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.

On Being Grateful

Watercolor on paper

Watercolor on paper

You won’t believe how ecstatically ecstatic I am. No, I didn’t get picked up by a literary agent…Uh uh. Neither have I won the lottery or the showcase on The Price is Right…Okay, nevermind guessing…I’m off for the next week and a half. I’m gonna kick my heels up, throw my shoes out the window and I hope I don’t hit anybody in the process.

I know you wish you were me right now. Or maybe not. I’m just glad to be me right now. I couldn’t say that 100% an hour ago but I’m cool now. I hear the fish tank running, the clock ticking, and birds chirping outside my window. It gets no better than that, folks. Well, it does, a whole lot better in fact, but I’m gonna be grateful for what I got going now, okay?

Like, I could be stuck on the side of the highway with a flat tire while 18-wheelers have my ride trembling as they whiz past. Or I could be lost in the woods. Why I would be in the woods, I don’t know but it happens to folks, okay? Or, I could be choking like crazy from scarfing down that veggie pizza I just ate but all I can say is all praises to a good slice of pizza that hit the right spot, you feel me?

Well folk, I ain’t gonna keep rubbing my off time in your face. If you gotta punch the clock come Monday morning, be glad for the hand you have to punch it with, okay?



It’s Okay If You Call Me Bossy

"Yack" Watercolor on paper. Copyright 2014 Totsymae (

“Yack” Watercolor on paper. Copyright 2014 Totsymae 

I’m disappointed. A little confused even. I’m trying to figure out what’s so wrong with calling women bossy. I mean, some are. It’s not the worse thing a woman can be called. How can you ban a word and why would you want to?

You know what, women folk? Sucking meat from teeth. Y’all are really starting to get on my nerves. You whine too much. You’re way too sensitive and you always want something. Look, you wanted equal rights, so now you get a little of what men folk been getting. Don’t get out here in the work world acting all tough and soon as somebody call you a name, you go to flinching like some damsel in distress. I mean, this whole banning thing sounds either premenstrual or menopausal. Take your pick according to which stage of life you’re in.

Flicking lighter to fire up cigarette. It’s always something with you women folk. You want contraception, the morning after pill, men to help with domestic stuff, a woman president (which I’m fully and whole-heartedly against, by the way), planned parenthood and yaddah freakin’ yaddah. You just don’t get a word removed from folk vocabulary. I like the word bossy. All it means to me is a person who gets things done. I mean, if you women folk are against the word and all and you’re proponents for equal rights, get it banned for men too. Better yet, get prick banned and all those other derogatory terms that mean so much worse than bossy. What about slut? Those kinda folk work at the office too, you know. 

And what happens if the word’s banned and somebody says it anyway? Will it come down to something like a sexual harassment suit? I can’t imagine being cross-examined or being involved in such a case. But you know the root issue, right? This wouldn’t be a conversation today if women folk had just stayed barefoot and pregnant and somebody wasn’t trying to sell a book. Scratching unshaven underarm.

The Problem with Not Nipping It in the Bud

Watercolor on paper. Copyright 2014 Totsymae

Watercolor on paper. Copyright 2014 Totsymae

Folks, maybe you couldn’t rightly tell but I’m from the south. That simply means that I’m genteel, polite and I, occasionally, display a smile at the absurd.

I said all that to say this. I think I’ve generated myself a slight problem of sorts, on account of being so southernly nice. There’s this woman who finds me so interesting, I reckon. she’s always trying to be up and inside of my business. Look, I’m just regular, plain ole ordinary folk much like yourself, so I haven’t quite figured out why she needs to know the whys and whatnots of me taking a day off. I don’t be off much at all in the first place but it seems she feels the need to know the details of my absence.

Instead of me saying, “If you don’t get your life, I’m gonna carve you a new one,” I figured with her being so smart, being a problem-solver and all, she’d take the social cue of me staring at her without so much as a blink, and go on ’bout her nosey business. But nooooo. She stares, waiting for a response as if she’s the check signer.

Now, why I’m off has no affect on what she’s gotta do. What I absolutely loathe is folk wanting to know the whys and whats on account of being a no count busy body. They have no use for the information other than wanting to know. I was thinking to put out my business in the form of a magazine and have her subscribe for $500 a month. That way we’ll both know if what I have going on is valuable enough for her to pay for. I’d be required to disclose every why and whatnot, in that case. Maybe we could even do lunch and I’d talk about myself in the third person, saying stuff like, “She didn’t come to work ’cause her jeans  were so tight, she couldn’t walk,” or “She hurt herself twerking at a Miley Cyrus concert.  Pulled a hamstring like you wouldn’t believe.” 

