But enough about me...

What am I doing right now?

Well, if you really must know, I’m sitting at home on a Saturday night, nursing a hangover with a Bloody Mary and popcorn. (Weird combo, I know). I just don’t get it, when I am bored as f*ck, pumped up and ready to go, no one calls me or answers their phone. When I’m tired and not in the mood to socialize, everyone and the f*cking president calls me to go out.

I think even Jesus just called me to see if I wanted to go cloud hopping with him, for real.

Sorry Jesus, but I’m in for the night. I'm sitting on my couch, ah, um, reflecting. Yeah that's it, reflecting...

I had my first job interview last week. I probably shouldn’t be posting about it, seeing as how I’m trying to get a writing job and most potential employers have asked for a link to my blog along with my resume. Haha. Maybe that’s why I still haven’t found a job?

Anyway, during my interview, she kept coming back to the same question of, “so what do you like to do?” or “so tell me about yourself.” By the third time she asked me what my hobbies were, I was really tempted to go ahead and tell her.

“In my spare time I dress up like a dominatrix, stalk the evil lurkers in the night and break dance. (I can do a killer robot). I also enjoy getting drunk, hopping my ex’s fence and passing out on his doorstep.”

Violá! So there you have it. I’m just your average Puddin’.

Seriously, how much should people be allowed to talk about themselves? Is it just me, or is it awkward to continuously toot your own horn? Ok kind of funny how that last sentence can be interpreted in more ways than one…

Borachas

Ok I’m back, but before I get into my trip let me just say I am shocked that some of you don’t know what a donkey show is. Although, lets just keep it that way, shall we? Also I didn't bring the digital, because I didn't want to get drunk and drop it in the pool or period. So this trip is brought to you by Kodak...

Mexico was fucking fantastic.

I’ve never been outside of the U.S. before. By my third night in Cabo I was literally living off of anti-diarrhea medicine, nacho cheese and espressos. I was afraid to shit because I wasn’t sure what was going to come out of my ass, but it was so worth it.

In fact, when my girl told her grandma we were going to Mexico, her grandma told her to go to the pharmacy and specifically tell them, “I’m going to Mexico”. We came loaded with sunscreen, Excedrin, Chasers, Tylenol, Advil, tampons, anti-diarrhea medication, Beano and of course Pedialyte.

We were not playing around.

Our flight left out of San Francisco early Saturday morning.

My girl started drinking on the flight, while I passed out. When we landed she turned to me and said, “I think I’m already hung over.” I started laughing. It was going to be an interesting vacation.

After we went through customs, immigration and all of that, our resort was a 45-minute drive from the airport. When we pulled up to the Rio Santa Fe, they handed us two Coronas and two shots of tequila. No, I’m serious, they really did...

Our trip was all-inclusive so once we checked in, they gave us wristbands, which made it possible for us to eat and drink anywhere at the resort at any time. There was a mini bar in our room that they restocked every 24-hours if necessary. There was a 24-hour sports bar, a disco, swim up bars, side bars, hard bars, back bars, tequila bars, ok you get the point.

After we got settled and dressed to go out, we headed for the sports bar. I asked Pedro (the guy behind the bar) if he had any blueberry vodka.

“Jajajaja,” he said. And then he made us these…

Some blue drank! (Laughing, because it was all bad after that, for real). It was a "adios motherfucker" without ice (sin yellow).

I don't know if we were extra friendly or just drunk, because we met a lot of people while we were there.

Here’s “wedding-dress-guy”…

He was getting married so his friends bought him a prom-like wedding dress and made him wear it. Meanwhile, his fiancé was in Vegas.

Here are our Canadian boys…

We played a mean game of volleyball and I sprained my thumb. =(

These two were on their honeymoon...

She had the nicest fake titties I’ve ever seen. My girl passed out drunk in between her boobs and she’s all, “honey, while you're down there can you suck one of my nipples?”

