Black Women Do Not Owe This World S#!t.

Black women have paid our dues in blood.
Black women are tired of cleaning up your messes!
Black women will no longer let you suck at the bosom of our brilliance.
Black women are not this nation’s mammy. Our titties are tired!
If you want to save this nation, take a long hard look in the mirror. Do not ask us to save you.

Never Again! My Spanx Nightmare!

I felt like I was indeed going to pass out. I thought for sure it was going to require the jaws of life to get me out of this get-up. Y’all I was racing home, and by this time my bra started to conspire with the Spanx, and I felt like I was wrapped in the grip of a boa constrictor. NEVER AGAIN!!

The 10 Stages of Facing Racism

In thinking about racism, I was reminded of the Five Stages of Grief (Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance) developed by David Kessler and Elisabeth Kübler-Ross. I realized that facing racism has a similar process. There are stages of facing the reality of racism.

#TrustBlackWomen Often Means #UseBlackWomen

Trusting Black Women is more than a catchy hashtag. It is more than a talking point on the campaign trail. Trusting Black Women is more than inviting a Black woman to the table without any leadership or decision-making authority. Do not invite me to the table if I am expected to sit pretty and poised with no power. Making a hashtag does absolutely nothing without clear motives and actions behind it.

Beyoncé  Is That B*+ch! PERIODT!

Let’s just get right into it – Beyoncé is THAT BITCH! PERIODTTTT!! ALL THE T’s!!  There is no greater living entertainer on the planet. Period. Before I take it back, I will add more to it.  Argue with your aunties and grandmas don’t argue with me.Beyoncé  came to Coachella to snatch all the vanilla, #FFFFFF, flower crowns and snatch them she did!

A Black Woman Proverb: Here’s What’s Not Gonna Happen Today

What y’all don’t understand is before we even leave the house we have already decided what’s gonna happen that day. We have already decided just how much bullshit we are going to deal with. We shower, get dressed and put on our “I wish a muthfucka would” lipstick, “Ain’t no one Fenty bother me” foundation, spray a little bit of “I don’t give a damn” perfume on our wrists, slip on our “Try me if you want to” stilettoes and grab our, “I will turn into Annalise Keating up in here,” handbag and head out the door, singing Take Me To The King the entire drive to work.