Racist Vagina

I have a Rosa Parks coochie; it aint getting up off black dick for nothing. I figured I’d choose a well-known historical Black figure to illustrate my point. John Mayer caught major heat for saying he doesn’t like to partake in sexual congress with Black women. I don’t see a problem with that. I think folks took it real personal because he chose such a polarizing figure like David Duke to illustrate his racial preference in sexual partners. If he had said he didn’t like to have sex with fat girls or skinny bitches, there would’ve been a lot of nodding along while folks read that interview too. 




We all have our preferences. Some racial, some not. Some of us would never be as vocal about them but we have them. I’m sure before John Mayer, you’ve heard your friends or friends of friends say they “only date white girls” or they “only date black guys”. Having racial preferences is nothing new (neither is having preferences of any kind); It’s called “having a type”. And I believe some of the Black women who were snaking their necks and rolling their eyes don’t like white men anyway. What I had a problem with was Mr. Mayer talking about having a “nigger pass”...and that might be the only problem I had with his interview—keep that word out your mouth, Mr. Mayer…

2009: A Year In My Life

I don’t make New Year’s Resolutions, but I used to make a list of goals I wanted to accomplish during the upcoming year. The list usually included bullet points like make new friends/rekindle old friendships, learn to drive (I have a 4-year old learner’s permit) and something to do with my work or creativity. I haven’t made that list for the past two years, but that didn’t mean I was any less aware or focused on accomplishing certain goals.

Random Musings on Global Warming and Hood Life

I started this blog in February by randomly musing about life and chimps. It's already December. Wow! A lot has happened this year. Good and bad, but nothing we can't grow and learn from.

Overheard on the streets today... One Black woman to her friend: He wanna get married but I'm like we don't gotta be married to have kids together...

And that is one of the major problems in the Black community.

Touch Me At Your Own Risk

I heard this morning on the radio about incidents of subway groping going way up, especially in Manhattan and how they expect with the Holiday rush, it's only going to get worse. I did notice the campaign about sexual harassment on the subways and had to shake my head at the fact that not only is the problem getting that bad, but that they have to tell the victims that it's not OK. This is ridiculous. What is wrong with these men? I have made reference to the jostling of bodies and lingering touches on the train in a consensual matter or in fiction. But this happens more often than women are willing to admit and that is the problem. I'm well-aware that during rush hour, there is very little personal space and having grown up in NY, I'm very tolerant of it, but that's no excuse for your hand being in my ass crack.

I caught a lot of heat on the NY Times City Room Blog last year when I said something to the effect that these crazy, sick men prey on women they think or know will be too scared to say anything or too lost in their own worlds to notice. You know how many times I've just stared at someone just to see what will happen and they never see me because they never look up? They have no clue what's going on around them. They make themselves targets. There's no eye contact. So even if someone did "attack" them (rob, grope etc.) they wouldn't be able to identify them! I remember a few years ago sitting across from a woman and man who didn't know one another. The man would slowly inch his hand under his newspaper and rest his fingers on the woman's thigh. I was shocked that she didn't even feel it.

Finger Licking Good

I love to eat with my hands. It’s second nature to me. I am fully capable of using a knife and fork. I don’t eat rice or spaghetti and meatballs with my hands. But my fingers make great utensils as well. It’s not an uncivilized or barbaric way to eat. I don’t have food running down the front of my shirt or sauce staining my cheek. I love the feel of my food. And before it hits my lips, rolls around on my tongue and slides down my throat, I touch it with my hands. Not to mention sometimes it’s just easier to eat certain foods with your hands.

Eating with your hands is the norm in many cultures. I grew up eating with my hands. I can still see myself sitting at the dining table, chest pressed against it, my father sitting at the head of the table and me at the first seat next to him, eating ogbona soup with codfish, amala, or gari and egusi with a smoked turkey drumstick bigger than my forearm. While watching Anthony Bourdain No Reservations while he was visiting Saudi Arabia, everyone sat around a large platter of rice and a roasted lamb or camel and ate with their hands. Eating is communal. It’s a bonding experience. It encompasses the senses, touch included.

