In A Nut Shell

Monday- I was supposed to work Christmas Eve until 1 a.m. I was there for two hours when my manager told me I could go home. So a coworker and I did the only logical thing to do. We went out to a dive bar and got drunk.

Tuesday- I’m still not sure if I was hung over or still drunk from the night before, but I woke up bright and early for the three-hour drive to my hometown on Christmas day. (My mom wouldn’t let anyone open presents until I got there). I guess on the plus side there was no traffic. Christmas with the family was awesome. I got the digital, but unfortunately, no booty. :(

Wednesday- I finally got to sleep in. Hung out with the family, then later that night went to go hang out with some friends from back in the day. I love my people, but they are a cross between Rick James and the movie Half Baked. I joined them in the rotation only because I rarely come home to visit and it was just convenient where I was sitting. I’ve never eaten so much Taco Bell in my life.

Thursday- I met up with my girl and we rode out to the city to go-go dance a special event dressed as Vegas Show girls. To sum up the night with a few key words I’d have to go with, alcohol (of course), booty shorts, Coyote Ugly and what happened on Thursday can only be retold through a camera.

Friday- There is only one club/bar/lounge in the small town that I grew up in. On the holidays everyone I’ve ever grown up with is usually there getting sh*t faced. I was game so I hit up an old friend of mine and we went and shook things up. We basically got drunk, again, and I lied about never eating so much Taco Bell in my life.

Saturday- I left my parents house, (where I’d been crashing all week) took my younger brother to the airport before driving home to go work an eight-hour shift.

It’s a wrap. I’m tired. My dawgs are barking and I think I have alcohol seeping through my pores. I know I’ve been MIA (missing in action) in commenting on blogs. I should be back to my regular scheduled program Tuesday…

Happy New Year!!!

All I want for Christmas is…

...for the Raiders to play a decent game… 49 to 3 wtf!?...

...A digital camera, so I can do some more camera whoring…


...some booty, because my vagina is about to pack up and move to the Bahamas…


...good health care coverage for all my people…


...gas money…

...the Spears family to use birth control…

...VH1 to stop making reality TV shows…(unless they're hiring)...

...to finally meet my baby cousin…too cute!

H A P P Y H O L I D A Y S ! !

I Dream of Weenie

I had a sex dream the other night.

It was with one of my male readers, whom I have never met. (Sorry, but no Slaus it wasn’t you). I’ll try to detail it, although describing a dream is like trying to explain the plot of a movie in Spanish, to someone who only speaks Chinese.

A dream only makes sense in the dreamer’s mind.

In short, the whole dream was one big gigantic orgasm. I just remember floating, like I was in heaven. There wasn’t any dialogue, just some moaning sound effects and a real blurry visual. I don’t even know if homeboy was packin’ or not. It wasn’t a freak nasty dream. It was all mentally stimulated and happened in slow motion. Ha, it was a sexual seduction...



Anyway, I’m not complaining, but it was weird. Having a random-sex-with-a-stranger-dream is creepy in more ways than one. Not only does this mean that I need to get laid and I blog way too much, but it was the best sex I’ve ever had. (I woke up sweating and I needed a cigarette). My intuition after this encounter is so sad. I have better sex with myself in my mind then I do in real life with another person. However, on the plus side, at least I can’t get pregnant having a random-sex-with-a-stranger-dream.

Now enough posts about sex. I don’t want this blog to turn into a place where people come to get a load off. Unless I’m getting paid, of course. Then I’ll talk dirty…

A Taste of Fresh Banana Puddin’

Ok all, this post might be a little different from what you are used to. For the record I am not trying to be funny here and I didn't mean for this to turn into confessions of Ms Puddin'. This is just something I am going through right now and I have to get off my chest …

I know that I joke around a lot about crossing over to the other side --well the opportunity presented itself Saturday night. I went out with a girlfriend of mine and got hit on by a chick. I mean but this girl was serious. She told me I was beautiful and that she wasn’t full on lesbian, but she was attracted to me and wanted to get down with the get down. (Of course if a guy spit that line at me, things would have went down a little different).

And don’t get it twisted, this chick did not have a buzz cut and baggy jeans. (Not that there is anything wrong with that). She sported some tight pants, a pretty face and long hair. I gave her my number. I do check girls out from time to time, but never in a sexual way, more so in a comparing the of goods sort of way. Checking out the competition.

