DIVAS

I’ve noticed VH1 has been bringing back some of their classic shows like Behind the Music and DIVAS. I was definitely excited to hear that DIVAS was coming back this year. Remember the old school DIVAS, Whitney, Aretha, Mariah, Celine, Diana, Shaka, etc? There was nothing like some top selling female artists, with the biggest hair ever, trying to out sing each other.

It would start with Mariah singing, “I’m every womaaaaan!”

Then in comes Whitney, “No girl, nah uh, I’M everrrrrry womaaaaan,” belting even louder holding that note longer than Mariah.

Then in comes Shaka, to reinforce what Whitney just did singing, “It’s all in meeeeee!”

And while she’s singing, Mariah hits that high note putting everyone to shame. Diana is just on stage putting her big ass hair in everyone’s face and Whitney is in the background doing the ‘praise the lord’ shimmy.

* sigh *

Those were the music days I remember.

I was disappointed when I heard what the line-up was going to be for DIVAS this year. Kelly Clarkson, Jennifer Hudson, Leona Lewis, Miley Cyrus, Jordin Sparks and more. Ok VH1, I’ll give you Jennifer and Kelly, but Miley Cyrus? * side eye * Miley Cyrus is not a DIVA, will never be a DIVA, probably wasn’t even around when the original DIVAS aired.

*throws hands up in the air*

It might be too soon for Whitney, Celine is preggo, but I’m wondering if Beyonce and Christina were already booked? I know our music is in the shitter right now, but if Miley Cyrus and Jordin Sparks are the new DIVAS, this could be the beginning to the end of American music.

If you want to check out DIVAS , its Sept. 17th, 9/8 central, on VH1.

Big Kickin' It At Target

Brought to you by the folks over at OHN. I hate you all...

In other news...

I went to Target on my lunch break today, in hopes of getting something classy for my ex boyfriend from high school as a wedding gift. I felt kind of bad going to Target, but hey that’s where he’s registered and it’s my ex.

Once I printed out the registry and discovered the reoccurring theme of a losing football team, all shameful thoughts flew out the window. Listed was, an Oakland Raiders Table Cover, an Oakland Raiders 4-pc BBQ Tool Set, an Oakland Raiders Bedding Collection and an Oakland Raiders Frosted Pint Glass Set.

I started cracking up as I sifted through the list with my eyes. Was he using this wedding as the opportunity to catch up on his favorite team’s collectibles? A visual of a man I once loved twenty years later on the couch with a beer belly and no motivation in life flashed through my mind.

It was right then and there I decided not to be stingy. Instead of going bitter and stag to his wedding, I was going to be happy and celebrate. This girl he was marrying could have him. I tossed the list and opted to buy the happy couple a bottle of wine...

On my way out the store, this guy who obviously worked at Target, with his red button-up and “Jeremy” Target badge shouted out to me.

“Hey, weren’t you the girl eating at the register last week?” He asked.

“I wasn’t eating, I was putting a cough drop in my mouth,” I said defensively.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you were eating.” he said. “Are you a regular here or something?”

“Hahaha no, I just work across the street so its convenient.”

“Oh,” he said. “Do you work at that place across the street that sells Hammer pants?

*Crickets*

No, I do not sit in an office all day and sell MC Hammer merchandise! And if I did work there and you were looking for some sort of re-live the 90s "two legit" hook up Mr., it’s not gonna happen!

Wait. Hold up, time out. Is there really a place somewhere that just sells Hammer pants?

And just to clarify, I was NOT chillin’ at the Target cash register eatin’ a snack…

Will Work for Cheese (Among other things)

Well for those of you who don’t know, I’ve been back on the grind in search of another job. And like a good majority of Americans right now, I am BROKE. I’m not even Bobby Brown/MC Hammer broke, I’m Tara Reid/random homeless person broke.

Life is becoming a little less luxurious everyday.

I had to cancel my gym membership, but at the same time I can’t afford to buy food. So lately I just jog around the block and fuck my boyfriend for exercise. Then I eat canned tuna and drink lots of tap water to stay healthy.

I can’t afford to go out and get shit-faced either, so technically I’m in rehab. Therefore, I am still doing ok on the physical level. Mentally, I’m unstable. Instead of cable, I’ve been reading books. With the economy the way that it is, some of us have no choice but to learn how to adjust.

