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Posts Tagged ‘love’

I know. You don’t have to tell me I’m showing you work you’ve seen already ‘ cause I’ve already told that to myself. I just felt like making a video and I totally promise you the next video will be all new pieces. I’m feeling kinda sorta so-so, so what’s in comes out I reckon.

I’m actually working on a simple concept now but it’s taking me awhile to complete and I do hope to present you with another video later in the week. On second thought, let’s make that next week. Prom weekend’s coming up and Little Totsy is trying my nerves and worn thin all of my patience.

Anyhow, I really am gonna do some things different around here, which you shall be witness to next week. Plus, I’m gonna start being a good girl on here and not run my mouth so much. I hope that doesn’t make you do a hip-hooray dance or nothing like that.

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Image by Totsymae

Image by Totsymae

I dispensed some unsolicited advice last week that the recipient of that advice cussed me out for after she followed through with it. I didn’t know I was cussed out at the time she did it. We were hanging out in some cruddy bar I’d never been to when she told me. Now, just so you know, I don’t go to bars ’cause I don’t drink. But this sometimes bourgeois friend of mine likes hole in the wall sorta places, I suppose. Anyway…

She had me sitting in this dark bar and I placed an order of food with some fruit punch. You know, you have to do something with your hands or find some sorta busyness in places you don’t know or else you’re gonna stick out like a sore thumb. I just didn’t feel cool otherwise. Know what I mean?

The earlier conversation went like this:

Her: I don’t call men. They have to call me.

Me: Girl, it’s okay to call a man after awhile to at least let him know you’re interested. Shit, you’ve got more years behind you than ahead. Get your ass on the phone and call that man.

Well, she called the man, folks. He tells her last week he’s getting ready to go to the Essence Music Festival and would check her out upon returning. This is after she asked him, “So, when are you coming to see me?”

Now, I never told her to ask him that. I just told that ass to call. She messed around and went that far on her own and now wanna blame me for him not wanting to see her ’til after July. You see, her ass got to searching on the web about the festival and found out it’s in July. Hell, that man lives about 45 minutes away from her, yet he’s going all the way to New Orleans before he makes that 45 minute drive to her place.

Did I tell you my name’s Gidgit and I ain’t in it? Hell, she could’ve called, let the phone ring two times and hung up for all I cared. I never told her to proposition the man. Besides, I’m a southern belle. I’d never dispense that kinda advice. I’m not the kinda woman with that come-over-Big-Daddy kinda way about me.

I am, however, wondering why I’m so under-appreciated, being the good friend I am. Hell, good or bad advice, she’s the one who took it and went to the left with it. My name’s Gidgit.

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"Aaliyah" Pastel on paper. Copyright 2013 Totsymae

“Aaliyah” Pastel on paper. Copyright 2013 Totsymae

I’m the worst breaker-upper in the world. It’s so much better (and easier for me) when folk simply figure it out. I don’t like having a discussion that something is over ’cause it’s so much easier (for me) for the other person to come to that realization on their own. I figure if I’m good at figuring it out, the other person should be able to do the same.  Now, I know that’s not fair. It’s a coward’s way out and yeah, you can call me that when it comes to that sorta thing.

You may be saying to the computer screen, “Totsy, whoever in the world dumped you? You’re just so lovely and whatnot”. I do declare folks, I most certainly agree with you. I mean, why wouldn’t I? However, I’ve had opportunities at being the dumper and the dumpee. The latter end of that makes one feel like a bag of shit. It’s a rather natural and very uncomfortable feeling. I mean, shit is what you feel like initially but I guess a lotta folk get their turn at some point or another, unfortunately.

On another unfortunate side, I suppose folk can dump other folk at will. Whether there’s been vested time in love, friendship or familyship, folk get dumped.

I tend to slowly find my way outta the dumpster by staying busy. I mean, therapy could help me in more ways than one but then I’d have to talk about why I was dump-worthy and who really wants to have that discussion? I mean, at least I couldn’t back then. However, over the years, I’ve pretty much gotten my therapy via the Dr. Phil Show. I am so undump-worthy now, it’s not even funny. At least, I thought.

Now, I know you’re so saying to that computer screen right about now, “Totsy, what the hell’s going on down in that south? Should I break out my credit card and place an order on Flowers.com? I mean, what the fuck?”

