The Mushy Morning Post

First, before I get off into that, I'd like to say that 93.5 KDAY is an okay station if you're sick of Power 106 and 100.3 the Beat. They're claiming they play old school rap and stuff, but don't be completely fooled. They're slithering in the Cia.ra and the Li'l J.on and the Fa.t J.oe, and all the other commercial crap that makes Los Angeles Radio suck pure unadulterated, rotissirie style ass. But like I said, if you're sick of the main "urban" stations in L.A., then "the new" KDAY is semi-tolerable. Also, I would like to mandate that everyone in a 5 mile radius of me needs to shut the hell up. Because no one (namely and especially ME) cares what you're saying, what you feel like doing or anything. I'm completely sick of everyone and everything today, and I plan to let it be known for the whole day. No one who resides in my field of vision at any point during the day is allowed to talk to me. That is all. Now on to the hormonally driven post implied by the title. Basically, I want to take this morning to pay homage to ultra sexiness that is The Imperial Boyfriend (b.k.a. to y'all as Baby). The fact that I am not in bed with him right now is the reason for my impending Wrath and Indignation. Times (among other thangs) are hard, and as a result the Queen is not taking things well. And I don't care if you don't like it. If you choose to protest, then thou art banish-ed (for this morning. You can come back later). Every day I realize something else that makes this man edible (yeah, I said edible. I know what that shit means, too). Today it's his tattoos. I love this man's tattoos. He has a few of them, but my favorites are on his forearms. I always look at them when he hugs me from behind. I don't know what it is about the way his skin looks beneath them, but I love them. I saw him this morning when he got off work (he works graveyard). I went outside just in time to get my hugs and kisses from him before I went to work. That nigga makes me wanna call in sick, on the real. Even in his worker-man clothes he is still sexy as hell. I felt like a perv because I was staring him down hardcore while he was talking to me, but then I was like, "fuck it. He's my man, I can stare at him if I want to." So I did just that. All staring at his bomb ass mouth. He was all tired and grimy looking, eyes were barely open. I love him even more when he looks like that. Just... damn. Ain't no words. I didn't touch him too much, because I decided to be good and go to work. But I'm still seeing those light brown eyes, and I'm wishing I'd just called in. Because when he's all worked out like that is when he handles business in a real way. But I'm being good (for those of you in the know, I'm back on the wagon... going on 6 weeks), so I thought of ugly people and ex-boyfriends to inspire me to get my hot ass in the car and go to work. He walked me to the car all kissing me goodbye like a million times. I got outta the car at one point, like "to hell with this shit, I'm going inside with you." He didn't object. But then I remembered that the FDA (BOOO) has been seen lurking around the plant and I needed to be present in case they head to the microbiology lab. One thing is certain, I see why "deprived" men are assholes. Because I'm definitely in the frame of mind to be an asshole this morning. It's much easier to withstand the dick when there is no dick to speak of. But damn, when you've got it? And you have to say the nay-no? Aww. Harshness abound, and fierce attitudes too. I want to go home to my man. And do all kindsa nasty shit to him, and feel happy about it (that is until I feel guilty later when I say my grace, or pray in general which I do all during the day... BLAH. Conscience sucks). Anyways, yeah. That's what I want to do. I'm not gonna spell it out here because it's not y'all's business, and besides all the resident freaks can imagine for themselves. But that's where my mind is, I ain't scared to admit it, and when I go home, I cannot promise I'mma be able to hold my own in the Royal Quest for Sexless Sanctification. BOOO on me, I know. But it ain't no point in lying to myself. So there. I've snitched on myself, I'm still hot and bothered, and I DON'T feel better. Not at all. So basically, I didn't acheive a damn thing by posting. Oh well. That means the attitude is here to stay for the next 7 hours, LOL. Fear my Wrath suckas! The mandate for today is: Pray for Her Imperial Majesty (ME. For those on the slow bus this morning). There. Plain and simple. Can you do that for me? Because I obviously need help, and I'm only so serious. Y'all work that out for ya girl, and I'll get at 'cha later. And I'm out.