Oh, there I am. I'm trying not to be a Scrooge this year and yes, the alcohol is helping. I can proudly say I puked in my hair last Saturday. Just keepin' it classy.
I wanted to post up some quick holiday love before being trapped for five days with the family. Hope you're all either getting boinked under the mistle toe or takin' shots with Santa. Maybe even both or felt up by an elf with a wreath wrapped around your ankles. Kinky. Anyway...
Peace ~ Love & A Round of Drinks on Me!!
Monday, December 22, 2008
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Since the economy is down I thought it would be a good idea to revise my resume. So it’s a good thing that I have this blog full of so many things I’m good at to base my experience on…
You Are Here, CA 86411
Looking for a job where no one cares about my punctual nature and sobriety.
USSI - U Seem Smart Institute for becoming extra Smarter, You Are Here, CA
A Bull Shit degree in Learning
Minor in Stuff
- Dancing on bars
- Drunk driving
- Any back alley
- Cheap date
- Plan B savvy
- Passing out Drunk (on doorsteps, front lawns, the back seat of your car, etc.)
- Knows someone who knows the personal assistant of the girl who was in that one movie, yeah her sister.
- N / A (I don’t do kittens, babies or old people)
- In The Hole Award (Puking on target)
- Nacho Champ Eater
- Falling face first an impressive amount of times
THINGS I’M GOOD AT
- Hopping fences
- Other people’s credit cards
- Getting free drinks
- Losing panties
- Drunk texting / dialing / stopping by unannounced
- Getting by on a cup of noodles (Food Max, 24-pack for $3, btw)
- Dancing good while inebriated
- Holding my pee
- Creatively popping a squat
- Starting fights with bitches I don’t know…or my ex
- Decent at blowjobs, but infrequent
- Stuffing bra
- Giving number, email / address out to anyone who asks for it
- Setting things on fire
- Habitual Thrower
- Fucking Crazy
42nd and Taylor 11 / 5 – current
You Are Here, CA
Corner Worker – I work hard
Burger King bathroom 4 / 08 – 11 / 1
You Are There, CA
Nothing really – sobered up and ate French fries
911 – please ask for anyone who moves fast and has really good MEDs.
*A special thanks to my PA for helping me put this resume together on such short notice.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
"My theory is that the real Michael Jackson died when his hair caught on fire while shooting that Pepsi commercial."
Friday, November 7, 2008
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Monday, October 27, 2008
My vagina has recently packed up and bounced out. So if you see her on I-90 with a suitcase full of lube, condoms and birth control, can you please call me at 1-800-GET-LAID?
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
I think I gave the blogworld some great head this past week (or two) didn't I? Or maybe it was more like a nice swift kick in the balls or a punch in the vagina? Huh. I'm not really sure, either way I should get a nice big metal for officially sucking at a blogging.
One thing I have been keeping up with is the gym. Yes, not only did I join, but I've actually been showing up. My motivation is the local cheer team that seems to practice their routines every time I hop on the treadmill. Stupid skinny-perky-24/7-bitches who like babies. Grrr.
I got to be honest here. I miss the ex. It's been cold turkey since I went all Kelis on his ass and I'm having a hard time adjusting. Sooooo, I've been telling my friends every time they go out now, they have to get me at least two numbers. If you read this blog you too now have to get me numbers of hot guys who have jobs and can read good. Thanks.
Friday, October 10, 2008
I woke up this morning (afternoon) to find the usual emails in my box (hee hee), several Viagra and penis enhancement inquiries, (I HAVE A VAGINA!), a letter from some guy in India asking for a donation of $5 million and singlesnet.com’s weekly newsletter.
I did, however, also come across a new stalker! Yay, more free Starbucks! Apparently new reader, Mr. V, read my old post about the rocker contest and wished he could have gotten in on the competition. Here’s his submission…
Pretty impressive. Welcome to the family...
Monday, October 6, 2008
Thursday, October 2, 2008
I love my friends. I especially love my guy friends. I learn so much about men from them.
Like for example, I didn’t know that it was possible to have a brown ring around the inside of a toilet bowl for two months without catching hepatitis A,B, and C. I also didn’t know that it takes four 24-packs of empty Coors Light bottles to cover an entire coffee table. And who knew somehow in the midst of old fast food bags, dirty laundry and beard shavings my best guy friend could maintain a healthy relationship. Huh. They must spend more time at her house than his. I’m not sure.
Still, it’s just interesting to me how different guys think compared to women. This particular guy friend of mine not only has a messy abode, but he has some interesting convictions about me and another female friend of ours. You see, him, this other female friend and I all basically grew up together, so we’re all close. In fact, they're like brother and sister to me.
