I am very talented. And I would like to take this as an opportune time to share my dexterity.
I’m not talking about the skills I have when I sing and dance in my underwear in front of my mirror. Nor am I talking about my ability to drink Colin Farrell under the table. No, I have many other hidden talents I have mastered as well…
Over the last few days I have successfully walked into a parking meter, a table, a couple of sidewalk cracks and a parked car.
The parking meter, (which took off a huge chunk of my skin) left me looking like Michael Jackson circa 2000. The thing that gets me is this performance was done while walking sober. No alcohol was in my system. I really was not paying attention. Smart.
The bruise on my upper right thigh, (about the size of Southeast Asia), is a result of trying to dance sexy and smashing into a table after a full day of BBQ hopping. (I think I drank more beer at the BBQs then I actually ate anything).
I also managed to ruin a perfectly good pair of flip-flops over the weekend. I don’t know if anyone can relate, but not once but twice, I caught the bottom front of my sandal underneath a crack. It totally threw off my equilibrium and my big toe still hurts.
Now walking into a parked car is a sensitive subject. I really only brought it up for the sake of my blog. Only the talented Ms. P could pull off a move so brilliant. My nose looks like Marcia Brady when she got hit with that football in "The Brady Bunch Movie."
I think that about sums it up for moves I would least-likely-to-want-to-brag about. However, the more immobile objects I walked into the less sober I was. So that is my excuse and I’m sticking to it.
The thing that gets me the most about all of these talented tricks (I didn’t know I had up my sleeve) is that my birth name means 'graceful'. Go figure, because my ass is the biggest drunk klutz since Paris Hilton showed her treasure chest to all of Tinsel Town…
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
I am very talented. And I would like to take this as an opportune time to share my dexterity.
I was cracking up this morning when I turned on my computer.
There was an article written in first person by Star Jones Reynolds, admitting to having gastric bypass surgery.
Wait did I miss something? Was this a secret? I thought everyone knew this already…
Friday, July 27, 2007
Actually, if anyone knew me at all, they wouldn’t want me watching their children in the first place. I’m the girl who offered up the idea of getting a stripper when asked “what do you get a kid for their birthday party if it’s held late at night?”
Hey why not? A kid has got to learn somehow…
So anyway, in reference to my previous post, “are they paying you enough to make my job a living hell?” I can’t seem to get enough from the crazy lady at my job. Oh wait, let me rephrase that. I can’t get away from the crazy old hag, who is sucking the life out of me with her fangs at this very moment. I’m waiting for a tornado to come and drop a house on this wench of a woman. I want to watch her toes curl up and laugh an evil muah-ha-ha-ha-ha laugh.
A friend asked me the other day if I was getting along with the old hag.
"She actually isn’t that bad now,” I replied.
I must have spoke too soon, because she is bad, very bad. She proved it today. Working with her is like sharing a cubicle with my mother. Actually I would rather share a cubicle with my mother than work with this crazy old bat.
So if I haven’t mentioned it before, the shriveled old hag is a family therapist. Go figure. She has families that come in for sessions and often times the parent(s) leave their kids out in the lobby. I don’t know, for me to watch? And it's not that I don’t mind kids. I’ve even worked with kids before, offering up my services to be a nanny or camp counselor. However, the lobby is not a daycare center and I am not here to be the designated adult to tend to these children.
There are two types of children, by the way. There are the cute annoying children. Annoying because they’re cute and it is hard to tell them “no”. Or there are the ugly annoying children. Who are annoying because they are not cute. Today some really cute annoying children came into the office, three of them, all under the age of 8. And the crazy old hag left me with them for 45 minutes!
The kid who stood out the most was a little girl about four years old.
“Hi! My name is Hailey. What’s your name?” she said as she peered over my desk in her neon green overalls and pigtails. She was cute, until the second thing out of her mouth was, “uh oh, I have to go potty.”
Uh oh is right. Um ok. Little girl you are officially not cute anymore. I took her to the bathroom where she seemed very distracted by the set up of the room.
“Is this a boys bathroom?” she said. “It looks like a boy bathroom.”
“No,” I said as I unhooked her overalls.
“Should I be doing this?” I thought to myself. “Does she know how to do this?”
After her pants were down she started trying to take off her shirt.
“No,” I said. “Honey, just take your panties down and sit down.”
She was spacey, but pretty obedient, because she did as she was told. I went back to my desk thinking I had did my part and the worst was over, but oh no. I came back into the lobby to find four sets of eyes watching me very intently.
