Saturday, May 31, 2008

Being Super Cool

I like to consider myself as “cool”.

I mean I smoked weed in high school, I have tattoos, and piercings (my nose and my ears). I’ve dated hot guys. I think. Well I’ve had drunk sex with a couple of hot guys a couple of times. Ok one guy once and it was probably because I wore a really, really tight short skirt and he never called me after, but anyway, not my point.

Back to me being cool.

Not only am I cool, I’m a natural people person. I love people, they intrigue me and when I first meet someone I am always curious as to what their story is. Did she drop out of school and take up stripping to support herself and her baby? Did he end up on the corner because he got spit out of a war without health care and no family relations?

That crazy lady at the coffee shop, we go way back. And that old man in the wheel chair, always wearing his colorful socks and fanny pack is the homie, for real. I don’t know why, but people are attracted to me and me to them.

So it’s no surprise that when I got distracted in the mall the other day, this cutie came up to me and said, “You look lost.”

I normally don’t meet guys like this. And I’m not naïve. I really think that he just happened to see me at the mall all discombobulated and wanted to help out. He wasn’t just at the mall girl hunting.

“Oh no,” I said, kind of laughing. I explained to him that I was frustrated because both of the hair salons in the mall were over booked. I didn’t like the way my lady had cut my hair and wanted to get a quick style before work that night. No such luck.

“Your hair looks fine,” he complemented me.

“I don’t like it,” I said, “but thanks.”

After about ten or twenty minutes of small talk and walking together through the mall, I noticed that we had somehow connected. It was weird. What was even weirder is, at that same moment, he turned to me and said, “I feel like I’ve known you for a long time.”

I felt pretty cool. I gave him my number and forgot about my hair…

Thursday, May 29, 2008

Do I Look Smarter?

Well hello there blogworld!

Great news! I, yes I as in ME, Ms Fresh Banana Puddin’ graduated from college! Woo hoo! I know some of ya’ll thought I was dead cold in the gutter somewhere, my flask next to me dripping the remnants of last night, but no. I was finishing up doing something that took me little longer than most.

Oh well at least I got it done. Between large quantities of alcohol, weekend trips to Vegas and hopping over my ex-boyfriend’s fence, it’s a wonder I managed to finish anything at all.

Although, over the last few days I’ve heard enough speeches about “the real world” that I really don’t even want to be a graduate anymore. A “real” job? What is this? Who wants to get up before noon every day? Boo.

Any suggestions as to what my next step should be? Any fresh-out-of-college stories?

Sunday, May 18, 2008

Things not to do, because I’ve done them and they worked out not so much…

Ok I don’t why I thought I was Kid n Play in the club last night, but don’t ever do this, drunk, in four-inch heels…

Yes I fell and busted my ass. Not cute.

Also, don’t go out drinking two nights in a row, then wake up to go and do a 10 hour bar shift. Not fun. Making cocktails after a night of drinking is like having sex after eating Thanksgiving dinner.

Hangover + martini shaker = barf.

Furthermore, I’m a completely selfish b*tch btw. I met this guy a while ago, who lives like a couple hours away. We’ve managed to keep in touch via technology. Cyber dating, I guess. Anyway, he called me out of the blue last night to tell me that he wanted to come hang out. I told him I was going out with my girl, but he was welcome to tag along.

To make a long story short, he drove out to my city and was a total gentleman. Opened my car door, offered to buy me drinks and looked past the fact that I was a total drunken party whore.

After he walked me to my door, I told him that I was tired and should probably pass out since I had to work in the morning. I didn’t think twice about the fact that it was 2 a.m. and he had a two-hour drive ahead of him. I totally went upstairs and passed out. I woke up the next morning to text messages and missed calls about him possibly crashing on my couch.

Whoops!! My bad.

So tell me, how was your weekend? Anybody else learn any lessons that involve alcohol and a sex driven donkey??? Wait what?

Friday, May 16, 2008

I’m Like Totally Not in High School Anymore

It has been sooooo freakin’ hot over here the last two days. And the f*cked up part is that it’s hotter inside my house than it is outside.

Also for the last week and a half I have been getting phone calls from an anonymous number in my area. They call and breathe a little bit into my ear, before I hang up.

