in other funny news, someone searched google for this, and bumped into this blog.

why were you scouring the land of blog for Mrs.P i wonder?

really, is it possible that i am sick again?

i feel like shit.

yesterday's hangover x323235534 is how i feel right now.

you know what's funnier than doing blow with a bathroom attendant at a bar? having to be told about it the next day.

sweet jesus. when you quit drinking for a few weeks, your tolerance goes to shit.

my etiquette piece is out for the world to see tomorrow. am i allowed to post it here too?

i'm having problems with homonyms today.

and i'm going home to the beach on friday. i'm so excited i don't really know what to do with myself.

maybe get a brazilian?

you know what i'm into these days: lists.

the adderall has turned me into a quasi organizational freak.

i'm exhausted.


another weekend come and gone. another guy blown in harriet's bathroom. the saga continues..

i've said it before and i'll say it again.

rainy days in manhattan suck.

maybe not if you're snug in your bed with or without your favorite brown haired, blue eyed beau.

speaking of which

i always wonder where my favorite homeless guy goes when it rains.

i always walk past his usual spot. looking for signs that he was there earlier, but woke up and moved because it was raining. like his outline should be there in a dry spot.

does he double as a mole person?

i think that mole people are really in secret societies. they tell you it's the last stop. but that's just a facade. they use the rats to throw the squares off. come one now, you've got crazy, crackie, and just plain broke- the ringleaders. and then you've got the artists and writers who would rather live in the trenches down below the ground than live in the trenches in a stuffy office, doing something they dont really even care about. it's probably really a 24/7 party.

sometimes i think it would be cool to go to a party in a mole cavern.

hey man, we're going down to the 6 at 33rd street tonight for a killer party. uptown tunnel, 3rd right. 8 kegs. lots of beautiful people (not to mention crazy, crackie, and just plain broke). i hear they're having muralists doing caricatures and live entertainment: banjos and harmonicas and bucket drums. and you can't even imagine the drugs that'll be there.

it sounds just like parties we used to have in highschool at beach houses and river houses and hunting camps. only in addition to crazy, crackie and just plain broke, we had fratty, frattier, and many a rich hippy.

highschool parties were fantastic. everything was so carefully choreographed.

i had a few parties here and there.

what a great feeling it was to find out your parents were going out of town. it took a lot of planning to invite all of the cool people whilst simultaneously throwing losers and thugs off the scent. there's always something so, i'm-cooler-than-you about hosting a party.

you have your friends, and blah blah blah, but then there was the booze element.

enter 22 year old dork who still goes to highschool parties and doesn't mind supplying the alcohol.

fortunately, we didn't always have to go to those desperate lengths. my older sister and i doctored up one of her international IDs when i was 15, and i've never looked back.

iwas lucky in that my fabulously cool older sister showed me the ropes. everything she ever got caught for, i was able to pull off, tenfold, simply because i took very thorough notes. (a side note: the only thing i was never quite able to seamlessly achieve was throwing the chain fire escape ladder out of the third floor window, past my parents' bedroom window, and shading off into the night for some post-curfew scandal. i am secretly very jealous of this accomplishment on her part). anyway, among the things i learned from older sister:

-let the guards and any nosy neighbors know you are planning an "event" of sorts. that way, no one will be surprised when cars line your street and there are youngsters and ruffians coming in and out of every orifice of your house. one great story is the "young life lock in." it was good enough for my sister, it was good enough for me, and it is certainly good enough for the next generation of highschool beasties. ahhh, like the very good christian soldiers that we were.

-take a mental inventory of the positioning of every thing you intend to move. i'm talking down to the throw pillows on the parlor sofa. my sister was busted big time once for hiding mother's jewelry, putting vases back in wrong spots, making beds incorrectly, and other such nonsense.

-if you're going to steal dad's vodka, atleast have the common courtesy to fill it back up with water.

-it's alright for your friends to have sex in every room in the house, as long as it is not yours. i am still holding a grudge over a box of wet n wild condoms that was unearthed from beneath my bed one morning after a party. there is a hard and fast rule about my bed: the only unbridled passion that should ever be going on there should involve me. period.

-microphones and amplifiers often seem like a good idea, until the neighbors "happen" by.

-jacuzzi tubs in parents' bathrooms that could potentially overflow and leak onto the kitchen table are usually a buzzkill.

-it is not always easy to convince your mother that yes, those kool-aid stains were always on the porch.

-and if all else fails, deny deny deny.

last night when i got in, a little drunk, i for some reason felt compelled to dig through my shelves to find a literary masterpiece to cozy up with

the pearl

is all i could find


you know, it's all about weights and balances people. hmmmm.... bring a boy home? or read the pearl? tough call.

kino won out.

i think i've reached a new low. for 2 reasons:

1-i came home and in my drunkenness craved, not sex or food, but literature

2- the best i could do was the pearl.

not that it isn't a good book.

but literally i brought none of my intellectual reading with me.

now that i think about it, had i had an abundance of literary masterpieces on the shelves, i probably still would have selected the pearl because it doesn't look so daunting.

