No Nerve, Never: May 2006

Tuesday, May 30, 2006

i thought i had nothing to say

but a mid-day word grind has convinced me otherwise....

i'm grinding.

grinding.

e-grinding with a friend of mine, who i happened to ask out on a date last year...

i wanted him, parts of me still want him, though it's no longer uncomfortable.
nothing is or ever will be as uncomfortable as the day i emailed him to ask him out, thought he had left for vacation, and found him sitting in his cubicle the next day.

i pulled a weiner move and got caught in the act.

i only asked him out because i thought i would never see him again, with the exception of making out with him in a hot and unbridled manner...

but i ran into him about 16 hours after i pressed send, and i was forced to confront my loose fingers...

back to my original point...

i emailed him, back and forth...back and forth...today...

about 5 minutes ago i was composing a verbal masterpiece...

effing microsoft word...

i meant to write i need a nap...
i wrote i need anap...
microsoft word auto-corrected to i need anal...

could you imagine?
have you ever?

effing a, bitch.

that would have been uncomfortable.
it's been almost a year since the incident, me asking him out through shady webmaster means...

then, imagine, i write an email to him...i need anal...

i caught that emmer effer...corrected it to i need a nap...and logged off...

i am learning my limits.

i know when to stop.

i am beginning my 12 step, interweb trollers unlimited unite, program today.

one scare is enough.

Monday, May 29, 2006

this is dedicated to the one i love

it doesn't get mo' betters than crying over dj temporicans post...
after having eaten one too many dumplings at dinner this evening, my tummy is full.
and, now, so is my heart.
i know i found this missing link in temps.
you know that cloth, that cloth she speaks of...
there was this hole in it, right in the middle, you know...
and you know what, she's that piece.
that piece, you know, at the heart of the cloth...the core of the cloth, that was missing.
she filled it in, and now i am whole.

i cannot wait til temps is home, for into my arms i want her to run.
i love temps.
i love her with all my heart.
without her, this blog would not exist.
without her, i would have never quit nerve.
she's filled the void.
won me over with her witty ways, tales, dance moves and contagious laughter.
everywhere i went this weekend, she lingered...
for barnes and noble, which i visited once a day to read and support the starbucks monopoly, played the jewel cd on a loop...
i heard hands at least once a day, and i knew temps was forever by my side. she was here all along. she never went to puerto rico, the shining star, she was like sade...by my side

i cannot wait to hamburger with her.
for she is my carne goddess.

and this rant may have nothing and everything to do with dates.
and it's a shout back at my gurl...
and the many ways she has touched my life, changed my life and added to it.
she's my other part of it and by it, i mean she my first my last - my errything.
my untouched part. the pure. the untainted. the side of my webbing and trolling that strives to heal the greater good...
right now, my heart is whole.
now that i'm wrapped, imma calling her.
just to hear her voice.
and...
to tell her i love her.
and to tell her that i would do her too.
because there's no one more gorgeous and good spirited and beautiful. a true being of light this dj temporican is. she is...
buenos noche.

Sunday, May 28, 2006

on how much we've changed

since i am in Puerto Rico, and it's raining, i thought i'd give y'all a little history about how Crutcha and I became friends.
it's relevant because i can't stop calling her from here, and i thought i'd give her a break and write about her instead.

T.C., as i affectionally want to start calling her, and i have known each other for a few years, but it was not until very recently that we realized that we are crutched up soul sisters.
and we realized this at H&M.
we celebrated by getting drunk that night.

you see, upon sharing some stories, we realized that our lives have been eerily similar. there are the obvious differences, i mean, i'm from the streets of San Juan, and she's crutched and raised in the BK. HOWEVER, the stuff that matters (not just sex), the stuff that comes out of our hearts and minds, is living proof that we are cut from the same cloth. a crutched cloth. a cloth that is obsessed with cookies and beef. and our impending trip to Jamaica.

the thing about T.C. is that she does not realized how wonderful she is. i mean, i'd totally hit it. and i would have already, if she weren't so fucking straight. not that i'm not into the men, but i'm just sayin'.

either way, i think the only way to really understand our friendship is to call up the person in the cube behind you, take her to H&M, and later gorge on beef patties in coco bread and Ting.

only then can you form a bond as deep as ours. and by that i mean the only thing this post has to do with online dating is that i want to have sex with Crutcha on the internet.

Thursday, May 25, 2006

the master has come back

damien marley has stolen my heart and every feeling from my body.

i'm listening to him now, and his voice is intoxicating.

and by intoxicating, i mean i would love to bed someone while listening to him.

and by that i mean, i'm in a drought and fantasy keeps my bed burning.

damien wasn't the point of this.

the point was to let you know that i didn't perform today.

he wasn't at work...turd.

him not being at work forced a smallish word grind to happen between me and last years summer jam.

crutched.
effed.

i'm mad at myself for doing it, and i'm thankful that my access to the interweb will be intermittent this weekend.

i need a cleansing.
i wonder how long my honky ass can go with out trolling the web all together.
one month of not nerving was quite the accomplishment. i can't imagine what i would do, watching the hours dwindle throughout the day, sans webbing.

eff that noise.
i would never.

i quit smoking.

i had a total of 3 drags this week, fine.

quitting the world wide is too mas.

it takes too much.

i mean if i never went webbing or friendstering, i never would have met summer jam.
and i'm actually happy i met him.
we never would have been able to plan pajama parties without it.
what's life without a pajama jammy jam, with a side of jacked up summer semi-boning and groping...for good measure?
it's not worth trolling through life without those key elements.

off of this, and back to the r. kelly incident that did not happen.

