How I Fell For, Proposed To, And Will Marry A White Woman


There’s a scene towards the end of High Fidelity where Laura (Iben Hjejle), Rob’s (John Cusack) estranged girlfriend—and the muse for much of Rob’s angst throughout the movie—finally gives into Rob’s pleas to get back with him. Naturally, Rob needs to know what caused her to make this decision.

Laura: I’m too tired not to be with you.

Rob: What, so if you had a bit more energy we’d stay split up, but things being as they are, with you being wiped out and all, you want to get back together? Is that it?

Laura: Yeah.

High Fidelity is one of my favorite movies, and “I’m too tired not to be with you” is one of my favorite lines. Still, I never quite got what it meant until finally meeting someone who hit me with so many reasons why I needed to be with her that I just couldn’t fight it anymore. I was too fatigued by reason. Too exhausted by realization. Too beat to continue to deny that I’d fallen in love with a woman who happened to be White.

Even now, eight months after we first met, it remains jarring to see in print. So jarring that in the last sentence of the previous paragraph, I typed “woman who happened to be White” instead of “White woman,” a linguistic device subtly minimizing the fact that her Whiteness has been and will always be very conspicuous.

It—her Whiteness—was the very first thing I noticed about her. We were introduced to each other through a mutual friend. She recently moved back Pittsburgh after living in California for a couple years, and the friend thought it would be a good idea to connect. We exchanged emails, made plans to meet each other at a nearby Panera, and I assumed she’d be not White.

I was wrong.

She is not thick for a White girl, she is not “down,” she does not look like “she could be mixed.” There’s absolutely nothing I can say that would make her seem or sound less White. Aside from the fact the she’s currently engaged to a Black man, she is, both literally and culturally, one of the Whitest women I’ve ever met.

And, after running into each other at a gallery crawl a couple weeks after first connecting—and spending the next two hours talking to, laughing with, and just generally being surprised by her—I’d found she’s one of the warmest, wittiest, silliest, and sexiest women I’ve ever met, too.

That two hour span inside of an abandoned warehouse-turned art space for untalented hipsters was the best night I’ve ever spent with a woman. Not best conversation. Best night. In any other situation, I would have left with at least a plan to see each other again. But, she was White. And, her Whiteness prevented me from pursuing, blocked me from doing anything other than (awkwardly) shaking her hand and wishing her a good night.

This reluctance to even entertain the idea of pursuing a White woman was more due to a decades-long love of Black women than anything else. I’ve met funny, smart, cute, and cool White women before, but none of them were funny, smart, cute, and cool enough for me fathom choosing to date one instead of a woman of color, nevermind spending the rest of my life with her. I wasn’t loyal to Black woman as much as I was just unable to imagine finding someone better. Not better in general, but better for me.

Also, I do not live in a vacuum. I was not (well, at least I thought I was not) prepared or even willing to be one of those Black guys who dates White women. Whatever the Black man dating White woman burden happens to be, it just was not a burden I—a Very Smart Brotha—wanted to carry.

So, I fought off the thoughts of texting her or calling her or asking our mutual friend for her address so I could send her a letter or play my jukebox outside of her window. I downplayed the time I spent thinking about her, dismissing it as me only thinking about her just to remind myself not to think about her. I ignored how often I’d glance at my phone, and rejected the idea that I was checking for a sign from her.

After a few weeks, it began to work. I’d forced myself to remember to forget about her so often that I started to legitimately forget. Until, well…

I was standing in line at that same Panera when I heard the door close behind me. Before I could glance back to see who it was, I heard “Hey stranger” with the same raspy voice—and the same slightly sardonic tone—that had been on loop in my head for the previous month. (I later learned that, for that same month span, she’d go out of her way to visit that Panera a couple times a week with the hope she’d “run into” me)

We spoke and shared a table. Our first date was two days later. Our first kiss was two hours into our first date.

It’s been a little over seven months since this all happened. I won’t go into any detail about the racial hurdles we’ve faced because, well, they haven’t really existed. I’m not too myopic to assume that they’ll never surface. But, aside from little, meet-cute-type shit (until she was a teen, she thought collard greens were actually called colored greens), nothing worth writing about has happened.

I proposed to her on Monday. She (obviously) accepted. (If she didn’t, I damn sure wouldn’t be writing about this today.)

