Mr. New Booty

Sorry I’ve been so bootsy on the blogging people, but I met a boy! Yes, Ms Puddin’ has been busy cupcakin’. Jealous? (hee, hee).

Here’s the scoop: It was Sunday night when I was leaving this reggae spot with my girl. I came struttin’ out the club, the wind picked up my hair music video style, there was a twinkle in my eye that said * bink*. I was lookin’ like a 10. (Basically, I managed to get down the front stairs of the club without tripping in my heels and falling on my face).

Outside there was a group of guys standing around, shooting the sh*t and I made them all pause. I brought the milkshake to the yard. I mean the boys. Wait, I mean this one boy. I brought him to my yard, for a shake. Nevermind.

“Ay, can I walk you to your car?” this one boy asked, as he stepped to me.

I gave him the good side eye.

“If you promise not to laugh at it,” I said. “My car that is.” (F*ck y’all, I roll hard in the Honda, what!)

We ended up having a quick, catchy conversation, where I would for the most part say something stupid and he would laugh at me. (I got game b*tches)! Then I gave him my number and he called me the next day. This is weird, because usually guys call me like three weeks later and by the time I remember who the f*ck they are, the conversation gets all awkward.

So anyway, Monday we went on the best date I’ve been on in a long time. I think what was so great about it was all my geeky suggestions on things to do he was totally game. We ended up going bowling. Then we went to TGI Fridays to have some drinks and watch the rest of the Warriors game.

We were enjoying each other’s company so much, he offered to take me to show off his studio, where we made out and had hot kinky sex on the…just kidding. We did go to the studio, where he makes beats, but we didn’t have hot kinky sex. Boo. Instead we ended the night hanging out at my boy’s dive bar. I mean, what a better place to go on a first date than a dive bar?

We hung out again yesterday. I was on cloud nine until he told me that his sister won this Hooters competition and he is going to the Playboy Mansion this weekend. Great, he is going to come back with a giant rubber duckie on his arm and totally forget about me. * tear *

I’ll keep everyone posted…

In the meantime...

I guess since there are a few stragglers in the competition, I’m going to go ahead and hold off on the judging. I wasn’t planning on posting until then, so in the meantime, she’s f*cking Matt Damon...



...and he’s f*ckng Ben Affleck...

The Chick Who Offended My Vagina

Remember before the holiday when I got all mushy talking about a potential bisexual experience? Well the b*tch never called me. So all my curiosity about eating box flew right out the window.

Then similar to the time I had one too many vodka cranberries in a karaoke bar, ya know, the place where the fat guy slouched over the bar for half the night, suddenly gets up and feels the need sing ten Nickleback songs in a row? Yeah, that place. The same karaoke bar where I met (stumbled upon) a guy who later turned me into a pretzel and stuck random gardening tools up my ass. (Don’t tell me this hasn’t happened to anyone else before)…Well like I was saying, the chances of reenacting that experience is parallel to the fact that I bumped into the same chick at the bar Saturday night.

Coincidence? Maybe. Small world? I think not. Me drunk again? Yes, of course.

Let me just say for the record I was on fire that night. I had guys whispering things in my ear like, “Let me buy you two drinks” and “I like your weave” all night. I didn’t get any numbers, but I did get a couple of room keys. Wait a minute, now I get it. Damn. Ok so what I was dressed like a hooker at a pimp convention on 5th street and I watch enough TMZ to know how to correctly flash my vagina. (Thanks Britney!)

Anyway, the chick that hit on me a couple weeks ago was there and she was all up in my ass. No you sick people! Not literally in my ass, she was just jockin’ the goods. She kept trying to dance and rub up on me, while whispering in my ear, “damn girl your bad, your bad.” I’m sorry just because you have a vagina doesn’t mean anything. You got my number and you didn’t call, so stop rubbing up on me. I’m going to treat you like any other man. I demand an explanation! I’m a catch b*tch!

So she starts telling me her see-what-had-happened-was story about how she didn’t want to scare me, blah, blah, blah something about how amazing I am, blah, blah, blah. I know, I know, get to the point. Basically there was no point, so I brushed her off and she spent the rest of the night stalking me. Relentlessly trying to get me into the bathroom so we could make out.

No, I didn't go! It takes three not two drinks to get my shirt off and my tongue out.