8:47am:
temps greeted me, gave me the approval on the polka dot dress. we had coffee. she dropped me off at work.

9:37am:
imma bouts ready to die of explosivo

10:22am:
are you ready?
yes i'm ready.
i shook it down the hallways of my workplace, shakin dat azz like i was workin for cash. no sign of him.

10:39am:
after two rounds of healthy trollage,i went to my friends cubicle. i asked her if she thought it would be a good idea for me to hold IT mans nameplate next to my heart, do the bump and grind r. kelly remix tribute and have her videotape it...
she said she wanted no -part of it.
she wants no part of my anitcs.
especially since i lifted my dress in front of her, last week, and her supervisor came out of his office and caught me flashing my panties in the tape library.

forced...
i took matters, once again, into my own hands...

i revisited my high school mentality.

who does he sit next to?
that's right...
he sits next to someone i'm friendly with...
wad i do?
that's right...
i told IT mans buddy bud-stein...

11:11am:
crutcha: 'hey, ok, i came over to ask you something - but it's no worries - i'll come back later.' (as the whole IT department was surrounding his cubicle)
buddy bud-stein: 'wait what's going on.'
crutcha: 'i want to tell you something, but if you tell anyone, i will murder you. i have a distant jones for your friend, IT man.'
buddy bud-stein: 'i won't tell anyone. i'm telling.' (starts running off like a 12 yr old girl)
crutcha: 'i mean it's ok to casually slip it into conversation to see if he even knows i'm alive.'
buddy bud-stein: 'slip it in. wad you say.'
crutcha: 'don't be a dirt bag, you know what you needa do.'

when imma gonna graduate from high school?

what if IT man knows i'm alive, and he remembers that ill day last week?
i was talking to my friends in the hall...he walked past us, and i whispered i love you...

buddy bud-stein told me to plan a happy hour and he would bring IT man with him...

i smell summer...

i smell something beautiful blooming.

love is in the air, bitches.

who's the master?
i'm the master.
and i'm back on it.

work up on it.
check up on it.

he my jay-z.
and i'm bout to be his beyonce.

awe sniggity snap.

here's the thing

crutcha is a poet. we've seen proof of that many times over.
she has so much love to give, so much baking to do.
me, not so much.
don't get me wrong, this shit IS right for once. but maybe, maybe i just dont want to talk about it.
despite the winks and the hotlists and the incessant viewing of my profile,
i am done with the online, and i am done with the random dating.
because i, dear readers, am in love (again).
yes, it's a strong word to use, but if imma word grid with him, then imma word grind with you.

and word grind we did.

we're back. don't deny it.
back then you had me at your musical preferences. you were just as nuts as i was when it came to politics and vieques.
you knew Wiso G.
this time around it was your Jonestown reference. the fact that you called me the heiress to the "Popcorn" fortune.
you met Tito Kayak.

no need to grope women anymore.
no need to worry about Chappelle.
that lesbian art show? nah nah.
we're not doing Chappelle Netflix Night, vegas boy.
and Boom? Boom can stop looking at my profile cause,
I AM NOT BOHEMIAN MOD.

i hate Rutgershire.
i love La UP.

it's a bright new day.

eff you, imma get my game on anyways

i woke up this morning, on my big day, completely and utterly crutched.
somewhat reminiscent of ozzy osbourne. feet dragging, slight limp, hair effed beyond repair.

i gimp over to my coffee maker.
turn it on, make the bed, grab a mug - sit down and browse the world wide....

mistake...
for...

it all comes back to the same thing...
always circles back to the same dilemma...
i never should have online dated for 3 years, on and off.
i met one too many crutched up brothas.
imma in a state of regret.
erry choice i made has come back to haunt me.

por ejemplo:

the two turds i decided to have slumber parties with have found someway to contact me in the past 24 hours.

imma poop my pants, people.
too much is riding on today, and if my game is not in check and he not a boy who lookin like he like what he sees...imma never have a chance to ride it...

i cannot lose IT man now, i've made it too far.
what did i even pluck and paint and primp and polka dot dress for, for naught?

