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Archive for the ‘Body Image’ Category

Know When You’ve Got “The Look”

Posted in Body Image, On the Road, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 24, 2012 | 29 Comments »

I know. I talked all that talk about how I was the shit in my skinny jeans, and I was. Folks, I didn’t know I had “The Look” wearing sweat pants too. I mean, hell, they’re sweat pants.

The day after I returned to the states, this is what I wore to the store. The same sweat pants I worked out in over in Saudi. By the way, I’m marinating on whether I should tell you about my texting altercation. I had to send a little email this morning to do some whistleblowing, so I’m in the witness protection program now. You being the witness and the alarm system on my house being the protection. My folks, inside my head that is, are telling me to lay low for now.

Anyhow. Where was I?…Hold on…Thought I heard somebody rubbing their backside against the house…Okay. Here I am. Well, I went to the grocery store, right? Now, the sweats I was wearing were fitted but I wasn’t thinking nothing about them. I was just trying to get me a little something to cook. By the way again, I’m gonna show y’all some more bumdiggety recipes. I just haven’t been real focused in the kitchen. Not that that’s anything new but you know what I’m saying.

So anyway, I’m pushing my cart and shit, right? I’m telling you the truth, folks. The worker in there, I think he was in the meat department, at least he looked the meaty type, was kinda following me. Asking me how I’m doing and whatnot. Could he help me find anything and all that willynilly. Like he didn’t have nothing to do but help me. You know, I wasn’t paying no mind. It was on one track, which was to get me some groceries. I was all about the business of feeding my face. Some other fella was trying to be all up in my dried breast milk too but I wasn’t thinking about nothing but them groceries, okay?

Well, I know fella number one was following me ’cause another day I went, there he was again trying to help me again and he was lingering and whatnot. He was going in another direction ’til he saw moi.I mean, shit, if anybody knows how to navigate a grocery store, I do, okay? And he was an okay enough looking fella. All big and strapping and whatnot. However, I was still reveling in the fact that I could even be in a store without an abaya, also minusing a damn bus waiting to take me back to a compound.

Now, I ain’t saying I’m all that. I’m making it, as we say in the south. However. Women folk need to be aware of when they’ve got “The Look.” And you don’t have to work it hard or nothing. Unless you’re selling. Know what I’m saying?…Oh, hell naw! I hear somebody clipping their toenails on the front porch. Let me make sure my alarm’s on.

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Vanity at Its Finest

Posted in Body Image, On the Road, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 11, 2012 | 28 Comments »

I try to keep things in perspective. I really do. I’m a laid back kinda person but today, folks, I wore myself some skinny jeans for the first time. Awhile back, Little Totsy tried to get me to buy some but I wouldn’t. I thought those things were for real young folk. However, it hadn’t escaped me that everybody who wore skinny jeans shouldn’t have been wearing them but of course, that’s my opinion. I’m just sayin’.

Well, I worked those jeans pretty good, folks. I didn’t know I had it in me. Correction: I didn’t know I still had it in me. And I’m gonna be real honest with you. I thought I looked so good, I could hardly sit my ass down. I kept finding places to walk to so folk could see me. To the restroom. To this office and that one. To grab a bite to eat. To this and that building. If someone wanted me to go somewhere with them, I’d hop up like a jack-in-the-box, ready to go show off again. It’s a wonder I didn’t trip and fall somewhere. You know how shit happens, right?

Not only was I walking everywhere I could think, I was thinking about myself a lot too. You ever do that? You know, it was nothing deep of course. Just vain shit ’cause I was full of vanity today, right? I even got to thinking when I went outside wearing my abaya, ‘It’s too damn bad I gotta wear this thing so nobody else will enjoy me in my skinny jeans.’ I was truly trippin’, right? I told folk today, “I look so good today, I won’t be going straight to the compound,” as if I had car keys to go somewhere different, knowing damn well that’s the exact place the bus would be headed. That’s where it’s always headed.

On the bus this morning, I told my manager, “Just so you know, on the last day here (since we’re moving), I’m going to the corner store without my abaya.” I may get me another pair of skinny jeans for that occasion with a pair of stilettos and send a shout out to Linda before I get hauled off to the big house.