Anyway, he called me yesterday just to say, hi, and he got to talking about how the three of us should all get a hotel room and “get crazy”. Now from a female’s perspective, I took this notion as him suggestion a potential threesome? He immediately bursts out laughing and says no, he meant like just hang out, catch up, blah, blah, blah…
Then he pauses for a minute and says, “Wait, you two have never messed around?” (In reference to me and my girl).
“Um no”, I responded, “Are you fucking retarded?”
“No I’m serious,” he said. “Like you two have never gotten drunk, come home and bitched about how shitty guys are. Then got naked, kissed and one thing led to another?”
“NO!” I yelled (laughing at this point). “What made you think that!?”
“I don't know, but nothing,” he asked again. “Not even like a little kiss?”
Really??? Wait, so guys think that females who are really close have lesbian tendencies? Is that the fantasy?
Well, let me clear this up right now. When I come home with my friends drunk and bitch about a guy, we usually do it stuffing our faces with Jack-n-the-Box and then pass out in our heels and make-up. Waking up the next morning looking like a raccoon and wondering why our friend is face first in the toilet…imagine that.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
I joined 24-Hour Fitness. (Insert loud gasp of shock here).
I know, I know, me in spandex, not the business. But fatty’s hungry. Fatty’s got to eat. And fatty doesn’t want to feel guilty for ordering a drink, an appetizer, the whole left side of the menu, desert, a cow and a little something extra to go. Ya know, the works.
If I don’t like jogging, I really don’t like jogging in the rain. I hate the rain and by the end of October it’s going to be way to cold for me to do any outdoor activities. I might have to even cut back on my stalking and fence hopping, because I’m a baby when it comes to being cold.
So now I get to join the meatheads and tiny bitches in spandex. Can’t wait. I updated my iPod, so hopefully I can drown everyone out and will only have to put up with the smell of sweaty metal and balls. Yum.
Wish me luck bitches! I start tomorrow.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Wait, what? Yeah I said it.
You know I’m really trying hard not be one of those girls who had a bad break with the penis and becomes really bitter. And then today my coworker took his wedding ring off and asked me out to dinner. Really? I can still see your tan line homie. Do I look that stupid? Desperate? Maybe. I woke up this morning cuddling with my laptop. How romantic, I know, right?
It just sucks because before my ex I was a fucking pimp. A P-I-M-P. I’m serious. I had hooooosss. Same area codes, but they were there nonetheless. There was always a guy on call good for something. And now my status is so dried up it’s going to take a spatula and some baby oil to get this girl in gear again.
However, I did meet this guy out on the town with the girls over the summer. He gave me his card and I’ve been emailing him, to kind of show him I’m not that interested. The catch is that he is older, but he does own a casino, btw. Apparently, he came into my job the other day when I wasn’t there and was asking about me.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
I don’t know about you guys, but I sure am going to sleep better tonight knowing that Clay Aiken is out. I still don’t get the whole having a kid thing, but at least it explains why the sound of his music makes me want to go and buy shoes.
I like the gays.
Despite what some of you may think, I’m not gay. I prefer the churro to the taco. Although, I haven’t got laid since the Raiders made it to the Super Bowl, I am still a big fan of the shaboinka.
Gay marriage doesn’t bug me either. The idea of GOGA is kind of hot. Shit, Katy Perry kissed a girl, she liked it and she has a man.
Yes it grosses me out imagining a grown ass man with a dick in his booty looking back at his lover saying, “Gimme more, gimme.” However, gay sex can’t be any more disgusting than old people sex. Right?
So I don’t see why two people can’t be together just because their genitals are the same. Since the divorce rate is so high might as well give it a try.
Monday, September 22, 2008
I’m famous beeotches! Well kind of, but not really.
See what had happened was I was minding my own bizness when all of a sudden, the Cunning Linguist’s 12 inch penis landed in my email box. I was surprised as you could only imagine, but came (oh that was bad) and found out that he wanted to interview me for his blog! Yay!
I was going to post it here, but he has it up already in his page. So check it out! I gave a few shout outs too!
Real quick and random I also wanted to post up some music therapy for anyone who’s interested. I didn’t get blind sighted with a meme or tagged or nothing like that, but I thought I would share some of the songs I’m feeling at the moment.
Please enjoy because it’s better than my initial list of top five people I would most like to punch in the balls.
Kardinal Offishal ft Akon- Dangerous
Donnie klang- Idol
Christina Aguilera- Keeps Getting Better
I’m downloading, any more music to add to my list???
