Ms Puddin' Not So Fierce

There was a time in my life when I really thought I was Beyonce. It didn’t really help my situation that people used to tell me, “Hey, you kind of look like Beyonce.” Which somehow translated in my mind as, “You look just like Beyonce. You sing and dance just like her. Can I have your autograph?”

Things kind of got out of control when I started dying my hair blonde and walking in longer strides. However, over time my love for Beyonce kind of faded (she is way over publicized, yet still talented) and I began to realize that I look nothing like her.

The icing on the cake was not too long ago when I sat in the front row of a Tommy Davidson stand-up show. Um, big mistake, because for about an hour he went off to the audience about how I look like Prince. He even busted out in some Prince-like dance moves singing, Kiss and cooed, I Would Die 4 You.

With the extra, “oooo-oooo-oooo”… *hangs self*

Now people often tell me I look more like Melyssa Ford or Rosario Dawson. I definitely don’t have Melyssa Ford’s body, but I’ll take it. And as far as Rosario Dawson, I used to think she was ugly, until people started telling me that I looked like her. Now I’m like, oh hell yeah I look like her! Dayumn, that girl is fione.

Readers, who are your celeb look-alikes?

Would you still hit it, again?

Well I came over to my boyfriend’s house the other day, (yes I have a boyfriend) and he nonchalantly had a porno playing on the TV. It wasn’t a plastic titty DVD with bleach blondes, big fake boobies and airbrushed booty. It was one of those real raunchy pornos where the viewer can see the chick’s razor bumps on her cooch during the penetration close-ups.

“Why are you watching a porno right now,” I asked. “And why this nasty one?”

“Oh my boy let me borrow it, I was just checking it out,” he replied. “I’m not really paying attention.”

Oh.

I was silent for a moment as I checked out the porn. Some perverted looking white guy was eating out this fat black chick’s pussi.

At least it was embracing biracial relationships.

“I’m sorry, but that chick is gross,” I said.

“Why,” he asked.

I don’t know, she just is,” I said, making a face, before asking the inevitable, “Would you have sex with her?”

“Ummmm, yes,” he said turning his head from left to right looking at her intently. “You will be surprised to find out, my dear, who a man will have sex with.”

Then he went on to tell me that given the opportunity he would have sex with Omarosa, Whoopi Goldberg, Star Jones (before and after surgery) and Paris Hilton. Thus opening the door to one of my most infamous debates, would you still hit it???

Usually for the fellas, but ladies feel free to toss in your oh so necessary two cents, because you know we always do…

Fellas, would you have sex with Oprah if she was broke? Doesn’t matter bigger or smaller, without money is Oprah still f*ckable?

What about Octo-pussi Nadya Suleman? Sure she might have a gaping vagina, jumbo sized stretch marks, be able to make her nipples hard with her knees and even attempt to pull off the condom during sex, but she looks like she can give a mean blow job...

And if the rumors are true and Rihanna did give Chris Brown herpes or the clap, does her sex appeal override the possibility of attracting a life long std???

Suddenly, I was in the champagne room...

As I’ve mentioned before, I frequent strip clubs because they are the easiest place to get free drinks. See most guys in the joint think that if they liquor up the girls who don’t work there, they might get lucky and catch a last minute amateur show. It’s usually a hit or miss. You never know. I have seen it happen, but it’s never happened to me. Honest. (See my halo :0).

The last time I went to a strip joint, I bumped into a friend of a friend. I love the male reaction when I bump into them at strip clubs. First there is the initial reaction of, “oh sh*t, I’m caught.” Then second there is the, “wait, what are you doing in here, you’re a girl? And last but not least, they second guess, “you don’t work here, do you?”

No I don’t work here, just enjoying my tax-free beverage thank you very much.

Anyway, I bumped into this guy who is a friend of a friend and apparently he got into his head me watching ass and titties was some sort of pastime. So he went ahead and called me up Friday night inviting me to a “gentlemen’s party” at the Hilton.

“Oh is someone getting married or something,” I asked him.

“No,” he said. “I’m just throwing a party, invite only.”

Cool. I'm special. I'm V.I.P. Sounds good.

In my mind I was naïve enough to think that maybe he was just throwing one of those parties where it was a good place to network, but half dressed women were part of the mingling crowd. No worries, I can handle that.

Or so I thought…

I get up to the 18th floor where he had rented a Suite. When he pushed open the door, it was like the scene from The Players Club when Eboney got beat up and raped, except with a younger crowd. Intrigued, I decided to stay. What girl doesn’t want to put herself into that situation?

