Really? Surgery? Get out of here!

I was cracking up this morning when I turned on my computer.

There was an article written in first person by Star Jones Reynolds, admitting to having gastric bypass surgery.

Wait did I miss something? Was this a secret? I thought everyone knew this already…

Quote of the day...

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

I am NOT a babysitter...

Actually, if anyone knew me at all, they wouldn’t want me watching their children in the first place. I’m the girl who offered up the idea of getting a stripper when asked “what do you get a kid for their birthday party if it’s held late at night?”

Hey why not? A kid has got to learn somehow…

So anyway, in reference to my previous post, “are they paying you enough to make my job a living hell?” I can’t seem to get enough from the crazy lady at my job. Oh wait, let me rephrase that. I can’t get away from the crazy old hag, who is sucking the life out of me with her fangs at this very moment. I’m waiting for a tornado to come and drop a house on this wench of a woman. I want to watch her toes curl up and laugh an evil muah-ha-ha-ha-ha laugh.

A friend asked me the other day if I was getting along with the old hag.
"She actually isn’t that bad now,” I replied.

I must have spoke too soon, because she is bad, very bad. She proved it today. Working with her is like sharing a cubicle with my mother. Actually I would rather share a cubicle with my mother than work with this crazy old bat.

So if I haven’t mentioned it before, the shriveled old hag is a family therapist. Go figure. She has families that come in for sessions and often times the parent(s) leave their kids out in the lobby. I don’t know, for me to watch? And it's not that I don’t mind kids. I’ve even worked with kids before, offering up my services to be a nanny or camp counselor. However, the lobby is not a daycare center and I am not here to be the designated adult to tend to these children.

There are two types of children, by the way. There are the cute annoying children. Annoying because they’re cute and it is hard to tell them “no”. Or there are the ugly annoying children. Who are annoying because they are not cute. Today some really cute annoying children came into the office, three of them, all under the age of 8. And the crazy old hag left me with them for 45 minutes!

The kid who stood out the most was a little girl about four years old.

“Hi! My name is Hailey. What’s your name?” she said as she peered over my desk in her neon green overalls and pigtails. She was cute, until the second thing out of her mouth was, “uh oh, I have to go potty.”

Uh oh is right. Um ok. Little girl you are officially not cute anymore. I took her to the bathroom where she seemed very distracted by the set up of the room.

“Is this a boys bathroom?” she said. “It looks like a boy bathroom.”

“No,” I said as I unhooked her overalls.

“Should I be doing this?” I thought to myself. “Does she know how to do this?”

After her pants were down she started trying to take off her shirt.

“No,” I said. “Honey, just take your panties down and sit down.”

She was spacey, but pretty obedient, because she did as she was told. I went back to my desk thinking I had did my part and the worst was over, but oh no. I came back into the lobby to find four sets of eyes watching me very intently.

“ I want to color,” said the other little girl about seven or so.

“We don’t have stuff to color with here,” I replied.

“I’m thirsty,” she replied back. I got her some water and that’s when the one-year-old boy chimed in.

“Thirty too, thirty too, thirty too, thirty too,” he repeated over and over again.

“Don’t give him any,” said the seven-year-old. “He can’t hold the cup by himself.”

So being the good receptionist that I am, I tilted the cup into the “thirty” boys mouth.

I handed the kids some books to read, but that lasted about two minutes.

"Mommy?" said the one-year-old.

"Your mom will be out in a minute," I said.

"Mommy!" he yelled.

Great, just great. By now about 20 minutes had passed since I had left the four-year-old in the bathroom. I was just about to send her sister to go check up on her when a sing-song voice echoed through the office halls.

“I’m done! I’m done! You can wipe me now!”

It was right about that time I decided to go on my lunch break...

Opinion of the day...

"The sex in "Addicted" was boring because it was unimaginative. I would expect more from an erotic writer than that." -Ms Puddin's mother.

Some things are better left to the imagination…

I learned a few things about my mother recently that I would have been better off not knowing:

1. I found out that my mother blogs too.

2. Besides Harry Potter 7, she has been reading Zane. The top selling African American erotica author. (I don’t know if that is cool or gross).

3. She knows that I blog, but I won’t give her the link. (She asked me the other day if I talk about her on my blog and if that was why I didn’t want her to read it.)

Note: Mommy dearest if you ever find this blog please know that I talk about you because I love you! xoxo

MsP

Devilish Thoughts

I’m starting to get the vibe that I either have really bad taste in men or my taste is so impeccable that I can’t find a guy to meet my criteria.

Disregarding the fact that all my friends hate my ex-boyfriends, I still don't think it's fair that every time I meet a new guy my friends are always telling me, “you could do better”. I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt (sometimes), because I have been known (on more than one occasion) to be intoxicated while giving out my number.

Inexplicably it’s amazing how I often can’t remember the events of any particular night, but still get phone calls later that week from random guys I've “met”. (There are several numbers I have saved in my cell phone under, “don’t know”). And I’ll admit to having a fatal attraction to “bad boys”; the bonafide assholes seem to be my type.

In my mind, the idea of fighting with a man and the possibility of him throwing me up against a wall before we make out is totally hot. It turns me on. Although, dealing with a man of this nature in real life, as opposed to my twisted fantasies, I might end up having to press charges.