Friday, September 19, 2008
This is what my roomie busted out for breakfast yesterday. Hot dogs with ketchup and a waffle with syrup. On the same plate. At the same time. I thought I was going to throw up. And yes that is hot sauce in the background.
Times are hard man.
Wha wha wha wha.
My baby left me.
Wha wha wha wha.
I can't find a job.
Wha wha wha wha.
I'm so hungry.
Wha wha wha wha.
I got to eat hot dogs!
Oh! Damn right, I got the blues.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Dear white people who get drunk and think they can dance good,
First of all, let me start by saying I feel your pain because I’m half white. My mom has the ability to bop her head, clap her hands, stomp her feet all on a different beat and still manage to be off beat. (Although in her defense she doesn’t drink and it takes a lot of coaxing to get her out on the dance floor). However, my mom’s nonexistent rhythm seems to be a trend among white people and I must put a stop to it.
I guess what I am trying to say is that white people shouldn’t dance. Ever. Just don’t do it. I’ll give you a get-on-on-the-dance-floor-for-free-card for weddings and Bar/Ba Mitzvahs, but the club is OFF LIMITS! Not only do I have to watch that shit, but it looks painful. Your clumsy drunk body being pulled in different directions all at the same time is really confusing and weird.
The slogan, “BEER: Helping white people dance since 1942,” is wrong. What it should read is, “BEER: Helping white people get drunk enough so that they feel the need to get on the dance floor and flop around uncontrollably like a fish with Tourette syndrome.”
The hopping up and down thing or jogging arms, kind of saves you white people, but not really. The thing is that you might wake up in the morning and not remember shit about being on the dance floor, but I do white people. I do. So please, for the love of the downbeat, please get drunk and mingle instead of trying to “cut a rug.”
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Are you there readers? It’s me, Ms Puddin’.
I had a Britney moment over the weekend. No I didn’t shave my head or give birth, but I did do some crazy shit. Too make a long story short I got into a fight with the ex in the club on Friday night. (Yeah I know, because I’m like so totally mature, right)?
Security literally lifted me out of my barstool and out of the club. On my way out, the ex had the nerve to take a Corona and dump it all on my clothes, my hair, my face, everything! I'm already getting kicked out, was that really necessary?
Ms Puddin’ was P-I-S-S-E-D.
However, by the time I got halfway down the block, I was over the argument and getting tossed out of the club, but the fact that he added that last little beer douche was what pushed me 51/50.
So I did the next logical thing that popped into my head. I went over to his house and I had a Kelis “I Hate You So Much Right Now!” moment. I fucked his shit up. Technically I didn’t really break or vandalize anything, I just made a mess he was going to have to clean up.
So now when I meet guys and they ask me that stupid question, “Why are you single? Is it because you’re crazy or something?” I can say, “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am a crazy fucking bitch.”
Ironically I was wearing a really pretty black and glittery cross around my neck that night. So the next day I told my friend in the midst of everything that it somehow got ripped from my neck and was going to ask her if she would help me look for it.
She replied with a, “No, I think God ripped that off of your neck that night.”
I think she is right too. God was like, “Time out, I’m going to need that back, thanks.”
When I sobered up the next day I felt like shit. I hate this situation I’m in with him right now. I hate that it still even exists. I know that in the end it is going to be me who is going to have to grow some and make sure nothing like that ever happens again.
So yeah anyway, that's why I'm crazy...
Oh! I almost forgot, on a side-positive-whole-other note. I went to go see Janet Jackson bitches!
It. Was. Awesome. I feel complete.
And I was sitting next to one of the flaming of the flamingest couples ever and we took turns screaming like teenie boppers, “We love you Janet!”
Best part of the whole concert. Must see!
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Ok where was this party and why wasn’t I invited???!!! >:-/
I'm just saying, can a sista get a table dance?
Sooooo, I have a confession to make. I kissed girl and I liked it. Just kidding. No really, I liked it. Ok, ok for real, my confession is that I think Miley Cyrus is kind of badass. I just wish she were a little older so I wouldn’t feel so guilty about enjoying her not contributing to society.
Don’t tell anybody I just said that either…
Well, if it isn’t obvious enough, I watched the VMAs. This is exciting news guys! I don’t have cable, I just happened to be in the right place at the right time.
However, I watched it with a bunch of guys, which was a bad fuckin’ idea. All I heard the whole time was how thick Rhianna’s thighs are and how many Kama Sutra positions she is wanted in. It's bad enough the bitch already stole my man, now I got to hear about her sexy thighs? Ugh.
It’s cool though, because I have a new crush. Oh yeah, Christopher Mintz-Plasse, sexy nerd. You could be my McLovin anytme baby.