I heard a comedian mention the other night, "When was the last time we've heard Obama say 'Yes We Can!'"? It's like he got into office and started looking over some paperwork, (the big fat binder labeled, "Shit Gone Wrong" next to the Manila folder entitled, "We Fucked Up"), now he's like, "Shit, um maybe we might be able to do some shit, kind of...if we're lucky, we'll see. I'll get back to you."

Most people grew up with some sort of plan in mind. Usually it’s something substantial like go to college, get a job, get married, have some kids, retire and die. I never really had that plan or any other plan for that matter. My mom did. Her plan for me was to make sure that I went to college, which I did. Now I’m fucked, because I didn’t really have a plan for what to do after college.

I mean it was inevitable that I would eventually have to get a “real” job. One that I didn’t have to wear a hot pink mini, cup balls in my hand or contributed to my drinking problem. However, job-hunting (again and for the record I wasn't fired) during this whole economic crisis thingy has me straight struggling.

I have a job interview on Monday. Let.Us.Pray.

Fresh Sealed Eye Candy To Go, Please

Ok kids, never eat candy and then masturbate. Side cramp. Ouch.
Wait, what? Yeah I said it.

You know I’m really trying hard not be one of those girls who had a bad break with the penis and becomes really bitter. And then today my coworker took his wedding ring off and asked me out to dinner. Really? I can still see your tan line homie. Do I look that stupid? Desperate? Maybe. I woke up this morning cuddling with my laptop. How romantic, I know, right?

It just sucks because before my ex I was a fucking pimp. A P-I-M-P. I’m serious. I had hooooosss. Same area codes, but they were there nonetheless. There was always a guy on call good for something. And now my status is so dried up it’s going to take a spatula and some baby oil to get this girl in gear again.

However, I did meet this guy out on the town with the girls over the summer. He gave me his card and I’ve been emailing him, to kind of show him I’m not that interested. The catch is that he is older, but he does own a casino, btw. Apparently, he came into my job the other day when I wasn’t there and was asking about me.

Hmmm, what say you????

I went crazy, but now I'm back.

A Picture of MsP the night she went crazy.

Are you there readers? It’s me, Ms Puddin’.

I had a Britney moment over the weekend. No I didn’t shave my head or give birth, but I did do some crazy shit. Too make a long story short I got into a fight with the ex in the club on Friday night. (Yeah I know, because I’m like so totally mature, right)?

Security literally lifted me out of my barstool and out of the club. On my way out, the ex had the nerve to take a Corona and dump it all on my clothes, my hair, my face, everything! I'm already getting kicked out, was that really necessary?

Ms Puddin’ was P-I-S-S-E-D.

However, by the time I got halfway down the block, I was over the argument and getting tossed out of the club, but the fact that he added that last little beer douche was what pushed me 51/50.

So I did the next logical thing that popped into my head. I went over to his house and I had a Kelis “I Hate You So Much Right Now!” moment. I fucked his shit up. Technically I didn’t really break or vandalize anything, I just made a mess he was going to have to clean up.

So now when I meet guys and they ask me that stupid question, “Why are you single? Is it because you’re crazy or something?” I can say, “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am a crazy fucking bitch.”

Ironically I was wearing a really pretty black and glittery cross around my neck that night. So the next day I told my friend in the midst of everything that it somehow got ripped from my neck and was going to ask her if she would help me look for it.

She replied with a, “No, I think God ripped that off of your neck that night.”

I think she is right too. God was like, “Time out, I’m going to need that back, thanks.”

When I sobered up the next day I felt like shit. I hate this situation I’m in with him right now. I hate that it still even exists. I know that in the end it is going to be me who is going to have to grow some and make sure nothing like that ever happens again.

So yeah anyway, that's why I'm crazy...

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

Oh! I almost forgot, on a side-positive-whole-other note. I went to go see Janet Jackson bitches!

It. Was. Awesome. I feel complete.

And I was sitting next to one of the flaming of the flamingest couples ever and we took turns screaming like teenie boppers, “We love you Janet!”

Best part of the whole concert. Must see!

The MILF Who Killed My Ego

TRUE STORY:

The go go company that I dance with had a live photo shoot at a night club on Sunday. It was make-up artists, costumes, Michael Vincent, the whole nine. So in the midst of the mayhem I made numerous trips to the bathroom to make sure that everything was in place.