I am a Black man who’s going to marry a White woman. And while I’d like to think I was too tired not to be with her, I think I was just too tired to realize that I didn’t have a choice.

—Wishing you a very happy (and very early) Happy Fools Day, Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)


Why Rob Parker Was 100% Right And 100% Wrong To Question RG3′s “Blackness”

When people say things like “I’m in love with…” it’s generally understood that, unless they’re specifically referring to a person they have/had/wish to have a romantic interaction with, it’s always hyperbole. You are not actually in love with chocolate cake, Brooklyn, H&M’s fall line, or Kendrick Lamar, but you like/adore/admire these things so much that “in love” is used as an exaggerated substitute for a legitimate feeling you’re unable or unwilling to fully describe.

That being said, since first learning five years ago that he was going to run for President, I’ve been “in love” with Barack Obama as much as a person could be “in love” with a politician. While I don’t believe he’s perfect and I’m also aware this “love” could be more about the idea of Obama than Obama himself, as the unexpectedly primal scream I let out when seeing that he won Ohio last month indicated, I am an unabashed fan.

Yet, as I watched him on TV yesterday, addressing the Newtown school shooting, I’m reminded this “love” wasn’t unconditional. In fact, one of the main details allowing me to get to this place of “love” had nothing to do with his status as a politician and everything to do with a decision he made twenty years before I first knew he existed.

He married a Black woman. 

Now, would I have supported Obama any less if I learned he was married to a White woman. I’m not sure, but I doubt it. I doubt it would have had that much of an effect on who he was as a person and politician to make me do a complete 180 on how I currently feel about him.

There are two things I am sure of, though.

1. I’m not the only Black person who “loves” and supports President Obama the way I do

2. I’m not the only Black person whose “love” and support for Obama was helped by the fact that he has an authentically Black wife

And yes, while technically there’s no such thing as “authentically” Black—being Black is all the authenticity you should need—it matters that his wife wasn’t just Black, but a dark brown-skinned big-bootied chick from Chicago whose last name was Robinson. We still would have supported and voted for him, but I’m certain we wouldn’t have “loved” him as much. (I even have doubts he would have received the same unconditional “love” and support from the Black community if his wife was light-skinned.)

None of this should matter. But it does. And, because it does, I have to call bullshit on the tidal wave of post-racial self-righteousness coming down on ESPN commentator Rob Parker for questioning the blackness of Washington Redskins star quarterback Robert Griffin III (RG3). Was Parker wrong for his comments? Yes. (More of that later.) Should he have been suspended? Definitely. But, was his opinion—and the line of thinking behind the opinion—any different than the thoughts many of us of had about prominent Black men? No!

What he said about RG3 is said in many of our heads about every Black male politician, actor, athlete, co-worker, supervisor, neighbor, friend, and family member we know. Shit, as much as you all “love” VSB, I have no doubt our support would dwindle if one of us married a White woman. Sure, it wouldn’t change who we were as people or writers, but for many of our readers, we’d be a tad less “authentic,” and I can’t chide Parker too much for using the same means to calibrate Blackness that many of us also use.

It’s ironic that Parker mentioned “talking to some people in D.C.”—a clear allusion to the type of “barbershop” convos Black people have with each other—before going in on RG3 because that’s exactly why he was still wrong for saying what he said. These discussions about authenticity and “levels of Blackness” are definitely had…but they’re not meant to be had in mixed company. You do not ever question another Black person’s Blackness if any non-Black people are within earshot. In fact, you don’t even have that conversation if certain type of Black people are around. It’s only for people you trust to be able to fully appreciate and handle its nuance. Shit, doing that repeatedly will get your Black card revoked quicker than dating any White woman would.

Interestingly enough, I don’t even think Parker’s statements are the result of RG3 having a White fiancee. If dating White women was the NFL’s barometer for Blackness, you could have this same conversation about 80% 30% of the league. It’s more due to the fact that RG3 doesn’t act the way a typical young Black athlete acts. It’s not about him speaking proper English or even him not being seen at KIng of Diamonds every other weekend, but just the fact that the way he carries himself is outside of the range of behavior we expect from people like him.

