"when the going gets tough, the couture gets going."

Ladies and gentlemen, fags and hags, ME.

I am a supermodel. I’m too sexy for your love. I’m too beautiful to even utter the word “ugly”. I am a narcissistic, condescending, self-centered bitch who’s so fabulous I even think it’s part of my DNA. I could be the line of demarcation between the haves and not haves. I speak English, Filipino, and two other regional dialects fluidly I could go and talk for days without water. I am a superficial, wretched, backstabbing monster you wished you never knew. I am so f*cking rich I own forty percent of Trump Holdings. Every time we meet for dinner I have caviar, crepes, and Fettucine in balsamic vinegar while Paris Hilton gorges on sizzling sisig, paella, and RC Cola. I am a nature lover I even water my Hibiscus plants with Evian, and as an animal lover I love furs and feathers—be it raccoon, brown bear fur, or ostrich feather, and I also dig ivory and cosmetics tested on animals. I am so unique I even had a cloned brother who is so gay he even sweats pink glitter, but he died of poisoning, he swallowed two of my three Chanel lip shimmers, and drank my Maybelline mascara fluid. I am Bryanboy’s lighter-than-evil imaginary and delusional twin sister, and I am a menace to our community. I live in a third world country where living life like a goddess, whipping beautiful boys, and shopping like there’s no tomorrow is a sin. I can’t even fathom why I mingle with some of the glamorous people that graced the earth when I’m one fourth-fairy, one-fourth-goddess, and half-humanoid who feed on Credit cards, profound thoughts, and Louis Vuittons. I could be the monstrous fag who can give you sleepless nights because once provoked—with some high-sugar soda, comfy flats, and an unlimited budget—I can shop till the shopping havens of the earth drop. Above all, I could be all this pretentious, pitiful bastard, but I can also be the simple little lamb Mary always had. Besides, after all the hustle and bustle of my amazing world are the judgment and thoughts I need to keep at the end of the day (I guess I can still have a relaxing foot scrub, another pair of fetish shoes, and a Starbucks Caramel Macchiato.) Fuck. Millions are starving on this earth and i'm still a fashionista. a hard-headed, cold-hearted bitch who can step on anyone on the way. Fuck. 2/25/2007

fucking fabulous

fucking fabulous
this is o fucking fabulous. the biggest LV on motherfucking earth!

The Great Grace Jones

The Great Grace Jones
holy mother of venus! the great grace jones! the statuesque, ethereal-voiced grace jones. another fucking fabulous favorite of mine, ya'll.. nothing beats a good rhythm than the Ms. Grace Jones Rhythm..

my laundry

my laundry
it's the first time i've been away from my parents for this fucking work, gotta do some laundry for myself, because i already brought the rest to the laundry house,, here are some. a pack of ariel and two packs of Downy fabric conditioner definitely works for my couture.

Quick! Here's Alek Wek!

Quick! Here's Alek Wek!
Another model i'm diggin'. The statuesque frame definitely is a winner! a feast to the eyes, a refreshing sight to the alabaster-infested runways of the world. Another first. another fucking fabulous first.

Cyber Chic.

Cyber Chic.
This is from Manish Arora, another favorite. when Arora showed this piece as a finale for his s/s 07 show, he definitely stood just beside Hussein Chalayan and Nicholas G-whatever his last name is - for Balenciaga! Hurray for cyber chic. forget the pathetic look-at-me-i'm-dainty freaks of pleasantville. this is indeed fashion-forward!

Monday, February 26, 2007

Some Chic Lit! Fab and Fag!










Hey book freaks of the world,, it's summer for chrissake and throw in a ponxho, a pair of Havaiannas and start reading while getting a tan.. here are some must reads that i personally have read some years back. Talk about haute literature with a watermelon smoothie under the summer sun!

