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My struggle in penning this essay is rooted in me trying to write it from the perspective of a man who resides in a place too many outside factors won’t let me rest in contently.

Initially, I wanted to kick things off with recalling how I was once told by a dear friend and lesbian friend of mine, “You dance like a f*ggot.” It was said as a compliment, but it struck a nerve because it was a realization I long held myself, which is why I used to not dance publicly. I didn’t want to be pegged so easily, you know? These days, as noted by other friends, you can find me twerkin’ with no shame at a tourist attraction or sidewalk near you.

I wanted to use that transition as some larger metaphor to explain how I’ve become at peace with some of the feminine traits attributed to gay men that apply to me in the midst of all the ones that don’t, and as a result, get me called things like “fauxmo,” “non gay-gay,” and the like (which make me laugh). The goal was to show I’ve meshed aspects of myself that are considered “manly” and “womanly” and became a better person overall – regardless of what anyone thinks.

It sounded so nice when I envisioned this piece and that sense of relief I wanted to convey. But I just couldn’t and finally it hit me: my anger lingers. Hauntingly so.

Read the rest here. ‘Twas hard to write so you should.

And then you should email it around. And tweet about it. And share on Facebook. And print and mail by pigeon — preferably to people who can give a boost. All that.


Edit: The link was changed apparently. Fixed.

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I almost wanted to kick off this post with “LOL.” As a writer, that’s kind of disgusting but nevertheless it best describes my reaction to this story of the gay Mormon who boasts of his awesome sex life with his wife. That and “fuck you.”

In theory, I don’t mind the idea of a gay man sharing his fairy tale about marrying a woman, having a family, and living the perfect hetero life despite his natural homo inclinations. In theory.

On one end, Josh Weed does add a bit of nuance to the idea of homosexuality. I get annoyed when people – gays and bisexuals included – only look at homosexuality and heterosexuality within the sole context of sex. Homosexuality is simply your primary physical attraction being towards someone of the same sex. It doesn’t mean your genitals hit an automatic off switch when presented with the opportunity to have sex with someone of the opposing gender. Sexual arousal can be a bit tricker for some even if their preferences are much clearer.

Kudos to him for highlighting that, but he and his wife can fall into Montgomery Burns’ trap door in his office all the same. He, his wife and the church in which they serve have an obvious agenda.He can say all he wants that he’s not trying to sway other religious gay men, but that is a crock.

Josh is a gay man who opts to have sex with one woman because he believes that is what God expects of him. A person with that sort of thinking wants to convince others that they can join him and peddle that perverse view that homosexuality is a choice and obviously one can choose to suppress those feelings successfully.

As Mrs. Mormon notes: “That he gave up something so core to show his love for God and for me. I can’t imagine something more beautiful than that.”

So take back control of your jock for Jesus?


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After watching this interview, I owe Diamond an apology. Anyone who has seen me in the club drunk, or at least terrifically tipsy, knows that when Diamond’s verse on “Rock Yo Hips” comes on a feeling of great joy consumes me as I repeat everything she says line for line. Insert your clucks here. That said, my love for Ms. 32 Flavors shifted a bit after listening to Momma Dee and Lil’ Scrappy rip her reputation to shreds. I was wrong for allowing that smack sway me.

I am so, so sorry for letting their shade sink into the psyche, Diamond. Whether or not what that pimp and the other tity boi say about you is true is a moot point. You helped me rock my hips, then make it wiggle, wavin’, sippin’ in this bizzle when I needed to most. I am forever grateful to you.

I, too, now understand why Diamond didn’t bother with Love & Hip Hop: Alanah. Though the show has become one of my favorite things in life, Diamond is trying to be classy now so it wouldn’t be a good look for her. As classy as anyone who releases mixtapes under the “Bitch Musik” label can be anyway.

I was under the impression that Diamond simply didn’t want to get choke slammed by Momma Dee in the Kroger’s parking lot while the camera crew zoomed into her butt cheeks mid-cement back crack.

Diamond aims higher. She’s trying to be the kind of hood person who doesn’t just to go Pappadeaux’s on somebody’s birthday. Shouldn’t we support that?

I want it to work out for Diamond. Rap still needs more women and I happen to dig a lot of the solo songs she’s released in the last few years. Especially “Superbad,” that song she did with Cee-Lo, which I resent each of you for not supporting ’cause that shit was hot.

Don’t get too PC on me, though, lady. You are from Crime Mob, after all. Trina ran too far away from what made her special and you see where that got her.

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Why would a woman who recorded a song called “Sponsor” even bother feigning obliviousness over criticism that she records “gold digging music?”

Wait, I’m being silly. We live in a world where a man could be caught singing into a penis and look at you stupid if you ask whether or not they’re into dudes. Of course you’re defensive about people describing your music that way, Teairra.


