In 2011 – Take the Vibrator Pledge!
In 2011, I think all women need one thing – a vibrator. Yes, I said it.
There’s nothing like a little clit simulation to get the blood pumping and the mind clicking. No, I’m no a sexpert by in the age of any-thing-goes-ality, a vibrator is an essential tool. It doesn’t matter if you are single, in a committed relationship, married or moving between the complexities of dating.
Okay…it does matter… LOL! If you are single and not dating, it doesn’t take the place of a real-life penis (no need to lie) but it sure helps in the meantime…okay!!
If you are single and dating, the one thing in Steve Harvey’s mess of dating books I agree with is the 90-day rule. Ladies, please get to know someone before you give away your cookies, jewels or whatever before having sex with them.
HIV/AIDS – no joke. Genital herpes – unlike the media reports every Black person doesn’t have it. You can get it even if you use a condom.
I’m about to drop something and I hope you catch it – there truly is not such thing as SAFE SEX…get it. But, you increase your chances of surviving by communicating, listening and watching actions. I hope you got that because a blog is only suppose to be but so long so I don’t have the luxury of explaining this right now.
If you are married or in a committed relationship, he or she ain’t always there! And, besides practice makes perfect…ha, ha…I hope you caught this one too.
The old saying rings true – “you must love yourself first before you can love someone else.” Let’s expand that saying just a little, “you must know how to pleasure yourself before you can pleasure someone and get pleasured by someone.”
Just like my IPod, e-reader, Macbook and mobile phone, my vibrator is an essential piece of equipment. It has a pretty carrying case. I travel with it. It has a special place in my home. It has it’s own special accessories.
Here’s a funny story about my vibrator and me: My mommy and I are on a plane headed to Paris. The flight attendant gets on the loud speaker and says, “If there is a Shaletta Espie on the plane, please hit your attendant light.”
Now, I’m not going to comment in this blog about European airport security but shouldn’t they have known that I was on the plane. I did check-in with a government-issued passport. I did go through Customs. I did get selected to walk through the much-controversial body scanner. Hmmm… So yes I was on the plane, and I did what they told me to do – I hit the button.
It was at this precise moment that my 69-year-old mother turns to me and says, “Oh my goodness, I hope you didn’t forget to take the batteries out of your vibrator.”
#motherswhoembarrassdaughtersabouttheirvibrators – surely I can spark a Twitter following about this…LOL! And, of course she didn’t say it quietly. Funny…yes! Shocking…yes! Embarrassing…a little!
I’m not a sexpert so I’m not going to tell you how to use a vibrator. I’m not going to give you any tips about how you and your partner can enhance your sex life with one. I’ll leave that up to Laura Berman.
These are just Shu’s feelings ya’ll. Just my feelings…
Now, in 2011, ladies…make a promise to yourself to get a vibrator – if you don’t have one and if you do have one – upgrade. Just like Apple…there’s always the next generation coming to the shelf…LOL!
Add a comment December 31, 2010
Tags: Black women, sex, vibrator
Book Review – The Help
The Help by Kathryn Stockett
I’ve been to Mississippi.
When I think of it, the words racism, discrimination and segregation pop into my mind. Not only because I’ve read about the state’s history but because I’ve experienced the hate of Mississippi first hand – in the 2000s not the 1960s – the years Kathryn Stockett decides to explore in her first novel, The Help.
Stockett’s novel is a page-turner – no doubt. She spins a story of social awakening as seen from both sides of the American racial divide – the white side and the Black (when referring to Africa Americans, I always capitalize Black because after slavery and the civil right movement, we deserve to be capitalized) side with no gray in between.
Here’s the story line in a few paragraphs:
Newly graduated from Ole Miss with a degree in English but neither an engagement ring nor a steady boyfriend, Eugenia “Skeeter” Phelan returns to her parents’ cotton farm in Jackson, Mississippi. Although it’s 1962 – during the early years of the civil rights movement – she is largely unaware of the tensions gathering around her town.