Now I know what people are thinking, please judge me. However, first let me break it down and put something into perspective. Here is what I believe about women who experiment or cross over to the other side. I believe that when a woman has been treated so f*cked up by a man, she sometimes can find the companionship and love from a woman that man was unable to give, while she is trying to move on.

I know some of my friends read this blog and they are going to call me like, “Puddin’ what in the hell is wrong with you?!”

Wait please let me explain. I will never give up men. There is something about certain masculine qualities that do it for me, no question. But I am going through it right now in the dating department. I’m bored. So when I get bored I call my ex and he is an asshole. Period. I have verbalized multiple times how bad he is for me and yet I still let him have control over me. No he’s not physically abusive, but mentally he has messed my head up and turned me into this girl that I don’t know. I won’t go into detail of some of the things that he put me through, (trust me it is not worth the detail), but I am very insecure because of him.

It’s sick, because don’t get it twisted I get hit on, holla’d at, talked to and basically attacked all the time. People are always telling me left and right how beautiful of a person I am on the inside as well as on the outside. And it hurts because I go home, look in the mirror and think to myself, “I just don’t see it, what are these crazy people talking about?”

I know everyone has their own insecurities, but mine lead me back into the arms of someone who isn’t right for me. I’m always looking for approval from this man. I don’t want to change him. I’m waiting for him to change me. Deep down I know that is something I have to do for myself. When I am ready. And right now I just don’t have it in me.

So if she calls I am going to answer, but this is curiosity and temporary. I have never really seen myself going there. I could never see myself doing anything with another chick, especially that. I would never have the balls like she had to approach me and see what the business was. She even explained to me that she didn’t want a girlfriend. I don’t either. I just want to feel good about myself again and be happy even if it is coming from a woman instead of a man.

*This is a testimony not a coming out of the closet moment.*

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…

Would you still hit it?

On my last post I displayed a photo of Angel’s booty. A booty that should be in a museum or have a special toilet made for it or something. Just unnecessary junk and of course Slaus said, “I’d hit it tho.”

I find this funny, because I am always hearing my guy friends talkin’ shit about this chick or that chick in mainstream media. However, after they get through expressing unlimited reasons why a chick is so repulsive, the end result is always, “I’d still hit it.”

So I guess this post is mainly for my male readers, but ladies, feel free to drop one in if necessary. The question today is would you still hit it?

“Superhead” aka Karrine Steffans is known for writing a book about how she f*cked her way to the top. She is currently in the process of releasing another book about more dudes she did the nasty with. Her book, supposedly, is a message for women about how men are scumbags and life ain’t easy.

Well no sh*t. I didn’t have to f*ck 50 Cent and his posse to figure that one out. Thanks “Superhead” you really are a gem. And to all the guys out there, um hello! If she is having sex with you please believe she is going to put you on blast! But, they don’t call her “Superhead” for nothing, so would you still hit it?

“New York”, aka Tiffany, shot to fame from the popular VH1 hit “Flava of Love”, which gave her a name and the “I Love New York” show. I just don't get why anyone would want to fall in love with the Queen of drag. Fellas, if the facts are that the b*tch and her mama are both crazy is not enough to have you running in the other direction, maybe the idea that she let Flava Flava d*ck her down. Would you still hit it?

I guess putting Britney in this list is kind of pushing it, but we’ve all seen her vagina. So basically having seen the merchandise you are one step up. Would you still hit it?

Last but not least, I gotta add Kim Kardashian to this list. I must admit Kim is a gorgeous young lady, however she is not the brightest crayon in the box. She had sex with Brandy’s little brother Ray J and videotaped it. Kim, I know you are best friends with Paris, but the sex tape idea is played. It’s so not hot.

I love how after she made the tape she posed nude for Playboy and tried to justify her in discrepancies. Saying something about how she didn’t want people to get the wrong idea about her. I’m sorry what were you saying Kim? I was too distracted by your naked vagina. So tell me, would you still hit it?

Whatcha gonna do with all that junk?

Ya know I’m not one to talk about people, (heh heh, yeah right) but this chick is the new face of KING magazine. Meaning she must be doing pretty good for herself, so I don’t see why I can’t discuss the circumference of her ass.

