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.
I know. What does that sun have to do with anything I’m about to say? Absolutely nothing. Forgive me. I’m working on working on trying to blog again. This is a busy time for me. I know it sounds like I’m doing seasonal work akin to being a retail clerk on Black Friday or working the grill at Waffle House after church and whatnot but I tell you, folks. It really does feel like it.
The other day, I was so sore on account of sitting on my tusche and blogging with you folks for days at a time. I can say it’s your fault I was so outta shape and whatnot…Well, why don’t I go ahead and be honest. It was your fault. I’ve never really been in the blame game business. Though, for this, I’m not taking responsibility either. I’ve got enough responsibilities on me, so I’m passing the buck on this one.
You’ll be proud to know I’ve been productive. Productive doing what, you ask as you scratch your head. Well, about a week ago, I sat myself down to get my hair cut. As a result of not liking the cut, and don’t laugh folks, ’cause my esteem is wrapped up in it, but I’m wearing a full blown wig now. Sounds silly and so not me but it’s me. I have to tell you though. I don’t do too well with it by the end of the day. Soon as I feel I’ve driven far enough from work so no colleagues will see me, off comes the wig. Hell, my scalp’s itching now just to write this.
I’ve also been taking line dance classes with a group of senior citizens. You see, my mom teaches the class and I must tell you, while I don’t have two left feet, they do manage to get tangled up still, on occasion. It’s all good though. My memory of dance steps has always been real bad but I’ve got it going on, to be honest. I’m the youngest one there and I also have to add, the coolest.
I could go on and on about how my life is taking off and I’m on the radar for celebrity. Like, how I’m so on the move with this new wig and all but I’m not the bragging type.
Good day, folks. I bet you’re saying to yourself, “Totsy’s only here today on account of being bored and whatnot.” Well, you’ve pretty much hit the nail dead center on the head. You may also be asking yourself, “Did Totsy ever get her laptop back or will I have to buy her a new one?” Your last question may be, “What the heck happened to Beatrice’s comics? Who does she think she is, giving us a teaser and taking away the tickle?” Well, I appreciate your passion and all. My sympathies and heart go out to you.
To address your first question, or rather, assumption, I am somewhat bored. To explain my brief absence and to sum up the answers to your inquiries, I was working in the studio as a co-lead to a Katy Perry song but after about 10 seconds or so, they called off the deal, asked me to leave. When I refused, I ended up in the hospital with a large imprint on my bottom in the shape of a shoe. I’m so utterly confused why this all happened and not knowing has me off kilter and whatnot. Know what I mean? Such a request has been a real head-scratcher but I aim to get some answers to my whys and whatnots. You feel me?
And yeah, I got my laptop back recently. I’ll resume with Beatrice on Sunday.
Being that I’m without my main source of accessing the internet, I thought I’d let you know that I’m feeling rather reflective, and I reckon, a tad resentful. While I’m at it, just throw some haterade in the mix too. Maybe the Amish are on to something by living in an analog world after all.
You see folks, we’ve become the robots that used to get built in science labs. I know you were fearful clones would come and snatch your job, man, date your daughter or whatever else you hold so dear to your heart but I, folks, think you should be fearful of your dependency on devices. Just think. You’re now a part of the largest segment of the world’s population who’s controlled by a piece of equipment that cost anywhere from 29.95 to 999.00. You’re also teaching your children to be dependent and undermining the value of social skills necessary to interact with a real human.
In the palm of your hands, you hold a device that accesses you entry to any place in the world. And if you’re that bored mid-lifer, you may be prone to forget your spouse and kids to meet that hot thing at your local coffee shop after a few picture exchanges . Or wherever. You’re grown, so you know where I’m going with this.
You experience anxiety, hot flashes and all manner of side effects if you’re not attached to a device. Your day is just different. Kinda surreal, to be accurate. When the tech department can’t fix that disposable device after it’s gone haywire from overuse, it sends you into a rage and you’re emotionally drained after you’ve frightened the unlucky agent who happened to clock in at your critical hour to do his job.
You’re the android you never thought possible. You’re the true machines (built by Steve Jobs) and overnight campers who don’t brush your teeth come morning time when the newest iPhone hits the market.
Man, I miss my Toshiba.
Good gawdy mighty, folks! It’s hot down south. How hot, asks the chorus. It’s hotter than deacons looking down women folks bosom, okay? How hot again, sang the chorus. It’s so hot, it’s hot, alright? I’m gonna hide myself in this here house and be a bat. You know, come out at night. I’m careful too, considering I have a cousin dealing with skin cancer. It’s been a rough patch for him and he’s only 24, around there somewhere.
I was thinking maybe I should slip my abaya on but I don’t know how well I could pull off being a Muslim here. Not that I’m gonna be praying to Allah five times a day and whatnot. I won’t do that. I just need to hide myself from the rays. And I’mma tell you folks, when I went over to Saudi coupla years ago to work, I didn’t know much about nothing. The first time I wore that abaya, all I had underneath was my undies. I’m serious.
You see, the fabric, eventhough it’s black, is real thin. Like a thin polyester nightgown. Oh, I was real cool underneath. I was so wrong in wearing it though ’cause I was s’pose to have clothes on underneath. I was chilling under there like a natural born popsicle, okay? Then, a strange thing happened to me at the airport.
My first landing place was Riyadh, okay? I just had on a long skirt and my arms covered. Hey, far as I knew, I fell within the dress code. Then, the driver took me shopping for my abaya. I bought two. Well, not knowing I was supposed to be clothed under there, I get my behind to the airport and in the midst of handling my luggage and all, the darn thing goes to unsnapping so damn fast. I was like, whooooaaaa, what’s going on here? And why’s this just happening to me? Folks, it was almost a strip show up in that airport, alright?
I tell you what. While I went and learned a whole lot, I don’t miss it. I had a hellified time getting outta there. I don’t wanna go no place where I need an exit visa to get out, okay? I’m all about that get up and go, you feel me? Shooooot…Anyhow, I may just put on my abaya to ward off the heat. Did I mention on my way back, one was ripped as I was going down the escalator? I’m telling you, that escalator tried to rip the clothes off my backside, you hear me? Good thing I had clothes on underneath, huh.
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…