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?
I don’t talk about serious stuff here all that much. I mean, I do at times but I do it my way and you folks can get as serious as you want. Whatever floats your boat, I say, keep sailing. This is a kick your feet up and relax blog. Long as you’re cool with me, I’m gonna be cool right back with you.
In the vein of the trees in Eden, the world is a place of good and evil. Whereas folks may not show mercy toward one another, God will, which is why He’s God and not us. Maybe you’re not one to believe in a higher power at all. Maybe your belief is that we get recycled back onto the planet as a flower or a frog. Hey, long as your boat’s sailing and you believe in the direction it’s going, I’m not here to argue your point, or mine either, really.
I tell you what though, if I had to come back to life in any kinda way, I’m real okay with staying wherever I end up. I mean, folk get on my nerves and I don’t want a second chance at life for that to happen. If I absolutely had to return, I’d hope I was so good in my life that I would have some leverage to bargain with God. Know what I mean? I can see myself now, sighing, throwing my hands up and saying, “Ok Lord, make me a rock. I just don’t wanna feel a thing.” I’m serious. I don’t even wanna be a pretty rock. Just a plain ole, everyday rock.
The idea of returning to the human species is scary. I mean, there are some good folk in the world and all but they’re getting more weird and subversive by the minute. Not to mention plain ole evil. You can give folk all the chances you want in your mind but what you see is often what you get these days. And have mercy on you if you don’t see it coming or be foolish enough to ignore it. The government is corrupt. Cops are shooting to kill. Women are dating men folk and three months later, the boyfriend’s killed the child. Down here, a woman in local government gets a preacher man to help her embezzle thousands of tax payer money to go on vacations and get car repairs and whatnot. Society is heading toward moral bankruptcy. I don’t know. Maybe we’ve always been there and the internet makes it all more transparent. Sad thing is, we make so many excuses by co-signing to foolishness. Fred wasn’t on his meds today. Jimmy is a great father and would never purposely leave his child in a hot car to die. Blahsay this and Blahsay that.
Yeah, just make me a rock.
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 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.
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.
If you’ve been visiting Totsymae dot com for awhile, you know I’m a faithful Dr. Phil watcher. I know. He’s a showboat. Kinda rude. Sometimes arrogant. And powders down his bald spot. That’s okay. Every one of us has that potential, so let’s move past all that, can we?
Folks, if you don’t know already, I’ve been wanting to sit in Robin’s spot in the audience. I mean, first of all, I’m not sure why she’s there other than to keep other women folk off her man. I get it but as far as I’m concerned, she can wait for him backstage after the show’s over. As it is though, she’s taking up a seat in the audience, which could rightly be mine if I were to go to Cali.
Now, I’m not wanting Dr. Phil, just the seat, okay? I don’t wanna have to go all the way to Cali, wait in line and the last seat I could’ve had is occupied by her. Folks, I wouldn’t wanna commence to duking it out with Robin over no chair she shouldn’t be occupying. For that hour, Dr. Phil belongs to us and so do those chairs. Why ever does she need to be in his face ALL the time? Are there insecurity issues she needs to go to therapy about? I mean really, Robin!
In addition to the audience chair, folks, Robin’s now onstage running off at the mouth as if she’s somebody we wanna hear. We don’t, do we? I thought not. Matter of fact, I should be onstage. I can talk just as much nonsense as her. Plus, Dr. Phil wouldn’t have to come home to me after hanging out with me ALL day and roll his eyes. You know how he does it when he’s sick of his guests onstage. I’m pretty sure Robin gets the same business after going to work with him, eating breakfast together, knocking on his dressing room door, walking on the set with him, eating dinner, and then going to bed. It’s ridiculous.
I understand that video has absolutely nothing to do with this post. The same applies to Robin on the Dr. Phil Show, okay?
I don’t know about you but Drama is not my middle name. Now, I do believe as long as there’s breath in you, you’re gonna have it on some level. How you handle it can escalate or quell the stress and longevity of it. I don’t care if you’re 25 or 75, you’re gonna have your share of drama. You may even be an inventor of it, or the stirrer, or kinda on the slick side in starting it. I tell you though, some of the most theatrical folk will swear to your grave, they are at peace with the universe and in a good space and all this other new age whatnot. Whatever.
If you’re, say 75, down with sickness and whatnot, unfortunately, that’s a level of drama. It may be ’cause you didn’t take care of yourself for 50 years, so in a so to speak sorta way, you brought some drama on yourself. Your head is all wrapped up in the sickness of your body and every time you’re on the phone with somebody, you’re talking about what you ate, this and that ache and what the doctor told you. Understand too, you can take real good care of your body and stuff just breaks down anyhow. It’s life. It happens. So be it.
You can also be a drama stirrer. I can’t rightly name a specific occasion where I’ve been the stirrer but I will say I’ve been an inventor on some level. I mean, if you’re gonna be involved in anything, there’s nothing like getting in on the ground floor of opportunity. I’m just taking responsibility for my role, okay? I can’t rightly say that’s where I am now. It’s not my nature anyhow. I’m just so cool, know what I mean? I could be going through the roughest time and you’d never get an invitation to know ’cause it’s really not your business. You feel me?
I’m amazed and quite baffled at the level of drama senior folk keep up. I had a senior friend awhile back go through a divorce at 65. I asked her, “Y’all sure y’all can’t work that out?” “Naw,” she told me. You see, she’d married the husband a second time and he wanted somebody else. Ended up moving to Alabama and living with a woman he still couldn’t find happy with. Now, my friend’s around 75 and single. Just out there in a pool of senior men folk who don’t drive at night, talking about bowel movements and going on walks for dates. Something she can still complain about if she’s in the market to get hitched again. You’d be surprised to learn how many women are single and looking at that age. I imagine the competition is stiff and still not quite drama-free. That’s life now. It’s happening. So it is.