All the things that Tiger did wrong: A guide to pimping hoes and being a billionaire without getting caught up...

...And not ending up killed by a crazy bitch you gave the A++ Dick game too. Which is a no no. Why you giving A++ Dick away all willy nilly? That shit is reserved for Christmas, Anniversary, and Festivus boo boo.

We all know everyone has a freaky side. Of course it's usually the ones we least expect it from who have a whole closet full of freak ass freak in them. Although it’s still hard to imagine Tiger Woods (of all people) saying, "I want to f*ck the shyt out of you, you dirty whore nigga lovin bitch. You want this Tiger dack down your throat? A healthy dosage of Tiger uppercut?", he sort of did. Kinky.

All professional athletes have hoes. Even Kobe has bitches. He just has smarter ones (with ID) under contract to shut them the f*ck up. Marrying a million dollar man, extra pussy is definitely and more than likely included. Does Kool-Aid need sugar? Thought so.

A bitch on the side will get everything her heart desires. She just has to work on two things: A quick kneel and silence. It's all about balancing and stabilizing the pussy on the side so there isn't any confusion or swinging gold clubs.

First of all, call your hoes through a burner (temporary, pre-paid cell phone for the urban illiterate) and never leave voicemails. The whole voicemail situation is baffling anyway. Where in the game do you wait for your hoes to call back? Exactly.

Messing with white crazy women will always get you in trouble. Invariably use black or minoritybroke or bougie women and keep them on payroll in order to keep the peace. Don't forget to change your number every couple months and have a rotation of five hoes every two months, only keeping one as your bottom bitch. Never, ever say, "I love you." Bottom line, don't get attached or catch feelings playa.

Throw lavish parties and invite your hoes. This ensures they sleep with other men you know and takes the heat off of you. Know when to cut contact for a few months ignoring hoes and keep the wife satisfied. One major thing Tiger made the mistake of was lying. You can't lie to women. If Elin is that naive of a woman he should have told her from the jump.

And last but not least do not get killed by your side piece or main lady!!!! NO! DO NOT DO IT! IT MAKES NO SENSE FOR THESE WOMEN TO LEAVE YOU SLUMPED AND LUMPED IN A CORNER!!!

Chris Henry

“Fell” from the back of a pickup truck, killed by fiancé. Why did you jump in the Truck Chris? We know you got ups, but you argued with the WRONG one. Let her drive off, she’ll come back…you got money.

Steve McNair

Shot in the face by side piece. Why did you have a piece around your side piece Steve? Always strapped is a song, not a real lifestyle Steve. Plaxico went to jail. You got shot in the face. They getting rid of you nigras one by one in the NFL.

Arturo “Thunder” Gatti

“Hung himself” after an “altercation” with his wife. Police let her go. Why? Cause she was smarter than you Thunder. Shoulda used that thunder down under to subdue a bitch but noooooooooooooooooooo you snapped your own damn neck...

Playas, please have an entourage. I know pro ballers are dumb, but where are the nigra posses? Where is that illicit friend known for getting hoes in and out? See above all the advice given, get you some hanger-on’s that know how and when to do the things you should but can’t do because of endorsements and your squeaky clean image. Every good girl has a whore friend. Every nerd has a bad ass gangstalicious cousin. What happened to Tiger’s? Kobe’s? Shaq’s?

This is in no way advocating that people cheat or have extramarital affairs. Nope, not going down that road. You signed that dotted line, gave away your right to fuck random broads (except for Will and Jada. Weirdos, but smart.), tough it out anti-playa. But please be smart Mr. or Ms. pro athlete/rapper/local celebrity/lime-light. Because we will laugh at you. We’ll mourn you, but we’ll laugh. Trust.

In conclusion, there isn’t any true way to handle side pieces/jump offs/hoes/bitches/i.e. f*ck buddy. You can have an extra bff, string along Stedman, and let everyone believe that you’re bi. Or maybe, just maybe, be faithful to your wife/husband. Cuz Lord knows we need more of Ozzie Davis and Ruby Dee and less of Pamela Anderson and Tommy Lee.

This post was written by MsPuddin, inspired by the thoughts of Rob Holliday (B.K.A rmhoffa, but uses his legal name since he’s on a radio show and HAD to put his freakin link right here.) You can also find it here, along with some more ignant shyt.

Another Bald Headed Beezy

I first heard about this from the folks over at Oh Hell Nawl! Solange knew the paps would be outside to capture that fuzz puff. The least she could have done for my eyes was worn a hat or at least gotten lined up with a design. Halle, Amber, Rihanna, etc. hella women cut their hair short and made it look good. Solange looks like she didn’t even attempt to pro-style the edges.

