Some early morning babble here. I’m having another costochondritis attack and my ribs are aching – there’s no better way to wait for the xanax to kick such as posting here.
If I’m not mistaken, sending unsolicited faxes, like spam, to random fax numbers/companies is illegal in the USA.
But I’m in the third world so that gives me
international & diplomatic immunity.
So here’s what I did earlier.
I searched on goodolgoogle for some random fax numbers of some publishers and literary agents – Simon & Schuster, IMG (yes, they do literary arts too, but heck, I want to be a superdupersuperdupersupermodel), Time Warner, Random House, etc. Once I had that list, I blasted their faxes with a simple, 1-page fax. Here’s a copy of the PDF file that I faxed and here’s a little graphic of what the fax looked like.
Seriously, I think it would be a fantastic thing for me to have my own coffee table book with all my pictures on it and my tales and my squabbles. It would be a very nice thing to have on each and every table or desk in the whole wide world. Your visiting guests will love you better than the stack of JC Penney or Victoria’s Secret catalog or whatever that you’ve got under your sofa.
Anyway, I could’ve selected a better-looking picture of me but I decided to be sedated. I mean, fuck it – it was around 4:30AM when I did the thing. Besides, I don’t want them to have some culture shock.
Hopefully by tomorrow, the lucky recipients of
my magic fax (otherwise known as gossipping
watercooler receptiobitches) will pass along my
domain name thru intraoffice gossip, post-it notes,
word of mouth etc.
Who knows, I might be set for global domination – KNOCK KNOCK CLICHE – a coffee table book, a clothing line, fragrance and then hollywood!
All it requires is a thick face darling. And there’s no other face thicker in this planet than mine.
People often think on how I have this so-called "glamorous" and "expensive" life. I don’t. I’m also just a middle class twit (honest!) who loves everything ghetto, what’s that term, ghetto fabulouzzzzz.
Like normal commoners and mere mortals such as yourself, I, too, have this thing about McDonalds. I’m actually worse than a pregnant bitch when I get these food cravings. One day I’ll crave for true, hard-to-find Indian food, the next day I’ll crave for a calorie fuck-my-body-with-lard fest at McD’s.
Meet my "Big Breakfast" — an assortment of
cardboard pieces deep fried in oil, lard, and anal
lubricant of all sorts.
Since I were having my facial at my aesthetician today, my sister and I decided to pop by at McDonald’s before hand. Yes — I do like McDonald’s even after years of bitching on how I don’t do McD’s. I mean, the last time I had McDonald’s was something around either earlier this year, or last year. I can’t remember. It’s not often though.
Curious what goes on behind the doors of my aesthetician’s + dermatologist’s office? Here’s me having my usual glycopeel cleaning/extraction facial sessions. I do these either on a weekly basis (if my skin is crap) or bi-weekly if god loves me. I just have to have to have to have to do these regularly so I won’t get a zit etc.
You know how bad a single zit can be for your
self-esteem. It’s pretty much social suicide.
So why risk it when prevention is better
Here’s the fun part after all the extraction work etc. I don’t know what they call it but this is supposed to help close down your pores. Take note how red my face is afterwards — my aesthetician removed white heads etc. It’s facial abuse at it’s finest. But hey, 6 hours of a red face is worth a week or two weeks of flawless, beautiful skin. Try it! Get an extraction facial today and see what happens. :)
Wanna take a peek at the usual day at the clinic? It’s full of MatronAirs at their full force.
All I can say, I don’t care about you all cause I’m a pretty little thing and I loves it.
P.S. I’m 1-month overdue to see my shrink. I was supposed to see him back on June 15… I think I’ll see him sometime this week. *fingers crossed*. I’ve run out of Xanax and god knows when my next anxiety attack wil strike. I’m scared!
I got a couple of emails from y’all about that picture of me with really thin arms. Yeah, I noticed that too. I actually kinda like it. Now I know which angle to use to achieve that skeletal arms effect. Hahahaha! *kidding*. Nah, I thought that was really skinny looking.