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Brain and Body Conversations

Posted in Body Image, On the Road, tagged , , , , on June 22, 2012 | 40 Comments »

“Profile in Blue” Acrylic on paper. Copyright 2012 Totsymae

After a three-week hiatus from the gym, I started working out again yesterday. It’s not so easy to restart working out. I just told Monica’s Tangled Web that working out is one of the things that keeps me focused on some of the good things that I’ve picked up here in The Kingdom and away from not so good stuff that happens.  So, this is the conversation my brain and body had:

Body: What do you mean you’re doing 30 minutes on the bike? I haven’t been in this sweatbox for three weeks now. How about twenty?

Brain: No. You need to push yourself more. Stop being lazy. You’ve been lying around long enough. You’re falling by the wayside and beginning to look like shit. And I feel like shit.

Body: Speak for your damn self, okay?

Brain: Look, the wedding’s tomorrow. You don’t look as good now as you did a month ago. I’m ashamed to even be associated with you these days. Get on the damn bike and let’s do this.

Body: Okay but I get to stop for rest when I want.

Brain: Sure thing. Long as you do thirty minutes.

Halfway through

Body: Uuggghh…I’m dying. And you forgot to bring the water. I’m so thirsty. I’m so tired. I’m so–.

Brain: Shut up and keep going.

Body: You told me I could rest.

Brain: Take one.

After 30 minutes on the bike.

Brain: See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?

Body: I told you I could do it. I wish you’d stop doubting me at every turn.

Brain: Now, let’s do some sets on the weight bench.

Body: You’re trying to kill me!

Brain: Shut up and get your ass on the bench. I’m getting sleepy.

Body: And you should be. Got me moving around like some guru at 5:30 in the damn morning. What the –.

Brain: Get over here and stop wasting time. We can take a nap when we get back to the villa.

Body: Well, let’s be swift about it then. I’m ready to lay down anyway.

After pressing weights on the bench.

Brain: That wasn’t so bad after all, was it? Don’t you feel better about yourself? We’ll come back in the morning.  We’ve gotta get back into our routine, you know. Just wait until you get back to the states. You’re gonna be the shit, thanks to me.

Body: (Heifer!)

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Forget I Ever Said I Was Going for the Madonna Look

Posted in Body Image, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 31, 2012 | 34 Comments »

“Madonna” Google Image.

Or did I never tell you?

You do realize we’re both lions and our daughters are Libras, born days apart right? Only thing is, Madonna’s been married one time more than me and there’s that teeny matter of the income gap between us. I’m working on it though, along with the whole Madonna physique thing. Well, I was.

Somewhere, between eating a sandwich and lifting 20 kilos, I got tired. I’m like, “Totsy, who the hell you kidding? You’re doing good to walk around the damn compound for an hour.” I imagine for Madonna to look the way she does, she’s doing far more than getting her heart rate up with brisk walking or that other jive ass exercise I call myself doing. And too, I imagine if she’s doing push-ups, she’s not on her knees doing them like me either. But then, I didn’t want her arms in the first place. I wanted Michelle Obama’s arms, Janet Jackson’s ass and Jennifer Lopez’s abs.

See, you have to piece together what you want in this life and go for it. Though somehow, I changed my mind. ‘Cause to be honest, I don’t have that kinda time. Seriously. None of them are writing books. If they do, they hire themselves a ghost writer and then get a personal trainer to work their bodies out and  a chef to cook them skinny foods. I have no such luxuries.

And then, I look around at the women folk I’m working with now and I ain’t bragging or nothing but I know physically, I’m much better off than they are. So I get to thinking, ‘I must be the Madonna among us.’ And for real folks, sometimes you know, whether you vocalize it or not, and I don’t. Which makes me think I have to work harder in the little gym over here if I wanna keep up my “Madonna” status. Maybe I need to walk around this place a little faster or take up running.