It seems folks, I find myself in the dumpster right about now but not in the way we traditionally think about being dumped. Because I’ve been a bad breaker-upper, I suppose Karma has hunted me down and cornered my ass.

Bitch.

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virtual relationship

Photoshop/Graphite Watercolor on paper. Copyright 2013 Totsymae.

I don’t know about you but I’m confused about why it’s important to us that that Manti Te’o football player was catfished. I don’t wanna hear about it anymore. I want young folk to get a life and meet folk the old-fashioned way and stop fantasizing about folk they don’t know. I’m more apt to fall in love with my lamp or some other inanimate object around my house before I?fall deep?for somebody I never met.

How do you catch feelings that strong without knowing who you’re really dealing with? I don’t understand. But I don’t understand a lotta things, so nothing’s new there. I have a solution for folk who need to practice real life, however. Here goes:

Hold hands with yourself. If that’s not enough, pull your arms around your torso and give yourself a hug. Hug tight now. But I advise you to not look in the mirror or you’re gonna feel downright silly and loneliness gonna hit your ass like a hurricane.

Have a glass of wine and set a half-full glass across from you. Make sure it’s dark outside and the room’s lit with a coupla candles. That way, shadows are dancing on the walls and you’ll actually start to think somebody’s there with you. Now, if you’re scary as hell like me, forget the candles and take your ass to bed.

Perform a 30-day fast from all technology. This can be done quite easily. Buy a whole, raw chicken and strap it to your backside, front or some part of your skin. This will suppress your urge to text and Facebook. You’ll then cleanse your mind and realize that you need to unclick In a Relationship with that person you never met, unless you count that hug and hand-holding you gave to yourself.

And so very, very important. Practice greeting folk as you come across them each day. When you come upon them, invade their personal space by standing real close. Assume they need this physical contact as much as you do. If somebody’s not breathing on somebody’s neck, you’re not standing close enough. If they so happen to slap the shit outta you, that’s okay. You need all the human contact you can get.

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countdown

About the book:

As an avid gamer, sports fanatic and TV and film graphic designer, Geneva Cass is literally “One of the Guys” and has been best friends with Jackson Rhames since junior high. If her geeky-athlete persona wasn’t enough to keep her a dating pariah, her disdain for anything pink, frilly, or remotely connected to weddings, is sure to cement her single status.

The door to her heart revolves until Aaron Michaels, an ambitious, smooth-operating acquisitions manager, sweeps her off her feet and tries to uncover the sexy, vixen burrowing
inside her. But while Aaron is away on a business trip, Geneva pairs up with Jackson to celebrate the new year. A few days of reminiscing about the good ol??days, spark more than a little curiosity about what might have been, and a single kiss between friends, changes everything.

You may purchase Countdown to a Kiss at Barnes & Noble and Amazon for your Nook or Kindle.

About Kandie Delley:

Mystical lands, adventurous kick-butt divas, and super-hot romances are just the tip of the iceberg in author Kandie Delley’s literary gems. Her stories feature strong women, their adventures, and the men who love them.

Kandie lives in North Texas by way of the California coastline and the emerald forests of the Pacific Northwest. In her leisure time she travels, and enjoys graphic design, filmmaking, and spending time with her family!

Her current release, “Countdown to a Kiss” is her first sensual southwest romance!? Check it out and tell a friend!

For more information visit: http://www.kandiedelley.com @kankan929 on twitter

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Rosie, O’Donnell that is, is like The Terminator, people. She won’t quit and she’s back on the air with a new talk show, co-hosting with NeNe, from The Real Housewives of Atlanta. I hope she doesn’t screw it up this time. Not that I’m crazy about you Rosie but you’re okay in a way like dessert. You’re good until I can no longer snap my pants together. In other words, you can be too much sometimes but I’m tuning in to see who you’re ranting on.

Today, she and NeNe were hosting Anderson Cooper’s show since he’s in the middle east, and made the big announcement. I’m not one to be in people’s business, no more than my job as a National Hollywood Gossip Correspondent (NHGC) allows me to be but I’m a tad curious about what happened with Oprah and Rosie. I’ve gotten word on the street but I want to hear it from one of the horses mouths. Know what I mean? We won’t harp on that sour note, however.

