Rose and Roland: 50 Years of Love

Rose: We went to the movies, and my husband, they wouldn’t let him sit with the whites, but I could.

Roland: We came in hand in hand and the man told me, “You can’t sit up there, no, you have to go upstairs.” …. So, I thought, “Okay, we’ll go upstairs.” He said, “No, she has to go downstairs.” I looked at the man and I said, “Wait a minute…her body is just as black as mine, and she’s my wife…”

Rose: So we went upstairs.

The Rose That Grew From Concrete

Shakira’s Man-less Music Videos

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In an interview with Billboard, Shakira says that her boyfriend and father of their son Milan, Gerard Piqué, does not allow her to be in music videos with other men. Shakira even had to ask Pique if it was okay to shoot her latest music video with Rihanna, specifically due to the content.

“He’s very territorial, and since he no longer lets me do videos with men, well, I have to do them with women. It’s more than implied in our relationship that I can’t do videos like I used to,” she explained. “It’s out of the question – which I like, by the way. I like that he protects his turf and he values me, in a way that the only person he would ever let graze my thigh would be Rihanna.”

 

Conversations with Brian: “Whole Paycheck”

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Brian: We should stop shopping at Whole Foods so we can start one of those things.

Me: A savings account?

Brian: I was going to say co-op.

The Many Words for Love in Greek

meme1By Jamie

Happy Valentines Day!

Did you know there are many Greek words for love and each has a different meaning?

Love is such a complex feeling; I like the idea of multiple terms for this feeling, as it seems more reasonable than using one general word.

So, here are the terms for love and love styles in Greek! Let me know which term you identify with most. (Although, most humans feel and live out every type of love listed).

Read More »

Eric Decker and Jessie James Pose for Controversial Pregnancy Shoot

Country singer Jessie James and Broncos’ wide receiver Eric Decker appear in this month’s GQ “Love, Sex and Madness” issue, which hits newsstands January 28.

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Ben Watts/GQ

I guess a a sexy pregnancy photo shoot is still controversial. I thought that outrage was left behind in 1991, but apparently people are still freaking out at the idea of a sexy pregnant woman.

The couple, who are expecting their daughter in March, allowed for the photo shoot to take place in their Denver home once James past the morning sickness stage of her pregnancy.

sexy pregnancy

Ben Watts/GQ

To see more of the photos from the shoot visit GQ online

Go Broncos!

How to Seduce Your Husband

By Shannon Bradley-Colleary

“I’ve looked on many women with lust. I’ve committed adultery in my heart many times. God knows I will do this and forgives me.” Freakin’ Jimmy Carter, man, he lays it out there.

Okay, so I’ve had this fixation on Gavin DeGraw who’s a singer/pianist no one seems to’ve heard of. I decided it was time to Take Action in order not to commit adultery in my heart. Henry and I have been together 13 years. Something had to give.

When he came home from taking the girls to soccer last night the babysitter was waiting with a note from me. He had no idea this was going to happen.

The note told him to dress for-a-first-date (no orthopedic tennis shoes or white socks), to meet me in the bar at the Avalon Hotel at 8 p.m. sharp. I wrote that we would not know one another and could not be who we truly are. Also he should be cocky and entitled. And if he arrived before me he was to order me a Grey Goose martini straight up with two olives. Because that sounded like a drink Mrs. Robinson would have while smoking thin cigarettes.

Unfortunately I arrived first and had to order my own martini. A harbinger of doom re: our tête-à-tête. The minutes driveled by. He was late. Did he get my note? Did the babysitter open it, read it and quit? Maybe he just wasn’t coming. I’d floated this idea by Henry over the years and his response had been, at best, lackluster. This just wasn’t his thing. As I sat waiting I began to feel like an aged hooker with no John. I was wearing these items:

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Earlier they’d seemed hot, now they seemed a bit pathetic. Wait. Was that…? …Henry had arrived! He strode through the lounge not looking at me once but going straight to the bar to order a beer. A red beer. Henry doesn’t drink. He can’t drink. Alcohol gives him blinding migraines. Could it be my reserved, buttoned-up husband was going for it?

But why wasn’t he looking at me? I whistled at him. He didn’t turn around. WTF? Was he deaf? Didn’t he see me? Waiters and busboys were falling into my cleavage never to be heard from again. My dress skirt was so short the concierge had offered to give me a full Brazilian wax. How could he miss me? Would I have to whistle again? Just put my lips together and blow?

Henry turned. Our eyes met. He looked at me quizzically. Wow. He was really going to go through with this. My heart melted. He approached. “Are you Crystal?” he asked.

