If your wedding isn’t live on social media, did it really happen?

Apparently, this is a real question that keeps some people up at night.  I wish y’all could see the extreme look of confusion on my face right now.  Ok, let me get this straight, there are people who want their wedding to “do well” on social media?  Let me back up and give you context.  The W Hotel is now offering a “social media wedding concierge” for $3,000, to any couple who gets married at one of their four hotels in NYC.  You read that right.  This is someone who will live-tweet and Instagram your entire wedding (and some other things like attend cake tastings and dress shopping, etc).

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Why are people so afraid of nakedness?

Three Dancers | William H. Johnson | ca. 1940

I was reading this article about a yoga studio in NYC that offers nude, co-ed classes in an effort to help people overcome body insecurity.  Naturally, I’m in total support of this.  And then I read the comments.  It was like a swift kick in the gut.  People were actually using words like “yuck” and “ewww” and “disgusting” to describe their feelings about the class.  I am 99% sure my face screwed up something serious while reading these.  And so the question became not where is this class and how can I take it, but rather, why is everyone so afraid/nervous/freaked out/grossed out/intimidated by being naked?

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Would you have sex with someone who is in an open relationship?

And here it is, yet another snow day.  Let us jump into some sexual relationship conversations, shall we?

It is no secret how I feel about monogamous relationships  - I think they’re a tad bit ridiculous. However, I realize and respect that monogamy is a major desire for a lot of folks.  And I’m not knocking ANYONE who HAS a healthy, empowering, freedom-giving, awesome-sex having monogamous relationship.  I just hope that folks dig down real deep and ask themselves why they desire monogamy (or anything in life for that matter).  Is it because you watched

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How do you define a hoe?

Let me start by saying the following words may be used interchangeably throughout this post: hoe, whore, slore, tramp, skeezer, sckallywag, dirty-foot, promiscuous, dummy, slut, jezebel, fast, harlot, and so on and so forth….

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When Masculinity gets offended…

Snow day?  Check.  Shall we talk about sex and gender?  Check.

I had the pleasure of presenting at the 3rd Annual L.O.C.S. Conference at Harvard Law over the weekend and it was wonderful!  Met amazing people and had fabulous conversations about sex and sexuality.  Interestingly enough, the topic that is still on my mind today is that of masculinity.    Specifically, how masculinity is taught and what messages we send to our masculine-identified folks.

Bkln Boihood presented a workshop entitled Un/Doing Masculinity and it really had me feeling some kinda way.  I mean, masculine people of color get the shitty end of the stick in a lot of ways if you ask me. Yes, patriarchy is real. Yes, male/masculine privilege is real.  Yes, there are some real masculine douche-bags in the world.  But, take a second and think about some of the gender education masculine folks get:

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Do people really follow the 90-Day rule?

90-day rule

I had the distinct pleasure of watching Iyanla Vanzant on Oprah the other day (at my mother’s house of course. Y’all know I don’t believe in cable).  They were talking about “Daddyless Daughters,” and the treacherous lives these women face (feel free to agree or disagree, but that ain’t what this post is about). This one particular chick tells the oh-so-classic story about how being a Daddyless Daughter has compelled her to date and have sex with a string of (emotionally) unavailable men, and she wants to end this cycle.  And then, with her arms open wide as if to usher us all to the Grand Alter of Respectability, Iyanla Vanzant says, “So, for example, everybody should be practicing the 90-Day Rule.”

::insert severe side-eye here::

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Why are all the cats and magic-sticks bald?

It’s no secret that the hair removal industry makes a ga-bazillion dollars every year in this country. It is also no secret that some genitals walking around out here resemble pre-pubescent children.  I mean, think about porn for a quick second: no one has hair on their genitals (or anuses for that matter) in porn!  And why is this? Why exactly do some adults refer to their pubic hair as “unwanted,” “unsightly,” and even “gross?”  How much of our genital hair maintenance is dependent on what our partner’s desire? Or better yet, what we think our partner’s desire? And how much of it is another (very successful) marketing scheme meant to make us hate our body/smell/sex/sexuality etc.?

Here is a bit of honesty that my mother may find offensive if she reads this post, but, I have to own it and confess: I only “groomed” my “down there” because I thought that’s what folks wanted to see.Nothing. I thought that having a bald vulva was akin to finding the meaning of life. I thought that if I could keep my partner from having that random ass piece of hair caught in the back of their throat, I was a god-send. Period. Well, that’s not exactly all; I also struggled with what I thought was this horrible odor that came from hair (I’ll tell you how I got there later), only to find out that there is nothing wrong with the way the vulva smells. Again, more on that later.

American Apparel Display

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Sex + Lyrics

Way back in March 2011 I attended a symposium at Morgan State University where the  keynote speaker, Dr. Antonia Randolph, did something radical: she talked about “queerness” in Hip-Hop. ::gasps:: ::clutches pearls::  She discussed at length, the premise that although Hip-Hop has long been labeled one of the most homophobic music genres, there is an awful lot of “gayness” happening within the lyrics. She talked about the infamous kiss between Lil’ Wayne and Baby (although, the kiss seems to have been magically erased from the memories of people who loved Cash Money circa 1999). She discussed hip-hop “couples” and their “breakups”: Pac and Biggie, Jay-Z and Nas.  She talked about the “queer” bro-mance that’s  pervasive in hip-hop but never gets talked about. Continue reading

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The (non-judgmental) Discussion about Side-chicks

So, here we are on the other side of St. Valentine’s day, a day where I’m sure many many couples became engaged. From there, there will be dresses to try on, china to register for, favors to order that guests will never see let alone use, and a plethora of other expensive things that will be purchased in the name of tradition. And somewhere in all of that, there is a really, really small (presumably continued) conversatoin about what the actual marriage should look like. Somewhere. Hopefully that marriage will look like something all parties involved actually want.

olivia-pope

And then, the wedding ends and the marriage starts. The sex goes from 3 times a day to 4 times a month. The weight shows up around the belly and the belches get louder. The panties become holey relics of their former silky selves.  The real sh*t begins.  Continue reading

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Dear St. Valentine…

Dear St. Valentine,

I have a favor to ask and it’s a little long. Well, I want all the people who have spent a mini-fortune today on your behalf to have the best sex of their lives tonight. If not the best, then at least a really, really close second.  I realize that some people hoard their most romantic selves until this day, but I think it’s a little petty. I mean, no offense but there are 364 other equally amazing days to buy flowers, to shave legs really close, to manscape (if you’re into that), to go to an exorbitantly expensive restaurant, to make sure your bra and underwear match… You see where I’m going with this. So, I just hope everyone who is getting ready at this very moment, 6:13 pm EST, have really good orgasms by 10:15 pm EST tonight. Oh, but wait, I also hope that they take advantage of the other 364 days to do all the aforementioned things, too.  So, if you can find it in your heart (HA! Pun intended) to make this happen, I would be the happiest girl in the world.

Sincerely,

Your most hopeful orgasm enthusiast… LaShay.

 

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