But folks, I know me. I ain’t running nowhere unlessen something’s chasing behind me, trying to bite me in the ass. I ain’t hardly trying to have somebody rationing my food to me either. And actually, I’m doing a decent enough job at that myself. I’m back to eating apples again since I’ve grown tired of cooked foods. And the whole deal with getting Jennifer Lopez abs, well, it just ain’t working out being that I only may do 100 crunches a week. Shit, I get busy doing nothing and forget sometimes. You know, my mind’s preoccupied with lifting my abaya when I walk up stairs, trying to keep folk from jumping ahead of me in line, trying to figure out a way to get into some trouble over here without going to jail and narrowing down the shit on my to-do list once I finish the list I’m working on now. I’m just busy, folks. I’m living a real life. Forget Madonna and all them.

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I Was Perfectly Fine ‘Til I Looked in the Mirror

Posted in Body Image, tagged , , , , , , on April 11, 2012 | 46 Comments »

Acrylic on Paper. Copyright 2011 Totsymae

I’d like to think, for the most part, I’m all that. But be honest, folks. Sometimes you’re hot and well, those times you’re not, you need to fess up, okay? ‘Cause believe you me, somebody out there is willing to let you know. I’m one such person. And look at this way, the truth is a beautiful thing no matter how ugly it is.

Now, it’s not about being down and out on myself or nothing. It’s not. I just have to lay the facts on the table and play with what’s in my hand. Same as you, ’cause you ain’t all that on a 24/7 basis either. Need I remind you? Let’s lay that on the table while we’re at it (finger snapping and neck rolling).

Okay. So, I’ve relocated my little work area to this…I don’t know what it is. A dressing table that looks like a desk? Well, when I need to charge my little laptop, that’s where I sit if I want to keep working on something steady, right? So, I’m working right along and I’m doing real fine for the first few days, justa pecking along on this keyboard of mine.

Well, I got to picking on myself sorta.You know, with the mirror being in fronta me and all. Not in a bullying kinda way but I’m like, “Totsy, you got yourself a big ass head. Damn, girl!” I got to turning the damn thing this way and that. You know, just in case I’d caught myself a bad angle. I’m trying to cut myself a break with my own image staring right back and something said to me, “Uh uh, yo’ shit’s just big.” Then, I got to wondering if my shoulders got smaller and I can’t say they did or didn’t. I mean, my shoulders ain’t something I give a heapa attention to. Do you? Then, I started thinking of my shoe size, which is an 8 or 8.5, depending on the make and model and you know what? I said, “Totsy, you’d be in trouble if you had smaller feet. Your ass would tilt right on over.”

Be honest. What’s your physical liability? And do you need to take a rider out on your insurance for certain body parts? Hey, if you don’t know, you best ask somebody. Better yet, send me your photo and let a sistah hook you right on up, okay?

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Sick and Hanging On to Sexy

Posted in Body Image, tagged , , , , , , , , , , on January 27, 2012 | 52 Comments »

"Cosmo Girl No. 3" Acrylic on Paper. Copyright 2012 Totsymae

Folks, folks, folks. Where or how I caught myself a stomach virus, I couldn’t begin to tell you but if you’ve ever had one, you know it ain’t nothing funny. A right miserable feeling, it is. I couldn’t even eat a grape without that whole sick feeling rising up in me again.

Naturally, I’m thinking, “I’m sick as a dog. How can I look cute ’til I’m back up and running?” And just how do you maintain cuteness when you feel nauseous and wanna puke at the thought of food or shit, just sitting and trying to watch a TV program?

Here’s what I’ve figured up:

Rule No. 1: Keep your ass clean. Don’t fight against taking that second or third shower in the course of the day. It’s absolutely mandatory to smell freshly bathed. Some folk see that feeling ill is prime time to act all weak and skip out on soap and water. It’s not and you really oughta be ashamed of yourself if you do. You were taught better and you know it. Don’t even give yourself ample time to build up a stank. If folk ain’t coming to see you, let alone ringing your phone with a how-you-feeling, don’t try to go feeling sorry for yourself like nobody cares. Obviously, you’ve planted a certain image in their heads they can’t rightly shake. Even a phone call with you breathing in their ear is too much ’cause you probably don’t do teeth either, during  this critical time.

Rule No. 2: Don’t be in public hocking up shit. Not only is it nasty, it’s an unattractive sound, whether coming from a man or woman. If you’ve got yourself some remnants of sickness and trying to get out to make yourself feel better, you especially don’t wanna carry on this foolishness in a restaurant. That’s some rude shit, okay. Get up and take that mess to the restroom and stop ruining it for everybody within earshot.