If he was Rob Griffin the IT guy, his Blackness wouldn’t be questioned because his behavior is within the range of behavior we expect from people like that. But, between his behavior, his background, and his hair—yes, the fact that he has plaits in 2012 definitely matters—he’s “different” because he’s not what we expect. And, for too many of us, a “different” Black guy = “a Black guy who’s not really Black” or even “gay Black guy.” The criticisms leveled at him—questions about his Blackness and his sexuality—are no different than the types of criticisms hurled towards Ricky Williams, Chris Bosh, Tim Duncan, Dennis Rodman and other high profile Black athletes who acted in a way outside of what we expected from them.

Ultimately, RG3 is a 20-something quarterback of an NFL team, not a politician whose personal life choices directly influence his policy decisions—policy decisions that can affect the lives of millions of people. Basically, so what if he isn’t authentically Black? He throws a f*cking football for a living. Who gives a damn who he dates?

Well, Rob Parker (obviously) does. And, as long as it’s true that our “love” and support for Black men is influenced by the color of whoever they decide to marry, we do too.

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

So, She’s With A White Guy, Huh?

***Hello, everyone. S. Nicole Brown is here again to bless the VSB pulpit. This time, though, I decided to add some, um, “notes” in red to her piece. Not certain if she’s going to appreciate that, but, well, it’s my blog and I can do what I want to***

“That’s your woman? That is NOT your woman. You know that ain’t your woman, man.”

The man was around 35, smooth brown face featuring a neatly lined goatee, cap to the back, Pepsi in his right hand resting on his denim shorts. Before inviting himself into our lives, he was just another black man at the park that day.

(This was her first mistake. Dude definitely sounds homeless. I mean, he’s chillin in some random park with a Pepsi and some demin shorts? In 2012? Come on, man! It’s her fault for entertaining homeless men.)

It took us a moment to realize he was indeed directing his doubting statements at us, and although he was correct in his assumption, I turned my head, eyes wide at his audacity. I could only give a bewildered laugh. The man walking next to me, around the same age as him, slightly spiky brown hair, affable blue eyes, and clad in a “Detroit Soul” t-shirt, turned towards the man, his face serious.

“No, this is my wife.” He wrapped his hand around mine casually, and we kept walking.

(Although the wife move was admittedly a smooth transition, technically your wife would also be your woman, and he should have known that homeless Black men don’t appreciate semantic tricks. He’s lucky he didn’t get spleen shanked.)

This response was met with hushed laughter from the men sitting with our new friend, along with his words trailing us: “I don’t see a ring. That ain’t your woman man.”

(See, I know that’s a lie. Aint no group of Black men in Detroit gonna know what a wedding ring even is, let alone know where to check for it. For all they know, a wedding ring is some shit you find at the bottom of a bowl of wedding soup. Why are you making shit up?)

I shook my head but laughed it off, still in awe.

This would prove to be only one of several instances in which a day at an outdoor summer festival with a friend turned into a social experiment for the writer in me. I noticed all the stares, the shoulder taps on friends sitting next to them, and the not-so-subtle pointing. I was amused and embarrassed by the random and startling honking by cars containing black men as they drove past us, their voices carrying things like “Whiiiiite boyyyy! Yeahhh white boy!” over the music blasting from their stereos.

(I’m not doubting that any of this happened. I’m also not a Black woman who has walked through a summer festival in Detroit with a White man. Still, I do find it hard to believe that this experience is the norm instead of the exception. I mean, I’ve seen Black women and White men together before in Black settings, and aside from random cats asking him to cosign on car loans, they were pretty much left alone. They even occasionally get props and nicknames. And yes, it still counts as a nickname if the nickname is just their first name with “White” added to the front of it.)

I was downright shocked and offended by the three black men who stopped us and plainly asked in so many words what I was doing here with him and why I wasn’t with someone of a brown hue, eyes connecting solely with mine, completely disregarding the white man next to me. I was too much of a “beautiful sista” as one man stated as we passed by his perch, to not be with a black man. I looked around, had to keep reminding myself that it was 2011. It was as if we’d walked into neighborhood full of Crips wearing bright red.

Slowly I realized that the general consensus of the men who’d expressed confusion for our assumed pairing was that I was too attractive to date a white man, as if there is only a certain type of black woman that can date outside her race. Even when I told a guy friend about my experience, his initial response was that “they only said something because you’re attractive. They wouldn’t have otherwise.” I don’t understand. I know more than a few black women who date white men. They’re all very pretty women. That couldn’t be it.