NA
NA
NA

get me.

stop viewing my profile.
stop leaving me testimonials.
stop asking me to be your friend.

there's a reason why we don't even talk anymore, to quote boys II men...
that's a shout out to you, temps...

it's because ya'll crazy, and i am not...
*disclaimer: although this blog may completely disprove the aforementioned statement for, my reader, you don't know these men...you don't know me, only my babble, my pure untainted words...which may come off as lunacy, at times...but i can promise you, i am a speaker of the truth. they done did me wrong. i can prove the instability of these men with stories...wait, and ye shall receive evidence. can i get a witness?*

i feel ill.
na na.

imma take shower.
imma tink on dis.
imma
imma
imma
imma
i don't know, i just don't know

i need to enlist the help of a higher being on this, where ms. cleo at when you need her?

dang.

Wednesday, May 24, 2006

where you come from

you sexy thing
you sexy thing, you...

tomorrow the IT man is a gonna believe in miracles.

the nails have been painted
the toes looking fine
my boobs stacked in their dress, so devine
imma gonna give his ass a heart attack tomorrow.

i've been dancing, in the polka dot dress, for the past hour.
the backdrop:
r. kelly going off like a mo fo, my landlady all crutched up in her basement. cause, well, she's a turd.

nothing falls out when i shake it.
shake it.
check.

and it was $22.80, the dress. i made a mistake yesterday.
i thought it would be a shame, if i didn't provide the blogger community the proper price quote...and by blogger community, i mean dj temps.

i was a little gassy today.
so i'm working on my bloating problem this evening.
plucking and de-bloating.
all in the name of my soon to be lover.

i
am
en
fuego

and by that i mean my ass is.

and imma crutched. here, see why....

my non-committed friend, who we all know i'm still sprung on, has left me a note on the ster. friendster. friendster is the axis of evil.

i want him to be more than my friendster...and by that i mean, if IT man does not fall in love with me by 3pm tomorrow...i may be forced to e-pal my last summer slumber buddy and work out some ill sex deal.

na na na.

save me IT man.
you are the only engineer that can repair my soul....
please, manage my daily technical operations....

i can't wait to see you tomoorrow.

until then...

i'll be waiting...
with bated breath

and, by that i mean....

let's get all nude in your cubicle.
shhhh.
i won't tell.
all the VP's and Directors do it durty like that anyways.

together, together we'll form our love nest.

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

i'm horny let's do it

ride it, my pony

imma gonna walk by his cubicle on thursday...
imma gonna do a soul train, by myself, since temps will be in puerto rico.
imma gonna wear this tight, cute, polka dot dress i bought at forever 21 for $17.90.
imma gonna let my boobs hang out.
imma gonna sing r. kelly's bump and grind, to him.

he will be mine.

i stalked him again, today.

no interweb updates.
standard.
both profiles remain the same and untouched.
status = 0

my mind's telling me no, but my body, my body's telling me YEEEAAAAASSSSSS
WOO.
what man doesn't think a woman in a tiny dress, singing bump and grind, isn't totally hot?

but wait...
imma gonna dance.
a lot.
he's gonna think of sex, something i think i remember liking and remember being rather good at.

r. kelly, you are the soundtrack to my budding relationship.

and if he asks for an encore, imma gonna go buck wild...cause it's the remix to ignition, poppin fresh out the kitchen, mama rollin that body got every man in here wishin...

hot.

i would also like to add, as a side note,that i have not trolled nerve.com in exactly one month.
*i am over you - you hot pant, puma wearing punk. you sleep over king. you non-committed, giant turd of a mid 30's douche bag.*

i have real people to stalk now.
in real life.
like at my job.

done and doner.

good night my IT lover.
sleep well.
shhhhh.

on myspace, part 2

i wanted to track down everyone i ever knew in college. check.
i needed to know if people from my high school are married and pregnant. check and check.
i wanted to know the secret lives of my friends from work. check. check. check.
i needed to know if her midrift was as hot as i thought it was. check check check check.

what i wasn't expecting was a guy with a christmas tree shaved on the back of his head. him, not so much. he emailed me about Ting, so of course i had to answer.
he later went on to send me a message that was destined for someone else, a mistake i am quite familiar with.

so i broke my vow of only adding people i know.
because this person was giving a friend advice about how to help the 14-year-old brother who won't shower.

suddenly, myspace isn't so bad.

Monday, May 22, 2006

i think i could go to jail for this

i'm working on the night move tonight...
ooohhhhh...on the night move.
boredom, you see, it gets people into trouble. because people need people.

i've had a crush on this cat at work, for about a year.
it has recently come to my attention that i need him now.
maybe it's my non-dating, non-sex having, guidette ass...that has spawned this monster in me.
but i needa do something, so i did.

i did the only thing i know how to do...
i walked past his cubicle, made a mental penning of his last name...
trolled back to my desk...

logged on to myspace.com

37
single
has not logged on since february and has no friends.
but it's ok because my love will keep him warm.

i decided to cross-reference.
how do we cross-reference, temporican?
we log on to friendster.com

wherein i type his name...

up pops his picture...

my heart skips a beat.