Skeeter is in some ways is an outsider. Her friends, bridge partners and fellow members of the Junior League are married. Most subscribe to the racist attitudes of the era – mistreating and despising the Black maids/nannies whom they count on to raise their children. Skeeter is not racist but she is naive and unwittingly patronizing.
When her best friend makes a political issue of not allowing the “help” to use the toilets in their employers’ houses, she decides to write a book in which the community’s maids – their names disguised – talk about their experiences.
Fear of discovery and retribution at first keep the maids from complying but a stalwart woman named Aibileen, who has raised and nurtured 17 white children, and her friend Minny, who keeps losing jobs because she talks back when insulted and abused, sign on with Skeeter’s risky project, and eventually 10 others follow.
Aibileen and Minny share the narration with Skeeter as Stockett attempts to accomplishment reproducing Black vernacular. Too bad she has trouble with this (but I’ll get to this later).
Stockett does accomplish delineating the conditions of Black servitude a century after the Civil War. In general, she does capture the feelings of Black women servicing as maids/nannies in Mississippi in the 1960s and of the “nigra” hating white women who employ them.
Please note that she does stumble with the ebonic vernacular of Aibileen and Minny, writing “law” instead of “lawd” and sentences such as “She don’t pick up her own baby for rest a the day” instead of “She don’t pick up her own baby for rest da day.”
These mishaps make my skin itch especially since Stockett admits, “I was scared that I was crossing a terrible line – writing in the voice of Black people.” The reason I itch is because Stockett was raised in Mississippi mostly by a Black maid/nanny. So, Ms. Stockett, did you listen to her or just find comfort in her full bossom and thick hips when no one – including your mama – took time to show you love? I’m not being cruel. Stockett tells the story of her “mama-like” Black maid and heartless mother herself. A visit to urbandictionary.com would have done you good. I shake my finger at her and her editors for this.
The ironic portion of the novel is the murders of Medgar Evers and Martin Luther King Jr., which are seen through the eyes of Black Americans but go largely unobserved by the white community. I wish Stockett would have increased her word count on these portions.
I remember the tension between Blacks and whites when O.J. was found not guilty so I know there was a huge amount of tension between the races when King was killed. It would have added “something” to the story. I wanted to hear more from these “cake-eating, card-playing, Tab-drinking, cigarette-smoking women” who plan fundraisers for the “Poor Starving Children of Africa,” when the father of civil rights was immortalized – his spirit was releasing from his body and taking its rightful place next to our God in heaven.
Stockett further says, “I am afraid I’ve told too much.” Not so. Although the Black maid in the deep south story has been told countless times, The Help is a story that should be told because there is an authenticity in the white guilt, the white hate and the Black anger and sometimes a fictitious story about real events is all some can digest.
The goal of The Help according to Stockett is, “ For women to realize, we are just two people with not much separating us.” She doesn’t accomplish this – at all – but she still writes a good story – so read it – because it is a poignant reminder of the inhumane treatment past generations of Black women endured to ensure a better life for the generations to come. If the generations that follow ignore these stories – than we are all ignorant!
When I think of Aibileen, Minny and Yule May, I’m thankful for my mother Lila, my aunt Helen and my grandmother Macie – all encouraged me to ignore the limitations that society attempts to place on Blacks and women and be as powerful, inspirational and intellectual as God made me to be.
Read The Help – it’s worth a visit to the library (I’m a big advocate of supporting our local libraries) or bookstore.
Next – look for my review of Incendiary by Chris Cleave.
I also recommend reading Little Bee by Chris Cleave and A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini. Both are on my all-time favorite book list but I didn’t have time to write reviews of them.
Happy reading! Oh, and lookout for the movie version of The Help, which begins filming this summer.
P.S. I wrote this blog at 10:30 p.m. on a Tuesday while watching Chopped on the Food Network and drinking Pinot Noir so don’t blame me if something doesn’t make sense…blame the wine.
