Mitzi Moments

Probably the only good thing about Spring’s reluctant return is that it’s given us a couple more weeks before open-toe season begins. While the Lord knows how excited I am to chuck those heavy ass Gortex snow boots to the back of my closet, mama’s monthly budget is so not looking forward to the weekly cost of the mandatory mani/ pedi.  Okay? 

Which led me to recall yet another long lost poll question that I never discussed: What takes priority- bikini area or fresh mani/ pedi? (See, it might take a while, but I always get it in.)
74% said that fingers and toes are most important because they’re the thing that everyone sees. While  25% went with the bikini area because its the area the most important people see, no?
Hmmm, this was a tough one. But personally, I think I’m rocking with the minority. Oh and it has absolutely nothing to do with who is or isn’t lucky enough to get up close and personal, thank you very much.  Nope, there’s just too much riding on a well groomed bikini area.
I mean there’s  the obvious- appearance. Talk about a pretty panty killer.  Nothing says, ‘vomit in your mouth’ more than the chick in the gym locker room strolling around with TUFTS  of pubs poking around the side of her drawers.  Listen here honey, I don’t give a good goddamn how much you paid for that La Perla set. If you’ve got a bush situation, its a wrap.
And then you already know my forreal, forreal pet peeve- smell. Don’t you think it’s hard enough to stay fresh and clean when the outside temperature rises?  Why add a handful of hair to the mix? All up in the crease of your leg and butt cheeks?  Uuugh, call me neurotic but I can’t.
So yes, stepping out with the butter soft heels and fresh to death polish job is an important part of your personal appearance (otherwise, I wouldn’t be looking for quarters in the back of my couch to add to the pretty toes trust fund). But please believe, my priority is to keep it tight behind the scenes. Because when I put my undies on one leg at a time, everything needs to fit inside.

I love the hell outta my ‘hood but I HATE my local post office.  

No matter the time of the day, whenever I walk in there are at least 25 smelly people waiting in line and only two dusty ass service windows open. Talking about they’re sorry for the long wait but the branch is severely understaffed. 
Bump that! We can ALL see the five random employees milling around behind the 1000 year-old teller doing a whole lot of NOTHING. Why don’t you go tell Maria and Jose to stop eating the arroz con pollo and come do something?? DAMMIT!
Not for nothing, I thought you had to at least have a GED to work for the US government? Am I right? So what’s the problem?  Why is something so simple as choosing to pay for the stamps with my American Express card seem like I’m asking you to go through Armageddon??
Ay con Dios.

Okay normally there is nothing funny about a suicide.  I repeat, nothing funny. But the keyword in the previous phrase would be NORMALLY.  

Yesterday afternoon,  a 50 year-old woman jumped to her death from the third floor of the Queens Center Mall atrium and wait on it… LANDED on a 17 year-old high school kid down below!!
Apparently Derrick Munoz and his girlfriend were reclining in some leather massage chairs when ‘ole girl landed dead on his head and knocked him THE FUCK OUT. Mmm-hmmm… And you know Jesus got jokes when the sign on the back of the chair said, “Sit back and relax.”
Not SIT BACK and RELAX!!! 
OK, on the forreal, forreal, who does something like this?  Who jumps over the banister in a crowded mall? And from the 3rd floor?  Come on now ma, you weren’t even going hard. I know you know somebody with a balcony on the top floor of one of those 30-story project housing buildings. If it’s your last statement, why not make it count?  Sigh, unbelievable.
Thankfully, poor Derrick finally regained consciousness in the ambulance en route to the hospital.  And aside from a large gash on his head there were no other visible signs of injury. 
Ding, ding, ding…

Okay so just when I thought it was going to be a quiet day in the headlines, I peeped this article about a deranged FL mother shooting her own kid to death because wait on it… the looney toon honestly believed she was Satan. And that by murdering her child, she was ‘saving his soul.’ Um yeah, write that down.

Apparently, 44 year-old Marie Moore took her 20 year-old son to a shooting range, waited for him to get settled in the practice range booth and then proceeded to blow the back of  his head off. 
Check out the above photo that was captured on the security camera… Just. Like. That.
Now here’s my main problem with this madness-cause there are just so many things wrong- this chick had a history of schizophrenia. And apparently, she had tried to kill herself in the shooting range before. Why in the slack-ass-FL-state-gun-law-hell was this nutjob allowed back up in the spot???
I swear, it’s like nowadays they got tighter security in a damn mall department store than a shooting range. Sigh. 
Jesus please ring the bell, we need to stage an immediate do-over on that one right there.

Good lord its a slow news days… 

And since I have zero emotional energy to discuss the abducted 8 year-old girl whose body was just found stuffed in a freaking suitcase in a dairy farm pond,  I figured we’d dig in the crates and discuss the results to one of my older poll questions…
Okay, this was an interesting one: 
Do you think watching porn reduces or increases performance anxiety?
78% of you said that it reduces your stage fright while 21% insist it only made your nerves bad. Interesting.
Personally, I’m neutral on this one. I can leave or take the porn- it does absolutely nada for the kid. If anything, I think I find it so outrageously staged that it becomes laughable. Sure having a penis pounding in your ear and another simultaneously in your butt is a turn-on, sure it is. Insert image of my patented blank stare with exactly three blinks.
In spirit of full disclosure- Im pretty sure my mental ‘block’ on the virtues and pleasures of porn has everything to do with the trifling first experience I had back in the day. Let me tell you what had happened-
For whatever reason, the second dude I ever tried to have sex with could not for the life of him stay hard.  It was so tragic. Mind you, if his pants were on then we were all good.  But as soon as he started to get undressed and I could actually look AT the penis (and you know my STD paranoid behind insisted on looking), it’d shrivel right up. Uh-huh, you do the math.
Needless to say, by the third attempt to disrobe, I was 1-800-D-O-N-E. On some, “I don’t know what’s going on with YOU and THAT but as for me, I’m finished here” type ish. In response this fool, grabs me by the arm and is like, “wait, wait, don’t get dressed! I know what it it is!  I just need to see some porn. Do you have any magazine or tapes?”  Um, EXCUSE YOU???
Shoot, it’s bad enough I was all up in my mother’s house acting too grown for the road and then you wanna ask somebody to play you a dirty movie?? Negro is you CRAZY???  Trust, that fool barely finished  getting dressed before I put that ass the hell out.  Kick rocks!
Sigh, and ever since then, I’ve givin’ porn the real side-eye.  I’m not mad, if it’s your thing. But on GP (general principle) I just can’t get worked up about it.  Period.