37
IN A RELATIONSHIP
LAST LOG IN MORE THAN 3 WEEKS

who the eff do i trust now, oh interweb?

do i bank on his friendless myspace antics?
do i trust his friendster female attached status?

did he go on and get a girlfriend between february 12th 2006 at 1:01pm and the beginning of may?
sure, it's completely plausible.
but...
say it ain't so!

he passed me in the hall last week...
i whispered i love you, in front of my friends.
oh, internet, don't do me wrong.
do me right.
for this man has the kindest eyes and face i have seen.

and i want to kiss him.
let me kiss you.

legends my ass

i am too femmy
i am kinda mean
i eat too much
i eat too little
i never answer the phone
i hate texting
i love oprah

you know what, Nervies? fuck you. i have stopped trolling for you anyway.
i don't need to make my profile more witty.
i don't need to find coworkers with profiles.
i don't need you for sex.

i believe this is the end of the line for me and the web.
i'm sick of agnostics.
i'm sick of the FUCKING TEXTING.
i'm sick of MySpace, and i only just joined 6 days ago.

don't you get it?
i'm back on beef. i don't need you anymore.
it's just like Speed Dial #2.

Thursday, May 18, 2006

last night, this morning - kids make me ill na na

before i peace popped from the job spot last night, i did one last myspace check.
and, by the way, i am not ashamed to pen my adventures in myspacing because i know everyone is equally obsessed with inter-webbing and trolling...
i digress...

i received an email...
CAN U SEX WITH ME?
a 15yr old from somewhereturdish, ca.
now...you're 15.
babies having babies.
apparently no one is watching boyz n the hood anymore and learning from the mistakes of doughboy. sex at a young age is getting you two things...a baby and jail time.
learn about it, don't do it.
nor do i appreciate the vast amount of emailage from underagers, in general. harkening my hot body for hot lovin will only work if you 1) have dreadlocks 2) are above 6ft tall 3) will take me to negril and back again and make me shout out your name 4) all of the above, and i might start undressing myself.

and, so, it's now 7:15pm...
i get off the train, running into cvs to get a new toothbrush. i have gorgeous teef.
i am engaging in a conversation with my friend, boluda - she's going to key food to pick up some prunes.

i say "mi amor, i'm going to cvs. meet me in there."

turn to ghetto boys, approximately 17yrs in age, on a bench in front of the cv...

ghetto boys "yo, lemme meet you in cvs. can i come?"

this didn't annoy me, so much as it made me think "you effing turds, go home. don't you have parents that want you to do your homework? instead you're yelling things out and acting animalistic towards people you don't even know, go home. home. if you even have one, you street monger turds."

and, we come to this morning.

currently sipping on coffee and snacking on mango.
checking my email in my towel with my zit creme on...

i receive yet another myspace email, except it's from a man with children, who is in a relationship- living in columbus, ohio

he writes "why you touching yourself in your picture?"

i am not touching myself, you dumb ass.
i was singing - it's an action shot. i was moving my hands, which kind of happen to look like they are grazing my left boob.
and if i was touching myself, which i often do - do you need to comment on it? no. go back to your honky kids and girlfriend, in ohio, and leave my beef patty eating, boob fondling, coco bread snacking ass alone.

i'd like to say i am going to stop trolling the world wide.
but, alas, i cannot.
it's an addiction.

2 hours until i get to work, then i'm on high speed connection all day.

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

hot pants and pumas and douche bags, oh my

i just received the crème de la crème of all myspace emails.

a 17 year old from babylon, long island just asked me…

U EVER HAVE SEX.

written, just like that.
with those wicked verbal skills, you little 17 year old shit, no one in their right mind would sleep with you.
and yes, i have sex, you little punk ass turd.
sure, yeah, maybe not in a while.
but i have it.
right now i may be the one driving the pootnaynay wagon, but someone is going to jump on it - jump on it.
and by that i mean, i am chanting the sugarhill gang to myself to feel better.

dj temporican is being cyber stalked by the same duder as me. and by duder i mean shithead.
and by shithead i mean leave me alone, i am pre-monstering.

last night i had a dream about a man had a quasi relationship with, and i woke up crying.
and by woke up crying, i mean i emailed him this afternoon.
not about how he loved me in my dream, but about what he was wearing.
and by what he was wearing, i mean i was wishing he was really with me this morning.

i went off of the nerve.com to get men out of my life, and they keep doing the creep. not only into my bed, but into temporican's too.

i think she and i should just live an alternate lifestyle together.

and i don't sleep with men or boys from long island or jersey - so keep your hair gel to yourself and find another hip-hop goddess to harass. dang.

and if last summer boy ever finds this, i am effed.
royally.
but it's a risk i gots to take as a gangsta.

