Here’s what’s happening, folks. Since I switched my blog over to another address, I migrated the followers from here to there. I’m not 100% how it’ll come out in the end but I had to let you know that. Hope you don’t mind. This blog expires next year and will be up ’til then. In the meantime, I wrote a beautiful article on Sarah Palin. Click here to read.
Good Sunday, people. My, oh my, have I missed spilling the juice with you. I just stepped out of my Sunday’s best after a good hallelujah at church. I was there praying for a healing of sort to cease this special column I do on Totsy’s blog but the Word came to me to simply be myself and use my gift for gab. You feel me, people? The Bea is back and I could absolutely smack myself for wasting that prayer. Anywho…
I spent last weekend with Mariah Carey, the diva herself, and I can’t even begin to tell you how bored I was. I ended up leaving her and looks like Nick has too. Or well, maybe she put on a stiletto and kicked him out. Who knows, really. I say ouch to the latter and to the former, Nick is about to start living with a little excitement. He’s such a big kid anyway. Don’t be surprised if you see a tall, black gentleman at Mickey D’s in that big play pin, rolling and tumbling with those balls your kids love so much. Don’t worry. He’s not a pedophile. It’s just Nick living out the childhood he missed after being married to Mama Carey.
Summer is drawing to a close and I’ve searched the highways and byways but still, no sign of a Jennifer Aniston wedding. Just so you know, Jen, you are in my prayers, girl. Word has come down from Brad Pitt’s psychic that he’s still in love with you. If the feeling is mutual, don’t even think about it. Please. All those kids and community property between Angie and Brad, there’s no way he could spread enough love your way for the headache you’re guaranteed to have. If Justin doesn’t make an honest woman of you, I’ll extend an invite to my church. Now, the deacon is on the short and fairly stubby side but he’s an established man with a big heart. Come on down, girlfriend. I’m all about the hook-up.
I understand Meg Ryan and John Mellencamp have called off their three-year relationship. In all honesty Meg, I didn’t know you were seeing anybody. You kind of fell off the map when you divorced but that’s not uncommon for divorced women. I’ve tried to figure out what drew you two together in the first place and I can only conclude it was that unkempt way you both have. Maybe you got tired of him not picking up after himself or vice versa. I tell you what, call Jennifer and maybe you all can get a 2 for 1 flight through my church so you can find some good men down south, girl. Deacon Ball plays the tambourine, drums and fiddles on his porch at night. Such a talented man, I figure a woman like yourself could appreciate such skills.
Well dear people, that’s the juice for this fine day. I’m going to enjoy this late evening sun and Skype Francois at sundown. He’s so high maintenance, missing the Bea. He cries in French even. Until next time, peace to the wretched. Walk in love while keeping your ear out for the juice, people.
Forever and Truly Yours,
Beatrice from Apt. 7B
No, this is not an Oprah-bashing blog post. I, rather, like Oprah. I’m not an Oprah fanatic, however. I’m too practical and level-headed to be fawning over her. I reserve all that for Harry Connick, Jr, Johnny Depp and, well, honestly, Denzel’s kinda fallen off the hot radar for me. I’m not sure why other than to say I’m not interested anymore. The love has gone stale, you might say.
Well, I was sitting here watching Dr. Phil and it got me to thinking about all the folk Oprah’s put on the map for us to follow. You have to admit, Oprah keeps good company. Not with us but us with her. Oprah’s, after all, the modern guru of self-help. And all the folk she’s put on the map wants to help you in some sorta way.
Suze Orman wants you pinch your pennies and squeeze breakfast juice from them. Dr. Phil wants to rearrange your psyche and sell books by his son’s, Jay’s, publishing company. Iyanla Vanzant will come to your home and fix your life right at your kitchen table. Rachael Ray has the amazing gift of cooking you up a meal and talking your head off at the same time. She’s just amazing, folks. And last, but certainly not least, Dr. Oz will fix your heart and send you into an anxiety attack with his rushed speech and sense of urgency. Doc, I’m really gonna need you to slow down before watching you again, okay?
