Just Another Girl On The IRT

Freestyle musings from a pseudo-intellectual hellcat in high heels with Huxtable aspirations in a ghetto fab world. Proudly sponsored by bouts of bitchy mood swings, one too many swigs of Turning Leaf, the letters F & U and the madness that is the Rotten Apple.

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Location: Brooklyn, New York, United States

Work in progress. Neurotic. Daydream believer. Bookworm. Addicted to the arts. Stubborn. Spoiled rotten. Lefty in more ways than one. Pop culture whore. Equal opportunity hater. Kid at heart.

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Friday, January 27, 2006

A roller coaster named desire

Touch me, tease me
"You can tie my hands behind my back and lick your initials in my neck...
Foreplay does nothing for me, but commitment makes me wet.
I already know you're having an affair with words...
But boo, I'm married to it...
My vocabulary leaves most men wary...
I need to know...
Can you get into it?"
Somewhere in between August's sticky dampness and just before Hurricane Katrina's menstrual cycle was unleashed on the Gulf Coast was the last time I had a roll on a mattress that was worth a damn. They say that the more often you get laid, the more you crave it. Well, what the hell is the sanity ratio for an almost half-year drought? My last pilgrimage to the Village in July still has me in good standing for battery operated help, but I'm going out my mind right now. I'm thisclose to humping a train pole if I can't get any action in the next few days. If you think I sound like a raving nympho, let's just say I wish I was so lucky.

Do you remember the episode of Sex and the City when Carrie took Samantha along on her cross-country book appearance to San Francisco and she was at her wit's end with horniness that Mr. Big went from the unattainable to a wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am out of sheer necessity? Well, as the fates may have it...playing with fire may become my "get out of celibate purgatory free" card.


As much I vowed to myself that I was swearing off toxic men from my past for 2006, my ex-boyfriend's number still stored in my Motorola is taunting me. He's the walking embodiment of inhaling asbestos voluntarily, but I just can't push the temptation out of my mind. Especially since I know taking a stroll down Jumpoff Lane wouldn't be a total waste as I could at least bask in the afterglow of a spine-shifting realignment before the memories of why I'm infuriated by his bullshit comes creeping back into my consciousness soon afterwards.

Decisions, decisions.

Do I continue my one-woman ode to Nia Long as Nina Mosley and continue to sleep with a pillow between my legs, pacing back and forth as intercourse withdrawal continues to play Jedi mind tricks on me? Or do I succumb to my basic instincts and fall into a pattern while comfortable, remains an emotional dead end?

In the meanwhile, I'm off to CVS. I hear Energizer Max is on sale this week.


link | Shot from the lip by TriniPrincess at 11:06 AM |


4 Comments:
Blogger ~ FluxRostrum commented at 2/06/2006 06:02:00 AM~  

The men in New Orleans are ARE the walking embodyment of inhaling asbestos.. literally. Find out more @ N.O. TV neo orleans truth video.

Blogger Michael commented at 2/06/2006 12:35:00 PM~  

Well damn, Trini. LOL.

Blogger TriniPrincess commented at 2/06/2006 01:38:00 PM~  

*inserts halo* What'd I say? ;-)

flux, way to go on making me feel guilty with my frivolous post quota. No seriously...thanks for the link.

Blogger Berry commented at 2/06/2006 06:21:00 PM~  

Be scronge gurl! Nothing like living with regrets after doing something hasty.

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