I Died

I hate to see Heidi cry, again, but obviously this blog has no more life to it. I've moved on and over to tumblr. I still don't really know how to work the damn thing, but if any of you are interested in some short stories on my life about alcohol and regret, here's the link...

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.

Beige people still causing havoc in 2010

I was in San Francisco a couple weeks ago and I met this guy, (we’ll call him Luke), who was from Philadelphia. In the midst of our conversation I made a joke about somebody once telling me I resembled Prince. Luke then claimed that he had never heard of Prince prior to watching select episodes of the Dave Chappelle Show.

He also didn’t get my joke :(

I was stunned and refused to believe this nonsense. Who are you and what planet do you live on where short mystical beige people with musical talent elude your existence? How shameful.

However, not too soon after my shock wore off, he rebutted me with, “We’ll have you ever heard of Jim Morrison?” The name sounded familiar, but I’m not going to lie, I had to Google before I was like, “Oh yeah, THAT white guy.”

And of course, this launched a debate.

For a brief moment it was very important for the both of us to justify why the other person’s idol was so elusive. Yes, Luke is white and I’m half black. And although it shouldn’t matter it still remains relevant.

I wondered could the only common ground among the races as far as entertainment be Michael Jackson and the rap genre. Are Idols among races only relevant when they are doing something ignorant? Or is race not important and I’m making a similar Kanye West-like bold statement, about how black people don’t know white music and white people just don’t care?

[Insert Kanye shrug here]

Anyway, the state of music over the last decade, as in it suffers to deliver quality and inspire, is one thing people of all races could potentially agree on. Therefore, I think that it is important everyone knows who the artists were before all this musical coonery. In honor of Black History Month I am going to dedicate the rest of this post to a short tutorial of who Prince is...



Meet Prince aka The artist formerly known as Prince: Singer, song singer, songwriter, musician, and actor.

Favorite color: Purple

Controversial: Yes

Famous for: Purple Rain, ruffles, deep intriguing voice, playa status and permy goodness.

Awards: 7 Grammys, A Golden Globe and an Academy Award.

Songs you may know: “When Doves Cry,” “Kiss” or go figure, “Purple Rain.”

For other random facts on in regards to Black History Month go here:

MsP

Ms Puddin' Not So Fierce

There was a time in my life when I really thought I was Beyonce. It didn’t really help my situation that people used to tell me, “Hey, you kind of look like Beyonce.” Which somehow translated in my mind as, “You look just like Beyonce. You sing and dance just like her. Can I have your autograph?”

Things kind of got out of control when I started dying my hair blonde and walking in longer strides. However, over time my love for Beyonce kind of faded (she is way over publicized, yet still talented) and I began to realize that I look nothing like her.

The icing on the cake was not too long ago when I sat in the front row of a Tommy Davidson stand-up show. Um, big mistake, because for about an hour he went off to the audience about how I look like Prince. He even busted out in some Prince-like dance moves singing, Kiss and cooed, I Would Die 4 You.

With the extra, “oooo-oooo-oooo”… *hangs self*

Now people often tell me I look more like Melyssa Ford or Rosario Dawson. I definitely don’t have Melyssa Ford’s body, but I’ll take it. And as far as Rosario Dawson, I used to think she was ugly, until people started telling me that I looked like her. Now I’m like, oh hell yeah I look like her! Dayumn, that girl is fione.

Readers, who are your celeb look-alikes?

Giggin'

Catch me over here today...

MsP

Hood Summer Fest 2009

So I went to a pool party @ the Clarion yesterday. * crickets * I know, that should have been my first red flag. I was lucky they even had a pool. It was a hood fest in its entirety. Clear plastic heels, fake Louis Vuitton and the guys came in groups of ten, dressed in plain white Ts with white towels on their heads.

There was a model contest. Let me rephrase that. There was a booty shakin’ contest. About 10 to 15 girls graced the stage (um box?) in their bikinis. Each one was announced by name and their hobby. I want to say that 90 percent of the hobbies had something to do with dancing, entertaining and possibly doing the splits.

All this happened within the first hour. I needed a drink. My boy was like, “Don’t trip, I got a bottle coming.” One hour later, in room 122 was a bottle of Hennessey, Patron and some cranberry juice. * side eye * I decided my best bet was the bar.

On my way back from the bar, I noticed some girl had decided to take a dip in the hot tub. She’s in the tub. Her fake ass ponytail was lying next to the tub. One of the 25 photographers at the party runs over, snaps a picture and then literally picks up this random girl’s hair and throws it in the trash.

OMG. Yes. This actually happened...

Let me not lie, even though I felt like I was cast in Plies’ next music video, I was entertained. And on the plus side there were no kids there and no one got shot. However, I knew it was time for me to go home when I found someone’s fake tittie (cutlet) on the ground.

Shout out to Big Dave Presents, Socially Flyy , QB Chronicles and BigBootyRemy for the photo!! You know I love you guys. All press is good press :)

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…

Yes, Brett and I have a thing going on. Jealous?

