This is not a lifestyle blog. It is an Angry Black Woman, who just woke up to realize she’s thirty-six years old, living with her mother and a fucking Black Cat, and oh yeah, Brown Girl Majick is real and someone tried to steal it.
Yeah, this is the story of my life, written in the kind of majickal realism that only copious amounts of weed could even begin to explain.
Let me start off by saying for legal reasons:
- I do not believe I have majick powers.
- I do not wish to harm myself, or harm anyone else.
- I have no plans in any way shape or form to run away from my life, even though I wish I could – the only reason this is true is because I’m broke. Literally. I have six dollars in my account as of the writing of this page. So no. I am not leaving the Planet, Country or Province. Stop asking me.
- I am single.
- This last part is just to remind you gentlemen what a catch I am.
This is my book. My novel, some of the posts are angry black women rants, and others are promoting *largely for free* items, products or services that I like, enjoy or you know hate. I will promise now and here to tell you when a post is promoted, don’t hold your breath, if it’s being promoted by me, it’s probably free.
This blog will have stories of vampires, witches, demons, gangsters, and frauds, take it with a grain of salt. It’s the kind of blog you read while you’re sipping a glass of wine and or travelling on the train. I’m not judging, I actively encourage drinking on the way to work, at work and after work. I also suggest not reading this shit while high unless you want seriously fucked up dreams.
I am not a lazy person, I am a hard working person and one day you’re going to smile and say “I knew she’d do it,” because I am that person. I’m the kind of person you want to hate because I’m fucking awesome, and I’m the kind of person who will sit back and listen and smile and watch as you cry “why won’t she die?”
I refuse to be the kind of person who will give into Suicide, because I think it’s a fucking band-aid, the only problem is that band-aid doesn’t hurt the person using it, it hurts the people who have to clean up the mess when you’re gone. I know there are people who have zero sympathy or empathy for those who take their own lives. I don’t, I am not the kind of person who can hate someone who dies by suicide, there are too many people I’ve loved who have taken that route. I will however be more inclined to help the survivors than those who are already gone.
I am the kind of person who wants to inspire others to keep surviving, keep staying strong, and refusing to give up and I will call you on your bullshit, just as I expect you to call me on mine, if you can find it. I don’t lie, almost never, unless a life is on the line, and that’s because I know what it feels like to have a bunch of moronic wannabes say a bunch of stupid shit about me, in the hopes that it might be true. As they’ve all recently found out, people are often wrong about me, they often underestimate me and that’s what makes me a fucking Viper, through and through. Always has and always will be.
If you are looking for sympathy, please look elsewhere, I DON’T have any, I have too much to carry for my own childhood self. If you’re looking to laugh, cry, get angry, get pushed, and to push back, then I welcome you with open arms. I don’t need a savior so please don’t talk to me about Jesus, we’ve talked, he gets it.
Come to me with life lessons of your own, share your laughter, your tears, your wins and your losses, so that I can learn from your journey, show me your heart and I’ll show you mine.
See you on the flip side,
The Original Loud Mouth Brown Girl,
Siddha Lee Saint James