Rule No. 3: I know we’re in the thick of winter in some places but flannel pajamas ain’t gonna do a bit of good for your look when you’re feeling down and out. Keep a drawer set aside for you “sick pajamas” that’ll make you look desirable even if you know you ain’t gonna put out. If you’ve got a significant other, that’s all the more reason to have one. I don’t care how much that other person loves you, be easy on the eyes while dealing with snot tissues and whatnot. And smile through the pain every now and then. It’s bad enough you’re around the house moaning and groaning but damn if you have to look it.

Rule No. 4: Slap on you some smell goods ‘stead of walking ’round the house smelling like Vick’s Vapor Rub or like you just came from using the toilet and whatnot. You ain’t hardly right for leaving such a scent in your trail. If you’ve got folk visiting with you and they only hang around for about 5 minutes, that’s probably why. That damn Vick’s will blow folks’ nose clean off their face. Don’t make folk suffer through the smells of your sickness. And you especially don’t wanna pack this on after not washing your ass. Rule No. 1 is so very, very vital.

Rule No. 5: Comb and brush your hair. I mean, really, folks. Don’t go around looking all matted up and ain’t got no lilt to your shit. And this ain’t just directed at women. Men folk, y’all would do well to invest in some Spray n’ Lift too. Trust me, ya’ll can be an eyesore if your shit ain’t tight either. Just carry yourself the best you can as if your boss were at the house and in that ass. Besides, you should be putting on your best performance at the house anyway. Don’t go all sloven on these women folk ’cause you think when you get home, the job’s done and you’ve caught a little bug that’s going around the office. Oh, hell naw! Get your ass up and take out that trash.

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Mississippi Says No. What Say You?

Posted in Body Image, Hot Off the Press, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 9, 2011 | 54 Comments »

Photoshop Painting. Copyright 2011 Totsymae

The votes are in in Mississippi. That life doesn’t start at fertilization.

So, when does it? When is it too late to abort? When does it become a baby? What do most scientists say? Who should decide? Does the father have a right to know and decide? Is he irrelevant? Why shouldn’t he know or have rights? Can he charge for murder? Why sleep with him when nothing is 100%? Is it okay if the mother’s life is threatened? It doesn’t count anymore when a mother says she’d rather die than her child? Is it okay if the child is determined special needs and quality of life is a concern? Can a child born of rape be loved the same as a child born of love? Should the child know he/she was conceived through rape or molestation? Why not? Will there be resentment if the child is born? Is abortion being treated like birth control? Is that why the government is intervening? Is this only a big deal in North America? Why is that? Who are these other people saying it’s murder? Are they contributing to the welfare of the baby once he/she is born? Did they attend the baby shower bearing gifts or have a college fund set up? They think this is an easy decision? Why are they so angry or passionate about people they don’t know? So, what do scientists say about when life begins again? Does God say something different? Just curious.

This is my artwork for Day 9 of Art Every Day. Click the link to enjoy the work of more artists who are participating.

 

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Let’s Get Naked

Posted in Body Image, Everyday Shit, tagged , , , , , , , , on September 27, 2011 | 24 Comments »

Watercolor on paper. Copyright 2011. Totsymae

See, the problem’s always been that men folk don’t listen. The first and only example we need of that can be traced back to that garden in Eden. That is, if you believe in the events that took place back then. Personally, I don’t believe we were made to be walking around naked for the rest of our lives. I mean, God didn’t have to put the Tree of Knowledge in that garden, so that we’d know the difference between good and evil. I think He designed it so we can do just what we’re doing. On another personal note, some folk don’t look too good with their clothes on and it would be a sho’ nuff sight to see folk walking around here naked. I know you can feel me on that. Hell, some of you ain’t satisfied with your own bodies, let alone looking at somebody else’s naked ass.

I know, we wouldn’t know the difference between what’s a nice body shape and what wasn’t, if Eve hadn’t gotten Adam to take a bite of that fruit. Though, I find it kinda hard that nobody would wind up figuring out that some of us needed to wrap a sheet around us or something. I mean, can you imagine not knowing shit? Would you even want it that way?

