F*ck Me and Tell Your Friends

Guest Writer: Bob and His Penis



It was my senior year in college, and I was living the good life. I’m active in my fraternity, my grades are good, I live comfortably, and the party life yielded its ultimate reward; pussy. I was getting so much ass, never did I have a need to masturbate.

If I wanted head, I called the knob slobber. If I wanted a fat ass, I called thick ems. And if I wanted lovin, I called the pseudo wifey. Or, I could go diving into the pool of groupies, closet freaks, lesbians, and big and tasties (I sorta have a fat fetish. Dunno why, just do)

To continue on, it was around 2 AM a couple days before my 22^nd birthday. I was a computer science major, so I was up doing programming homework and playing Call of Duty on my PC. Ring Ring Ring…

Me: “Hey Susan* wassup”

Susan: “My homegirl wants to fuck you and have a threesome. You down?”

Me: “Very funny Susan. Tell Janet* I said hi, and I’m going to finish my work” click

Ring Ring Ring…

Me: “Yessss Susan?” I’m irritated now. Doesn’t she know that this game is important? That my homework is due at 11 the next morning?

Susan: “Why’d you hang up? We’re serious. You want some pussy or not?”

Here we go! I thought. She’s either playing or serious. Either way, I win (I was currently sleeping with Susan on a regular basis. She was the pseudo wifey)

Me: “Sure Susan. Be here in 10 minutes or I’m going to sleep.” -Reality being I would probably stay up for another hour, roam the halls, and look for someone to “chill with” aka bone and grope. Susan and Janet showed up in 6 minutes.

We have some cordial conversation, joke about parties and school, and then go to the bedroom. I take off Susan’s clothes first, trying to gauge Janet’s reactions. She takes my bottle of E&J out the fridge, says “ummmm, can we take some shots horny bastards?” We laugh, take a couple of shots, and everyone gets naked.

I tell Janet that she has to prove she’s not playing by stepping up to the mic (yes it was wack. So shoot me, let’s see how smooth you are with shots of E&J in your system.) Janet starts giving me head. Susan moves Janet to the side, and joins her. For the first time in my life, I am living my imaginary porno; two girls giving me head at once. I feel myself about to nut so move away to compose myself.

I go to my drawer to put on a condom, so my back is turned to the girls. When I turn around, Janet is eating Susan’s pussy on the bed. I start cheesing, creep behind Janet, look Susan in the eye (she smirks) and stick my dick in Janet, who immediately places her hand on my stomach. I start slowly at first, but the liquor and excitement has me on retard mode, so I'm eventually thrusting like a mad man. I’m fucking hard and fast like a man possessed by demons and the finest of the finest crack cocaine. Janet stops slurping, starts moaning, then starts yelling “fuck me nigga! You better not get soft! Fuck me nigga! Get that pussy!”

Now I’ve been with aggressive women. But two aggressive women goes from excitement to well, fear after too much aggression. Throughout the night (it’s a blur after the aforementioned moments) I’m eating two girls out at once, licking toes, getting every fluid possible on either my groin and my face, and eventually picking up Janet, putting her on my shoulders, and slurping like a pothead with cotton mouth. I nutted 3 times and passed out.

I dunno what it’s called when everyone is giving and getting oral, but I do know that it felt good (except for getting sprayed with female ejaculate on my nose. Maybe I should listen when a woman is trying to move away while I’m eating her out. Fuck it, I liked it. Yes, I am a nasty man.)

We all pass out on my bed around 4(it’s a supertwin. Not too much room, thank goodness they weren’t big and tasties. Susan was a thickem though.). The girls leave my dorm room around 5. The next morning, everyone in operations research asked me how my threesome was the night before; Janet spent the entire morning telling everyone that she had a threesome with Bob the Alpha the night before.

I still exist!

Damn. I've neglected this blog. Like Lindsay's parents did her... *sigh*

Find me here.

MsP

Giggin'

Catch me over here today...

MsP

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.

Introducing Marques Anthony: “R&B’s Best Kept Secret”

I found an upcoming artist via Twitter and I thought I’d share him with you since music is ruining my life right now. And he's kind of cute ::wink::wink:: Introducing (in his own words) “R&B’s Best Kept Secret” Marques Anthony…


MsP: So Marques Anthony, you’re a fresh and new R&B artist with the hot single ‘Cloud 9’. Tell me what your first single means to you and how it came about?

