly busy the past few days, juggling my time between tasks, dealing with friends and caterers, healthcare, etc. I know there are some of you out there who check my site several times a day to get a fix for your fabulous addiction and there’s nothing worse that going back to what you were doing, empty-handed.
Bah! Let’s get down and dirty shall we…
Fancy a Game of Fencing?
I was checking some of my blog referrers earlier and I noticed people from this forum (you gotta love online discussion forums) called "Pinoy Exchange" are talking about my little McFatty ass. As always, I just LOVE and I mean LOVE some of these sanctimonious twats who spend their day drinking motor oil.
Click here to see the thread.
Gotta love the amount of self-righteousness that infest that place.
Breeding? Sorry bitches, I’m bent. And I’m anorexic. I’ll leave the chicken feed to the breeders.
Class? What’s that? Is this something you buy at… Walmart? I’m an out of school youth. At 18 (+5 don’t tell anyone) years old, you’re supposed to be out of the classroom… unlesss you’re into hanging out in the cafeteria, pedophilia or handing out cigarettes to minors.
Purge my dear readers, purge. Stick 3 fingers down your throats and purrrrrrrge.
Let’s go fencing sweethearts – use a sword, or in this case, your pen… and I’ll poke & pack all that fudge in your hairy buttocks using my Louis Vuitton umbrella.
Whoever said that the pen is mightier than the sword should lick my lipstick, get shot in the crotch and get dumped on the nearest freeway, bleeding to death like roadkill because it’s definitely something that can put any rain, sword… or any pen, whether it be BIC or Montblanc, to shame.
Monogram madness eh. It’s just like what, 1999? 2000? Despite what y’all think, logo-a-gogo will always be here to stay.
At least it ain’t some corporate logo ala "A-family-member-went-into-a-business-conference-and-all-I-got-is-this-lousy-mug/t-shirt/umbrella-promo" tripe stamped on my saber stick.
Finally. After all this time I was able to visit my shrink on Monday afternoon to get my prescriptions refilled. I had to go to a different hospital though because he’s in a different one during afternoons.
If ever you’re in the Philippines, please don’t, under any circumstances, go to Makati Medical Center.
Unless you have attention deficit disorder.
Thank god I’m healed from that dreaded disease.
Each god damn floor feels like its bloody basement (rumor has it that the basement of this hospital is pretty much a better version of the National Mental Health Center).
That hospital is just plain awful and fuckin crowded.
Especially the pharmacy section where I had to sit for OVER an hour just to buy my meds. The queue is horrendous – there’s no such thing as a queue jump and I had to sit beside really weird people who look as if I’m a walking cadaver. That’s what I felt on Monday afternoon – a cadaver, fresh from the morgue.
God I looked awful that day.
(I left my camera at home on Monday and had to take one of those mobile phone self-shots. Har har!)
If I got a dollar from each stare that I got, I’d be buying a new handbag.
I admit – I like it when people stare, it validates my existence (of course), but definitely not from hospital people.
Friday Fun in the Sandbox
This message goes out to people who know who they are… or who WILL know who they are.
(OK, perhaps to a few, very few, no more than 25, select people.)
Um, hi? hello? ;)
Be sure to reserve your early Friday night (yep, this week), after the Shu Uemura party.
Make me feel special and be sure to come. Please?
You’ll know what I’m talking about soon!
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
People from Pompano Beach, FL, Omaha, Nebraska, Scottsdale, AZ, people from Bonn, Germany and people who read the Manila Bulletin. Get down on your knees and hail to the Patron Saint of Materialism – that’s me.
Remember kids: don’t buy your Vuittons from eBay. But them at the stores!
Is it the rain or what? I don’t feel so inspired recently.
As always, identify yourselves and email me: email@example.com.
Screw the Beautiful People
You see them everywhere – malls, the streets, at the club, at events, sometimes, at restaurants. Everywhere. The ones that people admire and look up to. The ones plastered on the newspaper, magazines, the ones you see on the tv, movies, etc. Screw each and every one of them. Screw the beautiful people.
Because one day, oh yes and I fucking look forward to that day, their good looks will fade away and turn into one of these:
Post-mortem teenage angst over. Fuck I’m 18+ + + + + +.
I was spending some quality time in the sheer rurality of La Provincia Laguna with my liver-spotted, "I can still walk so please don’t put me on some chair with wheels DAMMIT" 80-something year old grandmother when my buddy Gian went into a text messaging fracas at 5:30PM on how:
1) I shoud call Emergency Services (as if there’s a thing such as "Emergency Services" in the third world… wishful thinking eh?) and get an ambulance to rush me home in the metro.
