The compliment you never quite believe...

but which makes you feel simultaneously slutty and proud, like you've mastered a ridiculously important life skill that only a privileged few should ever know about: 

"that was like, the best blowjob ever." (Y'all don't need to know who said it.)

And that's all I'm going to say about that.

PS: Scratch-resistant lenses prove to be a good investment when you lose your glasses in the heat of the moment, legit can't find them for half an hour after, and eventually discover they're halfway under the minifridge with a smudge or two, but not a scratch on them. #winning  

Hmm, I love writing scandalous blog posts.

I saw The Vagina Monologues for the first time this past February, and almost every performance resonated with me on a deep and self-loving level. All but one monologue, in fact. And that monologue was about something that is regarded as a rather hush-hush topic (well, okay, they ALL are; that's the point)--this particular monologue was on vaginas and hair. Basically, the woman telling this story had never shaved her snatch until her husband begged and pleaded, and when she gave in she thought it looked weird and unnatural and having sex suddenly became painful and the take away message is that "You can't love vaginas unless you love hair!" or something to that effect. 

And I was sitting there like

uhhhhhhh...Excuse me!?

Because, as you all know, I love hair. And it's probably unsurprising that I like to show my nani a lot of love. I just...am very specific about the way in which these two things are allowed to meet. Sure, sometimes I get lazy and embrace the natural look all over, but I have to whip that shit into shape on the regular. And by whip, I mean shave. 
And I would now like to make the counterargument that shaving is just another way to show your ladyflower some love. First off, there is no other activity in which I spend so much time/attention on its external features, getting to re-know the surface and all its intricacies where stray hairs might be hiding. When I'm done, all that's left is a narrow-ish strip in the middle and I love the way it looks, bold and demanding your attention, reminding you/me that I'm a grown-ass woman while the rest of it feels so smooth and new. Like a snake shedding its skin, shaving unearths a hidden beauty, a newness I just can't keep my hands off of. Another thing The Vagina Monologues taught me to do is to really see myself (with the help of a small mirror), and I love the way it looks with no obstructions. Then, all day long, while the delta of my body gets re-acquainted with its bare self and I walk around feeling skin touching skin, I get more and more turned on. That first night is perfection, mostly because I've been thinking about it all day. I agree with the woman from the monologue about one thing, that it sucks when it grows back, but hey...then I just get to enjoy this again. 
And let's consider the alternatives. Using any kind of hair removal lotion on my sensitive bits sounds like it's just asking for an infection. Ew. I could get it waxed, but having some stranger's hands all up and through my business and then providing no pleasure, only pain like I've never felt in my life? Uh, no. Not going to happen. The getting covered in warm sticky goo part sounds enjoyable, but I've heard people tell me they sobbed during their first Brazilian. No thank you. Pretending I'm fabulously wealthy for a moment, I could get laser hair removal surgery, but I feel like I would stop appreciating the blissfully nude feeling pretty fast. Like, if you live somewhere where it never rains, do you love the sunshine as much as someone who goes through a long hard winter? 

Long story short, I don't see nothing wrongggggg with a little trim and shaveeee...   

Choices.

Reblogged from Indie. Radiant.

Problem:

Reblogged from Street Etiquette

I have a tendency to find images like this incredibly attractive. There's something about men who love kids. The problem, though, is that I don't want kids. They can be cute and fun sometimes, but are generally way more work and responsibility and commitment and time and money and dependence than I ever want to insert into my life. Le sigh.

I must learn where this is!

Reblogged from As far as i'm concerned...

*remembers that Google has a new search-by-image feature*

*drags image to Google Images search page*

*learns that its artist is England-based and goes by the name Bansky*

*finds more gorgeous street art on his personal website*


*wonders how people did ANYTHING before the internet*

"We colored inside the lines until the lines began to imprison us."

Reblogged from As far as i'm concerned...