I don’t think I’m *that* skinny. I mean, yes, I am skinny, fine, there’s no need to propel anorexia by saying "I’m fat", but personally, I think my body is normal and healthy for any 5’9/5’10, 23 year old boy. I mean, I weighed myself earlier today and I’m like (shock-horror) 124 lbs. I’m 14 pounds overweight. I’ve got man tits and love handles for god’s sake. I think those 2 are the 14 pounds I needed to shed. Oh and my bingo wings, too.
Warning: you are about to see me reeking of
masculinity and testosterone. I recommend that
you scroll down as fast as you can or get those
vomit bags ready.
Hilarious, isn’t it? I’ve never done sleaze before and I thought this is funny.
Sucky sucky 5 dolla, me love you long time 10
dolla, you pay 20 dolla I gib free roast duck!
Eeeeeew. God I look like a fucking $5 prostitute on those photos.
Do I officially look like a boy now?
Awful eh? Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!
Remind me not to do porn.
Nobody will ever buy porn with me on it.
It will be a major flop. I think I’m better off being the little vain fairy that I am with the side job as a fluffer – I’m good behind the scenes. I give very good blowjobs, afterall.
I confess — I’ve been chit chatting to sexually-confused, underaged, jail magnets these days. God I’m such a pedophile.
Meet Mr. Leon Grant Bussinger of www.grantb88.com.
Grant is a 17 year old hardcore republican proud WASP from the swamps of Tampa, Florida. You should’ve seen his reaction and his balls when I told him he looked Jewish and how can he be a WASP when both of his names are blacker than
Naomi Campbell, Iman, Michael Jordan, Lil Kim.
He’s such a darling. We talked on the phone sometime last week for 3 whole hours with him saying "Oh my god" for at least 300 times per hour.
He also claims he’s straight however, my ever reliable gaydar says he’s lying. I mean, come on, what kind of straight 17 year old reads GQ, wants to study acting in Julliard (sp?), currently a waiter at Shake and Bake (knock-knock-cliche, we all know about waiters who want to be actors but end up being drug addicts and prostitutes), wants Prada, knows ton about fashion, hangs out with a ton of girls (fag hags), whines, whinges and complains about everything in the world whenever the opportunity arrives?
EVERYBODY TELL HIM HE’S IN DENIAL. D-E-N-I-A-L DENIAL!
THE WALK IN WARDROBE IS SO MUCH
BETTER THAN THE FUCKING CLOSET!
TALK ABOUT SUFFOCATION. YA NEED
SPACE FOR YER HANDBAGS SWEETHEART
Remember: teenage angst is your one-way
ticket to enchanted fagdom!
Anyway, I’ll leave it up to you to decide whether or not Grant is a breeder or a fag. I say FAG!
Regardless of his sexuality, I think he’s a really nice guy and I’m glad that we talked. If only he’s legal… and if only miscegenation is acceptable, I wouldn’t mind him being the father of my first child.
Think about it: mixed raced babies are the Chanel of babies. And there’s no other baby that I want coming from that of a **GAY** republican. Ok, maybe not Ed Schrock’s. EEEW. Nasty eh?
I love you all!
P.S. www.bryanboy.com is now live!
What a fun weekend it was. Let the pictures say it all.
On Saturday, I finally had the chance to u-haul my fat ass to my friend Tina’s apartment. I was bored and thought I’d hang out with some of my friends before going clubbing. As you know, my friend Tina is a local designer – and since I was kinda bored at the time, I went to one of the rooms and found a really nice dress. To shock everyone (well, nothing shocks my friends anymore. hahaha), I decided to wear the dress.
There has been that disgusting drag-wannabe picture of me on those blue tights scattered around the internet. But this one really bites the cake. Meet my 2nd official attempt in drag. LOL.
My arms are sooo fat thought. Actually, erase that. I’m SOOOO FAT!!!!! I need a couple more lipodissolve sessions. Ugh!
Both Lindsay Lohan and moi love Gaultier tank tops
After Tina’s place, we all had dinner, Japanese, at Zen, then went off to Club Embassy, as usual.
Sorry if I haven’t updated my blog in the past few days. Been slacking the past few days because of my meds. Ugh! And I still have cough. Terrible.
I’ll keep you posted in a bit. I’ve slept the entire Sunday off and it’s like 1:11AM in the morning. I need to gather my thoughts and my act together.
Love you all!!!
Good morning bitches! It’s 4:41AM on a Monday and I just got up.