I noticed that there was a lady who seemed to be in the bathroom mirror every time I was in there. So I said to her, “Every time I’m in here, you’re here.”

“Yeah, maybe we’re on the same schedule,” she responded.

“Maybe,” I said.

“Sooo,” she said. “How many kids do you have?”

How many kids do I have!!!? NONE. And isn’t the question, do you have any kids, not how many?

“I don’t have any kids, what makes you think I have kids?” I asked.

“Oh, just the way you carry yourself, you seem more mature than the other girls,” she said.

I’m wearing booty shorts and my bra is showing, how in the hell does that scream, “I’m more mature bitches!?”

“No I think that was just a nice way of saying, hey you look fat in your skimpy photo shoot outfit,” I said.

“Oh no, I didn’t mean it like that,” she said. “Don’t worry hon, I have two kids and look at me.”

She was a total MILF, probably in her late 30s, brunette, with big rubber titties. Possibly some work done on her face, but I couldn’t put it past her that she looked good.

“Well, I have a degree, that’s my baby,” I boasted a little bit.

“Oh what do you have your degree in,” she asked.

“I have a BS in journalism,” I told her.

“Oh yeah, that’s good,” she said. “I have my Masters in speech.”

Great, now not only am I a fat ass, I’m a dumbass too. I could feel my bubble burst all over the bathroom mirror. Who the hell was this lady? Was she working for Satan?

Note to self: Don’t start small talk with random MILFs in bathrooms unless you’re under the influence or covered up.

Skinny Bitches Only Jog if They Can't Afford Surgery

I’ve decided that after thirty I’m not working out anymore. I’m just going to go and get all the fat sucked out of my body. I’m serious, I want Dr. Rey or somebody to take that big long metal knife and chop me up into little pieces.

Maybe also do some rearranging, like pull the fat from my thighs and put it into my ass. Then mold my gut into some kind of boobage/cleavage creation. That’s right. Get creative! Make me beautiful bitches! By the time I am thirty they will have discovered new ways to make me look like a ten-year-old on crack.

Until then I must eat right and exercise. I say this like I’m on a Jedi mission. Which is the only reason why when my so-called friend asked me to go jogging the other day I said, “yes”.

I don’t jog. Wait, let me rephrase that, I can’t fucking jog. It’s like the Special Olympics. I look like a four-year-old in the grocery store, when their mom just told them they couldn’t have something. You know and they do that run where their head turns into a bobble head and their arms flail around uncontrollably. And they whine, “but mom whyeeeeeeeeee!?”

Yeah that’s me, in spandex.

The last time I went jogging was at the gym and it’s been a few years. I remember huffing and puffing on a treadmill, when this chick like eight months pregnant hops on next to me. No really, not fat she was fucking skinny and pregnant.

After about 5 whole minutes of running I couldn’t take it anymore. My chest started to burn, I needed a hip replacement and I lost all feeling in my knees. And here this bitch was next to me just casually jogging for two.

So anyway, my friend and I ended up on this two-mile trail through the woods. All of which I probably only jogged a good fifteen minutes. The whole time I was thinking about what I was going to eat next. Three days later, my knees are still swollen and I don’t feel any skinnier.

I’m telling ya, I can’t wait until I’m thirty…

Chivalry Died, The Penis Killed It

Ok boys, I’m going to give each and every one of you a chance to defend yourself, but not before I pop you all upside the back of the head.

Honestly, I am disappointed in the men of my generation at the moment. I’m not just speaking from my own experience this time, because three, not one, not two, but three of my girls hit me up over this last week with some, “oh hell naw!” stories about the men in their lives. From infidelity to lying to saying some stupid shit like, “you’ll have to leave the bar right now you’re fucking up my game.”

????????????????

I’m sorry, the only girls I will condone that kind of behavior towards is maybe the ones who walk around with T-shirts that read, “save a virgin, do me instead,” or “cock-a-doodle-do-me.” And I blame them too, but other than that, unacceptable.

Focus boys, focus. If you can’t grasp the concept that girls in porn get paid good money to two-girls-one-cup-it, we got a problem. Please understand reality TV is far from reality and networks purposely cast those girls to walk around on camera in their booty shorts with their titties hanging out.

They get paid to get drunk and make out with half the cast and staff. In fact it's more than likely in their contracts right next to, "blow the director." Besides most of them probably also have the I.Q. of a grape. And since when is that sexy?