MA: My first single represents my weekends! Most people work very hard during the week to provide for their families and the means to survive. However, when Friday comes it gives you a sense of relief, enough to where you can relax and enjoy your weekend! ‘Cloud 9’ represents freedom, comfort and fun!!

MsP: What is your inspiration or also some of your favorite R&B/musical artists?

MA: Some of my inspirations are my family, friends, and all my haters! Those are the things that keep me working with such a pure passion for music! My favorite R&B artists would have to be Jamie Foxx, Tank, Usher, Baby Face, Dave Hollister, Joe, etc.


MsP: I know a lot of people are not too happy with the direction of music lately. What is your take on R&B and Hip Hop today?

MA: I think music right now is just a trend. If the beat is hot then you can pretty much say whatever you want and make a hit. “It has no substance”, as Jamie Foxx would say. I personally don’t like it at all because you can’t feel what the artists are saying anymore either. You can put on Dave Hollister's album, Chicago 85, and feel what he's going through in the song!

MsP: What do you think your distinct style will bring to your genre of music?

MA: When you listen to my music, I sing songs about different situations I have gone through that I know everyone can relate too. I want people to be able to feel the emotions when they listen to my music.

MsP: How is it working with Jamie Foxx as an artist and on Foxxhole Radio Show?

MA: Working with Jamie Foxx is like working with a family member! Jamie has always treated me like family and still does! He is the most down to earth celebrity you will ever meet!! Working with him on the Foxxhole as well as singing Background vocals on the "Blame It Tour" has truly been a blessing. Thanks to Marcus and Jamie King, who are Jamie's Manager's as well as my Godparents!

MsP: What artist(s) would you like to work with in the future?

MA: I would love to work with any artist who is willing to be different and get music back to the way things use to be!! A change is what I want to see in the music business!

MsP: Just out of curiosity, since it was such a big deal for a moment. What was your reaction when Kanye West jumped up on stage at the VMAs during Taylor Swift’s acceptance speech?

MA: Too much Hennessy before the show started!!

MsP: With fame comes a price and that price is usually your privacy. People will be all up in your mix. What is one thing you are not willing to give up for the price of fame? Or are you willing to risk it all?

MA: I am not willing to risk losing my family as well as losing the respect of my home town!! I think that is one of the best feelings ever when you’re able to go back home and your hometown loves you more than any other place in the world. To have the respect of those you grew up with and people who raised you is better than being in any magazine or on any TV show!

MsP: I read in your bio that you had some pretty rough times to get where you are today. What was one of your hardest struggles to get where you are?

MA: It was very rough for me coming up in this music business! My first two years in LA I really didn’t have much of anything. I was sleeping from couch to couch and catching rides where ever I needed to go!

MsP: Was there a moment that made you almost give up on your dreams?

MA: I had a many nights where I cried myself to sleep only because I knew I couldn't give up on my dreams, which kept me going day after day!

MsP: Do you feel you’ve reached your potential musically?

MA: I know I haven't reached my full potential as an artist, but I’m on my way and I won’t stop until I get there!!

MsP: Do you have any performance rituals? Ex: stretching, finger aerobics, lots of alcohol, etc.?

MA: I do have a performance ritual, but I can’t tell you what that is!! ::LOL:: You gon’ have my secrets out there in the streets!! ::LOL::

MsP: Ohhhh ok (I’m afraid)::LOL:: But, moving on. Of course the ladies are at least going to want to know what Marques Anthony’s status is. Are you single or taken?

MA: For the record I am single right now!

MsP: R&B is universal for often expressing the emotion of love. Do you do that through your music?

MA: There’s only so much you can say in public though, if you know what I mean…

MsP: Have you ever been in love?

MA: (Smiley Face) Yes, I have been in love before! Love can either be some of the best moments in your life or some of the worst.

MsP: How would you seduce a woman? Or do you prefer to be the one getting seduced?

MA: If I can’t seduce you with the truth, then I’m no good. At the same time, I love to be seduced if she knows what she is doing!!!

Did you hear that ladies? Hint. Hint.