I’ve been out since Friday afternoon, playing Little Miss Tour Guide to the recepient of the International Award for the Longest Gay Long Distance Relationship Ever.
How did I do? I sucked. Not literally, of course. I’m not a slut.
I failed to show them around places because there’s just absolutely no time… and I don’t know of any places to show them to. I’m a boring old fat hermit who has a sheltered life. If my memory serves me right, I brought them to 3 malls, my favourite cafe, a museum, an oyster bar, a Filipino restaurant, a club, a cafeteria restaurant and then a quickie drive to the railroad slums.
How generic. How boring eh? Well, I hope they did have fun though, in a way. I’m just bad at this "show me your city" thing because I’m clueless. If they had more time, we could’ve explored the city further.
The only thing that I can wish for at this point is that I hope they had a good impression of Manila and not think of it as a crappy third world place with nothing to do etc — which it is, in a way. LOL.
All of that aside, I had a little realization.
It absolutely sucks being around with a fucking couple. It’s the worst feeling in the world. If you could only see them the past weekend when we went shopping, They were just absolutely sweet.
It’s not just that — it’s the priceless bond that they have between them. The fact how they know each other well, how they accept and understand each other, blah blah blah. What a lucky couple. They’re very nice folks so I guess they deserve each other.
What about me though? How come I don’t get any offers?
And there I was, thinking, fucking hell, how come I don’t have a boyfriend after all these miserable years. Am I ugly? Am I undesirable? Am I really that complicated?
Fuck, do I have to sell myself and be a bloody prostitute and force-feed my customers with Rohypnol or any of those date rape pills and make them fall in love with me?
Or am I destined to be lonely forever?
Well, only time can tell. But at this point, all the roads lead to me being an old maid in the future.
Thank god for friends though. Oh yes, thank god for my friends force-feeding me vanilla ice cream on a cone to help me get past of those weird pangs of loneliness. And materialism. Temporary happiness can indeed be found by dropping by at the Louis Vuitton store. Hah! At least it’s better than sulking.
What an awful, awful day today was.
Don’t laugh – for some strange reason, God decided to punish me over the weekend for all the bad deeds I’ve done to mankind. He gave me a hideous zit on my left cheek. I don’t blame him though, I know I’ve been a really bad girl.
But come to think of it, he gave it to me right when I was suffering from a cough, colds and a chest infection/bronchitis.
Fuck it, it probably wasn’t even God. I bet it was Satan.
So off I went to my aesthetician first thing earlier in the morning. I had my zit injected, I also had an emergency extraction facial just to be sure I’m black/whitehead-free and I also had the usual microdermabrasion session. Gotta stay/gotta be flawless you know. I’ve got a gay couple flying in from Kuala Lumpur to visit Manila and I gotta play Little Miss Tour Guide, something I really despise because there’s absolutely nothing to do in Manila, not to mention the crap weather (heat and rain) and the lack of places to go to. I’ll probably just buy them dinner and a couple of drinks at some bar and let them explore on their own. I told one of the guys that I don’t go out during the day unless it’s life-threatening.
Anyway, my driver was off today so it was my fat bastard bitch of a sister who drove me to my aesthetician today. On our way back, I told her to stop on the road, in front of a shop, because I want to buy today’s newspapers. She stopped, I went out of the car and went inside the shop to buy newspapers.
I went out of the shop, not even 1 minute later, and she was NOWHERE to be seen.
I was standing there, on the road under the blistering heat, wearing nothing but a sweaty white t-shirt, gray tracksuit pants, white trainers and black chanel sunglasses. It was hot as in hotter than hell. I just had a facial done so my face is all red, I don’t have a cellphone, my handbag or even extra cash with me. Nothing. I felt absolutely naked. I was my "crash moment" (love that new term, thanks Oprah and thanks Hermes). I was so vulnerable that you can sing Mary had a little lamb in front of me and I’ll just die right then and there.
I went back to the shop and asked the lady whether she can send my sister a text message or not. Thank god she was nice. My sister replied back, saying that she’s about 150 meters away from me, all I had to do was to walk straight (it’s just 1 long, main road). Apparently she had to park there otherwise, she’ll block traffic on the road.
That’s fucking bullshit. Bullshit bullshit bullshit.
