I know this is late in coming...but I was saddened by the death of Teena Marie last week. In 1985, as I was getting shoved around seventh grade, I took solace in listening to "Lovergirl" in my bedroom...on my boombox...as I diagrammed sentences and entered contests in Read Magazine. (No, seriously, I did...I even won a hot-as-fuck Read duffel bag once.) She was the in-charge, empowered flipside to all of Prince's Ladies-in-Waiting-in-Lingerie. She owned her shit. She was for the real, sugar. She sparkled.