Out of effs to give.

12:22 PM

Check out the effs leaving my Wrangler's....
Now here is one epiphany worth mentioning.

I am a blogger who shares (for the most part) issues dealing with women in the 30-50 crowd who are looking for or have discovered their journeys to self-realization by being single and happy. Naturally it would make sense for me to get these types of women: the one who quits a six-figure job and moves to another country and works an ice cream stand (or something to that effect; there is a write-up about her found in the Googles somewhere); the woman who will un-apologetically suggest that other women do not support "Straight Outta Compton" because Dre was a domestic violence superstar who got away with it since the Jherri curl days; and the woman who used her porn career as a means to an end and is now running one of the hottest dance troupes in the country. Girl, you better "bring it". 

(Did you catch that, dolls? *wink*)

I get it. And I get you.

And there are other women, who I will never get. I mean... guess I could try to get them: I could sit and listen to them talk for hours, cry with them, pray for them and the whole nine. But I simply shake my head instead, because I don't get them. I'm tallin'bout the ones who keep getting their asses beat by some punk bitches who ain't never been worth more than five minutes of pleasure, if that.

Remember, I don't care about likes or thousands of FB friends, so when you get offended by this piece... sorry to see you go. Take it slow, gurl.

For the rest of you, let's get into it once and for all.

Remember when your friendgirl (a term some of the Southerners use to distinguish a "girlfriend" from a friend who is a girl, because they are worried that someone will assume they are dipping in the lady pond, but I digress!) went missing in action for month because she found love, and left you on the proverbial curve with ya single ass? Welp, she's back, with a black eye and barely a pot to piss in. Oh, and she's claiming single, too.

Your first thought might be "Hallelujah! She's delivered." And there is no way she'd go back to that mofo.

Joke's on you. Again.

And apparently she has been getting her butt handed to her for months now. Only now, she has to tell you about the abuse -- well she has to tell you about some of the abuse -- because she's either homeless, or you ran into her at the Food Lion wearing sunnies on a rainy-ass day and you could tell she was trying to avoid running into you when she took her cart and popped a u-turn like the feds were watching.

True story. Somewhat. It's a combination of stories actually. There are way too many women who don't get it. And I don't get them. And as of today I no longer care to get it. Or them.

It's one of those things I'll never understand. Oh I can relate to loneliness, just can't relate to getting bruised by a man who claim he loves you. I can relate to the feeling you get when you've bucked the trend of being a woman over 30 (and Black) who got a piece of a man, just can't relate to feeling too scared to leave. I wish a mofo would claim he's gonna kill me with his punk ass and I'm supposed to keep my children in harms way? Yeah, okay.

I don't get any of it. And yes, I have tried. With the alarming domestic violence stats out here and the overflowing support groups, conferences, think tanks, etc. on the innernets I should try to get it, to help a sister out. But I can't. The truth is, I don't want to. I am at peace with this, too.

This is not my problem.

Some things are meant to be left alone. Not understood by the masses. Just leave it be. Leave it to the "gurus". The speakers. The experts. The therapists. God.

The point of this post? To show that it's okay to stop giving a damn about what's going on in the mind of a grown woman. I do worry about the babies though. But the care stops there.

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  1. Replies
    1. Thanks Shayla! Please feel free to share. Hit a nerve or two. LOL