Beatrice Goes Hollywood. Copyright 2013 Totsymae
So, Totsy wanted me to do cover story of her at the ball. Why ever did she desire that? I tried to talk her out of it because I so hate wasting my time. My doing a story on Totsy at a ball is like giving Jennifer Hudson a Hollywood star. Undeserved at this moment in time, okay?
Let me say this. Well, the title says it all. Who or whatever put the bug in Totsy’s ear to get up and dance was a total set-up. Had the gumption to take off her stilettos as if she was going to take over the dance floor. Not only does she not know a thing about line dancing but I don’t think she knew if she was coming or going. It should’ve been a humbling experience after the first time she got out there but she went two or three more times. As if she knew what she was doing! I absolutely cried and laughed on the inside for her.
Now, I’m as good of a friend as they come. You know that, right? A good friend who tells it like it T. I. Is. Okay? I gave her the business while driving her home, people, as she was drunk from spinning in the wrong direction on that dance floor. She even had the audacity to be tired and napped most of Saturday. I give it to her that she did look snazzy in that black Michelle Obama-like dress. Bloated and all, she was snazzy. However, being that I was there, we all know who was crowned Ms. Hot, okay? Don’t let the fact that I shop in Ashley Stuart fool you, people. I am definitely that diva to be reckoned with. Hello? Knock, knock. High five. It’s the deliciousness of a diva coming to you live.
Hotter than Hot,
Beatrice from Apt. 7B
“Prfile in Blue” Acrylic on paper. Copyright 2013 Totsymae
Contrary to popular belief, I have me a little life down here in this south. Come two days time, I’m heading myself to a ball. Got my dress yesterday, tried it on in my bathroom where I can see all of myself from every angle and folks, I do declare on a stack of Bibles, the Torah and Qu’ran, I look hhhhhhoooot! I ain’t never lied to you, so there’s no point starting now. Okay? The truth will set you and a diva free. Alright?
This is how hot I was, folks. I was brushing my hand over my dress while I was looking at my divaness and folks, I thought I was gonna catch fire. You hear me? Saw myself a spark and had to come outta that dress for fear of blowing myself right on up. I have to at least make it to the ball and have an audience if I’m gonna go kaboom. Like, it means nothing if I’m standing in the mirror all by my darn self. You feel me?
I got my do done and and it’s on like a bag of popcorn and Skittles. Okay? Got ole Beatrice over here looking at me cross and sideways with her Hollyhood self. I may have to get her to cover my story and write about my fabulosity ’cause to not do so would make absolutely no sense. Heeyyyy…As the queen of Hollywood gossip would say, ‘Don’t be mad. Be glad somebody as…’ Well, nevermind me trying to rhyme some silly words together. I’ll let Beatrice, the current mistress of undercover hatin’, give you the scoop…Umph…I’ll be darn if I ain’t over here sizzling, folks. Somebody, call 911.
“Looky Looky” Digtial Art / Copyright 2013 Totsymae
I have absolutely no idea how to keep up with you folk anymore. Why, with The Real Housewives of Atlanta back on the air, me nosing around in this and that and every other whatnot I’m into these days, blogging is the furthest thing from my mind. I do want to share half of a story with you. I do, folks, have to exercise some level of discretion since acquiring this position with the FBI, trying to investigate what in the heck’s going on with Obamacare.
So, as the story goes, I had a texting stalker about a week ago. That joker was texting so fast, I could hardly get a word in. Scared the living poop outta me when one day I came home and heard some walking around up my stairs. At the time I’m hearing all this foot-walking, I’m hungry as all get out and had to stop mid-bite ’cause I’m thinking this nut’s been rambling in my paperwork. Seeing that everything was intact, what else could it possibly be, right?
So, I stay halfway focused on eating and still hearing footsteps. Call me crazy, foolish or what have you but I couldn’t fight this fool on an empty stomach. I had to get my strength up, folks. I kept my right eye on the patio door and my left one toward the den area while stuffing my mouth in case I had to make a run but I be darn if I wasn’t closer to the fridge than I was to the door. Now that I think about it, I don’t even think what I was eating was worth losing my life for but being the risk-taker I am, I kept right on eating some leftover whatnot.
Next thing I know, my daughter’s friend comes down and my eye sockets got so big, I thought my eyeballs would roll right to the floor. By this time, I’m chewing but it ain’t all that good, being that I’m scared for my life. Now, I can truly understand why them folk get killed 15 minutes into a movie. I mean, really. The choices folk make. Though, I’m real happy I lived to tell you about this. Maybe one day, I’ll fill you in on the rest of the story.
“Mama’s Weary” Acrylic on paper. Copyright 2013 Totsymae
Myrna’s heels were worn down from walking in her own kitchen, feeding her husband who’d grown old and solid in weight. Day in and day out, she whipped up meals according to his taste buds but she often had a mind to poison him. While he sat and seemed helpless enough sitting on two bone-rotted hips, he talked too much. Sometimes, he’d ring a bell to be served a glass of water or holler out some command while she was watching her soap operas. Myrna simply loathed the idea of a broken down man issuing commands to her. If she could just kill him and get away with it, she would’ve taken them both out of misery.
“Shut up, you old buzzard!” Myrna had jumped off her warm seat on the couch, missing a cliffhanger to fetch Paul’s spoon off the floor he’d dropped. “I’ll burn up this house and leave you here if you don’t stop messing with me.” Her lips were tight and hearing her deepened voice, Paul’s eyes bucked.