When you think about it, Oprah is…like…Jesus. She’s got herself a flock and her flock has a flocka folk following them. On Facebook. Twitter. Instagram. You name it. She took Jesus at his word and became fruitful by spreading the good word. I mean, her word must be good to have all these followers…like…Jesus. Verily, verily I say unto you, folks, I reckon if you’re a follower, you’re…ahem…a…worshipper.
I’m not sure how many disciples Oprah has. Probably twelve. I’m not rightly sure. You tell me, okay? And you know what else? All of Oprah’s disciples write books, same as what Jesus’ disciples did.
Look, I’m not here to judge ye, throw stones or anything of that nature. It just so happens that God spake these words unto me to put it out to you, alright?
My goodness folks, yes, I’m late. Beatrice wasn’t dressed and well, she couldn’t go on stage that way. As my first comic ever, this was a lotta work and I don’t think I took any shortcuts, which means I gotta find some. As Pamo would say, thank you for tooning in…
In real life, I’m kinda serious. I can be on the silly side, and on another side, I can be like, whatever. I think, and of course I’ve given this serious, meditative thought, but I believe I’ve a fascination with stupidity. Now, I don’t do silly things like breathe heavily into the phone to my exes, mow the lawn in a bikini or none of that. It’s been a thought but time should be cherished and not wasted, which doesn’t match up with my gravitation to reality TV.
Yesterday, my sister was telling me the show Oprah produces on her network, Iyanla Fix My Life, is looking for folks to fix. Once upon a time ago, I was cool with this concept but on the serious side, I told her I’d have to be paid to air my dirty laundry; i.e. a reality show. Nobody’s getting all up and inside of my business for free, know what I’m saying? I also told her any issues I felt I had, I’m gonna go use my insurance to get worked on. If that’s not logical, you tell me what is, okay?
I, folks, feel like if anybody’s gonna profit off my issues, it should be me. If my issue is what’s making the show, that means I’m the star, however foolish I’ve been but I should be handsomely compensated to keep somebody else’s business profitable. Now, I will say, I like that show, as I do Dr. Phil. Having been a dedicated follower, I’m problem-free, other than the fact that I watch reality TV. It’s a bittersweet dilemma and I wonder if they’d encourage me to stop watching them.
Now, believe it or not, folk tell me, “Totsy, you’re so smart,” and I’ll think, Yeah, right. In the times we’re in now, along with my reality, smart has little to do with opening a book but rather, if you can get on TV and catapult your success beyond a yearly raise. It’s not sitting in a cubicle and working overtime, which you only see half of. Or going to work when you’re sick ’cause these days, your job is dangled over your head like a bouquet of Hershey’s Kisses. Uh uh, folks, it’s all about finding your inner fool and acting on it, which my dear folks, I’m giving serious thought to.
Good day, people. I’m here on the beach because I had a photo shoot, which I wanted to share. While some of you are working, and do count your blessings that you’re able, I’m going to enjoy kicking up sand for you and me, okay? I don’t mind at all. Anything leisure I can do on your behalf, put it in the comment box below.
After leaving the beach, I have a shopping appointment with my stylist. That would be Totsy (rolling eyes). My agent, you know, the one I got off Craig’s List, has booked me for an audition on The Real Housewives of Atlanta. I am way past prepared to act a fool. You hear me? I’d be a Real Housewife any day than be Tori Spelling.
Tori, you’re going through some really awful stuff! I feel sorry for you and I NEVER feel sorry for rich people. Girl, you are so miserable in your marriage. In your life. However will you resolve this? I hope that show you and Jenny Garth have coming this summer is a success. That would be a good distraction for you. You NEED a distraction. Plus, I really like Jenny. Now, what I’d like to ask, Tori, because I’m quite perplexed…That time you were being filmed by the paparazzi and you were yelling for them to get the cameras off of you, what’s up with that? Can you spell reality show?
Yes, Dean cheated on you. It happens to a lot of women, girl. You, unfortunately, weren’t exempt from a husband’s infidelity. Now, my sources tell me the two of you got together while he was married to his former wife, which confuses me even more. What went around recycled back to you. Stop it with all of this devastation on the TV screen. What I feel sorry for is that you don’t get what I get and I don’t think you ever will.