Then, we ended up with the Bible, which different folk wrote and made it so that we should follow certain rules to live a righteous life. And bear with me ‘cause I don’t know much about nothing in relation to all there’s to know about anything but I find it creative to make it so that man pretty much becomes God, regardless of him not being able to follow directions in the first place.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m gonna go with the flow of the Bible and all about man being head of the house (and don’t forget, president), but I’m just deliberating ‘cause if you’ve ever experienced this yourself, it’s kinda hard for a man to stop and ask for directions. Maybe that stems back to him not following God’s instructions in the first place. You ever been lost on the road and tell that man he should’ve turned left when he insisted on going right and you end up in a maze of more lostness?

Back when I was a real young married woman, my husband had this stereo system that was special to him but he decided to pawn it. Folks, it was a damn 8-track and I couldn’t recall when I’d last seen one but quicker than a magician can pull a rabbit from his hat, there it was. I pretty much told him, ain’t nobody gonna want that shit. Now, I’m in the car telling him not to take that thing in the shop, pregnant in hot ass Texas, mind you. He tells me to stay in the car ‘cause he couldn’t work a deal with me in there running my mouth. I sit in the car like a good wife while he lugs that thing in the shop. Two minutes later, he’s lugging it back out. I had to suffer three pawn shop stops of this before he finally got the message that he was trying to pawn off some shit nobody had use for.

I was thinking though, it may not be a bad idea to blindfold folks and sit them all in a room butt ass naked and see how they match up. You know, go back to basics and kinda get men folk to think a little more deeply ‘cause we all know, they could have the body of Santa Claus and want a damn Halle Berry. Like, how the hell they figure is what I ain’t figured out yet. I think that’s a right fine idea for marrying women off who want to be tied up but I’d opt to be a fly on the wall and maybe add a contemporary chapter in the Bible called The Book of Totsy.

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The Tell-Tell Signs of Ageing

Posted in Body Image, tagged , , , , , , , on September 21, 2011 | 27 Comments »

Watercolor on paper. Copyright 2011 Totsymae

You talk about what you eat and how it settles in your digestive system. You may even go further by letting others know how they can keep their systems regulated with colon cleansers, what drug store they can get them from ’cause they’re the absolute best and so and so on, and you don’t give a damn who hears you dishing out this kinda advice.

You talk on the phone and shit at at the same time, then have the audacity to flush.

You talk about how gloriously free you feel after taking a shit.

You fart in public and keep it moving. You don’t let shit boil up in your stomach to the point that you’ve got so much gas you could be launched to the moon. Life is too damn short and anytime is the right time for letting out a little wind. You might even go,  “Ahhhh,” at the end and pretend you don’t hear someone calling you a nasty heifer or dirty ass bastard.

You pick your nose in public like you’re hoola hooping and don’t give a damn who’s watching. You’ll even stare back at the bastard who’s been staring at your nostril cleaning process with nonchalance or a what the fuck expression, if you’ve aged into being the bad as you’ve always been in your cuttin’ a fool days.

You get that plaids and florals ain’t a good match up but you wear them together anyway ’cause you just don’t give a damn about trying to impress anybody and your retirement check’s in the bank while kinfolk who are trying to tell you your shit don’t match are still pulling that 9 to 5.

You’re shopping in Forever 21 and trying to wear shit your daughter or granddaughter is wearing with your bony ass knees showing in a mini skirt and your titties look like dried up raisins under a tube top.

You go in a room to get something and suddenly can’t remember why the hell you’re there and have to go back to where you were to think about why you went there in the first place.

You’re way too tickled pink that somebody in their twenties thinks you look so young and you go off telling your older friends who thinks you look as old as they do.

You’ve got more beauty products than books in your house.

You’ re talking to somebody and they’re looking at your toupee more than paying attention to what’s coming outta your mouth.

You wanna kick the person’s ass who’s addressing you as mam when they look to be around your age.

You fall for every product that claims to maintain your youthful appearance and will max out your credit cards to do so.

You’re sitting around the house playing music your kids don’t wanna hear and they beg you to please stop dancing.