#doyourownthing

Style crush

Reblogged from For the Fabulous and Frugal

Though I would probably exchange that scarf thing for a chunky necklace of some sort.

My GBF asked me a very serious question tonight.

He was completely shitfaced, and we were grinding about as intensely as a gay man and a woman can grind, per usual when he is quite drunk, and all of a sudden he backed up and asked permission to ask me a serious question: does my dancing with him limit my potential with other guys? 

*crickets*

I hadn't really ever considered this before. I mean, it's not like I was beating guys off with a stick even before I met him. On the one hand, dancing with someone I'm comfortable with like I'm comfortable with him highlights my dancing abilities much more than dancing by myself in a Circle of Death in which I always feel a bit awkward. I can't see why it would really automatically engender any detrimental effects: one person once asked me to clarify what exactly what was going on between us, as our obvious incompatibility is sort of overshadowed by our odd couple sort of chemistry; but that was just one person. 

So I guess the answer is, "I hope not. ...And it's not really going to stop me if it does." 

One of the unfortunate consequences of this drunken grinding and groping is that I always end up back in my room horny and ALONE. Lulz at my life.

I like the music, music.

" I wish that someone, somewhere had explained to me that understanding who I am is a long process and that it’s okay to take the pressure off (figuratively, and sometimes literally) and just enjoy the ride." -- JULIA, on Met Another Frog

"Today, stop missing your fulfillment walking down someone else’s path. Take your own journey, even if the first steps are hard and know you’ll be rewarded down the road." -- Leslie Pitterson, of Clutch Magazine

Now is the time for big questions about the path I will walk in both the immediate and distant futures. We should all take some time to reflect on whether what we're working towards is what we really want, before we start telling ourselves it's too late to jump ship. [Fun fact: it's never too late to jump ship. Happiness has no expiration date.] 

Sheer Elegance

Reblogged from Afro.Art.Chick

"Playing friends well"

That's what K said after he observed our interaction, that my ex and I are "playing friends well." It was a couple hours ago, but I keep turning that little phrase over and over in my head. I guess he just meant we're playing nice, being quite cordial--friendly is probably a better word, actually--to one another. When everything first went down, we said we were going to do this. I wanted to do this. 

But then suddenly I didn't anymore. Suddenly the thought of him made me uncomfortable and I wished I didn't have to see him and if I knew anything, I knew that I didn't want to try to be friends. When K and I were on our way to party Saturday night, I knew I was going to see him, and this made me anxious enough to want to make sure liquid courage could get me through the night. 


But it wasn't terrible. "It's nice to see you" wasn't exactly the truth, but it was neither particularly awkward or painful in the least, and was a more socially acceptable statement than "I'm pleasantly surprised by how anticlimactic it is to see you." 


When he came to the Black Student Union event I was at this afternoon, I was surprised that he was there for entirely separate reasons, but generally planned to ignore his presence. Then he came up to say hey to K and I, and we had a very brief (probably only about a minute long) but altogether pleasant conversation. This is when K made his point, and I came to the startling realization that I didn't really feel like I was playing. There was no internal monologue being rude/snarky while I was being nice. I wasn't looking for an excuse to get out of there or wishing I could be anywhere else. My lack of negativity even internally surprises me. 


This might not be as bad as previously projected. Stay tuned.

I am learning to appreciate music in other languages.

I have always been a lyrics girl. I love the artistry involved in the production of an instrumental, and will never pass up an opportunity to see live jazz or blues or even a symphony orchestra, but when I listen to music on my computer/MP3 player for my own personal enjoyment, I generally like to have lyrics and be able to understand them. But lately, I've been starting to enjoy music from other cultures. I think this is growth and musical maturity.