Verily, verily I say unto you, people, don’t give what you can’t take. As always, I have enjoyed our visitation but I must, as we say in the south, get the mule out of the corn. While I look ravishing in this swimwear, it is crawling into some undesirable places all on its own, okay?
Beatrice from Apartment 7B
This is Totsy, reporting the evening news. And this is a hot mess off the press, folks. I need you to sit down and put your feet up for this.
Over the weekend, I learned there’s a church down here that worships Beyonce. So far, only 203 women folk have joined. No men yet but if somebody can think of such foolishness, then a man may wind up giving his life over to Beyonce too. Should you men folk decide to uproot and head thisaway to join up, you will have to give up your manhood. I don’t know what all that entails and being a news reporter, I can’t tell you which way to think. I reckon that means wearing a Single Ladies’ outfit with heels and shooting videos. I don’t rightly know, so I’ll leave it up to you to ask. I also recognize some men folk wouldn’t mind this sorta thing atall, so go for what you know or don’t.
Now, should you decide on confessing your love for Divine Diva Bey, as she’s called in this church, your denomination is Beyism, not Foolishism or Crapism, okay? You’re just as legitimate as Scientology, I reckon and I ain’t judging. This is as real as toe jam. Check the link out for yourself.
Thank you for tuning in to the ridiculousness I find myself reporting to you today. I just thought you should know if your soul is on the lost-and-don’t-know-if-it’s-gonna-be-found side. Know that your restless spirit has a place at the International Church of Foolery, I mean, Beyonce.
Bonjour, lovelies. If you’re not enjoying spring, have a fling with life. Get off the couch, being a slouch and live. I realize I’ve a lot to say but that’s my job. Volunteer or otherwise, I take blowing hot air into the universe very seriously. Amen. Where, oh where is a good piece of gossip when you need it? Just call 1-800-The-Bea, alright?
What am I juiced up with this fine day? Halle. There’s only one and girl, you know I’d have to get around to you sooner and not too much later. Look Halle Baby, I mean Berry, what exactly is going on with you? I’m beginning to believe, exterior beauty aside, something is deeply and darkly wrong with your not being able to keep a man. They are fleeing all over the place. I’m not making fun. Not at all. My utmost concern is for the children. If you need to call me, I’ll install a therapeutic line specifically for you, girlfriend. It’s all good because I’ll accept PayPal and Bill Me Later, alright? I’m all about making it convenient to collect that ching, ching. Don’t get it twisted. High five…
And no, Barbara Walters, I didn’t forget about you either. You’re the priestess of journalism but I have to say, we, the public, are so okay with you leaving. We won’t cry. I’m not sure why you felt the need to announce your retirement a year early. Who does that? We don’t care as much as you think but we’ve enjoyed you. Yay, yay. Congratulations but bye, girl. I’m gunning for your seat on The View. Speaking of the show, Jenny, are you trying to look studious with those glasses? Get the contacts, girl. You’re doing too much. While you may be smart, we really don’t care. If you were covering the evening news, I’d give you a pass but being on The View, I feel it’s necessary to stop you at the door, okay?
Siiiiiigh. I’m out of breath and bursting at the seams, people. I mean, literally. This dress I purchased from Target is smaller than I thought. After eating two Dunkin Donuts, that is. I do declare, what’s a girl to wear to look fashionable these days. I could install a third line to call myself at 1-800-Too-Fine-To-Fit but I’m real okay with that. You feel me? And so, I shall leave you with that sexy image of me in your head because enough has been said, alright?
So Utterly Delicious,
Beatrice from Apartment 7B
Everyone likes to be celebrated and women folk, March is your month. Or rather, ours. You, I mean, we asked for it, so we’re sure gonna get it. And fair is fair, okay? If you celebrate one woman, you have to celebrate them all. No matter how wretched some are, we must embrace the most brazen and undesirable of women folk to strengthen our sisterhood. Ahem. Cough, cough…
Now, if I may ask you a question. Who portrayed a woman so damaged, yet funny, that we laughed and thought about the lot in our own families? That’s right, Carol Burnett. Eunice was a sad wreck of a woman, with so very little going for herself but if you were like me, you just loved the night the show aired the little family that couldn’t and never would. Mama, played by Vicki Lawrence, ensured that misery remained intact and did a real fine job of it. Poor Ed, the character played by Harvey Korman, was just an unlucky fella who joined misery’s company and there was no escaping the shrieking sound of Eunice. For some reason, I always thought he could’ve been a man of potential had it not been for her…Hmmm, maybe not.
