I have a new addiction: VH1’s Sex Rehab. I stumbled across it one  day but couldn’t turn. I had given up on VH1, what with all of their “…Love…” reality shows and limited my reality TV intake to “Man vs Food,” “Bizarre Food,” Anthony Bourdain’s “No Reservations,” “Say Yes to the Dress” and “Bridezillas.”
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However, there was something about these Z-list celebrities sitting in front of Dr. Drew (remember Lovelines!) peeling back the layers of their hardened exteriors revealing the root of their sexual addictions.
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I’m no sex addict but I did relate to some of the cast when they spoke about being cold towards intimacy. My issue has been that of trust. It takes a long time for me to let the wall down and allow myself to feel. Ironically, I watched the show with my S.O. (Significant Other) right next to me. I had to be mindful of my nods in agreement with some of what these hurting folks had to say.

One woman, Amber, is a former model and drug addict. Only once the drugs were gone did she realize that sex was another problem. She claims she’s never been in a relationship. She’s in her 40s.

Amber was discussing her issues with men:

“Either I love on a 10 or a 1. 10 means I’m head over heels and my world revolves around him. There’s passion. 1 is when I get a guy who’s all into me, I trap him and have my way with him. I want something in the middle. I need to love on a 5″

Things that make you go hmmm… (more…)

Over the holidays I hosted a get together at my house. It was a great mix of friends and family. As I hopped from room to room, checking on my guests and their needs, I overheard some starling words:

“When SG was on birth control, she lost a lot of weight.”

Imagine my shock and horror.

“Mom, are you talking about me and birth control…in a room full of people…at a party?!?!”

“What? They all know you. It wasn’t like that SG. Relax”

How was it not “like that”?

On one side of her sat my oblivious father. On her left was my BFF. The two of them have no shame and apparently had been discussing weight gain. How my BFFs expanding waistline tiggered my mother’s memory of when I wore the patch. I hearted the patch until my GYN called to tell me: “As your Doctor, it’s my responsibilty to tell you that the patch has lead to some deaths.” Thanks Doc.

Me and my patch were instant friends. (more…)

“SG, when the fuck did inviting the ex to the wedding become the move??!!”
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Manny has a problem. He’s a great guy, so great in fact that most of his exes still consider him to be a friend.
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One has just mailed him an invite to her wedding. He’s not happy about it.
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“No idea,” I offer. “Guess they think we adults”
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I’m dying laughing because I could tell by his voice over the phone he was sitting on his couch looking at the invitation on his coffee table probably rubbing his forehead.
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“Where’d they get that bullshit idea from?” He is clearly torn. A part of him is honored while the majority of him is offended.
I don’t know what makes people invite their ex to their wedding. The person who sent the invite is nuts for thinking that their past intimacies with the invitee won’t come to surface, even if its just in the mind. The big “What If” is going to hit as soon as they see each other on the wedding day. They may even be subconsciously hoping the ex speaks up when that time comes up in the vows (you noticed people have cut that out from the ceremony). Maybe the to-be-wed wants to make the ex feel like shit.

Most times its not done out of spite but a lapse in judgement. The person who has moved on is on a completely different plane of existence. They’re not seeing the ex as a past lover with lingering emotions/resentment. They see them as two more eyes focused on them, on their day and another gift. (more…)

I always considered moving in with someone to be monumental. For starters I don’t really see myself living with a boo before marriage, possibly during an engagement but no sooner than that. Sure, couples move in together all the time; many of them with no intentions on getting wed. Still, I can’t downplay shacking up and what it means to me.
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Now that we’re essentially all tittering on the verge of poverty, the thought of co-habitating for the sole purpose of splitting the bills has entered my mind. Now that I’m dating the topic comes up all the time.
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When discussing my status “do you live together” is easily in the top three questions asked somewhere in the mix with “how long you two been together” or “what’s his name”? Even though I’m attached there is a part of me that still thinks like a single woman. Its like on “Living Single” when Kyle and Max started dating. They had to remind her she was with him. I’m not that bad but close. Perhaps I should have named this blog “Until I get Married” like the homie Jozen, keeping it nice and broad, not offending anyone I date.

Back to living together…

There are two types of people in the world: those who believe you should live with a mate before marriage in order to truly see if they are the one and those who don’t. Think back when your parents were our age. Folks met, dated and married in less than 2 years. Months into it they knew this was their future spouse and they hadn’t even had oral sex or hit the backdoor yet alone live together. Still they knew… (more…)

I have a confession: I like going to the strip club.
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First time I saw the voluptuous ass of a women clapping on a stage adorned in nothing more than butt floss I stood amazed along the back wall of Magic City. It was one of the whore’s birthday’s so the runway was covered in a plastic trap. Whipped cream and chocolate sauce was everywhere. The bi-sexual sluts were having such a good time that they didn’t even care to work the room for the dirty bills clenched in the ogling men’s hands.
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The time after that was in the back woods of South Carolina. Mr. Southern Comfort took me around to three levels of strip clubs: Scum buckety – where the women walked around butt ass naked, smoked cigarettes with their cat traps and squirted breast milk into the crowd. Butta Face – the pole work was good but the women weren’t cute. Classy – the women were pretty, some couldn’t dance but the atmosphere was inviting, especially for a woman.

It would be years before I stepped foot inside another strip club. It wasn’t due to lack of interest. I’ve always wanted to know what men get out of it. The problem was my guy friends didn’t want to take me. Women being paid customers at strip clubs is a fairly recent occurrence. They didn’t want to be the dude bringing sand to the beach. The types of clubs they usually went to weren’t public. There was no sign outside the door and sometimes a secret password was needed. These backdoor joints were illegal. There was definitely sex taking place.

A few months ago I returned to the strip club. So much had changed since I use to beg my Manny’s to take me. As I arrived at Sin City, I noticed that there were more women on line than men. These ladies were celebrating birthdays, bachelorette parties, Thursday night. Whatever the case might have been they were out there in droves determined to have a good time. (more…)

I don’t know about you but this holiday season is kicking my ass. There’s one week left until Christmas and I haven’t bought a single present. Hell, I’m not even partaking in my office’s Secret Santa. What I look like spending $30 on a co-worker I don’t really care for. Every time I hear a Christmas carol my eyes roll. Then there is the issue of this damn recession. We’re all in the same place as far as watching our paper but when you’re involved with someone your approach to the holidays (should) change. This got me to thinking and about two things: The Recession and Love. I introduce to you the Recession Love series.

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I’m bad at a lot of things: hellos, goodbye, hugs, remembering birthdays and lastly, presents. Something about the pressure of going shopping, finding the right gift without asking them what they want…whew, I just got tired thinking about it. I’m the type to ask you what you want, have you print it out with a list of stores where I can get it and give it to you unwrapped. Surprises are not my thing.

It’s not that I don’t want to show how much I value a dude, but I’m constantly thinking about what the gift means and whether I’m putting more into it than him. I’m all about balance and fairness. Can’t go out looking like a sucka. Because of this I usually end up giving “sentimental gifts” aka some shit I made myself so if he ends up giving me some wackness it’s no sweat off my back. To date I’ve given old flames crocheted hats and scarfs (think Common during his E. Badu years), sweaters and a box of condoms. Trust me, I was justified in each case.

Of course when the love is new you try to put a disclaimer out there:

“Let’s make a deal, how about we don’t spend more than $50.”

“How about we just make dinner and stay home.”

“It’s OK with me if we don’t exchange gifts.”

For the record, no one wants to be the Scrooge and suggest not to buy gifts at all but one of you is always thinking it. (more…)