I do want you to boycott that reality show with Bobbie Christina and her aunt. I’m so off-put with it, I won’t even put a link here. I can’t recall the name of it exactly. Something about being on their own. A few weeks ago, I caught snatches of it and that aunt…Whitney’s manager and sister-in-law, is a slithering snake. Do you realize they were filming for that show three months after Whitney was laid to rest? And she, the aunt, has the audacity to say Bobbie Christina is still grieving and she’s concerned. Oh, really?

Now, you know Selena Gomez and Justin Bieber broke up, right? As if we were really expecting to see her walking with a train down the aisle. I mean, really. Very few relationships last in Hollywood, or on Main Street, for that matter. But it is official that Rihanna and Chris Brown are back together. They are in love, people. You can’t fight love, is all I’ll say on that but we’ll see.

And people, did you see Hammer get his groove on at 50 ontstage? He’s been through a financial war zone and is still too legit to quit.

That’s a wrap, people. I’m online shopping for my dress to wear to Jennifer Aniston’s wedding. I do believe that marriage will last and am ever so happy for her. I don’t have a wedding date set for the Bradgelinas. They keep toying with the media about marriage but as it stands to date, they’re still shacking up.

Love,

Beatrice from Apt 7B

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“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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Illustration and book cover design by Totsymae. Blog content and artwork copyrights 2011 by Totsymae

For the first time, I’m re-posting. Will try not to make it a habit, however. There are five mini-chapters and you may visit Grown Folk Tales to get the full story. Hope you enjoy.

Chapter One

Once upon a time, a woman named Desperita met this fine ass man. Oh, he was the shit. Talked shit. Walked shit. Was simply, the shit. Period. Matter of fact, she thought she had a fine enough shape on her almost-forty body and a cute face, so she could be classified as the shit too. They were at their local Piggly Wiggly, which should’ve been a clear sign to Desperita then and there, for reasons that can’t rightly be explained.

Desperita was a good woman of education and acquired things like, a big ass house, where all of her furniture was fully paid for, a modest-priced car, and a fairly nice paycheck, even stocks and bonds before the market sunk a deep hole in her future savings. She had everything except somebody breathing next to her at night. Not even a snotty-nose child sitting across from her at the dinner table. She ate with Will Downing calling out her loneliness from her stereo. Oh, sometimes the pain tuckered in her long and deep. One Friday after work was one such time, when she ran up on Bootleg Man.

“Hey, there. You go right on ahead of me in this line, so you can hurry on home and get off your pretty feet,” he told her, looking at her all up and down, like the wolf did Little Red Riding Hood.

Shit, it didn’t take much to blow her lonely mind, so they got to talking. Matter of fact, they stood in the parking lot damn near half an hour, so the so-called concern he showed for her feet wasn’t worth no more shit than he was but Desperita didn’t reflect on that, even in her educated mind. She was too busy being all impressed with this new fella, who also had him some education, read books like history, philosophy, business and the like. Oh, Bootleg Man had her ’cause she didn’t run up on too many men who read philosophy. She didn’t understand it herself. Shit, she was just waiting for this one to ask for her number.

“You know what? I really enjoyed talking with you,” Bootleg Man told her but had to catch himself from licking his lips when he looked at all her fineness again and the latest model of the Volkswagen Passat she was driving. It was clean inside, which meant she was just as clean at her home he wanted to get inside and lay up in. He liked himself a clean woman, especially one that cleaned up after him while he went to his piece of a job, where he had the habit of cutting a fool and landed himself on the shit list. Any wrong move could send him in the throes of the unemployment line. He was looking out for his future and ole girl looked to be a real soft place to land.

“I really enjoyed you too. I’ll write my cell number on the back of my card.” Desperita scribbled her number on the back and handed her card over to  Bootleg Man.

Shit, he was smiling when he got that card and read it. She was a vice-principal at a school for the county. A good paying and secure job, she had. Plus, she was fine. Damn! “I’ll be calling you, Desperita. I usually don’t come in here to shop but I’m glad I did today. Must’ve been fate,” he lied through his phony grin. His ass went in there all the time on foot on account of his car being broke down in his driveway.

Copyright 2011 Totsymae

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Young Lady with Henna.  This young lady’s brother was married and her hand was designed with henna. It’s customary for the bride to have this after marriage too. Copyright 2012 Totsymae.