“ I want to color,” said the other little girl about seven or so.
“We don’t have stuff to color with here,” I replied.
“I’m thirsty,” she replied back. I got her some water and that’s when the one-year-old boy chimed in.
“Thirty too, thirty too, thirty too, thirty too,” he repeated over and over again.
“Don’t give him any,” said the seven-year-old. “He can’t hold the cup by himself.”
So being the good receptionist that I am, I tilted the cup into the “thirty” boys mouth.
I handed the kids some books to read, but that lasted about two minutes.
"Mommy?" said the one-year-old.
"Your mom will be out in a minute," I said.
"Mommy!" he yelled.
Great, just great. By now about 20 minutes had passed since I had left the four-year-old in the bathroom. I was just about to send her sister to go check up on her when a sing-song voice echoed through the office halls.
“I’m done! I’m done! You can wipe me now!”
It was right about that time I decided to go on my lunch break...
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
I learned a few things about my mother recently that I would have been better off not knowing:
1. I found out that my mother blogs too.
2. Besides Harry Potter 7, she has been reading Zane. The top selling African American erotica author. (I don’t know if that is cool or gross).
3. She knows that I blog, but I won’t give her the link. (She asked me the other day if I talk about her on my blog and if that was why I didn’t want her to read it.)
Note: Mommy dearest if you ever find this blog please know that I talk about you because I love you! xoxo
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
I’m starting to get the vibe that I either have really bad taste in men or my taste is so impeccable that I can’t find a guy to meet my criteria.
Disregarding the fact that all my friends hate my ex-boyfriends, I still don't think it's fair that every time I meet a new guy my friends are always telling me, “you could do better”. I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt (sometimes), because I have been known (on more than one occasion) to be intoxicated while giving out my number.
Inexplicably it’s amazing how I often can’t remember the events of any particular night, but still get phone calls later that week from random guys I've “met”. (There are several numbers I have saved in my cell phone under, “don’t know”). And I’ll admit to having a fatal attraction to “bad boys”; the bonafide assholes seem to be my type.
In my mind, the idea of fighting with a man and the possibility of him throwing me up against a wall before we make out is totally hot. It turns me on. Although, dealing with a man of this nature in real life, as opposed to my twisted fantasies, I might end up having to press charges.
I wish that the bad boys that I meet could instead be like in the movies. In the movies the bad boy is more of a hero. There is only one girl he desires and therefore, he is somewhat of an infatuated, unbalanced stalker all rolled into one. Throughout the movie the bad boy’s past unfolds and he struggles to overcome his pain. Thus, turning him into a good boy and by the end of the movie his sexuality comes into question.
Take Spider man for example, now there’s a bad boy heroine that needs to get laid. Yet, on the plus side he’s harmless. So maybe it’s not the hero that does it for me, maybe I’m more into the villain. The guy that is just evil for no apparent reason. He has no family or background except for maybe a son that is a good bad guy, who comes for revenge after living up to an abusive childhood.
Although, from that perspective my bad boy concept transforms into some kind of Star Wars manipulation and Darth Vader doesn’t really do it for me. He would at least have to take off his mask if he’s ever getting down my pants. I want to see what is behind the mask and look deep into the eyes of the man he truly could be.
And there I go being a woman again. Always trying to change a man. I think I’m going to stick to my fantasies, at least then I will always be satisfied...
Monday, July 23, 2007
I had a run in with the ex this weekend.
I went from loving him all over again to hating him in less then 20 minutes. Talk about a mood swing, seriously. I wrote a poem professing my undying love for him and was about to post it on my blog, when he pissed me off and I erased it. Which also reminded me why I hate him and why my blog is strictly for venting.
Here’s a brief description of what happened…
I invited slow boy to a lounge on Thursday for some drinks, live music in an atmosphere of laid back people. The performers didn’t go on stage until 11 p.m. and slow boy had to work in the morning, so he passed on the opportunity to be my date.
It was cool. The real reason that I wanted him to tag along was in case my ex showed up. If slow boy and I looked like we were on a date my ex would more than likely leave me alone. So I brought a girlfriend instead as back up. (I try to avoid going places where my ex will be, but somehow it is a small city and no matter where I go, there he is).