Guess what I did? Guess what I fucking did?
I HAD TO FUCKING WALK 150 METERS,
IN MY CURRENT STATE OF
VULNERABILITY, WITHOUT A PHONE,
WITHOUT A HANDBAG, WEARING
SKANKY CLOTHES, MY FACE IS ALL
RED, I’M TIRED, THEN ADD THE
NAUSEOUS HEAT. MY SISTER IS A
CRAZY DERANGED BASTARD.
There’s only one thing in this world that you can do to seriously piss me off.
If you want, you can go ahead and steal my handbag, steal my credit cards, my phone, my money, my wallet, my drugs, you can get me fat, make me step on dog’s poo, make me touch some animal’s genitalia, make me eat animal internal organs, heck, you can even rape me, sexually abuse me, molest me, give me a sexually-transmitted disease, mutiliate me, castrate me, whatever.
Do anything you want to do to me and I won’t complain.
As long as you don’t make me WAIT or WALK.
Don’t get me wrong. I do walk. But with the following stipulations:
a) only in temperatures of 65 degrees F (or 18 Celsius) or colder unless I’m on vacation;
b) only if I’m fully dressed up, lip gloss required
c) only if it’s 10-15 meters or less.
The most I’ll walk at any given time is 50 meters and I have to have nice music blaring on my ipod or on the background.
But walking in crap clothes, in crappy hot weather, with a crappy face?
Come on, it’s just as bad as MURDER.
Oooooo my blood boiled earlier, I wanted to strangle my fat cow bitch of a sister.
If only my mum’s cousin didn’t arrive when we got back, she’s probably in the funeral home by now, getting her makeup done.
Let me introduce you to Napoleon High School Seniors 2004.
I’m still sick. My fever’s gone down but I still have that awful, awful cough and chest infection. God knows when it’s gonna clear up. I wish I’ve got SARS so I can like infect each and everyone of you.
Can you imagine, I’ve been cigarette-free for the past 28 hours, to be exact? I have a ton of Marlboro Reds here – oh the temptation of just lighting one then huff and puff galore. But no. I’m determined to just follow my meds and get my cough sorted out.
I’ve been thinking, if I were to go to a yank high school on Monday, where would I belong?
Preppy? Oh fuck no. I am so not clean-cut.
Geeks? Say what now?
Goths? Marilyn Manson is so dark ages ago. I think goths evolved into candy kids whatever, non? I’m so outdated with youth culture.
Jocks? Ha ha. Like I would play any sport. Very funny though.
Go on then. Where would you classify me? Definitely not the PTA. And please don’t say the Gay-Straight Alliance.
I am so gay that even gay guys are scared of me. Which is strange cause I’m not even gay. I’m bisexual.
Enough brain farting for me. I’m off to have my lunch.
Love you lots. Toodles!
This is the Damsel in Distress calling.
After this post, I expect to be sent a couple of thousand well-wishing notes, "hope you feel better soon" emails, and "I hope you die you ditzy, shallow bitch" memos, not to mention a ton of flowers, balloons and fruit baskets — no chocolate please, they’re fattening and they give you pimples.
It’s 3:42AM, got up an hour ago and here I am, sweating like a pig. I think it’s because of my meds. I got really sick Friday night/Saturday morning to the point where I had a doctor come up to see me in my room and inject some meds to make my 103.1 degree Fahrenheit (that’s 39.5 Celsius) go down.
Apparently I’ve got fever, sore throat, dry cough and a chest infection of some sort. The doctor prescribed me some cough syrup (Robitussin-DM), Augmentin, which is an antibiotic, Extra Strength Sinutab, and some paracetamol.
Thanks to my meds, I got diarrhea too.
But you know what, I love diarrhea.
I mean, I love having diarrhea, but I don’t love diarrhea as in I’ve got a liquid poo fetish. There are some sickos out there. You know what I mean.
A couple of years ago, I read somewhere that diarrhea can cause dehydration. Surely dehydration can’t be that bad cause like it drains water from your body, which is a good thing – some people get fat from water retention, right?
If I were to do an equation:
Diarrhea = Dehydration = Loss of Water
Loss of Water = Weight Loss
Weight Loss = Nice thing
I mean, one can never lose too much weight, right? Unless you’re anorexic.
