Would you rather…

…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???

Life sucks and then I get a migraine for 72 hours...

No seriously, since Friday I’ve felt like when I sneeze my brains are going to come shooting out my ears. I don’t know what is wrong with me. I’m a hypochondriac, so it’s probably just a tumor.

I must have did something, to somebody, somewhere because my head is still pounding! I think one of the blood vessels in my temples is going to burst and release my evil chemicals.

Muah-ha-ha-ha!

In the meantime, while I suffer, I will attempt to distract you all from the fact that my wit is having a heavy metal concert in my brain, with a display of some interesting childhood memories.

I asked my mom and dad to send me some decent baby pictures. And they sent me these…???

Apparently one of my earlier hobbies was walking around the house with a paper bag on my head without undies. That’s my mom poking my belly and of course my dad was taking the photo. Thank God there wasn’t youtube when I was growing up.

Be back as soon as my head is better. ;p

MsP

Tis' the Season

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. 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.

In the holiday letter she also wrote about my baby brother. The poor kid is the last of the siblings, stuck at home with good old mom and dad. At sixteen the kid just got his drivers license and an iphone. (I guess my mom really wants grandchildren)...

Anyway, at my parent’s house, in the kitchen, there is a walk in pantry. My mom wrote about how my brother managed to lock himself into the pantry just before dinner. (The doorknob is broken and he knows it. He was messin' around and got stuck in there). While my dad went to find a screwdriver to take the door off and get my brother out, my mom heard a muffled voice from inside, “Mom, I’m going to have a cookie, OK?” He actually managed to jiggle the doorknob and get the door open shortly thereafter. (“Was it all just a ruse to get a cookie before dinner,” my mom thought to herself).

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.

My other brother goes to school in southern California. In May my mom received an email from the school, warning parents that there was an outbreak of syphilis on campus. Parents were encouraged to remind their son or daughter not to have unprotected sex. My mom forwarded the email to my other brother. He called her and said, “Mom, everyone’s parents are calling them about that email.” So she said, “Well just promise me that you will have protected sex.”

He replied, “Mom, I promise I’ll have as much protected sex as possible!”

My family, gotta love them…

Tough Break

Ok here's the deal. I don't have the Internet right now. I took my laptop home for the holiday, for my dad to "fix" (he's a computer technician). He got the viruses off, but I can't go online. Plus, I've spent the last five days intoxicated, reading and writing has become very difficult.

Over my holiday weekend I:

-woke up and couldn't find my underwear
-found out there is no Santa ( mom and dad aren't buying us gifts this year. How the hell do we celebrate Xmas and Hanukkah and nobody is getting sh*t! wtf?)
-got several sugar daddy offers
-met the man of my dreams, but didn't give him my number...
-drank enough alcohol to put the corner store out of business and make Amy Winehouse look good. (AA sounds awesome, I could really use some free coffee)
-watched the Raiders win? wait. what? Yes, I watched the Raiders win!
-discovered 2girls 1cup, but I like this version better...(it's PG, I promise)...



I also posted on my other blog. Check it out and let me know what you think!

MsP

Meet the Puddin' Folk

I got a request from UBERMOUTH, who will be leaving the blog world, to write more about my mother. So as a tribute to her, I thought why not write about where I get my good looks, charm and all around awesomeness? (I’m so humble, I know). I love making fun of mom and dad. Although I see less and less of them these days, they are still very much a part of my life…

My mom is great. I have a very Jewish mother, who every year sends me my birthday cake in the mail, with candles. Surprisingly enough, she would be the first person I would call to bail me out of jail. Not only because I know she would do it, but she would probably show up with a fresh pair of underwear and something to eat.

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

She is my inspiration.

Now my dad is the most laid back and easygoing guy anyone will ever meet. However, he is not afraid to play “dad” when it comes to the boyfriend department. I remember one time in high school, bringing a boyfriend home for dinner. My dad looked the kid straight in the eye and said, “how about we go outside with a baseball bat and play a game of you lose?” He was kidding of course, but that is one example of the kind of comedic sense I grew up with.

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 siblings 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 dad was the person my brothers and I would go to if we wanted our way. A night home with dad without mom meant unlimited hot dogs and macaroni and cheese! Score! A little batting of the eyelashes, followed by a very sweet, “daddy, please can I?” was usually followed by a solid, “yes”.

However, my mother had a habit of saying, “NO!” before the words were even out of our mouth. NO! soda. NO! chips. NO! sugar. Since my dad was diabetic, the whole family was diabetic. My mom put fructose in everything. And tofu. I grew up eating sweetened tofu. It’s no wonder I got to college and gained 40 pounds. My body went into shock. McDonalds? What? This stuff exists?

So anyway, I got carried away talking about the folks. UBERMOUTH you will be missed!

Touché!

I wrote my parents a letter, (which is posted below), to tell them the consequences of reading my blog. Here is the response I got…

Dear Daughter,

When did we say we would buy you a Cadillac? I don't remember that. Dad's new antidepressant is really good, he thinks by hooking you mean you've taken up fishing. I don't want to disillusion him. But I am begging you to stop spending your hooking money on drugs. Your tuition is killing us and if you can make enough money for drugs by turning tricks then you can certainly manage to pay for your own books. Or at least your own shoes. If people don't have kids to entertain themselves then what is the purpose? I don't see why we can't read your blog. We know you're a good girl and just making up all this sh*t.

Love,
Mama

P.S. You don't have to call around to find your underwear, we'll buy you a new pair. Just make sure it covers something.
P.P.S. Did you say you have a hook-up for erectile stimulants?

By the way, my mom doesn't cuss, so that last sh*t at the end came from the heart...

A Fair Warning

Dear mom and dad,

If you continue to read this blog we are going to have a problem.

I can’t write and get things off my chest when you two are constantly reading over my shoulder. I will lose readers and inspiration if I can’t write about the things I want to write about in fear of you disowning me or having me committed.

Like for example, I can’t write about the time I got drunk, woke up in the park three days later, in a puddle of my own vomit and couldn’t find my underwear. (For the record I did eventually find them, them being my underwear, I just had to make a few phone calls first).

If you continue to read this blog, I will have to think twice before admitting that I’ve turned to selling drugs ever since you two stopped paying for things. I mean I probably shouldn’t be telling you two about this, but I have to admit being a drug dealer actually wasn’t that bad. Everything was great, until I tried some of my stash and got a slight addiction problem and smoked up my entire supply.

So since I couldn’t afford to pay back my dealer, I decided to start hooking for money. Hooking is awesome, by the way, because I like having sex with strangers and the “no strings attached” factor is also a plus. I’ve only caught a couple STDs, but it’s actually worth it because I have enough cash now to support my drug habit. In fact I liked hooking so much, I went ahead and let the local college football team run a train on me and take pictures, you can find them at mspuddinsohorny.com.

So now you can see why it is very important that you two stop reading my blog. I know I’m cool and we go back like four flats on a Cadillac, but I just think for everyone’s sanity it would be best to slow down on the Puddin’ entertainment. There are more exciting things you two can do on a Saturday night. Like have sex! (Yes, I figured out where babies come from).

I guess this letter is more of a disclaimer than anything. This blog is rated NP for No Parents! Parents with daughters should never, ever read their daughters blog, unless they are under the influence of alcohol or highly medicated.

Thank you for having me and call me if you need any erectile stimulants. I got the hook up.

Love,

Your one and only daughter,
Ms Fresh Banana Puddin’