PS- I know I suck at blogging right now. Please feel free to give me a cyber slap in my comments.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
The go go company that I dance with had a live photo shoot at a night club on Sunday. It was make-up artists, costumes, Michael Vincent, the whole nine. So in the midst of the mayhem I made numerous trips to the bathroom to make sure that everything was in place.
I noticed that there was a lady who seemed to be in the bathroom mirror every time I was in there. So I said to her, “Every time I’m in here, you’re here.”
“Yeah, maybe we’re on the same schedule,” she responded.
“Maybe,” I said.
“Sooo,” she said. “How many kids do you have?”
How many kids do I have!!!? NONE. And isn’t the question, do you have any kids, not how many?
“I don’t have any kids, what makes you think I have kids?” I asked.
“Oh, just the way you carry yourself, you seem more mature than the other girls,” she said.
I’m wearing booty shorts and my bra is showing, how in the hell does that scream, “I’m more mature bitches!?”
“No I think that was just a nice way of saying, hey you look fat in your skimpy photo shoot outfit,” I said.
“Oh no, I didn’t mean it like that,” she said. “Don’t worry hon, I have two kids and look at me.”
She was a total MILF, probably in her late 30s, brunette, with big rubber titties. Possibly some work done on her face, but I couldn’t put it past her that she looked good.
“Well, I have a degree, that’s my baby,” I boasted a little bit.
“Oh what do you have your degree in,” she asked.
“I have a BS in journalism,” I told her.
“Oh yeah, that’s good,” she said. “I have my Masters in speech.”
Great, now not only am I a fat ass, I’m a dumbass too. I could feel my bubble burst all over the bathroom mirror. Who the hell was this lady? Was she working for Satan?
Note to self: Don’t start small talk with random MILFs in bathrooms unless you’re under the influence or covered up.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
My little brother had that strip on his MySpace. Should I be worried?
So, I read on BestWeekEver’s blog that Diddy can’t fly his private jet because gas prices are too high. Yes he is forced to fly commercial like the rest of us. I don’t know if I feel sorry for Diddy or the people sitting next to him in first class.
Could you imagine sitting next to him and his walk-and-get-me-a-cheesecake-at-4a.m.-on 24th-avenue attitude? I might finally have an excuse to write a letter to someone about these prices. Can someone please lower gas prices, before Diddy puts a stewardess into the crazy house?
I found this clip of George Keith on SketchyPremise from awhile ago. If you’ve already seen it, then don’t fucking watch it. If you haven’t, check it out. He had me dying talking about his non-comedy job and ex-wife.
Monday, August 25, 2008
I’ve decided that after thirty I’m not working out anymore. I’m just going to go and get all the fat sucked out of my body. I’m serious, I want Dr. Rey or somebody to take that big long metal knife and chop me up into little pieces.
Maybe also do some rearranging, like pull the fat from my thighs and put it into my ass. Then mold my gut into some kind of boobage/cleavage creation. That’s right. Get creative! Make me beautiful bitches! By the time I am thirty they will have discovered new ways to make me look like a ten-year-old on crack.
Until then I must eat right and exercise. I say this like I’m on a Jedi mission. Which is the only reason why when my so-called friend asked me to go jogging the other day I said, “yes”.
I don’t jog. Wait, let me rephrase that, I can’t fucking jog. It’s like the Special Olympics. I look like a four-year-old in the grocery store, when their mom just told them they couldn’t have something. You know and they do that run where their head turns into a bobble head and their arms flail around uncontrollably. And they whine, “but mom whyeeeeeeeeee!?”
Yeah that’s me, in spandex.
The last time I went jogging was at the gym and it’s been a few years. I remember huffing and puffing on a treadmill, when this chick like eight months pregnant hops on next to me. No really, not fat she was fucking skinny and pregnant.
After about 5 whole minutes of running I couldn’t take it anymore. My chest started to burn, I needed a hip replacement and I lost all feeling in my knees. And here this bitch was next to me just casually jogging for two.
So anyway, my friend and I ended up on this two-mile trail through the woods. All of which I probably only jogged a good fifteen minutes. The whole time I was thinking about what I was going to eat next. Three days later, my knees are still swollen and I don’t feel any skinnier.
I’m telling ya, I can’t wait until I’m thirty…
Friday, August 22, 2008
*disclaimer*- this blog post has nothing to do with the show LOST. Sorry.
I recently gave my parents two options: they can either buy me a new car with a GPS system in it or they can buy me a Blackberry GPS. It’s a win, win situation. Just because they cut me off doesn’t mean they can’t but me gifts, right?