What comes before eating? Cooking. Most times, when I’m hungry, I cook to eat. Other times, I eat leftovers. The whole process is enjoyable, soothing, meditative, exhilarating, experimental. Even when it’s stressful, I shrug it off to chance and pull some more ingredients out of the cupboard. There’s something visceral and spiritual about cooking. Watching all the various ingredients come together. Ingredients mix, blend, dissolve, boil, thicken, liquefy, harden, coagulate, evaporate. There are so many different processes that occur to reach the end product. Cooking is a very hands-on process for me. And to enjoy the end result with my hands makes perfect sense.

Finger Licking Good was also published on The Cud in July 2010

Aint No Fun If Your Girls Can't Have None

When will I learn that no matter how hard I don’t look for attention or try to just blend in, it never happens? That someone is bound to say something to me to make me think?

I was at a fish fry last night. The first people I saw were two women and a man, the women sitting on either side of him. He had the boisterous energy I’ve come to know from Nigerians. I didn’t take a seat near them until I had been there for about 15 minutes. I was in people-watching mode while I sipped my drink, and not even trying to hide the fact that I was listening in on conversations.

I had sat quietly near the 3-person couple. Maybe I was too quiet. The woman closest to me said “hello”. Then the man cut right to the chase, “Are you from Africa?” he asked. I said my father was. I knew where he was from based on his accent. I could’ve gone through the speech I’ve given my entire life about where I’m “from”, where I was born, where my parents are from, what culture/country I identify with, but this time I waited to see where this was going.

He asked if my father was from Ghana. I said Nigeria. The woman on his far left teased him for now knowing his own people. He was very pleased to hear I was from Nigeria and said he assumed I was African or Jamaican.

“Both,” I said.

Now he was really impressed. I may have actually seen his dick get hard. The left-side woman called it a potent mix. He said I was the baddest of Africa and the baddest of the Caribbean. That meant I must be a bad girl. Yeah, he meant that sexually. I was promptly schooled that in Africa men can have more than one wife and then he referred to himself in the third person when he said he wanted to marry a Jamaican woman, that he was looking for a third wife. Someone fiery to stir things up since the other two wives (apparently the ones sitting with him, even though the one next to me denied it) got along well. He wanted a wife who would fight for him because she didn’t want to share him. I had all sorts of smart remarks to make but I think my raised eyebrow and lips pushed to the side said enough.

I have nothing against polygyny. On the surface, the three of them seemed happy and it’s a practice that’s been going on for centuries. But let me explain--if you’re a married man or in a relationship and your partner doesn’t know that you have other women that’s not polygyny. What I do have an issue with is the whole “man-sharing” or “man-stealing”, both of which involve blatant deceit.

The People That Were

I was at the Michael Jackson birthday party in Prospect Park. I did think it was a bit morbid and sad that they had a birthday cake. It made it real. Who was going to blow out the candles?

We're only a little more than halfway through the year and I'm thinking about the last week in December when all the network news and entertainment magazine shows do the "Year in Review" and remember all the celebs that have passed that year. 2009 has had major loss and upheaval. The People that Were; all very influential, loved. I've noticed that many were pioneers in their field, visionaries, real people with real problems and somehow hold a part in the public's heart. I've also noticed that the people who have been most affected by these deaths are themselves on the brink of transformation. They're being primed to take those spots left open by those that have passed. It's like a sick, dying parent who holds on until they know their children are gonna be all right before they go.

I truly believe it is the changing of the guards. My contemporaries and I are on the verge of greatness.

Write Stuff

I haven't been writing much on this blog, but I have been writing. It's been a little slow on the freelance non-fiction front, but my erotic short story collection is moving right along. I'm at the point where I can decide which stories not to include. So that's a good thing. I've been asked a few times what's the theme of the collection. I made a list of the commonalities--food, music, minor Pop culture references, Black/African characters (at least 1 in each story) and of course, sex. I'd like to have a little more "love" in my stories, but I've realized that when someone else reads it, they pick up on the "love" or emotion, even if I don't think I included any. That's my energy coming through on the page. I'm an emotional person. I feel everything and I have the ability to feel what you feel and make you feel what I feel (I know that's empathy, but I felt like being long-winded).

