- Fashion Blogger
8:56 pm

It’s the best week ever! I’ll let you in on a little secret.

21/06/2005, Press Coverage

It’s the best week ever ever ever ever ever ever everrrrrrrrrr!

My supercalifragisocialclimbing skills have paid off and I made my first step in mainstream youth, or should I say, stale20and30somethings culture: exposure at VH1. That’s right. I’ve got a little exposure at VH1′s Best Week Ever’s blog. Remember me, remember them, put em together, remember when!


Moving on, I thought I’d let you in on a little secret. I already shared this secret with some of my British fans on a different website but since you guys are more special and cultured compared to them (they’re all provincial British people who live in farms. trust me).

Anyway, on Saturday, my sisters and I had our weekly manicures, pedicures and back massages done at our local Tips & Toes Nail Bar.


I had a small discussion with them (plus a couple of my friends on the mobile phone) and I discovered that (in addition with 5 other people I know)

I’m not the only one who usually squats

on top of the toilet bowl to take a poop.

That’s right. When the dumping gets tough, the tough squats on top of the toilet bowl to take a poop. You know — I squat on top of the toilet bowl, like standing on it, feet on the rim and then squatting over the bowl, my arse delicately suspended in the air, I drop drop drop drop em like crazy.

Sitting down doesn’t work for me unless I’ve got diarrhea.

Apparently I’m not the only one who has this weird habit. There are 5 people I know locally. In fact, if I’m not mistaken, there are 1 or 2 of British gay boys who do this too, according to some of the responses I got in that forum.


Don’t get me wrong though. We, citizens of the Filipino kind, have the same kind of toilets Americans have. Except some of us have bidets etc. It’s not as if we have one of those "elephant-foot toilets" in Greece that I saw on TV or those "hole in the ground" things they have in Indonesia when I visited a friend’s house in Bali.


But yeah, in all seriousness, I like squatting on top of the toilet bowl. The entire pooping experience is effortless. You just squat there and off you abort the kids into the fishbowl. The pope will be very proud of you. Heck, even my cousin Donna does it. I think, to my knowledge, we’re the only ones in our clan who does it. Everyone else sits down with their feet on the ground.

Apparently this habit is good for the colon. Like that even matters when your colon gets pushed by several inches of penile meat anyway.

So what about you my darlings? Any other members of the squatting brigade? Go on. Don’t be shy. Admit it. If you haven’t squatted on top of the toilet bowl, give it a try and report your experience back to me. You’ll loves it.

Isn’t it the BEST WEEK EVER?

Remember me, remember them,

put em together, remember when!



10:01 pm

Protected: I know you missed me.

02/06/2005, Homecoming Queen

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11:42 pm

It’s Holy Week. Time for all the Satanic Souls to Come Out.

22/03/2005, Boracay

It’s Holy Week once again. Its that time of the year when good old Jesus gets crucifixed and die… and for all the evil souls to come out and party! And when it comes to partying, everyone satanic in this damn country, myself included, will have to do their annual pilgrimage to good old Boracay to get a week’s load of sea, sun, sand, sex, tan, booze, drugs, whatever. Afterall, it’s summer – it cannot get hotter than what it is now.

I’m telling you, the heat here is crazy. It really isn’t funny. When I came out of the airconditioned supermarket earlier to buy cigarettes, all it took was no more than a 30-second walk to the parking lot and I was covered with sweat.

I really despise sweating. It’s the worst feeling in

the world.

Imagine all those nasty beads of moisture dripping down your head to your neck… then your chest and your back gets soo sweaty your clothes start to cling to your body. It’s soo ghetto.

Thank god my armpits are dry. And thank god I wore black earlier. Hah.

If I wore pastel colours I’d be committing the dreaded cardinal sin of wearing sweat marks on my clothes. Tres disgusting!

It’s quite late here at night, roughly around 11:30, and I’m busy figuring out what to pack for my little 6-day trip. I’ll only carry 2 check-in bags this time, my Vuitton mini trunk/large suitcase and a large keepall bag.