(As your pseudo blog mentor and a person who’s very adept at the ancient art of humble bragging, I just want to say that these last couple paragraphs brought a tear to my eye. Good job grasshopper.)

Eric, my friend, a man who is far more Elijah Wood than Eminem, and primarily dates black women, was baffled himself. “Lisa and I used to come down here all the time, and this has never happened. I guess you are so fly.” He joked about the title of my old blog, but I could tell he was genuinely confused as to why so many brothers felt the need to speak their opinion one way or the other about two people whose relationship had nothing to do with them at all.

(Full disclosure: I have seen Ms. S. Nicole Brown before, and she is an attractive woman. And, because she’s tall and has big hair, she can be rather striking. This being the case, I wonder if the attention she received was due to her being with a White guy or if it was just some brothas having a pissing contest because they didn’t feel like her friend was a worthy partner and thought they might be able to put a bug in her ear. I can imagine they would have acted the same way if she happened to be with a “lame” looking brotha, and I also don’t think it’s a leap to suggest that a Don Draper doppelganger wouldn’t have received the same attention.)

The day was interesting to say the least. From a redheaded little boy pointing out my blackness to his parents, to the unexpected running-into Eric’s ex (black) and her man (white) and the confrontation that followed between the two men (two very square white men fighting over two black women in a park full of people. You can imagine the looks), it was definitely a day of firsts for me.

(I’ve never seen two sober White men fight in public. I know that has nothing to do with the story, but I just wanted to put that out there.)

Frankly, I was shocked. As someone who has seen many, many articles and comments surrounding the supposed stigma of black men dating interracially, white women in particular, and reading complaint after complaint, opinion after opinion from those same men on how black women have an enormous problem with this, I can’t say I’ve ever heard of the issue conversely.

(I honestly think that women “against” interracial dating are more against the idea of it than the actual act. I also think that Wendy’s spicy chicken nuggets on a bun with some grape jelly is the best off menu fast-food sandwich you can buy. Whatever you do, though, just don’t try to order it after 9pm.)

I also can’t say I’ve ever witnessed a black woman blatantly confront a black man walking with his blonde-haired, blue-eyed companion, and impose her opinion of their coupledom on them, whether positive or negative. I’ve never seen a black woman say “oh you got you some soul alright” to them as they walked past, minding their own business.

(Of course she wouldn’t confront them in person. That’s what Twitter and blogs are for. Duh!)

I’ve never dated a white man seriously. I’ve gotten approached by my fair share, as the natural hair seems to be a magnet (lol but no, it really is), and had a few dates, but a relationship has just never happened. I love black men and I always will, but I can’t say I’d be opposed to dating outside of that if my feelings led me that way. I for one would not even be here if not for the lovely chocolate-vanilla pairing that was my father’s parents, and my family consists of quite a few mixtures of love, so interracial coupling is quite normal to me.

(This paragraph was sweet and shit. Also, it’s proof that we could never date. Although I’m not particularly racist, I do seem to be attracted to racist Black women. I don’t know exactly why — Maybe I want my kids to be racists? — but I’m beginning to suspect that “racist Black women” just equals “Black women.” Anyway, you’re a bit too post-racial and shit for me.)

If I decided to do so tomorrow though, I am now overwhelmingly aware of the fact that black men will not mind letting me (and my date) know how they feel about it.

(And, by “Black men” you mean “some homeless Black men at a pre-Calicoe concert cookout in Detroit,” right?)

S. Nicole Brown (aka “Muze”) is a writer of fiction, lover of words, and chronic reader happily living the clichéd under-spaced and overpriced life of a NYC writer. You can find her in 140 or less @muzeness or on her blog, Because I’m Write.

***Just wanted to take some time and thank everyone again for the well-wishes and prayers. Like I mentioned yesterday, she just needs all the positive energy she can get. Writing this and reading the responses has definitely helped me, and I hope it’s left me better equipped to help her.***

Yes It’s True…Black Guys Can Like White Girls AND Black Girls Too

Do you realize that being seen with you means I can never go to the Essence festival again? Damn you cavewoman! Damn you!!!!

A week or so ago, our favorite least favorite (and newly single) professional athlete was spotted at The Watch The Throne concert with professional wifey Sanaa Lathan. Now, whether they just happened to run into each other there or were filming Loving Brown Sugar Basketballs Just Wright has yet to be determined, but apparently they were quite cozy. So cozy in fact that they were reported to be togethertogether, a rumor Lathan quickly shut down. 