He looked to be marinating a thought. “No, you won’t, you ole crusty woman.” He then worked up a wad of spit and blinded Myrna’s right eye.
“Uggghhh!” Myrna balled her fists and threw Paul an uppercut, sending his bottom gums bumping with the top, as his teeth were soaking in a glass in the kitchen window.
She then stared at the sagging old man Paul had turned into. Couldn’t believe she’d fallen in love with him twenty years ago. Had she envisioned the scene she was in with him now, she’d have stayed single and whorish. And just that quickly, she began missing those Friday nights at Foxy’s Club, eating smoked ribs and collards in a haze of tobacco-stained teeth men who only desired a soft round bottom against their palms at the end of the night with no strings. What was in her mind that made her give away that kind of freedom? What lines had this drooping buzzard laid on her ears all those years ago to ultimately bring her life to this?
Photo by Totsymae 2013
I don’t wanna be a bore and while I haven’t been blogging, the honest to true truth of the matter is I haven’t had anything significant to talk about. There’s been a definite pause in trash-talking and it’s starting to bother me to a great degree. Why it’s become such a botheration is ’cause folk who don’t trash-talk are generally about to drop off the cliff and land in the abyss of being a bore.
Me, Myself and I haven’t gotten together to talk about it yet ’cause we’ve been too concerned about the shutdown and now that the shut is up, we’ve kinda gone our in our own direction. We haven’t divorced each other but you may as well say we’ve separated. Me is waiting on the return of The Real Housewives of Atlanta to air with the new season next month. Myself’s been tapping I on the shoulder ’cause she’s in stuck mode. I guess being between Me and I ain’t the most pleasant place to be right now.
And I is writing. I’s had no time for Me or Myself, which is how she gets when she’s wrapped up in anything. I is all about herself and while she’s still pleasant, her mind’s not on anything outside herself. When folk are on the phone with her, she’s not paying much attention to them. I ain’t all that interested ’cause I gets bored very easily with repetitive conversations and would rather talk about herself, even if there’s not much to talk about. Heck, she’ll make something up ’cause she’s rather inventive that way.
In the meantime, Me is getting hungry and wants to backhand Myself for tapping her on the shoulder now about having a get-together. I, of course, ain’t thinking about either one of them and is propped in bed with her laptop, talking about absolutely nothing on her blog. I is trippin’.
Do you realize Dr Phil’s been on the air for about 10 years now? That’s good for him making all that money and whatnot but that says a whole lot about folk out here in this world. They’re messed up in the head and narcissistic about it.
And with Dr Phil being on the air that long, well, I reckon that chair Robin sits in is mighty special and auction-worthy. That’s 10 whole years and counting of the same behind sitting in the same seat for a what? Sideline celebrity. Okay, I admit I’m hating a tad ’cause I watch the Dr on the regular and I’ve been wanting to uproot Robin outta that seat. Not that I want the Dr, ’cause I don’t, I don’t reckon, but I want to go to that studio over in Cali one of these days and with me wanting to occupy a reserved seat, I see a potential problem. Not for me, particularly but for Robin. I’m real sure she hasn’t been confronted with this kind of challenge. Well, there’s a first time for darn near everything, ain’t it?
I figure my first approach to the chair is to act like nobody’s sitting there. If that fails, which I’m sure it will, I’ll get to the studio early and put a chair in the rear, where no cameras are, with her name on it. Maybe the Dr can highlight me and ask how to draw a perfect circle instead of asking Robin stuff she acts like she knows about.
I’m real sorry to interrupt your broadcast, Robin but I think it’s downright critical that the show spotlights how to draw basic shapes on occasion. After all, you ain’t talking about nothing the world needs to know. As a woman myself, I clearly understand why you’re there but I’d appreciate you more if you answered the phones. Better yet, you’d be doing me a real favor to be a good hostess and pass out some cookies and milk while I teach those who tune in how to make a happy face while you sit in the back somewhere.
“Yack” Watercolor on paper. Copyright 2013
After tomorrow, I have time all to myself. I’ve been looking in the mirror, asking Myself, “So whatchu gonna do?” and Myself hasn’t answered back yet. I don’t know what her plans are for me but I’ve got a real strong feeling she’ll have me working in the yard. She sorta mentioned it already but knowing that I ignored her, she’s singing a cut the grass song, so it’s ringing in my head.
Now, Myself knows good and well I can’t be on my feet all day in nobody’s yard, even if it is my own. She did say I can soak my feet afterwards but she didn’t have to tell me that. Feet hollers loud enough to let me know. Okay?
Myself has a way of making me do things I ain’t rightly up to doing. She’s had me working so hard at times, Feet, Legs, Thighs and all them get to telling me to sit down. Myself keeps pushing it though ’cause she gets all bothered when she’s in the mood to do stuff and I tell her to stop. Said if it was left to me, I’d be eating Sorbet or some other whatnot all day and raised Eyebrow up at me, asking what the devil was wrong with me anyhow. Well, I couldn’t rightly respond with any kinda intelligence, so I kept right on working ’til the mission was accomplished.
You should’ve heard Feet, Legs, Thighs, and even Hips joined in, giving me the business. Talking about they were gonna wait three days ‘fore they settled in and start hurting me on account of me not giving them no rest. True to their word, they did exactly what they said they’d do. All I could do was sit there and take it. Lips told Tongue to cluck against Teeth when Eyes acted like they wanted to cry. Myself rolled Neck and said, “Lordy mercy, ain’t this about nothing…”