MsP: Beyonce or Rihanna?

MA: If it was me I would take Beyonce's voice and dancing abilities, combine them with Rihanna's looks and swag and get married!! ::LOL::

MsP: Ok and on that note that about wraps this up. Shout out to Janae Trevillion for setting this up. And good luck to you Marques Anthony.

MA: Thanks.

You can go to iTunes or Google ‘Marques Anthony Music’, which will link you to all the Web sites where you can download his music.

If you’re interested in reaching out and connecting with Marques Anthony, find him via http://twitter.com/marquesanthony, Facebook ‘Marques Anthony’ or myspace.com/Marquesjones21.

MsP

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…

When karma punches you in the face...

I dub this as Perez Hilton's new theme song...



It would be irrelevant for me to go on a rant right now about Perez and his antics as of late. I'm not condoning violence or picking sides, but didn't he have it coming? And I'm sorry but that was a good ass whoopin' son. It's like all the nasty things he's ever said about other people swelled up in his left eye.

I really do hope he signs up for John Mayer's, "Never Call A Black Dude a Faggot Jitsu" class...

Technically Not Very Savvy

Hey everyone I invested in a web cam !! Whoop! Whoop! This is my first V-blog, ever, choppin' it up with Jeromi...



And dancing with Chris...



Thanks for all the love, lovers!! (Chat with me on woome. (Same email, same name, MsFreshBananaPuddin).

It's like MySpace, but creepier. * thumbs up *

An Open Letter to Fergie

I probably shouldn’t be writing you this, but I guess it’s too late to turn back now. I just wanted to take the time to congratulate you on the new hair. It has done wonders for my eyes. And it also actually makes your eyebrows look somewhat normal.

Before, when you would sing about how glamorous your humps were, I didn’t get it. Something just wasn’t right. From my perspective your humps were not something to brag about and your face is definitely puffier than any lady. And then comparing yourself to a child with a blanket really sobered me up. I was so confused, not only because I wasn’t quite sure where I was at the time, but also because your face is the opposite of that of a child’s.

I’ve been seeing this makeover around the web for a few days now and gheezus what a world of difference this has done for you! Your new hubby may have enjoyed running his fingers through those stringy not quite blonde, not quite brown, ugly, greasy highlights, but I sure could have done without the visual. And thanks to your innovative stylists poof, it’s gone! Yay! Go team!

Anyway, I just wanted to express how happy I am that now when you sing I can actually enjoy watching the talent as well as hearing it. I don’t have to close my eyes and pretend that surprisingly good voice of yours is coming out of someone else’s mouth. It makes the experience that much more enjoyable. So yeah, thanks.

Sincerely,

Ms. Fresh Banana Puddin’
PS- Unfortunately, there still is that part in the middle …

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.

Suddenly, I was in the champagne room...

As I’ve mentioned before, I frequent strip clubs because they are the easiest place to get free drinks. See most guys in the joint think that if they liquor up the girls who don’t work there, they might get lucky and catch a last minute amateur show. It’s usually a hit or miss. You never know. I have seen it happen, but it’s never happened to me. Honest. (See my halo :0).

The last time I went to a strip joint, I bumped into a friend of a friend. I love the male reaction when I bump into them at strip clubs. First there is the initial reaction of, “oh sh*t, I’m caught.” Then second there is the, “wait, what are you doing in here, you’re a girl? And last but not least, they second guess, “you don’t work here, do you?”

No I don’t work here, just enjoying my tax-free beverage thank you very much.

Anyway, I bumped into this guy who is a friend of a friend and apparently he got into his head me watching ass and titties was some sort of pastime. So he went ahead and called me up Friday night inviting me to a “gentlemen’s party” at the Hilton.

“Oh is someone getting married or something,” I asked him.

“No,” he said. “I’m just throwing a party, invite only.”

Cool. I'm special. I'm V.I.P. Sounds good.

In my mind I was naïve enough to think that maybe he was just throwing one of those parties where it was a good place to network, but half dressed women were part of the mingling crowd. No worries, I can handle that.

Or so I thought…

I get up to the 18th floor where he had rented a Suite. When he pushed open the door, it was like the scene from The Players Club when Eboney got beat up and raped, except with a younger crowd. Intrigued, I decided to stay. What girl doesn’t want to put herself into that situation?