And trust me, it’s an emergency. I have so many old folded up mapquest papers in the side of my car door, my friends keep asking me if I run a secret escort service. That’s a good idea, but negative. I just have a really bad sense of direction.
And when it comes to stopping and asking for directions, I’m like a guy. For some reason I’d rather drive around in circles for hours, than stop to ask for directions. Unless, of course, I have to pee and then I miraculously turn back into a girl.Actually, I’m kind of used to driving around in circles. I get to know the area better to prevent it in the future. So until I get a GPS system in some shape or form and you are riding with me, be prepared to take the scenic route.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Speaking of men…
I tried to post this singles add on craigslist, but it got sent back to me. The email read something about inappropriate content. Humph. How can I put out there what I’m looking for in a man if the Internet won’t let me? Anyway, here is the ad, you be the judge…
I am looking for a man who is between 6’ and 6’2”and has a great sense of humor. He must be moderately good looking with excellent hygiene. I don’t like pretty boys. Preferably a Libra, but I will also take Gemini or an Aries.
Penis size should be not too big and not too small. If things aren't looking good in this department, compensate.
I want an educated man who is still street smart. I don’t care what business he’s in, just as long as it isn’t drug or ho related. MUST pay taxes.
Please no baby mama drama. If you do have A kid that is great, however, they must not be a whiny little brat. Preferably potty trained and if they act up I get the right to karate chop them in the side of the neck.
About me: I am a 24-yr-old bartender, who is educated, but hasn’t quite found her niche yet. I’m not desperate, just bored with it all and wanted to spice things up. If you are interested, please email me at (mspuddin [at] gmail [dot] com).
And may the best man win.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Ok boys, I’m going to give each and every one of you a chance to defend yourself, but not before I pop you all upside the back of the head.
Honestly, I am disappointed in the men of my generation at the moment. I’m not just speaking from my own experience this time, because three, not one, not two, but three of my girls hit me up over this last week with some, “oh hell naw!” stories about the men in their lives. From infidelity to lying to saying some stupid shit like, “you’ll have to leave the bar right now you’re fucking up my game.”
I’m sorry, the only girls I will condone that kind of behavior towards is maybe the ones who walk around with T-shirts that read, “save a virgin, do me instead,” or “cock-a-doodle-do-me.” And I blame them too, but other than that, unacceptable.
Focus boys, focus. If you can’t grasp the concept that girls in porn get paid good money to two-girls-one-cup-it, we got a problem. Please understand reality TV is far from reality and networks purposely cast those girls to walk around on camera in their booty shorts with their titties hanging out.
They get paid to get drunk and make out with half the cast and staff. In fact it's more than likely in their contracts right next to, "blow the director." Besides most of them probably also have the I.Q. of a grape. And since when is that sexy?
What is the deal yo?
Guys listen up—pull out a fucking chair, buy some freakin’ flowers and “you’re ass looks phat in those jeans” does not constitute as a compliment. Also, don’t tell a girl you want to be with her if you can’t back it up by your actions.
For the most part I’m just really disgusted. I know some of the guys that read my blog are married, faithful and all around good guys. Well can you leave some pointers to the rest of the dumbasses out there?Right now I am opening up my comments for a session on the etiquette of how to treat a lady or at least how to weed the ladies out from the floozies. And for those of you fellas who feel the need to defend yourselves, please, be my guests, because I just don’t get it.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
I also decided to start fresh by cleaning my room, which has been a messy disaster for sometime now. Kind of a cheesy metaphor for how my life has been going lately. In the midst of it all, I was coming home to what looked like my closet threw up in the Middle East during a dust storm. It’s amazing how I made it from the door to the bed. How I even found my bed every night is another story. I don’t even want to think about when I was drunk…
Anyway, it took me four hours to clean my room yesterday and I kept sneezing because of all the dust. Another reason it might have taken so long is because I don’t know about you, but I like to clean with loud music. There’s a good chance I spent an hour of cleaning time dancing in front of my mirror.
In the end, I picked a shit load of clothes off the floor, equivalent to five laundry loads. I threw away 75 percent of excess crap from the top of my dresser, desk and floor. I made about $25 in change, found my roller skates and a whole box of tampons. Whoop! Whoop!
Oh the joy.And to top it all off, I even made my bed. :)
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
*disclaimer* - I have only done illegal and dirty things to Reggie Bush in my mind. Unfortunately, I have never physically had any real sexual encounters with him.
I wish that women could brag about their sexual encounters, without sounding like dirty whores who feel they have to run home to wash the stench of badussy out of their vagina's.
One of the guys I used to date back in college just recently got drafted into the NFL. I’m talking a multi-million dollar contract. He also just got married. I’m really happy for him and glad it wasn’t me he married. Honestly.
