If It Ain’t Broke, Don’t Fix It

In a recent interview Heidi Montag told Extra that she wanted to make her boobs a size ‘H’ for Heidi. This was surprising to me, only because I wasn’t aware Heidi was up to the letter ‘H’ in the alphabet.

Heidi, who is only 23, is already a triple D after her second breast augmentation. And I’m guessing those breasts don’t feel nothing like sand. Nor do they feel like juicy clumps of fat as God intended.

By now I’m sure the news of Heidi’s interview with People Magazine on her 10 hour plastic surgery procedure has been well spread. If not, recent photos of Heidi should suffice. She looks like a young Donatella Versace blow up doll. Don’t stand too close folks she might be exuding her toxins.

Yikes is right.

Bitch if you need 10 hours of cosmetic surgery to fix things just give up. Find something more satiable in your life besides your looks. Even her douche of a husband Spencer Pratt tried to talk her out of it beforehand. He suggested she might need therapy and thought she was losing her mind to go through with it.

I always joke around about getting my boobs blown up, but I think if it came down to it and I had the opportunity I’d pass it up. Although if they can find a way to make my big toe smaller so the nail lady doesn’t gawk at it when I get a pedicure, that would be nice…

If you could get work done, would you? Or have you and for what reason?

Reason #385 Why I'm Going to Hell

I studied Spanish in school for about seven or eight years. I can understand it enough to get at least the gist of what someone is saying, but that’s pretty much it. It’s sad really. And I don’t want to offend anyone with this post, because I love the language and culture.

However, we just weren’t meant to be.

After working in the restaurant industry for six years and then living with my roommate who is Mexican for three years, I honestly know more Spanish slang than whatever I learned in school. However, I still can only speak Spanish as well as that Russian chick on For The Love of Ray J show speaks English.

I’m with Ray J on that one, she’s hot, but wtf is she saying? I guess on VH1 it really doesn’t matter does it?

I digress.

For someone who is fluent, having a conversation with me is probably like talking to a retard. I wonder if Hispanics really do think I’m retarded? In fact let me clear that up now.

No estoy retardada. En serio.

Anyway, I still like using my battered Spanish from time to time. It’s fun and most of the time people humor me anyway. They act impressed that I can say, “hi, how are you?” or “those jeans make your ass look fat”, in Spanish.

Unfortunately, when I get drunk and I’m around other people who speak Spanish it’s all bad, because I tend to try and get into the conversation too. And if alcohol isn’t enough to help me make an ass out of myself already…Remember the night that I puked in my hair?

Well that was the night that I thought I would become a Spanish speaking intellectual. Uh huh. My roomie and her friend came to pick me up that night. They had also been out partying and decided to stop for some food on the way home.

They stopped at this Mexican restaurant called, Tacos al Carbon that is open until 3 a.m. Kind of like what Jack in the Box is for white people. I decided to stay in the car, but after I puked (not in the car), I felt better and ended up joining them inside.

I remember it being crowded and I probably was the only biracial, non-Hispanic person in there. We all sat at a table, my roomie and about five of her friends’, guys and girls. To the far left of us sat a table of about six Hispanic guys all decked out in black and tan cowboy hats, western buttoned up shirts, tight jeans, the works.

My roomie ordered me some nachos to try and sober me up. Surprisingly even after just recently vomiting through my nose, I was starving. Eventually, in between bites of chips, cheese and chicken, I noticed one of the guys at the other table to the far left motioning for me to come over. Yeah right. I had beans and cheese dribbling down my chin, how was I even going to be able to walk? And how the hell did he find me attractive?

So I decided to mess with him. I started yelling across to his table, “¡¿Tienes Papeles?!”, “¡¿Tienes Papeles?!”

The whole table I was sitting with and his fell out laughing. I looked around and was like yeah, yeah. I’m pretty badass. My Spanish is muy bien. So I started up again, “¡¿Tienes Papeles?!”, “¡¿Tienes Papeles?!”

You see in my mind, I thought that meant, “do you have paper?” Roughly similar to saying, “Are you ballin’?” Like if you want to talk to me you have to have paper, money, cheddar, etc.

Right? Wrong.

I guess what I was really asking the guy was, “Do you have your papers?” Like as in, are you even legal in the United States of America? Like as in I’m a total drunk jackass.

Needless to say he left me alone after that.