Hello, Lovelies. I’m beside myself and not because I put on 10 pounds hanging out with Francisco, Francois or whatever his name was. You see, on my way from Jamaica, I swung by Brazil and not by a tree limb, okay? Though, it may as well have been because the seat was so cheap, it was one bumpy ride, people. You don’t want to know what I had to go through to get that seat or what I went through to keep it. Trust moi, Francois will be hearing from my TV lawyer as soon as I dial this 1-800 number.
As you can see, I’m not wearing black to pay tribute to the end of Robin Thicke’s marriage. And I’m not here to joke about this separation. I say separation because they could reunite. I hope so but we know how separations go in Hollywood, don’t we? I’m not sure what disintegrated that relationship but Hollywood is ripe soil for the breakdown of marriages. It’s really sad. So much plastic flesh to be had, you just can’t settle on one tush or bush, alright? In some cases, marriages do survive. They really do. Clap, clap.
Gabrielle, as in Union, I really am enjoying Being Mary Jane. After all these years, you’ve proven to me that you can act. Now, I understand from a reliable source the show’s not doing well, which surprises me. Anything that sustains my attention is usually a hit because I’m one chick on the move, alright? I do hope the show returns for a second season and was glad you decided against turkey basting that stolen sperm. Plus, you’ve got that pre-nup you insist on signing with Dwayne Wade, which I don’t think to be a smart move if you don’t show up after this season. Marriages tend to tense up when one spouse isn’t working, even in Hollywood, okay? Anyway, rah rah to your breakthrough role, as far as I’m concerned. You’re still pretty to me, girlfriend. Just thought I’d throw that in. Ahem.
Before I depart and leave you drenched in tears, I want to announce that I’m starring in a new comic series here on the blog this summer. Naturally, I’m excited that Totsy’s seen the light of my acting abilities. While she’s run into a creative speed bump, we know this series will start the first day of summer, for 8 weeks. Once a week, that is. Look out for the comic book trailer in the coming weeks. The fall line-up brings you Totsymae Presents, premiering 5 shows. In the meantime, enjoy the best and worst of Hollywood, with me, Beatrice from Apartment 7B. Propping feet on coffee table while dipping Oreo cookie in milk.
Hello, people. No applause, please. I am just returning from the state of madness, namely the VMA Awards, where Miley, according to some, made the devil smile. The wild child star turned superstar has blossomed into a thorn and basking like never before in the limelight. While I was sitting in the $5.00 seats with regular people, I was changing lives as they broke their necks trying to see how divalicious I looked. VMA finally had to put the LAPD on standby because it was bumper to bumper trying to see all this fabulousness in one take. Okay?
Now, back to Miley. I say whatever’s clever. It’s your life and you’ve been trying to prove it to the public on so many levels, I don’t think you’re as free as you think you are. However, if Madonna’s doing it at 60, 20 is even better. Alright? I really don’t know what to tell you or the people who are so disappointed that you traded your role model robe for a bikini and red lipstick.
Don’t hold your mouth agape, people. Live your life and let Miley’s play out however it may. Don’t raise your children in front of the TV and allow them to find their identities in people they most likely will never meet. It’s your own fault you’re disappointed. You really shouldn’t raise your children to look up to anything human. We all disappoint and, as my pastor at Saint Philips Holy Trinity of Light Tabernacle of Faith says…Where was I?…Oh, yes, we all entertain Michael on occasion. We fall short and backwards, as Totsy did recently, doing whatever we think feels good.
I have, Miley, in the meantime, taken a poll on certain places where botox may suit you the next time you prance it around stage.
Love and Kisses,