My Friend Jon, The Ex Con

I'm a pretty social person when I want to be. I go places. I'm friendly. I make friends. *halo*

Well recently I might have been a little too friendly. Walking home from dinner with the bf, we saw some dude on the corner holding this sign...

I was impressed, thought it was catchy, hoped he made a buck or two. And of course I asked for a picture to put on my Facebook page, because what is the point of seeing something like that if you can't put it on Internet blast? Right? Right.

Anyway, a couple weeks later I was walking downtown and I see a guy holding up another impressive sign...

(Sign reads: "Will work for female relations, cash, car, tools, clothes, a job, apartment and anything else you wish to help my sorry non-having butt with.")

I stop and I said to the guy, “Hey, I saw a guy a couple weeks ago with another interesting sign (whipping out my cell phone to show him the picture) and I think you've got yourself some competition.”

“Hey that's me,” he said, pointing to the picture of him holding the 'ex con' sign. Ohhhhhh. Good thing I'm so perceptive.

“Well I put it on my Facebook page,” I told him, not sure of his reaction.

“Really? Cool,” he said.

Turns out his name is Jon. I'm not sure why exactly why he sits on the corner with crazy signs. The "ex con" thing might be a subtle explanation, but I'll have to get the full scoop one of these days.

I saw him again for a third time with his fiancée on Wednesday.

“Hey babe, this is the girl who puts my pictures on Facebook,” he tells her proudly, as I snap their picture...

I'm mad at the stoge in her hand and after all his 'female relation' signs this girl suddenly pops up. However, I also love happy endings ;0 Good luck to my new friend Jon, the ex con and his girl.

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.

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.

Don’t Quit Your Day Job

Doesn’t it seem like lately everyone wants to be a model or a rapper?

My ex used to make fun of me because for a while I thought I was America’s Next Top Model. I got into some local promotional modeling a few years ago, but sh*t I’m only 5’5”. I don’t know where I thought I was going, but it sure wasn't the runway. (I think at the time I was just bored and needed to fill an insecure void. I’m over it now. Honestly.)

Anyway, when I was on my model hype, I started a page on modelmayhem.com. It’s like a professional MySpace for models, photographers, make-up artists, designers, etc. The stuff on the site varies from real high-end fashion modeling to some incredible artsy photography...

Then in between the mayhem there are, of course, the amateurs. The stuff that makes you go huh???


Work it out! Get it!You’re a tiger!

Oh yeah, you’re an animal!

I don’t know, but for some reason I didn’t want to see that…

That’s it, send that poor message out to all the little girls in America.

I know, I know. I either need Jesus or a new hobby...

MsP

Another reason why my mom is pretty awesome...

I’m sorry ya’ll, I meant to post last night, but my couch ate me. I woke up with the longest string of drool hanging from my mouth and an imprint from the remote control on my forehead. I guess that’s what happens after eating a box of jumbo candy, some popcorn, pizza and washing it down with soda. (My diet starts next week, so don’t trip, I’m good).

Speaking of good, I sure did get my mom good yesterday. She was the only one I knew who would fall for all that April Fools mess.

I was lying on the couch when my roommate came home and tried to tell me my car was messed up.

“Girl, go outside and look at your car, it’s bad,” she said. “No I’m serious girl. Go look at your car!”

It’s not that I didn’t believe her, but my butt was too lazy to get up off the couch to see what had happened to it.

“Damn,” she said. “You’re too hard to fool.”

“Oh! Now I get it, you were trying to trick me,” I said.

I had forgotten all about April Fools day.

“Hmmm”, I said. “I know who we can get, my mom.”

What should I tell her? I’m pregnant? No. I got a tattoo? No. (I really did get one recently that she doesn’t know about yet). I don’t want to give her a heart attack. I know, I’ll tell her that I ran away to Vegas and got married. No, I tell her that all the time, she wouldn’t believe me.

So I called and told her that I spent all my rent money on my hair. Do you know that she believed me!? Dying, because she was really about to Western Union me some money.

Damn, now I feel bad.

A Stoner Tale: The Toothless Blonde

I broke down and rented that movie Good Luck Chuck with Dane Cook and Jessica Alba. I thought it looked stupid, but the guy at Blockbuster said that he thought it was funny. So I thought, “hey why not, he works at Blockbuster, he must know his sh*t.”

Anyway, I get home and I’m watching it (hella high), when there is this part where Jessica’s character falls and busts her face on some ice. She ends up breaking her front tooth and then swallowing it. (Or at least that’s how I saw it).

“I think I just chipped a tooth,” says her character.

I immediately start cracking up and have to pause the movie to take the time to call my friend E (no not the drug).