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In honor of the anniversary of Amy Winehouse’s death, The Guardian spoke to a few people who knew her when she was just beginning her career. Reminding me yet again that we were born the same year, I loved the bit about her going back and forth with her friend over who was the better singer between Brandy and Monica (she went from Mo).

I especially love that at the age of 12, she wrote of her future goals:

“I want people to hear my voice and forget their troubles for five minutes.”

That she did.

You can read the feature here.

You can also check out what I wrote about her death last year here.

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I saw this on the Facebook page of someone actually from Alabama, although not from Birmingham. I imagine he would want me to specify as he has a few times before. No shade, Birmingham. I don’t have a pit in that Vick.

Anyway, The Real Rap Wives of Birmingham follows in the tradition of similar would be reality shows profiled on here like The Real Inmate Wives of Baltimore and Big Yo’s Lesbian Housewives. They just want to be famous for fighting and fornicating, too, y’all.

According to the YouTube description for part one of The Real Rap Wives of Birmingham, “Mogul” Nina Labelle – no relation to Patti, Patti, I presume – is trying to settle the beef between the Queen of Trill and Ms. Mercy. In other words, Susie is trying to bring Jen and Evelyn back together but we all know her messy ass won’t do anything but stir up more trouble. That’s why nobody likes her ass now.

Who are these people I’m talking about? The hell if I know, although the video description goes on to note that Queen Trill and Lord, Have Mercy On Their Names are “two woman [editor’s note: yes, woman] are brilliant and talented music artists and models.”

Of course they are.

That said, the summary text concludes with “check the show out.”

I have and I am somewhat amused. I mean, how you can you not chuckle at Nina Labelle’s mini-mansion plug? Or her assumption that we’d be surprised about events taking place between perfect strangers. And I love, love, love how she asks, “Care fuh some wine?” and proceeds to pour Arbor Mist.

Cheap wine can be quite divine, honestly.

I also like how that instead of going to a restaurant to settle a beef, Nina invites the other person over for dinner. I mean, learn something about southern hospitality, Real Housewives of Atlanta. And clearly both aren’t fronting about being hungry because I sure can hear them chewing during their conversations. Smacking their lips, too.

Was it good, folk?

Oh, oh: Did you see that Chrysler 300M? I hope so given they zoomed in like seven times. The logo might have looked blurry on the camera, but we see you, boo. We see you.

That said, this, uh, pilot, moved a wee bit too slow for me. Say, around the middle. It’s sort of like one unrehearsed version of a monologue entitled “Ain’t I A Trapstar?” But you know, I salute you ladies for living in a PC, Windows Movie Maker World trying to Mac your way to stardom. Hustle, hustle, hustle…hard.

Those who won’t be able to catch Joseline and Steebie J. on Love & Hip Hop: Atlanta later tonight due to the Viacom and DirecTV beef, here you go. You’re welcome.


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So I wrote about that when that study came up a few (maybe more, who can remember?) weeks ago. It’s up now.

Here’s a taste:

It started as soon as I started to come out to my friends. As legend has it, there is some magical little internal instrument called “gaydar” that many assumed I was equipped with. And with that “gaydar” comes the all-knowing ability to correctly clock any gay person within a 10-mile radius. Only a few years after J.L. King put the fear of the “down low brother” in the hearts of millions of Oprah-watching women, people around me wanted confirmation about men they were suspicious of being gay but too afraid to ask directly (imagine such a concept), or you know, merely being all-around nosy.

I distinctly remember being in class when a friend of mine asked if someone she had known since the original Power Rangers airing was gay. My response was, “You’ve known him since the playground. Shouldn’t you be more equipped to answer that question?” I suppose she already had the answer, but needed confirmation. I wasn’t giving it.

While she seemed sincerely curious, others have been just stupid.

“His shirt is Barney purple, not Que color. Maybe he’s gay.”

“His hair line is just a little too perfect.”

“Oh. My. God. Does he wax his eyebrows? Michael, is he for you or for me?”

That last one was actually for the National Association for the Advancement of Unibrow Removal, but you get it.

Frankly, there are times when I can spot a gay man, but as my friend Raia noted to me on the phone yesterday, mistakes will happen. “Michael, I thought we decided that your New Year’s resolution was to date [actual] gay men,” she quipped. The shade in that comment is so thick I needed a flashlight to write this article.

For the record, it’s not that they weren’t gay. It’s that the way in denial or gay and didn’t know it yet. Whatever, stop judging me. Anyway, the trouble with “gaydar” in me and everyone else is that there’s never a real way to confirm someone’s sexuality. Such a responsibility goes to that person. That reason alone is why sometimes “gaydar” can be as helpful as it is annoying.

It’s especially worrisome when people – particularly straight ones – go on and on about their “gaydar” and its success rate. Now some new study is only going to embolden the self-professed gay spotters of the world. Super.

Full serving here. Gon’ now.