* Disclaimer * This post only kind of has something to do with Brett Michaels

Well I was going to write a post on the Swine Flu, but even I’m sick (figuratively) of hearing about it.The only thing I was worried about when I first heard of the “pandemic spread” was whether or not I could still eat bacon. And as long as no one sneezes on it, I can. Problem solved, next topic.

In other ‘personal’ news, the ex randomly texted me at work today…

The ex:“Who’s Brett?”

MsP: “Michaels?”

The ex: “No, lmao, not Brett Michaels. Are you dating a Brett?”

MsP: “I’m sorry, what is to you who I date?”

The ex: “I can sense that you’re still angry. Why don’t you blog about it, it might make you feel better.”

*Side eye*

Rest assured I’m not going to directly comment on that conversation, because similar to the time not to long ago when he called me to get his Method Man CD out of my car, (circa 2009 what the fuck do you need a Method Man CD for?), he is probably reading this and getting a stiff one by me even mentioning him.

I only posted this because it's funny. Oh the irony. Soooo, yeah, let’s all have a laugh and move the fuck on.

Dr. Nosey Ass Asshole, this is me blogging about you.

* waves *

Surprisingly enough, I still feel the same as I did when I woke up this morning, but thanks for your concern. Do you feel better now that I posted about you? Does it make you feel like turning up your Method Man CD and whacking off to the idea of me and Brett Michaels on the Rock of Love tour bus?

It does? Oh goodie!!!

Bleh.

And in other news...

I feel compelled to write Heidi Montag another inspirational letter on how to get a life and a new man. However, after watching her boyfriend Spencer Pratt and his looking-like-a-molester friend, act ‘gangsta’ on the Hills last night, I think I’ll just leave her alone for the time being. I wouldn’t want Mr. Pratt’s ‘peeps’ to come and ‘throw down hard’ on me for talking ‘smack’.

Besides, why waste time on them when there are so many other wonderful things happening!?

First of all, congratulations to Kim Kardashian for this impressive burn. Look! It’s Magda from “Something About Mary”, meets a very Persian Ooompa Loompa.

And then there was the crazy German lady who woke up and thought, “Hey today would be a great day to hang out with some Polar bears at the Zoo during feeding time.” *thumbs ups!* Remember the alleged tiger attacks at the San Francisco Zoo in 2007? Well that’s what they are trying to call this situation, a “polar bear attack”. I felt sorry for the tigers and I once again empathize with the bears.If I was hungry and some fatty jumped all up in my food for no reason, I might get nervous and bite too, sheiiit.

And last but not least, I feel like the 90s are trying to make a comeback.Like isn’t Ginuwine trying to revive his career?Keisha Knight Pulliam allegedly has a reality TV show coming out and you will never guess who I randomly bumped into at the club last Saturday?

No big announcement or extensive MySpace flyers were sent my way. I had just so happened to be at a particular club celebrating my roomie’s bday, when towards the end of the night the DJ hit us with some old school.“This Is How We Do It!” starting blasting through the speakers and I look over to my left and Montell Jordan is in the crowd on the mic!

He only did that song, before saying he would be in the VIP if anyone wanted to come and kick it.We went down to try and get a pic and there were like only three other people around. LOL I don’t think anyone knew who he was or why he was there. Does he have a new album out? Is the economy that bad?Either way, he was still looking scrum-dayyyyumn-yummie-umptious!!!

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…

Plan B (not the pill)

Since the economy is down I thought it would be a good idea to revise my resume. So it’s a good thing that I have this blog full of so many things I’m good at to base my experience on…

Ms. Fresh Banana Puddin’

1000 Not Quite Sure Where I Am Avenue
You Are Here, CA 86411
1-800-FCUKOFF
mspuddin@gmail.com

OBJECTIVE
Looking for a job where no one cares about my punctual nature and sobriety.

EDUCATION
USSI - U Seem Smart Institute for becoming extra Smarter, You Are Here, CA
A Bull Shit degree in Learning
Minor in Stuff

EXPERIENCE
- Stripping
- Dancing on bars
- Drunk driving
- Any back alley
- Cheap date
- Plan B savvy
- Passing out Drunk (on doorsteps, front lawns, the back seat of your car, etc.)
- Knows someone who knows the personal assistant of the girl who was in that one movie, yeah her sister.

VOLUNTEER WORK
- N / A (I don’t do kittens, babies or old people)

AWARDS
- In The Hole Award (Puking on target)
- Nacho Champ Eater
- Falling face first an impressive amount of times

THINGS I’M GOOD AT
- Hopping fences
- Other people’s credit cards
- Getting free drinks
- Trespassing
- Losing panties
- Drunk texting / dialing / stopping by unannounced
- Getting by on a cup of noodles (Food Max, 24-pack for $3, btw)
- Dancing good while inebriated
- Holding my pee
- Creatively popping a squat
- Starting fights with bitches I don’t know…or my ex
- Decent at blowjobs, but infrequent
- Stuffing bra
- Giving number, email / address out to anyone who asks for it
- Setting things on fire

PERSONAL ATTRIBUTES
- Habitual Thrower
- Insecure
- Clumsy
- Desperate
- Fucking Crazy
- Easy
GOALS / ASPIRATIONS- Keeping a man- Rehab

EMPLOYMENT
42nd and Taylor 11 / 5 – current
You Are Here, CA
Corner Worker – I work hard

Burger King bathroom 4 / 08 – 11 / 1
You Are There, CA
Nothing really – sobered up and ate French fries


REFERENCES
911 – please ask for anyone who moves fast and has really good MEDs.