At the end of the night she found me again only to remind me that she still had my number and this time she was going to call. I’m so sure and Ms Puddin’ has had gardening tools up her ass before, gah! It doesn't matter if she calls or not, I'm over it. I think I was just caught up in the moment.

So much for the vagina, it's back to the penis...

Spicing Things Up

I have a confession. When I was twelve I loved the Spice Girls. Ok maybe I was thirteen.

I remember listening to their music with my friends. We would each dress up as our favorite group member, (I was always Scary Spice), and we would blast their music singing, “Yo! I’ll tell you what I want, what I really, really want.” We knew who sang what and would point at each other when our Spice Girl’s verse was on. (We could only sing when it was our girl’s turn).

This was before that horrible “Spiceworld” movie and their second album in the U.S. I sort of lost interest after a while, but there was a short fifteen minutes, “when 2 became 1.” Honestly, my Spice Girl moment was short and sweet. No sooner had I fallen in love with the Spice Girls, I was selling their CD back to the store, because it wasn’t “cool” enough to be a fan. The Spice Girl era was over.

Or was it?

Over the summer, the Spice Girls announced their around the world reunion tour. And someone would have to be living in a cave to not know. I was excited, but it wasn’t that big of a deal. Until, some guy at my job got me an extra ticket! I’m pumped! I was already planning on being Scary Spice for Halloween. So I think I will also wear the costume to the concert…

ManDingo Wants to Shaboink-ya: Part II

The saga continues…

Where do I meet these types of guys? Bars mainly. Sometimes in the parking lot of bars…

To get every one up to speed, I’m dating and “new guy” is packin’ in the meat department. He sent me pictures on my cell phone to prove it after I told him that I thought he had a little d*ck. I’m positive it was his shaboinka, because he is all tatted up on his arm and he has a distinct tat on his thumb. The same hand he was holding his shaboinka.

Of course, (not that I’m one to gossip) I went and showed my girls who squealed in an OMG-wtf-is-that tone. See it wasn’t just me. The shock factor towards the “new guy’s” shaboinka was legit. It doesn’t accommodate his persona or his physique. He is not cocky (no pun intended) at all, about 5’11” and fifteen years older than me.

I would like to say the weekend ended there, but it didn’t. The same girls, plus a few more and I, all decided to go out on Saturday night too. We spent the night bar hopping and passing around my cell phone so every one could take a closer look at “new boy’s” shaboinka.

“If you don’t go for it, we will!” said my friends.

The last stop of the night we all decided to go (stumbled) to a dive bar on the far side of town. I knew that “new guy” liked to go there, because I usually bump into him there, so I called (drunk dialed) him to see if he wanted to meet up for drinks.

When “new guy” walked up to the bar about five of my girlfriends were sitting out in front. It was priceless

I think everything switched into slow motion. The wind picked up and “new guy’s” swagger got a little smoother. Two other guys accompanied him on either side and they were all dressed in black. Every single one of my girlfriends (heffas) hopped up surrounding him, groping him. Saying things like, “hayyyyyyy”, and “ooo, I like your tattoos” or “what’s your nationality?” in sexy voices. (He's Portuguese for the record).

If I thought I was embarrassed when he told me I told him I thought he had a little d*ck, I thought wrong. This moment was embarrassing. It reminded me of this one time in high school, when I was at a house party and I fell down a long staircase. I landed flat on my face, the record scratched and every one gasped. In front of the bar I turned the same bright shade of red.

How could he NOT know I showed them the pictures? He looked over at me and grinned sheepishly. Ha! ManDingo was just a embarrassed as I was.

The night ended shortly after that when we found one of the girls in the bathroom with her pants around her ankles. She was crying hysterically and had mascara running down her cheeks.

I still don't know what to do about "new boy".

A part of me wants to test drive it and another part is telling me to stay away, far, far, away...

Just out of curiosity...

Who brought back bow-chick-a-wow-wow?

I don't have cable this summer, did I miss something???

Rushing into Things...

I think it would be superfluous of me to say, I told you so, but I'm going to go ahead and say it anyway...

Disappointing sequels: Shrek 3, Ocean's Thirteen, Pirates of The Caribbean 3 and (I'm going to also include) Transformers...

The good news is that Rush Hour 3 is coming out this summer!!


*sigh* Chris Tucker, you have been missed...MsP