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Archive for the ‘I’m Every Woman’ Category

Internet Sluts

Posted in I'm Every Woman, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on April 11, 2013 | 33 Comments »

Google Image

Google Image

I know this woman who likes to tease men on these dating websites. Actually, I know two. One of them sends me profiles of guys I’d never be remotely interested in. It’s a joke to her ’cause when I call her, her being my sister, she laughs her big head off.

The other woman says she’d never meet these guys on account of her weight. That takes all the fun out, I think. I mean, I’d need closure by way of a physical meeting. Plus, I can only talk shit for so long. Then again, that’s exactly what I’ve been doing on this blog almost two years now.

Anyhow, I don’t like the idea of internet dating. I admit, I tried it but it wasn’t my thing. It especially wasn’t my thing when Little Totsy put me on some site and I ended up going out with a gay fella. I mean, can you imagine standing in line at the movies, which is where we went, as a couple and both of us very much in touch with our feminine side? That ain’t hot.

I saw this one guy, when I was on the site, that I knew from my art group. He was a featured bachelor, I suppose, ’cause his photo was highlighted in red and pretty much said he was a featured bachelor. I went to ducking and hiding from the screen, as if he could see me. Shortly after, I removed myself from the site but I knew it was over after going out with the gay fella.

One woman, my sister that is, was telling me how this one guy says that women are looking for men to take them out to eat. I don’t understand that even a little bit. I mean, yeah, I like to eat but I don’t wanna have to work that hard for a meal with somebody I don’t know. Anyhow, this same guy, she told me, had a “date” with this one woman and she expected food before fulfilling their “agreement.” She was totally baffled that he wouldn’t at least take her out to eat before their “agreement” and he ended up kicking her outta his place. Not literally but based on the exchange they had, he may as well had. And when you think about this woman going to this man’s house on their first meeting, well, I think that’s pretty much a request to be murdered. You agree or no?

Now, back to the other man teaser, who’s my friend. She’s on the sites playing hard to get, which I don’t get, ’cause ain’t the whole purpose of being on these sites is to get somebody? Or are these type folk internet sluts?

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2012 Wrap Up

Posted in I'm Every Woman, tagged , , , , , , , on December 20, 2012 | 34 Comments »

"Dream State" Mixed Media on paper. Size" 9x12.Copyright 2012

“Dream State” Mixed Media on paper. Size” 9×12. Copyright 2012

It’s a busy, and for some folk, stressful time. I don’t know what makes the holiest part of the year stressful. Well, it’s Jesus’ birthday, if you’re of a Christian nature. This time of year don’t bother me with stress. It’s a time to settle down and regroup ’cause this is when folk get the most time off. It’s been real strange to me though, how there are so many folk outta work, and have been for awhile, but the malls and store parking lots are packed. I’m like, shit, where did the money come from all of a sudden?

I wish at the end of every year, I could go and shop like a mad woman but I’d probably end up extremely bored with it. Redundancy is unsettling to me. Like, if I was dating a fella and all we did on Friday nights was pop in a DVD and eat chicken nuggets or some other fake food of that nature, I’d eventually want to pop the shit outta him. Not that I would but I’d certainly imagine it and humor myself with the thought.

I remember this one fella I dated was always talking about women he dated. He thought he was hot shit. One time he told me, “I’m gonna work out and be all fine the next time you see me.” I told that ass, “Must gonna be a loooong time before I see you again.” If you knew anything about him, you’d understand why I had to shoot off like that. Then again, you can meet him now.

Anyhow. I’m gonna be a little quiet over these last days of this year as I try to wrap up some things. Plus, my son, who calls himself Masta Unk now, is here from the army, so I’m gonna enjoy his time here. Now, ladies, not ’cause he came from me, or maybe so, but Masta Unk IS the shit. (Wink, wink y’all).

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I Do Believe She Was Stalking Me

Posted in I'm Every Woman, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 27, 2012 | 30 Comments »

“Touch” Watercolor/Ink on paper. Copyright 2012 Totsymae/www.toshfomby.com

I never told you this story. I forgot about it ’til just now. You see, I, folks, have had a small fan base in my little lifetime for unfounded reasons. With that, unfortunately, comes stalkers. At least, I feel like she was skirting that path. But I’m here to tell you from the get-go, I was innocent. My hands never had any remnants of his hair.