You feel like you’ve got more answers than questions ’cause you’ve seen and heard it all before and nobody can tell you shit.

You’re holding a prized outfit or two from high school, not only because it brings back the joys of youth but you actually think your ass is gonna lose the pounds to get in them again.

You’re out shopping with your parents and nobody can distinguish if you’re the parent of child of the parent.

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M.I.A.

Posted in Body Image, tagged , , , , , , on September 19, 2011 | 22 Comments »

Watercolor on paper. Copyright 2011 Totsymae

I wanted to see what all the fuss was on the TSA folks, so I took a little trip. Well, that ain’t all the reason for the trip ’cause there was no Denzel-like figure to frisk me up. Matter of fact, nothing frisky went on at all and I’m a tad disappointed, folks. All that research didn’t cough up nothing more than me walking a cold floor in my bare feet. Oh, my Mary Kay samples for exfoliating were taken. Folks can want the darnest thing from you, can’t they?

Now this ain’t got nothing to do with nothing but I just had to let you know that I washed my face with some of that Caress soap and it’s got my face feeling so good. And maybe it does have to do with something ’cause to sit on your bottom for sixteen straight hours of being suspended in the air is enough to make me appreciate the joy of soap and water. I never took it so seriously before but I’m feeling real smooth and refreshed. You really don’t have to go out and buy all that fancy and priced up stuff to keep yourself younger, folks. Just go out and buy yourself some Caress soap. I can now say that some companies acutally live up to their commercials.

My concern is my backside. You know, sitting on it for so long and the future consequences of that ain’t good for women folk especially. Always nice to have a little padding back yonder. Sitting on it all those straight hours like I did is like using a flat iron to your hair. I used to be right proud of what was going on back there but I’m about to hold court with that bitch now. Like, just sit the ass in the witness chair and have at it: Where the hell you take off to on the night Totsy went to the comedy show? Ass, where were you when she tried on that dress she thought she was gonna look so fine in and had to put it back on the rack? So, you mean to tell me you just stopped showing up on your own cognizance?

I’ve seen some men folk with asses that make me do a double-take. Oh, I get to hatin’ on them too. What gets me though is big assed men don’t quite get when to stop pulling their pants up. Why the belt line gotta be damn near under their arm pits? What’s up with that? And if you think it’s a pitiful sight to see them from the back, you must’ve missed the front. Ooooh folks, I’m just gonna spare you the details and let you use your imagination on that! Lord. Help. Me!

Sorry, I veered off again and lost my train of thought. Let me catch my bearings here and once I’ve kinda settled in and wrapped my head around this here town, we can keep company like we been doing. I ain’t quite all of myself now being here, so I’ve got some figuring to do. (Hmmm…why those folk on that TV talking so funny?)

 

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Girl, Don’t Let Him Do It

Posted in Body Image, tagged , , , , , , , , on September 5, 2011 | 42 Comments »

Graphite on paper. Copyright 2011 Totsymae

Now, I know I shouldn’t be worried about this but I’m concerned when I see a woman driving a mini van. I only birthed two younguns myself but I wouldn’t care if I popped out five, I ain’t driving no mini van. One will never be registered in my name. I ain’t taking no pictures by one for the family photo album. I ain’t interested in one no kinda way, any way you look at it. I ain’t seen a cute woman step outta one yet. And you know what? If you’re driving one and keep doing so, you can best believe some years down the road, you’ll start looking a hot mess like some of  the women folk I’ve seen step out of them. I’m telling you, folk really do start looking like their cars after awhile and a mini van is a far cry from what I’d wanna be looking like, if I had to resemble any kind of  motor vehicle. I mean shit, it’s a mini bus, folks!

Ladies, between you and me, if you and the significant other go car shopping together and he starts pushing a mini van on you, be highly suspicious that he’s about to retire your ass. He’s probably already looking at some fine young thing or cougar with cash before y’all ever hit the car lot in the first place. If you’re all eager, giddy and shit that he’s putting his boo in a new and reliable vehicle to get the kids back and forth and all them whatnots, I’m telling you right here and now that you should get your head outta them rain clouds about being the family taxi driver. I’ve seen some women in them vans and look like all they do is drive and cook all day. I don’t see too many of them smiling either. Look like they wear this permanent scowl or tired as hell. And wouldn’t you? I mean, I’ve never had dreams of driving one of them things.  Seems like that’s a vehicle folk settle for. Who the hell wants a mini van is what I wanna know.