What is the deal yo?

Guys listen up—pull out a fucking chair, buy some freakin’ flowers and “you’re ass looks phat in those jeans” does not constitute as a compliment. Also, don’t tell a girl you want to be with her if you can’t back it up by your actions.

For the most part I’m just really disgusted. I know some of the guys that read my blog are married, faithful and all around good guys. Well can you leave some pointers to the rest of the dumbasses out there?

Right now I am opening up my comments for a session on the etiquette of how to treat a lady or at least how to weed the ladies out from the floozies. And for those of you fellas who feel the need to defend yourselves, please, be my guests, because I just don’t get it.

My cloud is black with a good chance of rain...

“It’s okay,” I told my aunt the other night at dinner. “I have bad karma, I’m used to it.”

“What makes you think that,” she asked.

“I just keep having bad things happen to me lately,” I said. “I assume it’s because I did something to somebody somewhere.”

She looks at me and says, “Let me tell you a story…”

I just got back from visiting a friend of mine from college. She is a single mother, who took her daughter to Europe on vacation. While vacationing, someone stole her purse, which had all form of identification (I.D./passport) and money. She had to go to the police and even the American Embassy for help. After pulling teeth she manages to get some money wired to her from America and issues for a new passport.

Then while leaving the airport she puts all of her luggage on one of those carts. You know the big wobbly carts with three wheels that you load up and take in the elevator. Well, she is extra paranoid after her theft experience, so she decides to take it on the escalator instead. All is well until she gets to the bottom of the escalator and the front wheel gets stuck. She goes flying over the cart and all of her luggage landing on her arm. She ends up in the hospital hemorrhaging with blood everywhere.

She is a good strong woman who is now telling me what you said, about having bad karma.

“No,” I said. “That is just some really bad luck.”

“Yeah, I think that sometimes people go through a really hard time and it puts them in this negative mind frame. A state of mind where they start to assume everyone and everything is out to get them.”

“And things always tend to get a whole lot worse before they get any better,” I added.

“From my experience that is true as well,” she said.

The bad can happen to the best of us, I guess. I got to change my mind frame, it’s depressing…

Silence Is My Aphrodisiac

Well I’m still doing this bartending thing until I can find a decent “grown up people’s” job. Like I, of all people, need to be any closer to alcohol or other people drinking alcohol. However, booze and money in the same spot is right up there with getting some head in heaven. And just for saying that I am probably going to take it up the ass in hell. :-(

Anyway, I was relocated through my company to a different restaurant. Nothing I did, just something to do with some remodeling. It’s the same business, but in a more snooty area and a little more fast paced. Basically this means I have to put up with more shit, but I’ll be making better money. So I guess it evens out.

Although, can I just say that if one more creepy old guy sits at my bar, I’m going to stab him in the balls with my wine key. And that might hurt a bit.

I’m serious. You over there, with the seven and seven, don’t think I can’t see you looking down my shirt as I bend over into the well. And you over there workin’ on your fifth pint, mentioning that oysters are your aphrodisiac before ordering half a dozen is unnecessary.

What do I recommend, you ask? I recommend that you quit staring at my ass, close out your tab and go home to your wife and kids!

Oh and this is for the rest of you know-it-alls, who sit at the bar with the only intention of trying to make a mockery of me. Do I look like I care that you know more about the wines here than I do, because I don’t.

At the end of the day, grape texture serves of no purpose to me but a big chunk of useless information. It reminds me of learning Pi (3.14) in high school. When have I used Pi? Never. Not once has it come in handy. Not at the grocery store, the gas station, during sex, in the shower, not even while surfing the internet has Pi come up as a solution.

I hate to be a bitch, but order a drink and shut the fuck up.

Can anyone pull any strings, because I WANT TO WORK FOR DIDDY!

Not really.

Backwards Love

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

I was driving in my car the other day when that Mary J. Blidge song came on the radio, “Not Gon’ Cry.” Remember that song from Waiting to Exhale, outlining Angela Bassett’s character? The woman who was married to her man for 11 years, helped him build his company success, had two of his children, then he had an affair (with a white woman) and left her?

Well I was thinking, they’re relationship probably started out all honeymoon-like. They met, fell in love and things were great, long walks, long conversations, lots of sex and quality time. That was, until he started thinking with his dick, totally fucked her and tried to take everything she had worked so hard for.

