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Thursday, May 15, 2008

My Apologies..And A Picture Story

So I apologize my dear readers for being so distant recently...I have been a horrible blogger, waiting almost a week to repost, not commenting on anyone's pages..talking shit about all of you to my Mom....I have just been a bad bad blogger and I deserve a serious spanking...from someone whom is very very hot ...(I am guessing Cajun Boy, you might be up for this challenge?)
But I digress.
There is a reason for this and it is called having a severe, scientific case of, "moppyness". You see I am having what some people might refer to as "problems with the men-folk".
I don't understand what is going on with me recently. There have been many men in the past three months that have come in and out of my life , including a few ex boyfriends as well...and for some reason I cannot get a firm grip on anything. They all keep drifting in and out of my life like the bad service waiters at the Times Square TGIFridays who never bring you back the lemon for your water because all I wanted was a LEMON AND A DAMN SIDE OF HONEY MUSTARD!
Instead of going into some deep long post about my "feelings" and why I have been feeling so "depressed" recently and blahdiddy blah blah..I figured I would do a picture story...because AIN'T THAT SPECIAL...
SO recently I have been a bit of this:
Which has subsequently lead me to much of this:

Now to help myself I have gone with the timeless remedy of lots of this:

And some even more of this:
Which unfortunately ends up making a lot of this happen:

That is normally followed by some of these:

Which actually looks more like some of these:


Which is followed by more of this:


Thursday, May 8, 2008

We Don't Call Them Strippers Anymore..We Call Them Money Belt Attendents

Ok Kim, you can do this…you can do this...” I was prepping myself in the back of my mind. “Just walk in, just walk in like you do this all the time, like it’s no big deal...it’s no big deal...”
“COMMON KIMM..” I heard someone say.

I stared at the front door of the strip club. How I had been talked into this I have no idea. I would never want to do this in a million years. My friends had to forcefully drag me here to ever get me to go…. And by “drag” , some may say is an overstatement, and some people might also say it was was “my idea” to go to a strip club, but those people are filthy liars!

When I walked into the lobby of the club it was like going into one of those really scary Halloween Haunted Houses. The ones you know you want to go one , just to experience it, but at the same time, you have no clue what’s going to happen to you once you enter and you kept telling yourself, you are at the state fair for God’s Sake and the only scary thing inside there is some flashing lights and a pot bellied man named Bingo who runs the haunted trailer. It was like the midnight thrill ride at Spooky Town, except without the Silence of the Lambs facemasks. (Do not even pretend like you haven’t been to Spooky Town)

I walked up to the front desk.

“30 dollars,” the woman behind the counter said.

“30 Dollars! 30 dollars! But I’m a girl!” I screamed. “I’ve seen girl parts before! I have my own! I can see myself naked all the time if I want!”

She just went back to filing her nails, rolling her eyes, “30 dollars” she repeated.

I didn’t pay 30 dollars last week for a button up green blouse at The GAP yet, I’m offering up 30 bucks to see Candy rip off her edible thong and throw it over my face. Perfect.

I took out money from my pocket and placed it on the counter.

After arriving I agreed to please my guy friends and let one of the strippers eat a dollar bill out of my bra. I figured it was like doing charity work and I could probably write it off in next year’s taxes.

As she approached me she was swinging her hips around and had on nothing more than a money garter belt.

“Hi…umm….how are you?” I said. “I like the color of your top…err um, your half-top?”

She looked down at me and smiled.

Ok, well…see..the thing is..I’ve never been here before..” I started to say.

“What?” she asked, leaning in closer.

“I’VE NEVER BEEN TO A STRIP CLUB” I screamed over the music.

She smiled at me.

“So …ummm…well…when you eat the dollar bill out of umm, my bra…can you umm…can you not touch me with your boobs please?”

“What?” she asked again, leaning in closer to hear me.

“CAN YOU NOT TOUCH ME WITH YOUR BOOBS PLEASE?” I screamed. …“Please just don’t touch me with your boobs… like when you lean over, can you keep your boobs out of the way? ..I just...well umm..I just don’t want you to touch me with anything…dirty.”

She laughed a bit, “Ok”, she said. “I promise I won’t touch you. Just lean forward.”

I moved in closer and she leaned over and ate out the dollar bill right out of my bra. It was all very skillful too, like she had done it before.
Odd.

I smiled, pulling my black button down sweater up a bit.

I could hear my guy friends howling and clapping.

“Thanks..” I said. “That was ..umm..nice.”

She smiled.

She was just standing there, staring at me awkwardly for a moment.

Is this when I was supposed to talk to the stripper? Was I supposed to engage her in some sort of conversation? I don’t know all the stripper rules yet!

So I just started talking.

ME- “So I have been thinking about investing in my own money garter belt…I mean you never know when you are going to need one of those things right?’