If it's not obvious enough, we did A LOT of drinking, which all started with that blue drank.

Round 1…mai tais...

Round 2... miami vices...

Round 637... some crazy ass shots...

Now shimmy!!!

I think I woke up everyday twitching like a fish. However, they make an awesome Bloody Mary, extra spicy. We hardly spent any time in our room, but we had a nice view.

Good times, but I'm glad I made it back.

Ms Puddin’ Needs Jesus

Today at work one of my male coworkers invited me to go to church with him and his family on Easter Sunday. I’m flattered, but f*ck. The last time I went to church, gas was under $3 and I think Jesus laughed at me.

I have a love/hate relationship with church. I love how refreshing and uplifting it can be, but at the same time I hate how it can make me feel like I walked in the building wearing OJ’s glove. I guess I feel that way because I never go. Also my mom being Jewish and my dad a Christian, has left me a bit confused. While I’m sitting there listening to the pastor preach about so many positive things, all that is flashing in my mind is my debauchery from the night before. (Whoops). But wait, isn't that the point? To free yourself of your sins?

I’m pretty sure my coworker invited me as a “friend”, (I wonder if he is trying to tell me something) but I know his family goes to a really prestigious church. I prefer to go to one of those “come as you are” churches, so no one will say anything if I come hung over, in jeans.

Plus my whole wardrobe is black, wtf am I going to wear? Is a tight, black skirt to skanky? Too funeral? Should I hide my tattoos? Do I really want to get up at 8 a.m. on a Sunday? Ack! I think I’m going to have a panic attack. I told him I would think about it. What do you think? Should Ms Puddin’ go and get her praise on?

Maybe I will meet the Easter bunny ;p ...

If Ms Puddin' had a reality TV show…

                    (Ms Puddin' & Tyree from MTVs Real World)

Since the stories I tell on my blog are true, a few of my readers mentioned I have the potential to have a successful reality TV show. In translation, when I talk about having sex with midgets, dancing on bars naked and locking my keys in the car with it still running, you nosey people basically want to be witnesses to all that insanity.

I love the love, it makes my nipples hard.

So I promise I won’t try and turn my D-list fame into a music career. Untalented singers are as played as sex tapes and Jessica Simpson. I’m just hoping that my show might be a way to boost my career in debauchery and an excuse to buy new panties. Yay!

So anyway, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about how I’m going to go about pitching my reality TV show to VH1. I want to make sure I have enough material without having to go down on the producer. I mean if I have to, I will, but that’s plan B. In the meantime, I’ve been working on some ideas that might be good for the show…

First of all, it will be called I Tasted Fresh Banana Puddin’ and will take place in Sin City, Vegas. (I’m hoping to get the Playboy suite at the Palms). Or maybe we should film it in Mexico? That way, in case we do anything illegal we can hop the border. (Which would make for a great episode, btw).

I’m going to invite Ice T’s woman Coco, Jenna Jameson, and Kanye West to make guest appearances. However, I’m going to put in Coco’s contract she can’t participate unless she wears pants that show off her va jay jay and does this...

…which shouldn’t be a problem. Jenna can just do what she does best and in Kanye’s contract I’m requiring he throws at least two of his hissy fits.

Of course, there will be alcohol, but hey, lets do some experimenting too. I want people to feel good, really good.

The plot? Well, there isn’t one. It’s reality TV! I think the biggest obstacle on the show will be trying to find my panties.

The only other problem I ran across after all this brainstorming is, I fart. A lot. This could be a problem. I don’t think anyone on reality TV has farted before? Maybe on Jackass? If a camera is following me around 24/7 I’m bound to break wind at some point. Maybe we can just edit that part (those parts) out later???

Soooo, what do you think??? * blink, blink *

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!!!

It's just my luck I would…

bump into a guy after giving him the wrong number…

bump into the girl, at the club, who was sleeping with my man in high school…

walk into a wall at work (literally) and my hand would swell up the size of an Easter egg…Easter egg swelling + hand = not hot :( ...not that I’m complaining, but wtf?

