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.
To read in full, visit O Totsy!
Well, I don’t know all that much if it’s an art or not. I was thinking it was God-given and something you picked up on your way through life. I’ll also add that it’s the best innermost friend you have.
Sometimes, we don’t listen to our friends though. At times, we abandon all sense of good thought or reason when we get caught in our mess. In some cases, Common Sense gets mixed up with Opinion, especially when other folk get involved. You know, like the times you don’t trust your own thoughts, which in some folk cases, they shouldn’t. Which is why I’ve come up with a small business to market common sense. Figuring that everything else is being sold, selling common sense could be a hot commodity. Being that my business would be public and on the NYSE, nobody would have an excuse to not have any. The return on investment would be so high, I see myself surpassing Bill Gates’ bank account.
There will be different levels of common sense, however, ’cause everybody’s not at the same place in life at the same time, as you well know. Of course, the idea is to get folk to buy at all levels. Amazing that no one’s branded such a product, don’t you think? I’m deliberating on an internet subscription. This way, there’s anonymity. Folk won’t have to be embarrassed by going to AA type meetings to openly confess their foolishness. They could, however, communicate via online forums with their usernames, passwords and whatnot.
The whole interesting part of the forums would be folk thinking they’ve got more common sense than somebody else and seeing the type arguments they’d have. This being the case, the system would be set up to automatically bump folk down a level, thinking they’ve got more sense than somebody else, along with the folk who really do have less common sense, for arguing invalid points. Naturally, this would keep folk subscribing as lifetime members. Or maybe not. Maybe they’ll do what they were doing before their subscription and opt out of common sense.
Ask me, “Totsy, since you’re trying to be economically smart and all, how’s it going without cable?” Well, being that you’re ever so concerned, I have to tell you, it’s not going well at all. I mean, I think I’m getting over the withdrawal but I have to admit, which I’m very ashamed of, Comcast is scheduled to hook me up tomorrow. Well, for folk who’ve kicked cable in the rear, you may say, “Boooooo, Totsy!” Of which I’d say with a rather snooty air in a country British accent, “Whatever.”
I’ll also go ahead and tell you that I’m cancelling the hook-up and go on to say, I’ve had some nice, quiet and sometimes, desperate moments with myself. Yesterday, I watched a video I never opened on the biography of Jackson Pollock. Today, it was Return to Me and Enough Said. You see, despite me talking like some tough southerner whom you may envision wearing steel pot hats and whatnot, I love a good romantic film. I even thought to buy a romance novel but I decided on another genre.
I suppose writing is eminent with no TV. I’ll also tell you I bought antennas from two different stores and neither worked out to where I could watch regular TV. It’s like…prison. I’ve never been inside one but I’ve seen enough prison-type movies to know you have to think about yourself a lot when there’s no noise around. You go to bed at a decent hour ’cause there’s no TV and you feel…so…alone. I’m looking real forward to mail these days ’cause I get lotsa magazines with cute, muscular men in them and well…this must be kinda what prison feels like, with the exception that I don’t have a girlfriend.
Having no TV must also be akin to being in a mental institution too ’cause I’m talking to myself a lot more. Not out loud but I do kinda wonder if my face reads that a conversation is going on in my head. I figure there must be some rehab group for what I’m going through. I can’t be the only one. And while I’m not exactly conversing with myself verbally, I am laughing out loud. What in the hell’s up with that?
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?
I can’t tell you how ecstatic I am that Friday’s here. I hope the weekend draaaaags by. I’m serious. I stopped by Aldi’s to buy a weekend snack of Tortillas and French Onion Yogurt Dip. I’m not having any mercy on these chips and dip either, okay? I worked hard and hey, this is my treat to myself. Plus, as I speak, there’s a low rumble of thunder outside and I’m gonna tuck myself under this afghan I made and do whatever I feel like. Well, I can’t do but so much sitting down and under a blanket but I’m okay with that.
Too, I’ve bought a few graphic novels to chill out with. I’m gonna draw, sleep, watch TV and enjoy the rain, if it does that. I must also tell you folks, I’m not making too many moves on account of this morning, I caught a back cramp. I know. How do bad things happen to good folk like me and you. You and I. Whatever. This is not an English class. Well, everybody gets an unfortunate chance in life and I have to say, this cramp thing is one of mine.
All I was doing was walking over to turn off the lamp this morning so I could go work that job. You know, the one I get paid for. Well, I stopped dead in my tracks and eventually made it to the switch, out the door to the little vehicle I drive all of 12 minutes to get to that there job and walked around all day like a piece of cardboard. I had to plan how to use the restroom, how to bend over to pick up dropped stuff and all these other inconvenient thoughts on account of this back thing. I was too scared to sneeze even.
Anyhow, I made out okay. The chips and dip’s gonna make me feel better.