Friends Without Benefits

I love my friends. I especially love my guy friends. I learn so much about men from them.

Like for example, I didn’t know that it was possible to have a brown ring around the inside of a toilet bowl for two months without catching hepatitis A,B, and C. I also didn’t know that it takes four 24-packs of empty Coors Light bottles to cover an entire coffee table. And who knew somehow in the midst of old fast food bags, dirty laundry and beard shavings my best guy friend could maintain a healthy relationship. Huh. They must spend more time at her house than his. I’m not sure.

Still, it’s just interesting to me how different guys think compared to women. This particular guy friend of mine not only has a messy abode, but he has some interesting convictions about me and another female friend of ours. You see, him, this other female friend and I all basically grew up together, so we’re all close. In fact, they're like brother and sister to me.

Anyway, he called me yesterday just to say, hi, and he got to talking about how the three of us should all get a hotel room and “get crazy”. Now from a female’s perspective, I took this notion as him suggestion a potential threesome? He immediately bursts out laughing and says no, he meant like just hang out, catch up, blah, blah, blah…

Then he pauses for a minute and says, “Wait, you two have never messed around?” (In reference to me and my girl).

“Um no”, I responded, “Are you fucking retarded?”

“No I’m serious,” he said. “Like you two have never gotten drunk, come home and bitched about how shitty guys are. Then got naked, kissed and one thing led to another?”

“NO!” I yelled (laughing at this point). “What made you think that!?”

“I don't know, but nothing,” he asked again. “Not even like a little kiss?”

Really??? Wait, so guys think that females who are really close have lesbian tendencies? Is that the fantasy?

Well, let me clear this up right now. When I come home with my friends drunk and bitch about a guy, we usually do it stuffing our faces with Jack-n-the-Box and then pass out in our heels and make-up. Waking up the next morning looking like a raccoon and wondering why our friend is face first in the toilet…imagine that.

Bitch should have taken the stairs...

Also, now I need a word for the fear of old people or a phobia of old people, something in that nature. I think once we diagnose it and get me some medication, I can solve this problem and people won’t think I’m so mean.

Just a few random things I thought I'd bitch about...

Ok so I’m jumping on the bandwagon, I am now officially a Celtics fan. Seriously, last night the Celtics put the Laker’s asses on a silver platter with croissants and served it to them. “Bon appetit.” Not only that, but the west coast is not doing so hot in sports period. The Celtics, the Red Sox, the Patriots, etc., the west coast needs to step their game up.

On another note, Hulk Hogan’s son, Nick is a little whiny bitch. This fool has the nerve to drink and drive, turning his friend, (not some random person in the street), but his friend into a vegetable and complain about it. His friend is breathing through a machine and he has the nerve to bitch about how hard jail is. Whaaaaa, whaaaa, whaaaaaaaaa. Man, bend over, pick up your soap and take it like a man.

Oh and this is not funny. AT ALL…

I'm out of town again bitches. I'm sneaking computer time right now, literally in a dark corner, hiding. Be back soon...

An Interview with Heidi Montag

Well as some as you might know I have it out for The Hills “star” Heidi Montag.

She fits into that category of people-who-make-you-want-to-stab-yourself-in-the-eye-with-a-fork, repeatedly, as in over and over again. A neverending blinding irritation. I just don’t like her. Something about her makes me want to shoot her in the head.I would never do something like that.I don’t own a gun.I don’t know what it is though.I’ve never met Ms. Montag and I hope I never do. Seems like a conversation with her would be a waste of time. However, (in my mind) for some reason, I interviewed her…

MsP: How’s it goin’ Heidi?

Heidi: Good. Thanks.

MsP: That’s good. I guess. I heard you just recently launched your own clothing line, did you hear about this?

Heidi: Oh yeah! It was my idea.

MsP: Good for you, you had an idea. Fantastic.

Heidi: Yeah, it sucks though because I didn’t get as involved as I would have liked to. I was really busy getting all the fat sucked out of my thighs and running around on the beach in my bikini.

MsP: You have been looking a little slim lately, tell me, when was the last time you ate?

Heidi: A couple of days ago. I think. Wait, um yeah, it was Monday.

MsP: Really, almost a week now. What did you have?

Heidi: A grape.

MsP: Just one grape?

Heidi: Yeah, but then I threw it up after. I was afraid people were going to be able to see the imprint in my stomach lining.