Speaking of Vuitton, I popped into their store last week and bought the most amazing beach towel ever. I thought I’d replace my so overdone old Vuitton, Chanel and Hermes beach towels so I took a peek on their new stuff. When I first saw the towel near the shoes, oh my god, I fell in love with it.


I got a little boosting/persuasion because of the fact that the Manila store only got 2 of that towel for this season — one in blue and another one is maroon. That’s it, 2 towel — 2 pieces, 1 color each. There was a matching beach bag with blue braided handles and gold bits/edges here and there but I thought it was too big of a beach bag. I thought the towel wasn’t that bad at all, around US$1,100. It’s soo soft and lightweight! The Hermes towels that I’ve been using forever were quite rough on the body and I hated it when I go to the sea and then lie down on the towel extremely wet. I end up having mini thread bits attach to me because of the Hermes fabric.


The new Vuitton towel however is a sure winner. I can just imagine it, think of the backdrop… crystal clear blue waters, blue sky, coconut trees, sun shining hard at 2 in the afternoon, the softest whitest sand you can think of (well, Amanpulo is better)… and then there’s good ol fat me on a little bathing suit, big black Valentino sunglasses, tanning my fat bottom and then add a touch of some bling bling action-figure accessories. And bam!

Gorgeous. Fucking Gorgeous. It’s bitch-eat-bitch

fest at the beach.

Anyway, it’s almost 12Midnight and I have to pack my stuff. Thought I’d drop by and say hi. I’m leaving the house at 4AM to go to the airport because my flight is at 7AM. Hopefully I’ll be on the island around 9. Early bird galore.

I’ll keep you posted regardless. Enjoy!

5:26 am

Happy birthday to me. Ladyboy attempt #310 – Result: failed.

21/03/2005, Life

Whip out those orange Hermes and brown Vuitton gift boxes because it’s my 18th (+5 don’t tell anyone) birthday today. It’s funny how I’m getting closer to being a stale 20-something yet I can still feel youth running in my veins.

I threw a small party on Saturday night with some of my closest local friends and it was alright. We had dinner at Cuisine restaurant and went to the vip area of this club "Embassy" for booze.


(That’s Gian, who works for the designers "As Four" in New York, my designer friend Tina, who, at 36 or something, looks fantastic — yes, she’s really that young — she even has an 8 year old son, and then moi)

Before the party, my sister and I checked in at the New World Renaissance hotel (who owes a MAJOR reno/overhaul) on Saturday afternoon. Although the hotel is crap, it’s centrally located, as in, no more than 10 meters from the shops. Figured it’s better to stay there rather than going home at 6 in the morning as a casualty.

To be honest, I almost had no outfit to wear. I ordered a few outfits from Kitson Los Angeles and D&G in the US but both packages got stuck in customs. I guess I’ll save those outfits for my holiday this week. I ended up spening the rest of the afternoon on Saturday looking around at the mall to find something to wear but I ended up buying accessories instead.

I mean, I can’t show up dressed like this:


I’m too fat to be wearing an outfit like that. Only real tall and skinny people can pull it off.

Oh the pleasure and the fun of borrowing your sister’s outfits and dressing up when no one in the general public is looking eh? When most of my peers have played dressed up with their mother’s clothes, pearls and make up, I’m telling you, I was deprived of such activity when I was a child. That’s alright though — it’s much fun doing it when you’re in your teens.

Anyway, I bought some sunglasses at Yves Saint Laurent, a couple of keychains from Prada (the airplane ones were cute, even bought one of the old robot charms), and a pair of green Juicy Couture tracksuit bottoms. I ended up wearing a generic white top with my Dior corduroys, Juicy Couture chain canteen bag and my Dior boots.


Apres-dinner, my friends and I went clubbing and it was fun. Spent a few hours dancing, even saw this young arabicishbutnotfullblownmosquegoingarabic guy who looked like Jason Biggs.

As I have mentioned to one of my friends that night, overall, although it was fun, it felt as if there’s something missing. To be honest, I don’t know what that is. Perhaps I had one of those birthday blues — the bitter realization that, not only we’re getting older, we also need some form of a direction where our lives are heading at.

