When Giving Jill Scott Is Not Enough

I'm sitting on my lover's black leather couch pondering my future, with or without him. See, we have a rather complicated situation just like every couple that, in my opinion, could easily be unraveled if only he'd cooperate with our flow. You see, when things are good we make bangin' hot tracks. I privately call it feel good music. But no, he's holding back and I can't help but believe it because he's holding out for another romantic opportunity, perhaps with someone who looks completely different than me.

I think to myself, "You say you love Jill Scott? I was bringing you Jill Scott, dumb ass. I could rap to you for hours because to me you were The Truth. The honest to God real McKoy. So, in return, I honored that by representing my ancestors to the utmost level of respect; as if I were Pharoah herself. Jill Scott is the utmost high Queen in the R&B music industry. Jill is real."

With THE most angelic voice and a no holds barred sensuality, vulnerability and boldness of tone, Ms. Jill Scott is in her own class. The actress/singer/songwriter/producer has all the right physical and emotional attributes my dude claims to like and I idolize her for exemplifying. We talking sweetness, compassion, even humor. I channel these qualities very naturally as well. I put it ALL on him. Had dude eating out of these hands, too.

I honestly can't tell you when we friended one another, however, I recall when he appeared on my radar. It was May 2011 on my birthday. Yes, I fell pry to a friggin' Facebook birthday comment.

At first, I thought nothing of his likes. After all, I had taken myself out of the singles' scene a few months prior. I was tired of the ritual dance of dating. 

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Men think they are expected to shell out, and, in my book, they still are, at least for a Starbucks coffee. For all the gains black women have made in white collar job positions, we lag behind white women who's meteoric rise to power across corporate America could only be surpassed the white male who's wages remain at a premium. Considering the very real pay gap, let him pay, girl.

Women feel the pressure to sleep with a guy if too many duckets have been shelled out for her. In fact, before the bill makes it to the table, the woman must send her date a cue as to whether he's gonna get the panties afterward or not. I personally became leary of any expensive date. "Say, Baby, let's hit up Crustaceans," could be met by my stank face. A woman has to assume that in Thee Concrete Jungle, a man is willing to manipulate the given scenario in order to simply smash.

Once we made our way into the infamous inbox, it was on and poppin. Fast forward to December when we meet in the flesh. The love displayed and felt was both mutual and monumental. I'd never felt that way before.

I don't feel like your average American broad. I am an abyss of consciousness. I feel a little more gifted than a typical middle age woman. I am a queen. People confirmed my crown and scepter are really real all the time. Grace isn't something I have to practice nor is it about anything I was taught. It's just a deeply rooted confidence in the superior quality of my genes and what exactly they can do. 

I've actually been asked, "Andrea, how is it that you don't live high up on the hill somewhere?" I mentally shrug my shoulders and explain to the best that I love the flatlands. All the hills get me is a status that I interpret to be more of a burdensome status, but also alienating from the majority of folks in the community. This is why I call myself The Flatland Diva. I refuse to be the coon, the house nigga. I will never run from my people for the hills, literally and figuratively.

People are so busy doing them that they don't take the time to nurture a mutually satisfying and reciprocal relationship with the people they sleep with in any shape shift or fashion. We play adult games. You know the games. They range from "Pimps Up, Hoes Down," "That's Mine, This is Mine," "Charades," "Catch Me If You Can" and, my personal favorite, "Hide and Don't Seek."

Of course white supremacy plays a role in black male and female relationships. Approaching a post-Obamian era, black peoples are getting hip to the racism that still exist in the world and in our own back yard since Maafa or African Holocaust by Europeans began in 1526. So, it's been 500 years of our black bodies being used and abuse and we still aren't free. Our jobs our or individual plantations today. Our cars, our whips. We are told that self-branding is a virtue this time around as oppose to our ancestors being tortured by hot steel pressed against their delicate black skin in an effort to subjugate, humiliate and track them. In fact, these slaves were in all actuality prisoners of war. This war continues on the d.l. tip. If you're as versed in racism/white supremacy, you can seem them shits from miles away and smack it down without fear. With staying woke and fighting the crooked, elitist powers, it's best to fear only the fear. The Force, as in Star Wars, is with the melanated people of the world. Believe that. 

White people in America truly crack me up. They sincerely believe that this country has done the black community a favor by enslaving our ancestors and presently occupying our neighborhood's with militarized police. When it comes to race politics, white peoples are little more than grown children. They still believe fairytales, as they take over our old inner city hoods through gentrification.

Where is white America's integrity? Oh yeah, that's right. Its busy sucking up pumpkin spice lattes from Starbucks, smacking down on goat cheese and peaches bruchetta, deeply entangled in reality show marathons, participating in orgies of soccer moms, dads and coaches, gentrifying our old hoods while training for the most trending charity 5K in the park. It is simply and quite officially out to lunch.

White America, you are quite literally stuck. You can't kill us all. We are Original, the original people who will only die when GOD (not the same as your fake Sky Daddy) says it shall be so and not a moment sooner. Like Iraq, you hate us for our freedom, reckless abandon in the face of your racist tyranny and terrorism. 

We may all may be mankind, but we certainly aren't all human. Recent findings suggest that European and Asian peoples may be mixed with up to 9% of Neaderthal DNA. The only pure humans that exists are African people. Now, chew on that! The black woman's stands alone as God. This queen is the only organism that can produce every variation of DNA in the human genome. Her skin is kissed by the sun and full of light energy. Her hair defies gravity to protectively rise towards the heavens. Aesthetic perfection, her hips are curved so you notice her elegance and beauty. 

After a good night's sleep I remember exactly who and what I am. It's occurred to me that first and foremost I am single. I'm starting to think I just may be too much woman for dude. I use to hate when women would say, "Gurl, he just cant handle me! As if they were lions and their men their tamers. I mean, really? I thought these women were drama queens, but I'm starting to get it now. Maybe, just maybe, The One is ready for merging lives, families and dollars. 

With that said, it would be unwise not to continue to take applications for Cupcaking Season and beyond, for marriage. I ain't stupid and I ain't dumb, neither. I know when I'm on my own and that time is now. Jilly from Philly is currently a newlywed, marrying in a quaint ceremony. With her natural hair embellished with baby's breath, she was a vision. A real life Goddess of Love. She's happy. I want some of that, too. It's only right.