I wish that the bad boys that I meet could instead be like in the movies. In the movies the bad boy is more of a hero. There is only one girl he desires and therefore, he is somewhat of an infatuated, unbalanced stalker all rolled into one. Throughout the movie the bad boy’s past unfolds and he struggles to overcome his pain. Thus, turning him into a good boy and by the end of the movie his sexuality comes into question.

Take Spider man for example, now there’s a bad boy heroine that needs to get laid. Yet, on the plus side he’s harmless. So maybe it’s not the hero that does it for me, maybe I’m more into the villain. The guy that is just evil for no apparent reason. He has no family or background except for maybe a son that is a good bad guy, who comes for revenge after living up to an abusive childhood.

Although, from that perspective my bad boy concept transforms into some kind of Star Wars manipulation and Darth Vader doesn’t really do it for me. He would at least have to take off his mask if he’s ever getting down my pants. I want to see what is behind the mask and look deep into the eyes of the man he truly could be.


And there I go being a woman again. Always trying to change a man. I think I’m going to stick to my fantasies, at least then I will always be satisfied...

Ex-pectations

I had a run in with the ex this weekend.

I went from loving him all over again to hating him in less then 20 minutes. Talk about a mood swing, seriously. I wrote a poem professing my undying love for him and was about to post it on my blog, when he pissed me off and I erased it. Which also reminded me why I hate him and why my blog is strictly for venting.

Here’s a brief description of what happened…

I invited slow boy to a lounge on Thursday for some drinks, live music in an atmosphere of laid back people. The performers didn’t go on stage until 11 p.m. and slow boy had to work in the morning, so he passed on the opportunity to be my date.

It was cool. The real reason that I wanted him to tag along was in case my ex showed up. If slow boy and I looked like we were on a date my ex would more than likely leave me alone. So I brought a girlfriend instead as back up. (I try to avoid going places where my ex will be, but somehow it is a small city and no matter where I go, there he is).

The lounge was dimly lit when we walked in and there was a dude smooth talking to some jazz music on stage. I headed straight for the bar and ordered us two drinks, which the creepy guy in the corner ended up paying for -- thanks creepy guy in the corner. Everything was going great and then there he was, my ex, two o’clock.

You know I’m a firm believer that if you personally know someone and they aren’t dead, it is humane to be cordial. So, I tried to hide behind my friend, but he still spotted me and wasted no time in coming over to harass. He suffocated me with a bear hug and was all smiles as he backed me into a corner so we could “talk”. I must admit I’m a sucker for attention, because for some reason I stuck around to listen to his BS. I became weak for all the sweet nothings he was whispering in my ear and that damn forehead kiss. Why did he have to go there? I hate that damn forehead kiss!

The debilitated feeling didn’t last long after he told me he’d “be right back” and I caught him outside, trying to get some other chick’s phone number. Some things never change. I’m glad I caught him before I posted that love poem or that would have been really embarrassing…

Title not necessary , see photo below...

"Never underestimate the power of cleavage."

I have a confession. I love boobs.

No, it’s not in an I-like-to-eat-box kind of way. Yeah sure I’ll admit to checking other women out, but it’s more of comparing the goods. It’s a wanting-what-I-can’t-have sort of way. Something I believe that everyone suffers from a little bit periodically. Whether it’s boobs, hair, having a flashy car, to a lucrative career. There are some things people work hard to achieve that bring about change and some things are inevitable. They just aren’t going to change, like ex- boyfriends and mothers.

Boobs can be changed (silicone) and I have fought with many a people in my life, as to whether or not I should change mine. Family and friends offer alternative suggestions of discouragement to prevent me from going under the knife, like a Victoria Secrets hard-core push-up bra, chicken cutlets or learning to love the boobs that I already have.

I’ve heard that as long as my boobs don’t point towards the ground or are close to the ground, all I really need is a handful. Which is a valid point, because my breasts do rest atop my chest and not my belly button.

Although, if I were to go under the knife, I wouldn’t want some big ol’ watermelon Pamela Anderson jugs anyway.

I know I shouldn’t become plastic like the majority of the general population, but I’ve wanted great big boobs since I saw Shannon Elizabeth feel herself up in the classic, ‘American Pie’. Since posing in Maxim became so popular and since I bought that halter top that doesn’t quite fit right.

Let me put it this way, the only reason I would ever consider bearing children someday would be the possibility of growing some boobs.

Judging by what mainstream media feeds us, I figure I am not the only one with this sadistic attraction to the clumps of fat that can cause accidents. Celebrity nipple expo is so popular and a significant reason why cleavage is such a powerful thing. I mean great boobs can bring a girl good fortunes including free admission, free drinks and getting laid.

And I have met an exceedingly amount of guys who know how to hold great conversations with my nipples.


There was an article on Askmen.com, “Does Size Really Matter,” not too long ago, which had opinions about boobs from a male perspective (not that it matters much). I would like to make it clear that my boobs would be for me and me only, but I thought the article was interesting. See for a man, yes size does matter, so the article compares that answer to that of a woman’s breasts. It stirred up quite a bit of controversy, which I love, so I thought I’d share.

I know I'm great, I share.


http://www.askmen.com/dating/datingadvice/dating6.html