Who is he? Well, it’s the fella I worked with and the stalker was his wife. Now, you know me, or maybe you don’t, but I was working that job real good, okay? Truly, I was minding my own business, folks. In the midst of all that working and minding my business, I was, you know, working IT, or at least the wife thought I was. I was just being my own damn self. That’s all I know, right?

Well, Wifey worked on the job with the husband. In a different area but I do declare folks, I thought that changed with her always peeping in and shit. I’d be doing my thing, my back to the door and next thing I know, there she was, like a damn phantom. I wouldn’t even hear her come in, I was working so hard (hehehe!). I’m telling you folks, she may as well had been wearing socks, she was so damn good at easing in that room on me. Could’ve wiped me clean out, you hear me! And you know folks, I’m real aloof at times. I never thought it strange that she spoke to everybody except me. I’m strange, so I’ve been told, so I figure us to be two strange folks, okay? Nothing special.

Any ole how, the other woman who worked with me and Her Husband, we’ll just call him that since that’s what her was, told me one day, “She ain’t coming in here to check on me. It’s you she’s looking at.” I didn’t pay that no nevermind ’cause I wasn’t interested in Her Husband. Besides, I had myself a little beau friend at the time, a half-assed one, mind you, but I thought I had it going on at the time. Plus, I got all indignant in my mind and got to thinking, How the hell is she gonna decide for me who I’m interested in? That I’d even choose Her Husband had I not been wrapped into Half-Assed Beau Friend. The goddamn nerve of her!

I’m trippin’, right? At another time, that same woman who told me Wifey was eyeballing me, added, “She never used to come in here like this before.” As time went on, Her Husband told me, “My wife was coming in the room because of you. She’s insecure and was cheated on by her first husband.” I was like, “Oh and she afraid you’d be wrapped into all this,” and I did a little sexy move. But truly, he wasn’t my type and in my way of thinking, I thought I couldn’t have possibly been his.

I thought of this story recently ’cause this other woman was eyeballing me earlier this month. We were standing in a small group and her husband was talking and naturally, everybody was looking at what he was saying. I mean shit, what else was I supposed to do? Everybody was looking except her, that is. You see, she had on these false lashes heavy with mascara. I felt something akin to a mosquito on my face and I be damn if that woman wasn’t looking at moi, folks.  The bitch was bold too! I got to looking back but in a nice and respectful way, ’cause you know I’m a good southern woman, and that heifer kept looking at me as if to say, I’m watching you, bitch. It was awkward, I’m telling you. I told my sister about it ’cause I didn’t know this woman or her husband. She said, “Dodo (and I’m calling her that ’cause I’m tired of this shit!), was checking you out. She don’t play when it comes to her man. Did me the same way ’til she got used to me.” Like an old pair of socks I guess. But I ain’t trippin’.

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What I Have In Common with Ann Romney

Posted in I'm Every Woman, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on October 25, 2012 | 29 Comments »

Yahoo Image

I know. Outside the obvious, you think I couldn’t possibly have anything in common with her but we, my folks, are sisters in the rough. We’ve been down in the trenches and know the deal. Now, it’s not something we readily admit. It’s just too hard.

You see, I caught the recorded version of the last presidential debate on Tuesday. I don’t know about you but I saw a different Mittens Romney. If I squinted my eye and held my head just so, I’d have thought there was only one man in that debate. I have to give Mittens his props, folks. I feel kinda on the dumb side when I can’t contribute to a conversation, which is a very humbling experience. I imagine this was the case for Mittens. And typically, I shut up when I don’t know what I’m talking about but I don’t reckon that works well in a debate. Though, you wanna know what I have in common with Annie, not a summarization of the debate. So, let me lay it out.

Now, this won’t embarrass Then Husband should he happen upon this post. He’s come full circle with the realization that he sucked at playing basketball. I pray to the Most High that he’s finally given up. Be patient now, ’cause this story’s gonna come full circle too, okay?