She just stared at me.

ME-“I mean, I feel like I could use it for other things too you know, like to hold my Starbucks around my leg in the morning and what not...”

Blank stare.

ME-“You know it’s funny, I never realize how hard it is to talk to women, cause you talk to men and it’s like blah blah blah I have boobs, I win the conversation….know what I’m sayin sista!”

More blank staring.

ME-“I bought this sweater from Old Navy.”

HER-“You work in the Navy?”

ME- “Umm….yeah.”

Stripper walks away.

Monday, May 5, 2008

The Four Levels of Lady Folks




all mah crazy bitches throw ya hands up!...i dont know where the woman in the pink got her suit...but
damn it's poppin


Upon much scientific data and thorough forensic reports I have come to the conclusion that there are four types of girls in the world.

Now I know what you are going to say, “But Kim, how can you be so discriminatory towards your own gender and equate all women to being in specified and visionary entities?!”

And to that I would respond, “Poop on you.”

Now let us begin.

The first category I would like to call Level 1 . Level 1 girls are those girls who should not exist within society, but unfortunately they do. These are the girls who are ridiculously beautiful, do not know they are beautiful and are also sweet, nice and classy. Essentially, someone needs to do something about these bitches. They are bringing the rest of us down. They are those tall brunette girls on the trains holding their clueless ugly Nine West handbag, because they are too beautiful to know what is in fashion and too sweet to care regardless. These types of women find boyfriends by simply turning around the wrong way on the street and have mindless jobs and don’t worry about much more then being sweet, baking pies, getting married and being ‘unknowingly’ beautiful. Someone needs to fucking stop breeding these women, and get rid of them before I have to rat poison every one of their Cranberry Surprise drinks, Sweet Sally Jessie Rafael I'll do it I swear!

The second Category I would like to refer to as, Level B 1. This is the category wherein I will include myself. And I know what you’re thinking, “Sooo this must be the ridiculously good looking and intelligent category?” And I might be tempted to even say yes to that one. But alas, no. This is the “I think I am ridiculously good looking and intelligent category.” As one of my friends says her favorite quote of mine is, “I am one of those girls who thinks she is better looking then she is.” Now the problem with all women in this category is that they have "boyfriend’ trouble"...*cough* WHAT?! *cough* WHO?!....Yes, see us Level B 1 girls, are cute, have jobs, strive for more in life then just the usual ‘pie baking’, many of us have advanced degrees and serious non flaking lip-gloss (sephoria #10 for real bitches, try it). But that is just the problem, we “think” too much. Think about our looks. Think about our jobs , think about our relationships. And as I always say, I believe we need to start doing less “thinking” and more “uterus-ing”.

The thirds category is the non-thinking non-overly beautiful girls. I will refer to this as Level 1 C. Level 1 C is also a freewheeling lifestyle, where these ladies don’t think too much about their looks, they are cute, on-the-border-of-average-on-the-border-of-unremarkable, but in a good way. They flow in and out of social situations, making a joke here and there, tend to have good jobs that dont over-think. Average looks that they aren’t over-thinking. And tend to be pro’s in the dating arena. Mostly because they find a man who likes them and they stick with him. ..."Wait, what?! Did I just hallucinate? So you are saying Kim that some girls just find a guy…and date him? No questions asked? No over-analyzing? No diecting his Lee Jeans that he wears on Sundays?" Ahh yes, that is correct my lady friends. Some girls out there just take what comes their way. Lee jeans or no Lee jeans.


The final category I will call The Hopeless women of Level F 2. These women are in and out of jobs they can’t keep, have trouble with the men folk, and try way to damn hard at everything. These are the girls I find myself just shaking my head at when they enter the bar with some too tight jean skirt on, red lipstick and big hair. These girls are on big hot mess. And I love em for it, sweet mary Magdaline do I love these damn women! They are just hopeless, dressing like a country rock star on 80’s night in Nashville, own purses that dangle (if I have to explain that one then we need more then just 1 email) and have apartments with figurines. You have to love these women, because when it comes to life, they are just lost. It was like they got on the turkey truck to crazy town and have been applying hot pink eye shadow ever since. These women are the kind men SHOULD date, but wont. And they will marry someone named Earl and own numerous Hot Tools

and will buy a house that’s a fixer-upper with no plans of fix-en. These women are doing one thing right though…using their uterus’ a lot.

Thursday, May 1, 2008

Texting Love

I truly believe this video is a clear example of the life I live. And more importantly I even own the Girl phone in that color. This video is art. And Life. And Jesus. All rolled into one.

Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Military Boy...Part 2


So I have this fantasy. And not like a sexual fantasy....and not even like my normal fantasy where a bunch of firemen come to a roof deck in Brazil to show me their hoses. Seriously, their hoses, I mean you just can’t even believe how strong the water flow is on those damn things.