From her Twitter feed

Can a girl have some fun at a jayz/kanye concert w/out being linked 2 a breakup? I AM NOT, NEVER HAVE BEEN, INVOVLED W/KOBE IN ANY WAY.

Whether they’re actually an item or not doesn’t matter to or interest me. They’re both rich, famous, black, and named after yoga poses, so I guess they’d be a good match. What does interest me, though, is the assumption that Kobe wouldn’t touch Sanaa in a million years, a sentiment she reiterated in her next tweet.

@justsanaa: Anybody who pays attention knows I’m not his type… Blank stare. #blackgirlsrock #dontbelievethelies¹

What exactly was she getting at? I mean, we’re all pretty certain that, despite his propensity for prolonged bitchassness, Kobe isn’t homosexual. He definitely does like women, so why wouldn’t he be interested in a woman as good-looking as Sanaa Lathan?

Ohhh, I get it now. Kobe was married to a non-black woman for a decade. This must mean that he’s definitely, automatically, unequivocally, and unquestionably not attracted to black women at all.

Now, I don’t know Kobe at all. He may very well hate black women with the white hot heat of 1000 AKA thongs. His favorite movies might be “The Imitation of Life,” “Othello,” and “Jungle Fever,” and his favorite animal might be the panda bear. Who the hell knows? I do know, though, that the widely held “fact” that if a black man dates outside of his race, it automatically means he’s not into black women is completely f*cking wrong.

Admittedly, I do understand where this sentiment comes from and why it’s so widely held. Centuries of having to deal with people like Satoshi Kanazawa can produce a circle-the-wagons mentality where any affront to black women’s desirability — real or perceived — is met with immediate rebuke. Also, there are some black men who, as soon as they reach a certain status level, put sistas on permanent “ignore.” (This doesn’t happen as often as many of us think it does, but it does happen.)

Thing is, this theory ignores two vital facts.

1. Proximity and availability are easily the two most important factors when men are choosing mates. If you see a black man with a non-black women, 9 times out of 10 it’ll be because she happened to be around, happened to be single, and happened to be interested in him. That’s it. No self-loathing. No hatred of black skin. No angry tweets about Michelle Obama’s gums.

And, most importantly…

2. Women are all the same. 

Now, I’ve made no secret of my love, adoration, and admiration of black women. I’m completely attracted to and infatuated with them. Sistas are the sh*t and sh*t.  But, when it comes down to what makes a woman a woman, I also do realize that black women, white women, Asian women, Hispanic women, Indian women, aboriginal women, and women from Detroit aren’t really all that different. Sure, from an individual perspective they all have their own personal quirks and characteristics and nuances, but collectively all chicks are pretty much the same. (I feel the exact same way about men, btw. Despite my world-renowned awesomeness, there’s really no difference between me and some random New Zealand-ass n*gga.) 

I’m bringing this up because, once you realize that women aren’t really all that different from each other, you start to see how a man could be equally attracted to Jill Scott and Natalie Portman. (If you think this is too far-fetched of a comparison, you obviously don’t know me very well, and you obviously didn’t click on those last two links) In fact, you start to understand how a man could date/marry a white women even if he’s still much more attracted to sistas. Sh*t, I love female teachers, but that doesn’t mean that I’d never date a lawyer. (That last analogy was much more clever in my head than it is on screen, but I think you get my point.)

Anyway, people of, I’m curious: When you see a black man with a non-black woman, do you automatically assume he’s just not that into sistas? Do you think you’re right to feel that way? If so, why, and how many hugs did you miss as a child?

¹This tweet has since been deleted

—The Champ

Beating Dead Horses: An Honest Assessment About Why I Couldn’t Date A White Woman

"Wait, we can't even watch the movie together and you think I'm going to TAKE you down there? Ninja please."

Nearly every time anybody finds out that my mother is white, the conversation veers towards my dating preferences and if I’d ever date a white woman. And my answer is always no. I usually rifle off some statement about not being rejected by all of the beautiful Black women yet, and while that may be true, that really doesn’t speak at all to any sound, valid based god reasoning.