See, it was when he was stationed in Texas and in the army that he called himself gonna join up with the little team his company had. They competed against other companies and it was a nice little outing for our young selves with no money. Of course, that’s not the commonality between Annie and me. Stay on the ride and we’ll get to my destination, alright?

Well, I’d haul Mr Boy, who was then a baby, to the game to watch his daddy play. Watching his daddy play didn’t have the same effect on him as it did for me. There I’d be sitting in the stand and folk would get to groaning when a team member threw the ball to Then Husband. And to be honest, I’d go “Oh, shit” to my damn self. I just knew that ball wouldn’t be scoring points with his hands on it. Folk didn’t know Then Husband was mine and truth be told, I didn’t want them knowing either. Hell, he was out there making a spectacle of the whole damn family. I got to where I didn’t want to go to the games anymore but I kept going. You know, you can’t out and out tell your spouse he’d be better off watching the game than playing. Which brings me to Annie’s situation.

Was it just me who gathered that Mittens didn’t present himself as knowing anything about foreign policy? He totally brushed off that moderator’s what if question and not in a smoothe way. Same way Then Husband handled the basketball. I know Annie must’ve bit her lip and squirmed as much as I did in the stand when a question was thrown at her husband. You see, we know when our men don’t know shit. Or how to handle a ball, in my case. We just can’t say it out loud. We stand by them no matter if they keep putting their foot in their mouth or whether it seems they’re the only ones blindfolded on the basketball court.

You see the connection now?…I do declare, folks. I just had a beautiful thought…I think Annie and I could  console one another if I let her take me shopping. I’d like that as much as she would.

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Seriously, Not All Men Cheat (or How to Keep Him Faithful)

Posted in I'm Every Woman, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on December 16, 2011 | 36 Comments »

Collage/Watercolor on paper. Copyright 2011 Totsymae

What do you think? You can say a good number of  politicians cheat. We should be totally unamazed when examining that group ’cause they do have “special interests” and it ain’t like we’re privy to knowing all of what that entails. I mean, I have special interests too but I don’t suspect blogging, painting and watching reality shows get the same measurement as political “special interests.” But let’s not talk about how insignificant my special interests are ’cause I wanna…I’m sorry, folks but I’m having some internal distractions ’cause I keep thinking of how Newt’s been (ahem) slinging it all over Washington. That fella’s got game, don’t he?

Now, standing Newt Gingrich and President Obama side by side, you’d easily choose The President as the one to have some game, right? Oh, but you’re quite wrong, folks. You remember that baseball game Obama went to, wearing those mama jeans? From that moment on, I was convinced Michelle’s the one wearing the Levis in that family. I think The President might’ve been wearing some Gloria Vanderbilt’s from back in the day, folks.

Then…I pondered on this mama jeans theory more ’cause I like trying to figure shit out when I look at two folk all in love and shit. I may pick up on something that can help me out in the future. So. I’m figuring on these mama jeans of Obama’s and whatnot ’cause I’ve already assessed in my mind that The First Lady can kick The President’s ass. I hope this doesn’t come off disrespectful but I’ve been thinking on this a good while and I can’t hold shit in that’s gonna help me, and you either, for that matter. I truly believe if you look at my perspective on this, you’d very much agree that Michelle can kick that ass. Oh, she don’t play around!

Mama Jeans in Action starring The President (Google Image)

There’s never been a woman to come out and say she’s done the do with The President. Have you heard any such tales? Let me know ’cause I want my facts to be straight. Though, based on current evidence, there’s only been Michelle. Now, folks. I know Michelle’s running shit ’cause she’s the one who put The President in those mama jeans that time he was riding that bike in public. I didn’t know what folk meant when they referenced mama jeans at first but when I saw The President on the bike, all smiling and whatnot, and my eyes slipped to his jeans, I was like, “Oh, shit,” in a real quiet, slow motion kinda way, like I was hearing a low beat of a horror flick’s theme song that was getting louder. Slowly, I began to turn away from my TV set ’cause I was embarrassed for him but I couldn’t altogether stop myself from what I was witnessing.

Mom wearing Mama Jeans. All she needs is a mini van to complete her ensemble. (Google image)

So, sure as the day is clear, in my neck of the woods anyway, all men don’t fall into the cheating category, which is good information to have. Now, I know some of you women folk ain’t none too happy about  driving around in that mini van. But I’m here to tell you, revenge has its on sweet rewards for you women that let your husbands stiff you in them bus-like cars.

