“It’s only kinky the first time.”
I don’t know how many times a man has offered me the glorious opportunity to engage in some sexual anal action. I’ve lost track of how many times a man has whispered the romantic words, “let me put it in your butt” in my ear, but if I had a dollar for every time, I would be a rich woman. As many times as I get asked for some anal action, if I were to actually participate, my ass would be red and swollen. Similar to Miss South Carolina’s (such as) face when she crawled off stage.
Having never tried it, at this point I would rather lick the jam from in between a fat man’s toes than have a man stick his d*ck in my butt for some “sexual stimulation”. In fact, a man who wants to stick it in my butt, I’d question his sexuality. Go to the jailhouse and hit on the first man you see with a twinkle in his eye for all that nonsense.
I’m sorry to be such a debbie, but anal just doesn’t appeal to me. I mean if do get married I would most likely experiment with my husband. However, key words: IF I GET MARRIED shouldn’t be taken lightly.
I just don’t get it. I can’t imagine sticking anything in a hole that was designed for stuff to come out of. Why can’t a man just be satisfied with a BJ, some reverse cowgirl or something? Isn’t one hole enough? I mean you can stick it in my ear if you really want to. Maybe rub your d*ck in the crease where my knee bends, or something, that might do it. We can get creative. I’m open for suggestions. And no matter how unappealing anal sounds, I have also heard a few horror stories as proof to why it is not the best idea in the Kama Sutra.
Scenario 1) I once heard of this girl who let her man do her in the butt and she had chronic diarrhea for a week. Scenario 2) I also heard from friend, of a friend, of a friend that her man stuck it in her butt and it ripped all the skin from her vagina to her butt hole. She ended up screaming and hollering all the way into the emergency room, her boyfriend walking sheepishly behind her.
“They didn’t know what they were doing,” said a guy friend of mine. “You just can’t ram it in there. You have to get lots of lube and ease it in with care.”
Oh no. I’m not falling for that one again. What do I look like? A young, sweet, innocent and naïve girl who could easily be taken advantage of? I got the same justification about the first hole and I still have to remind guys this isn't a pussi marathon. Slow down! So there is no way I'm going to believe all that mumbo jumbo about the second hole being a piece of cake.
And what if his d*ck is as big as ManDingo? Then what? I'll be waddling around like a duck split in two pieces (places). I don't know what scares me more about the back door, not having tried it or the fact that everyone tells me once I try it I'm going to love it. And like I said before I'm down to try new things, but I don't want my curiosity to get the best of me.
Omg. All this over anal-lyzing is giving me a headache...
Friday, August 31, 2007
“It’s only kinky the first time.”
Thursday, August 30, 2007
A pack of wolves or Geico’s cavemen not being an option, would you rather be parented by…
Whitney Houston and Bobby Brown…?
Britney Spears and Kevin Federline…?
Or Dina and Michael Lohan…?
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
I think the dryer in my building is out to get me.
Every time I wash and dry my jeans, getting dressed becomes a process.
I spent fifteen minutes this morning hopping up and down trying to get into a pair of skinny jeans. Then I spent another five minutes lying on my bed with a pair of pliers trying to get the zipper to stay up. (Yes, I keep pliers in my top drawer, right next to Mr. Pink). I made the mistake of standing up before buttoning the top button, but after a few more minutes of struggling, I gave up altogether and left it hanging open.
Ok, so I haven’t been to the gym in um, well (in dog years) lets just say (minus the one night I passed out at 3 a.m. and couldn’t wake up the next day, carry the two…) rounded off to about a month. Yeah sure, about a month sounds right…
Even so, why is that top button even there? And what is this phenomenon with skinny jeans and other fashion trends that are way beyond not flattering?
It’s 2007 and people are still for some godforsaken reason wearing leggings. I’m really curious as to whose bright idea it was it to bring back such a horrific fashion trend. I already suffered through a decade of spandex, bright colors and weird long pointy shoes. Next thing I know, people are going to be sporting Hammer pants, with a side ponytail wrapped in a scrunchie singing, “Can’t Touch This” or “My Prerogative”.
In all honestly my prerogative would never be to touch anyone wearing Hammer pants. Ever.
My real problem with this movement of tight pants is that not everyone looks like a 6’0 tall top model, who gets paid to wear them. In case anyone wanted to know my logic behind all of this, I went out of my way and did some observational research. The results I came up with are astoundingly irrefutable, as it is scientifically impossible for skinny jeans to look good on everyone.