Monday, May 15, 2006

i aint your hollaback girl

after surviving a series of dates, and some word grinding with a plethora of people, i have come to realize that the only person i'm ready to love is The Crutcha. cause, really, this bitch is SA-TIS-FIED.
well. maybe i did agree to some follow-up dating scenarios. HOWEVER. it's only cause i dont know how to say no even when i want to. and yet i do know how to say no when i don't want to. funny how that works.
i think i may just cancel on the world and go to the Square with Crutcha.
speaking of T.C, somebody's turning 13 soon! I plan on throwing her a Bat Mitzvah at Negril.
We'll follow it up with some Karaoke at Sing Sing, where I'll pay tribute to the Boyz II Men II album.
and by that i mean i know all the words to "I'll make love to you."
Maybe I can write a reggeaton song for the occasion.
hmm.
I'll be mulling it over at the Brewery, if anyone needs to find me. And by that I mean i'll be drunk on Brooklyn Lager and writing lyrics about pooping soup.

Thursday, May 11, 2006

hold up, you don't know me

i'm sitting in my edit room.
my silver fox editor, and pony-tailed editing goddess, are working on an audio fix.

i, as a faux producer, am kicking back right now.

i am sipping on peppermint tea and eating peanuts, like the circus elephant i am.

today is a good day.

as i look at my peppermint tea bag, i notice a nugget of inspiration dangling off the side of my cup...

'on with the dance, let the joy be unconfined.' ~mark twain

and, yes, it does say this on the tag of my tea bag...

so, i think this tag on my tea bag means something. more than just a tag. it's more than that. a sign, perhaps. why, yes.

imma gonna go out and grind it tonight, shit.

if temporican can double fist the dating scene, i can go out and rock the mic....

and by that i mean, go home - roll a fat one, eat a pizza pie, pluck my mediterranean eyebrows, watch ali g...and wait for temps phone call about her dating initiatives, status and what have you.

my joy, my joy shall be unconfined this evening.

thank you.
thank you, mark twain.

i'm inspired today, truly.

i'd like to dedicate today to janet jackson and mark twain, for there would be no music in my mind, and no words in my world, without their presence.

ropa con queso

or...not really.
what i'm referring to is cheese and wine class.

dj temporican and myself...we hit up artisanal for a little wine and cheese extravaganza on tuesday night.

so, now, instead of dating - i gorge on wine and cheese with my partner in crime. and by that i mean dj temporican, and by that i mean she will eat hamburgers with me at 3am. i love her.

and the class
you see, i thought there might be some fine ass
but that shit was maxed with nothing but coochie
i was all dressed, ready to freak like a hoochie
all i got was a rancid belly ache
cheese and wine mixtures my stomach could not take
so i went for a walk
and home to the internet did i stalk

day by day i'm becoming more comfortable with my non-dating and non-prospect status.
i fill my life with friends, the funk, forever 21, fromage and fine vintage.
and, let's not forget the essential element...hip-hop...
and thoughts of fine men cruising at negril...

so, today...
today i celebrate.
i celebrate new grand-masta masturbation fantasies, tossing away all archived images of former flings and feel-ups *please see my dedication to tony, below*
i celebrate wine and cheese *please re-read my tendencies to gorge, above*
i celebrate hot men on the train who read books and even when they're not hot and they're reading, shit, it's hot *please ride the n/w train, slightly after rush hour*

aside *i love you tony, you live off of the astoria blvd stop on the n/w - you were reading the times and you touched my shoulder, and i had to go home and change. if you read this, i want you to know that i think i love you - don't be scared. come to mama.*

and, finally, i celebrate dj temporican's dating endeavors...man or woman; she is a rhythm nation.
thank you, janet jackson

a history of marks

when i was a young woman of high school age, i was burned by a cigarette on my right cheek just a few weeks before prom. i ended up panicking that i would never heal (it was a pretty bad burn), and made an appropriate dramatic episode about the whole thing.
when i was an even younger woman, of middle school age, i was away at summer camp and was bitten by some sort of insect i was allergic to. the result was welts all over my leg, so big and so itchy that i would spend hours scratching them with the back of a butter knife. i still have the scars.
throughout my high school career, i had relatively good skin (which was counteracted by the fact that i had a huge ass), but when i did get pimples, they were always in the same places. center of forehead, middle of cheek, chin.

cut to today. i am now a woman of adult age. i no longer have the horny awkwardness of teenagers. i even have sex. AND i am "meeting up" with someone tonight. so of course, i am full of marks. let's count em, shall we?
1. middle of cheek. scar of leftover pimple. result of being allergic to zit cream, knowing it, and still applying it.
2. chin zit. it's huge. and i made it worse by playing with it last night, in a desperate attempt to get rid of it by tonight. and i also put cream on it, which means it'll leave a huge burn scar.
3. crutched up feet. had a little nailpolish incident.
4. large bruise on thigh. the result of being purposely hit by a duffel bag some dude was carrying as i was walking home from the subway late saturday night/early sunday morning. he literally swung the thing at me, hit me smack in the crotch/thigh area, shrugged bitchily, and kept walking, leaving behind a bruise that looks like i had a paddle mishap. which may not be a bad thing.

so there you have it. i look hot.