There was a portable stripper pole in the center of the room that three dudes were desperately trying to readjust. Unfortunately from the look of the thing, one swing and any lucky lady might learn how to fly that night.

There was a bar, but it was old school house party style. Audaciously drinks were $10. I was too anxious to see how the night was going to play out to even worry about getting a drink.

I was also a little embarrassed, because I had invited a new girlfriend of mine to go with me. I guess I felt guilty because I haven't really broken her into the situations I get myself into, yet. Although, she seemed just as eager as me to find out what was going to happen next.

Every ten minutes or so, a handful of guys would saunter through the door of the Suite eagerly awaiting the festivities.The girls were hidden in a room adjacent to the Suite, digging through suitcases full of plastic high heels, bikini tops and bottoms and other bright colored accessories.

Eventually, the girls started filing out into the Suite room. They looked nothing like the Rock of Love/Flavor of Love girls. It was more like Phat Booty Hoes meets BET Uncut. Soon that didn't even matter, because it all became a blur of ass, titties, dollar bills and private lap dances. Rap music blaring in the background.

Wait, what the...how the...hold it. Am I in the champagne room? Hmmm, it's different than I imagined. This was definitely not the same experience as a strip club.

Why in the hell would somebody think that I would enjoy a party like this? I go to strip clubs to get free drinks not lap dances. Even if I did get a lap dance, this seemed like the type of crowd that was paying for a boner. Praying for a blowjob.

Um, I don't have a penis. I might have been sold if it was open bar. Otherwise, I have ass and titties, why would I pay to see someone else’s that are not going to turn me on because, I, like, dick?

The icing on the cake was when one of the girls turned to me and informed me that some of the girls were in fact performing in front of family members. It was then that I decided to make my exit. Parties like that should only be seen on VH1...

This Queen Is A Drag

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.

MsP

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????

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...

---------------------------------------------------------

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!

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???

MsP

Backwards Love

I had an epiphany. I know, I know, me in deep thought may come as a shock, but humor me here. I could be onto something...

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...

Top 5 Drunk Moments in Puddin' History

This is my 200^th 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…

I couldn’t even get up, but I sure was trying…

Ok, I’m not even sure whose car that was and I’m pretty sure my friends just propped that cigarette in my hand to make me look even cooler…

Just feeling up a guy in his wedding dress, don’t mind me…

I’m such a fuckin’ lady…

Ok that last one wasn’t me. Seriously.

MsP

Yes, Fatty Is Hungry

Ok I need to know how much cookie dough does it take before you die?

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.

Not Wanted

The job search isn’t going so well. =(

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.

Thanks, MsP.

PS- Happy Fourth! Don't play with fireworks, you could die. =(

But enough about me...

What am I doing right now?

Well, if you really must know, I’m sitting at home on a Saturday night, nursing a hangover with a Bloody Mary and popcorn. (Weird combo, I know). I just don’t get it, when I am bored as f*ck, pumped up and ready to go, no one calls me or answers their phone. When I’m tired and not in the mood to socialize, everyone and the f*cking president calls me to go out.

I think even Jesus just called me to see if I wanted to go cloud hopping with him, for real.

Sorry Jesus, but I’m in for the night. I'm sitting on my couch, ah, um, reflecting. Yeah that's it, reflecting...

I had my first job interview last week. I probably shouldn’t be posting about it, seeing as how I’m trying to get a writing job and most potential employers have asked for a link to my blog along with my resume. Haha. Maybe that’s why I still haven’t found a job?

Anyway, during my interview, she kept coming back to the same question of, “so what do you like to do?” or “so tell me about yourself.” By the third time she asked me what my hobbies were, I was really tempted to go ahead and tell her.

“In my spare time I dress up like a dominatrix, stalk the evil lurkers in the night and break dance. (I can do a killer robot). I also enjoy getting drunk, hopping my ex’s fence and passing out on his doorstep.”

Violá! So there you have it. I’m just your average Puddin’.

Seriously, how much should people be allowed to talk about themselves? Is it just me, or is it awkward to continuously toot your own horn? Ok kind of funny how that last sentence can be interpreted in more ways than one…

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.”

Touché.

Happy Mothers Day!

MsP

Single and Sober

I went to my friend’s engagement dinner/congratulatory party/death sentence on Friday and there wasn’t a bar. We toasted the soon to be bride and groom with sparkling apple cider. Boo.