I got excited at first. Yay, I have a stalker, maybe they will bring me some Starbucks or something. Then I got irritated as they continued to play on my phone. So I texted the number asking who it was. They texted back, “don’t worry about who I am, but I know who you are.”

I’m like, “that’s great that you know who I am. If you want to converse then speak up when you call me, otherwise stop calling my phone!”

Crazy anonymous stalker texted me back, “I wasn’t the one calling you, my boyfriend Mike Perkins is the one who has been calling you.”

At first I panicked. Oh sh*t, did I get drunk and leave my panties at some guy’s house? I racked my brain, Mike? Who the f*ck is Mike Perkins? Then I started laughing. He was the hot bartender at my old job. The one who I’ve flirted with, gave my number to, but never hung out with. Besides, he told me he didn’t have a girlfriend. Men. I think they are programmed to say, “I don’t have a girlfriend.” Right.

So anyway, I called him and I’m like, “Mike, is your last name Perkins?”

“Yeah”, he said, like he already knew what was up.

“Um can you tell your crazy girlfriend to stop calling my phone?” I asked.

“I know. I’m sorry, but it’s out of my hands. We haven’t been together in awhile. She’s trippin’,” he replied.

What do you mean it's out of your hands? You better handle that, homie.

Great. Just great. It’s cool. I think I could take her…

Monday, May 12, 2008

Reason #4,153 Why I Don't Cuddle

Ok I was checking out -1-’s blog over the weekend and she had posted a clip from the Queens of Comedy with Sommore. Her nasty ass was talkin’ sh*t about the penis (of course), but not just any penis, little penis. She was commenting on why guys with little d*cks act surprised when you get to that part, like they just found out it was little too.

I was busting up, because this has happened to me before. I mean, I must say I’ve been pretty blessed for what I’ve been given in the penis-packaging department. The few * ahem * yes few, (looks over shoulder) I’ve seen have been worth my while, but there was this one. Yes, this one penis that made me mad. Well not so much as mad, just confused as hell…

It was like my sophomore year of college. I met this tall, sweet, handsome-chocolate-martini kind of guy. Bonus, he was also a Q, but he was different then all the other Qs. He wasn’t trying to dawg me out. I could just tell by the way he treated me. We spent a lot of time together and on the phone. It finally came time for me to make him mine. I was juiced. Ms Puddin’ was going to get her some chocolate, Q, lovin’! Oh yes!

So we got all into the moment, rollin’ around on my bed, kissing, caressing, and all that good stuff. When I reached down and wrapped my hand around what felt like my own index finger! WTF? I was so disappointed I pushed him off me, rolled over and went to sleep. I didn’t say anything. I spent the rest of the night with that little penis fingering my back. (Maybe that’s why I don’t like cuddling. I’m traumatized).

I’m sorry, but WOW. Some things I can work with don’t get me wrong. And I'm not one of those girls that needs a mandingo, but that has got to be…don’t want, don’t want, don’t want…lol

Sorry guys. Ladies? I know I am not the only one…

Sunday, May 11, 2008

Hi Mom!

[photo]- a mini puddin' and a mama puddin'

The sex in Addicted was boring because it was unimaginative. I would expect more from an erotic writer than that. -said Ms Puddin's mom.

I love my mom.

I’ve blogged about her before. Usually it’s to make fun of her, but I make fun of her because I love her. Plus she is known for doing some pretty weird and um interesting things, just like me. Yay! Like mother, like daughter, I guess. Well kind of, but not really, because mom and me are nothing alike.

Anyway, in honor of Mother’s Day, I decided to do an exert/mash-up of my favorite posts about my mom. So mom if you’re reading, it’s all out of love…*muAh!*

Every year my mom, who is also a writer, takes a little bit out of each of our lives and shares it with friends and family. (thanks mom) This year I was a little offended reading the holiday letter, because my mom wrote that I have a bizarre sense of humor. My sense of humor might be a little different, but no one in my family has any room to talk when it comes to how talented and disturbingly entertaining we are.

Just last week my dad called to tell me that my mom had got her foot caught in the strap of her purse while trying to get out of her car. She fell onto the sidewalk and clocked her face on the driver’s door trying to get back up, giving herself a black eye. My dad is already on crutches, because he recently fractured his ankle. So he was sitting on the passenger's side looking over at her like, “what is going on?”

Mom, my sense of humor might be strange, but you sure are talented.