You see about a year ago my friend E was four wheeling with her boyfriend and knocked out her front tooth. She was cool for a minute, but told me after they got her in the car to take her to the doctor she started crying. A delayed reaction to the fact that she didn’t have a front tooth made her emotional. In the end, she had to go to her dentist and have her tooth realigned. After that experience, she was traumatized and for a long time had nightmares about being toothless.

Being a good friend, watching my highly recommended BB movie, I called her to laugh at her. The whole scenario reminded me of her story.

“I think I should blog about this,” I told her.

“Well just promise me that you keep me anonymous in your blog, so no one knows what I did,” she said.

“What if in my blog you are a 5’10” model chick, with long blonde hair, blue eyes and big boobs?” I said.

“Ok that works,” she said. “If I’m hot then you can totally talk bout me.”

What is the moral/point of this random ass story? Don’t get high and write blog posts…

Chain of Fools

My life is too complicated right now, so I’m going to switch things up and talk sh*t about other people. Yay! I know, I'm excited too.

Was it DL Hughley on the Kings of Comedy who said, “there is always that one person at your job you are this close to slapping the sh*t out of? And if you can’t think of anyone, that person just might be you?” Well I don’t remember his words exactly, but my point is, there are definitely those people at my job.

I don’t necessarily want to slap them. It’s more of wanting to stick my foot out when they walk by, so I can enjoy watching them eat sh*t. (Is that mean?) I can’t even think of just one person I would do like that. There are like four or five of these mufuckas lurking around my workspace…

*First of all there is this dude who is fabulously in touch with his homosexuality. Comes to work with product in his hair, eyeliner lined just right and flaps his hands around way too much when he talks. The thing I can’t quite figure out is how his breath can be so funky? It is a funk that comes from deep within and boy is it kickin’. His breath would, no question, Ty-kwon-do that ass in a fight.

I’m just curious, how do you have time to put product in your hair, but not brush your teeth? I’m not playing when I say I can’t breathe when this fool talks. One time when he spoke to me, I accidentally breathed in and I swear I farted.

*Next there is the new guy. I kind of feel sorry for him, because no one really takes the time to show him the ropes. And someone needs to, because goddamn he is irritating. I will be in the middle of a conversation with somebody and here he come with some random ass, dumb ass question, like, “do you spell Fat Tire, P-H-A-T?” Looking at me throughout the entire question with a serious and innocent expression on his face. I’m like man it’s a beer not a woman! Focus. Fat Tire, I’m sure, is made by some ol country ass people who don’t know nothing about no PHAT.

*Now, I’m going to go ahead and categorize the next two people in the same group. The two that come to work every single day with an attitude, never want to do sh*t, complain about everything and then always want to be the first ones to go home. Stomping around saying sh*t in a whiny ass voice like, “Omigod, I can’t believe I have a customer! I only made three dollars tonight, I was going to go home an now they want to seat me!”

I’m sorry, why don’t you Debbie Downer take Negative Nancy home with you, where you two can sit on the couch and complain to each other that the remote is too far away? Don’t come into work with your clouded black aura blowing smoke in my direction. I might not want to be here either, but nobody will ever hear me at work crying like a little b*tch. Sh*t be happy you on the clock.

*Then there is Ruby. (I’m going to go ahead and bust her all out). Ruby isn’t one of the people I want to trip, but this girl is high ALL THE TIME. I just don’t get how a person can come to work that high? When I’m stoned, I like to sit on my couch, eat and probably laugh at some stupid sh*t. I would never get any work done. Although I wouldn’t even call what Ruby does, work. She kind of just floats around the building everyday. Always telling me band camp stories that are like 20 minutes long.

One time she was telling me this story and I kind of tuned her out, like I usually do. I guess she got to the end of her story, because she starts cracking up. “Get it? Get it?” she said. “No I’m sorry,” I said. I wasn’t really paying attention.” So she starts over, trying to tell me again and I cut her off like, “No, really it’s ok, I’m sure I had to be there.”

On The Come Down

So that whole drug hallucinate experience really f*cked up my week. I couldn’t tell up from down and what leg to put into my panties first.

Then of course I mentioned my ex in that last post who is ironically like a drug. I don’t know which one is worse for me, actually experimenting with E or him. One minute he makes me feel great like I could do no wrong. The next minute I’m laying cold in an alley somewhere grinding my teeth together, holding a paper cup, wondering what the hell happened. ???

I hope this is a phase. Really I do. It’s all fun and games to joke around about living life like a rockstar/pornstar, but in all reality, I’m not cut out for this type of work. I mean the sex is great, but other than that I’m going to need a minute in my hotel room with a hot towel on my head. I don’t know how else I’m going to recuperate between head banging and jumping into swimming pools booty butt naked.

