Fatty's Workout Plan

[nice shorts!]

Are you sitting down? If not you should sit down for this one…

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.

MsP

Fresh Sealed Eye Candy To Go, Please

Ok kids, never eat candy and then masturbate. Side cramp. Ouch.
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.

Hmmm, what say you????

Be Out!

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.

No Pictures Please

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!

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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.

John Legend-Greenlight
Estelle-Come Over
Kardinal Offishal ft Akon- Dangerous
Donnie klang- Idol
Christina Aguilera- Keeps Getting Better

I’m downloading, any more music to add to my list???

A Nice Shade of Blue

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.

An Open Letter to White People Who Get Drunk and Think They Can Dance Good

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.”

Thanks.

MsP

I went crazy, but now I'm back.

A Picture of MsP the night she went crazy.

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...

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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!

Holy Pop Culture!

Haha. Swipe!

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.

MsP

The MILF Who Killed My Ego

TRUE STORY:

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.