But I digress:

So I have been having a fantasy about Military Boy...a “daydream” if you "intellectuals" will.


It goes something like this.

Military Boy gets hurt in Iraq…but not like hurt-hurt, just something small, just something small enough where they have to send him back home. Maybe like gets a pinkie finger blown off or something, something that doesn’t really matter. Or gets appendicitis …yes! That’s it! Needs an appendectomy…or maybe a really bad bladder infection (can dudes get those?).


So he gets this “small injury” and they need to send him home…but not just home, to a hospital…and not to just any hospital...but whatever medical procedure they need to do to him can only be done by the hospital that is a block away from my apartment. Because the only real appendectomies place happens to be across the street. And his family, well his poor family, is out there living in the South, probably miles away from running water and cannot fly to come see him…..

Who is the bitch in the white dress trying to steal my thunder?


So guess who he has to call? …No no, not the girls from Scores... no, he has to call ME ..And I walk into the hospital room, and he is laying there and looks up, and I am like a vision, probably wearing my purple dress with the V-Neck that caused me to max out my Banana Republic card, and it breezes around as I walk in the room, because there is always a light breeze from somewhere.

I spend the whole week with him, caring for him and I bring gifts and fruit and laptops and puppies....And by the time his parents finally arrive at the hospital, I am laying there on the hospital couch, asleep... Exhausted from all the “caring”.


And his parents look over at me and then look at Military Boy and say, “wow, she must be one amazing woman to stay here with you all this time.” And he bows his head and says, “She is Mom…she really is…”

End Scene.

Soooo, I know what you’re thinking…this could really happen…right?

Thursday, April 24, 2008

Someone Please Explain To Me What Is Going On In The World

So this past weekend was so complex it has taken me a few days to digest it all, and not just the whole, tricky-007-shitting part. Although I will address that since I know you are all curious.

Let me first start by easing your minds and saying that I feel sorry for whomever had to clean the bathrooms at the CheeseCake Factory, because essentially that is where two days worth of shitting went down. Well of course, I emerged from the bathroom doing the whole , “My mom called” line, so I was "distracted by the call" yaddy yaddy ya. I don’t even remember what I said, I think it may partly have been in English, and the other part in Zimbabwean, but all I know is I got to shit and it didn’t have to be at his house and that is all that matters to me and Jesus.

Continuing on.

Now in the history of men, I have been thrown a lot of things... things like , “I have to move out to LA for my acting career” (lie) …“My ex girlfriend and I are getting back together” (lie) … “Kim you are just too beautiful and looking directly into your eyes blinds me” (truth) …

But this weekend I think I have officially heard it all.

So the first night, when the movie finally ended, I did what any normal chick from the Northeast would do…I jumped him. Didn’t really give him a choice in the matter, because frankly, who needs choices and opinions? Certainly not the men I date, that is for sure.

Now let us skip ahead to what some may call “Day 2” …or as I like to refer to it, “The Day the World Imploded”.

Let me set the scene:

Laying there. On the bed. He is watching Law and Order. I am switching positions with my legs figuring out in which position do they look the tannest.

So then of course, after about 4 or 5 minutes of nothing, I decide to become Kim the Rapest again and go after him. So I turn over to kiss him….and he stop me. Just stops. Just like that. Like the, “Hold the train Mr. Conductor The Penis Express is making a stop!”

Looks at me and says, “Don’t you feel…you know…guilty about last night?”

Me (looking confused) “Guilty? Umm no…I could find another adjective…like satisfied perhaps?”
Him (looking strained) “No, I mean, because we are not boyfriend/girlfriend…I just think that…..”

WAIT FOR IT….WAIT FOR IT……….WAIT FOR IT…


Him: “I just think people should only sleep together if they are in a committed relationship.”

Outside-World implodes. Children scream. The heavens burst.

Me: “I’m sorry, what? I think I just hallucinated…what did you say?”

Him: “ I just don’t think its right for us to be sleeping together if we aren’t in a committed relationship yet.”


(Scene ends. Fades to black)

Kim sleeps alone that night.

Can someone explain to me what’s going on? Because now I am questioning the world, the universe, every single disciple…what in the name of tomfoolery just happened here??

Before you respond though I will give you two details of backstory, he is southern and in a military branch. Does this change things? Does this make me less of a whore? Does this make me more of a whore? Does this mean we really do know how much wood a wood chuck could chuck if a wood chuck could chuck wood?

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

Watch! Magazine...and Other Things You Will Buy

Go pick up CBS' Watch! Magazine today! It can be found at any major magazine stand...located next/near/around the TV Guides. Then shove any small children or people in wheelchairs out of the way to get you copy!


(hint: click on the picture below to make it large enough to read.)

I don't want to get your emails saying... "Kim, what is this, a center for ants?!"