I’ve never seen anything quite like this. I don’t know if it is just because she has such a tiny waist, but this is ridiculous…

Find more pictures of Angel Lola Luv HERE...

He Called!

Hot guys don’t hit on me very often. At least if they do get my number, they don’t call.

I’m usually the girl in the club who can’t understand why the man who comes up to about my chest area, with a cocked-eye and just got off the phone with 1984 who apparently wanted their outfit back, is always the first to holla. And if it’s not him the alternative is usually a potential stalker or sugar daddy material.

Could someone please take the sign off of my back that reads, “I date anyone with a penis”?

I mean it’s not that big of a deal. I like my stalkers. They build quality self-esteem. Anyway, my point is I usually get hit on by weirdos or jerks. So I was surprised when hot dream guy, I mentioned before, called after two weeks.

“Why are you calling me,” I asked him.

“Cuz’ you’re hot,” he responded.

Sounds good to me. Here is the dish:

I go-go danced at some guy’s birthday party over Thanksgiving break as a favor. It was at a nightclub and since it was a favor, we didn’t have to dance the whole night. The girls and I got to throw on our party dresses and mingle halfway through the night. This was the when and the where of how I met my hot dream guy. He was a friend of a friend and after we got introduced, we became inseparable the rest of that night.

I remember at one point standing outside with him, when some big guy with a hoodie came barreling through the crowd and bumped into me. I hadn’t really noticed, but dream guy did.

“Hey you,” he said. “Why don’t you apologize to the lady?”

The guy kind of slowly turned around unsure if dream guy was talking to him. Then he kind of looked at me sheepishly and mumbled a, “oh my bad, I’m sorry.”

They shook hands and the guy left. Just like that.

I’m sorry, but he had me at “hey you.” I was impressed. Ok, I’ll admit it doesn’t take much to turn me on, some cheap porn and a happy meal, but this was new to me.

In general, I’m not big on pretty boys. Seriously, what girl wants to date someone who looks better than her? But there is something about him, he is a little rough around the edges. I can dig it...

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!

I got my Internet working! Now I can get back to my blogging (crack) addiction...SCORE!

Superman can’t save us from Soulja Boy…

Remember I mentioned I was going to the Spice Girl’s reunion tour?

Well it was last night and all it did was make me feel old. Anytime in the middle of a performance the entertainers start doing a mega mix rendition of “Celebration” and “We Are Family”, you’re old. And when you actually start dancing to it and enjoying it, it’s time for a walker and a new set of teeth. Although, I’m not complaining, I have no regrets about my real life Spice Girl experience.

The highlight (or maybe this is a lowlight) of my night was when we (I went with some coworkers) first arrived at the arena. The lights were still on and there was a DJ spinning some of the latest pop and hip-hop cuts (I’m assuming?) while people were finding their seats.

And then it happened.

The DJ messed around and played Soulja Boy’s “Crank that Superman” song or whatever it’s called.

Picture this: 10,000 (a majority white) female teenie-boppers, in spandex, platform pumps and pigtails doing the “Superman”.



I mean everyone stood up and started cranking their “Superman”. I wouldn’t have minded if it was just, “Going Down”, or “Ballin’”, but the “Superman”? Really? How old are you? Sit down!

I almost had a heart attack when that song came on. The worst part was, they were on point too. I mean they had every last crank, toe touch and “You Know!” down. I’ll tell you what I want, what I really, really want and that is to not ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever see anyone doing the “Superman” again.

Please. Kill. Me. Now.

I heard Soulja Boy is in the hospital right now. Good. He needs to sit there and think about what he’s done.

Ok enough of me being so melodramatic. Moving on.

I want to apologize to bloggers who I haven’t visited in a while (or at all) and my postings for (still) being on BP time. I still don’t have the Internet on my laptop. The only time I can comment and post is at the end of my day, on my roommate’s computer. Boo.

Unless I get lucky, because sometimes I can trade sexual favors with the neighbors for Internet time. But that is starting to get risky. I’m running out of creative positions for my right leg.

And for those of you haven’t gotten over it, yes, Ms Puddin’ went to a Spice Girls concert. I bet you dance around in front of your mirror, singing “Spice up your life!” into a shoe, too.

