I know, I know Britney is way over publicized, but again it is just way too much fun to make fun. And I’m starting to lose sleep over how she went from this...
to this...
to this???
Hope y'all enjoyed that moment as much as I did...Ms P
Friday, July 20, 2007
Oops yes ya’ll, I take you through a moment in the life of Britney, again…
to this???
Hope y'all enjoyed that moment as much as I did...Ms P
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Ms Puddin' gets all romantic and poetic and stuff...
You know, I’m running dry on things to talk about this week. I’ve been a boring old fart lately. No drinking escapades, I’m not dating either, I refuse. It’s been my computer, a lot of movies and I. Very romantic, I know.
There have been, however, some questions that have been bugging me. Over the past week, I have been thinking about the male species and some of the things that they do, because they come from Mars and all.
So, I decided to flex my poetic skills, (No I am not a poet, this sh*t doesn’t rhyme and I threw in the female part so I could avoid coming off as the man hater that I am) to maybe put a stop to some of those lingering questions and make my life that much easier…
A Poem of Understanding WHY
By Ms Fresh Banana Puddin’
Why do men get your number, call you, then ask, “So when are you going to take me out?” Huh? You got my number smart one...
Why do women cry, over analyze and complain about everything? It can't possibly be that bad...
Why do men insist that a woman’s salty mood is always caused by PMS? Can I not just be having a bad day?
Why do women always dress like they’re trying to catch a man, but then go home and talk about how no good any of them really are? No comment
Why do men say that you never call them, when you just did, twice, but couldn’t leave a voicemail because their mailbox was full? You know who you are...
Why do women hate on other women over a man? The sea is big, very big...
Why do men not understand the definition of girlfriend or wife? My understanding of this concept, is that you are not eligible to date...
Why do women get the good guy, but want the bad guy, but want the bad guy to be good? Make up your mind woman!!!
Why do men insist on scratching their balls in public? Gross, just gross...
Why do men wear those shorts that cut off at the ankles so they look more like high pants than shorts? The point of shorts is to keep cool, when it's hot outside...
Why do men say “I’ll call you later”, but they call like two days later and ask you “what happened”? I don't know, you tell me...
Why do men always complain about wearing a condom when they are very aware of STDs and having sex = having babies? Again, no comment...
Sorry ran out of weird things that women do, because in all honesty we are not that bad. Men, are the ones with the problem, seriously. If you don’t fit in any of these categories guys, you are off the hook, but if you do, can you please explain to me WHY?
Am I over analyzing?
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Opinion of the day...
The reason why my friends think I might be a lesbian...
"I just understand human behavior. You sound like a woman scorned. One who feels used by men because you allow yourself to be used. Then complain about it over and over until you break the cycle." -LT
hmmm being bitter is one thing, but eating box is another story. Thanks, but no thanks.
MsP
Friday, July 13, 2007
Do they pay you enough to make my job a living hell?
"All I've ever wanted was an honest week's pay for an honest day's work."-Steve Martin
I got a job as a receptionist for the summer. A quick pick-me-up from my last job. (I’m still in college, so I’m taking this as an opportunity to weigh my options and buy some more time in “finding myself”.) Granted I don’t do much, (work on my blog) but it is required for me to show up every day. If I do, I get paid.
Everyone here is for the most part friendly and it isn’t very often that I have to bite my tongue because someone else is having a bad day. There really isn’t much to complain about, the hours are reasonable, there’s air conditioning and I get to write.
Nevertheless, there is always that one person at your job, where they are this close, in getting a foot stuck up their ass.
I work with this very rude old lady.
No, let me re-phrase that. I work with a shriveled up, 80-year-old hag, who probably hasn’t gotten laid since 1972. I also think she picks an outfit out on Sunday and wears it continuously throughout the week.
She has been running her business out of the same office for the last 20 years, so apparently she comes with the building. I think her name is actually on the lease right next to ‘utilities included’ it says, ‘old hag’.
When I got hired, my boss made light of the situation that they’ve had problems with the old hag in the past. She told me that if the old hag gave me any problems to let her know immediately. I made a note of it, but figured I could avoid any mood swings she threw at me. Growing up with younger siblings, I have mastered the art of ignoring people when I want to.