Just crank that little machine up in your driveway, head over to the shopping center and purchase that man of yours a pair of mama jeans like Michelle did. If you’ve EVER, and I mean EVER, worried about that man stepping out on you, won’t no woman have him once he steps outta the house wearing those suckers. Matter of fact, you may do well to ensure fidelity.  Assist him in dressing, by jacking the pants up  high enough to show off his balls, with a pair of white tube socks and Stacy Adams (Oh girl, I’m gonna help you hook’m up!) Trust me, ain’t nobody gonna want your man and if he’s wearing glasses on top of all that, it’s a done deal, honey. Y’all will be together ’til one of you expire away from here.

And I’m gonna apologize for not getting this information to you sooner. Pardon my slowness ’cause I know some of you women folk are in dire straits, trying to keep that man you feel is worth holding on to. Now, should you decide you wanna deck yourself out in some mama jeans too, I wanna be real clear that that ain’t gonna work while you’re allegedly “sporting” in the mini van. In Washington, is the correct term for that called double-dipping?

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The Hook-Up

Posted in I'm Every Woman, tagged , , , , , , , , on September 12, 2011 | 28 Comments »

Watercolor on paper. Copyright 2011 Totsymae

Folks, it’s a little hard for me to stand on my feet and walk. I’m gonna tell you though, I’m watching my dollars. So good I’m watching my dollars, I damn near filed my feet off on Saturday. I have this idea that I can do just about anything. I really do. My kids, Little Totsy and Mr. Boy, believe I can do just about anything too.

One day, we were walking in the mall and Mr. Boy came across an outdoor bench that could be put in the yard. He told me I should get it for the house, then he got to studying it and said, “You could build that,” which I could. We’d see shit in the store and I’d go, “But I can make that,” and it’s become a family joke ’cause as much as I feel like I can do, I’m pretty much gonna stick to what I know I will do. I’m not boasting. I’m just cheap, is all, which is why I’m in this predicament with my feet.

On Saturday, I go to get some things at the As Seen on TV store. You ever been there? I bought a steamer for my clothes and that pedicure egg. I can’t remember the proper name for it but that’s the shape of this thing my sister turned me onto for a self-hook up of my feet. I guess it would be like exfoliating and you know women, it ain’t hardly right to have all that dead skin caked up on your heels. I worked with this one woman and her feet looked so bad, it was almost unsanitary with all that shit caked up on them, which reminds me on my step-dad’s feet. Oh folks, if you stepped on a toe nail he’s cut off his foot, it was like something clawing at you. He had one helluva file and toe nail clipper. Like some shit built for the animal kingdom. I wouldn’t lie to you, folks.

Well, I was all happy to get this pedicure egg, with the cold weather approaching and all. I went to work on my feet soon as I got settled back at home. On Sunday, I was okay. No big deal but come today, my feet are tender as hell.  I look back at my heels and they’re all reddish-pink and shit. I be damn if I ain’t been tipping around here for two days ’cause I’ve just about filed off the back of my feet. And I’ve become such a baby over time, that I have a low tolerance for pain. I hate feeling all delicate. I mean, it doesn’t quite match up with my tough talk. Of all things, I’m sensitive to a little over-exfoliation. But I have to say, this ain’t hardly as bad as the time I thought I had meningitis.

Folks, I was painting the carport ceiling of the house I used to live in. Naturally, I’m looking upward for long periods of time. Next day, I can barely get out of bed, or turn my head. I rush to the doctor to hear my ultimate fate, that I’ve got X amount of days to live and remember, ooohhhh, it was the painting that got me feeling this way. Talk about a wasted co-pay. It really bothers me to act typically womanish, being dramatic and all. Where’s the fun in being average? How are you sizing up out there, ’cause it ain’t sitting too well with me.