I mean I could pull them off myself. On a good day. With a pair of pliers after some Olympic stretching, but getting dressed and looking good shouldn't be so stressful.
I would like to thank whoever invented those baby doll t-shirts, because without those I would never be able to wear my skinny jeans. I know they make me look nine months pregnant, but if people had the option of seeing me wear those shirts or my beer belly, I'm sure they would go with option A.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Monday, August 27, 2007
I don’t think a woman has lived until she has suffered through an embarrassing moment with a vibrator. Since I’m so bitter, I thought I'd share mine.
I got my first vibrator for my twentieth birthday. A group of about ten of my girlfriends and I went out to dinner, where I unwrapped a six-inch, glittery-pink, toy a.k.a. Mr. Pink. When I opened the package, a few birds fluttered out and a chord chimed in the background to mark the beginning of a beautiful friendship. We passed Mr. Pink around the table in awe as if he were too precious to set back down.
From that day on, Mr. Pink and I were inseparable. There was a rare occasion when I kept Mr. Pink locked up in my underwear drawer. Nightly Mr. Pink accompanied me in my bed and I was happy to share the space. He slept comfortably tucked inside one of the assorted pillowcases decorating my bed.
My affair with Mr. Pink was around the same time I met one of my ex boyfriends. One night he came over for the first time and I invited him into my room. At 20, there wasn’t much furniture for him to sit on, so I patted a spot offering him a seat on my bed. I had completely forgotten Mr. Pink was also lying in my bed. My new friend sat down on the bed and leaned back, his hand sliding underneath my pillow pile. That’s when it occurred to me and I panicked, but it was too late.
“Oh sh*t,” I said, almost simultaneously he responded back, with an “oh sh*t" expression. The next moment happened so quickly, but it felt like it was in slow motion.
“What is this,” he asked as he whipped the pillow from off the bed.
In doing so, Mr. Pink flew out of the pillowcase, across the room and went “smack” into the wall before going “thump” onto the floor. Mr. Pink rolled a few inches, stopped and looked back up at both of us as if to say, “ouch!”
The terrified look on my face was just as priceless as the amused expression on my potential lover’s face. Needless to say after that episode, Mr. Pink and I grew apart…
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Today was the first day back to school. Summer is officially over.
So naturally I spent my last day of freedom in a bar. (Well not the whole DAY, more like the afternoon, a little bit of the evening and a majority of the night). Where I met yet another intriguing guy. Who after a few minutes of talking with him I noticed he kept checking out every-single-moving-vagina-that-passed-by.
I don’t care, two beers or ten, I still noticed. I mean I do understand that we are in a bar and we just met, but um hello! I am still standing here talking to you. If I don’t do it for you buddy just say so. My beer and I will be happy to go elsewhere.
He could have at least had the decency to make it a little less obvious. So what if she was tall, blond and could probably knock-me-out with her melons, they are only clumps of fat. Well in her case, clumps of Tupperware.
Do men really get distracted that easily?
Never mind, silly of me to ask such a question. Yes of course they do. Tight jeans, stilettos and a tub top are kryptonite in a bar.
My cousin in fact confirmed the “wandering eye syndrome” for me yesterday. He was complaining to me that they hired this hot new chick at his job. Incidentally she’s also recently divorced and he is her supervisor, which means a majority of his time is spent with her.
“Why are you complaining,” I asked. “Would you rather work with her or some big sweaty guy named Bubba”?
“I do work with a bunch of crusty old guys named Steve, Jeff or John,” he said. “And she’s pretty to look at, she flirts. It's just annoying because she's off-limits for a few different reasons.”
( a) he’s married b) he’s married and c) he’s married).
“It doesn’t mean I can’t check her out though,” he said.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Ok so this week I have been stopping by all the blogs I usually read and no one has been posting. What is going on? Is there some offline blogging convention and I didn’t get the evite?
Am I the only one holding down the fort this week?
I just posted another short story on http://www.mspsnothings.blogspot.com/ in case anyone is as bored as I am and needs something to read...
Happy Hump Day
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
“Things tend to get a whole lot worse before they get any better.”
Getting to work this morning was an obstacle course. It also didn’t help that I hit EVERY-SINGLE-RED-LIGHT on the way over here…
So last night in the midst of making dinner, I ran out to go to Blockbuster real quick to grab a movie and some dessert. I mentioned before the BB that was close to my house has relocated far, far away in Never Never Land. So going to and from BB is already a pain in the ass as is.