I’m thinking that since people tend to get married to get divorced, this scenario is all too familiar for most.

Then there are other people, (like me), who meet their significant other and they start showin’ they ass within like the first few weeks. Not to be too specific, but a rude, lazy, selfish, player, with no intentions to commit, no direction and so not worth the time and effort, who one day realizes that he is a jerkface and the two of you were meant to be.

Basically what I’m saying is that maybe we should start dating backwards, ya know? Like get all of our flaws out of the way in the beginning of the relationship, so in the end we can live happily ever without divorce or compromising surprises.

Ok this could be a really lame justification for my personal dating situation or a brilliant revelation...

Sunny Side Up

This stupid quarter-life crisis thingy is taking up a lot of my time. And I’m finding out that too many people that I know read this blog. It makes for an awkward situation when I bump into someone and they’re like, “I really like your writing, but I think you might have a drinking problem.”

Goddamnit!

I’m going through a personal crisis right now, drinking is the least of my problems. I’ve ate all the food in my house, used up all the gas in my car and have probably applied to every single job opening on craigslist. I could use a drink. Actually, I’m thinking of AA just for the free food, coffee and group support from a bunch of other losers probably far off worse than me.

I’m just saying.

Let me break this down for those who still can’t quite feel my pain. Some people graduate from high school and then go straight into the work force. They might have a job that they hate for the rest of their life, but they have experience.

Other’s (like me) go to college for ten years, party, have sex, act like a gay whore on parade day and then graduate with a degree and no experience. They can’t even experience having a job that they hate, because no one will hire them.

I'm such a brat, I know.

And then the ex pointed out that most writers don’t get the recognition they deserve until after they die. I love how when I am down there is always someone there to help me look at the bright side of things. =)

Find me in a better mood here.

Not Wanted

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

I finally dusted off my 2007 copy of Writer’s Market and as I turned to the page entitled, “Successful Freelancers”, to Larry Getlen’s smiling face I wanted to punch him in the face.

Except he was on paper so I couldn’t. However, when I flipped the page there were maybe two or three more other successful freelancers. And I kind of felt better. Like there is a chance in hell that I will be taken seriously as a writer someday and live out this “romantic career” as my mother calls it.

Speaking of my mom, we’re having a total email battle at the moment. Apparently we are both too busy to pick up the phone to simply yell at each other. Although it would probably sound something like this…

Mom: Blah! Blah! Blah!

Me: Omigod mom, you’re like so totally ruining my life!

I’m so mature, I know. I think I graduated from college and started high school all over again.

The 411 is that I’m the only girl out of four boys and therefore I am spoiled. $100 shoes used to constitute as a credit card emergency. When I was in school my parents were helping me financially and now that I have a degree they are cutting me off cold turkey. Sh*t, I haven’t even received that sucker in the mail yet, but no gas money, no booze money, no omigod-I wonder-if-they-have-those-in-my-size money, I gets nada.

Well I guess on the bright side, if I don’t find a decent job and my internet and phone get cut off I won’t have to listen to my mom b*tch anymore. According to her, it is really easy to find a job and I’m just not trying hard enough. It’s good motivation, but f*ck. If she gets any further up my ass I won’t even be able to fart, which is almost as important as finding a job.

*Oh and btw I have been diagnosed with Gerontophobia aka Fogiariasis aka Stank Heffaitis. So please keep all falsies, Depends and other things closely linked with death off this blog.

Thanks, MsP.

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

I'm changing my name to Candy...

So here I am a 24-year-old bartender covered in tattoos. I have a degree, but my skills are limited to me being good in bed and I could probably sleep for 72 hours straight. (Oh I’m experienced baby). My hobbies include drinking and trespassing. Unfortunately I can’t put any of those qualifications on my resume, most companies are looking for a little more, um, depth.

I think I might be having a quarter life crisis.

And to top it all off, I missed the opportunity to celebrate my one year anniversary as a blogger. =( (June 17th, boo-yah!)

Looking at the glass half empty this blows. I go to school all my life and now I have to work until I die. Looking at the glass half full I went to school all my life and now I have to get a job and work until I die. Wait. Ok either way I’m screwed. I’m job-hunting right now and boy does it suck. Can’t I get drunk and lose my panties for the rest of my life? I don’t want to grow up. Growing up sucks. Boo.