Armed with a couple of paracetamol tablets in my handbag, I went to the Preview Magazine party on Friday night. Yes, with fever. Yes, despite the doctor telling me Friday afternoon that I shouldn’t take alcohol and I shouldn’t smoke. But fuck it, you only live once eh? And you know what they say about bad grass. Bad grass never die.
Tons of people at the Preview party on Friday night even if It rained sooo hard. While most complied to the "Modern Indigenous" dress code, some went way, way, overboard with the theme, especially a ton of faggots who end up looking "Mother Indigenous" instead of "Modern Indigenous".
But yes, I settled for plain black and plain Gucci yesterday in addition to a belt that I bought in the last minute. And boy do I look, well, rather large! If you’re fat in Gucci, you’re fat everywhere else!
So yes – prime proof that you can have fun despite being sick.
I got back at around 5AM on Saturday morning and that’s when the doctor injected me some paracetamol. My fever went down and I went to sleep.
The fun didn’t stop there though.
Despite having fever, hideous clear sunglasses (big mistake — but hey, you learn from mistakes eh?), a bad hair day, I took a quick stroll at the park with my sister and her friends and had lunch at our favourite weekend haunt, M Cafe. We also went to the cinema and I finally saw "Monster-in-Law" starring no other than fat-arsed J.Lo and J. Fo (so that’s the Jane Fonda person.). I love the film. You know how I like chick-flicks… and cute guys in chick-flicks. This Michael Vartan person yeah, I think he’s hot. If you know guys who are like that, please send them my way, thank you.
So here I am, suffering the consequences. I’ll get better though. I know I’ll get better. If I don’t, here’s a note to my lawyers: my clothing collection should be sold at Sotheby’s, my handbag collection goes to my sisters, my internal organs are to be donated to those who need them and please make sure I get a manicure, pedicure and armpit waxing from Tips N’ Toes before I get cremated.
It’s 4:46AM and I’ll go back to bed. Good night.
Yesterday afternoon, Thursday, I decided to do some last minute shopping because I still do not have an outfit for the "Preview Magazine" party tonight. As I’ve said previously, the dress code is supposed to be "Modern Indigenous" but I simply cannot find anything "Indigenous" at the stores.
But then again, the only stores I went to earlier were Vuitton, Gucci, Prada then Yves Saint Laurent.
I went to Gucci and bought a couple of things:
1) Black sneakers with leather and velcro straps
2) Black acetate/nylon pants; extremely fitted on the thighs and lower leg.
3) Black cotton long-sleeve top
4) Blue and brown bag
5) Limited-edition bag with studs
I figured later tonight, I’ll probably wear:
1) Dior Homme fitted jacket
2) Gucci black pants
3) Gucci black long-sleeve cotton top
4) Louis Vuitton Limited Edition Mink and alligator bag from last fall that I got at the Louis Vuitton Private Shoppers’ Night last week.
Shopping aside, I went to my cousin Donna’s little fundraising night called "Fly me to Vienna". It’s a 2-hour mini event to benefit independent Filipino artists and contemporary dancers.
I have to admit I’m not a "contemporary dance" person. I’m more of a "shove-cocaine-up-your-nostrils-and-dance-like-a-madman" person. I’m kidding — I’m sober as fuck.
I’m going to my best friend Tina’s house at around lunch time. I need to get a manicure done too. One of my friends will be doing my hair — I need a haircut badly.
Hopefully if there’s still enough time, I’ll probably go shopping for a nice, chunky neckpiece to match the outfit; if I found one I’ll ditch the Dior Homme jacket.
By the way, Rea, the local Brand Manager for Louis Vuitton told me yesterday she’ll email me some pictures from the LV Party last week. Apparently they’re gonna show up in Philippine Tatler. She’ll tell me when. I’m scared!
You know what they say about Tatler magazine – it’s social suicide to get your picture published there.
It means you’re a MatronAir or a senior
citizen publicizing your wrinkles, liver
spots and "wattles", clinging on to dear
god and botox before you go 6 feet
under the ground.
It’s 6:53AM and I’m off to bed. I got infected with a sore throat, cough and phlegm yesterday thanks to my dad. Hopefully I won’t develop a fever in the next 24 hours.
I’ll update later. Wish me luck!