In mid-July, I went to the Harlem Book Fair (HBF), primarily because there were certain talks and workshops I wanted to attend. It was my first time at the event and I did enjoy myself. But I was turned off by all the booths and the folks manning the booths shoving "Urban Fiction" at me. When I see people reading those books on the train, my initial thought is, "Oh, they reading one of those ghetto books." Then I quickly rationalize, "Well, at least they're reading." I can only recall TWO (book) booths that weren't selling that genre of fiction (There were tons of other vendors). Two? In the panel discussion on making a living off your art the topic came up and what it boiled down to is that's what sells. And at some point your art/show becomes a business. By no means were the attendees of the workshop encouraged to write Urban Fiction but it was just an example of the obvious--what sells is what makes money and there will always be someone who will relate to (and buy) your art, so continue to create what works for you (special thanks to Mo Beasley, Mahogany Browne, Brad "Blue" Bathgate and Ebony Washington).

The Verdict On Courting

“Seeing you feels like flowers growing in my heart.”

Those were the first words this old(er) gentleman; we’ll call Mr. Ray, said to me as I walked down Spring Street in SoHo. The comment did make me slow down and smile. He asked my name and we shook hands. Then he said that seeing me made him feel like…this is where he started singing “Shining Star” to me. I really like that song. Have I ever had a stranger serenade me on the street before? No. Did I want the attention? Eh…it’s New York. The folks at the table in the restaurant right behind us looked for a few seconds then went back to their conversation. Mr. Ray wants to be my friend. He said he’d court me if I let him. He loves to go out. He invited me back to the restaurant where he’ll be performing Doo Wop (he totally dated himself) and also said he’d buy me dinner.

June 25, 2009

There's so much I could say about that day. I was working out, the 5 o'clock news was on and I was crunching away. They were talking about Farrah Fawcett. I said to myself, imagine what will happen when Michael Jackson dies. I've always thought about that. Even as a kid, when I would watch his concert footage and see fans fainting. It all seemed so big and otherworldly. So after the Farrah Fawcett story, I flip to another channel for a different spin of the news or maybe for better news and there's the announcement that Michael Jackson was rushed to the hospital in cardiac arrest.

What? I was just "talking" about that! And then it was time to prepare myself for the bad news. Cardiac Arrest. They were reporting they had to do CPR in the ambulance. I knew nothing good could come of it. I ate after my workout, sent a text to my friend about plans that evening at 5:23pm and when I went to the kitchen to wash the dishes, I wished "good luck" to the doctor who would have to call it--time of death.

5:26pm

Scalping Scalpers

NOTE: I no longer work for a ticket broker. However, I wrote this back in April 2008 when I did work for one, so that will explain the references to idiots willing to spend ridiculous prices for concert tickets and the last seasons at Yankee and Shea Stadiums. Ticket brokers have been in the news a lot recently over Bruce Springsteen concert tickets. They just can't seem to get it right. I say don't bother going to the concert if its going to cost you triple your rent, but what do I know. Fans are still going to want to be a part of history because Springsteen is the last act that will take place in Giants Stadium as we know it. Yes, they are building a new stadium in a recession. First, they were directing people to the secondary market where prices were hiked up and now three brokers who I am very familiar with are being sued by the NJ Attorney General for selling tickets a week before they actually went on sale. For those of you unfamiliar with how the secondary market works, ticket brokers will take your money for tickets they don't actually have. Just a heads up.

Angry Big Sister

I received a call from my brother this evening. He started by telling me something funny then said he was angry. He explained this situation he’s been having at work – feels like they’re pushing him out. Big corporation got no respect or regard for the little guy. My brother is vocal. He will voice complaints without yelling or cursing or flailing his arm or threatening violence but I’ve seen my brother angry. I let him vent then gave my big sister advice while we cut the tension with jokes. He did mention that he remembered I told him that last time he had an issue at work not to carry on like the “Angry Black Man” – he’s likely to intimidate everyone and surely not get his point across or better working conditions or work relationships. I tried to reinforce that today and told him he needs an outlet for his anger. He said worked out. While we spoke on the phone he was on his inversion machine because his back had tightened up. He used to write tons of screenplays. That’s an idea we tossed around. I told him when he visits NY again I’d take him to one of the poetry events I frequent. “There’s tons of angry black men there. Write something so you could read, or just come and listen, get that sense of camaraderie. You may even find solutions in the words.”

