Chanel Haute Couture advertisment

« A boring life. Why can't I be Melania Knauss with a young, non-fat Donald Trump sans bad, carrot hair. | Main | My 18th (+5) Birthday Party »

January 23, 2005

Knackered to the bone. I hate Spaniards.

It's 6:02AM and I just got home. God what a night I had.

Now that I'm home, I feel a bit feverish... my head hurts sooo much it can split into several pieces.

A lot of stuff happened tonight I wish I brought my camera with me... but my sister forgot it completely so we left it at home.

One thing that really shocked me was the fact that I

encountered a head-to-toe inspection by the

Spanish unfashionable police.

Oh yes.

I went to Government (this local club) earlier. I spent a good couple of hours dancing like a fucking bitch. Thank god there weren't a lot of people -- I don't like crowded clubs; I prefer it about 3/4ths filled.

Anyway... I danced like a proper glamorous cunt. Oh yes, everyone stared at me. Even a bloody, half-naked (they all do that) muscle mary came up and said something to me but I completely ignored him; I just smiled because I didn't pay attention to what he said.

I really had a blast. It was like being Cameron Diaz on the Charlie's Angels' dancefloor. I was invincible -- and sober. Well, I probably had far too many vodka red bulls but at least there weren't any drugs, which was a good thing.

So there I was, dancing my booty off on the dancefloor, new Fendi shoes and brilliantly customized jeans and all... then a bunch of spaniards,  3 of them to be exact, 2 girl fag hags and 1 faggot hairy-faced son of a bitch, spent their night trying to pick me up.

I know, I know, I sound like I'm full of myself but it was so bloody obvious it wasn't even funny. The guy was literally trying to dance with me but I'm just dancing with my friends.

Always use Paris Hilton as your role model: dance

like a slut but don't let the horny wankers touch

you.

So yeah, I ignored the 3 Spaniards and spent the night dancing, drinking and chit chatting with friends.

Even my prodigy was there, the young one who was trying to be ME, because I left the scene ages ago. We did the usual hi, hellos, but I didn't pay attention to him that much -- my Fendi deserves better.

He's an aspiring, young, chu-chu person. I don't blame him though, he's like only 18 or something. Hopefully one day he'll realize fashion is only fashion -- it's only clothes, it's only material stuff. You shouldn't take it seriously. Considering he can't even buy the real thing and he'd rather go to flea markets.

I give him A+ for Effort though. He does try it hard... really hard and for that I give him credit. After all, he's still fabulous (gag me -- faux fur choking my throat) and he's friends with a lot of up-there people.

I should give him a makeover one time. I think it

would be a lot fun. I won't even tell you what he

WORE on his hair a couple of weeks ago -- thank

god he showed up today with elastic trash-free

hair.

You know, go to the Gucci store to get new season stuff instead of buying consignment shop "vintage" (vintage means old and crap) Gucci. But then again, I hate Gucci these days... so utterly boring.

Anyway, so I danced and I danced, I drank and I drank until my babysitter younger sister drove outside the club and called me.

I told my friends I have to go out for a bit... need to tell my sister I don't wanna go home yet -- it was around 4AM. You know me though... I have my own car but I don't drive cause I got rear-ended twice and my dad won't let me renew my license.

Then there they were AGAIn: the 3 Spaniards were outside the club. Fag hags and hairy-faced short faggot, all sitting on the gutter.

I had a mini conversation with them. I swear to god they were ALL over me, like they've never seen my type before. I certainly don't mind the attention, I mean who on earth bloody hates attention? I know I suffer from Attention Deficit Disorder but this sort of attention was a whole new level.

The faggot was all like telling me how I looked so fabulous and fashionable (ick). But being the fake modest bitch that I am, I told them "Oh god no, I actually look like trash today because I didn't put effort. I was just planning to have a simple night out and I'm just wearing simple clothes."

Which was true because usually whenever I go out, it takes a lot of fucking preparation and I have to wear my latest and finest gear -- something that nobody has seen me wear before.

Then his 2 fag hag friends asked me EVERYTHING about my gear... and I mean everything.

1) Plain black t-shirt by James Perse
2) Very old Diesel jeans that I cut the waist off, same with the legs and then spray-painted it gold all over the place
3) My overused and overexposed Dior Rasta messenger bag
4) Dior Rasta watch
5) Louis Vuitton cuff bracelet
6) Fendi sneakers

Here's the thing: they EVEN asked me what my underwear AND socks were -- Calvin Klein boxers of course.

It was fashion police trying to be fashion police but they were soooo tactless and obsessed about me. I swear I'm not kidding. If you think I'm tactless, they're like 10X more tactless than me. PROMISE.