1 comment June 29, 2010
Tags: Black women, Book Review, Kathryn Stockett, The Help
Laugh At Yourself: It’s Okay!
Standing in front of a microphone can be intimidating – and humorous.
There it is staring at you, and you are staring back at it, wondering who will get the best of who. You think for a moment, “I have the power over you.” Because, whatever you put in will come out. But at the same time, it’s laughing at you saying, “If that’s what you think.” Because whatever you put in usually doesn’t come out the way you think.
“Go ahead, speak into the mic.”
I follow orders and try to spit a rhyme. I just watched Notorious so I’m inspired. “Mic-ra-phone Checka 1-2-3.” Okay, so it’s not Biggie or even Lil’ Kim but it’s all I could think of and plus DB – the super-duper producer – is laughing at me. I heard my voice fill the room – it’s coming from the north, south, east and west. But, wait! It doesn’t sound like me. My voice sounds different when it’s being amplified across the room. I don’t sound as sexy as I think I do in my head.
“Put the headphones on.”
I look to my right and see a pair of big black headphones sitting on a table. I take a moment and look at them because they conjure up negative feelings. Of course, my face is in a frown, as only Shaletta can make it frown. They are the big ones that I usually see guys wearing on the train. Big and loud. The volume can get ridiculous on these things. And, usually those who wear them test the bounds of their audio performance, and at 7 a.m. in the morning, I don’t want to hear the likes of Lil Wayne of Soulja Boy talking about bitches and hoes or gettin’ money, telling stories about little duffle bag boys.
But, I follow directions, and I put them on.
“Okay, speak into the mic again.”
“I’m MC Shu, I ain’t got no Boo, but I’ma get me one in a few.”
Boy, I’m bad at this.
“You want to lay down a track.”
“Me?” The one who sounds like a wounded animal when she sings. The one whose mother threw away her shower radio because she couldn’t take my singing in the shower. The one whose grandmother loved to sing old hymns, and when I joined in, she would say “Baby, it’s alright, not everyone is meant to sing.”
“Sure, why not.” What the hell do I have to lose? It’s just me and DB, so why not.
“Here’s the beat. Just relax and let it flow. Let’s do a practice run, then we’ll record.”
“Be careful how you pronounce your Bs and Ds because you will start to clip.”
What in the hell is he talking about. “Ok.” Maybe, Beyonce knows or John Legend, but I’ma need him to speak English. But, he doesn’t catch the look on my face. And, my mind is on all those Jimmy Choo shoes, Louis Vuitton handbags, two-week vacations off the coast of France and $2,500-a-night hotel rooms I’ma be buying (and yes, the millions I’m going to give away to charities that save animals, educate children and protect the earth – I do have a heart, and I believe in service. OBAMA – sorry I just like to shout that at random times…LOL!) when P. Diddy gets a hold of this demo. I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about again – accelerandos, dolorosos and stanzas. “Okay.” Whatever, let’s do this.
“Alright, come in on the second verse.”
“Okay.”
“Here we go.”
Nothing. Laughter. Giggles. More laughter. More giggles. DB starts to laugh too. I’m speechless. I don’t know what to sing. More laughter. More giggles.
“Take a minute and write something down.” I get nervous. I look around for help or inspiration. But, there’s no Lil’ Cease to go and get me some weed and fellas. (If you saw Notorious, then you know what I’m talking about.) Just me. “I’m all I got in this world and that’s all I need. I fear no one because I am the one.” More rhyme flowing. I’ma send that one to Jay-Z.
“Girl, stop with the rap dreams and write something down!”
So, now I’m a song writer too. Damn, DB starts talking more music lingo about verses and stanzas and lyrics. I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about, and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing! But, I write down a few words about a brotha’s smile.
I love your smile. When I see it, I get all warm inside. Your smile will make an emotionless woman cry. It will make me walk a million miles. I love you smile. Boy, won’t you let it be mine.