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On Menopause and a Woman President

Posted in I'm Every Woman, tagged , , , , , , , , , , , on September 7, 2011 | 26 Comments »

Watercolor on paper. Copyright 2011 Totsymae

Looking at the polls for our next prospective president, I’m breathing a sigh of relief. Wheeeew! Michele Bachmann’s at 8% and Sarah Palin’s still playing politics, or agitator, is more like it. Don’t trip, I’m just telling you how I feel about the sit’ation. Now, if any of you all excited about a woman strutting around in the oval office, you seriously need to consider the consequences of your choices.

I ain’t hatin’ on women folk. I’m a woman. I rather like being one ’til that dreaded time of month. Don’t act like you love it either, women out there. Ain’t none of us ever jumped up and hoorahed about it unless you got yourself laid up with some Joe, whom you feared carrying his sperm for nine months would either give him permanent residence in your life or resemble a revolving door. Oooh Lordy mercy, that must be one helluva feeling. Must be akin to watching a well-made horror flick for some of you. I ain’t pointing no fingers though. Shit happens. Plus, my thing is leaving the past where it belongs and if you’ve ever been almost caught, I’m sure you’d much agree.

Anyhow, being a woman ain’t a bad thing most times. We can get away with some shit and blame it on being premenstrual, postpartum, or menopausal. Men folk ain’t got it so lucky, do they? If he gets to crying on account of the salt not coming outta the shaker the right way, I can hear some women folk on the phone now: ‘What the hell’s wrong with that motherfucker now?…Giiiirl, no he ain’t crying over no shit like that. You sure that’s his penis?’

My mom said she didn’t go through menopause but I beg the damn differ on that. I say that woman was menopausal the whole time I lived with her and after. Let me illustrate a brief example for you. My sister was  good for getting herself an ass whipping. I’d be in my room, across the hall with my fingers in my ears ’til that shit was over, then that woman would come standing in my doorway with her nostrils flaring like a flying cape and ask me, “You want some of this too?” Hell naw I don’t, crazy ass woman! What kinda proposition is that but a menopausal one?

We’re just gonna pretend that interview Sarah Palin had with Katie Couric was during a premenstrual moment. Life kinda changes during that time and ole girl wasn’t thinking with clarity. I ain’t been paying too much attention to her lately but is she making any  more sense to you now? I mean, is shit coming outta her mouth without it being written on her hand? We all know how that bitch made it through college now, if nothing else. And you know what else? I truly believe Bachmann was having a hot flash when Newsweek snapped that photo of her. I’ve seen an aunt of mine go through a few and summer time ain’t no joke for a woman having hot flashes. I’m telling you folks, my aunt and that Newsweek cover of Bachmann looks one in the same. Every time those two images merge in my head, I’m confirmed that a woman can’t be in that White House trying to run shit.

Bachmann even said when she’s in office, she’s gonna get gas down to $2.00 a gallon. We can say the craziest shit when nature takes over and keeps reminding us that we’re women. Do you even realize the war in the Middle East will never be over for us with this promise she’s made? Be for damn real! She had to be having a menopausal moment when that shit popped outta her mouth, or smoking some serious weed. What’s your take on it?

I want this to be my last time addressing this matter but you gotta know if Palin throws her tampon in the ring, it’s on like a bag of popcorn, y’all.

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If He Hollers, Let Him Go

Posted in I'm Every Woman, The Yin & Yang of It, tagged , , , , , , , on August 21, 2011 | 24 Comments »

Watercolor on paper. Copyright 2011 Totsymae

I love Dr. Phil, with that big country ass mustache. For real. I think he needs to match it up with the patch of hair on his head but that’s okay. I love a man who knows his shit. Like in any relationship, I’ve gotten pissed and turned him off for awhile but then, I can’t stay away. Robin better be glad I ain’t out there, in California, or wherever the show’s taped or I’d push her ass outta that seat.

You know, on those shows you see some folks who are all messed up. Shit, I can’t say I ain’t fit to be sitting on that panel my damn self. I couldn’t be on TV getting my therapy though. Something’s innately wrong with folk  who get treatment that way, but I guess that’s partly why they end up there in the first place.  There was one show, The New Adventures of Old Christine, where Julia Louis-Dreyfus, who plays Christine, goes for therapy and ends up getting it on with her therapist. That would be an ideal set-up for me if I had therapy (Why not?). But that wasn’t before this one episode where he was fixing her tire, bent down and turned her off  ’cause she could see he was wearing thongs. I was feeling ole girl on that. That’s some questionable shit right there.