2) I should shower up and come up with a todo outfit. "Todo" in Filipino means
extreme, excess, fashion victim hideous, Bryanboy. If you’re a reader coming from the non-Filipino kind, you pronounce it like "to" in "tom" and "do" in "door". TODO.
3) I should drag my fresh-from-late-grandparental-lunch-obesitation fat ass to the NBC Tent in the big city by 7PM because I’m going to present an award at the "Super" event along with my friend Kiko Escora, to the "I Love You" girls.
Alright. Perhaps I exaggerated a bit. Sorry Gian. But seriously.
Rain, 2 hour traffic and all, not even Speedy Gonzalez or any Vuitton Speedy for that matter, can achieve all that in 1 hour and 30 minutes. The distance alone is just as far as New York to London on a Concorde. And we all know what happened to that 30 year old baby – they’ve put the darling of the skies to rest and off to the aerial maosoleums she lies back.
I ended up getting home at 7PM from my gran’s.
And rather than coming up (I think "going out" is more appropriate) with an outfit, I went out with a crappy T-shirt and some buttocks-DEFIED-by-gravity Neil Barrett jeans. Go ahead. Feel free to revel in my royal
highness hidee hideousity.
This is the byproduct when you’ve got a panic attack, an anxiety attack, lack of time and lack of xanax all in one go.
Yep, it’s those faux pearls again. It’s not even effortless chic. It’s effortless *burp* *burp* *fart* *fart* cheek.
I ended up at the Super Event 3 hours late, at 10PM.
Yep, the cheek of it all. My
Had to go with my gal pal Tina and Gareth (ShaolinTiger.com), who was spending his last night in Manila.
Saw quite the usual suspects, friends and acquaintances – prima facie evidence that the scene is just small – my good friend (whom I terribly miss and owe a lunch/dinner thingie) Ariel Lozada who just got back from Paris, Kiko, Tim Yap, Tesa and Carlos, Jun, Xeng Zulueta, Hannah, Mimi Samson, Jenna, Victor, Dennis, Charmaine, etc.
I met quite a few people at the event — I didn’t expect people to be reading my little corner of the dirty world wide web. It was quite overwhelming, yet fun! The ever so gracious Tim introduced me to a ton of folks, particularly to folks at the Inquirer.
BIG KISSES FROM ME TO YOU, THE INQUIRER PEOPLE
Click here for more pics at the Super Event.
It was a Super event indeed.
Names, Names, Names
It’s just as bad as labels, labels, labels. Bench, Penshoppe, Kamiseta. Calvin Klein, Tommy Hilfiger, Ralph Lauren. Oscar de la Renta, Marc Jacobs, Luca Luca. Paul Smith, Nicole Farhi, Clements Ribeiro. John Galliano, Alexander McQueen, Phoebe Philo. Cacharel, Lanvin, Balenciaga. Chanel, Fendi, Lagerfeld Gallery. D&G, Miu Miu, Versus (say what now). Valentino, Prada, Gucci. Dolce & Gabbana, Cavalli, Etro. Graff. Verdura. Garrard.
If you think I’m a superficial, materialistic, let-them-eat-cake cunt for playing the name drop shop till your head pops game galore, let me tell you that I’m even a complete sucker when it comes to remembering names.
I feel bad when people take the time and effort (hell yes) to introduce themselves (and other people) but when it gets done faster than the time it takes for your average coke whore snorting a bloody thick line, sometimes, just sometimes, I’d rather just freeze the moment, hand out candy and whip out my little red Smythson book to write down names.
So the next time I see you and vice-versa, please don’t be offended if I ask what’s your name again in the event that we say our next HIs and Hellos. Despite the fact that, chances are, we’ve probably seen each other many, many, many times.
Apres-Super, everyone went to Cuisine to have some drinks. I was starving that night but rather than having a full meal, it was encore un fois all over again. I have this thing about eating in front of a lot of people (mostly strangers) so rather than ordering proper food, I ended up having a ton of vodka red bulls and a small platter of foie gras. It’s just like at M Cafe on Friday.
Tina Tinio was in full force – I missed her tons after Monday’s dinner party.
Tim introduced me to Celine Lopez and Jenni Epperson (amazing gal), who were both fuckingtastic that night. Celine is genuine, warm and utterly, utterly friendly. Pretty pretty girls are pretty, pretty, girls!
Which reminds me, I’m definitely going back to my evian + raisins + xanax diet soon. Or else I’ll turn into a cow. Ugh.
Also saw Romeo Candido, the director who rescued me from my Friday boredom blues.
After Cuisine, we all went to Embassy as always. It’s Saturday, what do you expect?