Yes folks it’s gotten to the point in my life where if someone tells me their pregnant I can say, “congratulations!” instead of, “Oh sh*t, what are you going to do?” And when someone announces an engagement I have to show up and pretend to care. Well, deep down I do care. I’m really happy for my friend, but engagement parties and baby showers are not really my forte. I prefer something a little more erotic and captivating, with a bar.

There is nothing like a Friday night, mingling sober with other singles who ask you stupid questions like, “when are you getting married?” Well, you have to have something called a man to get married to first, genius.

Then I started to panic. Why am I single? Should I go to the Humane Society to start picking out my 20 cats now? (Naw, f*ck that, I hate cats). Could it be that I’m greedy klutz who has no idea what she wants? Eek! My disastrous dating past started flashing through my mind…

I remember this one time, when I used to date this one guy, (and this one time, at band camp) I was over at his house waiting for him to get off of work. On the coffee table there was a giant glass bowl of M&Ms. Instead of reaching and grabbing just a few M&Ms, my greedy ass went and grabbed the whole bowl. The glass crushed in my hand. (Stupid cheap bowl, grrr). M&Ms flew everywhere and my hand started squirting blood.

I called 911, but they wouldn’t give me any medical advice over the phone and it wasn’t serious enough to call an ambulance. So with blood running down my arm, I quickly picked up all the M&Ms and glass. When he came home about ten minutes later he had to help me get the circulation back into my hand, which had turned a nice shade of blue.

Another time I was dating this other guy (not at band camp) and right before he came over, fatty ate a whole package of red licorice. When he got there we got into this discussion of things we liked and disliked in the opposite sex. One of his vices was when girls threw up, it was a turn off to him. Needless to say, not too soon after that conversation, all that red licorice kicked in and I started projectile vomiting (uncontrollably) a funky red liquid all over him.

Oops my bad. :(

The first time I had sex with my ex, I had stuffed my bra with socks. Usually when I (would *ahem*) stuff my bra I’d do the quick pull out when nobody’s looking. Unfortunately that night I wasn’t quick enough and when he felt me up, he found my thick ass socks. (On the plus side he did end up wearing them to work the next day).

Dating sucks. So do engagement parties without alcohol. I don’t see what the big deal is about being single. I’m enjoying this thing called life people!

MsP

The Buddha Made Me Do It

Has anyone else ever been out drinking with a friend, who for some reason decides to steal a Buddha head from the bathroom of a bar?

No. Just me. Ok. F*cking fantastic.

Ya know, I love my friends and I’ve come along way as to whom I choose to associate with. As my mom would put it, one of my boyfriends in high school was three days out of his orange jumpsuit before taking me to prom. She’s a little dramatic, but I can’t say that she is wrong, exactly.

And I’m definitely no angel. For example, how else would I be able to tell you that espressos and vodka mixed, are not a good idea? Kind of like a Chihuahua on crack.

Anyway, I went out with my friend and her roommate Monday night. (The same friend who lives with the guy who told the “Angry Pirate” story). So, three bars into the night we end up at this upscale spot. When we walked in and sit down at the bar, the bartender looked at us and started pouring three waters. Thank God, because one more drink and I would have been butt naked on that bar while my friend made a cocktail out of my ass.

“I’ll be right back,” says my friend.

“Ok,” I slurr. “Whoo-hoo, it’s Monday night baby!”

Ten…twenty minutes go by and she still has not come back from the bathroom. Either she’s taking a sh*t or she is passed out, ass up, on the bathroom floor.

“Um, I’ll be right back,” I said to her roommate. “I’m going to go and see if she’s ok.”

On the way into the bathroom I’m thinking, this is going to be bad. I open the door and this b*tch is like a spider on the wall, hanging on for dear life to a giant Buddha head that is screwed into the wall!

“WTF are you doing!?” I yelled.

“I’m trying to get this off,” she replied.

“Where are you going to put it!?”

“In my room.”

“NO! I mean like how the f*ck are you going to get it out of here?”

“I’m just going to carry it up under my shirt,” she said.

Mind you, this b*tch has on like THE tightest tank top ever and the Buddha head was not small. It wasn’t big, but it wouldn’t make three drunk girls look any more discreet.

All of a sudden, like a bomb went off in the building, she comes flying back, clean across the whole bathroom and lands on her ass. She is still holding onto the Buddha head like someone had super glued it into her hands.

I run out of the bathroom and tell her roommate, “um, we need to go…”

We tell the bartender that our girl is throwing up in the bathroom and we need to exit out the back. Five minutes later three drunk girls come stumbling out of the bar, running, with a giant Buddha head. My friend with the Buddha eats sh*t and I’m like Forrest Gump, gone.