*A special thanks to my PA for helping me put this resume together on such short notice.

Friends Without Benefits

I love my friends. I especially love my guy friends. I learn so much about men from them.

Like for example, I didn’t know that it was possible to have a brown ring around the inside of a toilet bowl for two months without catching hepatitis A,B, and C. I also didn’t know that it takes four 24-packs of empty Coors Light bottles to cover an entire coffee table. And who knew somehow in the midst of old fast food bags, dirty laundry and beard shavings my best guy friend could maintain a healthy relationship. Huh. They must spend more time at her house than his. I’m not sure.

Still, it’s just interesting to me how different guys think compared to women. This particular guy friend of mine not only has a messy abode, but he has some interesting convictions about me and another female friend of ours. You see, him, this other female friend and I all basically grew up together, so we’re all close. In fact, they're like brother and sister to me.

Anyway, he called me yesterday just to say, hi, and he got to talking about how the three of us should all get a hotel room and “get crazy”. Now from a female’s perspective, I took this notion as him suggestion a potential threesome? He immediately bursts out laughing and says no, he meant like just hang out, catch up, blah, blah, blah…

Then he pauses for a minute and says, “Wait, you two have never messed around?” (In reference to me and my girl).

“Um no”, I responded, “Are you fucking retarded?”

“No I’m serious,” he said. “Like you two have never gotten drunk, come home and bitched about how shitty guys are. Then got naked, kissed and one thing led to another?”

“NO!” I yelled (laughing at this point). “What made you think that!?”

“I don't know, but nothing,” he asked again. “Not even like a little kiss?”

Really??? Wait, so guys think that females who are really close have lesbian tendencies? Is that the fantasy?

Well, let me clear this up right now. When I come home with my friends drunk and bitch about a guy, we usually do it stuffing our faces with Jack-n-the-Box and then pass out in our heels and make-up. Waking up the next morning looking like a raccoon and wondering why our friend is face first in the toilet…imagine that.

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.

I Hit That

*disclaimer* - I have only done illegal and dirty things to Reggie Bush in my mind. Unfortunately, I have never physically had any real sexual encounters with him.

I wish that women could brag about their sexual encounters, without sounding like dirty whores who feel they have to run home to wash the stench of badussy out of their vagina's.

One of the guys I used to date back in college just recently got drafted into the NFL. I’m talking a multi-million dollar contract. He also just got married. I’m really happy for him and glad it wasn’t me he married. Honestly.

Although, whenever his name comes up, people always ask me if I knew him. Basically because we went to school together.

“Yeah I remember him,” is pretty much all the information I am willing to expose. I’ve learned to keep my sex life private.

Truth is, I hit that. Yes I said it. Actually, if I said it more like a man instead of a lady I’d say, “I made that man my little bitch. Had him screaming my name and everything.”

Ok I don’t know about that last part, but him and I used to GET IT ON.

Back in the day I was a football player magnet. I don’t know why either, because I kind of have a prejudice against them. When I think football player, I think Paco from Blazing Saddles meets Varsity Blues. Not all players, but most of them seem to use their football scholarships as a free ride from school and a tool to pick up women.

At first it was flattering and when I was younger I would take a hot body over brains any day. However, it got old quick and soon I started to feel like a groupie. I mean, pimpin' ain't easy for a lady. And since I’m not the girl he married and is sharing his contract with, people will just assume as much.

Anyway, for the record I am not a groupie and I still hit that. Jealous???

MsP

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…

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.

Can't you see my halo?

I went on a date last night with married guy. He’s divorced now. It’s funny how things happen. My very first post on this blog was about having an affair with married guy and here I am dating him. Well let me clarify, his wife had up and left him for eight months before he met me. Why? That is their business, not mine.

Anyway, we actually had a really nice time. It sucks because besides from all the drama, him and me really have a great friendship. Yes I agree, Ms Puddin’ has bad taste in men. Yes I agree, I probably have no business giving him of all people a second chance, but he took me to Maggianos.

Fatty’s hungry, fatty’s got to eat.

Then he took me to a nice little bar tucked away where we could enjoy each other’s company. Man he had all the tricks up his sleeve that night. Taking me to a bar is like taking a five-year-old to Legoland, just heavenly, simply the best.

No sex, but I don’t regret bringing him back into my life. I think time is on my side on this one. Not to mention, the ex, (my most recent trespassing victim) called to say that he has up and moved to Atlanta. Good. Maybe I will finally get over getting drunk, hopping his fence and stalking him.

Time for MsP to find some new hobbies… sewing, pottery, cooking? I told my guy friend the other day that I was going to go grocery shopping.

He’s all, “why, since when do you cook?” And then he started busting up laughing.

Damn.

“Ok maybe I can’t cook, but I can make a mean cocktail,” I replied.

“I don’t doubt that,” he responded back.