The Best Little Boy in the World, by John Reid. A moving account of one man’s experiences of growing up gay, including how his brother and parents accept him and how he learns to accept himself. More like Reflections of a Rock Lobster by Aaron Fricke, equally gripping, yet one fag can definitely relate to some of the events occurring around the best little boy in the world (pep up: the main character’s identified as BLBITW, acronym of the books title). If you wanna read this, read it with a wide mind, not only because it’s fucking gay literature, but it’s a mammoth psychological and linguistic adventure as well, literally and figuratively!
The Little Prince, by Antoine d’saint Exupery. Need I say more? It was the first full-length book I’ve read and I loved it since then. Growing up and looking at life have never been this fun if you’ve read this quaint book with a big oomph!
The Devil Wears Prada, by Lauren Weisberger. Augh! Finally! Fiction that rocked me on and off screen! This is a delightfully dishy story of Andrea Sachs, a budding journalist who got to be with one of the world’s most impossible bosses: Miranda Priestly, Runway Magazine’s senior editor and a fashion mogul. I read the book, like, six times and I saw the movie seven. It’s so fucking fabulous. Incarnates much of the nooks and crannies of the industry.
Fashion Babylon. A gripping account of what the world’s most glamorous industry (Fashion, of course) holds for a person that’s either with it, into it, or for it. A notorious tell-all, I guess. If you don’t have the book yet, have one for keepers!
Anna Karenina, by Leo Tolstoy. A story set in czarist Russia, it is of Anna, a bewildered Russian aristocrat who finds herself trapped in the hells of infidelity, demise, and treachery. As the story progresses, one would not feel hatred towards the main character, but pity. I loved how Tolstoy concocted this classic into something that would haunt its readers even after its last page.
Tuesdays with Morrie, by Mich Albom. A riveting account of the conversations between a dying professor and his former student, the book flows with utmost light and grace, but it triggers an emotional journey so strong, it made some of my friends cry, but I never did. I really don’t know why, but nevertheless it touched me; knowing that the theme “death” would be something everyone can relate to, and makes it a worthy subject for introspection.
Young, Gay and Proud, edited by Sasha Alyson. A medium-weight book giving its readers a pep up of the gay utopia: coming out right, fucking safely, books to read, about parents who are proud of their gay children, myths, a long list of some of the world’s most famous persons in history who’s either gay or lesbian, finding friendships…the long list goes on and on. A caressing refuge for anyone who’s having doubts of opening up, the book offered a lot and made the difference on how one can embrace faggotry because for Bryanboy, “you, my friend, must keep the faggotry alive.”
Pooh’s Corner, by A. A. Milne. A breezy story of friendship. I read it with my little sister, and we both loved it!
Like a Flowing River, by Paulo Coelho. I don’t have the book, but I do have a soft copy of the excerpts. Coelho again provoked a philosophical and intuitive journey through this book, and gives a haunting like that of his “Warrior of the light.”
Eighty Sixed,David Feinberg . Set in the mid 1980s, it’s a gripping story about a gay man in his twenties who finds himself in the midst of funerals and sick friends dying of the notorious AIDS. More of a warning, I never felt scared and alone my whole life!
Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister, by Geoffrey Maguire. Told from the point of view of the ‘ugly stepsister’, this Cinderella retells a classic tale with unexpected twists and a human touch.
Sex and the City, by Candace Bushnell. Another jewel in the category “from-paper-to-the-television-screen,”, I just adored the fabulous storyline, the characters (and the actresses that portrayed them), and the glamorous couture-- Monolo Blahniks everywhere! Nevertheless some critics would say that the characters were too gay to be even real. Well, well, isn’t ‘gay’ real?
Three Weeks in Paris, by Barbara Taylor Bradford. Set in one of my favorite cities, it’s about a circle of friends who drifted apart from each, both physically and emotionally, after finishing design school. They soon get together in this beautiful French city and picks up everything that was left behind, each of the character with different backgrounds and ordeals, and everything happens in three weeks.
Five Fortunes, by Beth Gutcheon. A story about five different women who found recluse in an exclusive retreat-house-sort-of-spa tucked away in the mountains. The five women would soon realize that the spa has a lot to offer them, not only the relaxation they’ve been looking forward to, but thoughts that make life worth living—and changing.
Drop, by Mat Johnson. A story about a budding advertising practitioner who finds life in the middle of his endeavor with himself, his career, and the world around him. This young writer from Philadelphia definitely set the story in a world not far from where he came from, which makes it quintessential and interesting.
The Untapped Generation, by Wilkerson. I only read several chapters of this book written in the 70s. The title refers to the youth in that era and the many issues that still shrouds their modern-day descendants like drug abuse, homosexuality, pre-marital sex, etc. Plus, the book offers counseling, which is okay, but do you think I need one?
Virtually Normal, by Simone Mitchell. A Philo-psychological introspection into homosexuality, I used this book to write a position paper in Philosophy 1 and it had been very helpful. It definitely defines “normal” in varied ways, explicitly picturing the differences between what’s virtually normal and what’s not.

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