Plus, regardless of what anyone may think of Ms P, I have respect for my elders, or at least I used to…
The old hag started off by making rude comments to me in front of clients, as if she were testing me to see if I would defend myself. She would ask me questions like, “do you know how to do your job?” or “didn’t they train you?”
In my head I would answer her questions, with a rhetorical question like, “when was the last time you got laid?” or “shouldn’t you be dead by now?”
I swear the nerve of some people, right?
I didn’t play into her stupid questions like she wanted, and it got old fast. So she moved on to just plain old torturing me. Asking me to do little favors for her, running errands, things she knew I wouldn’t say no to.
Eventually, it became clear to me that she was not grandma, but that old hag I work with and this was getting ridiculous. It got to the point where it was well beyond helping an old lady out. She needed to realize she’s not a celebrity and I am not getting paid to be her personal assistant. So, I talked to my boss about her “favors” and well it’s not in my job description, so I politely told her no.
I think her interpretation of that conversation instead was, “this means war!” “I’m still a cranky old hag and I’m going to take my life’s frustrations out on you!”
So the other day she comes up to me and asks for a long ‘pen’. So I handed her a ‘pen’.
“No!” she screamed at me. “Not a ‘pen’, a ‘pin’.
“Oh, I thought you said a ‘pen’, I said. “I don’t think that I have a pin though.”
She ignores me and starts riffling through the top drawer of my desk. Ok, by now I’m irritated, but I’m trying not to let it show.
“I don’t think you are going to find a ‘pin’ in there,” I told her.
“Oh, does it bother you that I am in your space?” she snapped back.
No please, dig away. When you’re done with my drawer would you like to look through my purse?
“This is my project,” she said. “Why are you trying to get in my project?”
Your project? Um ok?
“I’m not, I just don’t want you going through my drawer.” I said. “And I don’t have a ‘pin’, sorry.”
She looked up from my drawer, giving me an evil-eyed stare, before she turned and hobbled away.
You know, there comes a time, where Ms P takes a moment to step back and look at a situation and think, “now that, is one crazy bitch.”
Everyone here is for the most part friendly and it isn’t very often that I have to bite my tongue because someone else is having a bad day. There really isn’t much to complain about, the hours are reasonable, there’s air conditioning and I get to write.
Nevertheless, there is always that one person at your job, where they are this close, in getting a foot stuck up their ass.
I work with this very rude old lady.No, let me re-phrase that. I work with a shriveled up, 80-year-old hag, who probably hasn’t gotten laid since 1972. I also think she picks an outfit out on Sunday and wears it continuously throughout the week.
She has been running her business out of the same office for the last 20 years, so apparently she comes with the building. I think her name is actually on the lease right next to ‘utilities included’ it says, ‘old hag’.
When I got hired, my boss made light of the situation that they’ve had problems with the old hag in the past. She told me that if the old hag gave me any problems to let her know immediately. I made a note of it, but figured I could avoid any mood swings she threw at me. Growing up with younger siblings, I have mastered the art of ignoring people when I want to.
Plus, regardless of what anyone may think of Ms P, I have respect for my elders, or at least I used to…
The old hag started off by making rude comments to me in front of clients, as if she were testing me to see if I would defend myself. She would ask me questions like, “do you know how to do your job?” or “didn’t they train you?”
In my head I would answer her questions, with a rhetorical question like, “when was the last time you got laid?” or “shouldn’t you be dead by now?”
I swear the nerve of some people, right?
I didn’t play into her stupid questions like she wanted, and it got old fast. So she moved on to just plain old torturing me. Asking me to do little favors for her, running errands, things she knew I wouldn’t say no to.
Eventually, it became clear to me that she was not grandma, but that old hag I work with and this was getting ridiculous. It got to the point where it was well beyond helping an old lady out. She needed to realize she’s not a celebrity and I am not getting paid to be her personal assistant. So, I talked to my boss about her “favors” and well it’s not in my job description, so I politely told her no.
I think her interpretation of that conversation instead was, “this means war!” “I’m still a cranky old hag and I’m going to take my life’s frustrations out on you!”So the other day she comes up to me and asks for a long ‘pen’. So I handed her a ‘pen’.