My mom and I used to  commute, her going to work and me to school, some years back. Now, she was married but not blind, okay. There was this nicely dressed man who rode the bus too. She’d point him out and you have to know, me being young, this kinda helped me out on knowing what I should be looking for in a man on how he should carry himself. Anyway, the man was clean but not flashy. A right handsome fella, he was. I just wondered if he had a car but didn’t study on that too long ’cause he was getting the secret eye from my mom, ’til he did some shit that turned her off. Folks, the man sat down this one particular morning on the bus and his socks didn’t match his shoes. Oh, she was done with him after that. Shortly after, this was around the time I got another lesson on how to measure a man’s worth. And that’s kinda important. One of those lessons was, “If a man’s wearing rundown shoes, he ain’t hittin’ on shit.” Now, that man she was crushing on didn’t have rundown shoes, he just wasn’t matching up. I felt bad for the man on not knowing how to match up his shit, y’all.  She didn’t give him much attention after that. Folks, if you think I can say some shit, I’m merely the apple that dropped from the tree, okay.

It is, however, natural that I look at a man’s shoes and socks now but that’s not a deal-breaker for me (Maybe it should be). What breaks it for me is a man who talks to a woman like shit. That ain’t right and based on what I know about folks in general, that kinda shit only speaks to how little that person is on the inside. And you know, when I look back on this one fella I was all fancied by, I feel sorry for him. Not sorry enough to stick around though. Uh uh. I even told him a time or two he was a bitch. A high maintenance one, at that! Plus, I don’t think there’s a fitting time to keep folk like that around. Hell, I’ve dumped women friends for their nit-pickety shit. I know I’ve got my ways but never will there be a time when I jibe with a man who shows  contempt toward women. I could diagnose that, based on my extensive history with Dr. Phil but I’ll leave that to folk who are actually state-licensed.

I said all that to take you here, folks. On a much more serious note…a VERY serious note…some of you may be familiar with My Inner Chick’s blog, which pays tribute to the memory of her sister Kay, who left us as a result of domestic violence. Kim, who writes the blog, is witty and uses expletives like a pro (big ole smile and a wink at cha, chick). She keeps asking if I’m a real person, and yep, I kinda think so.  See, the connection I have with her loss is having a mother who survived that very thing.  So…who knew I’d be sitting here telling you this but the One from yonder… Lordy, mercy…

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Damn, Those Feminists

Posted in I'm Every Woman, tagged , , , , , , , , , on August 13, 2011 | 22 Comments »

"No Man's Band" Mixed Media on Board Size: 24x24 Copyright 2011 Totsymae

"No Man's Band" Mixed Media on Board Size: 24x24 Copyright 2011 Totsymae

Ok, so what if Michele Bachmann looks like she skipped out on taking her meds on that Newsweek Magazine cover. Yeah, yeah. I know you could’ve taken a hotter photo but you’re not running for office. (Are you?). I was VP of a nonprofit arts organization that ran on a shoestring budget and backroad policies. So, we couldn’t afford glamour shots, much less,  plan how to get organized as a group to take one. Believe me folks, having a little stint in the VP seat gives me the insights on what position’s all about (putting my thumbs under my suspenders and letting the straps pop proudly against my shoulders). Yes siree, buddy.

See, at first, I didn’t understand the hoopla surrounding that photo. I thought they had photoshopped her to look like a man. If that was the case, and being the southern belle I am, I’d be so upset, I’d crawl under a rock and come out when night falls. Shit, I’d be on the serious downlow, and drinking the hell outta some Incognito.

But that wasn’t the case. The picture was really her, so here lies my question with those folk who’s got a problem with the magazine cover. Ain’t it a whole lot better seeing folk as they are rather than seeing them dolled up all the time? I know, I know. I’m contradicting myself back when I wrote In Sickness and in Vanity but hell, I ain’t running, walking or begging to be in no oval office either. If that heifer’s got some demonic or psychotic tendencies, I say snap the hell outta that button on the camera and show my ass what the real deal is on her. Shiiiiiit. I’ve told y’all I don’t want no woman in that oval office no how. I mean, you’ll never satisfy a feminist, I don’t care what you do.