A few hours later I was at Bowery Poetry Club witnessing creative genius or genius creatives. Taalam Acey (Mr. Manual Gesticulation that spits a mile a minute. I swear I can actually see the words waft out his mouth), Kasim Allah (whom I like to refer to as “King” accompanied with a curtsy every now and then in honor of his greatness), Ainsley Burrows (Jamaican Brethren who can prepare you for the verbal SATs just by listening to his poems) and Lamar Anthony Hill and Faraji Salim – two poets I just had the honor of being blessed by. The poems were sermons. There was one poem that made my eyes sting. Lamar Anthony Hill recited one about growing up without his father and finally forgiving him. At one point in the poem he said a woman cannot raise a boy into a man. I’ve been well aware of that fact and I’ve heard other poets say it before, but it just struck me tonight. What can a Big Sister do?

Personal Belongings

I took my usual people-watching stance at the Laundromat this morning, partly because it was way more crowded than I had expected so getting worked up and harried wasn’t worth it, it was pretty early (for me, anyway) and I only had one load of laundry to do.

For those of us who don’t have the luxury of a washing machine at home or a laundry room in the basement of our apartment building, there is the world of the Laundromat. Laundry is a personal thing that we do in a public place. My clothes were in the midst of being churned in soap and water when a Jewish woman dragged a huge black garbage bag into the Laundromat, hoisted it up and plopped it right into one of the wheeled baskets. I’ll admit, I just watched but nothing about what happened jumped out at me until the Jamaican guy dressed in a white T-shirt and paint-splattered “work pants” told her the carts dem fa clean clothes and why she a come up in dey and dutty dem up. She asked why it would be dirty and he told her because she had just dragged the bag along the ground. She nodded in realization, then smirked and shrugged it off. She had no intention of taking her bag out of the cart until other folks started giving her dirty looks over her dirty clothes. The older Hispanic woman who I encountered earlier that was “using” a machine (with nothing in it) that I had asked about was loading two other machines that the Jewish woman inquired about, and didn’t get.

Chocolate Body Frosting

I was cleaning out my fridge on Sunday night and found some chocolate body frosting. It’s been too long since I’ve used that. After implementing everyday kitchen cupboard, fridge and freezer contents like jelly, ice cream, sorbet, peanut butter etc, I remember when my ex and I got that set of body frosting. We were excited. I haven’t lived like a nun the past few years but I looked at the jar of frosting and realized what I’m missing – passion.

There was one lover since my ex who put in a very hardworking stint. All personal things aside, he’s ranked in the top five. I love the way men throw around the cliché that they want a lady in the streets but a freak in the bed. But to get to my inner freak (yes, there’s a lot more than what you see or read) there has to be a connection. There must be a bond. I have to trust you and you have to blow my mind. Once that’s achieved, I can reach the level of unbridled passion. I’m very astute and will know immediately when a man is doing his best for me so he can do his best to me. When I’m returning the favor it starts outside of the bedroom. I’m calling you, cooking for you, laughing a lot.

I also haven’t been depressed for the past few years and have shed pounds of baggage. Obviously that allows for deeper, truer connections. Physically, my rebirth is manifesting itself as shiny hair, plump muscles, bright skin. I’m in tune with my inner voice at a level I was about ten years ago. That same wide-eyed enthusiasm I had as I started college has returned…with wisdom that doesn’t restrain me. Despite being hurt in the past my heart is still open. And it’s a magnet for everything positive lately. I’m capable of feeling fully and deeply and will be ready to use that chocolate body frosting again.

Single Occupancy Lifestyle

I’ve been single for almost 3 years. I’m always on the go. It’s nice to be busy. And living in New York there’s always something to do and some place to go. I love going places. I invite friends along but with all the flakes, scaredy-cats and unknowingly depressed folks, I end up going out alone. Believe it or not, going out by myself is easy. It’s not sad or lonely or scary. I’m always bound to meet someone. If not a new friend, a new person-of-the-moment. My single life doesn’t mean I’m going to sit around waiting to be in a relationship before I do anything. Depending on where I’m going, I get a high off being in a new place. What’s going to happen? Who’s going to make me laugh? It’s my experience. If you don’t want to come along, I’ll tell you about it later as you gaze at me with envy.