* crickets *

Well at least it’s better than the “Superman”…

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"...

Excuse my blog for being on BP time...

I know those of you who are regulars here probably noticed that my posts were a day behind this past week. (I still don't have Internet on my computer, wtf?) So I hope no one used my blog as a reference to determine what day it was, because rent is due. Just to clarify, it's Saturday, (December, not January) 1, 2007.

I know this because I had to get up and go handle some business this morning. I had to be there @ 7:30a.m., which meant I had to wake up @ 5:30a.m., to be on time. (No, I wasn't applying for a green card). I don't know but, has anyone else ever had to get up so early in the morning, it felt like somebody, somewhere was laughing? Well sh*t, I have.

All I can say is, I was strugglin'. I am NOT a morning person. I repeat I am NOT about the worm. I don't want a worm, ( unless of course it is at the bottom of a tequila bottle) I want to sleep in. If I do have to get up early or don't get enough sleep, I turn into Whitney Houston being interviewed by Wendy Williams. (I know that's old news, but it's still funny).

So anyway I got up early, did my thing and then I called a girlfriend ( a girl that is my friend) to go out and grab some breakfast. We ended up going to a little diner that serves breakfast until 3. And they had a bar. As soon as we got to our table, some perky fool was in our face talkin' about, "coffee?" I hadn't even gotten both of my ass cheeks seated into our booth, but "yeah sure, coffee would be great," I said.

Five minutes later someone else came up to our table, "coffee?" "Um, yeah sure, that would be great ," I said again. Talk about some good service. Or so I thought. Not even two seconds later someone was back at our table, coffee?"Damn, back up. "No thanks, I'm good," I said.

I think you can see where I am going with this. I've never been offered so much coffee in my life. I think their employees were drinking more than just coffee. Talk about a late morning pick-me-up, I walked out of the diner twitching like Tyrone.

*high pitched voice* "You don't know this about me Joe Rogan, but I drink a lot of coffee."

Anyway, I'll try and get it together next week as far as posting on time. However, I am on the west coast. (I know, excuses, excuses) Hope everyone is enjoying their weekend, I'm going back to bed...

Ms Puddin Gets Fucked

Ok I gave the link to this blog out to too many people I know. When I'm going about my day I always get a phone call or someone coming up to me like, "Hay Ms Puddin', I just got finished reading about the time you got freaky with a one-legged midget, some whipped cream and a strobe light."

"Wait. What? What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. I can explain."

I can't write about anything anymore. There are no more juicy stories about sex or dumpster babies, because I'm afraid somebody might turn me in. It sucks. I mean, I guess I don't mind people coming up to me, but I'd prefer it was to offer me a suggestion on where to find my panties, without judging on how I lost them.

So I am going to tell a sex story right now, but for my reputation's sake, lets pretend it happened a long time ago. In fact, let's just say I am still a virgin. I'm a virgin telling a sex story that happened a long, long,long time ago.

Ok great, glad we got that out the way. Now I can go ahead and say I'm good in bed. Honestly, the one-legged midget didn't have any complaints. So you can understand how surprised I was when I was having sex with an ex (of a long, long, long) time ago, who fell asleep when I was on top!

He did mention before we started getting it on he was drunk, tired and just wanted to go to sleep. But of course I ignored him. I busted out my whips, chains and started going all Kim Kardashian on his ass. He was good for about ten minutes, making some strange gurgling noises. Then all of a sudden he sounded like a fat man enjoying a pretzel. He started snoring! Are you serious!? I must of slapped the sh*t out of him!

"Wake up!" I yelled. His eyes popped open and he looked around, startled. "My bad babe," he said.

Yeah your bad. I had better sex with the one-legged midget and disco bal--I mean strobe light...

Happy Hump Day!!

Photo Album I: Why is Ms Puddin' So Special?

I have a request from Don to post more pictures of myself. I'm not sure why he wants to see more photos of me, but the fact that he wears XL Magnum condoms is a good enough reason.(Don, call me).

Anyway, after I got his request for more photos, I started flipping through my photo albums. I wanted to make sure that if I posted pictures of myself, mainly for people who don't see me everyday, they know I'm a hottie.