MsP: Oh, I see. So what made you decide to get into music? I don’t know if anyone told you, but, um, well how do I put this lightly? You have NO talent.

Heidi: Really? I thought I was good. Huh. Well anyway, my fiancé told me that my boobs make me look smarter and I was a good singer. I took his word for it. I mean I need something to fall back on after The Hills.

MsP: What about getting an education? Have you thought about that?

Heidi: It’s crucial that I focus on the show, my music, my clothing line, getting plastic surgery, fighting pointless fights with people just as pointless as me, bleaching my hair, staging my relationship, before I worry about those things.

MsP: Oh well you got to do what you got to do. Although, you do look smarter maybe it’s your new boobs and nose, hmmm. Real quick, what’s one plus one?

Heidi: *thinking *

MsP: Nevermind. Well I think I’ve had about as much as I can take. Thanks for joining me on my blog today.

Heidi: Two!

MsP: And we're done...

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

Time to start working the corner...

Ok so I went to put in my two weeks at my job the other day.

You know what they told me? “No.Unacceptable”. I’m sorry, but I wasn’t asking to quit, I’m going to quit. Period. Unacceptable? What is unacceptable is that I work here! I hate you, your baldhead and your tie! I hate this job! I hate the dumbass people that come into this place. I hate what I have to wear to work. I hate perky people. I hate being perky to people, who are perky and ask me dumb perky questions like…

Sucky people: “Um excuse me, do you work here?”

MsP: No, I don’t work here. I just like coming in here every day wearing the same sh*t that everyone else is wearing.

Sucky people: “Um excuse me, do you have a bathroom?”

MsP: No we don’t have a bathroom. What kind of restaurant/bar do you think we are? A bathroom? Pfffff. (Wouldn’t the question be, where’s your bathroom, not do you have one)?

Sucky people: “This place is great, do you like working here?”

MsP: No! I don’t! Stop asking me dumbass perky ass questions!

So therefore, whether they accept it or not, after two weeks I’m out! I’m returning my uniform, unwashed, and I’m getting another job. Life is too short.

Have a great weekend people!!!

Reality TV Makes Me Feel So Intellectual

I haven’t had cable in my house for two years. Before that, my roommate and I used to have bootleg cable. One of our neighbor’s friends had a crush on me, who also happened to work for Comcast. He got to take me out for dinner and I got free cable. (I guess I got the better hand of that deal).

So anyway, we had cable for a year, until the 86-year-old woman who lived downstairs from us died. Just kidding. She moved out and our new neighbors, that we have now, moved in. When Comcast came to hook up their cable, they sure did shut ours off.

Now we don’t even get NBC, ABC, nada. Boo.

However, not having cable has been surprisingly good for my self-esteem. Not necessarily how I view myself physically, but my intellect level has gone way up. I don’t understand words like F@%&!@ or A@$!!**& or S*!!#@%&@H&6$*$^! anymore.

I caught a little of that Rock of Love show on Vh1 the other day and, I swear, (ha) every other word out of these people’s mouths was the F word. I watched Snoop’s show, Dancing with the Stars, The Bachelor, what else? I don’t know, but I guess I’m not missing much. I hate to say it, but with all the reality TV shows out there now, we are basically watching ourselves, and it’s not pretty.

Today I overheard some people who kept saying “Day 26, Day 26”. I’m like what happens on Day 26? What is Day 26???! Are we all going to die? Is Anna Nicole Smith going to come back from the dead and make another Trim Spa commercial? Is rent due early?

They’re like, “uh it’s the group from Making the Band 4, duh.”

Whoa! My bad. I guess I have to wait until they drop their album to get in on that conversation.

Btw, is it just me or do they look a little uncomfortable...

Ms Puddin’s never had a d*ck in the booty and other stuff people find hard to believe

I bet a lot of you have been wondering, what happened to Ms Puddin’? Where is she? Why hasn’t she been posting?! (Or not). Well I’ll tell you (anyway) where I’ve been. In the refrigerator! Goddamn birth control got me actin’ all kinds of crazy. Only plus side to the pill is I now officially have boobs...

However, every little thing has me nerve sensitive. The damn faucet in the bathroom that drips constantly has been driving me crazy, Tyra Banks (seriously, who gets that excited over Vaseline?), people who wear sweatshirts and flip-flops at the same time, the penis, the superficial inability for people to recognize our diminishing economy.