There was a portable stripper pole in the center of the room that three dudes were desperately trying to readjust. Unfortunately from the look of the thing, one swing and any lucky lady might learn how to fly that night.

There was a bar, but it was old school house party style. Audaciously drinks were $10. I was too anxious to see how the night was going to play out to even worry about getting a drink.

I was also a little embarrassed, because I had invited a new girlfriend of mine to go with me. I guess I felt guilty because I haven't really broken her into the situations I get myself into, yet. Although, she seemed just as eager as me to find out what was going to happen next.

Every ten minutes or so, a handful of guys would saunter through the door of the Suite eagerly awaiting the festivities.The girls were hidden in a room adjacent to the Suite, digging through suitcases full of plastic high heels, bikini tops and bottoms and other bright colored accessories.

Eventually, the girls started filing out into the Suite room. They looked nothing like the Rock of Love/Flavor of Love girls. It was more like Phat Booty Hoes meets BET Uncut. Soon that didn't even matter, because it all became a blur of ass, titties, dollar bills and private lap dances. Rap music blaring in the background.

Wait, what the...how the...hold it. Am I in the champagne room? Hmmm, it's different than I imagined. This was definitely not the same experience as a strip club.

Why in the hell would somebody think that I would enjoy a party like this? I go to strip clubs to get free drinks not lap dances. Even if I did get a lap dance, this seemed like the type of crowd that was paying for a boner. Praying for a blowjob.

Um, I don't have a penis. I might have been sold if it was open bar. Otherwise, I have ass and titties, why would I pay to see someone else’s that are not going to turn me on because, I, like, dick?

The icing on the cake was when one of the girls turned to me and informed me that some of the girls were in fact performing in front of family members. It was then that I decided to make my exit. Parties like that should only be seen on VH1...

MsP and The City

(This is a long post, so grab a cocktail and stay awhile. My posts have been few and far between anyway, so you have time to get drunk and enjoy ;p). MsP

I was sober on New Year’s Eve.

It wasn’t intentional, believe me, I did everything possible to try and get drunk. I brought my flask to the party I was attending, but couldn’t get it passed security. I dressed like a skank, but so was every other heffa in there. I did the Tyra walk with Oprah’s enthusiasm, but almost ate sh*t in my hooker heels.

Still sober by 11:50 p.m., I gave up and took it as a sign of how I should embrace the New Year.

And as I drove home that night passing up at least five different cars being pulled over on the side of the freeway, for once I was proud of my sobriety. There was a new year ahead of me full of opportunity and enterprise. It was time to start thinking positive and about my future.

In other words, I’m getting too old for this debauchery sh*t and if I don’t get my ass together in the next couple of years, I’m going to be living alone watching Lifetime with my cats or my AA sponsor. Tragic.

So in order to get my ass in gear, I started applying for jobs in my related field. No more hooking or doing other odd jobs with midgets, it was time for the real deal. Not too soon after applying (surprisingly) I landed an interview, in the city, for a fashion website. Perfect.

I woke up for my interview and was tempted to cancel. Honestly, why do people get up so early in the morning?

After getting ready I typed the interview location into my TomTom and headed out. A 45-minute drive later I found the street I needed to be on, located the cheapest parking garage and parked. I figured I could just walk the rest of the way. I still had twenty minutes to get to the interview.

Unfortunately, when I got to the main street the interview was on and I checked the numbers I was in the 1300s and I needed to be in the 600s.

I thought to myself, “Once I figure out in which direction I’m headed, I should be fine.”

I swooped into a little clothing shop and the lady told me I was headed in the right direction, however, she also told me that I might want to catch the bus. I told her thanks, but I was convinced I could walk it. I still had ten minutes to spare. I continued walking in my four-inch stilettos, convincing myself to remain calm and positive.

Another block down I began to realize that I was a little over dressed for downtown in the daytime. Other women had on flats, over sized sweatshirts and dragged mini luggage-on-wheels behind them. I had on skinny jeans, four-inch heels and matching purse. I could feel the male species eyes upon me.