How do you gently keep folk outta your business? Or is gentle not a term you’d use to describe how you go about it?

Demand to Get Paid What You’re Worth

"Happenstance No. 1" Mixed Media on paper. Copyright 2014 Totsymae

“Happenstance No. 1” Mixed Media on paper. Copyright 2014 Totsymae

I should be super uber rich, with all the jobs I have. After running down the list and giving a brief description of my duties, you tell me if I should have deep pockets…

Phone Consultant/Comedienne – I call my elderly aunt who’s kinda housebound on account of her taking care of her housebound husband. I tell lies and the truth to entertain her at least twice a week. I’m not sure if my check for doing this should come from her social security check or the government. While I’d do this for free anyway, I got to thinking and feel entitled to compensation in some tangible way. I mean, I crack her up and she often tells me she needed that. With me lowering her blood pressure and whatnot, I’m actually due a retro check and those are always nice. I also give her advice or at least make information clear and logical about matters she hadn’t considered. Am I due or what?

Poet/Rapper/Songwriter – Now, this is a fairly recent gig of mine. As of yesterday actually. But my daughter, Little Totsy, heard my rap song and she…Well, she didn’t exactly say I should put it on for download or anything close to that but I put in so much time and figured out the beats. It takes a lotta energy to go to that creative place and since it was such a learning curve, I feel like, while I may or not get paid for it in my lifetime, somebody will see my words on paper as valuable. Don’t you think that about your writing? See, makes all the sense in the world to you now.

Walker – I do this all day on the job, helping folk. I know, you say that’s part of the job, but my walking is excessive. I must walk about five miles a day. That’s dedication, folks. Walking was not in the job description and my feet need extra care these days.

Trash Collector/Green Artist – I collect all manner of things to repurpose them in some artistic way. I’m saving the earth and beautifying it at the same time. Whoever collects newspapers, bottle caps and all those other things I could run down the list, I have to go to their homes to collect them. They can actually save money on recycling ’cause I’ll take just about anything.

I’m also a TV Watcher, Grass Cutter (seasonal, of course), Junk Mail Recipient, Patient Driver, Line Waiter (at the store when buying things), Listener (both consciously and as a bypasser), Hanger Upper (on telemarketers), Non-Nagger (even in times when I should) and well, the list won’t stop but I will anyhow.

I don’t know where all this money should come from  and it really doesn’t matter since all of what I’m doing is legal. Should I quit all these jobs, who’s going to replace me and do it as well? I mean, I feel like I’ve made an impression in a way that I’d be at least somewhat missed. I’m so clear about that. What do you think? Are you putting in work you should be getting paid for?

All In A Day’s Work

Self-Portrait; Watercolor on paper; Copyright 2013 Totsymae

Self-Portrait; Watercolor on paper; Copyright 2013 Totsymae



It wasn’t a bad day at all, folks. I’m real glad about that. However, I ended it with a bang. Literally. I don’t know how I managed to do that but I found a way.

It started with the banners. There are musicians painted on them from different countries and whatnot. Well, they had to be hung from the ceiling. The ceiling has tiles and paper clips were unfolded to hook to the banners and…well, you know what I’m saying, so I’m not wasting my breath with that.

Well, in order to get to the ceiling, one has to have a ladder, right? Matter of fact, I had two ladders ’cause I had somebody helping me. I’m on one ladder, he’s on the other. He’s holding one end of the banner and I’m holding the other to hang. Okay. We’re moving right along and by the third banner, things start to go awry.

All I can tell you is I must’ve leaned too hard. I had to. And to be real honest, it happened so fast, I can’t rightly recall. One moment, I’m reaching to hang the darn banner, next thing I know, I find myself moving swiftly from the ladder and looking toward the floor. As in falling, folks. It happened fast and slow, simultaneously. My hand reached out to the fella on the other ladder ’cause I’m trying to save myself. But God was on his side and the devil on mine, folks. I must’ve caught shortarmitis ’cause I couldn’t reach him. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m thinking Your ass is about to meet the floor. And meet it, I did, folks. I must’ve done something right tough, ’cause all I had was a little soreness to my shoulder. I guess I fell on it. I can’t rightly remember that either. What I do recall is seeing the fella on the ladder as I kept falling, falling and blam!