Not satisfied with my gear, they made me spill the contents of my bag onto the road so they can take a peek at it.

1) Louis Vuitton wallet
2) Mobile phone
3) Dior lip gloss
4) Dior foundation
5) Cash, receipts, tissue paper, miscellaneous paper shit

It's funny how the faggot was sooo clueless. He even asked me about my Dior foundation, like what it was, whether it's a condom case or not. At first I was shy to tell him "it's fucking foundation" because that would imply I use make up. Then he played some sort of a guessing game on what it was.... I even thought he was just winding me up but no... he really was bloody clueless. God. Absofuckinglutely clueless.

So yeah... those 2 Spaniards were weird. They were nice and friendly but they were absolutely weird. When they asked about my age, I said 17... then I asked one of the fag hags how old I look like and they said I look younger.

Thank you Jesus, Mary, Joseph. There is a god afterall INDEED.

I got bored of my 3 Spanish fans so I told them I gotta go with my friends. I told them we're going to this other club "Bed".

Fast forward 30 minutes later, little Mr. Spanish boy was there... right behind me as in literally.

He must have heard me telling my friend "oh look it's my stalker" because when I went upstairs in the club, he stopped following me and stuff.

He wasn't really THAT good looking. He's doable, but only if you're drunk. I think he's one of those stale, 20-something Eurotrash expats who venture out in the far east to get an easy life. I'm taller than him, he has dark hair, a hairy face... well, not really hairy but he looks like the last time he shaved was about 3 days ago. Typical spanish looks. He wore some short-sleeved button down shirt (only taxi drivers wear them) and some pants. The 2 fag hags wore spaghetti strap tops. One of them was 28 years old but she looked like 21.

Hello!!!!!!!!! Spaghetti straps. Oh yes. Disgusting, innit?

Oh well.

He was doable but not really THAT doable. I've seen far cuter guys. Like the kid whose claim to fame is that he's Paris Hilton.

Thing is, EVERYBODY here claims they're Paris

Hilton.

Paris Hilton my bloody arse, your hat ain't even Von Dutch (or should I say Von Vagina because it's soo common), your Coach bag looks fake -- it was pink. PINK Coach. Did Coach ever make pink square fanny packs? I have no idea. I never pay attention to Coach. American commercial trash that you can get from Nordstrom, Macy's and the "for-the-masses" stores where you have to use a steel shopping cart to shop for stuff. His shoes were a bit dodgy and he was wearing a zip-up jacket that skater kids from 1997 used to wear.

Paris Hilton indeed.

Nobody, and I mean nobody here in the fucking Philippines wear DIOR for god's sake! It's not funny!

NOTE TO NEW, UPCOMING DESIGNERS OUT

THERE: MEDIA KILLS. NEVER LET A FUCKING

CELEBRITY GET PHOTOGRAPHED BY THE MEDIA

BECAUSE IT WILL ONLY CHEAPEN YOUR LABEL.

Ugh. This is just me blabbing my arse off. Ignore me. I'm nice and sweet.

Anyway, I thought he was quite cute -- take all of the junk minimum wage clothes off -- and then tell him to fuck my arse.

But I don't think he'd be capable of doing that because he's bloody 17 and he's a fuckin kid. I need a guy that's about 2 or 3 years older than me. Give me a bit a maturity, you know... but not viagra.

All I can say is, show me your goods and I'll show you mine.

Whoever has the best goods wins the crown. Aren't we being a bit too shallow and  pretentious now?

No further comments your honor.

I'm off to bed. I need to wash my face, brush my teeth and do my Obagi ritual.

Good night everyone and I love you all.

Related Posts with Thumbnails

TrackBack

TrackBack URL for this entry:
http://www.typepad.com/services/trackback/6a00d8341c627e53ef00d83438697f53ef

Listed below are links to weblogs that reference Knackered to the bone. I hate Spaniards.:

Comments

Support My Sponsors


Peek Into My World


Brought to You By


Tweet Tweet


Connect With Me


  • Depending on my availability, click the button below to speak to me on the phone for free! USA callers only please.


    MSN MessengerSkypeYahoo! Messenger FacebookLiveJournalMySpaceTechnoratiLast.fmYouTubeTwitter

What They Are Saying


  • Bryanboy Press

Explore Bryanboy.com


A BRIEF INTERMISSION


Dangerous Liaisons


  • Love is an addictive drug

    Shower me with attention and inflate my ego. Email photos of your love and I'll add you to my ever-growing collection. Be creative! Be spontaneous! Send them to bryan@bryanboy.com today!

AS SEEN IN: AMERICAN VOGUE


  • Vogue featuring Fashion Bloggers

    Click HERE to watch behind-the-scenes footage of the shoot.