The lounge was dimly lit when we walked in and there was a dude smooth talking to some jazz music on stage. I headed straight for the bar and ordered us two drinks, which the creepy guy in the corner ended up paying for -- thanks creepy guy in the corner. Everything was going great and then there he was, my ex, two o’clock.
You know I’m a firm believer that if you personally know someone and they aren’t dead, it is humane to be cordial. So, I tried to hide behind my friend, but he still spotted me and wasted no time in coming over to harass. He suffocated me with a bear hug and was all smiles as he backed me into a corner so we could “talk”. I must admit I’m a sucker for attention, because for some reason I stuck around to listen to his BS. I became weak for all the sweet nothings he was whispering in my ear and that damn forehead kiss. Why did he have to go there? I hate that damn forehead kiss!
The debilitated feeling didn’t last long after he told me he’d “be right back” and I caught him outside, trying to get some other chick’s phone number. Some things never change. I’m glad I caught him before I posted that love poem or that would have been really embarrassing…
Friday, July 20, 2007
"Never underestimate the power of cleavage."
I have a confession. I love boobs.
No, it’s not in an I-like-to-eat-box kind of way. Yeah sure I’ll admit to checking other women out, but it’s more of comparing the goods. It’s a wanting-what-I-can’t-have sort of way. Something I believe that everyone suffers from a little bit periodically. Whether it’s boobs, hair, having a flashy car, to a lucrative career. There are some things people work hard to achieve that bring about change and some things are inevitable. They just aren’t going to change, like ex- boyfriends and mothers.
Boobs can be changed (silicone) and I have fought with many a people in my life, as to whether or not I should change mine. Family and friends offer alternative suggestions of discouragement to prevent me from going under the knife, like a Victoria Secrets hard-core push-up bra, chicken cutlets or learning to love the boobs that I already have.
I’ve heard that as long as my boobs don’t point towards the ground or are close to the ground, all I really need is a handful. Which is a valid point, because my breasts do rest atop my chest and not my belly button.
Although, if I were to go under the knife, I wouldn’t want some big ol’ watermelon Pamela Anderson jugs anyway.
I know I shouldn’t become plastic like the majority of the general population, but I’ve wanted great big boobs since I saw Shannon Elizabeth feel herself up in the classic, ‘American Pie’. Since posing in Maxim became so popular and since I bought that halter top that doesn’t quite fit right.
Let me put it this way, the only reason I would ever consider bearing children someday would be the possibility of growing some boobs.
Judging by what mainstream media feeds us, I figure I am not the only one with this sadistic attraction to the clumps of fat that can cause accidents. Celebrity nipple expo is so popular and a significant reason why cleavage is such a powerful thing. I mean great boobs can bring a girl good fortunes including free admission, free drinks and getting laid.
And I have met an exceedingly amount of guys who know how to hold great conversations with my nipples.
There was an article on Askmen.com, “Does Size Really Matter,” not too long ago, which had opinions about boobs from a male perspective (not that it matters much). I would like to make it clear that my boobs would be for me and me only, but I thought the article was interesting. See for a man, yes size does matter, so the article compares that answer to that of a woman’s breasts. It stirred up quite a bit of controversy, which I love, so I thought I’d share.
I know I'm great, I share.
Hope y'all enjoyed that moment as much as I did...Ms P
Thursday, July 19, 2007
You know, I’m running dry on things to talk about this week. I’ve been a boring old fart lately. No drinking escapades, I’m not dating either, I refuse. It’s been my computer, a lot of movies and I. Very romantic, I know.
There have been, however, some questions that have been bugging me. Over the past week, I have been thinking about the male species and some of the things that they do, because they come from Mars and all.
So, I decided to flex my poetic skills, (No I am not a poet, this sh*t doesn’t rhyme and I threw in the female part so I could avoid coming off as the man hater that I am) to maybe put a stop to some of those lingering questions and make my life that much easier…
A Poem of Understanding WHY
By Ms Fresh Banana Puddin’
Why do men get your number, call you, then ask, “So when are you going to take me out?” Huh? You got my number smart one...
Why do women cry, over analyze and complain about everything? It can't possibly be that bad...
Why do men insist that a woman’s salty mood is always caused by PMS? Can I not just be having a bad day?
Why do women always dress like they’re trying to catch a man, but then go home and talk about how no good any of them really are? No comment
Why do men say that you never call them, when you just did, twice, but couldn’t leave a voicemail because their mailbox was full? You know who you are...
Why do women hate on other women over a man? The sea is big, very big...
