Skip to main content

A $5 Fallacy: A Short Blog


My friend sent me an article the other day about the median net worth of black women in their liftime. The study said black women are worth $5. Yep $5....that's it.

Here is the article from the Pittsburgh Post-Gazzette:

You know what I say to this BULLSHIGGDY:

Women wouldnt be worth $5 fucking dollars if we actually gave a damn about marriage, wealth building and overal community expansion of weath as a RACE. Stopped COHABITATING and got married. Valued education of our MEN and not measuring manhood in terms of bravado. Marriage can actually help your income (which is how the rich stay and KEEP it rich). Stop giving all your money to the daggone church and being married to Jesus (classic response by manless sistas). Stop going in debt over designer frocks and the hair dresser (none of THESE Mocha does.....) We do have debt....and the recession hit us hard (Even Ihad to sell my home..but I got divorced...so....thats not really the issue). We need men to be MEN and take their rightful place in households....women to grow a PAIR...and say NO sometimes.

Im SICK OF ALL THESE FUCKING ARTICLES demeaning and cutting black women so low. Not only will black women be childless, unmarried, and full of every disease imaginable.....we are WORTHLESS which is essentially what this article is saying. $5??? *smh*

I say to that FUCK YOU MAINSTREAM!! *middle finger* Im not taking the red OR the blue pill and failling in the Matrix! *smh*. If you think this crap just so happens to be a coincidence...you are indeed a fool.

*smh*

Comments

  1. SMDH, this is just crazy in every sense of the word! Black Women only worth 5 freaking dollars. Un real......

    ReplyDelete
  2. That's amazing that our worth was "valued" at $5. Hmph. *smh*

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

2018: A Year Without Fear

I used to make these lofty, resolution goals each year. The older I got, the grander my ideas became. That is until I reached the age of 30 and my entire life shifted.

At the time, I was divorced, living totally on my own, trying to rebuild myself financially and trying to figure out my next move toward happiness. That was at the time I started this blog.... which started out as my chronicling the dating and mating of a 30 something divorcee' in the South's Largest Metropolis. I was trying to date. I was trying to establish myself financially. And I was trying to find my purpose.

So much has changed in the almost 9 years since I started this blog. I've traveled alone. I gained and lost friends. I got into a Ph.D. program. I got re-married. I lost my mother, my best friend.... not to mention my uncle, cousin, and aunt. I gained a sweet baby girl.  I went from getting my bliss.... to trying to balance that bliss with my own life..... Yet in trying to find the balance, I alw…

The Ides of Birthdays

My 39th birthday is in two weeks.
*sigh*
You know, I feel like I write the same type of blog around my birthday every year. I get extremely introspective and pensive about the whole thing. But this is my last year of my 30s and I am feeling all of the feelings that have ever and could be felt. I hate trying to bring this up to folks.. who are always wanting to remind you of "well.. you got this.. you got that...". As if you haven't dealt with depression long enough to realize it doesn't matter what you have... if one piece is missing.. it throws it all off.
While yesterday was the 3rd anniversary of my mom's passing, I realized she wouldn't be here for my 40th. That was a hard pill to swallow. I thought for sure we'd be celebrating a lot that year... my Ph.D... a baby... a big, fancy car..... all of that. I only have one of those things so far but still... I was hoping that having her hold on at least until then would be the icing on my cake.
My life feels…

I Had Hope For Other Hair: Confessions in Black Motherhood

I had hoped for other hair...
(My Little One Reading a Book Before Bed)

... for my daughter.

No, I didn't want her to have "good hair"... hair that ebbed and flowed close to the weight of Whiteness. I didn't want that for her.  I didn't want her to have hair that was deemed "managable" or "a good grade". as if you can give hair letter grades or grade it on a curve.

I just wanted her to have any hair other than MY hair. She inherited my hair. And I cried.

When I found out I was having a girl, anxiety was replaced with dread. "Dear God.. I have to learn how to do hair". See, growing up, my mother was my stylist, even way into high school. So in between salon visits, she would relax or press my hair. She'd style it or comb it. And I never worried about it. I tried and tried to do my own hair... and failed. The only style I could keep up were Brandy-inspired box braids (which some poor, Senegalese woman would do for hours) or a very sho…