Anyway, this song is cool:


 

It is not uncommon for Joshua Bennett to stop me in my tracks

or, the internet version of this, to make me click pause while I recollect myself, reassembling the looser pieces to incorporate the gem he just gave me that I never want to let go of. He often makes me feel like I'm breathing from my diaphragm like my middle school choir teacher used to make us practice laying on the floor with our textbooks on our tummies, but that fullness in my midsection isn't air, but soul. He overwhelms me in a delicious kind of way. There are parties going on tonight, but I am laying in my bed being simultaneously soothed and stimulated by Joshua Bennett and wanting to give myself permanently to someone who has that kind of relationship with words. It's just these recently redecorated walls and me in here, but I'm still clapping, clutching the skin in the hollow of my neck when he says something particularly noteworthy, and occasionally letting out one of those involuntary "Mmmm"s like imaginary dude just got an especially good stroke in.

This video got two pauses and inspired me to write this post. Watch it. (And see if you can guess where I had to stop to recollect.) 

Also, I have realized that he may be subconsciously behind my fascination with Black hipsters. And I have no problem with that. 

The next time you think, "I'm such a failure at life,"

imagine Kat George (whom I may or may not have an e-crush on) is whispering this in your ear:

"Look at your mistakes like battle scars and love each one dearly—failing at life is also about adoring your failures because they are etching you out as some sort of person. And even if you’re not entirely sure who that giant failure of a person might be, you’re pretty sure you like them, and besides, it’s been a whole lot of fun becoming them, which is the most perfect way to fail." --Reblogged from Thought Catalog

Maybe tee ball coaches have it right when they say everyone's a winner.

Reblogged from Rewriting Herstory:

“You’re not obligated to win. You’re obligated to keep trying to do the best you can every day.” - Marian Wright Edelman

Most people are taught that winning is everything. If you are not the best, didn’t get the highest grade, or came in 2nd or 3rd in some competition, people will entertain the idea that you did your best, but it often comes with some tone of disappointment. We often feel some kind of way about falling short of our goal, which is fine. Although it’s important to want the best for ourselves, we do ourselves a disservice if wanting the best comes at the expense of not recognizing and appreciating the preparation, dedication, and skill it took to even attempt our goal.

Doing our best is all we can ask of ourselves. Sometimes we win as a result, sometimes we fall short. I’ve been known to beat myself over things that I can no longer change. I’m learning to take a step back, assess the situation, and ask myself if I did all I could do. If the answer is yes, disappointment may linger, but it doesn’t weigh me down as much. If you put in the necessary time and energy toward the task, you’ve probably done all there was to be done. Be proud of that. Winning is nice, but it isn’t everything. Plus, there are lots of lessons to be learned from falling short.

This right here is why I shouldn't be afraid of new or difficult things, or of things that I don't believe "come naturally" to me. This right here is why I shouldn't be afraid to try. To try takes all kinds of courage, you know? And courage is some good shit.

In case you forgot,

Discovered at http://leilanavab.blogspot.com/

My favorite rap song:

I don't think it's possible for any song to ever beat this for me. First off, Hova and Em? Perfection. Secondly, it's just a way of life that I am striving to achieve, which is typical of about .001% of hip-hop for me. 

"Never been afraid to say what's on my mind 
at any given time of day
Cuz I'm a renegade
Never been afraid to holler about anything 
(Anything?) Anything!" 

I co-sign all of this so hard.

"I wear my heart on my sleeve. Hell, who am I kidding? Truth is, I wear my heart all over my entire body. It’s there for all of you to see and touch. Available for you to appreciate or to harm. Choose your poison.

I give my all to my friends, even when it’s not asked for. I love too much, give too much, expect too much and leave myself open to be hurt. Not everyone wants or needs my brand of love. Not everyone has it in them to give back to me what I find so easy to give to them.

That’s okay, you know? I accept that and in most cases I expect it. Though, there are a select few that I let inside my soul that are dangerous..." --Wookiesgirl, guest blogger on ToxicEuphoria by Lidia-Anain

I really hope I can one day develop the peace she has made with this aspect of herself. It hurts me, but I imagine that keeping me to myself would be even more painful.