If Bachmann hadn’t graced any magazine cover, they would’ve been bitching about that. Now, she’s all on the cover and being her own damn self and they’re talking about Newsweek should’ve made her look cuter. Shit, she’s the one who cheesed up for the camera. I didn’t identify a gun being nowhere near her head to make her look that way. Me being anti-feminist and all, I wouldn’t care if they put a nippled bra on her and showed some cleavage. Now, I would’ve identified with her a helluva lot quicker than her wearing that dark, man-like suit.

I’ve seen some mugshots taken of some male candidates but I never heard anybody crying and whining about it. Those feminists are something else and I want some duct tape wrapped tightly around their mouths to stop all that yackety yacking. The way I see it, if it takes something as superficial as vanity to get their thongs in a bunch, I have to question how feminist they really are.

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I Like’m On The Ugly Side

Posted in I'm Every Woman, Introducing Totsy, tagged , , , , on July 26, 2011 | 23 Comments »

Ladies, women folk or whatever you call yourselves out there, you may disagree with me on what your preference is but I kinda like my man on the ugly side. If you ever saw me all hugged up with a fella or I, one of these lucky days, get on this here blog and go to talking about my man like  he’s the best thing since a good back massage, you’d be right to assume he’s leaning toward ugly on the spectrum of looks.

Let me clear this up real quick first though. Physically, I don’t see folk as ugly. Honestly, I don’t. A pretty man can’t do shit for me but let me look at him. I use the term ugly ’cause it’s a word in the dictionary and on account of me knowing that I go for the least attractive fella in the way of appearances; what some of my women friends may call ugly anyway (damn jealous heifers). Am I right that you can clean up a person’s physical appearance a lot quicker than you can the inside? Okay, we’ve reached some common ground here.

I do, however, have specific criteria for making my ugly man selection. And y’all, don’t be offended by my use of the word. It’s just for the sake of writing this here piece. Now, I do require for his teeth to be lined up fairly on the even side ’cause I have a nice set of teeth that I don’t have to put in a glass at night, like I know some folk do. I want him to at least complement me in that way since he ain’t the hottest thing out there. You feel me? I’ll also need him to keep his fingernails clean. Not that he’s got to be a manicured-clear-nail-polish-wearing Joe but he needs to give a damn about his hands since he’s got to use them to put shit in his mouth to eat. And yes, he’s got to keep his hair  and facial hairs tightly groomed. Ain’t nothing worse than an ugly man having a bad ass hair day. Am I lying to you?

And one last thing, ladies, especially the ones in that single club, and I’m saying this to warn you straight up. It really bothers me to meet a man who wears a hat all the damn time. I’ve never dated one like that but to me, they’re like women who just gotta have that hair weave or make-up all the time. You know, when they’re without it, they pretty much look like shit. If a man’s already ugly and he’s absolutely gotta wear that hat, that means he’s too damn ugly for me even. And if I don’t want him, I know damn well you don’t either.

Don’t get me wrong though, I’ve dated some lookers. Shit just didn’t work out.  But I’m gonna tell you, life ain’t gotta be a bitch without a man if you’re ambitious and really want one. Just go on out there and get you an ugly one.

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Feminists Scare Me

Posted in I'm Every Woman, Introducing Totsy, tagged , , , on July 14, 2011 | 31 Comments »

I tell you the truth, I’m trying to maintain my cuteness in my last years. I’m not out here trying to raise cane or make no waves about shit no more. I’m good and settled on the idea of making sure I’m smiling when I feel like shit and all the other essentials women folk did back in the day. The way I figure, if I act a certain way and start wearing stockings the way women did when women acted like real women, I’ll attract the kind of man that’ll be all good with me staying home to write or whatever I feel like.

There was a time I was down for the feminist cause ’til I started to really pay attention to the way those women looked once they hit forty. I’m right sho’ there are some pretty ones out there but the media don’t do too good a job of putting a camera on them. The ones I tend to see look like they’ve had a facial with Hard Times, where holding up them picket signs has worn them plum out. I know they don’t do it a whole lot now but it seems when they were out there hollering in the streets, braless and unshaven, it was always a scorcher. Plus, I don’t like the closeness of being in a crowd, ’cause I tell you, I have a tendency to sniff folk and I don’t want my perspective to change on account of folk smelling ripe.

