I didn’t enter 2020 anticipating marriage. And yet here we are. Over the holidays, in a tiny period of respite between election shenanigans and a terrorist attack on the U.S. Capitol, I tied the knot with my betrothed. (Yes, something good happened during 2020!) Now I go around saying “Ize married now!” and wiggling my ring finger approximately six feet away from the face of anyone who will entertain me.
Eight years ago, the term “celibacy” wielded the same discomfort and embarrassment as an STD. However, when I moved from NY to L.A. in the summer of 2012, that sexless “disorder” crept its way into my life, nestling in boldly yet unnoticed like the fly on Mike Pence’s head at the VP debate.
At that point, nothing about my lifestyle reflected monogamy, let alone abstinence. As a young, single brother with a real job in L.A., the allure of Hollywood’s party scene had me out in these streets being a ho. …
Incest is defined as a sexual relationship between two people who are too closely related to marry, such as parents and children, siblings, or other pairs of close family members. However, during my first marriage, I learned about something called emotional or covert incest when I realized my husband’s mother also played the role of his wife. It sounds creepy because it is — but it absolutely exists.
I knew something was off — really off — when I realized that Henry’s mother, Joan, would get upset anytime he and I exhibited public displays of affection. I found it jarring…
My name is Elisabeth Ovesen, but you may know me by my pen name, Karrine Steffans.
Yes, that Karrine Steffans. In 2005, my book Confessions of a Video Vixen went straight to the top of the New York Times bestseller list, and it was followed by numerous others. But that’s ancient history. People grow. Things change. I love where my life is today — and what I’m learning.
Today, I spend the majority of my time working as a personal and professional performance coach for women, while slowly chipping away at a master’s degree in psychology. At 42, I’ve come…
Let’s start with the (flattering) facts. I am just over six feet tall, I can sprint a mile in under six minutes, and I can bench 225 pounds for six reps before an ambulance needs to be present. I cook, and I cook damn well. I make my wife laugh — real laughter, not humoring-me laughter. I cry during Pixar films. I possess just the right amount of masculine aloofness that makes my wife wonder if I’m getting dumber or if I just pretended to be smart while we were dating.
The standard wedding vows are so often repeated in popular culture — TV shows, commercials, Tyler Perry movies — that it’s easy to disregard the meaning behind the recitation. It wasn’t until I was actually standing at the altar, in front of my soon-to-be wife, that it dawned on me just how morbid and absolute those words are.
In sickness and health.
Till death do you part.
The words are so heavy that it’s amazing they reach our ears instead of tumbling directly to the floor. Their weight only gets more daunting with the final affirmation: “I do.”…
Remember that Method Man lyric on “I’ll Be There for You/You’re All I Need to Get By”? The line where he raps: “You don’t need a ring to be my wife.” Now, think about every other song lyric ever. Has a woman ever said something similar? I’ll wait here while you look — or until we both grow old and ultimately keel over—because good luck with that.
I know what you’re going to say: Me and my partner have been together for a year or so. She’s not tripping. Everything’s good. Or maybe you’ve been together forever, kids and all…