What gets me is women folk calling themselves all liberated and shit.  They don’t even have a club like those women who ride motorcycles. Say, women who drive vans (WWDV) could meet up in the park and share what they like about their vans, you know, what kinda accessories they get for it, go down the highway at 90 mph honking their horns with bras strapped to the antennas or lay across it in a hot bikini by the time Hubby pulls up in the driveway from work. You know, just be proud of the fact that they’re driving one like other folk who might drive, say, a corvette. If you’re not doing any of the things I just called out and driving a mini van, you ain’t liberated and you may as well snatch you up some cloth from your local fabric shop and stitch yourself one them Laura Ingall’s dresses from Little House on the Prairie ’cause that’s how you look to me. Don’t think I’m knocking folks, I’m really here to help.

What I want for these women is to be happy, that’s all, and stop looking like they’ve been sucking on sour milk from their babies’ bottles and the shit didn’t settle right on their stomachs. If you really didn’t want the thing when you signed your Janie Hancock, you ain’t gonna have much attachment to it once it gets old and starts breaking down on your ass. For real. You’re gonna end up resenting your husband who’s driving around in his monster truck with the big wheels or whatever the hell he’s driving, is how it’s gonna end up. If you’re gonna do the housewife thing, where he’s bringing in all the cash, have some pride about how you looking in your ride. Your playa days may be over but damn if you have to look it!

Liberate your ass from those six-seaters. It’s enough to be carrying around a diaper bag all day but to go about in a mini van is really setting you back a few notches. If I haven’t managed to convince you of the mini van effect (MVE), imagine a good sexy ass car dream your man could have if he could choose one. Would it be you on the roof of the mini van, and God forbids, a bicycle rack is up there and you’ve gotta find a comfortable spot for the weight you’ve probably packed on since the wedding photos that you don’t like thinking about anymore. Or would it be the babe in the mini skirt with the six inch heels and botox lips who looks like she could  be queen of the Playboy mansion?…Uh uh. Don’t even try it ’cause it wouldn’t be you. Stop hallucinating.

Look. Now, I realize my posts are usually about my little life. This post is no different ’cause I’m affected by WWDVs. I have compassion for them. Really, I do. However, I get downright impatient to be parked near these WWDVs and they can’t grab a hold of Jerry ’cause he’s run around to the other side of the vehicle, Dana’s crying in the shopping cart on account of the WWDV can’t get the little belt unlocked and you know I could go on but my main concern is these women folk ain’t looking none too happy to me. Is it really not the van and that they have to shop in Wal Mart ’cause Target’s too high? Is it that damn hot outside that the sun’s dried up their smiles? Or is it that when they got out and about, they realized they were still wearing their house panties instead of their public panties and suddenly been struck with thoughts of what-if-I-have-an-accident? (Ladies, remember that panties reveal as much about us as a coroner would find in an autopsy). I’m just an inquiring mind and seriously wanna know.

We all know men can play this role, like their all aloof and shit but I got the damn skinny on this mini van. They know what the hell they’re doing and that’s to keep other men folk from looking at you. Hell, I don’t even wanna look at you stepping outta no mini van.  So, now that you know, don’t go off getting your little house panties in a bunch at how much sexier he looks driving his shit that ain’t got screaming kids in the back seats.  Oh, he’s gonna act like it’s your weight or something or another ’cause that’s how they do but honestly and truly, that mini van’s gonna make you look no different from a school bus driver and how many sexy ones have you laid eyes on lately?

And just for my sake and other women folk thinking along these same lines, if you’re a WWDV, be mindful of how you’re looking  before stepping outta the van. Shit, wear your sunglasses if it’s hot. Keep yourself a good amount of sexy underwear that won’t get stuck in the crack of your ass in public places. Hell, good underwear are like toilet paper. You should never run out. And lastly, I know folk don’t like this word but I’m using it anyway. If you don’t get control of them younguns at home, they’re gonna control you in public and that scowl I tend to see with WWDVs can last a fair amount of years while driving around in that mini van.