Why do men not understand the definition of girlfriend or wife? My understanding of this concept, is that you are not eligible to date...
Why do women get the good guy, but want the bad guy, but want the bad guy to be good? Make up your mind woman!!!
Why do men insist on scratching their balls in public? Gross, just gross...
Why do men wear those shorts that cut off at the ankles so they look more like high pants than shorts? The point of shorts is to keep cool, when it's hot outside...
Why do men say “I’ll call you later”, but they call like two days later and ask you “what happened”? I don't know, you tell me...
Why do men always complain about wearing a condom when they are very aware of STDs and having sex = having babies? Again, no comment...
Sorry ran out of weird things that women do, because in all honesty we are not that bad. Men, are the ones with the problem, seriously. If you don’t fit in any of these categories guys, you are off the hook, but if you do, can you please explain to me WHY?
Am I over analyzing?
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
The reason why my friends think I might be a lesbian...
"I just understand human behavior. You sound like a woman scorned. One who feels used by men because you allow yourself to be used. Then complain about it over and over until you break the cycle." -LT
hmmm being bitter is one thing, but eating box is another story. Thanks, but no thanks.
Friday, July 13, 2007
"All I've ever wanted was an honest week's pay for an honest day's work."-Steve Martin
Everyone here is for the most part friendly and it isn’t very often that I have to bite my tongue because someone else is having a bad day. There really isn’t much to complain about, the hours are reasonable, there’s air conditioning and I get to write.
Nevertheless, there is always that one person at your job, where they are this close, in getting a foot stuck up their ass.
I work with this very rude old lady.
No, let me re-phrase that. I work with a shriveled up, 80-year-old hag, who probably hasn’t gotten laid since 1972. I also think she picks an outfit out on Sunday and wears it continuously throughout the week.
She has been running her business out of the same office for the last 20 years, so apparently she comes with the building. I think her name is actually on the lease right next to ‘utilities included’ it says, ‘old hag’.
When I got hired, my boss made light of the situation that they’ve had problems with the old hag in the past. She told me that if the old hag gave me any problems to let her know immediately. I made a note of it, but figured I could avoid any mood swings she threw at me. Growing up with younger siblings, I have mastered the art of ignoring people when I want to.
Plus, regardless of what anyone may think of Ms P, I have respect for my elders, or at least I used to…
The old hag started off by making rude comments to me in front of clients, as if she were testing me to see if I would defend myself. She would ask me questions like, “do you know how to do your job?” or “didn’t they train you?”
In my head I would answer her questions, with a rhetorical question like, “when was the last time you got laid?” or “shouldn’t you be dead by now?”
I swear the nerve of some people, right?
I didn’t play into her stupid questions like she wanted, and it got old fast. So she moved on to just plain old torturing me. Asking me to do little favors for her, running errands, things she knew I wouldn’t say no to.
Eventually, it became clear to me that she was not grandma, but that old hag I work with and this was getting ridiculous. It got to the point where it was well beyond helping an old lady out. She needed to realize she’s not a celebrity and I am not getting paid to be her personal assistant. So, I talked to my boss about her “favors” and well it’s not in my job description, so I politely told her no.
I think her interpretation of that conversation instead was, “this means war!” “I’m still a cranky old hag and I’m going to take my life’s frustrations out on you!”
So the other day she comes up to me and asks for a long ‘pen’. So I handed her a ‘pen’.
“No!” she screamed at me. “Not a ‘pen’, a ‘pin’.
“Oh, I thought you said a ‘pen’, I said. “I don’t think that I have a pin though.”
She ignores me and starts riffling through the top drawer of my desk. Ok, by now I’m irritated, but I’m trying not to let it show.
“I don’t think you are going to find a ‘pin’ in there,” I told her.
“Oh, does it bother you that I am in your space?” she snapped back.
No please, dig away. When you’re done with my drawer would you like to look through my purse?
“This is my project,” she said. “Why are you trying to get in my project?”
Your project? Um ok?
“I’m not, I just don’t want you going through my drawer.” I said. “And I don’t have a ‘pin’, sorry.”
She looked up from my drawer, giving me an evil-eyed stare, before she turned and hobbled away.
You know, there comes a time, where Ms P takes a moment to step back and look at a situation and think, “now that, is one crazy bitch.”
Thursday, July 12, 2007
I got an IM from slow boy at work today. A pointless conversation to say the least...
slow boy: Hi
slow boy: Ok Miss hay, how are you?