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

back to basics

it's funny when you meet someone, through the internet, if you will, who is actually normal, perhaps even hot, and not the sexual predators you imagine you'll meet thanks to Dateline (yo, "To Catch A Predator" is whack!) and your traumatic experience with Boom! from Rutgershire. we all remember him. it's hard to forget since it was all of 3 weeks ago and his emails still haunt me.
ANYWAY. i've met people through trolling before. Livejournal connected me with a few people i ended up meeting IRL (here we go, proving again how my name is really pointdexter) and becoming friends with (at the time i was not trolling the internet for sex, but merely activity partners).
this is a whole different game though.
either way, Monday was lovely even though I declined a second date for now (i'm a dick who likes being alone), and i expect tomorrow to be lovely as well.
and by lovely i mean i'm terrified.

Monday, May 08, 2006

my plea on a monday evening...are you there god? it's me, the crutcha

dj temporican is rocking the double fist...
i on the other hand...
have not:
1)dated
2)kissed
3)boffed
4)felt the touch of another....

in i don't know how long...

i guess i can count the grope dj temporican nabbed from me today on the stairs of union square park. thank you. i felt like a woman. a woman who is desired.

instead, i'm rocking a tummy ache.
i'm crutched up in a night session.
and all i can think about is how much i would be liking to get some game on.

i cooked today.
flounder.
poached in the oven with scallions, garlic and parsely.
then i sauteed all of the aforementioned in butter...threw the flouder in there...let it finish cooking all up in some bad-breath buttery goodness...

i don't date. not no more.
i cook dinners for one.

but i think i done layeth some poison down on myself.

i cannot poop soup like the dj.
i just sit silently in pain.

and i made tahini dressing. and put it all up on some mesclun greens.
and i'd love to find a man to rub all up in my mediterranean goodness goddess-ness..

i cannot stop thinking about the man who owns this hot eatery in my hood. he's done crutched up with a girlfriend.
new fantasy, please.
i am not a taker on men who already done be with women. i don't gank the game of others.
this i do vow as a chronic crutched up dater.
although i did find myself wanting the hotness of this total dilf - with 2 daughters - when i went to sushi last night. i eyed him like a hot dog.
how i'd like to grind on that? he drives a suburban. no one would ever know...and by that i mean, he could drive a pinto - and i would still squeeze myself all up on it in the backseat.

a weekend re-cap, perhaps...

hip-hop karaoke had some fine male inventory. however, i learned on saturday night - while shaking what my mama gave me, during first night at the brooklyn museum - that i need to jump on men with dreadlocks.
i'll take that fantasy, now.
with a side of hot loving the morning after.
put your hand up on my hip...

i'm hot just like an oven, i need some lovin.' and you know the rest.
i love marvin.

i like old soul.
now i need one to buddy up with mine, rub my tummy and tell me i'm purdy - - even when i'm completely jacked (ie, now).

and, so, lemme roll back on it...

hip-hop karaoke...
i sang shoop - a lil salt n peppa...with dj temporican...
and we were riding high on the mid 90's female rappage, until the mc crutched up our flow...
all crunked-ed out with the male vocal, when we were clearly breaking into the next verse...

the crutch & temps: well lemme bring it back to the subject pepp's on the set make you get hot make you work up a sweat...

but he done busted in like the boom...

mc hottie: s & the p wanna get with me cool but i'm wicked g, hit skins but never quickly...

and i so could have taken him to school on that verse...
and by that i mean, i wanted to take him home with me and wrap him up as my little hip-hop prize.
i would've made him rhyme to me all night long...
in the hot tub, poppin bubbley...
and by that i mean, let's get naked.

and i'm sure, you, dear reader, can tell that i am effed...
in the head...
in the heart...
down to my rappers de-lite core.

where my hip-hop dreadlocked lover at?

pooping soup

this week i embark on the double-fist. the double booking, i mean.
after a slight mishap with my thursday night schedule, i have switched one person to tonight, approximately 20 minutes from now.
a few thoughts:
1. i'm rocking a large Curious George bag. i think it'll make me easy to spot, as well as give him something to think about.
2. i wanna cancel so bad i can taste it. i was not made for this.
3. i should had 4 shots instead of spending the last hour changing outfits 100 times, only to end up with what i started with.
4. is it ok to mention that i SO don't want to date anyone right now? after all, PR dude is back in the pic. oh god, maybe i shouldn't admit to that here. meh.
5. i wish i could stick Crutcha in my bag, or my pocket, so she can whisper things in my ear. like, oh, i don't know, "let's ditch this guy and go to Negril."