To make matters worse, on my way back from the BB, I got stuck behind the Partridge Family bus, a swarm of wild monkeys, a group of senior citizens taking a tour of the neighborhood and THE slowest van EVER. I got so flustered that as the van went to make a left I peeled out towards the right.
This maneuver allowed the biggest chunk of metal to sink its teeth into my back right tire. Since it was flat, I drove it home, clunking all the way. I refused at that very moment to get stuck anywhere.
Being the Damsel in Distress that I am, when I got home I called my boy to come over and “help me” put on my spare. Naturally, the spare was also deflated.
So, I had to get up early this morning to go to the gas station and fill up the spare. Then I also had to take the other tire to the shop to get repaired. I had to do all of this and still be to work on time. (I had already called in yesterday and if I didn’t show up today I would look like an ass). On my lunch break I still have to go back to the shop and pick up, pay for and have the newly patched tire put on...
What is today? It feels like a Monday, but wish it were Friday…
Monday, August 20, 2007
Dear 21-year-old girl who can’t handle her liquor,
I’m writing you because you were drunk and probably don’t remember what happened the other night.
Although this was the first time we have ever gone out drinking together, I have a strong feeling it will be the last. I think I saw you drink a whole bottle of Patron, along with a few Coronas and some vodka red bull. For the record, Russia and Mexico don't get along. If you weren’t 21 and in college, I would have to suggest you might want to try AA.
You can thank me later for putting your nipples back in your top. Also for not letting you go home with neither the fat, balding security guard or the perverted, crossed-eyed security guard. (Who probably became cross-eyed after watching too much porn and accidentally sperminated his eye).
After I saw you making out with the skanky girl, flaunting the I-just-had-sex hair and her Brazilian wax, I took the initiative to become the sober driver. I put your drunk ass in the car, where actually you passed out in the back seat for all of five minutes before you slithered back out into the parking lot.
You spun around in an awkward circle and became the human sprinkler projectile vomiting. I couldn't tell you where your shoes were at this moment, but I wish I'd known when you proceeded to walk through your own vomit. The force of your vomit threw off your equilibrium and your arm swung back into the door frame of some guys BMW. He then accidentally slammed the door on your fingers (in case you were wondering why they hurt).
Your sister and I took you home and you spent the entire night twitching like a fish. I'm sure the reminiscent of this letter will be nothing compared to the hangover you have experienced. I hope drinking until you throw up and pass out is just a phase and not a potential problem. I'll admit drinking is one of my hobbies, but I have never seen anything quite like that.
Ms Fresh Banana Puddin’
Thursday, August 16, 2007
WARNING: I’m having a "girl moment" and this post contains a high volume usage of the F word. Reader discretion is advised.
My ex sent me a msg yesterday that said, (and I quote) “I kinda miss you.”
WTF is that supposed to mean? I know I shouldn’t care, but that msg f*cking bugged the sh*t out of me. You don’t tell someone that. It’s like saying I "kinda" don’t like your shirt or I "kinda" want to punch you in the face.
Translation: That is the ugliest f*cking shirt I’ve ever f*cking seen and I want to punch you in the f*cking face until your nose bleeds for f*cking wearing it. PS - I miss you.
Did that make any sense? I didn’t think so.
In retrospect he never really was any good with words. Talking to my ex was somewhat similar to holding a conversation with my microwave. Not that I expect much from my microwave, but there was a rare occasion when my ex would say something stimulating or funny.
The worst were his compliments, which were few and far between. When he did compliment me I felt like saying, never mind forget it, because he would say stuff like, “I like your boobs” or “you smell like a girl.”
And YOU think YOUR sexually frustrated? Try having sex with a guy who thinks it’s romantically flattering to comment on the fact that I have boobs. Yes, thank you Captain Obvious. And YOU have a penis, which apparently does all the thinking. I could just imagine us getting it on and him whispering in my ear, “ooh baby, you "kinda" feel good and I'm “kinda” cuming so could you “kinda” talk dirty?”
NEVER in my life have I ever wanted to go down on a guy and use my teeth more then I do right now. I really wish he wouldn’t contact me AT ALL. “Kinda”? Seriously, who the f*ck says “kinda” and “miss” in the same sentence? I know I’m WAY over analyzing that short little msg right now, but I think I have a valid argument.
