Thank you so much for holding while I finished that phone call. When you’re in hot demand, like myself, you simply have to tell people no sometimes. Denzel, and I won’t say his last name, can be so annoying sometimes. Don’t get me wrong, he’s still fine and fabulous but so am I, okay?…At least he sounded like the real thing but never mind that. I’m not in the business of discrediting how fabulous I am.
It is absolutely freezing here in the ATL, people. The wind is blowing so hard, it’s almost as fierce as I am. As I stepped a stiletto onto the foyer to get out of the elements, Denzel rang me up as if he’s familiar. As he should be but anyway, he called, wanted to swing by as if I’m some holler back girl. Naturally, I said no because I’m only a last minute kind of girl when I’m doing the dropping in, okay?
Anyway, it’s come to my understanding that Porscha, from the Real Housewives, is getting the boot after two seasons. I’m so happy for the people who watch that show to see you go, Porscha. Now, that you’re divorced, is your last name changing to Ditz, because you don’t know too much about anything. What school graduated you, hon? And not to offend blonds but Porscha darling, were you that black chick meeting the quota to attend Dumb Blond University? I mean, really! You’ve not only set education back to a time where black people couldn’t be formally educated in America, you have our ancestors rolling over and questioning if their struggle was for naught. Maybe that’s why it’s so cold outside. Yes, I’m going to blame you for my well-pedicured toes still unthawing after 15 minutes of being in the house.
People, I’m done here. Have a look for yourself. I’m going to get with my people and see if I can track down this woman’s number because I owe her a slap. Stay beautiful. I know I will.
Forever yours and Denzel’s,
Beatrice from Apartment 7B
Talking on the Phone – Some folk do it for a living and are really good at it. I did it for spell and interestingly enough, I don’t like talking to folk that way. Folk can be really hard on the ear. I was talking to this lady once and she just started screaming and giving me the business. Musta been the devil that got up inside of her ’cause I can’t explain it otherwise. It’s interesting how folk who need help go about trying to get it. They’re rude, obnoxious and unprepared to fully handle business. They’re also sorta clueless as to what can happen when they lose it. Know what I mean? I can, however, talk a great deal about Reality TV. At least, the ones I watch. You’d be proud to know I’ve dropped two from my list.
Getting on the Telemarketers’ List – Somebody from the Seniors Kit just rang me up. I don’t know what they wanted but obviously nothing since the phone only rang three times. I’m not a senior and ain’t trying to rush to be one but I do wonder what they wanted. I was thinking it really meant Senior Kitchen, where they want me to feed seniors or something of that nature. I’m sure they’ll call back tomorrow since I’m on speed dial. And oh, I’m always winning some kinda vacation but I’ve yet to see a plane ticket to get me there. I’m so tired of these resort places teasing me ’cause I could really use a nice chill spot. It would be nice if I could speak to a live person about that.
Envying My Neighbor’s Yard – There’s a woman over my way who spends the better part of her life in her yard. I don’t know why sometimes ’cause I can’t see what needs to be done. Sometimes, she rolls around the grass with her dog and kiss it…Well, not quite like I just put it but they’re chummier than a dog and a human should be. Maybe not but I want her yard on my side. I wonder if she’d find herself lost at some point and get over here and do my yard, minus the dog and rolling around and kissing.
I was gonna share a really embarrassing secret with you but I chickened out. Like some of you, I’ve had some real quirky stuff to happen that I could write a comic book about my life. Some of it wasn’t funny at all when it happened, of course. Hindsight can be 20/20 with a shot of laughing gas. Know what I mean? But on to why I want your attention this fine day, folks…
I’ve been tuning in to Oprah’s Network and I think you’d be proud to know that I’ve grown up a lot since three weeks ago. Now, I fully understand myself better than I thought I did. That being said, I also understand you better too. I know. A few mere self-help programs is so not as deep as you are. Matter of fact, you’re the quintessential of whatever you think you are. Or something very close to it. I’m not here to say you’re not. Judge ye not…Judge not, want not…Forget it, okay? I’m sure you get my drift.
Anyhow. As a result of my newfound life, I now wear beads around my neck and chew grass viciously as I walk around barefoot with a macramé anklet on. I have a wardrobe of paisley dresses in the layaway. I haven’t announced my newfound life to anybody other than you. Sorta how they do it on reality TV, which I’m still a profound fan of.
I know. I’m supposed to be born again but you can’t expect me to give up everything. And remember, judge me not and I shall refrain from putting you in the headlock.
In hopeful conclusion to this new me and a better way of me seeing you, may the force of whatever makes you feel good keep making you feel as such. If you see a woman selling carnations as you exit the highway, it ain’t me.
It’s a beautiful day in Beatricehood and I’m enjoying this cool, spring evening, doing what I love. That’s right. Chewing the absolute fat. Okay? I’ve only two scoops for you today, people. I must make my presence and the juicyness of Hollywood known, while keeping my C&S status. That simply means cute and sexy, people. Stay abreast of the lingo and you’ll live a long and diva-filled life.
Now, I know a lot of you don’t care for Kim Kardashian. I need you to start, okay? Word coming through the vine is Kanye, her future baby daddy, is spending waaaaay too much time in Paris. You well know it’s the city for lovers. Kimmy is in the U.S. and not getting her bell rung. Meanwhile, Kanye, people (and Kim, if you’re listening), is spending a great deal of time there while she’s miserably pregnant. I do feel terrible for the baby but she/he will be able to buy all the help needed to fix whatever problems he/she may have. I know. It sounds unkind but the hard truth is rarely pleasant. Kanye is involved, Kim. I won’t go any further on who because I’m not insured but be assured, my little porn princess, life will go on and your fans will watch it all as your world keeps turning. You need to call me, girl. But on a You-Go-Girl tip, I like how you turned that sex tape into a money machine. I had something quite similar happen to me before my career took off as a National Hollywood Gossip Correspondent. There are still bootleg DVDs circulating downtown but I was wearing a wig and in full costume. Nobody knows it was me. I’m a church-going woman and I can’t have any leaks of that nature. I practically run the church, if I do say so myself.