Now as I started sifting through the craziness, I noticed I have a dilemma. Most of my pictures make me look special. There is even one where I am wearing a helmet. The pictures get a little better towards the end, but how can I argue I'm not as weird as I look, when I look like this...

or feeling up a sculpture in Vegas

or giving two very enthusiastic thumbs up...

oh and of course here is me in my helmet...

Aha! I found a normal picture! Here I am. Ms Fresh Banana Puddin'...

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

Thanks!!

Well folks, this is my first Thanksgiving in the blogging industry. I feel so accomplished. I noticed that a couple other bloggers have posted what they are thankful for. So I thought I would say a few words myself. Plus I’m sure everyone needs a break from my debauchery and open anger towards the word, vagina. So, without further ado, I am thankful for…

the ability to make good decisions…

Tylenol…


good credit…


McDonald’s bacon, egg, N cheese bagel…

Alicia Key’s new album “As I Am”…

Reggie Bush's stomach...

And last but not least, my blog readers and writers. You're f*ckin' awesome!!

Have a happy holiday everyone! I am out of town, yeah boi! So I will catch up on blogs later…peace and hair grease!

Renaming Our Lady Lips

* Warning!! This post contains a high volume usage of the word VAGINA reader discretion is advised.

I hate the word vagina. Why does such an amazing piece of anatomy get the name vagina? Life is so unfair. It had to be a man who came up with the idea of naming an important part of the female body, vagina. I mean penis isn’t much better, but vagina makes me want to go out and give blue balls to any guy who disagrees with me. (Is there even such a thing as blue balls?)

Anyway, the two strips of bacon, guarding the cum dumpster is already a scary place to some. Aside from a pimply 13-year-old virgin, boy with braces (who I wouldn’t want near my twat in the first place), there are women out there afraid to look at their own kitty kat. If anyone hasn’t seen the Tyra episode of the 28-year-old woman who is afraid to look at her own cooch, please youtube it. There is also an episode of “Sex and the City” when Charlotte was afraid to look at her poon.

I’m terrified of spiders, but they aren’t a part of my body. How can someone be afraid of the same anatomy they popped out of and use everyday? (I’m talking about going pee people. Get your minds out the gutter!) The v-spot is such a powerful piece of equipment. Learn to love it ladies. Embrace it. Take control of your jerky strips! It took me a long time to realize that pussi has power.

Why are we aren’t we more inclined to get to know the monkey? Get a Brazilian, rub some oil on that puppy, spray some scented lotion and call it a day. Soon I’m talking meal tickets, diamonds, shoes, the ability to spend seven days with your head spinning around in a circle while shooting venom and getting away with it. Guys leave the toilet seat up and barely live to see another day. Woman can bleed for seven days out of their velvet treasures and not die. That’s impressive.

It just sucks that we have PC muscles and babies and all this greatness happens from a something called the vagina? Once we become one with our boxes, we need to come up with a better name than vagina.

Suggestions???

Alcohol + Hot Date = Bad Idea

In case no one went out to celebrate on my behalf yesterday, it’s ok, because I did. Well, actually I was on a date and had one to many glasses of wine. I always drink too much on dates. Then I wake up the next morning curious as to why a tub of Crisco is smeared all over my body and “I’ll take you to the candy shop,” is on repeat in my stereo.

Last night wasn’t any different. And yes for those of you who seem so concerned about my love life, I’m dating again. Between all this bitching and moaning about being single, I love it. Really I do. It’s a blessing. I’m enjoying my freedom. (Cue the violins, because this lonely bitch needs to get laid). But to put a few of my reader’s minds at rest (*hint*, *hint*) I want to say that for the record, I met someone. He’s a cool cat. I appreciate him. He’s on salary and has good credit.

I guess I would call last night a double date. It was my date and I, his boy and his boy’s “friend”. (Whatever that means). We all went to the comedy club because my date said he had got an email Bruce Bruce was performing.

When we got there it was really Bruce something or other from, “Last Comic Standing”. I don’t know, but he was a tall white guy, not a fat, black Bruce Bruce. Apparently, he only performs on Fridays.

The guys wanted to leave, but I talked them into staying. I told them if we got drunk enough it would be a great show! Of course most comedy clubs have a two-drink minimum anyway. I think it's to make the comedians funnier. Whatever, I’ll pass your minimum and raise you drunk. Man I was drunk last night.