Are all guys intellectually challenged?
Telling a girl how you really feel is not the end of the world. There are worse things, like AIDS, world hunger or passing out drunk, eagle style, without wearing any underwear.
I know, I know, what was I doing with him in the first place? At this moment, I have no f*cking clue. Getting over my ex was hard and people told me that eventually he would do something so f*cked up it would push my feelings for him right out the window.
I “kinda” think this one was it…
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
After starting a blog this summer, I’ve noticed the trend of “101 things about me” floating around. On this very lovely hump day I have nothing to do and nothing to talk about. So I thought why not?
Here are 101 things about Ms P that you probably could have guessed, you may not know or already know. Either way it saves me time from having to fill out the “about me” section of my profile…
- I’m biracial; sometimes I feel I get the best of both worlds and sometimes I’m confused. Mainly I'm just confused. (And no I'm not having a Mariah Carey episode).
- I hate cats.
- I have never (knock on wood) broken a single bone in my body.
- I’ve never had sex with a white guy (not intentionally, the moment has just never presented itself).
- My first kiss tasted like pizza and cigarettes.
- I don't trust people who ask too many personal questions.
- I don’t cry in public.
- I really, really want a boob job, but everyone I know doesn’t think it’s a good idea and thinks I’m fine the way I am, which is why I haven’t gone through with it.
- I have an intense fear of spiders.
- I also have a fear of sharp objects going through my eye sockets.
- Whitney Houston’s, “I Want To Dance With Somebody” is my theme song.
- I love to sing, but other people don’t love it when I do.
- I often bust out with random dance moves.
- It’s been a long time since a man has put butterflies in my stomach, made me stutter or my palms sweat.
- I think the real reason I am single is because I choose to be.
- I’ve dated a married man.
- My ex was an asshole, but I think I liked it that way.
- I like it rough.
- I prefer boxer briefs
- I love it when a guy kisses me and cups my face in his hands.
- I watch porn. (doesn't every body)?
- If I ever get married, I want to elope.
- My parents have been married for 25 years and my grandparents 52. That means something to me.
- My parents are my heroes.
- My mom knows everything “naughty” I did in high school.
- I smoked weed for five years and that’s the only “drug” I’ve ever touched.
- I have four tattoos and eight piercings, which at one point was really cool, but now I have no idea the significance for any of them…
- I believe that spaghetti and tacos constitutes as being able to cook.
- I am NOT a morning person.
- I procrastinate, but I work better under pressure.
- In the second grade I won first place in the fourth grade spelling bee. However, today my grammar sucks and I can only spell “good” when I write in WORD.
- I want to be just like Karen from “Will & Grace” when I grow up.
- Three things I want to do before I die is take a stab at stand-up, become a Nascar driver, and travel to Brazil.
- I’m addicted to shoes.
- I hate going to the mall.
- I love to read.
- I love meeting new people.
- The first physical thing people tend to notice about me is my smile and my feet, not necessarily in that order…
- I love Washington Apple shots. After a few of those you could take me home and have your way with me…
- I have four brothers, me being the only girl and they are all taller then me. (The youngest is 15)!
- It took me my first four years of college to figure out what I wanted to do with my life. So I guess it will take another four making it happen…
- I hate making plans and this drives people crazy.
- I don’t drink soda.
- I love dancing like a stripper, would be a stripper, but decided against it. I will see if this whole writing thing works out first.
- The best advice I ever got about being a comedian was, “no one thinks you’re as funny as you do.”
- My favorite scene from “The Chapelle Show” was when Rick James slapped Charlie Murphy in the face. Who b*tch slaps Charlie Murphy? And how did Rick James forget doing it in like 2.0 seconds? Cocaine must be "a hell of a drug."
- Not to be a stereotype or anything, but my favorite food is chicken, back off.
- I always say the wrong thing at the right time and then go home and think of the right thing to say, but by then it’s the wrong time. Damn it. (I’m a queen for putting my foot in my mouth).
- I hope to someday publish a novel; at this point it could be about anything…
- I’ve been in two music videos, but my minor in school is women’s studies (I told you I’m confused).
- I studied Spanish for eight years, can understand everything, but can barely speak it.
- I’ve been in two fights my whole life. The first one I was blind angry and got my ass whooped, the second I got jumped by five girls. I came back strong with my girls and we whooped that ass. However, I believe that violence is NOT the answer and I blame both those moments on youth and stupidity.