And Justin to the Bieber. What’s going on with you, son? If the fame is too much, go sit down somewhere and read a book, honey. It works for some of these kids out here who aren’t beating on photographers. You need to be turned over somebody’s knee. You can’t hit at the papparazzi. They’re doing their job and you have to respect that, Sweetie. That’s one of the prices of fame. Why, just the other day, I was coming out of the restroom at the local IHOP and the hem of my skirt was tucked in my panties. Unfortunately, I was wearing some that day. There were no cameras to take any shots but it would’ve been well worth it than get laughed at by a bunch of nobodys. Take your pick, J. Would you rather be hounded by lights and cameras or get pictures taken under circumstances I found myself in? It’s not a rock and a hard place for me to choose.
I must leave you now, people. I have a busy weekend being fabulous. You do the same.
Signed: Your National Hollywood Gossip Correspondent in the raw,
Beatrice from Apt. 7B
I’m not sure about you but I miss me being here. Totsy is a character that I’m rather stuck with, unfortunately. Therefore, when she mentioned the possibility of sinking this ship, I was not a happy camper. Who can I dish the Hollywood dirt to otherwise?
Though, I regret to inform you that I don’t have much juice to spill your way at present. The thing of it is, I thought I was well on my way to getting my own reality show but this guy I met sunk that boat as soon as it unanchored. There are truly some money snatchers in the world and I must get out of their midst.
Now, I did have a rare opportunity to speak with the porn-turned-reality-diva herself. Kim, as in Kardashian, okay? We could’ve been best buddies and sleeping together had I been a black guy but, well, I don’t know. Maybe if Kanye had told her to sleep with me, and I wasn’t a straight woman of the Lord, I would have. I mean, everybody’s doing everything now, so there you go.
People, I am aware that Kimmy may not be well received here, as some of you aren’t into the reality scene as I am. I, however, must be in the know regarding all things Hollywood and sometimes, in the hood, if that’s where the action is, okay?
I do want to turn your attention to a new show called Married to Medicine and if you catch a glimpse of this show, I do believe you will conclude as I have, that these doctors are married to mess. Let’s be really real about that. And now that I’m getting into my gossip groove, I need to put it out there that Kenya, from The Real Housewives of Atlanta, is truly psychotic to the 3rd, no, the 5th power.
Kenya, Apollo was never trying to sleep with you, Girlfriend. He was trying to get with me. And so was Peter. And Greg. And Todd. And the guy you called gay because he wouldn’t sleep with you…Well, he’s my man now and he can tow my truck anytime, okay?
And Portia. Dear darling, Portia. I felt so embarassed for you tonight. I thought you would never find the period to end your rambling. I so thought that long speech of yours should’ve been directed toward your husband, who IS controlling and I’m sure if he’d seen me, as the other fellas, he woud’ve been trying to sleep with me too.
Two snaps and a bag of popcorn, people. Beatrice is back!
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.
Beatrice from Apt 7B
So, have you heard or do I need to put out the word, that Oprah’s producing Life with LaToya on OWN. I’m so utterly beside myself, I’m cooling off as I speak in front of Totsy’s window fan. Well, she doesn’t really have one but since a good amount of southern folk do, I thought I’d say it. But to get on with my story.
I’m not sure who I should address about this, so if it appears as if I’m talking to Oprah, you and LaToya, go with it.
First of all, I’m a gossip columnist, who cooks and solves Hollywood love/disaster mysteries. Now Oprah, wouldn’t I have made a better candidate than LaToya for a reality show? What on earth would the public find so intriguing about LaToya versus moi? You know Michael wouldn’t want her on a reality show. The brothers were already approached about a show before Michael dearly departed us and he said no.
I, on the other hand, who have no connection to the family, other than getting the scoop, have been vying to get on OWN since its inception. No, I haven’t been watching the network because I’ve been busy and there’s no OWN in this desert where Totsy’s holding me hostage. But still, Opes. I’m good for a show. I give you all the Hollywood juice while whipping the audience up a good meal. I mean, come on Oprah. We’re almost the same size. And look at mine and LaToya’s photo. Visually speaking, who could do more for the camera? Her or moi?
And what on God’s green earth could you possibly have to say, LaToya? I’m imagining you texting and tweeting all day about pretty much nothing. Am I hatin’? Why, I most certainly am. It just goes to show, it’s all about who you know in this business. I bet you didn’t even let the phone come to a full ring when you saw Oprah’s name pop up. You certainly couldn’t have been busy, unless you were tweeting or texting, of course.
I need to go now, people. I feel like I’m about to be repetitive in my speech since I feel a serious rant coming on. I’m getting really hot. Plus, I’m so tired of Totsy putting this photo, illustration or whatever you want to call it, of me on this blog with no eyelashes on my left eye. That’s why Oprah picked LaToya over me. She can’t have anyone on her network with eyelashes on one eye. I mean, really. It’s all Totsy’s fault, not paying attention to details. It certainly wasn’t for a lack of my skills or abilities.
This oversight on Oprah’s part calls for a tall glass of lemonade on the veranda in my skinny-dipping suit.