Growing up I think she had everything anyone could think of in her purse. Brush? Check. Spoon? Check. Toothbrush? Check. A midget? Check.

We all (I grew up with my two younger brothers) loved cracking jokes at my mother’s expense. I don’t know why, maybe because she is such an easy target. I remember when she lost a majority of her hearing while we were growing up. I think she basically had what I would call “selective hearing,” because sometimes I think she just tuned us out. But most of the time she couldn’t hear because of her disability.

My brothers and I would drive her crazy by mouthing words without sound and she would become frantic trying to figure out what we were saying. Then other times we would just yell things at her like, “Mom I’m going to the store!” Which she would either interpret as, “Mom, I’m a dirty whore!” or she would tell us to stop yelling at her.

My mom also wrote in the holiday letter that she went on a rant about how bad soda is. “Soda is not food, it’s one of the worst things you can put in your body,” my mom said. My brother replied, “No Mom, crack is one of the worst things you can put in your body.”


Happy Mothers Day!


Thursday, May 8, 2008

She Set Me Back A Load

I was using a public bathroom the other day. * Gasp * No actually this is normal. I’m not one of those people who hold in their bodily fluids until they get home. If I got to go, I’ve got to go.

In fact, I’ve mastered the pop-a-squat-put-toilet-paper-around-the-entire-seat-don’t touch-anything art of peeing or what have you in public restrooms. It’s an acquired skill that comes from bar hopping and having four brothers who don’t understand the concept of aiming into the giant toilet bowl. (Honestly guys, is it that hard?)

So anyway, I had to go pee in a stall the other day. I had just went to get change and I'd forgotten it was in my pockets. When I pulled down my jeans all my laundry money fell out of my pockets and rolled into the stall next to me. I leaned under as I’m peeing to try and grab it and I see the feet of some chick. “Crap.” So I decide to wait until she leaves to start collecting.

I hear her leave and think to myself, “ok good, now I can get my quarters.” Mind you I’m still sitting down with my pants around my knees. I look under as I hear her door swing open and ALL MY CHANGE IS GONE! WTF? Did this heffa swipe all my quarters?!

She had on cute shoes so I assumed she might help me out and give them to me when I got done. But by the time I got my pants on, flushed and came busting out the stall, that heffa was gone.

Since when did people start stealing quarters in public restrooms? Ok stupid question. It’s not the money.It’s the principle, dammit.If I ever find that chick, I’m going to make her separate
my lights and darks…


Tuesday, May 6, 2008

I Need A Stronger Martini

You know what is the worst? Seeing your ex in the club. No. Seeing your ex in the club, drunk, while he makes love to another girl on the dance floor. Bartender, seriously there isn’t enough vodka in my martini. Matter of fact, do you serve drugs? I need an order of lots of mind numbing, memory forgetting drugs, please. Yeah, just put it on my tab. Thanks.

I know I have been MIA lately, but I had a really long week, which rolled over into a really long weekend. It wasn’t all boy drama, but I figure that part was the most interesting…

Remember the guy who kept flaking on me? The one who tried to say that he called five times and left a voicemail, but my phone never rang? Well, I gave him a second chance. In my defense there is a difference between desperate and horny. There is! I figured maybe if I get to know him a little better I might be able to handle some much-needed business.

It was his dad’s birthday on Saturday and so he invited me to come hangout, which was interesting since it’s a little early to be meeting the family. But whatever, I was game. His dad was cool, but totally busted him out for only being 21! WTF! Yeah, he lied to me about his age. I wasn’t so much mad about him lying about his age. Ok yes I was.

21 is too old for me anyway. If I’m going to have a boy toy he should only be 19 or 20. That way he can drop me off at the bar, pick me up and I don’t have to worry about him drinking and driving.

So anyway, I left that mini fiasco and my girl hit me up about going out since it was Cinco de Mayo weekend. Ok, sounds good, maybe it will help take my mind off of things. And after that episode, I could really use a drink.

We get downtown, which is out of control. I wasn’t the only one out on the prowl that night. I see my girl’s baby daddy outside of the club. Go figure he was throwing a party there? We end up getting inside of the club no sweat. But, not even 20 minutes after I open a bar tab, the ex walks in the door. Boo.

I spent the rest of the night spying at him from the bar. Just kidding, no I didn’t. Ok yeah I did.

Don’t judge me.