Sizzling Advice from Sista Serensky

"My boyfriend wants to break up, but I dont"

Mmm, yes, I can see where the problem lies here, fortunately, I have just the right motivator to help you with this, dire, dire, issue. Allow me to present to you my sassy alter ego, Sista Serensky. I will now leave you two to discuss your trials and tribulations (heads up, quite a fiesty one, to say the least).
GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL, uh-uh, you really want this man?! You, want him!? You listen up sister, this pig clearly does not deserve to pull on your heart strings, he does not even deserve to poke at them a little bit. You know why? Because little miss sunshine over here can shine on without dwelling on a disconcerted meat-head who will not even give you the time of day! Listen to yourself woman, you really think I will rattle off a magical secret formula that you can use to conjure your “man” into falling in your pretty little arms again?! Uh-uh, think again, Cinderella stories stopped applying to real-life on your ninth birthday sweetheart. The only way you will get this morally inept hunk back is with a rag of chloroform and handcuffs, which, even disregarding the possible prison sentence, would require a stupid amount of effort. So look me here in the eyes, drop this clown, drop him like its hot, drop him like Michael J. Fox trying to hold an egg in a spoon. I guarantee he moved on days before he even decided to muster up his arrogance enough to tell you of his decision to leave you in the dust. Unless you want to latch on to his ankles like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum on his mom after getting dropped off at day-care then brush off this chump like the dirt off your shoulder. You need a re-evaluation, a wake-up call, hear that? That piercing shriek in your ear, nope, not that soccer mom screaming like a banshee because you cut off her minivan in the express lane, but the sound of your consciousness cursing you for losing sleep over the guy who forgot your name two weeks ago. Listen to your mind, imagine your mind as your grandma, smacking those cute little knuckles with a wooden spoon for eating desert before dinner, I bet it hurts. GOOD. It should hurt, I want it to hurt, because you know what will really hurt? Confessing your undying love for mister congeniality over here in a last ditch effort to win him back and then watch his ignorant lips curl into an “it’s not you it’s me”. HONEY, if you get hung up on him, sitting at home pounding down pints of Ben and Jerry’s Cherry Garcia while he hits the clubs getting hung up on god knows who pounding down god knows what then who do you think feels worse here? Mmmmhmm, not him, not Monsieur man candy, so chin up sweetcheeks, and repeat after me in a sassy black woman voice “I AM A STRONG AND IN-DE-PEN-DENT WOMAN AND I DON’T. NEED. NO. MAN”! Feel better? I know you do, now get out there, call up your gals, put down the ice cream (maybe after the next bite), and hit the town, make him the one sitting at home sobbing over ice cream, go out and get it gurl, work what you got.