Oh well. I had fun though.


After checking out of the hotel yesterday, the sisterette, moi and the sisterette’s friends had lunch at M Cafe beside Ayala Museum. Sisterette Grace and I had a small row because she stole some of my kimchi before I even tasted it.


11:55 pm

Protected: Attack of the freeloading golden-aged wrinkly vintage matrons!

09/03/2005, Uncategorized

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2:52 am

Protected: Talk is cheap, skype is free!

07/03/2005, Voice over IP

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9:03 pm

I’m alive!!! It’s a healthy bouncing boy! Hallelujah!

03/03/2005, Health

My nightmare is over. Well, the big one is definitely over. Anything beyond from this point are aftershocks.

I’ve been hiding a secret from y’all in the past few months. I don’t think I’ve mentioned anything about my mini depression about getting an HIV test. I know, I know, we all have skeletons in the closet and boy I’m happy to share this cadaver with you.

On Monday after going to my orthopedic doctor and neurologist, I decided to just do it, once and for all.

Even the pope, may GOD indeed bless his body

and soul, thinks I’m a good girl simply because I’ve

abstained from sex in the past 4 months.

The results were due today and when I picked it up, voila – negative.


I also went back to Asian Hospital today to get my MRI scan done for my neck pains. The radiology room was utterly, utterly boring. One of the guys told me to change into the hospital gown before the procedure. There were only a handful of people there so my sis and I decided to spice things up a bit.


I pranced around the dressing room and the waiting area in this tacky hospital yellow dressing thing. My sis wanted to take pictures. Gawd I look so fat in it. Yellow is simply not my color. Especially not hospital yellow.


The MRI scan was so surreal.

I’m not claustrophobic or anything but when I went inside the big white machine, I felt like I was inside a coffin. Literally. During the process I heard all these Star Wars/Space Intergalactic Chu Chu noises prrt prrt prrt crrt crrrt crrrt brrrt brrt brrt tooot toot tooot toooooooo tut tut tooooo tooo. Am I still alive? Am I dead already? Where am I? Am I an alien? Oh my god am I breathing oxygen?


I got a copy of the films they used and I tried to scan it but it’s hard. Here’s a pic of my neck. On some of the films it had part of my skull in it and I’m surprised to find out that I actually have a brain!!! I swear to god I’ve always thought I only had 2 brain cells and air inside it so imagine the joy I had with my experience with human anatomy.


I’m human — yes — I’m human!!!!!!!

Saturday will be the day for my MRI results. In any case, I’m still the happiest girl in the world re: my HIV test.

Bad grass never die sweethearts. I was born to make all of your fucking lives a living hell.

Big kisses from me to you.

6:38 pm

You know you’ve evolved when…

01/03/2005, Life

Whether it’s a plant, an animal, a gorilla or a baboon, every breathing, living thing in this planet experience some form of change one way or another.

Some change for the better, some change for the worse.

In my case however, you’ll know I evolved for the better when I went from point A to point B effortlessly, with point A being dior lip gloss, a packet of charlie, some reductil diet pills and a pack of marlboro reds


and point B being dior’s new Dior Kiss lip gloss set, centrum multivitamins, arcoxia (etoricoxib) muscle relaxant/pain reliver for my back, lagaflex (carisoprodol paracetamol) pain reliever, and myonal (eperisone hydrochloride) muscle relaxant for neck pains.


At this point you’re probably thinking I stole my grandmother’s pill set to get a cheap high but no, after 2 weeks of procrastination, I finally got my ass to one of the top-notch hospitals (Asian Hospital) yesterday to consult with an orthopedic surgeon about my lower back pains and a neurologist for my neck pains.

I’ve had these pains for the past few months now after years of being in front of the damn computer all the time. I might have developed this weird twitch thing on my back.

Both consultations were kind of fun. However, it’s not as fun as the in-pronto head-to-toe-inspection by the Spanish unfashionable police I had. My orthopedic doctor was in his late 40′s (probably 50′s) and he was very comforting. I got the usual sermon on how I should stop or at least cut back smoking, take vitamins and calcium and do at least 30 minutes to an hour of exercise a day. I also had an on-the-spot inspection: he made me lie down and do all sorts of positions while he’s hitting certain parts of my body with this small, hammer-like tool. Bah!

