Wednesday, August 27, 2008

Random funny shit up in this bitch!

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

Skinny Bitches Only Jog if They Can't Afford Surgery

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

Stop and ask for a GPS system...

*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

My McDreamy

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

Chivalry Died, The Penis Killed It

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

Happy Go MsP

Ok so I have been trying really hard to be positive. “Thinking happy thoughts,” “following the yellow-brick road,” and all that’s perky. Look I even changed my hair color and style…

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

I Hit That

*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

My cloud is black with a good chance of rain...

“It’s okay,” I told my aunt the other night at dinner. “I have bad karma, I’m used to it.”

“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

R.I.P B. Mac

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.

Peace~Love~& Laughter


Wednesday, August 6, 2008

Silence Is My Aphrodisiac

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!

Not really.

Monday, August 4, 2008

Picture of the Week

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.

Anyway, I’m trying to start something called 'drunktalk' on my blog. With that said, if anyone knows how to take video from a digital camera and make it youtube style, holla at me…