Although, whenever his name comes up, people always ask me if I knew him. Basically because we went to school together.
“Yeah I remember him,” is pretty much all the information I am willing to expose. I’ve learned to keep my sex life private.
Truth is, I hit that. Yes I said it. Actually, if I said it more like a man instead of a lady I’d say, “I made that man my little bitch. Had him screaming my name and everything.”
Ok I don’t know about that last part, but him and I used to GET IT ON.
Back in the day I was a football player magnet. I don’t know why either, because I kind of have a prejudice against them. When I think football player, I think Paco from Blazing Saddles meets Varsity Blues. Not all players, but most of them seem to use their football scholarships as a free ride from school and a tool to pick up women.
At first it was flattering and when I was younger I would take a hot body over brains any day. However, it got old quick and soon I started to feel like a groupie. I mean, pimpin' ain't easy for a lady. And since I’m not the girl he married and is sharing his contract with, people will just assume as much.
Anyway, for the record I am not a groupie and I still hit that. Jealous???
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
“What makes you think that,” she asked.
“I just keep having bad things happen to me lately,” I said. “I assume it’s because I did something to somebody somewhere.”
She looks at me and says, “Let me tell you a story…”
I just got back from visiting a friend of mine from college. She is a single mother, who took her daughter to Europe on vacation. While vacationing, someone stole her purse, which had all form of identification (I.D./passport) and money. She had to go to the police and even the American Embassy for help. After pulling teeth she manages to get some money wired to her from America and issues for a new passport.
Then while leaving the airport she puts all of her luggage on one of those carts. You know the big wobbly carts with three wheels that you load up and take in the elevator. Well, she is extra paranoid after her theft experience, so she decides to take it on the escalator instead. All is well until she gets to the bottom of the escalator and the front wheel gets stuck. She goes flying over the cart and all of her luggage landing on her arm. She ends up in the hospital hemorrhaging with blood everywhere.
She is a good strong woman who is now telling me what you said, about having bad karma.
“No,” I said. “That is just some really bad luck.”
“Yeah, I think that sometimes people go through a really hard time and it puts them in this negative mind frame. A state of mind where they start to assume everyone and everything is out to get them.”
“And things always tend to get a whole lot worse before they get any better,” I added.
“From my experience that is true as well,” she said.The bad can happen to the best of us, I guess. I got to change my mind frame, it’s depressing…
Saturday, August 9, 2008
I’m pretty sure everyone has heard the sad news by now, but Bernie Mac passed away this morning at the age of 50. I just wanted to pay a little tribute, because he will be missed.
Oh and if you haven’t read his auto-biography, “Maybe You Never Cry Again,” check it out, it’s a great read.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Well I’m still doing this bartending thing until I can find a decent “grown up people’s” job. Like I, of all people, need to be any closer to alcohol or other people drinking alcohol. However, booze and money in the same spot is right up there with getting some head in heaven. And just for saying that I am probably going to take it up the ass in hell. :-(
Anyway, I was relocated through my company to a different restaurant. Nothing I did, just something to do with some remodeling. It’s the same business, but in a more snooty area and a little more fast paced. Basically this means I have to put up with more shit, but I’ll be making better money. So I guess it evens out.
Although, can I just say that if one more creepy old guy sits at my bar, I’m going to stab him in the balls with my wine key. And that might hurt a bit.
I’m serious. You over there, with the seven and seven, don’t think I can’t see you looking down my shirt as I bend over into the well. And you over there workin’ on your fifth pint, mentioning that oysters are your aphrodisiac before ordering half a dozen is unnecessary.
What do I recommend, you ask? I recommend that you quit staring at my ass, close out your tab and go home to your wife and kids!
Oh and this is for the rest of you know-it-alls, who sit at the bar with the only intention of trying to make a mockery of me. Do I look like I care that you know more about the wines here than I do, because I don’t.
At the end of the day, grape texture serves of no purpose to me but a big chunk of useless information. It reminds me of learning Pi (3.14) in high school. When have I used Pi? Never. Not once has it come in handy. Not at the grocery store, the gas station, during sex, in the shower, not even while surfing the internet has Pi come up as a solution.
I hate to be a bitch, but order a drink and shut the fuck up.
Can anyone pull any strings, because I WANT TO WORK FOR DIDDY!
Monday, August 4, 2008
Man, so much for change.
I've been trying (not very hard) to steer this blog away from its usual debauchery, however, this picture was too priceless not to post and make a banner out of. I just had to put it up. I’m so deep and meaningful it hurts.