90 pages.

a simple mexican folk tale laden with love, evil, and lessons in human nature.



so, as i

passed
out

i had tiny visions of books and essays and literary genius dancing in my head.

i woke up at 1pm. ate some really gross oatmeal.

today's mission:

restock the shelves. time for a tune up. time to revisit all of the works that i had forgotten, cast aside for cliff's version, or just not understood in highschool and college. time to step away from my lover, my tele.

to borders.


the bronte sisters, george orwell, voltaire, vintage nabakov, kafka, kerouac, thomas hardy

today, i start to re-congeal and re-solidify the mush that has become my brain.

working on saturdays is a huge bummer.

we have to "clean" our office tomorrow. what the hell.

isn't that what we have a "cleaning crew" for?

blech. i work at a bloody sweatshop.

so it's an early eve, but that's ok-- tomorrow night will be grizzly.




tonight we looked at pictures.


old ones.

they reminded me of all kinds of events that have swished around and regurgitated me. exactly the way i am right now.

the pile of vomit that is my life.

but in a good way.

not vomit as in the veg-all and turkey loaf that you may have had for dinner.

vomit as in a big mish mash of detritus that is "all going to the same place."

up and out

..and then there's me.

it's such a weird thing, flipping through pictures.

maybe it's the essence of your life. but it's fuzzy. the tracking is bad. you can't quite make it out. but oh, i remember those pants!

and that pen in his hand- he had the worst handwriting!

random things.

maybe worthless?

maybe imperfect.

maybe perfectly imperfect.

maybe these things remind you of the way you wanted it to be.

maybe they remind you of how it really was.

and of why you are the way you are now.

and where you wanted to go.

and where you find yourself now.

this must be the place.

i look at this picture: wow. i had no idea what it was like to be in love there. or this one- i was so secure, i had never lived 2000 miles from home before. or here. i chastized my sister for smoking that joint. i had no idea that i would find myself a stoner in '98. a coke head in '03. struggling to balance recklessness with normalcy in '04.

maybe you realize you're a hasbeen.

maybeyourealizeyou'rea never was.

maybe you smile to yourself.

this must be the place.

i am in the wrong industry.

or else the wrong side of my industry.

i went to this brilliant party for press types- all big editors of fashion mags and blah blah blah- and got tons of fabulous, not to mention free, product.

open bar
trips to mexico
makeovers
foot massages
sushi
and zillions of giveaways

i think i will start throwing parties like this.

then i will be the coolest girl in the neighborhood.

this emmy award winning makeup gal did my face tonight. everyone was going on and on about it. ooooh... ahhhh... i was pumped to finally get to check it out for myself.
emmy winning my ass.
i looked like a drag queen.

pisser.

in 3 weeks i will be writing a guest column for a dc publication for capitol hill. it just so happens that this is an etiquette column, which i find extremely amusing.

when i got the call i thought, ha! i have managed to fool someone into thinking that i am proper enough to write a guest spot in their etiquette column. then, the second half of the conversation was devoted to telling me that what i write must be appropriate.

what did these people think i was going to write about? his and hers pubic hair maintenance?

aww, come now.

since when does crotch hygiene not fall under the category of "appropriate."



this weekend has been the least fun weekend i've had, since being single. being sick is a total bust. and it pisses me off beyond belief. i like for my weekends to be full of long nights, hangovers, shopping, and food. i don't really think that is too much to ask. this weekend i have participated in exactly none of the afformentioned activities.

not even eating..too much sick & too much adderall.

blech. i'm getting out of this hell hole.

georgi the inebriator, first cousin to vladimir, is not your friend.
i may or may not have gotten kicked out of radio city music hall last night.
oh, and my friends aren't speaking to me.


fucking awesome

ahh the shocker... symbol of wisdom and courage throughout the ages.

i don't care, the shocker is undeniably funny. here are some highlights, if there are such things as shocker highlights.



2 in the slit, 1 in the shit
2 in the pie, 1 in the eye
2 in the giney, 1 in the hiney
2 in the snatch, 1 in the hatch
2 in the fun, 1 in the bun
2 going down, 1 in the brown
2 in the gash, 1 in the stash
2 for the crack, 1 in the back
2 in the slit, 1 in the shit
2 for the taco, 1 for her Paco
2 in the door, 1 in the gore
2 for the beav, 1 up her sleeve
2 for the meat, 1 in her seat
2 in the flap, 1 in the crap
2 in the gear, 1 in the rear
2 for the pumper, 1 for the dumper
2 for the tube, 1 with some lube
2 in the cunt, 1 in the grunt
2 in the sock, 1 for the shock
2 in the junk, 1 in the trunk
2 in the porn, 1 for the corn
2 in the pink slot, 1 in the stink pot
2 in the poon, 1 on the moon
2 in the hinge, 1 makes you cringe
2 for the stabbin, 1 for the cabin
2 in the muff, 1 in the stuff
2 in the chute, 1 in the poot
2 for the team, 1 in the steam


go to this site for these and many more shocker quips.