Saturday, November 20, 2010

Love. Change. Yourself.

You ever step outside of yourself and can see yourself growing and changing? It's a powerful thing; watching your transformation is transformative in itself.

I fell in love with myself today. I was going through the previews from a photo shoot with photographer and friend, Tom Spianti. I saw my mother in some of those photos. Like I really see what people saw when they said I look like her. I also look like a mother. I look at some of those photos and see how my children are going to see me.

There are changes that are in my immediate future that I don't have too much control over. The decisions I make, how hard I fight change (which I'm known to do sometimes) will determine my happiness. I took that trip down memory lane, chronicling all the places in New York City that have shaped me. It was enjoyable but not sad at all. I didn't yearn for the past anymore.

How strong am I? How scared am I?

Paris. Every where I turn there are signs pointing to Paris. Abigail Ekue : The Native Creative New Yorker... In Paris. I may have to change my website logo.

Friday, November 19, 2010

This Blog Is About You

A few days ago, I mused randomly on Twitter: Each time I write a story about someone, they're gone from my life (bed) soon after. It's like a sexual obituary.


I don't blog about my current paramours, flings, partners (pick a word). It just so happens at a reading I participated in last night, another author mentioned she wrote a book about her lover and then they broke up. She told us she definitely learned her lesson. I do blog about my friends if there's something fun or funny, amazing, karmic, sweet or ingenious that happened. But I won't get too personal or give too many identifiable details about them.


We live in a tell-all society where everyone wants to know-all about everyone else but themselves.


Tuesday, November 16, 2010

30 Years In New York City



I got the idea while I was journaling the night before my birthday to go visit all the old neighborhoods I used to live in. Go back to my old addresses and schools and take photos; chronicle what gentrification has done to Hamilton Heights and SoBro (Harlem and the South Bronx, as I know them)


About halfway into the trip, I had already seen a roller-blading professor whose sneakers I retrieved when he dropped them as he clunked his way past me. I saw construction taking place on 143rd and 144th between Amsterdam and Convent which I swear has been going on since the 90's. Took the Bx19 to my old neighborhood going past Lincoln Hospital (where it all began) and had flashbacks to the rides on that bus to and from school. It was amazing, despite all the time that had passed, not much had changed at all.


Saturday, November 13, 2010

I Can Take No For An Answer

It hit me the other day that I don't pitch articles nearly as much as I used. Actually, I think it's been almost a year. This is not because I don't want any more of my articles published, it's due to the lack of response. As a writer, I get rejections all the time. That's not an issue. It's the silence that makes the whole process seem pointless and somewhat discouraging. I live by, "You won't know until you ask" and "Ask and ye shall receive" as played out in my life on numerous occasions.


Just say 'no.' Seriously, I can take it.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Period. The Beginning.



There must be someway to celebrate the final menstrual cycle of my 20's. Some sort of ceremony or ritual involving meditation, the moon, belly dancing, donning a special menstrual garment and then burning or burying the blood-soaked shroud.

I believe there are phases in life. Entering your 30's is the beginning of a new phase. As a woman, there is no way to know which period will be your last. You're aware that you're going through menopause but only after the periods stop do you realize that last one was the last one.


Sunday, November 7, 2010

The Man I Can Not Or Should Not Love

There are basic truths I already know as an adult woman who has been in relationships and related to men. You can't be with someone who they themselves aren't ready, healthy or "whole". It just won't work. And before I develop some sort of Superwoman complex and try to "save" him or "protect" him, I need to step back.

I already told myself that I'd have to detox from him and the situation. I've done it before. I use the term detox because it's almost an addiction. That's how it feels. And it doesn't feel good.

I've toyed with the idea of another detox recently, and I even mentioned it to him. Why? Because I was being a  fucking woman. I have my moments. His response? That I shouldn't detox but instead I should immerse myself in it.

Let that sink in for a minute...

Immerse myself in it



Saturday, November 6, 2010

How Bold Is Crazy?


It's 6am on a Saturday or maybe 4am on a Thursday. They're on your mind. You want to talk to that particular person. Or have some sort of contact with them. So you psyche yourself up to be bold. Then you start to come up with any excuse not to reach out to them--it's too late, it's too early, they'll think you're bothering them, maybe they're with someone else...

You toss and turn. Can't sleep because you're too busy replaying all these could-be scenarios in your head. You log on to Facebook or Twitter and do some cyber-stalking or just a cyber check-in (we're trying to stay away from 'crazy'). You see they're online. They've posted something 5 minutes ago.

Refresh

2nd Part Of The 2nd Tale Of A Tale Of Two Men



So where we left off...  I shared an intense, serendipitous "eye-lock" with "Kismet Kevin" as he walked past the restaurant. He returned 15 minutes later at the direction of some unknown force. We talked, flirted and he gave me The. Best. Kiss. Ever.


Kismet Kevin


Tuesday night. My event was winding down and we started texting each other. One of his texts included his address. I rushed through my goodbyes and networking and dashed over to his place.

His apartment was his workshop. There was no true living space or furniture. No bed in the bedroom, no food in the kitchen. There were tools everywhere. It was a mess. I asked him, "Where do you sleep?" He explained he doesn't sleep much but pointed to the leather futon, "It folds out." He kissed me again and said my mouth tasted good - I forgot all about the state of his place.


Friday, November 5, 2010

A Tale Of Two Men



Penis Pete

During the Tribeca Film Festival, I agreed to meet with a guy off Twitter (red flag #1) to watch a movie from the festival that was being shown on DirecTV. I went over to his apartment after having dinner and some wine with a guy friend. When I got to "Penis Pete's" apartment, all was "normal". I instantly knew I wasn't attracted to him and felt like good, this will be a chill, no-stress couple of hours. I got the tour, met his dog and he ran out to get some wine. When he got back, I parked myself on the edge of his couch and he ordered the movie -  a foreign comedy but it was in English.

Fast forward through two bottles of wine and noticing what appeared to be bouts of narcolepsy on his part, he took his penis out of his pants.



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