I can’t quite put into words what my weekend was like. There was a little bit of this…

...a little bit of that…

and definitely some of this...


It's Monday. Ugh.

This blog was in desperate need of some debauchery…

The best part about a new job is going out with your fellow coworkers and getting drunk with them for the first time. Then showing up to work the next day to see who has the best debauchery story.

Not to brag or anything, but I think I won…

I came into work yesterday morning with coffee, OJ, a bottle of water, and a “f*ck off” attitude. Yes, I, Ms Puddin,’ actually got a chance to go out and enjoy myself. Hallelujah!

Saturday night started off at J*’s house taking vodka shots and snapping MySpace pictures. By 12:00 a.m. we were downtown and I was poppin’ a squat in the parking garage. I was wearing a dress and trying not to pee on my new $200 boots. (Yes I paid $200 for a pair of boots and then wore them, drunk, to a bar). Classy!!!

We get up to the front of the bar and I see my boy. He works security at the door, so we cut the line. Four girls and one guy head inside. I mean, four drunk girls and one drunk guy stumble inside.

Since I had on my f*ck-me-now boots, a dress and the other girls didn’t look so bad themselves. We end up getting, oh, I don’t know, more drinks than a hooker in Vegas. We party it up inside doing the usual, dancing like sluts and running to the bathroom every five minutes because we “broke the seal.” (And yes, occasionally that arm did go up).

The next thing I know, some guy in a black shirt that reads “STAFF,” (I guess that makes him important?) is telling me last call for alcohol. Which is cool, because I think I’ve reached the legal limit for alcohol poisoning. By that point, I started to get that feeling where I know I need to either go somewhere, anywhere and lie down or throw up. Without telling anyone, I stumble out of the bar and hail a cab. I tell the driver to take to me to the first place that comes to mind, my ex boyfriend’s house. I know, I know, I blame it on the liquor. Period.

For the, oh, I don't know, 6,732 time, I hop the fence to his apartment complex and stumble up the stairs. I start banging on the door and ringing the doorbell. I’m just about to give up and start throwing rocks at his window, when the front door swings open. A very irritated and groggy ex boyfriend is standing in the doorway peering down at me in his briefs.

“Um, I’m drunk can I crash over here,” I slurred. Actually it sounded more like, “I stunk man I had beer over here.”

He turns around heading back to bed. The only thing he says over his shoulder is, “take off your shoes.”

I laid down, but his room was spinning and I would have paid anything to get off that ride. I had to keep my eyes half open to prevent projectile vomiting vodka everywhere. I eventually passed out. I woke up about 4 hours later, which is where I get back to the part about me coming to work with a lot of liquids and a messed up attitude…so how was your weekend???

P.S.- If you haven't, checked out this clipping below, you might as well since you've already read this far…it's shorter, I promise…

Quote of the day...

"Want to get breakfast? And by breakfast I mean coffee, maybe a bagel and a smoke." -E*

Episode I: Diary of A Dipsomaniac...

"Booze is the answer. I forget the question."

My head was pounding loud enough to wake me from my coma.

I reluctantly opened my eyes and saw a blurry rendition of my ceiling. My bedroom was on a slight spinning curve and I wanted off the ride, damn it. Although, the clock in my phone translated that I had to be to work in 30 minutes, I was flummoxed how I had even gotten home.

I was still wearing last night’s outfit. A dress that was now cupping my booty cheeks and my four-inch stilettos, one dangling from my ankle. I stood up and wobbled to the bathroom.

Glancing in the mirror, I recognized nothing because of the dark make-up that was smeared all over my face.

And wtf was that smell?

I looked closer to find some crusty chunks of barf mixed in with my mangled hair. Gross. I moaned and put the toilet seat down before sitting to try and collect my thoughts.

“Well, at least I woke up solo in my own bed,” I thought to myself…