- I love cold cheese pizza.
- I never actually sit on the toilet seat in public restrooms.
- I hate video games. They make people stooopid.
- I’ve had seven roommates in the last five years.
- I am easily influenced by my friends, but not by others.
- I'm a compulsive movie buff.
- I know all the words to the movie, “40 Year Old Virgin.”
- I can be very secretive.
- I’ve had a friend who committed suicide, a different friend who attempted and I’ve been clinically depressed myself.
- Right now, at this very moment, I am a very happy person and grateful for everything. No negative thoughts, I promise.
- I love swimming, but I hate getting my hair wet.
- The most money I’ve ever seen in my bank account was after my high school graduation and I think I spent it within 3 months.
- I put cheese on and in everything.
- I love to ride bikes, roller skate and embrace my inner child (NERD).
- When I was little I took piano and saxophone lessons, but I’ve always wanted to learn how to play the drums or guitar.
- I only wear make-up and stilettos at night. Hmmmm…
- I drool in my sleep. Sexy? I know.
- I am not a gold digger. I did have a sugar daddy once by accident, but he stopped calling. It’s cool, I feel better when I earn things rather than when they are just handed to me.
- I find it amazing how many people from high school I really can’t stand at all and some of whom I have remained so close with.
- People think I look really young, but I’m always told that I’m “mature” for my age. (so does that make me exactly my age)?
- I’ve had nicknames such as: vanilla thrilla, light bright, yayo, yayizzle, and my favorite, Fresh Banana Puddin’.
- I think that a lot of music out there today is crap.
- At my first meeting with a counselor in college, (when she asked me what I was interested in doing) I told her that I wanted to be the next Diddy. (A girl can dream can’t she?)
- I don’t date football players.
- I don’t drink Jose Cuervo Gold. (When I was 16, I took six shots to the head. Threw up three times and don’t remember anything else).
- However, I won’t pass up a Casadores margarita. On the rocks. No salt.
- I can also make a mean margarita.
- I think long hair on a man is sexy.
- I would rather be with someone who could make me laugh above anything else.
- Funny + guy = me so horny.
- I believe that if you can't laugh at yourself, the guy or girl next you will do it for you.
- I will always tell someone if their zipper is down, they have food in their teeth or their shirt is ugly. (I don’t know if this is a good trait or bad).
- Yes, I've been to drama camp.
- I’m a picture whore.
- When I’m mad I get really quiet.
- Having children terrifies me. The pregnancy, how they might turn out or what they will look like, everything.
- I don’t sweat the small stuff.
- If I had enough time, I would walk everywhere I went.
- I’m a slow eater, but I eat a lot.
- I believe everything happens for a reason.
- I hate onions.
- I walk around the house naked.
- I don’t own pajamas.
- I hate my hair, but I love my style.
- The weirdest place I’ve had sex was on the hood of my car. Tacky?
- I peel the skin off of my lip when I’m mad or if I’m deep in thought.
- Those who know me well, usually tell me to stop.
- I’m always the last to know.
- I find writing to be therapeutic and I thank this blog and my readers for becoming a part of my life (aw *tear* sorry didn’t mean to get so mushy).
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
“It’s only bad if you get caught.”
Today I figured out why I am always the last to know...
I have a big mouth. I can’t keep a secret to save my life. Not one of my best qualities unfortunately. If I was being interrogated, somebody’s going to jail.
So a guy friend of mine confessed his fantasy love for a local artist during a live venue a few weeks back. After the show, I managed to get a picture of them together, even though he was (shy) reluctant. He got mad at me for introducing them, but disappeared and I caught him later, bragging about the picture to some of our other friends. Calling miss fantasy artist his, “future wifey.”
So, fast forward a couple weeks later and I go to this launch party in the city for my girl’s fashion show. In the show modeling some of the clothes is none other than miss fantasy artist herself! After the show she is by herself backstage, so I go up to her and open my big mouth.
(Ms P is not a matchmaker, matchmaker I am not). I ask her if she remembers me. She does! (Yay I knew I was unforgettable).
So anyway, I remind her about my boy. And what do you know she’s single, thinks he’s cute and even better, is interested. If I asked for her number she might of thought it was a ploy for me to get down her pants. So instead I told her I would forward her his MySpace. Which I did, but here is where I f*ck up.