What were we doing? I have no idea. a) totally making out and getting hot and heavy outside the bar. b) cement wrestling. or c) we were just plain old sloppy drunk bitches who fell and could not get the fuck up.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Ok my mom emailed me this earlier today.
Then my cousin just sent me a link to Ludacris' new endorsement of Obama.
I'm back on it like I just signed my record deal
yeah the best is here, the Bentley Coup paint is dripping wet, it got sex appeal
never should have hated
you never should've doubted him
with a slot in the president's iPod Obama shattered 'em
Said I handled his biz and I'm one of his favorite rappers
Well give Luda a special pardon if I'm ever in the slammer
Better yet put him in office, make me your vice president
Hillary hated on you, so that b^$&%* is irrelevant
Jesse talking slick and apologizing for what?
if you said it then you meant it how you want it have a gut!
and all you other politicians trying to hate on my man,
watch us win a majority vote in every state on my man
you can't stop what's bout to happen, we bout to make history
the first black president is destined and it's meant to be
the threats ain't fazing us, the nooses or the jokes
so get off your ass, black people, it's time to get out and vote!
paint the White House black and I'm sure that's got 'em terrified
McCain don't belong in ANY chair unless he's paralyzed
Yeah I said it cause Bush is mentally handicapped
Ball up all of his speeches and I throw em like candy wrap
cause what you talking I hear nothing even relevant
and you the worst of all 43 presidents
get out and vote or the end will be near
the world is ready for change because Obama is here!
cause Obama is here
The world is ready for change because Obama is here!
I'm not mad, just ready to see what is going to happen next, ya know?
Monday, July 28, 2008
I was driving in my car the other day when that Mary J. Blidge song came on the radio, “Not Gon’ Cry.” Remember that song from Waiting to Exhale, outlining Angela Bassett’s character? The woman who was married to her man for 11 years, helped him build his company success, had two of his children, then he had an affair (with a white woman) and left her?
Well I was thinking, they’re relationship probably started out all honeymoon-like. They met, fell in love and things were great, long walks, long conversations, lots of sex and quality time. That was, until he started thinking with his dick, totally fucked her and tried to take everything she had worked so hard for.
I’m thinking that since people tend to get married to get divorced, this scenario is all too familiar for most.
Then there are other people, (like me), who meet their significant other and they start showin’ they ass within like the first few weeks. Not to be too specific, but a rude, lazy, selfish, player, with no intentions to commit, no direction and so not worth the time and effort, who one day realizes that he is a jerkface and the two of you were meant to be.
Basically what I’m saying is that maybe we should start dating backwards, ya know? Like get all of our flaws out of the way in the beginning of the relationship, so in the end we can live happily ever without divorce or compromising surprises.
Ok this could be a really lame justification for my personal dating situation or a brilliant revelation...
Saturday, July 26, 2008
This is my 200th post! Yeah boi! Lets get naked!
In honor of myself (really, enough about me), I thought it would be cool to take a stumble down my drunken memory lane. Pretty much to remind us all that a camera + alcohol = a bad idea.
So please, sit back, grab a cocktail and enjoy the Top 5 Drunk Moments in Puddin' History...
A recent pic of me at a rock star party strikin’ my signature pose…
Ok that last one wasn’t me. Seriously.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
The difference between a female and a male stalker is this: A female stalker will call you repeatedly, hanging up as soon as you answer. If, and only if, you tick her off she will speak, cussing you out, but then hanging up before you get a word in edgewise.
A male stalker will stay on the phone long enough to breath into the phone so much that your ear may become moist. He might even dry heave a few words at you like, “What are you doing?” or “Do I make you horny baby?”
I can appreciate a good stalker every now and again.
Sometimes they come in handy when I forget the password to my MySpace page or can’t remember which gas station was the cheapest. Not only do my personal stalkers bring me the paper and Starbucks, but also I can occasionally get some lurkers to comment over here every now and again. Thanks guys. :)
Don’t feel bad if you fit into any of the categories above, for I am a certified grade A stalker myself. I’ve master sliding into my camel-toe-tight-cat-suit and then lurking beneath my ex’s window in the bushes. Waiting to see what he is up to or watching his cable for free in through the window.
Ok let me rephrase that, it’s not so much a cat suit as me naked and not so much me hiding in the bushes, but more so me drunk, inconspicuously (eagle spread) passed out on his front lawn.
Ok so maybe I lied and I’m not the best stalker. So what, I’m a liar and a really good trespasser. Whatever.
Anyway, the last few nights I’ve been receiving an anonymous phone call. Last night anon caller called me 27 times! At 2 a.m.! All of which I answered once, where he proceeded to breath inauspiciously into the phone and then say in a low voice, “I just want three minutes of your time.”