It’s kind of funny I post this after telling Nick Hogan to bend over and take it like a man. I’m not going to compare myself to him, but I really need to get my life together. I was looking through the classifieds and our local strip joint is hiring. Hmmmm...

I apologize for my lack of blogging. I need some motivation, a boob job and a sugar daddy. In no particular order…

Debauchery and Dating 101

Ok I’m fired from dating. And I’m fired from drinking. I’m fired from drinking and dating at the same time. Seriously. Technically the events that took place last night were not all my fault…

First of all, my date (the cute boy toy I met at the mall the other day) stressed that he wanted me to save my appetite until 7, but was late. Since he was running late, I decided to go over to my girl’s job (a dive bar) and have a drink while I was waiting.

No worries, I’ll preserve my appetite with liquor.

Let me tell you, plopping down at a bar while saying in a bitter tone, “I’m going to cut off my vagina and sell it on eBay,” will get you a free drink. I finished my first drink and was still waiting on my date.

I must have either looked a) miserable or b) easy, because another guy came over and told my girl my next drink was on him. She suggested a drink since I’ve been so into rum lately. I didn’t know at the time, but this bitch gave me a drink with Coconut Malibu, redbull, pineapple juice and a 151 floater. What!? Let me tell you, me and 151 go way back and we don’t get along. 151 makes me feel and act like Johnny Depp in FEAR AND LOATHING IN LAS VEGAS. For real, the room is spinning and I’d like to get off please.

So anyway, I finished my second drink right when my date calls me. I tell him he might as well come pick me up since he is just around the corner. We go to dinner and I have a Mai Tai. Yup. Sure did. By now I’m getting kind of loud and honest. I’m seriously leaning over to this old Indian dude at the bar, next to me, (not my date) and flirting? Yes, fucking flirting. Gheezus.

After dinner I tell my date to take me back to the bar because I’m going to just spend the rest of the night out with some friends. He’s like, “no, I’m going with you.” Um ok, hop on cowboy, because it’s going to be a bumpy ride.

When we get back to the bar, my friend calls me and says he’s at the local college hangout spot. I convince my date (who is sober, btw) to drive me over there. We get there and it’s actually crackin’. There’s a DJ and we head straight for the dance floor. I start shakin’ my ass like I’m auditioning for a music video. Except, I don’t think I would have got the part.

Let me sum up the night:

I yelled at my date at some point to, “get me a fucking drink!” (Ah such a lady). After my date and I finally parted ways, I drunk dialed my ex. I hopped my ex’s fence. (AGAIN) And passed out on his doorstep. I woke up at about 5am freezing, wondering how and where and what the fuck just happened!

Like I said, fired.

I’m Like Totally Not in High School Anymore

It has been sooooo freakin’ hot over here the last two days. And the f*cked up part is that it’s hotter inside my house than it is outside.

Also for the last week and a half I have been getting phone calls from an anonymous number in my area. They call and breathe a little bit into my ear, before I hang up.

I got excited at first. Yay, I have a stalker, maybe they will bring me some Starbucks or something. Then I got irritated as they continued to play on my phone. So I texted the number asking who it was. They texted back, “don’t worry about who I am, but I know who you are.”

I’m like, “that’s great that you know who I am. If you want to converse then speak up when you call me, otherwise stop calling my phone!”

Crazy anonymous stalker texted me back, “I wasn’t the one calling you, my boyfriend Mike Perkins is the one who has been calling you.”

At first I panicked. Oh sh*t, did I get drunk and leave my panties at some guy’s house? I racked my brain, Mike? Who the f*ck is Mike Perkins? Then I started laughing. He was the hot bartender at my old job. The one who I’ve flirted with, gave my number to, but never hung out with. Besides, he told me he didn’t have a girlfriend. Men. I think they are programmed to say, “I don’t have a girlfriend.” Right.

So anyway, I called him and I’m like, “Mike, is your last name Perkins?”

“Yeah”, he said, like he already knew what was up.

“Um can you tell your crazy girlfriend to stop calling my phone?” I asked.

“I know. I’m sorry, but it’s out of my hands. We haven’t been together in awhile. She’s trippin’,” he replied.

What do you mean it's out of your hands? You better handle that, homie.

Great. Just great. It’s cool. I think I could take her…

Reason #4,153 Why I Don't Cuddle

Ok I was checking out -1-’s blog over the weekend and she had posted a clip from the Queens of Comedy with Sommore. Her nasty ass was talkin’ sh*t about the penis (of course), but not just any penis, little penis. She was commenting on why guys with little d*cks act surprised when you get to that part, like they just found out it was little too.