What did you say he was driving again?

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Age-Defying Tips That Ain’t In A Jar

Posted in Body Image, tagged , , , , , , , , on August 1, 2011 | 23 Comments »

Folks, if you’re heading toward forty and over, birthdays may become somewhat of a bitch. I have a friend who tries to put on the persona that he only remembers his birthday when somebody calls to wish him a happy one. I say, he’s a liar.

Anybody claiming to overlook this special day is clearly relating their fear of aging. The thing of it is, you really are only as old as you feel (and for ladies, the way you look). It must be really nice to be eighty and still able to wrap a leg behind the neck or on the milder side, walk five blocks without returning to the starting point in a breathless state. My hat goes off in either case but for anyone needing a few economical tips to keep age from snatching your glory, you’re highly advised to follow these coveted rituals I’ve devised for myself. However, I must warn you that some of these techniques might pose challenges you may not be able to follow through on but do the best you can. Hear me? Here goes:

  • Find ways to avoid people who think negative. Typically, they age quickly and won’t mind doing the same to you. If you are, somehow, physically unable to avoid conversation, change the subject. It won’t be enough for you to disengage in the conversation. These people, especially type A personalities, will bitch until they have covered every aspect of what ruffles their feathers and soon enough, they’ll be ruffling yours. To listen will only make you cringe and ultimately, have loathsome feelings toward them. Don’t allow them to fill your space with something that’ll cause negative reactions in you.
  • Play games and music from your youth. Remember those soundtracks of yesterday when you were most happy and play them consistently, especially as you near the next digit that will transition you closer to receiving AARP paraphernalia. Remember, these folk are only doing their job and looking out for you, in case modern medicine keeps you hanging around another fifty years.  Keep a straight face when that particular newsletter arrives in the mail. Any sudden muscle movements (i.e. cussing the bastard who sent you shit that’s got you documented) will cause damage to the facial tissues that may likely create a permanent line that’s only removable by costly plastic surgeries that you can’t afford on your fixed income. If you’re still gainfully employed, it’s more than likely you’ll acquire lines akin to a road map from where you’re standing to the Mexican border by the time you decide to collect on the social security that may not be there for you. Stop, drop and roll, folks, to keep that body in shape ’cause you’re in a new America that don’t give a damn about the elderly.
  • By all means, stop eating greasy shit, which you know good and damn well will get your heart to burning and have your stomach bubbling at two in the morning. You’ve been to the doctor enough to know your veins are getting thinner and that grease ain’t gonna do nothing but clog the shit out of your arteries. How many times that doctor’s gonna tell your ornery folks to leave the fried shit alone?
  • I know you’re oh so deep and all but your libido ain’t ever gonna snap back to your roaring twenties, folks. Find yourself some romance author(s) that’s gonna help you get your private groove on. This is a three-fold tip on account of you’ll  also be exercising your eye muscles and I wanna encourage you to read some of those sexy parts aloud and to your significant other, if you have one. When age catches hold of you, you don’t carry the same enunciation as you did back in the day. This is especially challenging for folk who buy teeth from their local dental office. You don’t want to be reminded of your age by folk constantly asking you what the hell you just said. It’s real tiring to keep a conversation going that way. I’m sorry but it’s the truth, folks.
  • Lastly, get shit off your chest. Not doing so will cause you to wallow in stupidity for not speaking what’s going on in your mind. And shit, you don’t know when the hell you’ll expire. Stop holding on to shit when what you really need to do is let somebody have it. Not that you have to be unkind about it but act in whatever way the occasion calls for. And no, this, in no way conflicts with the first tip I gave you. In this case, you’re the one putting shit out there and not the shit receiver. Ain’t it always better to give than receive?

Hey, I’ve got myself a hair appointment over at the beauty school. Found me a real good student who knows how to hook Totsy right on up (smile). Hope this was one way of me hooking you up. I’m sure you could find tips out there from folk that are willing to profit from your desperate fight to turn back time but remember, you wanna be a dashing handsome fella or an ageless beauty, not a broke one (wink wink, y’all). Bye.

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