I‘m writin’ this post to say “bye” to ya’ll. I’m out. Finito. Done. It’s not personal, so don’t go gettin’ your feelings all hurt; it’s strictly business. I’m bout to be rich; bout to go to Hollywood. After a few conversations with my friends and a few trif-tings (trifling things) that have happened to me; I came up with a brilliant idea for a sitcom. Yaasss, Honey, yo’ drunk Aunt Randi is turning trif-ting into triumph and bling.
Ya’ll remember that 1990’s show, “Baywatch”: a show that featured David Hasselhoff (and his hairy chest), Pamela Anderson (and her famous chest), and a few other White folks (yeah – this was another show depicting a place where no people of color exist. Hell, I know a lot of Black folks don’t swim; but many of us do. And even the ones who don’t will go to the beach. But, I’m getting off topic..). Lifeguards David and Pam would bounce (and with Pam, I literally mean “bounce”) up and down the beach, saving folks and fixing problems. It was cheesier and worse than Taco Bell’s new “nacho fries,” but also like them — it was also insanely popular (unbelievably, Baywatch was one of the most watched television shows of all time).
Well, my new show “BAEwatch” will be an even bigger hit! In many ways, the shows are alike. Similar to the old Baywatch, my new BAEwatch will chronicle the lives of women who spend most of their time running around (or rather trolling around) on high alert for sharks who may take her man, for jelly-fish who may burn her man, for powerful waves (of passion or attraction) that threaten to drag her man away. It doesn’t matter if the man is content, is resting on the beach, is intentionally trying to catch another fish, or if the man is doing all that he can to jump overboard.
The BAEwatch women will be more fascinating to watch every week than the women on the original series primarily because they are more skilled, more vigilent and more dedicated to their missions. Let’s call it plain: Some of deez relationship-lifeguards out chere’ make the FBI, CIA and Special Victims Unit look lazy. They are on BAEwatch 24/7, keeping their eyes peeled for all threats and loudly blowing their whistles at the first whiff of trouble.
TWEEEEEET! This one woman I know used to blow dat whistle every time a woman went to hug her man. I’m from the South (as were both her and her man). Typically, Black, Southern folks will hug people as a form of greeting, especially when we haven’t seen each other in a minute. Chile, homegirl let us know real quick that none of us were to hug her man. She’d warn you with a death stare first if you even got close to hugging position.
But if her icy-cold stare didn’t freeze you, she had no problem physically blocking the hug.
It was always so crazy to me. We all clearly hugged each other; any woman who was tryin to make a move on her man most likely wouldn’t do it with her standing there; and although he was a kind man, he was so ugly he’d scare a buzzard off a dead possum. But homegirl took no breaks or chances when it came to watching her Bae.
And she is far from alone. I can’t tell you how many events I attend, where guys are dodging cameras like a politician dodges hard questions, because they want no proof to exist that they attended a function (and what’s even more nuts is that I’m not talking about a club or lounge – it’s happened at baby showers and brunches). Some men are literally being held in nets like river shrimp.
And social media has done turned BAEwatching into a 24/7 operation. BAEwatchers used to sleep when their catch did; but now they get their CSI Computer Forensic Investigator on. By the time their man is pouring his first cup of coffee, his woman knows every picture he’s liked, every comment he’s made, the way each woman he’s friends with looks (and how old she is, where she works, if she’s single, her best friend’s name, and so on); every search he’s done, who he’s emailed (and if they are female—again, what they look like) and so on.
Now I ain’t judging these women in no-way. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t scanned a parking lot for a particular car before or done a bit of “research” on certain “friends.” And perhaps some of these women gots to keep a close, constant eye on their catch because they are about as safe as a drunk man going swimming on a gusty day. She knows that fool will get pulled away in a riptide, drown in the middle of the ocean, and then get eaten by sharks if she don’t watch ‘him. Naw, I ain’t judgin’ (well, not too hard). Naw, I’m busy plannin’ my show, my trip to Hollywood, and how I’ma spend all dis BAEwatch money. Triumph and bling ya’ll!
Aunt Randi’s hobbies are talking shit and drinking wine—preferably at the same time.