MsP: what? im good how are you?
slow boy: Im good
MsP: i thought you were dead
slow boy: I just wanted to see how you were and that I was thinking about you. What does that mean? Why?
MsP: thinking about me?
slow boy: Why would you say you thought I was dead?
MsP: i havent heard from you, but i guess i could have called
MsP: my bad
slow boy: The door swings both ways doesn't it?
MsP: I guess
slow boy:I like to get high my bad am I a bad person because of it
slow boy: ? Wow silence I guess I am...
MsP: it s just that i told you i dont like it and everytime we hang out you were either high or getting high
slow boy: I get what your saying but do you have a problem with it?
he really is slow...
"Booze is the answer. I forget the question."
My head was pounding loud enough to wake me from my coma.
I reluctantly opened my eyes and saw a blurry rendition of my ceiling. My bedroom was on a slight spinning curve and I wanted off the ride, damn it. Although, the clock in my phone translated that I had to be to work in 30 minutes, I was flummoxed how I had even gotten home.
I was still wearing last night’s outfit. A dress that was now cupping my booty cheeks and my four-inch stilettos, one dangling from my ankle. I stood up and wobbled to the bathroom.
Glancing in the mirror, I recognized nothing because of the dark make-up that was smeared all over my face.
And wtf was that smell?
I looked closer to find some crusty chunks of barf mixed in with my mangled hair. Gross. I moaned and put the toilet seat down before sitting to try and collect my thoughts.
“Well, at least I woke up solo in my own bed,” I thought to myself…
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
I spent another typical American afternoon reading up on some literature of Britney Spears' whereabouts. I really had nothing better to do today. Nothing.
I'm probably late to jump on the 'let's talk about Britney bandwagon', but I can't help it. It's just too easy. I was glad to see on perez today that she had grown out her hair long enough to be entwined with some tacky hair extensions. A slow improvement, nonetheless.
I never really was a Britney fan, but for some reason now I am. She totally rocks! She’s just as f*cked up in the head as the rest of us. Right on. Anyone who manages to f*ck up their life that much in such a short period of time gets mad kudos for real.
I thought I had issues...
Watching Britney destroy her career is like watching porn. It's probably bad and I shouldn't be doing it, but I just can't seem to look away. However, most people view porn guilt free so I guess I should enjoy watching Britney.
I still can’t for the life of me understand how she went from this...
Wait, let me do that one more time from this...
(yes, this was Britney)…
wtf was she thinking y’all????
All that damn shopping she does and this is the best outfit she could come up with? I mean I can forgive her for the uggs and the shorts with the pockets hanging out. I can look past the fact that she's lighting up a smoke and she's not wearing a bra, but the red hair tie, has got to go.
I took the liberty of re-writing some of her lyrics into a mega-mix, here goes...
Her loneliness is killin' me, I must confess I still believe (she might be pregnant) hit me, baby, with your umbrella-a-ah…give me a sign, shave your head one more time!!
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
"Due to the lack of interest, today was cancelled."
For some reason I was reminiscing a little of moments from my life, when someones opinion has helped not so much. I remember an ex boyfriend once told me my heart was shriveled like a California Raisin.
Some people just suck. Why can’t all the sucky people, get sucked into outer space, by a big sucking machine and together they can just suck in their own suckdom?
If it's not obvious enough, I'm in a bad mood. If my funky mood had a flavor, it would taste like rotten milk.
Warning: anyone who plans on voicing their opinion to me today will get verbally attacked. I’m serious. I don't want to hear it. Back off.
I think it was yesterday that got the “oh f*ck me, no f*ck you” ball rolling.
Last night I polished off ½ a pizza, a jumbo box of Mike N Ikes and three glasses of root beer. I woke up this morning with heartburn, my period and a pain in my stomach.
“Oh,” said you, “her period, that explains a lot.”
You know what? This is not just PMS. This is a classic case of “when bad things happen to good people.”
I made the brilliant move over the weekend to go swimming with a weave. If anyone anywhere is ever wondering why black women refuse to get their hair wet when swimming, this is an understatement to say the least...
I would also like to add, (this is very unfortunate) the Blockbuster that is walking distance from my house, (even though I never actually got around to walking there) has relocated. Damn it. I guess the option of rolling out of bed in the morning and going to BB in all my sludge is out.