“Crystal? Crystal? That’s the best he could do? I hated that name and the bimboism it implied. Shouldn’t we be able to pick our own names? I was going to be Georgia, a techie from the south who knew how to make marzipan and drive a back-hoe.

“Yes,” I said bitterly, “I’m…Crystal.”

“I’m Paul,” he said. Paul. I could live with that. Pauls are tall and broad-shouldered, let’s face it, macho. I didn’t want to be married to macho, but wouldn’t mind visiting from time to time.

“So Crystal,” Paul said making himself comfortable on the couch next to me, “I feel like I know you already…. from your videos.”

Turns out I was going to be a porn star. Yes. A porn star. Completely ignoring Tina Fey’s advice that you should trust your partner during an improv I said, “I’m not in that business.”

“You’re not?” Paul’s eyes began to dart about confusedly.

I realized I was about to blow this whole thing, so I backtracked. I informed him I had worked as an adult performer in my misspent youth, however, I’d been such a classy, intellectual porn star whose demographic was college-educated women who preferred erotica to misogynistic wham-bam-thank-you-ma’ams that I’d been able to create my own brand, turn it into a thriving production company that raked in so much money that I was able to retire early to Tampa, Florida (just pulled that one out of my apparently well-known ass) where I owned several properties including a baseball team.

“Oh,” said Paul. Flummoxed. We had nowhere to go but up. And so we did. Turns out Paul was disillusioned by his profession as a porn producer. Had just gotten divorced from one of his starlets. Was looking for deeper meaning in life. He unfortunately made a bad porn-pun with the word “deeper.” But let’s face it, I was a Sure Thing.

Soon we moved to the restaurant where I couldn’t help snarfing down a pizza with prosciutto and finishing off Paul’s beer.

Paul had been born in Portland, Maine apparently, but his father was a blimp operator so they moved around a lot. In fact, his father piloted the first ever Goodyear blimp all over the country. Unfortunately Paul’s mother found out that his father had a girl in every Blimp port. They were known as “Blimpees.” Paul thought it was his father’s duplicitous life — there are an unknown number of Blimpee kids across the U.S. — that caused him to turn to the dark business of the flesh trade.

He had no children. I had two sons from a high school relationship with a drug dealer. My boys thought I was their wicked, fallen, older sister. I secretly paid for their private school college educations with my ill-gotten, filthy lucre, but I would never tell them. Sacrifice just came naturally to me — a Jezebel with a heart of gold.

After a while Henry and I became Paul and Crystal. We saw each other differently. We smiled at each other differently. I laughed at all of his jokes and didn’t reprimand him for eating mashed potatoes that would just add to the belly fat that was a widow-maker.

When we touched across the restaurant table it felt as though we were touching for the first time. It was electric.

In fact it went so well that we had to leave the restaurant before dessert. This is where I’ll Fade To Black…Paul and Crystal deserve a little privacy. (But there might have been a freshly vacuumed mini-van involved. On a public street. This is all hypothetical.)

I learned in a whole new way that marriage takes effort. It’s easy to be lazy and tired and uninspired. I really had no idea how things would go last night. I thought we’d feel like idiots and just give up the quest. But it went so well that Henry said he’d be the one to leave me a note the next time.

I think the best thing it did for me was allow me a certain distance with which to observe the man who is my husband. I remembered why I’d thought he was so adorable in the first place. I saw him through fresh eyes. Albeit porn star eyes. That damned Crystal, she might be naughty, but like most ladies she’s just looking for love.

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Shannon Bradley-Colleary
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Conversations with Brian: Girl Talk

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After about an hour of us both reading Brian breaks the silence with…

Brian: Hey, when females get massages do they do their breasts, too?

Me: It depends on what country you’re in, why?

Brian: Well, every place I’ve gone they’ve done my chest; I just wondered if it was the same for women.

Me: What were you reading when that random thought got into your head?

Brian: The Whiskey Bible…

And about another half hour of silence goes by

Me: Hey if I ever needed a hysterectomy would you buy me all new fancy underwear?

Brian: Sure. Why, is something wrong?

Me: No…I was just thinking about it.

Brian: You’re fantasizing about a hysterectomy and you think I’m weird for asking about massages?

Me: Yes.

Me: I think I’ll keep an ovary, though. I’ve heard it helps with hot flashes.

Brian: How about you keep everything unless there is a problem?

Me: Okay party pooper.

Brian: I’m not even sure how to respond to that.

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