To add to it, I had more than a dozen folks as my audience. They were concerned and all, asking me if I was alright, which I was and am. I can’t rightly tell you how those banners are coming down but you can best believe it won’t happen by way of me being on a ladder. Okay?

The Creative Life…Excuses, Excuses…

"Kim Kardashian"  / Digital Art

“Kim Kardashian” / Digital Art

Good girls don’t get the attention, so a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. Don’t be mad at them ’cause they’ve got everything they want and not afraid to go after more of it. Like politicians, the public puts these folk where they are. They are the stuff that Hollywood’s made of now. Get used to it ’cause it’s not going away. It does, however, make it more challenging for plain ole folk, like you and me.

You know, we work hard in life and on these blogs and whatnot. You (not me) would snip your ear to get your creative endeavors noticed so you could give up that job and pursue it full-time but you just can’t bear the thought of any likenesses to someone who cut their entire ear off (Vincent Van Gogh). Some folk will do anything but you just haven’t thought of it ’cause you’re too busy being normal. Plus, you’re not willing to sell whatever’s left of your soul after a hard day’s work. It’s too exhausting. Besides, the house has to be cleaned. Your husband’s laid off and playing video games now, so you’re financially strapped. The woman across the street’s got Lawn of the Year and you’ve gotta outdo her. The dog needs to be walked, taken for a poop and he takes so darn long.  You’re depressed and had to get yourself some retail therapy with your girls. It’s just soooo busy…I absolutely feel you on some it…Well actually, none of the above but you know where I’m going with this, so don’t act.

"Nicki Minaj" / Digital Art

“Nicki Minaj” / Digital Art

I’m writing to you today, folks, to give myself a swift kick in my own tail and if you can identify, you should do the same. Not mine but yours. While I’ve been painting I’m not writing as much as I’d like.

So, what steps have I taken to make space for living a creative life? I cleaned my studio. I’m like a deer in the headlights now. I have a coupla projects to work on though. I think I’m gonna buy that paint you can turn into a chalkboard and write what I need to do so I can see it. I have figured out that I’m painting during the week and writing weekends. But what I’m doing is neither here or there. What’s your plan?

"Miley Cyrus" / Digital Art

“Miley Cyrus” / Digital Art

Talking Body Parts

"Untitled" Digital Art / Copyright 2013 Totsymae

“Untitled” Digital Art / Copyright 2013 Totsymae

I know you don’t care to know this, so you can stop reading if you want. I simply have a need to express myself. Plus, this is what a blog’s for, so you may wanna go ahead and finish this ride with me. After all, that’s why you clicked the title in your in box. But you’re getting me side-tracked, which is real easy to do ’cause I’m trying to get my mind off my aching feet.

You see, I worked at home for nearly a year and sat down all day long. Working solo, I got on my nerves so bad and became real tired of having conversations with myself at the water cooler. I’d get to talking about myself to myself and then go back and say something else. You know, being a backstabber. It got real heated for a minute but it couldn’t get physical or anything like that. I mean, I’d be blogging from the room of a padded wall if that was the case.

Anyhow, I had to get out among folk and being that I was unaccustomed to being on my feet, these dogs of mine are wondering what the heck is going on and asking why I didn’t consult. Even had the audacity to slap me with the extra weight it had to hold up on account of me eating so much, with the refrigerator being so accessible and all. I was like, “You just gonna have to get used to it! If you’d’ve kept me walking around the neighborhood, you wouldn’t be hurting so bad. And why you wearing sandals anyhow? Out here trying to look cute, huh…You need a pedicure.”

After this back and forth action, Feet reminded me to sit my tail down ’cause no weight was coming off with us standing there arguing with each other. Well, I sat on down and I figure with my hands moving across this keyboard and me thinking so hard about what to say on this blog was probably the most exercise I’d get today. After all, I can’t have Feet complaining and throbbing and whatnot.

Dear folks, what body parts are talking to you lately?

I Decided Not to Man Bash

"Sock It to Me, Baby" Gouache on paper. Copyright 2013 Totsymae

“Sock It to Me, Baby” Gouache on paper. Copyright 2013 Totsymae

It just seemed so unfair to group men folk all together on account of one fella not knowing how to fix a vacuum cleaner. But I have to tell you how strange that was ’cause that was a head-scratcher there. I don’t know what sorta raising he got not knowing how to fix a simple machine as that. In other words, a man should enroll in vacuum repair school or something of the sort. I’m starting to wonder if he knows how to use a can opener. I mean, really!