So I took a minute last night to chill out, smoke some weed, cook some food and watch a little Chappelle. This is old, but he had me crackin’ up, fast forward to about 1:45…



He said, “n*gga WTF is juice?” LOL

Have a great weekend!!!

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"...

The question on everyone's mind is...

Who's next??? Tell me Johnny, what's behind door #1?

Well for $200 we have Scout Willis...so young, so sweet and tender. How can one resist the urge to offer her some marijuana? Her sister Rumer perhaps?

Behind door #2, for $500, we have the super innocent and however unexpected, a very normal, Jamie Lynn Spears. Is an unplanned pregnancy in her near future? I wonder if she gets love advice from her older sister, Britney Spears?


And now, for the grand prize, drum roll please. Behind door #3, for a whopping $1,000,000,000, is none other than Ali Lohan! Yes ladies and gentlemen, this young pre-teen once said in an interview how much she looks up to older sister, Lindsay Lohan. Don't cross your fingers folks, she will let you down...


I know, I know, I'm going to hell. I wonder if the devil really does wear Prada?

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.

Nice Guy Gets High Fast

"The best part about alcohol: If you don’t remember, it didn’t happen."

Omg!! I just had the best dream ever!

For me, when people say this before they proceed to try and describe their dream, I'm like please, just shut up already. Honestly, your dream was only good in your mind, while you were sleeping. I, however, wouldn’t have brought my dream up if I didn’t think that it wasn't worth sharing.

I know I'm great. I share. Well, in my dream, I was on a party bus, with Cameron Diaz, on the way to Vegas!!

See, now I bet you want to hear more, but that’s all I got. I woke up before I got to the good stuff.

Yeah, I was disappointed too.

Waking up after another date from hell, the Cam dream did totally make my day though.
Yeah, yeah I’m dating. It sucks. Please spare me any commiseration. I already feel sorry for me too.

So, I met this guy about a month ago. He’s kind of slow. Slow as in, when I tell a joke, he has like a three second witticism delay. Not that I’m a comedian or anything. I mean if it’s not funny, it’s not funny. But if he's laughing late, because I had to rewind and break down the joke for him to get it, then it’s funny and he's just f*cking slow. (Or I could be a bad joke teller, but I'm going to stick to my original argument of him being slow).

I should also mention that he smokes weed on an “occasion.”
He filled me in on this bit of information during an intellectual conversation, where I told him that I try to avoid dating guys who are into smoking weed and playing video games. I didn’t know that it would be so hard to find a guy to meet the criteria of hobbies that don’t include killing brain cells. These days they are hard to come by. I don’t know, maybe the weed explains the delay. At the same time, if he were *high* there wouldn’t be a delay, right? He would laugh quickly at pretty much anything.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this...

Let me just say, I’m trying to see past the slowness and the weed smoking, because he’s nice. And I drink.

Anyway, slow guy took me out to dinner on Friday, to Romano’s, a.k.a., the Macaroni Grill. Somewhere I had never been before, because in my mind I had pictured Bertha, with a hairnet, scooping macaroni out buffet style to Jimbo and them.

I was pleasantly surprised when we got situated at the bar that this was a place I might actually enjoy.

I would call our dinner date, the ‘official’ third date for slow guy and I. (We still had to suffer through small talk and ask each other every five minutes, “is everything ok?”) The evening started off like any other opening night, as he made a toast we giggled and flirted. Slow guy was even sweet enough to help me figure out the foreign menu of pastas and wines.

Somewhere between the appetizers and the main course I managed to have one too many Washington Apple shots. I washed them down with two glasses of wine and grew impatient with our now dry conversation. I’ll admit, I’m a cheap date and by the end of dinner I had to pee and slow guy was getting on my nerves with his Q&A survey of, “so tell me about you?”

I’ll tell you about me. I have a small bladder and I’m going to need another shot to continue this boring ass conversation.

By the time we headed back to his place I wasn’t walking crooked, I was walking in circles. (I think I played it off though; my slurred speech might have been the only thing giving me away). When we got back to his place his roommate was sitting on the couch rolling a fatty. Without any hesitation, slow guy plopped down on the couch, eager to join in on the rotation of the puff. I know I was a ‘little’ sloshed, but couldn’t he have waited until I went home to satisfy his craving? He might as well have whipped out his d*ck and slapped me in the face with it.

Oh well, I guess it never would have worked out with slow guy anyway. We obviously don’t share the same interests. He's a pothead, I'm a drunk. He eats, I throw up. He stares at things for long periods of time, I pass out. He chills on the couch, I stumble around. You get the point.

He was considerate enough to offer me a hit.

I told you he was a nice guy.