I was really struggling to imagine what kind of low life f*ck would keep pestering me. Was it the hottie I gave my number to last weekend at the bar, through my blurred vision?
Aw, crap-on-a-condom. It probably was. Well, there are better ways to ask a girl out on a date. I just hope I don’t end up a victim like in some made-for-TV horror movie…
I know I haven’t posted or whored around on other blogs in almost a week, but can I distract you with the fact that *gasp* Britney Spederline looks almost normal!!!!!!!!!????????
Friday, July 18, 2008
…adopt four kids and then give birth to twins…
…give Kevin Federline custody of your kids…
…or find out you’re an immediate relative to the Hogans???
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
This stupid quarter-life crisis thingy is taking up a lot of my time. And I’m finding out that too many people that I know read this blog. It makes for an awkward situation when I bump into someone and they’re like, “I really like your writing, but I think you might have a drinking problem.”
I’m going through a personal crisis right now, drinking is the least of my problems. I’ve ate all the food in my house, used up all the gas in my car and have probably applied to every single job opening on craigslist. I could use a drink. Actually, I’m thinking of AA just for the free food, coffee and group support from a bunch of other losers probably far off worse than me.
I’m just saying.
Let me break this down for those who still can’t quite feel my pain. Some people graduate from high school and then go straight into the work force. They might have a job that they hate for the rest of their life, but they have experience.
Other’s (like me) go to college for ten years, party, have sex, act like a gay whore on parade day and then graduate with a degree and no experience. They can’t even experience having a job that they hate, because no one will hire them.
I'm such a brat, I know.
Find me in a better mood here.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Thank God I found me. I’m over here today guys.
Actually, unless I get too drunk, pass out on public transportation and wake up naked, face down on the beach again, (or at least I think that was the beach, it was sandy), I should be here every Thursday.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
I’m serious. I have been grubbin’ lately. My roommate’s friend saw some of my pictures on MySpace and asked her, “How does your roommate stay so thin?”
She’s like, “I don’t know, all she does is sit on the couch and eat popcorn.”
This is true, but sometimes it’s popcorn and other times it’s using nacho cheese or a tub of butter to dip my rack of lamb into. The weirdest part is that I really don’t work out. I would rather get a dick up the nose or see Bush re-elected as president than go to the gym.
The most exercise I probably got all last week was walking to the car to go out to dinner with my friend. When we got there, at first I had water and a glass of wine. Then I had a small salad with ranch and the shrimp appetizer. Then I ordered the Lemon Herb Chicken with asparagus, a side of mash potatoes and a side of rice. Then I had a shot.I know I’m not pregnant. You have to have sex to get pregnant. Although I hope I don’t start looking like I’m pregnant. The day I look down and can’t see my own vagina, I might need to get up and run around the block or something…
Oh! I found another blogger with the right idea, a boyfriend application. Feel free to apply.
Friday, July 4, 2008
I finally dusted off my 2007 copy of Writer’s Market and as I turned to the page entitled, “Successful Freelancers”, to Larry Getlen’s smiling face I wanted to punch him in the face.
Except he was on paper so I couldn’t. However, when I flipped the page there were maybe two or three more other successful freelancers. And I kind of felt better. Like there is a chance in hell that I will be taken seriously as a writer someday and live out this “romantic career” as my mother calls it.
Speaking of my mom, we’re having a total email battle at the moment. Apparently we are both too busy to pick up the phone to simply yell at each other. Although it would probably sound something like this…
Mom: Blah! Blah! Blah!
Me: Omigod mom, you’re like so totally ruining my life!
I’m so mature, I know. I think I graduated from college and started high school all over again.
The 411 is that I’m the only girl out of four boys and therefore I am spoiled. $100 shoes used to constitute as a credit card emergency. When I was in school my parents were helping me financially and now that I have a degree they are cutting me off cold turkey. Sh*t, I haven’t even received that sucker in the mail yet, but no gas money, no booze money, no omigod-I wonder-if-they-have-those-in-my-size money, I gets nada.
Well I guess on the bright side, if I don’t find a decent job and my internet and phone get cut off I won’t have to listen to my mom b*tch anymore. According to her, it is really easy to find a job and I’m just not trying hard enough. It’s good motivation, but f*ck. If she gets any further up my ass I won’t even be able to fart, which is almost as important as finding a job.
*Oh and btw I have been diagnosed with Gerontophobia aka Fogiariasis aka Stank Heffaitis. So please keep all falsies, Depends and other things closely linked with death off this blog.
PS- Happy Fourth! Don't play with fireworks, you could die. =(