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?
posted by tinamarie @ 8:51 PM
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