I lost my Dior chronograph watch on Saturday night at La Embajada. I remember having it on my wrist when I was playing pictionary with the cameras. Then I ventured out of the vip area to dance and burn some major calorification and next thing you know, my watch has a new owner.
Whoever you are you thieving son of a bitch, send me a message with your mailing address. I’d be more than happy to send you the case, the box, the card sets and the guarantee card that comes along with it. I hope you enjoy your newfound piece like I did.
Overall I had fun.
Gian, Gareth and I left the club early in the morning and met a couple of students from Ethiopia on the parking lot.
After dropping Gareth off at his hotel, Gian and I went to Gian’s place then off to New World to check-in. After having breakfast, Gian fell asleep (yep, he snores like a pregnant bitch in labor). I tried to sleep but I can’t.
There’s something wrong and I couldn’t figure out what it is.
I decided to go home instead. I left at around 9:30AM, all by myself, and endured the 30 minute drive from Makati to my house. Same old, same old, D-word inducing drama on the way back.
Nothing and I mean NOTHING can absolutely beat that feeling.
Just imagine: you after a night’s worth of going out, alone on one side of the backseat, clothes all dirty and grimy, shivering from the cold car airconditioning, staring at the window as you get driven past the dirty, chaotic, industrial city that you live in, having all sorts of thoughts in your head — and the only thing that keeps you intact is a pair of huge, black designer sunglasses.
This sort of thing happens to me each and every weekend and frankly, the only thing worse than this is being on a subway in NYC/London/Paris at 9AM, going home drugfucked or after a booty call.
Thank god I had my last (and only) half of a rivotril tablet to put me to sleep.
V is for Victor
Right. I checked my phone right when I got up and there it was – remnants that I’ve been drunk dialing and drunk texting people again. UGH.
Even people as far as Denmark.
Sorry babes (you know who you are) for the whingeing texts I sent you.
Bryanboy, booze and any electronic device that will allow him to communicate to random strangers do not mix.
Anyway, Gian, apparently, is having Victor as his intern. He was looking for V at Embassy and he made me text him. I saw V’s blog the other day when I was blog hopping and he was at this modellaunch.com website. I was reading one of my sent messages and I texted the guy "I am so gonna put you on my blog 2 get more votes" or something like that.
And since you, my dear readers, love me (please say you do, bitches), can you all spare AND share the love and give the guy some votes at the modellaunch.com website. Even if you do hate me, regardless, please do vote for him and make me, your mommy, proud. Or at least rescue me from shame.
And if that’s not enough, here’s another one off his blog.
Satisfied now? Now go get that mouse to click this link and vote for him.
I haven’t voted for anyone yet cause I think the site requires registration — and you know where I stand on male models. I quite find them errm, I dunno. See my old post about MALE models.
And one website with hundreds, if not, thousands of them: cheekbones, steroid-injecting, gym bunny tall ogres and all… is… well… excruciating HELL for me.
Bryanboy Loves… and Random Cheesemax
Bryanboy loves people from Manila, Philippines (there, I finally said it), people from Reno, NV and people from Oklahoma City, OK.
#1 – Just because I’m bisexual it doesn’t mean my gaydar didn’t function on Sunday Morning. There you are in your full gay glory centre stage on your own – each and every move you make at 6 in the morning screams GAY GAY GAY GAY GAY to me. Well… and to 5 other people. It could be that or it could be the pills that you’ve been popping. Who knows. Whatever.
You know who you are and you don’t need a blindfold to pin the tail to the
I suggest that you buy the "Bryanboy’s Guide to Keeping it Straight" handbook if you want to keep things, well, straight. Otherwise, it’s bye bye career for you once people know that there’s a little Dorothy in her ruby red slippers hidden inside you. You could always become a chef if everything else fails. I know you’re no Ducasse but the rumor mill has it that you’re a good cook. No, not 2 eggs and a hotdog.
I love bagels, cream cheese, poached eggs and everything else that comes along with it. I’m anorexic.
Go on bitch, give me that "MAGNUM" look.
Cha-ching! There you have it!
#2 – I can’t believe I was within a 3-meter radius with a very dirty, very old man who gave some crybaby woman an STD; and this was well publicized! Fuck, I won’t even go into specifics. It will just unleash the lower middle class from within me. I’m supposed to be CLASSLESS.
#3 – Yep. That’s what I thought too, folks. He DOES look like a manwhore, especially with THAT top. (and no, this isn’t the man who gave some woman an STD).
Jesus, I’m starting to sound like a tabloid reporter now. Enough already!
I’m meeting up with someone from the Manila Bulletin Monday afternoon for an interview. I know – oh god!
As always, identify yourselves bitches, say Hi!, post comments or email me. firstname.lastname@example.org.
It’s 4:15AM now and I wanna go back to sleep.