So one day, while eating things white people eat – like arugula and rosemary paremesan bread – I decided to really think about if there was any good reason aside from disappointing the million sistahs that don’t want me already. And that’s when it happened.


I’m finna tell you, be easy.

So that’s when it happened.

Rick James, b*tch. My iTunes media player randomly played one of my favorite songs ever.

And then the floodgates into my mind’s eye opened and the reasons flowed like champagne at a strip club featuring the talents of future Basketball Wives. Allons-y.

1. I couldn’t dedicate nearly any of my favorite songs to her.

“Ebony Eyes”? Out. Once we break up: “Pretty Brown Eyes (Breaking My Heart)”. Gone. While it’s wholly possible that I could date a white chick with brown eyes, with my luck she’d have green eyes and splicing every time Erick Sermon said “the green eyed-bandit” into a dope song is just not a good idea. So many songs about Black love mention a woman’s brown eyes, which must suck for our sistahs with hazel or green or Thriller eyes.

2. I like to go to exhibits about Black history.

Nearly all of these exhibits haarken back to a time of discord between our two races. And while I’d know beyond the shadow of a doubt that it wasn’t my girl’s fault that things went all the way wrong…maybe, just maybe…she ain’t do enough to prevent it!!!!! True story: I went to go see the America I Am Exhibit while it was here in DC and this man came with his white wife. They started out cool, but over the course of the exhibit they must have gotten into some racially charged argument because they kept arguing…HISTORY…while we were there. It’s almost like he was taking it all personal while she was just trying to see the exhibit. Poor white woman.

3. I’m bald.

This means that I don’t have a comb. But I do have a daugher. And I swear fo’ God and three white men that I’d be the most hairdressingest Black man in America before I let somebody who’s hair acumen is effectively “wet and go” do my daughter’s hair. I’ve seen that with my own two eyes before. It was no bueno.

4. I like to watch bad Black movies.

I like sequels to questionable Black movies like Belly 2, Why Did I Get Married To: That Guy Right Three. And movies with Vivica Fox. I’m only gonna explain front weaves once. Or what if we are watching Precious and she thinks its funny. I mean it is…but I’m Black. After laughter comes tears. SHE should want to go volunteer and make a difference after!

5. I could never own or watch Rosewood again.

I remember the first time I watched this movie. At the home of my white mother and my entire white family. And I was enraged for a solid fifteen minutes. At nobody and everybody. I mean…they kilt Aunt Sarah dead. How am I supposed to tell her that I can never watch a movie again without her WANTING to see why? And then we’d have to watch it…and then we’d be done and what then class??

I couldn’t dedicate any songs to her that I love cuz well, “Pretty Brown Eyes” is out remember? See what I did there?

6. I honestly feel like I’d be disappointing my community.

Why? No good reason. Ridiculous logic? Absolutely. Love is and should be bigger than all of that. But I feel how I feel and I hate pepper because it’s Black. Again, I’m a f*cking walking paradox. No I’m not.

7. Most importantly, I’d have to stop using the n-word. And my n*gga, that’s just too much to ask of one man.

Now, don’t take this as me saying nobody should date outside of their race. Frankly, my dear, I couldn’t give a f*ck less who anybody decides to date as long as it’s not some horse or an ocelot. But these are reasons I’d tell my momma…right before she told me I need to have more diverse dating tastes. Oh, parents.

Anyway, folks of the VSBpora, have you ever actually thought about why you could or couldn’t date outside of your race? Like actual reasons? Do share?

Just say, say, say, what you want.

Posse out.


****DMV RESIDENTIALISTS: Come celebrate Panama’s B-day on Thursday, June 2, a VSB Happy Hour and Game Night at Tap& Parlour at Bohemian Caverns located at 2001 11th Street, NW (corner of 11th and U) from 530-until. Game 2 will be on the TVs, games will be available, and happy hour prices. It’s a win-win-win.****

No rapture means that God wants you to stay on Earth and purchase the paperback or the $9.99 Kindle version of “Your Degrees Wont Keep You Warm at Night: The Very Smart Brothas Guide to Dating, Mating, and Fighting Crime”

Lastly, we’d like to thank all of you for coming through and nominating us for FIVE Black Weblog Awards. We’re on the final ballot for Best Humor Blog, Best Writing in a Blog, Best Sex & Relationships Blog, Best Group Blog, and Blog of the Year. Please vote for us here.