Okay, I know – bad. But, Diddy will hire some song writers for me. Let’s do this.
Practice run complete – check. Now, it’s time to record. Oh my goodness, I sound hot. This microphone is making my voice sound – Delicious! I can smell the millions.
“You will hear three clicks and that indicates that you are recording. Relax and have fun with it.”
The beat begins to flow. I love your smile. When I see it, I get all warm inside. This time I’m more confident – swaying, grooving, moving and smiling. I feel every hit of the drum, every pluck of the guitar and every blow into the trumpet. This is H-O-T!
“Cut.”
“Let me hear it. Let me hear it.” My voice feels the room again.
I love your smile. When I see it, I get all warm inside. Your smile will make an emotionless woman cry. It will make me walk a million miles. I love you smile. Boy, won’t you let it be mine.
Silence. More silence. DB is looking at me, and I’m looking at him. He laughs first, then I follow.
It was TERRIBLE. I didn’t sound like a wounded animal, I sounded like a dying one. I sounded far worse than Kim on The Real Housewives of Atlanta. Terrible, terrible and terrible. Sorry to inform you – no Diddy, no $2,500-a-night hotel rooms on secluded islands, no Jimmy’s and no Vuitton’s (what??? Okay, I went too far with the Vuitton comment. I can afford at least one a year).
The lesson I want you to take from this story is: Experience something new and different. Have fun with it. And, don’t be afraid to laugh at yourself.
For many, laughter is a healing power – the best antidepressant ever prescribed. It enables us to reframe our anxieties, and it has extraordinary capabilities to help us see the positive when our hearts are aching.
It is a fact that some of the best moments of laughter are based on true stories. How many comedians have you heard tell stories based on real events that make you laugh? Probably, countless. If not, just tune into Steve Harvey, Russ Parr or Ricky Smiley, and you are sure to hear one.
So, if some of the best jokes are based on real occurrences, then why aren’t more of us laughing?
Because some people naturally discover the light-hearted side of things while others seem to settle into a “doom and gloom” mode about practically everything that occurs in their lives. My friend Barbara is on the light-hearted side of the equation. She can laugh about anything and never takes life too seriously. Her spirit is infectious, and when I talk to her – no matter what’s happening in my life (good or bad) – I find myself laughing. That’s why I love to talk to her.
These Barbara-type people can easily find the humor in almost every situation. But, why can’t we all?
Here’s why? Because a lot of us want to be “perfect!” And when we mess up, we don’t want anyone to notice those ridiculous things we do or the silly situations we somehow create for ourselves.
I admit – I fall into this category more than I want to admit. But, more and more I’m giving myself permission to laugh at myself. I’ve discovered that the quest for perfection has profound, negative physical, mental, emotional and spiritual affects on your life (Thanks Nadra for teaching me this). There is loads of medical evidence that shows laughter’s positive affects on the immune system. It has also been recently established that future health outcomes are enhanced by “the glass half full” rationale as opposed to “the glass half empty.”
If you are struggling with being able to laugh at yourself, here are some tips:
- Give yourself permission. It’s okay. Really it is!
- Rediscover your sense of humor by easing off your drive for perfection and seriousness while encouraging a light-hearted approach whenever possible.
- Stimulate your mind to uncover the humor in every situation and give your laughter muscles a daily workout.
- Allow laughter to replace alcohol, tobacco, drugs and medications when you’re stressed and need to cope.
- Encourage your playful side to emerge even during those challenging times.
- Accept laughter and humor as one of God’s gifts and share it with others as often as possible. When you laugh, especially at yourself, everyone else will join in. Laughter is contagious – and healing.
- Don’t take yourself or anyone else too seriously.
Until next time, don’t forget to LIVE LIFE!
8 comments April 24, 2009
Tags: Emotional Health, humor, laughter, perfection
Introduction – Hello to A Butterfly’s Soul!
Guess what? I’ve decided to start a blog.