Another cause for me retiring my feminism is my imagining these women folk at home walking around in wife-beaters, cut-off jeans and flip flops, while yelling at some scrawny fella in the kitchen wearing an apron with a cigarette dangling from their lips. That was contrasting with my southerness and segregated me from the parasol-like women I was working toward being like. There’s just a hardness to them and to be truthful, they’re high maintenance. Every time you turn around, they’re demanding shit and the more they get, the less men folk wanna do. Looks like some men have gotten to a place where they just don’t know what the hell to do, actually.

These type women have really become a thorn in my damn side. Because I still have these remnants of feminism in my psyche, I’m just gonna blame them for my singlehood, no matter if I don’t care about wedding up with somebody. I’m blaming them for me having to take out the trash.

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I’m Not Interested In No Woman President

Posted in I'm Every Woman, Introducing Totsy, tagged , , , , , , , on July 11, 2011 | 43 Comments »

I said it and I’m not straddling the fence on it either. There are two very important  things that factor into my decision. I can hear you now, thinking, ‘She’s one of them ole school, backward southerners and can’t talk right no how. I ain’t listening to shit she gotta say.’ But I beg the damn differ, folks. I implore you to listen ’cause we’ll be in a heap-pile of more trouble should a woman get  to swishing her ass around in that oval office. My two reasons? Periods and menopause.

Hold on now.  Get your fist outta my throat and hear me out.

I’ve been around y’all and yeah, I’m a woman too and all but that don’t mean shit to me. I’m just as concerned about the national debt and all this other shit we’re knee-deep in. And I don’t care what you say, a woman is a woman is a damn woman. Period. This brings me to my first point of concern.

You know, and I got some men folk that can back me up on this here, but a woman’s either like a demon in a race car or a chance of rain one minute or hail the next during that time of month.  There’s no damn telling what could or couldn’t happen and I ain’t throwing away my vote pretending all her degrees and experiences will make the difference between her and me. Plus, women folk catty as hell. If you’ve ever had a woman boss, you know exactly where I’m coming from. And you can be in denial all you want and say the one you had was the best thing since your last orgasm, the point is, it’s all temporary and you just won’t get that good feeling all the time.

I’ve heard of some women menopausing for ten damn years! You think nothing’s gonna trickle down to us having some menopausing heifer with a shoe fettish in that White House, you’ve got another damn think coming! Remember during the last election, when Hilary boo-hooed them ugly tears? The media played it up real good, talking about how compassionate she was. Don’t believe the hype, folks. She was having a hot flash and crying out of nowhere comes with all that. Come the next day, she was all good and shit. Even got a little cocky ’cause she thought that crying gave her an edge. Ain’t nothing worse than dealing with a woman who can cry out of no damn where and know this is the power she holds over somebody. That can be one conniving heifer, ’cause I’m telling you straight the hell up. I have done it to get out traffic tickets, to get what I wanted in some store or just didn’t want to be damn bothered with somebody. I was on to Hilary’s little game from the jump.

And I’m just gonna have a to take a deep breath and let it out on any other prospects out there. I mean, Palin still gets her period, so that explains it all. If I absolutely had to pick a woman, I’d choose Ellen or Oprah. I figure, at least Ellen’s in touch with who she is right now. I can only imagine with all the laws changing and with a black man in office, gay folk will eventually make it there too. What a parade that’ll wind up being but I’ll leave somebody else to blog about that. And Oprah would be good on account of her liking to give away stuff. Even though I’ve never benefited from her favorite shit list, at least other folk have. We’d just have to work on her crying in public ’cause I’ve sat on my sofa too many times and watched her break out into the Oprah Ugly Cry. She ain’t right for that.

Other than them two, I can’t imagine anybody else. And since I’ve at least compromised on a couple prospects, I definitely wouldn’t want them having a woman VP. I have to be real about it. I’d hate to imagine two women folk on their periods at the same time, trying to run the damn country when the most important thing is to satisfy that craving for chocolate.

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