My thoughts on lyrics, politics, literature and everything in between.
Monday, July 27, 2015
I’m a woman of a particular age. Grown adult Black woman. I'm thirty-fucking-five. Hella grown.
The things that impressed me at 25 don’t even rate at 35. Corny & lame lines truly make me itch. I’m too intelligent for that. Just be real with me. Approach me like a grown man. Speak intelligently. Have a conversation about yourself. Do not come at me sideways. I no longer have time.
Also, I’m not on any social media site trolling for a man or men. So, you don’t even have to shoot your shot because I’m good on all the game playing. That’s not where my head is. I just want to date & have fun. I’m not trying to marry you dude. And, I’m a flirt. Big one. Gargantuan. And, more often than not, it’s just flirting. I’m not looking for a husband. Hell, I’m not looking for anything. I’m a firm believer that real things happen organically. You don’t have to force it or fake it. It just happens. But please don’t annoy me with your lameness. Kindly keep it far from me, por favor. This is grown woman business over here. Immature men need not apply.