black women

“It’s not a diss post; it’s a real post.  Feel Me?” – Mya and Beyoncé’s Lemonade Co-conspirator I am forty years old.  I am black.  I am a woman. I am intelligent.  I have no children.  I have a job some would consider fun.  I’ve been told I am easy on the eyes.  I owe a bitch named Sallie a manageable amount of money, but no one else.  I own a crib. I own a car. I am not married. If you have a penis and you are reading this, you are going thru all of the reasons that I am not married.  You likely don’t remember anything from the first paragraph aside from the fact that I still have my daddy’s last name.  Shocking! Yes, I not only know my dad, but I also enjoy a wonderful relationship with him.  You are also likely unmarried, but that doesn’t stop you from wondering and deducing why I am single and coming to your own conclusions about my said condition. Judging me for it even. If it helps add any validity to what follows, I do have a man in my life.  This fact is verifiable on Facebook, so it must be true. I was sitting at work watching Family Feud, as my fun job allows me to do, and some black family won the game (yay us! yall so racist when it comes to game shows and competitions, jeez!) and went on to fast money, lightening round, or whatever the shit is called at the end.  They elected to send two of the male members out to try and win them a 1959 Ford Excursion or some other crap that can’t be split 5 ways.  Question number two for both of these gentlemen: Name something most women want of their own. Both Australopithecus and Cro-Magnon excitedly yelled out “A HUSBAND”  in each of their respective rounds. You could literally see them auto-fellating themselves over such a genius answer.  Already thinking about who was gonna drive the Excursion on what day of the week. The sounds.  The rims.  Limo Tent on that bitch, fa sho.  But poor second man had to answer something else, which I don’t remember, cuz I was thinking about writing this blog at that very minute.  Doesn’t matter – Austro, got a measly 15 pts for his effort and Cro got 10 maybe. From Dr. Whateverfakemuslimname’s latest post about why the black woman is single to these Rhodes Scholars on Family Feud, so much time is dedicated to ASSuming what a woman wants out of life or should have in her life or should be doing in her life, and a black woman in particular. The women whose bosoms nurtured a nation – could never want to be anything more than, well, a nurturer.  Fixing plates at the picnic. Serving her huzzzzzzzband before THEIR children.  Cooking for her maaaaaaaaaaaaaaan, every night.  Braiding lil mama’s hair after baby momma #4 drops her off, while you go hoop or  play Madden at DoDirty’s house with P and Jody. Doing “things” to completion.  Man please.  Listen……Dig. I started thinking to myself, okay smartmouth, you had a reaction to their answers, what are somethings YOU want more than a husband. 1. My dream career:  Professional Shittalker. My job is cool.  Great.  Fun.  Networking opps up the wazoo.  It’s still just a job.  I gotta come.  I gotta ask for vacation.  And at any moment they can tell me to leave.  Not enough for me. 2. A Passport Full of Stamps This world is humongous.  Varying terrains.  Sand and water in different hues.  People that look like me clear across the world.  Animals I’ve never seen.  Food I’ve never tasted.   And some of yall keep going back to Miami and the Dominican every chance yall get. Fine. 3. A child. I think I’m the shit and the opportunity to raise a lil hellraiser/rapscallion in my image is one I truly desire and hope comes to fruition. 4.  An Abundant Number of Comfortable High Heels I love wearing heels and strutting into and out of a room….I’d just like to be able to do something other than sit while I’m in the room. This one may seem frivolous, but its real. 5.  Resources for my Family. I want a legacy, socially and more importantly financially, for my family, while I’m living and after I’m gone.  I’m lucky in that all my family elders are hella self-sufficient.  No needs, no wants.  But if mom wants a Jag or Dad wants a Rado, I wanna walk in the spot and drop it.  I want my lil cuzzins and nieces and my nephews to be able to trade on my name or drop a Black Card in a muthafuckas face if they wanna pretend like they don’t know. I cut my list there, just cuz 5 is a good round list number, but trust me, health, beautiful skin and hair, and one cycle of being Rihanna’s tour manager were included. I did open the floor to some chicks I admire, respect and some I love.  And they had said: A great career, a vacation home, 10 Academy Awards, great health, MONEY, To become a travel blogger, PEACE OF MIND, A cushy savings account, A child, family pride, A well-adjusted son, whose life won’t be taken at the hands of a madman who will go on to try to sell the weapon that took his life, FREEDOM, SANITY, an education and my most ignit and go-to girl said “$$$$$$, cars, banging weaves, purses, and great boobies.”  And she’s nearly a six figga banker, so don’t…… Listen, I love men.  I say I hate them daily, but it’s not true.  I fucking love yall.  I need yall.  We need each other.  I asked HIM to kill a spider on the ceiling last week, not cuz I was scared, but cuz he’s taller than me and I couldn’t reach it.  He asked me to – well, I’m not gonna write that here, but I