Thursday, May 04, 2006

overjoyed

my title, 'overjoyed,' is a tribute to the great stevie wonder...

this evening, i am overjoyed for many reasons...

the primary reason being...my partner in crime, the crutched up of the most crutched-ed up bomod's (bohemian/moderns), i know...has cornered the male and female market on nerve.com

to you, this evening, dj temporican...i sing stevie, light a sliff, pop a tylenol pm and ponder my own possibilites on the world wide web.

i am currently fasting from nerve.com
i temporarily shut down my profile. i'm taking a rest, hoping to come into my own. a fresh perspective, you know, like a summer's eve. perhaps a fall re-birth is in store, who knows...

tonight, my friends...
i say, girl if you wanna grind, grind.
grind multiple style.
sideways, front-ways, whatever way you like. do the tootsie roll, even.
2 men
one woman
a couple
that's the glory of online crutchery, no one knows but you.

it's your day.
celebrate online dating.

as i am on an online man diet, i am currently trolling union square for takers.
meeting people in person is ill.
i met someone today.
one, keon. he likes clubs and webster hall and is comfortable being by himself.
i don't want to play with keon.
i don't want to play with the cat who passed me today and said 'ma, watch out you don't get burned' (while i was sunning).
i don't want to play with the union square mackers.
but i do give them props for the effort. so, thank you for making me feel like a woman.

note: i troll the union for the art of the troll
if looking liking be...
i like candy. eye candy.

but tonight, dj temporican is doin fine on cloud nine. i love the temptations.
and i am...
as i said before...
full, just knowing that.

may your booty always be shakin and your inbox runneth over.
it's almost friday.

it's raining...people?

hmm. so let me get this straight? i get The Crutcha to email someone for me, and suddenly my inbox is flooded with men and women who want to mack it?

how am i supposed to do this? one day it's dryer than the sahara all up in my profile.
the next day i can't decide if i want to move to park slope, or east harlem (he does not live on the upper east, Crutcha! i refuse!).

is it bad that i want to spread the Temporican love all over the city? is it bad that i'm grinding on multiples?

see....this is what happens when you put a picture of Ting on your profile. these bitches go batshit crazy!

new terms to add to your lexicon

over lunch today, with my co-workers...
i discussed some of my new favorite terms...
1) word grinding: witty verbal repartee/enlightening exchanges -all taking place in the form of letter writing - or, in modern times, via email; creating a false illusion - that there is more substance to a relationship than actually exists in reality
2) peace popping: you need to break the eff out, haul ass, quickly...the situation is dropping things like they're hot, and you better bust a move
3) blunch: when your honky ass did not eat breakfast and you find yourself tolling your cafeteria vending machine at 11:30am and buying pop-tarts. (blunch only takes place Monday - Friday, as actual brunch is reserved for civilized human beings on Saturday and Sunday)

how this circles back to my expedition in online dating, you might ask? dj temporican, do you wonder? well, wonder no mas...

no word grinding.
i did it the other day with someone i used to date. and by date, i mean have slumber parties with.
and it gave a me a false sense of closeness.
don't do it to yourself.

skip the heavy emails...
skip the appetizer...
go right in there...

seduce him with one good email.
meet. no more than 2 to 3 emails.
lots of men give good email (and so do women, it's only fair to note), but it's rare to find a cat that can bring it in person.
and here's the bottom line....
you want it to be broughten...don't you?

work an email into a phone call.
make plans - hear their voice...
do they make you want to get all freaky n shit and take your clothes off?
go ahead, do it, find out.

but no word grinding.
grinding is for the dance floor. and by dance floor, i mean bed.

and if his ass is trying to tell you that blunching is ok on Saturday and Sunday (ie: he takes you to the bodega on your corner for a sleeve of peanuts and durty ass coffe, after you just rode it) then you might as well stop playing.

request a real brunch.

Wednesday, May 03, 2006

state of mind, part deux

listen. i know i have too much time on my hands today. but listen. no no no. just listen.
i was home all day.
i was alone with the dog.
the only contact i had with other humans was the dude from fresh direct, and the neighbor who brings me flowers through the window (don't ask).
i don't count the multiple episodes of Thief and Oprah i saw (parallel? i think so.)
SO. when i tell you what i am about to tell you, i don't want you to judge, ok?

I DO NOT UNDERSTAND THESE GODDAMN PEOPLE ON NERVE.
i dont get them.
i dont understand.
if i winked, it's cause i wanna do it.
i do not want a relationship. i do not want to chat.
i wanna do it.
So. WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU DELAYING THE ASS-GETTING PROCESS BY WINKING BACK/ADDING ME TO YOUR HOTLIST/VIEWING ME INCESSANTLY?
send me an email.
and let's do it.
this means you, glasses person.

JESUS is it this hard to get constant sex around here????

(DISCLAIMER. i am under the influence of chips, aleve, migraine shit, claritin, and bringing the pain. i am not really a sex-starved predator. i merely play one on my blog(s))

sick is a state of mind

so it turns out that ripping Ass Model a new Ass this morning really upset Buddha, cause now I can't move. no headache has been headier than this one. no fatigue has been as crippling as this one.
EXCEPT the headaches and fatigue caused by.....................nerve.
there. i said it.
since i'm not a dater (i'm a grinder), the idea that there is a place where single people live virtually, without me having to hear their less-than-masculine voices, seemed an easy distraction.
until. nerve proved.
i am not only poor in life.
i am poor on the internet.

there is a dude who likes chappelle as much as me.
i think we can bond over clayton bigsby.
hotlist.
don't diss.
he ended liking what he saw
but did not follow law
if i make the first move, zoot
shoot me a note, follow suit
if you chicken out, on your face there will be egg
dont hotlist me back, that's so bootleg!