And it doesn’t help that lately people have been asking me stupid sh*t. I guess I’m one to talk since I often spend time looking for my phone while I’m on it. Although, is it really necessary for people to continue to ask me the same question over and over again, expecting I will eventually change my answer into the response they are looking for? If it’s a yes or no question and I’ve answered no, more than likely, the answer is no. *gasp* I got into it with a customer at my job the other day, (because of the answer no) over a freakin’ veggie burger…

Customer: “Do you have a veggie burger?”

MsP: “No, I’m sorry we don’t.”

Customer: “You don’t have a veggie burger?”

MsP: “Nope, we don’t.”

Customer: “You really don’t have a veggie burger?”

MsP: “I'm sorry sir, but if you think that if you keep asking me a rephrased version of your question, a veggie burger will magically appear on our menu, you are mistaken. However, we do have a great Asian salad.”

Isn’t “NO” the same in like three or four different languages?

Then, I don’t even know how we got on the subject the other day, but one of my male coworkers could not grasp the fact that I’d never had a d*ck in the booty.

Coworker: “You’ve never tried anal sex before?!”

MsP: “Nope, never.”

Coworker: “Never!? Not even once when you were drunk or high?”

MsP: * strange look * “Um, no.”

Coworker: “You’ve never experimented? Not even once.”

MsP: “No! Gheezus!”

Why is this so incredibly hard to digest? If I died tomorrow, I’m not going to think to myself, (while I’m sitting in hell sippin’ a margarita), “Man, I sure wish that I would have gotten a d*ck in the booty before I got hit by that bus.”

Life is already hard, let’s not make it any harder on ourselves people!

* Goes back to fondling newly grown titties *

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…

Just Say No

Well so much for posting on time...

I don't know how old this is, but someone just put me up on it this weekend. It's about a PD who eats some pot brownies with his wife. Then calls 911 because he thinks he is dying. The first half is hilarious to me. It reminds me of myself when I used to smoke. It's the exact reason why I don't smoke weed anymore. I start trippin' out and think I'm dying...



Crackin' up @ "please send rescue", "time is going by really, really, really, really slow" and "I think we're dead, I really do"...

E = mc Such N Such

I used to be really bad at math.The last math class I took was remedial. Seriously, that’s what the class was called, “remedial math.” And I still struggled. Back in high school I took algebra twice and geometry three times, before I was able to pass. So it’s a good thing I can right.

Well anyway, I came across a new blogger named Thembi, who lead me to this site and I think I totally understand math now…

Puddin' Post

The reason why I would never work at Hooters...

I meant to post this last week, but I never got around to it. Thanks to anonymousnupe I now have one more reason to continue my ed-u-ma-cation…

Speaking of being racist, crazy and sniffing way too much coke during happy hour…

Remember that one girl Adrianne Curry, who won the first season of “America’s Next Top Model," then later went on to be a reality TV whore and married that one guy from the Brady Bunch, Chris Knight?

Well apparently she blogs. Curry is boycotting BET because she thinks the network is “racist”. In a crazy-reality-TV-whore-nutshell, she wrote on her blog that celebrating Black History Month is racist, something about Native Americans should have their own month and television show, the gracious “Jews” and her being called a “n*gger lover”.

“Yes, I get it. Black people were slaves here once. You know what? That does suck some major balls, however, it is time to move the fuck on. Do we hear the Jews crying that they were made slaves for thousands of years?”

(Yeah exactly what I was thinking… I think Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. just rolled over twice in his grave)…

-Wait, I’m sorry Mrs. Curry, um err Knight? Can I call you Adrianne? I’m not sure how slavery can be considered to, “suck major balls.” I mean I agree with the idea that slavery does indeed suck something, because of slavery and racism the system is kind of f*cked. When minorities aren’t dealing with institutionalized racism, racial profiling and the self-fulfilling prophecy of our society, I would say they are sucking more than just balls.