The neurologist was quite ok, too. He’s around his 30′s, quite fit/muscular — you can tell it by the way the white coat fits on him. He’s not THAT good-looking but there’s something sexual about him.

He’s got this certain look in his eyes — he’s got

very big, round, dark eyes. God these dirty


He was very friendly and I think his eyes made me shut up/quiet for some reason. You just couldn’t help looking at him straight in the eye when he talks. He told me I need to get an MRI session on my neck/cervical spine and I’m doing that on Thursday.

God, what is happening to me? All these health issues aren’t funny. I really should get into a much healthier lifestyle.

In case you’ve wondered, my weekend was quite alright. We went out on Sunday night and had dinner at my favourite Korean restaurant, also had a haircut at Franck Provost. Sister and I did a little bit of shopping, bought a couple of tops. Also went to the Dior cosmetics counter and purchased a new set of lip gloss.

DiorcrayonI saw this FUCKING AMAZING turqoise-like blue eye crayon thing at Dior and the damn thing was sold out. Who the hell would think blue eyeliner pencil would be popular in a fucking third world country. It’s always like that — whatever you think is nice is always sold out. Luckily it’s available in — I ordered 2 of those. I have to admit, I’m not really into makeup because it’s gay overkill (as if I’m not gay overkill already, ok, fine, I *do* use lip gloss and maybe, just maybe, some foundation if I’m having a bad case of greasy skin) but it’s only until recent I started being curious about it. The blue crayon is sooo fantastic — just put a line across your lower eyelid on your lower eyelashes and it looks hot and tres edgy!

By the way, I have a new crush. Sort of. God I love that word. "Crush". It’s soo teeny bopper but fuck it, crushes are nice to have. I like that mushy gushy feeling inside. It’s that thing of the past that I will never, ever, outgrow.

I went to my local patisserie (Bizu) to buy a box of their ultra yummy,




macaroons and there was this new guy working there.

Anyway, he does look like he’s FFTCDMWJ (fresh from the college doing minimum wage jobs) but he’s quite a looker. He’s a bit my height, looks very fit, and has a cute face. The only thing I didn’t like was his teeth. When I smiled at him when he gave me my order, his teeth was weird looking. I think he had a fang or something plus they’re just "right". It was freaky.

Honestly though, I wouldn’t mind having him if he kept his mouth closed. I’ve been single and been on the hunt forever simply because of the fact that cute, quality guys are so rare in this town.

Ha-fucking-ha. It could be that I temporarily had hallucinations and flashbacks when I first saw him hence the teeth trauma. In any case, my sister and I are going to go back tomorrow lunch to have a repeat performance/second look before we get our facials done.

Oh and he has a name. Mark, I think. I overheard one of the patisserie ladies calling him.

kiss kiss for now!


2:40 pm

Screw the gym. I’m having my own.

24/02/2005, Uncategorized

Let’s face it. There are only 2 types of places in this planet where a 400-pound man such as myself can turn into a beautiful, skinny, willowy swan. Either at your local liposuction clinic or the gym.

(ok, make that 3 places, cause you can snort cocaine in clubs and then dance the night away to burn calories. let’s forget drug abuse though. drugs are so… what’s a nice word… dark ages ago)

I once went to the gym for about 8 months, starting from January 2003. The one nearest my house was Fitness First – it was literally a 3 minute drive. Could be less, depending on how pomped up my driver was at the time.

I was one of the early birds. You’ll never see me at the gym after 11AM. For several months, I religiously went there from 6:00AM until 10:00AM. I abused all the cardio stuff I could possibly do — 30 minutes on the treadmill, a couple of minutes on the ellipticals, glides, blah blah, and a few minutes doing resistance.


I *never* did the weights because of personal insecurities and issues against the hordes of muscle maries lifting 50-pound weights. Why, why oh why oh why oh why should I, who, at that time, was 5-foot-9 weighing 100 pounds, subject myself to lifting weights, surrounded by steroid-injecting, drug-abusing, metabolism-obsessed, sweaty, bulging, muscular shitholes?

