Let’s Not Forget About The Regular Girl, Shall We?




It seems as if some women have forgotten their yesteryears. Those itchy, questionable years. The years when your skin wasn’t cozy, and was instead claustrophobic because you didn’t have it together internally or externally. During those years, just south of puberty when your body was taking shape, and your mind was trying to catch up, you, like most young women, were (for a lack of better phrasing) a mess. You began noticing the boys noticing you and all of sudden things changed. Your jeans became tighter, and your clear lip gloss was eventually substituted for something with more color, and if you were like sixth-grade Shenequa, you left the house with a bare face and snuck into the girls bathroom attempting to put on lipstick, only to realize you were never good at coloring in the lines and now you paid the ultimate price.

Before your flicka-da-wrist action with a flat iron was A1, you two donned tight church curls, or maybe a bump at the end that would eventually fall flat, which left you and the rest of us wondering how did Laura Winslow achieve such perfect hair? I assumed the sizzle I heard from the flat iron meant progress, not knowing I was destroying my edges and splitting even more my already split ends.

But after getting burned by the flat iron enough times, we figured it out. After wearing more lipstick on our teeth than our lips, we figured it out. Once our bodies began to settle and we grew comfortable with our new breast, hips and asses, we, figured out what clothes worked best for us.

We as young women eventually figured it out. It takes time and many years of experimentation, following the crowd and eventually getting to a place of not giving a fuck, but eventually we figure it out, In our own time, by listening to our own voice. But as older women, 30+ plus women, we had the luxury of going through our awkward years without social media, and now “we’ve” unintentionally made it ten times harder for the regular girl to figure it out for herself as well.

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The REAL Reason (Some) Men Are Hurt By Ciara And Russell Wilson’s Engagement


Let me be Windex window clear: Ciara and Russell Wilson aren’t paying my bills, so their life and recent engagement isn’t my concern, but what has left me verklempt is the overwhelming angst Ciara has received from (some) men due to the fact she moved on from her relationship with Nayvadius Cash to Russell Wilson

If we take a hard look at Cici, we’ll see she’s had several high-profile relationships that we’re aware of: Bow-wow, Curtis”50 Cent” Jackson, Amar’e Stoudemire, Future and now her soon-to-be husband Russell Wilson. That means she’s been in five relationship, just five, but If you’re truly upset about Ciara’s body count and think she’s too “loose” I will spare you the reveal of your girlfriend, fiancee or wife’s, which I promise you is whatever number she told you, times three.

Five men is more than a “respectable” number (whatever that means) of suitors to have romantically Tangoed with, and to be even more honest, some men have had sex with five different women during Freshman orientation, so I’m still verklempt as to why she’s being called a whore or damaged goods? But you know, double-standards and sexism in 2016 are still a thing.

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Oh, NOW You Want Me?


On a gorgeous Saturday morning in Crown Heights, I was awakened by the sound of a woman screaming at the top of her lungs about some injustice a cat committed against her. Her cries were slightly muffled by the melody of honking horns zipping down Atlantic, the clanking of metal as store owners rolled up their gates and prepared for business, airplanes flying overhead and the hum of the Long Island Rail Road coming and going. Brooklyn’s alarm clock hadn’t rung just yet, but the screaming cat lady was doing her best to get everyone out of bed.

The girls and I made plans the night before and we hadn’t decided when everyone would show up to my house. We’re not doing anything special, we’ll probably be on our laptops being fake productive and most likely checking Facebook, but it’ll be just us, which is just enough for us. I rolled over in my bed and then realized I received a text from a guy who I was at one time embarrassingly too eager about.

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Despite What Social Media Says, I Have No Desire To Be A Professional Multitasker



I’m writing this not even 24 hours after catching a stomach virus from my 2-year-old cousin Dallas. He threw up on me on Sunday, and then by Monday morning, the war on terror legit began to take place in my stomach. I feel 90% percent better, but if you failed to sign up for Obamacare by the enrollment date, maybe for medical precautions, you should skip this one. I wouldn’t want you catching what I have through the screen.

I’m not sure if it’s a sign of the times, or my industry but it seems as if everybody has 50 million jobs, 50 million side hustles and 50 million projects. We’ve all become these professional multitaskers and I’m not here for it.

On top of being a blogger, you’re now a photographer. On top of being a photographer, you’re also a videographer. On top of editing video, you do A& R on the side and you’re about to sign the Rapping Dalmatians due to their cross over hit “The Hoe Is Mine” Might I add you also have an emerging T-shirt line and on top of your foray into fashion, you’re also a self-help coach and when you’re not instructing people on how to live their best lives, you’re also a make shift bishop at Boom Baptist Tabernacle Cavalry Church of Christ.