Yes, I could have stayed and tried to talk her out of it, but when this girl gets drunk she gets stu-born. I wasn’t about to go to jail for jacking a Buddha head.

Hell maybe, but jail, no thanks. ;p

MsP

I Am Not Mad

It may be because I like shakin' my ass, but I’m really feelin’ Janet’s new song ‘Rock With You’...

If you really want to know...

Karrie b. did it, Poca did it and the folks over at Oh Hell Nawl did it. So Goddamn it, I’m going to do it too!

Go ahead, since I’m not famous, ask me anything…

How did I become so cool?

How many times have I had sex with a midget?

Am I wearing panties?

A Hot Rocker Mess

The contest is over *whew, wipes brow *and I got a lot of great entries. As I flipped through the photos, I could hear AC/DC’s Highway to Hell blasting theme music in the background. This was definitely a competition. Ozzy would be proud.

I would like to thank everyone who participated. I had a great time finding these in my email and I'm sure everyone else will enjoy them too. You’re all awesome in my book! (Sh*t, I might even have to party with some of you in the future). So first off I’ll list the winners, since I know you are all anxious to see who won. Then, of course, I gotta go ahead and bust people out.

However, I think the pictures pretty much speak for themselves…

Babyface came hard with this one and won The Rocker Challenge. I’m not going to lie, he’s got some Ty-Kwon-Do-rock-out-with-your-cock-out sh*t goin’ on here. I’m impressed. Not sure if he is going to kick my ass or lick one side of my face.

1st place: I got to hand it to Lady Dreamer, home girl had the hair did, nails did and a cute ass top as she rocked it!

2nd place: Poca, Poca, Poca, * tear * I’m so proud, I taught you well…

3rd place: I’m not gonna lie, Bef scared the sh*t out of me, but I love it. I felt like I was back in the 80’s running around backstage at a rock concert, naked, when I got her photo…

Those were the winners! Congrats! However, it wouldn't be a contest if we didn't get to see all the excess craziness...

Apparently we also had a reptilian contest going on, according to Slaus, as Eb the Celeb and anonymousnupe battled it out for longest tongue…


Wanna has a nice air guitar goin’ on… damn guitar hero * shakes head *

Now some of y'all sent in your super cute ass kids, because you know MsP is a sucka for cute kids and sh*t! So there were two kiddie rockers… Lady Shay’s daughter...

...and lil miss Jaden...

That Saddity Chic and her dad rocked it…

Baby Kiki rocked it…


Amboogie rocked/laughed it out…

Mista swag rocked it… (ladies please note the pearly whites) ;p

Umm, not quite sure what So@24 was up too, but I like it!

The ladies over at Bloggers Delight and suite b rocked it…

J aka Senior Beige rocked it…


DMario had me rollin’, he definitely rocked it!

Jami, went to the club with some friends and rocked it…

LeonB rocked it…

...and karrie b was just dancin’, dancin’, dancin’…

slaus rocked it out...

I would like to give a special thanks to a Mr. Slausin Ass Slaus, from over at Oh Hell Nawl, for his two cents and other various contributions. I present you with a giant cyber hug...

Thanks again to everyone who sent in photos! You all ROCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Rock Star Challenge

As we all know when I get drunk I do this…

Actually sometimes even when I’m sober I still do this…

So Slaus, from over at Oh Hell Nawl, and I have decided to put together a little contest. I want to see YOU the readers/writers/blog whores, make YOUR best rocker/Puddin’/tongue picture! Slaus thinks he’s got it, but I know a few of my readers mentioned they make the same faces when they party. (???)

We want to see!

So I’m giving those of you who are bold enough A WEEK, to send me a picture of YOUR best rock star face. That gives you the weekend to get with loved ones, friends or the hooker on the corner of 31st and Market Street, so they can snap a picture of you lookin’ crazy! Yay!

Email it to me, mspuddin@gmail.com.

C’mon, don’t be shy. I promise if you send me a pic I won’t stalk you, just your blog! There will be prizes! It depends on how many entries we receive to determine how many prizes. Why? I don’t know, but the more the better! Tell your blog friends! Can’t wait to see the craziness!

* disclaimer * Please refrain from sending photos of your naked ass. If you get too drunk, passing out between the coffee table and the couch before capturing the perfect rocker image, keep the evidence to yourself. No pictures of you having sex with animals or other foreign objects are necessary. Make sure to wipe the crust out your eyes and boogers out of your nose before posing. Once you send Ms Puddin’ a picture of your craziness, you are giving her the right to possibly make a joke at your expense. ;p

MsP