Since today sucks so much, I’ve made a list of today's top five most suckiest things(please, feel free to add to it):
2. speed bumps
3. the damn office phone that keeps ringing, even though it's my job to answer it
Saturday, July 7, 2007
"The best part about alcohol: If you don’t remember, it didn’t happen."
Omg!! I just had the best dream ever!
For me, when people say this before they proceed to try and describe their dream, I'm like please, just shut up already. Honestly, your dream was only good in your mind, while you were sleeping. I, however, wouldn’t have brought my dream up if I didn’t think that it wasn't worth sharing.
I know I'm great. I share. Well, in my dream, I was on a party bus, with Cameron Diaz, on the way to Vegas!!
See, now I bet you want to hear more, but that’s all I got. I woke up before I got to the good stuff.
Yeah, I was disappointed too.
Waking up after another date from hell, the Cam dream did totally make my day though.
Yeah, yeah I’m dating. It sucks. Please spare me any commiseration. I already feel sorry for me too.
So, I met this guy about a month ago. He’s kind of slow. Slow as in, when I tell a joke, he has like a three second witticism delay. Not that I’m a comedian or anything. I mean if it’s not funny, it’s not funny. But if he's laughing late, because I had to rewind and break down the joke for him to get it, then it’s funny and he's just f*cking slow. (Or I could be a bad joke teller, but I'm going to stick to my original argument of him being slow).
I should also mention that he smokes weed on an “occasion.”
He filled me in on this bit of information during an intellectual conversation, where I told him that I try to avoid dating guys who are into smoking weed and playing video games. I didn’t know that it would be so hard to find a guy to meet the criteria of hobbies that don’t include killing brain cells. These days they are hard to come by. I don’t know, maybe the weed explains the delay. At the same time, if he were *high* there wouldn’t be a delay, right? He would laugh quickly at pretty much anything.
I'm not sure where I'm going with this...
Let me just say, I’m trying to see past the slowness and the weed smoking, because he’s nice. And I drink.
Anyway, slow guy took me out to dinner on Friday, to Romano’s, a.k.a., the Macaroni Grill. Somewhere I had never been before, because in my mind I had pictured Bertha, with a hairnet, scooping macaroni out buffet style to Jimbo and them.
I was pleasantly surprised when we got situated at the bar that this was a place I might actually enjoy.
I would call our dinner date, the ‘official’ third date for slow guy and I. (We still had to suffer through small talk and ask each other every five minutes, “is everything ok?”) The evening started off like any other opening night, as he made a toast we giggled and flirted. Slow guy was even sweet enough to help me figure out the foreign menu of pastas and wines.
Somewhere between the appetizers and the main course I managed to have one too many Washington Apple shots. I washed them down with two glasses of wine and grew impatient with our now dry conversation. I’ll admit, I’m a cheap date and by the end of dinner I had to pee and slow guy was getting on my nerves with his Q&A survey of, “so tell me about you?”
I’ll tell you about me. I have a small bladder and I’m going to need another shot to continue this boring ass conversation.
By the time we headed back to his place I wasn’t walking crooked, I was walking in circles. (I think I played it off though; my slurred speech might have been the only thing giving me away). When we got back to his place his roommate was sitting on the couch rolling a fatty. Without any hesitation, slow guy plopped down on the couch, eager to join in on the rotation of the puff. I know I was a ‘little’ sloshed, but couldn’t he have waited until I went home to satisfy his craving? He might as well have whipped out his d*ck and slapped me in the face with it.
Oh well, I guess it never would have worked out with slow guy anyway. We obviously don’t share the same interests. He's a pothead, I'm a drunk. He eats, I throw up. He stares at things for long periods of time, I pass out. He chills on the couch, I stumble around. You get the point.
He was considerate enough to offer me a hit.
I told you he was a nice guy.
Thursday, July 5, 2007
I know, I know, my work is coming out in spurts today. I think it's the heat. I can't concentrate. My face is melting into a sweaty blob that is traveling into my cleavage...
I just wanted to share one more thing before I call it a day.
Apparently, Sarah Jessica Parker and whats-her-face (Kim Cattrall) have squashed their beef, after an hour and 45 mins. of mud wrestling. It was a close call. I'm not sure who won. S.J.P.'s weave was blocking my view, but The Sex and the City movie is a go!!
Next to the Spice Girl reunion tour, that had to be the best news I've heard all day...
I think it would be superfluous of me to say, I told you so, but I'm going to go ahead and say it anyway...