It’s not that I think all men are mechanically inclined. I can spot a man who don’t like getting his hands dirty and that’s real fine if he has money to pay to get what’s broken fixed. I mean, who wants to hear, “Wait ’til I get my money right,” when the car’s sitting on bricks in the driveway? Those are some very unsexy words, fellas. Take those words to your grave, okay?

Now men folk, based on experience, I know women can be unreasonable. We don’t tell you we’re still mad from last year but to be fair, y’all do some real dumb stuff over and over and we get real tired of telling you the same thing. Y’all know good and well you don’t need to keep telling us not to overspend ’cause that’s kinda hard once the adrenaline gets going and we see other women folk with more shopping bags than us. We have to look like we’ve got it going on to some extent, okay? Long as you’re paying the mortgage, you’ll get over it.

One last thing, men folk. You don’t have to make heaps of money. It sure would be nice but all of you don’t come packaged that way. Women fully understand that.

Men folk, it’s not that you have to have the best job but have A job. If you ain’t getting ample pay, ain’t nothing wrong with filling out an application for a second source of income. Take it to your woman, she’ll fill the thing out for you even. That’s what I call a supportive woman, okay?

The Most Ugly Side of Beautiful

Beatrice Goes Hollywood. Copyright 2013 Totsymae

Beatrice Goes Hollywood. Copyright 2013 Totsymae

It’s a beautiful day to be alive and gossiping, people. I have so much scoop for you today, I could darn near choke. Somebody get behind thee and give me the Heimlich Manuever. Preferrably Harry Connick, Jr. Hello?

Let me jump right into this because Ms. Gwenyth, Paltrow, that is, I know you’ve been nervously awaiting to hear my take on you being named the most beautiful woman in the world. What a backlash. Basically, your photo has been nailed to the public wall and filled with darts and bird poop. I wouldn’t want to be you right now, even with that sweet bank account. Don’t you worry your pampered self over this at all, however. Damn if you aren’t and damn if you are the most beautiful woman in the world. Who gets to cry over that every day? That’s part of the Hollywood territory, and horror story, in your case. At least your name’s not Kim Kardashian.

And Reese Witherspoon. You were more than a notion in my neck of the woods and I simply can’t appreciate that. I think you’re one of the smartest It girls in Hollywood and you played the celebrity card while intoxicated, which leads me to think that what you said to that officer, who lays his life on the line on a daily basis, was not better than you in no shape, form or fashion. I need to re-think my relationship with you because what’s in comes out and for now, I’ve seen just about enough.

The big story of this gossiping hour is Ann Curry from the Today Show. She is singing to her friends like a battered bird and Matt Lauer is flying like a bat from the show when his contract is over next year.

Look, rich people. I truly, honest to God, stamp-my-foot-three-times-to-give-a-shout-out-to-the-Almighty-with-a-tambourine-shaking-in-my-left-hand, wish I had your problem. Ann, stop crying. You messed up sometimes. I lied in bed eating strawberries with whipped cream from the night before, watching you faithfully. Mistakes happen. You made many of them and I’m not mad at you for it. Nor do I feel sorry because you are sitting on a cool 10 mil for each year left on your contract. Yes, it was quite humiliating to get laughed at and booted out so publicly but the average person isn’t so lucky to get kicked to the curb in such a fashion. Will you even draw unemployment and fear that it’ll run out? I mean, come on, Ann.

As for you, Matt. I do believe, and it’s just my personal opinion, that you are sexy in a subtle and unassuming way. You look innocent but come on, my ole Boo. I know you aren’t. You couldn’t stand Ann, didn’t want her sitting on the couch next to you and that’s the way it is on the job sometimes. I can most certainly relate. Before my gossip business took off, while I was still working at the phone company, which got me started with dipping in everybody’s kool-ade, I could not stand a handful of people I worked with either. They were always trying to be in my business and not get paid for it, which makes absolutely no sense to me. Now, did you bully and shun Ann? Again. You’re not as innocent as you look and if I’m wrong, which I don’t think I am, Karma is going to become your friend in a most invasive way.

Listen to me, rich people. I’m not Olivia Pope, so I’m not interested in fixing your problems but like the business savvy woman I am, I’m all about getting paid for spreading the word, good, bad or indifferent, and at least trying to bring you back to the world of where the real problems are. I highly recommend that each and every one of the aforementioned visit, get yourself a patch or something.

Honest and Always True,

Beatrice from Apt. 7B