I was busting up, because this has happened to me before. I mean, I must say I’ve been pretty blessed for what I’ve been given in the penis-packaging department. The few * ahem * yes few, (looks over shoulder) I’ve seen have been worth my while, but there was this one. Yes, this one penis that made me mad. Well not so much as mad, just confused as hell…

It was like my sophomore year of college. I met this tall, sweet, handsome-chocolate-martini kind of guy. Bonus, he was also a Q, but he was different then all the other Qs. He wasn’t trying to dawg me out. I could just tell by the way he treated me. We spent a lot of time together and on the phone. It finally came time for me to make him mine. I was juiced. Ms Puddin’ was going to get her some chocolate, Q, lovin’! Oh yes!

So we got all into the moment, rollin’ around on my bed, kissing, caressing, and all that good stuff. When I reached down and wrapped my hand around what felt like my own index finger! WTF? I was so disappointed I pushed him off me, rolled over and went to sleep. I didn’t say anything. I spent the rest of the night with that little penis fingering my back. (Maybe that’s why I don’t like cuddling. I’m traumatized).

I’m sorry, but WOW. Some things I can work with don’t get me wrong. And I'm not one of those girls that needs a mandingo, but that has got to be…don’t want, don’t want, don’t want…lol

Sorry guys. Ladies? I know I am not the only one…

She Set Me Back A Load

I was using a public bathroom the other day. * Gasp * No actually this is normal. I’m not one of those people who hold in their bodily fluids until they get home. If I got to go, I’ve got to go.

In fact, I’ve mastered the pop-a-squat-put-toilet-paper-around-the-entire-seat-don’t touch-anything art of peeing or what have you in public restrooms. It’s an acquired skill that comes from bar hopping and having four brothers who don’t understand the concept of aiming into the giant toilet bowl. (Honestly guys, is it that hard?)

So anyway, I had to go pee in a stall the other day. I had just went to get change and I'd forgotten it was in my pockets. When I pulled down my jeans all my laundry money fell out of my pockets and rolled into the stall next to me. I leaned under as I’m peeing to try and grab it and I see the feet of some chick. “Crap.” So I decide to wait until she leaves to start collecting.

I hear her leave and think to myself, “ok good, now I can get my quarters.” Mind you I’m still sitting down with my pants around my knees. I look under as I hear her door swing open and ALL MY CHANGE IS GONE! WTF? Did this heffa swipe all my quarters?!

She had on cute shoes so I assumed she might help me out and give them to me when I got done. But by the time I got my pants on, flushed and came busting out the stall, that heffa was gone.

Since when did people start stealing quarters in public restrooms? Ok stupid question. It’s not the money.It’s the principle, dammit.If I ever find that chick, I’m going to make her separate
my lights and darks…

MsP

Single and Sober

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oops my bad. :(

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

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

MsP

Women are complicated and men are horny 101

Some more information passed onto me from g-sweet. Thanks homie. ;p

WOMEN'S ENGLISH

1. Yes = No
2. No = Yes
3. Maybe = No
4. We need = I want
5. I am sorry = you'll be sorry
6. We need to talk = you're in trouble
7. Sure, go ahead = you better not
8. Do what you want = you will pay for this later
9. I am not upset = of course I am upset, you moron!
10. You're very attentive tonight = is sex all you ever think about?

MEN'S ENGLISH

1. I am hungry = I am hungry
2. I am sleepy = I am sleepy
3. I am tired = I am tired
4. Nice dress = Nice cleavage!
5. I love you = let's have sex now
6. I am bored = Do you want to have sex?
7. May I have this dance? = I'd like to have sex with you
8. Can I call you sometime? = I'd like to have sex with you
9. Do you want to go to a movie? = I'd like to have sex with you
10. Can I take you out to dinner? = I'd like to have sex with you
11. Those shoes don't go with that outfit = I'm gay

.....

*A recent scientific study found that women find different male faces attractive depending on where they are in their menstrual cycle. For example, when a woman is ovulating she will prefer a man with rugged, masculine features.

However when she is menstruating, she prefers a man doused in petrol and set on fire, with scissors stuck in his eye and a cricket stump shoved up his backside.