Deep down inside I have this nagging feeling that I’m gonna be the subject of ridicule and laughter for trying to lift a 5-pound dumb (yes) bell. So yes, I avoided the weights altogether.

I did go there one time and yes, a muscle mary bitch was even friendly to me and taught me how to do it right.

But no. I just don’t wanna go there.

In any case, I have to admit I enjoyed going to the gym. I had a little crush thing there who was quite alright. Every bloody day he was there, spent most of the time doing eye contact. It took us around 5 god damn months just to actually say hi to each other and in the end, I didn’t quite like him because he is a student. Icky eh?

Everything was fun up until the day where this

vicious, old-aged, vintage, fat, wrinkly  just-


waiting grandmother-type chit chatted to my mom

on the elliptical. 

The VO-AVFWJG had the fucking nerve to ask my mother "who is that faggot talking on his mobile phone on the treadmill? He’s been there for 30 minutes now and doesn’t he know mobile calls are expensive?"

To my mom’s amusement, she said "I don’t know".

Later that day, my mom told me about it and I asked her point blank why the hell she didn’t say anything about me being the result of her first fuck 18 (+4) years ago. She said she didn’t want to ruin the VO-AVFWJG’s moment.

Since then, I’ve never set foot to the gym because of embarassment. I enjoyed talking to my friends while I’m on the damn treadmill. Every day, I speed dial my friends and gossip. It was the only time for me to catch up with my friends from all corners of the planet. Early morning here, early evening in the US/late evening in Europe. Multi-task silvous plait. Burn calories and gossip at the same time — while being sober.

Fast forward 2 years later…

Earlier this morning when I got up, I noticed my love handles are getting bigger. Not that it’s new or anything. But this time, they’re really inflated. Somehow overnight, I got pregnant, gave birth and now I’ve got post-pregnancy fat.

One of my clients said he bought an elliptical trainer last week and he’s been enjoying it. Like myself, he works at home and going to the gym can be a pain sometimes. He does run every now and then — you know, run like running on the streets, something I could never, ever, ever be caught dead doing in public. He also said something about working out, blah blah bullshit.

I got inspired and thought, well, since I don’t want to go the gym, why not have my own mini-gym.

My mom mentioned she wants to buy a treadmill so we can all run while watching TV/doing rounds of phone gossip but she backed out because my dad said we’d eventually get sick of it… and they already go to the gym anyway.

Whatever. They need to sort out their issues. I’ve got my own.

I came across this website called and ordered 2 things — the Total Gym 1700 Club and the Ab Lounge Ultimate.

17totalgym250  Abloungeultimate_250

I know they’re just basic home devices whatever and nothing as sophisticated as real gym equipment but I’m worried about space etc. I got them at a bargain too, roughly around $540 for both. I’m having it sent to my office in the US who will then FedEx it to me.  I’d say about 3 weeks and I’ve got my own mini gym. Till then, all I can do is sit here and get myself as pregnant as possible.

Personally I have doubts with these "get-nice-abs-at-home" equipment but I thought I’d give it a try. I’ve never really met (or heard of) anyone who have used home equipment and gotten good results. Everyone got theirs at the gym.

God, I don’t even want a 6-pack. That’s just too… disgusting. So so outré. I want a flat, painfully small waist and long, skinny arms to match. Heck, all I want is a body of a skinny, pre-pubescent 11 year old boy. I want to be a pedophile magnet — at 22. Chicken at its finest. Looks can sometimes kill and if I had a body such as the one I just mentioned, all these dirty pedophile scumbags will die. Nya nyi nya nyi nya nya you can look but ya can’t have what you see you dirty old fart.

Enough fitness talk. I need a burger. A big, fat, juicy one.

8:28 pm

Paris Hilton’s Laptop Got Hacked!

22/02/2005, Corruption

Fucking hell. Get your cellphones and call Andy

Roddick and tell him how fucking hot he is!!!!!