I was now officially a walking rack-of-lamb, fresh off the grill, ready to be served with A1 and mash potatos. And that's when the inevitable happened. Not because I’m so unbelievably, ridiculously good looking, but because I was walking around downtown, looking lost, dressed like a slut.

As I walked past this rent-your-own-cheap-ass-furniture joint, there was a group of guys out in front staring, taunting and whispering to me as I walked by. Whatever. I had other things on my mind aside from sexual harassment. Like, I was going to be late and for some reason I couldn’t feel my big toe. Eventually I realized that one of the guys from in front of the store had fallen into stride with me.

“Hey there beautiful, can I talk to you for a minute?”

I looked to my left to discover a young man with his pants hanging somewhere between the lower half of his ass and his knees, a gold grill and some Sisqo colored hair. Really!? I’m not one to judge, but really?

“I’m sorry, not right now,” I said. “I’m kind of in a hurry.”

“Me too,” he replied. “See I’m walking with you, we can both be in a hurry.”

“Um not right now,” I said. “I really got somewhere I got to be.”

“Well then we both got somewhere to be,” he responded.

I sighed heavily, he was a persistent little f*cker.

“Sure whatever,” I said slightly under my breath. Stupid four-inch heels, I could just not walk fast enough!

“Can I get your number?” he asked.

“No I’m sorry, look I really have to get going,” I said.

“Well fine then, BITCH!” he said.

Yeah, he said it.

Suddenly not only was I late, but I was also a bitch.

And to prove it, he hawked the fattest loogie and blew it in my direction. Lucky for me with a little quick maneuvering I was able to dodge the wad. WTF!?

Did he really just spit at me?

“You’re lucky I didn’t spit on you bitch,” I heard his voice echo in the background verifying my lingering thoughts. And with that, I stuck my hand in the air and hailed a cab.

Five minutes later I arrived five minutes late to my interview. (Depending on whose watch you’re looking at). My hair was in my face, I was a little out of breath and sweaty. However, on the bright side of things I didn’t get spit on and it is still only just the beginning of 2009. I could do nothing but laugh at my little mini adventure.

So I took a deep breath, put a smile on my face and stepped off the elevator…

This Queen Is A Drag

I think I gave the blogworld some great head this past week (or two) didn't I? Or maybe it was more like a nice swift kick in the balls or a punch in the vagina? Huh. I'm not really sure, either way I should get a nice big metal for officially sucking at a blogging.

One thing I have been keeping up with is the gym. Yes, not only did I join, but I've actually been showing up. My motivation is the local cheer team that seems to practice their routines every time I hop on the treadmill. Stupid skinny-perky-24/7-bitches who like babies. Grrr.

I got to be honest here. I miss the ex. It's been cold turkey since I went all Kelis on his ass and I'm having a hard time adjusting. Sooooo, I've been telling my friends every time they go out now, they have to get me at least two numbers. If you read this blog you too now have to get me numbers of hot guys who have jobs and can read good. Thanks.

MsP

An Open Letter to White People Who Get Drunk and Think They Can Dance Good

Dear white people who get drunk and think they can dance good,



First of all, let me start by saying I feel your pain because I’m half white. My mom has the ability to bop her head, clap her hands, stomp her feet all on a different beat and still manage to be off beat. (Although in her defense she doesn’t drink and it takes a lot of coaxing to get her out on the dance floor). However, my mom’s nonexistent rhythm seems to be a trend among white people and I must put a stop to it.

I guess what I am trying to say is that white people shouldn’t dance. Ever. Just don’t do it. I’ll give you a get-on-on-the-dance-floor-for-free-card for weddings and Bar/Ba Mitzvahs, but the club is OFF LIMITS! Not only do I have to watch that shit, but it looks painful. Your clumsy drunk body being pulled in different directions all at the same time is really confusing and weird.

The slogan, “BEER: Helping white people dance since 1942,” is wrong. What it should read is, “BEER: Helping white people get drunk enough so that they feel the need to get on the dance floor and flop around uncontrollably like a fish with Tourette syndrome.”

The hopping up and down thing or jogging arms, kind of saves you white people, but not really. The thing is that you might wake up in the morning and not remember shit about being on the dance floor, but I do white people. I do. So please, for the love of the downbeat, please get drunk and mingle instead of trying to “cut a rug.”

Thanks.

MsP