After the show, I hugged every single guy that went on stage and told them their act was the best. Then we went to grab a bite to eat and I think I got more food around my mouth than actually in it. I remember my date wiping the sides of my mouth for me. (Thanks man). There was also a local band playing at the food joint. I was, of course, the only one dancing.

It was around this time he took me home. I hope he calls again…

It’s a celebration bitches!

This is my 100th blog post! Yay! (Cue pointless applause and excitement)

I never really told the story of how Ms Fresh Banana Puddin’ became so fresh. So in celebration, I’m going to tell it now…

It was about three years ago, when some friends of mine and I were headed to the club. It just so happened I was chillin’ with the chocolate sistas that night. I stood out like a Mexican chick in the cast of "Flava of Love." I was the only light skinned one in the group that night. I didn’t even make this observation, until we all hopped out of the car and started heading to the club.

On our way we experienced a number of guys jockin’ the goodies. Yelling all kinds of things out at us, trying to get our attention. Then there was this one guy, (there’s always that one) who shouted, “You! Hey you!”

"I think he’s talking to you,” my girl said. She turned and looked at me.

He got closer to us, walked right up to me and said, “Damn baby, lookin’ so good, like fresh banana puddin’, makin’ me hungry.”

We all started cracking up. Seriously?

And there you have it, short and sweet. Since this is my 100th post, I give anyone who reads this the ok on going out and celebrating on my behalf. Even though it's Monday…

An open letter to my cell phone…

Dear Razr,

We have been through so much. Ever since I got drunk last spring and left my ex razr in the bathroom of some bar, we’ve been inseparable.

When we first met I used to love your shiny coat and flashy buttons. Now you’re kind of rusty and the “off” button doesn’t work. Sometimes I wonder if I had gotten a different color, if things would have been different? Of all the buttons not to work, why did you have to stop that one? It’s the most important button. It's how I hang up and turn my phone on and off. But I guess all the buttons are equally important. I mean, where would I be without the number seven?

Anyway, I’m getting off topic.

I know I am becoming really good at dropping you at least once a day, but its not my fault you are so slippery. It’s just so frustrating, because when I do try and put you away in a safe place, like my purse, you always manage to go straight to the bottom. Where I can't find you. Which is really irritating when my phone rings.

And sometimes when I am talking through you, you just shut off. No warning, no explanation, just off. I think it’s time we call this relationship quits, because this makes it hard for me to talk to other people. I don’t know if there is some sort of jealousy you have towards me, but you need to get over it. It’s rare a hot guy calls me and when one does I don’t want to end up a victim of a “dropped call” commercial.

Consider this letter a warning. Any more problems and I’m calling my insurance company.

Sincerely,

Ms Fresh Banana Puddin’

Attacked again...

...this time by a Meme, from the lovely, bella...

Four things I like to cook
1. I
2. don't
3. cook
4. but turkey tacos are my specialty

Four qualities I love in people
1. a sense of humor
2. the ability to keep it real
3. passionate about something
4. people who have a good sense of who they are and where they come from

Four places I have been
1. NYC
2. Hawaii
3. Las Vegas
4. Houston

Four things in my bedroom
1. stereo
2. pictures
3. clothes
4. a mess

Four dirty words I like
1. wouldn’’t
2. you
3. like
4. to know

Four people I’m taggin', prune juice, miss kitty, miss pocachontaz and steph…

PS- CHECK ME OUT! (Don this is for you)...

The ABCs of Watching Porn

Creepy older guy is at it again. No not you, that other guy…

Apparently one of the most recent problems in public libraries is “second-hand porn.” It’s not like second-hand smoke, because it can’t kill you, but “oh my eyes! my eyes!”

The concern is that since the library is a public place that serves the community, anyone can come in and use the facilities. That means any guy (girl?) off the street can come use the computer to download porn and whack off. There have been a few instances where officials have actually caught a man strokin’ his shaboinka in a public library.

Another concern of “second-hand porn” is from parents who want to filter the computers so that their kids don’t come across any unexpected pop ups. But if we start filtering the computers the next victim could be their child. Hey I’m just saying. Don’t shoot the messenger. And little Johnny and Betty Sue are going to learn someday. Might as well make it educational. I used to learn from pop up books. There can’t be that much of a difference.

