love

Uncategorized

Terrifying, Strange and Beautiful Women

Let me start this off by issuing the following disclaimer: I DO NOT KNOW WHAT HAPPENED IN ANY OF THEIR RELATIONSHIPS.  I ONLY KNOW WHAT THEY SAID AND WHAT I SAW. This past weekend brought news that Janet Jackson and her kabillionaire husband were parting company after just over 5 years of marriage.  Janet, who I saw some dumb nword call “The New Halle”, had two previous failed marriages and seemed to have hit the literal and figurative jackpot.  She was an older woman now, more settled, armed with the knowledge that can only be gained through failed relationships and marrying a man who seemed to be equally yoked $$$$ to her- so what could go wrong? The same thing that goes wrong often when a woman of her stature finds herself in love.  The answer can be found in this excerpt from Warsan Shire: and you tried to change didn’t you? closed your mouth more tried to be softer prettier Now Ms. Jackson doesn’t need to get prettier, so don’t.  But she changed, for him.  She changed her religion.  She changed her dream of a lavish wedding. She changed her music.  She changed her outfits. This: Became this:   One could look at these pics, one where she is literally covered in chains, as just a by-product of a woman becoming a wife. Being more modest for her man? That’s totally understandable?  Him refusing to meet your friends and family?  Refusing to show any concern for her mother’s alleged abuse?  Rebuking all forms of your life prior to him? Not understandable at all. We see this form of abuse – and let’s be clear, isolating you and attempting to control your environment is abuse – way too often. Sometimes its under the guise of changing your clothing (Janet) Sometimes it’s sabotaging your career (Mary’s chicken slanging and sanging under the guidance of her husband-ger). Sometimes its the form of abuse we are most used to seeing (Mel B.’s bruises). Sometimes we characterize it as love, as concern, but it’s not. Last week, I was almost moved to tears – three times to be exact – over these conjoined themes of love, control and abuse.  Our Queen Mary was on the The Breakfast Club chronicling the decline of her marriage to that hairless ape, who also managed to manage her while keeping an eye out for his next banana.  (pettypology: I hate that dude.  I’ve always hated him, ever since he showed up in that first pic with MJB with not one, but two beepers on his Boach Celt and zero jobs of note) I had tears in my eyes listening to her say how he told her that he fans didn’t love her anymore. How he was quick to jump on her insecurities.  How the man that inspired her to write “Lady” dragged her through so much shit she contemplated suicide.  I wish we could blame him for her singing to Hillary, but she did that on her own. 13 Years. Mel B. is finally divorcing the man she should have never married once she found out that just because his last name was Belafonte, it did NOT mean Harry was his dad or any other relative for that matter.  This gem of a man got their nanny pregnant then forced her to have an abortion, allegedly blackmailed Mel into participating in threesomes, and regularly insulted her with the following names: “f***ing monkey”, “stupid”, “fat ugly and old”, “dumb” and  “derelict”.  He also viciously beat her to the point where she needed to be hospitalized, but he showed kindness sometimes. Sometimes the beatings could be covered with make up.  10 years. Celeste.  A fictional character on my most recent obsession Big Little Lies, who suffered through one of the most realistic portrayals of domestic abuse I’ve ever seen.  A woman who seemingly had the perfect life, great kids, handsome successful husband, most amazing home you have ever seen in your life, often found her self on the receiving end of her husband’s hands, because he feared one day she would “go right through him.”  He wasn’t satisfied that she gave up her career as a powerful attorney for him, that she moved away from family and friends for him, that she became a mother for him – his fear still ruled him and unfortunately her.  She tried to become less.  But it would never be enough for someone that saw her as “too much.” At least 8 years. Too much. She had too many friends.  She was too “popular.”  She went out too much.  She was too smart.  Her heels were too high.  She was too pretty. She spent too much time with her family.  She was too visible on social media.  She was too good to be true. She was too much. Thank God, I just didn’t lose as much time as my sisters up there. Ladies, it’s important to remember that in love, sacrifices will be made.  The sacrifices won’t be lowered esteem, bruises nor suicide attempts.  The right man won’t want, nor need you to play small.  You will never be too much for him. you are terrifying and strange and beautiful something not everyone knows how to love.

Uncategorized

I DO! Wait…Do I?

“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

Scroll to Top