I want to sit here and clown that mess of a haircut, but I kind of feel bad.

In my opinion when women cut all their hair off it’s because they are really going through something. Even Amy Winehouse’s beehive recently got significantly shorter. And we all saw Brittney with the umbrella and the I’m-going-to-eat-your-babies-bitch look in her eyes.

Solange posted something on her twitter earlier today about how she had too much to worry about versus her hair. And that she was just taking her son to school. She said that she didn’t get a style, because her intentions were never to make any type of trend or statement.

Honey, that haircut says a lot. That haircut says pay attention to me now damnit! That haircut says I don’t really have a career, I live in my sister’s shadow and I don’t know where my life is going. Someone. Please. Help.

Whatever she is going through emotionally, understandable, we all have our days. However, financially? Shieeeet. Her sister is Beyonce and her brother-in-law is Jay-z. Please tell me they couldn’t toss this heffa a couple dollars to go get lined up???

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...

Vomit Water

Yo, I don’t know what happened, but I’m still here blogworld. Not quite sure where exactly, but here nonetheless. I think part of it has to do with the fact that I actually have to work at my job and the rest of it is just lack of motivation.

What brings me back here today is something awesome that happened to me this week and I thought I’d share…

About a week ago, my roommate and I noticed that the water wasn’t going down the drain in our bathtub. At first we both just looked at each other and shrugged our shoulders as if to say “oh well’, too lazy to call the landlord. However, when the funk at the bottom of the tub started to leech onto my feet while I was trying to take shower I knew I had to take action.

So the next morning I decided to call the landlord on my way to work. I usually make my roommate call, because after three years the landlord can still never seem to remember my name. I’m assuming a first name basis with someone guarantees better results. Anyway, I call her and tell her what the problem is and at first she tells me, “why don’t you just call somebody?”

Um I live in your apartment. I pay you rent. You are that somebody. (Although looking back now I should have took her advice). After spelling out my name and number for her a few times, she finally sets it up for her son to come and take a look at my tub. He usually takes care of things, so I figure when I get home everything will be copacetic.

Sometime during the day my landlord calls me and says that her son couldn’t fix the problem, to just call someone and foot her the bill. Ok? I get home and my bathroom looks like someone took everything out of its place and put it in a different place. And the tub is still clogged * sigh *.

I decide to wash the dishes while I wait for Roto-Rooter.

As I’m forcing some old Chicken Alfredo, spinach and chunks of other questionable food down my garbage disposal, I can hear something having to do with water in the background. I shut off the disposal, running water and hear again what sounded like a tidal wave and it’s coming from my bathroom…

I don’t know what my landlord’s son did in his efforts to “help”, but now not only was the tub clogged, but the water from my kitchen sink was being drained out of my bathroom sink! And it smelled... smelled like vomit. Vomit water and spinach was splashing everywhere, the floor, into drawers onto my personal things.

After Roto-Rooter left it took my roommate, and I and a ton of bleach, to clean the crusty vomit water out of our lives. The memory still haunts me. * shudder *
On the bright side, it could have been the whole apartment. And today my girl posted on her FB status that she had to call 911 because there was a snake in her house. My glass is half full of vomit water :)

Would you rather...

...be a single parent of 14...

...have eight kids and your partner cheats on you...

...or find out a child you've been parenting for years was never yours in the first place???

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!!!

Your Publicity Stunt Is Gross

My ex used to make fun of me because I think that everything is gross.

Onions. Gross. Herpes. Gross. The sound of a banana when being chewed. Gross! Gross! Gross!

Not to mention, Kanye West’s ego, Tori Spelling’s boob job, Christian Louboutin’s new sneaker line, Amy Winehouse and waking up the next morning to find vomit in my hair that I didn’t know was there the night before, can all also be classified as gross.

However, I would rather watch a Billy Bob Thornton and George W. Bush rendition of two-girls-one-cup, while eating a Fear Factor delicacy on the toilet before exposing my eyes to this ever again…

Aubrey O'Day sucking on Kathy Griffin's tongue.Ew.

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 …

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.

Love will choke you and throw you down some stairs if you let it...

I have a friend from high school, who has been dating her boyfriend since high school. A few years ago they packed up and he moved her from sunny California to Oregon, closer to his family. Nine years together and I wouldn’t necessarily call him abusive, but when asked when they’re getting married he says things like, “I’m never going to marry that bitch” or “Ha, yeah right.”

