The Price of Slapping A Bitch

W Brady

My aunt slapped a bitch once, and because of it she will forever be my hero. The woman she slapped completely deserved it and there were plenty of witnesses around to nod their heads and confirm, “Oh yeah, that bitch just got slapped!” Unfortunately, due to an egregious miscarriage of justice, my aunt had to pay thousands of dollars in lawyer‘s fees just to stay out of jail after the woman pressed charges. How could this have happened in this day and age? Sometimes people need to be slapped and I just don’t get why it’s not an understood American right.

This thought stems from an incident from this morning where someone tried my patience. Long story short, JW’s neighbor has beef with him about typical neighborly disputes—therefore she has beef with me as a frequent houseguest and witness of disputes. For whatever reason I believe in giving people the benefit of the doubt and I’ve been trying to establish some sort of peace in this chaotic rivalry between them but alas, she had to try me. I leave his apartment this morning and drive halfway home only to discover there’s a note on my windshield. Why, who could it be leaving me a nice little love note to take home and cherish? The note was addressed to Bobbi Kristina—which I suppose is funny but kind of missed the mark because:


Not bad looking at all…

  1. I don’t think BK is a terrible looking woman. I actually think she’s cute. Our feminine egos would love for our celebrity doppelgängers to be perhaps more glamorous or sexy but I really don’t care and I’ve been called this before and even nicknamed this by someone and it left me with an overall feeling of “Meh”. (I didn’t even think the neighbor had seen my face enough to make that kind of association).
  2. If it was supposed to be some sort of jab about my gap teeth she’s about 15 years too late. I can’t remember the last time I’ve been made fun of for something that is obviously not a big deal to 99% of the people I meet. Also, life is too short for me to be particularly bothered about not having perfect teeth. I have bills to pay and children to rear!
  3. I am perhaps mean for mentioning this but I have to—the woman who wrote this note is morbidly obese. She is not thick, she is not phat OR even fat; she is a walking heart attack. This woman is so large that she can’t even put her arms down at her sides. I don’t want to be cruel about her health problems because I am a woman that struggles with weight issues as well—but I also would not be so foolish as to leave a threatening note on anyone’s windshield and dare try to tease them about their appearance when I am clearly not placing in any beauty contests myself. It’s just Womanhood 101. Making fun of people with your friends and anonymously on the blog is great fun; but to do so in person reeks of petty high school one upmanship and I’m just not about that life.
Proud GA

Proud Gaprican American and Grown Ass Woman

Anywho, the note was basically the petty kind of stuff you would expect someone to say if they were trying to provoke you, concluding with a nice threat to take home and meditate on. I do not take kindly to being threatened and don’t know too many that do. This animosity between the two neighbors has now become my problem and I am livid. Because I use words like “livid” I’ve heard more than once, “Oh, you don’t look like the type to be a good fighter.” Listen,  my fighting abilities don’t even come into play here; I don’t need to fight—I just need to slap a bitch. It’s so easy and really all that’s necessary to solve this whole dilemma. However, because of silly little words like “assault” and “jail time”, I am not able to do what I need to do to nip this whole thing in the bud. I truly believe that my hands have healing qualities and I would be able to slap the crazy right out of her and she would probably even thank me for releasing her of all her foolishness.

Seriously, what is happening in my life right now that I’m even dealing with this sort of thing? Trying to discuss it with JW is only resulting in us fighting amongst ourselves and I have to say; I really resent this woman and the position she has put me in. I want to support my man and take it to the streets with her—but the onus is on me to be a lady in this situation thus my hands are tied. Becoming the rowdy “hold it down” chick just can’t be on my list of amazing qualities because I have children and a career and simply cannot afford to spend time in in jail AGAIN! So here I am, typing this and taking the high road. The adult thing to do is to defer to my man to solve his own issues with his neighbors and to stay the hell out of it and disregard her note entirely– hard to do without feeling like a little punk.

As nice as it would be to slap a bitch (even only once!) there is  simply too much risk involved. The high road to mature adulthood officially sucks ass…

TD High

To slap or not to slap….THAT’S the mofo question!

I Know How I’m Going to Be Murdered



So, I live in the hood. I don’t care too much for the terminology but I suppose if I had to describe the environment I live in that would be it, so it is what it is. I like where I live very much….it’s off the bus route, there are 3 grocery stores within walking distance and about 8 liquor stores in walking distance. However awesome that sounds, I know I’m going to be murdered here and how and why.

My biggest pet peeve of all is the random black woman attitude. Yes, I myself can be bitchy or rigid if you cross me but for the most part that’s not my normal disposition. Just yesterday I proclaimed that I needed to work on my temper and I feel I’m doing very well because I managed to not punch this woman in the face, thus avoiding an assault and battery charge.

So, I clamber on the bus all disheveled and disoriented as usual because morning. As soon as I pay my fare the bus starts moving– because God forbid the bus driver lose three seconds of travel time waiting for me to sit down–and I swing into a seat next to a sleeping woman. I think I said excuse me but in retrospect I don’t know and don’t really care all that much. Why? Because this particular bus is crowded every single day, especially in the morning so I have no patience for the self-centered assholes who store their bags in the seat beside them OR, in her case, store their bag in between  her and the wall which meant she was sitting well into the middle of a two-seater! Anyway, I swing my ass into the edge of the seat as far as it will go and grumpy bear wakes up complaining in the deepest voice I’ve heard on any woman, “Damn, can I scoot over first?!”  
Me: You sure can.
Her: You didn’t even say excuse me! You just–
Me: OR maybe I did, you just can’t hear me with your headphones on. It’s early in the morning ain’t nobody messin with you! Shit!
Her: *pulls out gun and shoots me in the face*

Ok, the last part obviously didn’t happen, but it will if I don’t learn to curb my smart ass mouth. I thought about just switching seats, but I’m a grown woman—that’s where I wanted to sit so I should be able to sit there. So I sat there, all the while entertaining violent thoughts of just smooshing her stupid head against the window and eating her snacks she had lying on top of her bag. (I don’t know why I would eat her snacks—perhaps that kind of violence makes you hungry, I would imagine…) It’s December 31, I still have some time to turn over a new leaf, and I can only pray I don’t get murdered for being a jerk in the meantime 🙂