Disappointing sequels: Shrek 3, Ocean's Thirteen, Pirates of The Caribbean 3 and (I'm going to also include) Transformers...
The good news is that Rush Hour 3 is coming out this summer!!
*sigh* Chris Tucker, you have been missed...MsP
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
You know it's funny...
I just took my first trip ever to NYC, from the Bay Area, California (officially the last family vacation I will ever suffer through again) and some how managed to stumble in on a gay pride parade...go figure. Here is me talking to the 'Top Flight Security Guard' at the festival...
MsP- "Wow! Do you guys do this every Sunday?"
'Top Flight Security Guard'- "Nope. This only happens once a year."
I have to admit I have a crush on NYC...but don't tell anyone ... *see I'm blushing*... I am a Cali girl, forever in my heart.
Although, there was something about NYC that I just can't explain. Maybe it was the busy streets, (almost getting run over by a taxi cab), all the glamorous shopping, (getting a coach bag and sunglasses off the street for more than 1/2 off), or the food (is NYC known for the food?) that has got me all flustered inside.
Traveling with the fam can really drag a**, but I wouldn't trade my NYC experience for anything. I would go back in a heartbeat.
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
“Never make someone a priority, when all you are to them is an option."
There comes a time in most relationships, (especially today, in America, in 2007) when things just don’t work out. The honeymoon phase becomes a distant memory, "Mr. right" turns into what-the-f*ck-was-I-thinking and the person we thought could be "the one", is as bad as a hangover in Las Vegas.
(At least that seems to be the reason for the divorced population today, with 50% of marriages ending in divorce, but what do I know, I’ve never been married).
Sometimes there are subtle signs that the relationship is over, for example, getting married in Las Vegas, constant arguing, loss of interest in the same activities, dry boring sex, cheating, excessive drinking, heroin, etc.
Hollywood ‘A-listers’ continue to set such prime examples of what not to do. Especially Britney, y’all, because shaving your head, beating cars with umbrellas and popping out two babies in less than a year, apparently will not save a marriage.
So instead I look to family for a better idea of what a successful relationship could be. My grandparents were married for 52 years, my parents 30 years and well, I’m single. Nice.
Relationships take time, effort and energy and at this point, I’ve clocked out and lost interest.
Am I bitter? Maybe.
Do I need to get laid? Perhaps.
However, I’m not in a hurry to meet the next man controlled by his genitals.
My last relationship ended after a night of drinking way too much tequila.
Forget drunk dialing, I hopped the fence to my ex’s apartment complex, stumbled up the stairs, only to find him in bed with another woman. He casually tried to explain to me that he was naked because he’d just gotten out of the shower, when this woman had miraculously appeared in his bed.
Along with the leprechaun in his laundry basket, the unicorn in his closet and the skid marks in his boxer-briefs.
“See babe, what had happened was”…
(You see, the thing that gets me, is not the fact that he was cheating, but the fact that he continued to lie about it. I mean you’re caught buddy. It’s over. The hole you are digging,’ is deep into the walls of her vagina. Admit you f*cked up and move on).
At the time, my blurred vision allowed me to see through his lie and somehow through my drunken fury and double vision, I managed to punch him square in the jaw. Then, afraid he was going to call the cops on me, a drunk and violent trespasser, supposed girlfriend, I fled (stumbled) back downstairs. Maneuvering through some bushes, I did a couple back-flips, a somersault and used my peripherals before diving into the car where my friend was waiting, for a quick getaway.
(I was James Bond 007 in my former life, or in other words, I couldn’t walk because I was so heavily intoxicated).
This encounter was the first and only time in my life that being drunk and ambitious was beneficial. I’m not saying we had the best relationship aside from the drinking and the other women, but that night pretty much killed any future talks about, “where are we going with this?”
Am I the only one who is not all pumped up about the movie ‘Transformers’!? Or the new iphone!?
So by now readers are probably wondering wtf ‘A Taste of Fresh Banana Puddin’s’ blog is really all about.
Honestly, I don’t know.
Cajun boy really put things into perspective when he stereotyped all bloggers and I didn’t fit into any category except possibly the stereotype inspiration blogger.
I’ll take it!
I always get in trouble for running my mouth so online at least I don’t have to worry about getting punched in the face for my opinion. So with that said, welcome to my world of true stories embellished by my imagination, rants and other useless information.
PS- Happy early 4th of July!!