a moment of zen...inspiration, perhaps...

i'm reading.
yes, i read. i may be a guidette who trolls the interweb for sex and hot love, but i do indulge in quality literature...
i said no to my daily dose of page six and astrology.com
for a book...
and i came across this...
it made me reflect...yearn for more...raised the bar, you know, just a little bit.
a fresh perspective.
so fresh, and yes - so clean, clean.

from 'white teeth'
'No white knight [...] No aims, no hopes, no ambitions. [...] A dull man. An old man. And yet...good. He was a good man. And good might not amount to much, good might not light up a life, but it is something.'

don't you get it my fellow trollers/seekers/man-hunters alike?
they have to be good men. boring, old, ass scratching, simple minded men.
where have all the good silver foxes gone?
i need me an older man...who will think i'm nothing but a relentlessly hot, 1/4 of a century old piece of ass. he will adore me because i bring young, good (maybe not so clean) fun.

i'm a good woman.
i deserve a good man.

eff all of the below douche-baggery:
eff funny.
eff artsy.
eff interesting.
eff creatives.
eff hot.
ok, maybe not eff hot.

i'm going to troll on.
i know my 40+ good man is in a jazz bar somewhere.

maybe i've been expecting too much. and it's all really simple.
find someone who is good.
it says so little...
but it says so much...
how it rings so true...
so true.

can i get an amen?

if i had wings i could fly

there was the time we thought we'd step out off the worldwideweb and into the drunken heaven they call 14th street.
a couple of drinks, perhaps some bonding chitchat, and definitely some real-live people without blurry facial features (unless we did too many shots) and a big "AGNOSTIC" sign nailed onto their forehead.

and then we met Ass Model.
i just realized we shoulda called this blog "Douchebag New York (and 25 miles near me)."

Ass Model opened up his non-game with "do you guys ever do online dating?"
as if we had a huge sign that says "I DO EVERYTHING ON THE INTERNET." as if he could tell just by looking at me that i know way too much about everyone i know and tons of people i don't by my Google skills, trollmaster abilities, and overall desire to stay up till 5 am looking up lawsuits my doctor has been in.
but anyway.

after firmly denying knowing anything about craigslist casual encounters, missed connections, personals, or really, denying we even knew what Craigslist is ("what? where'd you hear i bought used handcuffs there?!?! LIES!!!!"), he went on to express his frustration with the online community and dating in general.
and then he proceeded to tell us he's an Ass Model. this is what he does professionally, he said.

let me pause here to say something. in general, claiming to be an Ass Model will only get you one place. and that place is not in my pants.

Ass Model ended up asking us BOTH for our number (quality), and he went in our contacts as simply "Ass Model," because neither of us had any clue as to what his name actually is.
so, in conclusion, never EVER say you're an Ass Model, because when you call me the next Monday and say "Hi, it's your favorite Ass Model, calling to see if you want to go out to dinner," I can't even call you back because I DON'T KNOW YOUR NAME!!!!!

fucking a.

Tuesday, May 02, 2006

un-holler

i warned dj temporican.
i tried to guide her.
she received, with open arms...like mother earth welcomes all small wonders - at the corner of union sq. west - a man standing at 5'10" (and by that i mean 5'5").
essentially, a naploeonic bundle of complete and utter financial district douche-baggery.
i'm so sorry i gave you my blessing to move forward.

please, don't lie about your height.
never lie about your height.
i've been out with many a height fibber.
clearly, height fibbers have no respect for the online dating community. and, therefore, they will have no respect for you.

i would rather date a crutched up 6 fingered individual; then date a crutched up liar...
he was, and many men are, nothing but shady-ass almost 6 foot fronters...
i like all kinds of men.
short.
tall.
thick.
thin.
dark.
pale.
don't get me wrong.
it's the deception that pains me.

i am...
a...
height hayter...
and lying by 5" is unforgivable.

i'm tall. i'm curvy. if nerve had an option for the curve, i would put that up there. i don't know if i qualify in the 'a little extra padding' bracket.

speak the truth, it's all we want from you. the rest is straight gravy.

HAH-HAH (a dedication to dj temporican)
he dropped the boom on you
offered you cash, a dollar or two
he was so tiny and hardly a man
white boy needed more - perhaps a deep dark tan
i might send him a wink - maybe a note or three
cause when you mess with dj temporican, shit - shorty - you mess with me

holla back

what's funny is that this all started as a joke.
a failed attempt at grinding from afar with that dude in Puerto Rico drove me to internet insanity.
and then it went wrong.
so wrong, that i ended up on a date with financial douche man.
a date that ended with a "BOOM!"
no, literally, the dude yelled "BOOM!" in my face.

trolling the internet for sex is no joke.
at this point, i'm just reverting to women.
which, as Crutcha loves to point out, is something i've had on my profile all along.

girl seeks girl. or at least no more men who offer me money.
that shit ain't right.

No Nerve, Never