Recently, I heard an interesting story about this Sudanese couple’s marriage. Just so you know, they’re Muslim too and speak Arabic. Two of the Arabic women have been here two years and there’s one who’s also a U.S. citizen now, though she’s very much Muslim. Understand, too, it’s not typical for Muslim women folk to marry nonMuslims. It’s, however, more acceptable for a nonMuslim woman to marry a Muslim man ’cause it’s believed he’ll influence her to convert to his faith, him being the man and all.

Now, the one Sudanese woman who’s also American is divorced. She was married to a  Sudanese Muslim. The interesting part about these marriages is they’re somewhat arranged. Same goes for Saudis too. The mother of the Saudi family will get to looking at her son and see that he’s ready for him a woman. She gets to scoping out young women folk from families she knows. It may even be a cousin she picks down the line somewhere. I don’t know how their babies turn out, so don’t ask, okay? I do know that when a young lady’s got something not considered normal with her, it’s kept on the hush ’cause it’s hard to get her married off. Though, back to the Sudanese marriage story.

Well, this Sudanese young lady was telling me why her friend divorced. Poor man had so much working against him. The friend didn’t like that her husband dipped his biscuit in his tea. That wet bread floating around in his tea, which is nasty to me  too, was a worriation to her. He also slurped when he drank hot liquids. Another strike he had against him was when they had guests, he’d eat most of the food. However, the absolute worst part of the union was when they had “relations,” he’d hop outta bed right in the middle of “it” and run to the bathroom. Don’t ask me what took place in that bathroom, okay? I didn’t wanna know, so I didn’t ask.

The same young lady who related this story was telling me how this prospect she’s looking at is “wanting” her real bad. I told her he was horny, which I had to explain the meaning. He’s 30 and virginal. They both are but his jones is down on him real hard. Just to hear her on the phone makes him wanna do it. She ain’t with that, okay? She wants somebody who can talk to her, make her laugh and all that good stuff. She’s like, “Totsy, what should I do?” in this little squealy voice.  I gave her my thoughts but in the end, I told her it looks no easier for Muslim folk than it does for us nonMuslims.

It’s either drinking the milk before buying the cow or getting buttermilk down the road. What do you think?

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In this life, you must be about the business of performing the work you were called upon to do. To be involved in anything else is time wasted. While I serve as your National Hollywood Gossip Correspondent, well, until my International License is approved, I’m also the Relationship Police. Since that says it all, I want to head right into my subjects for the day, people.

First of all, I’m truly sorry The Voice, which was Whitney Houston, has left us. I rooted for her comeback, because really, why would I not? Why would I have wanted to see her remain on a downward spiral and poke fun or play self-righteous? All of us have our demons. We all fall down but not as publicly, outside of my little mishap yesterday. Though, anyway…

I want to address you today, Little Bobbi Christina. I know you don’t know me but I’m very well aware of you. And your mother’s manager, who was surely “managing” alright. She’s the one who took the photo of your lovely mother as she lay for her last viewing. It was during the private viewing that this photo op took place, which then went on to the gossip rags. I know she’s family but she’s lowdown and dirty for what she did. Though. the bigger matter is this little relationship you’re carrying on, Little Bobbi.

You’re still a babe and need to hop a plane to Jersey to be with your grandmother. Sweetie, you don’t need to be down here in Georgia living and engaged to that young man. He’s been living as your brother and it should remain as such. I caught the interview you had with Oprah. I’m truly at peace that you’re at peace with your mother passing. That’s healthy because I know initially, it wasn’t. But Baby, what isn’t healthy is you parading all over town, hugging and sporting this 2-pound diamond. I want you to know, I’m carrying a good stock of switches should I happen upon you at some point. Both you and the boy will feel the wrath of the Lord should I be fortunate in meeting your acquaintance. As a matter of fact, I’ve been hanging out at Lenox Square Mall hoping we’d bump into one another.  Enough said, Baby  Girl. (Now braiding the switches)

And Ariana, as for the Jolies or Brads getting engaged? Well honey, all I can say is that’s more attention for the Leg Woman.