Hold up. Why am I explaining this to you? Don’t you get paid to model? And when you aren’t modeling, doesn’t VH1 pay you to burp, fart and get drunk in front of billions of people? I’m just curious. I mean your good at it and I think you should stick to it, because comments like, “How dare we have Black History Month!” or “So, I will no longer tune into BET. This is going to suck, but I do NOT like the idea of having a channel for only 1 race,” are not gonna fly…

Although I’m sorry you got called a “n*gger lover” for f*cking a black guy back in the 12th grade, I don’t think Jewish people will appreciate you calling them Jews or confusing an entire race with a religion. However, I do think that giving the Natives Americans their own television network is a great idea! What should we call it, NET? Or would you boycott that as well?-

I don’t know but personally I think that over 400 years of slavery and oppression deserves at least one month of recognition and a television network. That is part of being an American, celebrating, reminiscing, and learning our nation’s history. Besides, there are more people who get their fifteen minutes of recognition, not just black people...

*please note*: I do not have any proof whatsoever of Adrianne Curry sniffing coke during happy hour. I also don’t have any clinical or medical records of Curry being diagnosed as crazy. And according to her blog, Curry is not, I repeat NOT, racist. However, from her description of racism I have come to the conclusion she is misinformed of the definition and concept of racism, which might in fact mean she is racist. Although Curry did shed some light on some important issues in her blog, her endeavor to express her opinion was displayed in a very tactless manner...

Thoughts???

Men: Can’t live with them. Can’t leave them bruised and beaten under an overpass…

I used to have a male hairdresser. (I guess that’s what the title would be for a man who did my hair)? He was an attractive, middle-aged, straight, man who was exceptional with his hands. Literally, this man could wash and whip up my hair something fierce. I used to lye back in his chair letting his strong arms and hands stroke and caress my scalp. I went to him once a month for about a year and received a wash, a head massage, a cut and some good conversation.

Then one day he called me and started to describe some sexual fantasies he’d been having about me. (Yes, more than one). Something about me naked, in his bed, with some heels on and him giving me oral pleasure. Normally, this type of flattery would have been awesome. Especially since I haven’t gotten laid since the Raiders won the Super Bowl. But for some reason him telling me this was a complete turnoff and after that I didn’t want him anywhere near my hair or me. Who knows where those hands had been or what thoughts flashed through his mind while he was caressing my head. So I stopped “seeing” him and it’s been almost a year since he’s done my hair.

So, imagine my surprise yesterday, when I’m at work and I get a random phone call from him. Apparently his car broke down and for some logical reason he had decided to call me? for a ride. I told him I was at work, but I would try to find someone who might be able to help him out. (Just because he’s a pervert doesn’t necessarily mean that I should leave him stranded, right)? He calls me back a few minutes later and says never mind, because he’s already worked it out. He thanks me for being such a, “down ass female” (something, something, blah, blah, blah) and that he appreciates my effort.

Ok great. I’m thinking, “Now I can get back to my day.” But oh no, then he goes ahead and asks me something stupid.

What is it with guys? These so called "simple" creatures, who like to eat, sleep, fart and piss off women. I know I am becoming the queen of deteriorating the male ego, but man the guys I meet sure say and do some stupid sh*t. Anyway, this fool proceeds to ask me, “Do you remember that thick (fat) Asian chick from your job? Because I was wondering if you could hook me up with her?” He also adds something about how since I haven’t showed any interest in dating him, maybe she will.

First of all, has anyone else ever picked up the phone and then wished they had let it go to voicemail?

Second, I want to make it clear that I am not a hater. My guy friends can vouch that I am quick to try and get them some booty. However, I am nobody’s pimp and I don’t know who the f*ck-the-fat-Asian-girl-at-my-old-job he was talking about!?



Guys. Answers. Please. I just don’t get the logic behind this whole scenario...

If I only had a brain...

I could really use all those brain cells I killed back in high school right about now. Who knew smoking so much weed would have such a long-term effect. I mean it is one thing to be absentminded and do something stupid once, maybe even twice, but the third time is not a charm in my case. The things I do should be videotaped. I could be making a lot of serious money through some television network off of Puddin’ bloopers...

So last spring I went out to lunch at BJ’s with a friend of mine and we spent about two hours hanging out. On our way out the door as I’m digging through my purse I realized I didn't have my keys. I don’t remember leaving them in the restaurant, so I already knew that meant one thing, “aw sh*t I think I locked my keys in the car,” I said. We get to my car and sure enough the keys are in my car. However, not only had I locked my keys in the car, but they were still in the ignition and the car was still running. For two hours my car was in the parking lot pumping away. Nice. We ended up having to call a tow truck to come and break into my car.