About what? Physical, mental, emotional, financial and spiritual health.
Why? For many reasons:
1. I’m on a healthy living journey, and this blog will help me stay focused and allow me to share with others who may or may not be on the same journey. Although, I hope everyone is on this journey because good health is essential and it’s a human right. Fight for health reform – okay that’s another blog.
2. Somewhere along the way, I lost my love for writing. I know where and how I lost it – but again, that’s another blog. I hope this blog will help me regain it.
3. I have something to say, and this blog will provide me with a way to strengthen and adjust the volume of my voice. Are you ready to testify because you will be a witness to my growth!
How often will you publish a blog? Let’s begin…weekly and then slowly move into daily. However, it may be more frequently than weekly depending on my need to have my voice heard, my spirit lifted, my thirst to share and my journey supported.
What will you publish? I want to keep you abreast of my journey, so I’ll post my feelings and thoughts about healthy living, my weekly menu, my favorite recipes and so on.
I want you to live healthy, so I’ll post useful information. For example, May is mental health month so I’m working on an article about African Americans and depression and stress, so I’ll post it.
I want to share, so I’ll post details about my life-long struggle with obesity. But, I hope that I won’t be the only one sharing. I want to also post your thoughts, comments, stories and suggestions. I even hope to have a guess blogger or two.
What’s up with the name, “A Butterfly’s Soul?” Welll…
There is something beautiful about a butterfly.
It has an unusual life cycle, and if you think about it – we all do. It transforms from a caterpillar state – an inactive pupal stage – into a colorful, bold beauty that attracts attention regularly despite the state from which is emerges. It’s diverse patterns formed by its brightly colored wings and its erratic yet graceful flight is envied by most.
They are playful creatures, flaunting their beauty with assurance, confidence and esteem. I realized this one day when walking my dog around a lake in Baltimore City where, on any given day, you stride pass dozens of people who “Believe” (okay, if you aren’t from Baltimore, “Believe” is a former city slogan…one of my favorites) and striving to stay or get healthy.
A yellow butterfly with purple and green spots flatters around Pippen’s (that’s my dog. Yes, named after basketball great Scottie Pippen…LOL!) head. Curious he stops and looks as to say, “why can you fly and I can’t.” After circling around his head a few times, it lands on his nose, saying “look at me.” And, before Pippen can lift his paw and swat it away, it flies off again and begins to make its journey across the rippling waves of the lake. Beauty, confidence, esteem and grace – that’s the life of a butterfly. And, that’s why this blog is titled, “A Butterfly’s Soul.”
Stay tuned and you will discover why I believe that I have a butterfly’s soul.
My journey (which started in 2005 – don’t worry, I’ll take you back) is, and will continue to be, one of beauty, confidence, esteem and grace. I admit this blog is probably more for me than it will be for you. It will keep me focused – steady on this rocky, curvy road filled with detours, speed bumps, potholes, rage and traffic jams. But, eventually I will arrive at my health and fitness goals, and you will be there with me.
Some of you will read this blog just to cheer me on, some will take the journey with me and some will just read to see what and how I’m doing. Whatever the reason you check in with me, I want to say, “thank you” because it’s rarely fun to ride alone.
I say, “this blog will be more for me,” not to be arrogant because I need you – your strength, support and steadfast faith. Don’t worry there will be something for you. Along the way, I’ll share recipes, stories about my journey and those of others, health headlines, resources, photos, thoughts and affirmations. And, I would love to hear from you, so e-mail me at abutterflyssoul@hotmail.com.
I’ll end with this comment (and, yes I’m borrowing it from President Obama…LOL!), “Yes, we can.” We can do this together – improve our physical, mental, emotional, financial and spiritual health.
I dedicate this blog to all the children of the world who are struggling with overweight and obesity.
If no one else understands, I do!
2 comments April 23, 2009
Tags: Black women, butterflies, eating right, Emotional Health, Financial Health, fitness, healthy living, Mental Health, Spiritual Health