How do you all do it?

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The Short And Tragic Life Of Robert Peace Is More Than A Book About A Guy Who Dies At The End


From the title, you know Robert Peace doesn’t make it to the end, and if you think knowing the ending spoils the story, in this particular case, you’re wrong. You’d be wrong and you’d be shortsighted.

Robert Peace’s last breaths do not encapsulate the totality of his existence, experiences or the lives he touched. So yes, author Jeff Hobbs does give it all away in the beginning, and maybe you’re disenchanted by the notion of a kid from the hood, who makes it out of the hood, only to end up being devoured by the hood, but there’s so much more to this story then the ending you’re already aware of. So so much more.

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I Began Feeling Feminine When I Started Waxing


The first time I got a Brazilian wax it was a quasi lesbian experience that I wasn’t totally offended by. While the waxer made inappropriate, eyebrow-raising comments, it distracted me from the unimaginable pain.

A friend of mine started getting Brazilians in college and said it “wields the penis into your universe.” I wasn’t big on penis just randomly invading my orbit, but I did associate waxed vaginas with a certain womanly maturity I wanted, so I tried it.

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Hi, I’m Shenequa, And I Was Raised In A Naked House



If you and I are close friends, chances are you’ve either seen me naked, or at the very least, in my bra and panties.

READ: Want To Feel Good About Your Body? Go To Montego Bay

I understand how loaded that statement is, so let me clarify. Being naked, or only wearing my undergarments, isn’t an issue to me. That isn’t to be confused with me being completely comfortable with my body either. I still wish my thighs didn’t have lightening bolts for stretch marks, and want my ass to be rounder, but for the most part, if ever I have to get naked (i.e. changing in front of someone or having sex) I’m usually okay with it.

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Eight Things Shenequa Learned In 2015

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It seems as if someone snapped their fingers and 2015 flew by, and with there being just 48 hours left in the year, I decided to write and reflect on the eight things I learned that truly stuck with me.

This is my list from my year’s worth experiences. It may not apply to you, but I hope you learn from it.

1-The Right People Will Dig You When You Start Diggin’ You

I’ve always been a little left of center. Cool, with a sprinkle of  “Wait, what did you just say?” Being weird isn’t easy until that brand of weirdness becomes trendy, and for years, I’ve always wanted to be one of the “cool kids,” But In 2015, I shed more of that desire to be liked, and found myself celebrated by a crop of thinkers, creatives and folks who actually accept me for my ridiculousness. I’m sure they sometimes look at me like “Yeah, okay, Shenequa” but because I dig more of me now, they dig me too.

2-Hard Work Is Nothing To Be Afraid Or Ashamed Of

In 2015, I may have gotten 72 hours of sleep and I’m not exaggerating. I work from 6:30 to about midnight, on some nights until 2AM, then get up at 7:30 or 8AM to transcribe a story that was due two days before, and then agree to another interview I have no business agreeing to because of all the other stories that need to be done. Add on poor time management and my desire to re-watch my favorite episodes of The Golden Girls and you’ve got the fixins’ for a sleep deprived writer, but I learned to not be afraid of the work because it’s just work, and once you do the work, you’ll realize it can always get done.

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I’m A Horrible Host So Please Don’t Come Into Town To Visit Me


My cousin Tara should be in your top five dead or alive. Not only is she levelheaded, kind and wickedly funny, but she’s that person who throws awesome dinner parties at her very HGTV furnished home.

While you’re sipping on the high sodium Campbell’s chicken soup, she’s making a salmon bisque. Your mama’s fried chicken is cute and all, but can’t compare to my cousin’s overnight marinated cornish hens, and while you think your grandmother’s mac-n-cheese is the Big Meech and Larry Hoover of life, Tara’s lobster macaroni and cheese is the love and affection you need from your absentee father who finally admits his wrongs.

I LOVE going to Tara’s house. But if Tara came to mine, I’m not sure I could measure up. Not because she’s a wizard in the kitchen, but because Tara enjoys entertaining, and I do not.

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About Them 30 Showers, Ye: Why Shading An Ex Makes You Look Weak



When Kanye West stopped by Power 105.1’s The Breakfast Club Friday morning, I expected a remix of what happened the last time Ye and Charlamagne Tha God spoke. Instead, I was presently surprised to see a calmer, more mellow Kanye who spoke passionately, and at times, intelligently about class, race and religion.

But then Kanye showed his ass when questions about his ex, Amber Rose came up.

“If Kim dated me when I wanted, there would be no Amber Rose,” Ye said. “It’s very hard for a woman to wanna be with someone that’s with Amber Rose, I had to take 30 showers before I got with Kim.”

Boy bye!

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