Ok not so bad. Stupid move ha ha laugh about it and move on, right? Wrong. Not even a month later I do the EXACT same thing. I’m on my way to drop off some paperwork on campus and lock my keys in my car, in the ignition. I called my roommate who happened to be home to come and bring me the spare key.

Which brings me up to yesterday, when (yup) once again I locked my keys in the car, in the ignition. I was so busy text messaging after I pulled into the garage, I thought they were in my hand when I got out the car. The f*cked up part is I popped the trunk and then shut my door. WTF?! I’m so brilliant I figured I could break into my house and get the spare car key. Wrong again. The only door I thought I might be able to break into was the sliding glass door on the balcony.

I climbed up on the balcony, but then my dumbass got stuck up there, because a) I couldn't get inside my house and b) I couldn't for the life of me figure out how I got up there to get back down. (Good to know I can't break into my house). I ended up calling my friend who talked me down and took me to my roommate’s job to get the house key.

Of course, the house key is the ONLY key I grabbed and by the time I got back to the house someone has shut the door to the garage! My car is still running and I can’t get in there to turn it off. A good thirty minutes later my neighbor answers her door (she hates us) and lets me into the garage.

The funniest thing to me about that whole situation was, I called my mom to tell her what happened and the first thing she asked me was, “are you pregnant?”

“No,” I said. Is that something that pregnant people (women) do? Lock their keys in the car and then try and break into their own house? I don’t know. *shrug*

What I do know is that I really need a car with an alarm on it, to protect myself from being such an idiot.

Hypothetical Situation

A pack of wolves or Geico’s cavemen not being an option, would you rather be parented by…

Whitney Houston and Bobby Brown…?


Britney Spears and Kevin Federline…?

Or Dina and Michael Lohan…?

The Talented Ms. P

I am very talented. And I would like to take this as an opportune time to share my dexterity.

I’m not talking about the skills I have when I sing and dance in my underwear in front of my mirror. Nor am I talking about my ability to drink Colin Farrell under the table. No, I have many other hidden talents I have mastered as well…

Over the last few days I have successfully walked into a parking meter, a table, a couple of sidewalk cracks and a parked car.

The parking meter, (which took off a huge chunk of my skin) left me looking like Michael Jackson circa 2000. The thing that gets me is this performance was done while walking sober. No alcohol was in my system. I really was not paying attention. Smart.

The bruise on my upper right thigh, (about the size of Southeast Asia), is a result of trying to dance sexy and smashing into a table after a full day of BBQ hopping. (I think I drank more beer at the BBQs then I actually ate anything).

I also managed to ruin a perfectly good pair of flip-flops over the weekend. I don’t know if anyone can relate, but not once but twice, I caught the bottom front of my sandal underneath a crack. It totally threw off my equilibrium and my big toe still hurts.

Now walking into a parked car is a sensitive subject. I really only brought it up for the sake of my blog. Only the talented Ms. P could pull off a move so brilliant. My nose looks like Marcia Brady when she got hit with that football in "The Brady Bunch Movie."

I think that about sums it up for moves I would least-likely-to-want-to-brag about. However, the more immobile objects I walked into the less sober I was. So that is my excuse and I’m sticking to it.

The thing that gets me the most about all of these talented tricks (I didn’t know I had up my sleeve) is that my birth name means 'graceful'. Go figure, because my ass is the biggest drunk klutz since Paris Hilton showed her treasure chest to all of Tinsel Town…

And now a msg from slow boy...

I got an IM from slow boy at work today. A pointless conversation to say the least...

slow boy: Hi
MsP: hay
slow boy: Ok Miss hay, how are you?
MsP: what? im good how are you?
slow boy: Im good
MsP: i thought you were dead
slow boy: I just wanted to see how you were and that I was thinking about you. What does that mean? Why?
MsP: thinking about me?
slow boy: Why would you say you thought I was dead?
MsP: i havent heard from you, but i guess i could have called
MsP: my bad
slow boy: The door swings both ways doesn't it?
MsP: I guess
slow boy:I like to get high my bad am I a bad person because of it
slow boy: ? Wow silence I guess I am...
MsP: it s just that i told you i dont like it and everytime we hang out you were either high or getting high
slow boy: I get what your saying but do you have a problem with it?

he really is slow...