When I was at my lowest and most unhappy, I was staying home, missing out on things I wanted to do because my other half didn’t want to go. The mistakes young people make…

My Space In Space

I like astrology. I find it very interesting and clarifying. I'm not big in the telling the future through astrology but I do agree with the descriptions of the individual sun signs; the basic traits people exhibit, who you get along with, who's attracted to you, physical features and all that jazz. 

Token Flamboyance

In those high school dramas there was always the Token Black Guy. He didn't have much dialogue, but his presence broke up the monotony of white on the eyes. The concept of the Token Black Guy is spoofed in comedies. In horror flicks, he's usually the first one to die, or he's the smart one who doesn't go towards the noise or out into the woods to investigate... but dies anyway.

So apparently Hollywood has done the Token Black Guy thing to death and maybe now they've moved on to the Token Black Gay Guy. Token characters portray stereotypes or are caricatures of the group they represent. What made me want to attempt to put this unstructured observation into words was The No.1 Ladies' Detective Agency, namely BK. He's described as "flamboyant" - a euphemism for "gay". He's a hairdresser as well. The only other Black gay character that sticks out in my mind is Carter on Spin City. Please let me know of others.

 

The No.1 Ladies' Detective Agency is based in Africa. Homophobia exists heavily in Black American culture. Same goes for African culture (re: continental Africa) and derivatives, to the extent that gang rapes are committed against lesbians to "correct" them and gay men are jailed and killed. I want to look at the positive of this situation. A token character is an admission of existence. They are willing to show that gays are born, raised, live, exist in Africa. Yeah, it is a stereotypical character (hopefully one day we'll move past the neck-rolling, hand-on-the-hip gay characters who are hairdressers, waiters or fashion designers) and it's only one show but it's a start - No? 

10 Year Old Golden Girl

Conway Twitty had stiff hair? I didn't even know there was a Conway Twitty until Family Guy. Apparently he used lots of mousse in his hair. I learned that from watching Golden Girls this morning. They're running marathons on Hallmark Channel in tribute to Bea Arthur. I haven't watched the Golden Girls since I was about 10 years old. Its interesting that watching an old show with older women can take me back to my youth.  

What I remember is how that show made me feel. Cozy. All the pastel wardrobes and decor. I did not fear or dread getting older. It looked fun. It also showed me that it's common for women to outlive their men and it was okay to be single at that age, you always had your friends. I would think about eating cake in the kitchen in the middle of the night in the company of friends to make me feel better. At that age they were still dealing with men/relationship issues. Blanche sauntering into a scene giving just enough information about her sex life (enough for a 10 year old to catch on). Doe-eyed Rose dated too. 

I wonder what it will be like to watch the show through wiser eyes now. I have a lot of Golden Girls memories. I'll be revisiting those memories through the marathon. There was also comfort in seeing Dorothy with Sophia. As a child, it made me feel like mothers lived forever.

Random Musings On The Times

The cycle of fashion and trends continues to turn. Every 25-30 years, fashion goes retro for renewal. I remember when I was in junior high and high school, the late 60's and 70's (an era I identify with) were "in". You had to have your bell bottoms and platform shoes. My senior class even had a sit-in protest. We clogged the hallway in front of the principal's office to protest paying for our yearbooks. We made it through 4 years of high school; the yearbook should be our free reward. We went to public school! Our protest wasn't effective enough however. We didn't have a senior trip that year but we had a prom. Thank god they didn't take away my right to get dressed up and dance barefoot.

 

Topless Trouble

If you've been reading/following (although I don't actually chronicle my life in any particular order on this blog) you may remember that I was on my way to get some sun during these past few summery days (it was only yesterday's post, but I take into account your busy lives) and I also love Tuesdays. I decided to keep my quest for sun local today and went to Prospect Park.

I am a borderline sun junkie. I choose to walk on the sunny side of the street. Very few of my summer clothes have sleeves. I like to feel the sun on my skin. I woke up this morning with the intent that I would go to the park, read my magazines and sit in the sun. I had to even up the tan I got this weekend from walking around. The skin that lay under my straps betrayed me once I took off my clothes. And I'm beginning to believe I look better out of my clothes than in them. Maybe I just need a new wardrobe. I also had to get rid of the reverse raccoon eyes I got this weekend from my sunglasses.