That last move should have been it on my part. I should have let the cards fall and peaced the f*ck out. But oh no! I sent him a msg saying that “I know you are going to love me and hate me all at the same time,” which he responded by saying, “what did you do, because if it has anything to do with fantasy artist, I’m pissed!” (Still shy).
Sometimes I feel like Steve Urkel from “Family Matters. Always f*cking sh*t up.
“Did I do that?” Yes you did!
(Just my luck they will probably both read this blog and plot to have me destroyed). Oh well, it’s the thought that counts. Hopefully we can all laugh about this later. We’ll see what happens…
Friday, August 10, 2007
Roommate I love how when we run out of toilet paper or bags for the vacuum cleaner you are on top of things.
Roommate I love how your music, TV or having sex with your boyfriend is never too loud.
Roommate I love how you leave me alone when I want to be by myself, but there you are when I need a shoulder.
Roommate I love how my closet is your closet and your closet is my closet; just as much as I love that my food is your food and your food is my food (yay sharing is caring)
Roommate I love how I have never once had the urge to punch you in the face, set your bed sheets on fire or clean the toilet with your toothbrush. (Not that I would do any of those things)…
Roommate I love when our neighbors give us sh*t you are the first one to yell back and when our landlord calls you do all the talking.
This is an “Ode To My Roommate” who I love for not being a bitch and paying her bills on time.
I got this e mail last night and I got a phone call confirming the information. So this post is dedicated to a dear friend. (Sorry to bring folks down on a Friday).
I just got a phone call from Berkeley with really bad news--E**** was killed after being struck by a truck while riding her bike. I don't have all the details as her neighbor called me. Her parents are flying in tonight to claim her. She was 55. I'm sure you can call her house as that is where her parents are staying. My heart is broken as she was a dear friend.
Whipped up by MsFreshBananaPuddin at 10:47 AM
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
The saga continues…
To get every one up to speed, I’m dating and “new guy” is packin’ in the meat department. He sent me pictures on my cell phone to prove it after I told him that I thought he had a little d*ck. I’m positive it was his shaboinka, because he is all tatted up on his arm and he has a distinct tat on his thumb. The same hand he was holding his shaboinka.
Of course, (not that I’m one to gossip) I went and showed my girls who squealed in an OMG-wtf-is-that tone. See it wasn’t just me. The shock factor towards the “new guy’s” shaboinka was legit. It doesn’t accommodate his persona or his physique. He is not cocky (no pun intended) at all, about 5’11” and fifteen years older than me.
I would like to say the weekend ended there, but it didn’t. The same girls, plus a few more and I, all decided to go out on Saturday night too. We spent the night bar hopping and passing around my cell phone so every one could take a closer look at “new boy’s” shaboinka.
The last stop of the night we all decided to go (stumbled) to a dive bar on the far side of town. I knew that “new guy” liked to go there, because I usually bump into him there, so I called (drunk dialed) him to see if he wanted to meet up for drinks.
When “new guy” walked up to the bar about five of my girlfriends were sitting out in front. It was priceless
I think everything switched into slow motion. The wind picked up and “new guy’s” swagger got a little smoother. Two other guys accompanied him on either side and they were all dressed in black. Every single one of my girlfriends (heffas) hopped up surrounding him, groping him. Saying things like, “hayyyyyyy”, and “ooo, I like your tattoos” or “what’s your nationality?” in sexy voices. (He's Portuguese for the record).
If I thought I was embarrassed when he told me I told him I thought he had a little d*ck, I thought wrong. This moment was embarrassing. It reminded me of this one time in high school, when I was at a house party and I fell down a long staircase. I landed flat on my face, the record scratched and every one gasped. In front of the bar I turned the same bright shade of red.
How could he NOT know I showed them the pictures? He looked over at me and grinned sheepishly. Ha! ManDingo was just a embarrassed as I was.
A part of me wants to test drive it and another part is telling me to stay away, far, far, away...
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
Does anyone else find it creepy that R. Kelly and Michael Jackson have collaborated on the new song entitled, “Same Girl” (remix)? (Fast forward to the end to hear MJ).
Other names I thought they should have considered for the new R&B track…
-“Same Under Aged Boy”
-“I Want To Change Your Diaper”
-“Holla If You’re Hairless”
Feel free to throw one in…
Monday, August 6, 2007
"It's only kinky the first time."