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File this under, “Girl, you so different.” Word to Fresh. As soon as the beat for this song dropped, I instantly thought of the Hello Girls as fifty shades of Josie and the Pussycats. A few minutes later, I also pegged them as the OMG Girlz after puberty. Or in Meagan Good’s case, the OMG Girlz after their 10-year high school reunion.

That’s not shade. That’s the truth of our driver’s licences speaking.

Now someone explain this video to me. So they’re at the Kwik-E-Mart dancing over the joy of Funyons when they run into a Melanie-less Derwin from The Game outside near the ice cream truck. He in turn treats them to some ice cream to beat the summer heat after being treated to a dance inspired by the girl who hangs with Scooby Doo that says “jinkies” a lot.

After that, they hit a party for Solange kind of Black people where a guy impersonating Heath Ledger’s version of The Joker comes to spook the trendy coloreds in the room. However, it’s like a dream because Meagan wakes up the next day dressed up like Eartha Kitt as Catwoman in that old version of Batman.

So why is the midget harassing them after demanding oral fixation?

And then – SPLAT – The Joker wasn’t a dream he was real and demanding that Meagan pay him for Eartha’s costume renter. Does that make him a bill collector?

Is that it?


Oh, don’t look at me like that. I’m making a bit more sense than this weird ass video does. I understand paltry video budgets means everyone’s got to step their creative cookies up, but within reason, folks.

In theory, I want the Hello Girls to succeed because as I mentioned previously elsewhere, there’s a dearth of girl groups and we really need to get them poppin’ again. People are so selfish now. All about “me, me, and I.”

However, this song and video aren’t making me go, “Oooh, I can’t wait for more of them.” I’m just sitting here…confused.

Hold on, I need to think of something positive: Meagan Good’s husband is fine and friendly. Meagan Good seems fine and friendly. They’ll have fine and friendly children.

Wait, that has nothing to do with the video. Well, I don’t know what the video is. Might as well tray from the point of it. They damn sure did. Good luck and shit, though, ladies.

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So apparently Willie Taylor of Day 26 took to Twitter to confirm that Day 26 is officially over and done with. I could’ve told him that back in 2010, but people come to learn their truths on their own time. Not letting a few monkeys stop his show, Willie Taylor is back with his new single, “Instagram Your Body.”

Yes, that is the name of the single. Indeed, he took it there. Of course, I wish he hadn’t. No, I have no idea why he chose to.

This song is many things and good wouldn’t be a word I’d think to include. Okay, wait. I did wave and sip in my seat a lil’ bit to it. However, I am on a caffeine high while typing this. I’ll sway to the sounds of a running faucet when I’m high on caffeine.

I understand that the song actually captures the hoe shit spirit of Instagram, but there’s something really corny about this. “Bring you booty on down on this bed. And Imma I can take a flick. A flick. A flick. A flick.”

Maybe this tickles some of y’all’s sweet spots, but the second I heard that hook I swear if it could, my dick, my dick, my dick…would laugh.

But if this ditty here strokes you up, I don’t mind. That much anyway. Judging you, though, even if only slightly.

However, continue to snapping your shots on Instagram. It provides motivation. Of both the Shaun T. and Kelly Rowland variety.

That’s not really a compliment to “Instagram Your Body,” but clearly this is the only positive point I have…so take it, Willie with your, ahem, handsome self. Now that I think about it, this song will seek revenge on my slickness by way of haunting me in my sleep. Let me wrap up now before it gets any worse.

I wonder does my old barber in LA know about this track because he has a single called “Girl, I’ll Skype You.” The lyrics go: “Girl, I’ll skype you, cuz I like you….I might wife you….”

For real, you can go to I’m supporting him because he supported my line up. Y’all know of my struggles with other people on that (if not, read here). Anyway, maybe they can plan a tour. Call it the Social Media Slut You tour. I might join as soon as I write my forthcoming single, “Facebook Fuck.” Uh huh, I’m still contemplating a rap career. Don’t steal that.


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Almost two months ago I wrote a piece for advising Azealia Banks to ease up a bit on her outspokenness given it already seems to be alienating people. I mentioned in the article how it’s not like she’s technically wrong in her stances a lot of the time, but for a minute there all stories about her focused on her beefs. That ought to be concerning to a newbie. Or not. I dig that she effectively could give a fuck about that opinion.

After that realization hit me, I soon remembered what it was like to be 21.

There is this growing sentiment that it’s okay to say whatever you want, however you want to whomever you choose to just because you can. That frustrates me, although in Azealia’s place she was never necessarily saying shit for fuck’s sake. There remains an obnoxious quality to a few of the shots Banks has fired at people, but in the cases of T.I. and Lil’ Kim, Azealia was only responding to people who went out of their way to attack her.

And she’s right, those comments did lead to conversations about race and sexism. Maybe not the best conversations, but conversations all the same. That’s more than I can say to the idiots soiling social media with their rants that scream, “Please oh please, may this make me famous.”

In hindsight, perhaps I misplaced some of my criticism.


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