Well, in the meantime, I’ve come up with a solution I think would solve this problem. The library should have a Champagne room. Why not? If we can give people off the streets a place to come in and get a load off, it might reduce some of the crime rate. Of course there is “no sex in the Champagne room,” only self-gratification.

And while we’re at it, why not go ahead and put a bar or lounge in the library too. Libraries are too quiet. Oh and a stripper pole. If there is a stripper pole right in the children’s room, it might scare the children out of the library altogether and we won’t have anything to worry about.

See how good I am at problem solving?

second-hand porn

Bitter Much?

“Hi my name is Ms. Fresh Banana Puddin’ and I am a blogaholic.”

“Hi Ms Fresh Banana Puddin.”

“Hi.”

I wrote a bunch of posts over the weekend and decided not to post them. I think I lost my blogging mojo. I can’t think of sh*t to write about. So instead I just highlighted my weekend, which was actually kind of depressing…

-First of all I need to borrow someone’s football team. I didn’t get to watch the Raiders v. Bears game yesterday, but my cousin called me with an update. He said both teams suck, because watching the game was like “watching two turtles fight until almost the end.” Getting your ass kicked is one thing, but getting it kicked in slow motion is another. Come on guys get it together. Bears 17. Raiders 6. Puddin’ 0.

-It rained on Saturday. I hate the rain. The rain is never like in the movies. When my hair and face get wet, it’s not sexy. It’s really scary actually. Liza Minnelli scary. It doesn’t make me want to dance and sing. It makes me want to strangle my neighbors or get drunk. Kind of like how the holidays make people suicidal, the rain makes me have conversations with myself. And I have nothing nice to say…

-I had to go to one of my best girlfriend’s baby shower this weekend. Don’t get me wrong. If she’s happy, I’m happy. But everyone oooed and awwwed over diapers, for an hour. Please. Kill. Me. Now. Remind me if I ever have children that the theme is going to be black. I don’t care if it’s a girl. I want black blankets, black balloons and Bloody Marys. I think I’m just bitter, because this is just the beginning. I have the feeling the next five years are going to be full of baby showers and weddings.

-I requested this weekend off a month ago, so I could go to the baby shower and whatnot. My job called me, not once, but twice to see if I could come in.

-I did finally get to see American Gangster. I liked it. Maybe I liked it because I heard it was awful and the people who didn’t like it had it on a pedestal before they saw it. Anyway, it’s another Denzel movie to add to the list…

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

Please don't stop the funny...

So I’m sure everyone has heard by now about the Writers Guild’s strike. Unless of course you are a reality TV kind of person, this probably has affected you. Or is going to affect you. I know I can’t go without my Grey’s Anatomy or Desperate Housewives fix. And some of my favorite female characters have been brought to life by writers…

Karen Walker: Will and Grace

“Martini, honey, and don’t waste any space with those olives!”

I love this bitch. She’s always dressed for the occasion wearing her expensive black designer clothing and hairpiece. She never fails to entertain us by washing her prescription meds down with a martini before 11 a.m. and talking sh*t about all the "little people".

Samantha Jones: Sex and the City

“The country runs better with a good looking man in the White House. Look what happened with Nixon…no one wanted to fuck him, so he fucked everyone else.”

Doesn’t everyone wish they could be a little bit more like Samantha? She’s a bold career woman who has a tendency to get what she wants. She’s promiscuous and classy. Go figure?

Christina Yang: Grey’s Anatomy

“You are eight feet tall. Your boobs are perfect. Your hair is down to there. If I was you I would just walk around naked all the time. I wouldn't have a job, I wouldn't have any skills, I wouldn't even know how to read. I would just be... naked.”

Christina is dry, bitter and has SARCASM stamped on her forehead. And thanks to WGA, her wit comes naturally, almost like performing open-heart surgery.

Gabrielle Solis: Desperate Housewives

“The only person more self-centered than me is Carlos, he's so self-centered he doesn't even know how self-centered I am."

There are two things Gabby does best, cheating on her husband and talking about herself. Sounds exhausting, when does she find the time to be desperate?