Ok so this past weekend was a mini Novela series. Parts were blurry, but I remember a substantial amount of events thanks to some camera whoring.
I don’t know if anyone remembers “slow boy” the last guy I dated. It doesn’t matter if anyone does, because I haven’t heard from him. He must be lost in a cloud of smoke somewhere. I hope all is well.
So with that said, I have moved on and boy does it just keep getting better and better. I met this new guy not too long ago. We went on a few dates, nothing major. He’s cute, funny, respectful, etc. He basically thinks I’m GOD, which is great. The problem, once again, is that he is too nice. Like vomit nice. Like please, shut-the-f*ck-up nice. (Yes, it is another case of him probably wanting what he can’t have and once he gets it, he won’t want it anymore). Cynic?
So anyways, a couple of girlfriends from out of town came to stir up some trouble with me this weekend. (You know the hot friends with the big boobies that get us free admission and free drinks). Before we leave to go out on Friday, I mention that, “I hope I don’t run into "new guy", because I was supposed to call him back, but I didn’t.”
So we get downtown in our slut attire. On our way to the bar we got some offers to make some quick cash, but we obliged. "How much?" some asshole yelled from down the block.“What mothaf*cka,” I yelled back. “Come back and say it to my face so I can kick you in the balls.” (People can be so rude). We make it to the bar and the lovely ladies get us right inside no sweat. Nice.
As soon as I walk into the bar, there he was, "new guy" 12’oclock. Just my luck. Good thing I’m so smooth at playing things off. I tried to do a quick magical disappearing act, when I heard him call out my name.
I turned back around, flashed him a fake smile and said a fake, “Hi.” He was with a few of his buddies so we all grouped up and headed for the bar. As we were leaning in to order our drinks, I said the first thing that came to my mind, “so, I was going to call you, but um yeah…” Ok that fell short, damn it, I couldn’t even think of an excuse. He cut me off.
“It’s cool,” he said. “I wanted to show you something though.”
“What?” I asked.
“My d*ck,” he replied.
I coughed and choked a little. (I swear some Tokyo Tea and a cherry squirted out of my nose).
“What?” I said again.
“Remember when you told me that you didn’t want to date me because you thought I had a little d*ck?” he said.
No way I thought to myself. I remembered thinking that, but more importantly, I didn't remember actually voicing it. Not to anyone, much less him.
“I said that?” I said. “I must have been drunk.” (It was the only justification I could come up with). Ok now I was embarrassed. I decided to leave it at that and went to go dance-it-off, with my girls.
By 2 a.m. the three of us came stumbling out of the bar hand in hand. We made it home piling on top of each other on my couch. We all got to work on our phones, going crazy drunk texting. I opened up my phone to (omg) find the thickest, longest shaboinka staring back at me. No he didn't. "New guy" was Mr. ManDingo himself…
Sometimes I wonder, why is Jessica Alba so famous? I still remember her as the teen in the movie, “Never Been Kissed” with Drew Barrymore.
Then I wonder, why do I care?
What is this fascination over Jessica Simpson’s body weight, Nicole Richie’s “pregnancy”, Britney Spears’ meltdown and Lindsay Lohan’s drug addiction? In real life, if they were regular people, I don’t think anyone would even think twice about their problems. They would be too focused on their own.
It’s like some kind of conspiracy. I feel like someone is watching us watch celebrities. There has to be some sort of incentive behind this trend of obsessing over trendy people.
In 20 years are we still going to be a stalker nation, waiting for the next person on Oprah telling the world about how they went from rape victim to a professional escort? I mean seriously, soon everyone is going to be famous for little things like being able to put their leg behind their ears. Then will people move onto some other form of entertainment?
I’m just waiting for the day when I can go grocery shopping drunk, naked and can’t anybody do anything about it…
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Phyllis Turner, a 94-year-old woman has just graduated from college, receiving a Medical Science Master Degree. According to this article she is the oldest person in the world to receive a masters degree.
Wow. That is impressive. If she can do it, then why haven’t I? Wtf am I doing wrong? I thought I had done everything right so far. Promiscuity, extensive alcohol consumption, sleeping through my classes, etc…
Of course it’s obvious the only reason Turner passed her classes is because she is too old to go out clubbing. I doubt there were any late nights in the dorms and at 94 she probably was less likely to get distracted by a sweet piece of ass.
I need to get focused man. I got one more year left. One more year in school after that and I’m going to be another character in a Spike Lee movie…