Not understanding why the person she had devoted so my of her life to over the years thought so negatively of her, my friend did what any female would do, she complained.

“If you don’t like it,” he said. “Then why don’t you just leave?”

Fed up, my friend said, “Ok maybe I just will.”

“If you try and leave me,” he threatened later, “I will slash all four of your tires.”

So what did my friend do? She cleaned. She washed the dishes, fed the animals, did the laundry and scrubbed the floors. The next morning she waved him good-bye and as soon as he drove off to work, she threw all of her clean clothes into her car and drove back to Cali.

When she told me the story about a month ago, I was proud of her. However, I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. She would have to stay strong.

The good news is that she’s only 24, so she still has plenty of time to start her life over…

I called her this weekend to see how she was doing. I was in town so I wanted to stop by her mom’s house for a visit. Her response was, “I’m actually on my way back to Oregon, we are going to try and work things out.”

I wasn’t surprised about the news, but I wasn’t happy.

The rumor is that Rihanna and Chris Brown are back together and everyone is angry that Rihanna went back to him.

""All the abusive men are celebrating," Highroller33138 wrote in a posting on the mtv.com Web site. "It sets a terrible example for women everywhere. Rihanna really disappointed me.""

I mean, what exactly did people expect? Shit, look how long it took before Tina left Ike.

Not to be the cynic of all people who see their glass half empty, but I expected it from my friend and I expected it from Rihanna. Most victims return to their abusers for seconds and thirds.

Eve said best, “Love is blind.”

The only thing that really bugs me out of the whole Chris Brown, Rihanna case is that these types of situations happen all the time to people everywhere and now its suddenly an issue. Ugh. Kind of makes me want to punch someone in the face.

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…

Quote of the Day

"My theory is that the real Michael Jackson died when his hair caught on fire while shooting that Pepsi commercial."

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

Picture of the Week

I woke up this morning (afternoon) to find the usual emails in my box (hee hee), several Viagra and penis enhancement inquiries, (I HAVE A VAGINA!), a letter from some guy in India asking for a donation of $5 million and singlesnet.com’s weekly newsletter.

I did, however, also come across a new stalker! Yay, more free Starbucks! Apparently new reader, Mr. V, read my old post about the rocker contest and wished he could have gotten in on the competition. Here’s his submission…

Pretty impressive. Welcome to the family...

MsP

Fatty's Workout Plan

[nice shorts!]

Are you sitting down? If not you should sit down for this one…

I joined 24-Hour Fitness. (Insert loud gasp of shock here).

I know, I know, me in spandex, not the business. But fatty’s hungry. Fatty’s got to eat. And fatty doesn’t want to feel guilty for ordering a drink, an appetizer, the whole left side of the menu, desert, a cow and a little something extra to go. Ya know, the works.

If I don’t like jogging, I really don’t like jogging in the rain. I hate the rain and by the end of October it’s going to be way to cold for me to do any outdoor activities. I might have to even cut back on my stalking and fence hopping, because I’m a baby when it comes to being cold.

So now I get to join the meatheads and tiny bitches in spandex. Can’t wait. I updated my iPod, so hopefully I can drown everyone out and will only have to put up with the smell of sweaty metal and balls. Yum.

Wish me luck bitches! I start tomorrow.

MsP

Be Out!

I don’t know about you guys, but I sure am going to sleep better tonight knowing that Clay Aiken is out. I still don’t get the whole having a kid thing, but at least it explains why the sound of his music makes me want to go and buy shoes.

I like the gays.

Despite what some of you may think, I’m not gay. I prefer the churro to the taco. Although, I haven’t got laid since the Raiders made it to the Super Bowl, I am still a big fan of the shaboinka.

Gay marriage doesn’t bug me either. The idea of GOGA is kind of hot. Shit, Katy Perry kissed a girl, she liked it and she has a man.

Yes it grosses me out imagining a grown ass man with a dick in his booty looking back at his lover saying, “Gimme more, gimme.” However, gay sex can’t be any more disgusting than old people sex. Right?

So I don’t see why two people can’t be together just because their genitals are the same. Since the divorce rate is so high might as well give it a try.

A Nice Shade of Blue

This is what my roomie busted out for breakfast yesterday. Hot dogs with ketchup and a waffle with syrup. On the same plate. At the same time. I thought I was going to throw up. And yes that is hot sauce in the background.

Times are hard man.
Wha wha wha wha.
My baby left me.
Wha wha wha wha.
I can't find a job.
Wha wha wha wha.
I'm so hungry.
Wha wha wha wha.
I got to eat hot dogs!

Oh! Damn right, I got the blues.