Angelina, well Sweetie, I’ve never been particularly crazy about you or your acting abilities but do your thing, if that’s what you feel is your gift to the world. Whatever. I’m just not into female action heroes, that’s all. Brad, I do want you to clean up for this wedding. Don’t let Angelina have you waiting for her at the end of the wedding aisle barefoot and wearing cutoff jeans, with your beard braided up and beads dangling from it. I can see this so clearly  and I so wish I didn’t. Honey, your mother raised you better than that. I know it’s challenging to be weird in Hollywood but be yourself and smell good at least. You don’t look like you smell too well, Baby. Other than that, I’m most appreciative of what you do. Oh, and should these nuptials actually take place, check your woman for those side splits to ensure we’re not flashed with another leg. As my good friend Totsy would say, “That’s ridamndiculous.”

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"Portrait of Harmony" Acrylic on paper. Copyright 2012 Totsymae

Despite the bitter ending of her third marriage, she cared. Yet, so full up to her neck with anger over this last year with Richard, the fart that pushed out of her ass sounded like a slamming door.

Richard finished off his meal of oats and juice she’d prepared, grabbed the fly swatter and rushed his ass to the living room. So ready, he was, to take his bitching to the streets for spectators’ pleasure.

“Goddamn! You, shitter woman!”

Her deaf ear toward him and immune to her own rottenness, she turned with a smile. “Did you take your vitamins?”

© 2012 Totsymae

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"Mama's Weary" Acrylic on paper. Copyright 2012 Totsymae

I want this to be the last time I talk about food and ex beaus with y’all. I really do but I was browsing my pantry this morning and realized I’ve got some early spring cleaning to do. Just so happens I’m loaded up with a buncha canned goods I wouldn’t have normally had on my shopping list but on account of me dating Now Ex Beau over the summer, I accumulated some things that’s been a detriment to my health.

And yes, it’s Now Ex Beau’s fault I’m having to watch everything I eat. I was doing real fine before he came along cooking all that food I devoured like a goddamn piranha. He was always trying to say how better he was at cooking than me and my son, Mr Boy, who’s a chef. Certified, that is. Unlike him, who was a self-proclaimed “gourmet chef.”

I would tell Now Ex Beau that he cooked with too many processed foods and being the arrogant kinda folk he was, he cocked up some story and ’cause the food was good, which I give him full credit, I let down my guard and ate everything he cooked when he was in town. I was even eating at buffets and shit. Like, I don’t consider myself to be high maintenance or nothing but I don’t do buffets. I don’t like everybody having opportunities to breathe over shit I might wanna eat. Besides, I’m only good for one plate. After that, and I’m gonna be honest, I wanna steal what I don’t eat at the restaurant. A couple of times, I did. Yeah, I know it’s tacky but who ain’t had a moment or two of them?

Anyhow, I was at the market yesterday. Got pulled over by the po-po and everything, trying to get there. I didn’t get a ticket ’cause I got a nice and even smile and well, if you don’t work what you got, who will?

Well, I got to the market and loaded up with fresh shit and realized how much better I’ve been feeling. I really do have a testimony for y’all, as they say in baptist circles and whatnot but I ain’t ready to share. So, back to my little story.

I’m browsing the pantry and all the canned shit I bought when I was with Now Ex Beau over the summer, I see I need to get rid of. Do I pass it along to a shelter or dump it? ‘Cause I’m gonna tell you, I straight up and down believe that man was trying to kill me. He declined my health, folks. I don’t know what purpose he had in doing that, being he wasn’t on any of my insurance policies. I suspect he just wanted to see me move toward a slow death and have me go to this and that doctor that he’d not be here to escort me to. He’d just move on to somebody else and I suspect, try to kill them too.

As for him being a better cook than Mr Boy, honey please. Mr Boy even does his research over the internet to see what’s conducive to my health. If I say, like I did a little while ago, “Mr Boy, cook my dinner for tonight,” I’m confident the food will be good and healthy for me. I don’t know who’s gonna be able to come in behind Mr Boy and top that ’cause New Beau will require some serious culinary skills. As for me, it ain’t hard to cook better than me. I won’t even embellish what I can do in no kitchen. Not only that, with men wanting to be equal to women with giving birth, and controlling contraceptives and all, cooking the way I need him to go about it is very necessary. Ain’t nothing high maintenance about that, is it?

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