“No!” she screamed at me. “Not a ‘pen’, a ‘pin’.
“Oh, I thought you said a ‘pen’, I said. “I don’t think that I have a pin though.”
She ignores me and starts riffling through the top drawer of my desk. Ok, by now I’m irritated, but I’m trying not to let it show.
“I don’t think you are going to find a ‘pin’ in there,” I told her.
“Oh, does it bother you that I am in your space?” she snapped back.
No please, dig away. When you’re done with my drawer would you like to look through my purse?
“This is my project,” she said. “Why are you trying to get in my project?”
Your project? Um ok?
“I’m not, I just don’t want you going through my drawer.” I said. “And I don’t have a ‘pin’, sorry.”
She looked up from my drawer, giving me an evil-eyed stare, before she turned and hobbled away.
You know, there comes a time, where Ms P takes a moment to step back and look at a situation and think, “now that, is one crazy bitch.”
Thursday, July 12, 2007
And now a msg from slow boy...
I got an IM from slow boy at work today. A pointless conversation to say the least...
slow boy: Hi
MsP: hay
slow boy: Ok Miss hay, how are you?
MsP: what? im good how are you?
slow boy: Im good
MsP: i thought you were dead
slow boy: I just wanted to see how you were and that I was thinking about you. What does that mean? Why?
MsP: thinking about me?
slow boy: Why would you say you thought I was dead?
MsP: i havent heard from you, but i guess i could have called
MsP: my bad
slow boy: The door swings both ways doesn't it?
MsP: I guess
slow boy:I like to get high my bad am I a bad person because of it
slow boy: ? Wow silence I guess I am...
MsP: it s just that i told you i dont like it and everytime we hang out you were either high or getting high
slow boy: I get what your saying but do you have a problem with it?
he really is slow...
Episode I: Diary of A Dipsomaniac...
"Booze is the answer. I forget the question."
My head was pounding loud enough to wake me from my coma.
I reluctantly opened my eyes and saw a blurry rendition of my ceiling. My bedroom was on a slight spinning curve and I wanted off the ride, damn it. Although, the clock in my phone translated that I had to be to work in 30 minutes, I was flummoxed how I had even gotten home.
I was still wearing last night’s outfit. A dress that was now cupping my booty cheeks and my four-inch stilettos, one dangling from my ankle. I stood up and wobbled to the bathroom.
Glancing in the mirror, I recognized nothing because of the dark make-up that was smeared all over my face.
And wtf was that smell?
I looked closer to find some crusty chunks of barf mixed in with my mangled hair. Gross. I moaned and put the toilet seat down before sitting to try and collect my thoughts.
“Well, at least I woke up solo in my own bed,” I thought to myself…
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Oops, yes y'all, I talk about Britney once again...
I spent another typical American afternoon reading up on some literature of Britney Spears' whereabouts. I really had nothing better to do today. Nothing.
I'm probably late to jump on the 'let's talk about Britney bandwagon', but I can't help it. It's just too easy. I was glad to see on perez today that she had grown out her hair long enough to be entwined with some tacky hair extensions. A slow improvement, nonetheless.
I never really was a Britney fan, but for some reason now I am. She totally rocks! She’s just as f*cked up in the head as the rest of us. Right on. Anyone who manages to f*ck up their life that much in such a short period of time gets mad kudos for real.
I thought I had issues...
Watching Britney destroy her career is like watching porn. It's probably bad and I shouldn't be doing it, but I just can't seem to look away. However, most people view porn guilt free so I guess I should enjoy watching Britney.
I still can’t for the life of me understand how she went from this...
to this...
to this...
Wait, let me do that one more time from this...
(yes, this was Britney)…
to this...
wtf was she thinking y’all????
All that damn shopping she does and this is the best outfit she could come up with? I mean I can forgive her for the uggs and the shorts with the pockets hanging out. I can look past the fact that she's lighting up a smoke and she's not wearing a bra, but the red hair tie, has got to go.
I took the liberty of re-writing some of her lyrics into a mega-mix, here goes...
Her loneliness is killin' me, I must confess I still believe (she might be pregnant) hit me, baby, with your umbrella-a-ah…give me a sign, shave your head one more time!!
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