Wanted Men Wanted

So I had a vague idea come to me about 2 weeks ago. A word collage of quotes. I wondered, no, I wanted to know what made men feel wanted. Often times there are talk shows and articles and blogs about women and their wants, needs, desires. But what about men? Surely, they wanted to feel wanted. And since I was questioning it, did men feel wanted by their families, friends, lovers, coworkers, society?

Thank You, 2010.

Two thousand and ten was a good year. I've entered a new phase in my life. The change was and still is palpable.

I've outgrown things and people this year. Any thought patterns or habits that were holding me back I pushed through, using the fear and angst as motivation. Any habits that were positive and I had let go in recent years, I've reclaimed.

Toxic, stale or one-sided relationships faded way or I ended them. I welcome these endings because the energy they've freed leaves me free to welcome positive beginnings.

I've continued to create and grow this year.

Visions of passport visa stamps dance in my head.

I don't have a cork board yet but I always make notes of things I want and need to accomplish and map out a way to get there. Tuesday night I was writing a to-do list. One of the list entries was in the form of a question which I started answering as I went along. As quickly as I put my question and answer down on paper, I stumbled upon a gallery in SoHo that will play prominently in my future. I asked a question and received an answer


I would do myself a huge disservice if I didn't follow through on the growth that as taken place this year; continue to live a healthy and non-restrictive lifestyle, continue to show gratitude and appreciation for those that have been instrumental and supportive, share my knowledge with others, and continue to be an artist motivated by the love of creativity, emotion, human stories and honest provocativeness.

Last year, I noticed the changing of the guard with the legends and pioneers we've lost. We've lost more this year. We continue to be on the verge of greatness. Still on my list of things to accomplish - BECOME AN ICON.

Two thousand and eleven, I can't wait to meet you.

Telling Time On My Biological Clock

Last Friday, I got a phone call. I didn't recognize the number but I answered because it could've been a potential employer calling.

"Hello," I said.

"Mom?" a little boy asked on the other end.

This was the first time I had ever been called that, even if it was a mistake. People tend to assume I have children and are surprised when I tell them that I don't. But it's weird, I paused, thinking, "Am I?" I think I said "hello" again or "what?" or "excuse me". He asked again, "Mom?"

Bursting To Burlesque

I finally bought a pair of pasties this week. They're called "French Titties". Those of you who know about my latest "everything French phase" really understand why I had to buy them. I purchased them at SHAG--they had a holiday party for family and friends. I flipped through all the packets of pasties like a playing cards, holding some of them up to my chest (would they provide adequate coverage?) or against my skin (would the colors complement or clash with my skin tone?). Then I found a B&W pair. Money!


I'd love to do burlesque. Maybe not for a career but I'd like to do a performance. I really enjoy watching burlesque. I think it's very sexy. A good show provides laughs and titillation. I'm most familiar with Brown Girls Burlesque and now they have a Broad Squad Institute. When I'm ready, I'll contact them and I'll be sure to invite all you to my graduation.

Am I A Black Feminist?

During the week of Thanksgiving, The Lion's Historian asked for my thoughts on Black feminism in 200 - 500 words. I wasn't sure I'd get any words because I'd never thought of myself as a Black feminist. So I thought, I scribbled notes, I mused in the shower, I did some freewriting in bed, I even caught Sex in '69: History of the Sexual Revolution in America that same week.

World Cup Of Love -- Addendum

I was editing the first part of a new short story I'm working on. iTunes shuffling in the background as usual...

Then "Going On" by Gnarls Barkley came through my speakers and just put me in an even better mood. It made me think of the World Cup and made me think of him (the timing is uncanny because one of the characters in the story I'm working on is based on him).

So that's why he came to mind this morning when I heard the song, but honestly, that was quickly overshadowed by the World Cup itself, the game of football, the passion. The Puma commercial they aired on television was different from this one, but I would jump up and down in celebration right along with the players on the screen.

I truly, truly enjoyed the energy of the World Cup this year (despite ALL of my teams not doing well) there was still so much to enjoy and so many people to root for. I hear this song... I watch this video and it gives me chills.


Youtube user hansbukow summed it up perfectly:

Thank you Africa for reminding us of what it's all about!!!

The fun, love and passion of simply kicking a ball with your best friends.

I feel really blessed to have the beautiful game embedded in my soul and this video helps me connect with that wonderful feeling.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

Learning Curve Update

In July, I started to teach myself photography with a digital camera. I called the whole process the Learning Curve. I'm up to Day 27. Originally, I was going to shoot everyday for 30 days -- a crash course. But that didn't happen because I couldn't find people to shoot, or my schedule didn't allow it. I improvised and started to take the camera with me to events I would attend and shoot there. It's been enjoyable. I'm grateful for all the support I've received during the process. There are a few people who have been very influential to my photography and those I know I will create beautiful art with in the future -- Thank you. And I have to thank my friends who always seem to end up in my photos...


What's happened since I started? Well, a few days ago, I entered the One Life Photo competition. It's definitely worth a shot. The judging takes place in November. Grand prize is a choice between $25,000 or a trip around the world! Prior to this competition, I entered the BK Loves MJ photo contest held by Spike Lee/40 Acres and won! I was pleasantly surprised and touched that my favorite photo of a brother and sister is the image that won the competition for me. The day I went to the 40 Acres office in Fort Greene to pick up my prize, I ran into Michelle, a woman I met the first day I started shooting. It's amazing how things come full circle.

Made In Haiti

The Simpsons have always bitten the hand that's fed them and that opening sequence was the most visual, direct... biting  at 20th Century FOX that I can remember. There have been digs at anything FOX related throughout the series - 

• Homer and Marge go on a reality TV show, Mother Flippers, after winning a no-expenses paid trip to Fox Studios 
• After Kent Brockman gets fired for cursing on the air, Lisa encourages him to reveal how Fox news gets money to the Republican party by airing racy, tasteless shows on Fox Network.

Chime in with the ones you can remember, I'm drawing a blank...


Now back to the opening sequence. The images of workers deep in the "sweatshops" which resembled coal mines is too close to the truth. I thought about the Chilean miners and I thought about @TastyKeish. On the Friday before this episode of The Simpsons aired, I went to the 40 Acres and a Mule Filmworks office to pick up my prize package for this contest I won (I'll get to that later). One of the items was a commemorative Michael Jackson T-shirt. I  looked at the tag to check the size and noticed it was a Hanes Beefy-T "MADE IN HAITI". I tweeted the info to TastyKeish and expressed that some of the same concerns she had popped into my mind as well. Were the workers treated fairly, working in safe conditions and paid a living wage? U.S. clothing companies are encouraged to source 1 percent of their clothing production from Haiti. Let's hope that doesn't give them license to take advantage of those they should be helping.


I did a very quick web search to see what I could read about "hanes beefy t made in haiti". There were message board comments about the shirts being made in Haiti and insults about "that should tell you about the quality", other people complained they couldn't get any answers from Hanes (Sara Lee) about their policies and practices. 


I also came across this tweet from @mattnedostup: 
Turns out my Hanes Beefy-T was made in Haiti, so it looks like I contributed to the earthquake relief effort after all!


Wouldn't that be great if it were totally true? There are t-shirts sold where the proceeds go to the Earthquake relief or in some instances you donate to the relief effort and get a t-shirt. According to Hanes, this is what they did do to help. 

Hottentot Makes Any Man's Eyes Pop

I found this magazine just sitting outside my apartment building last night. Just sitting there. I didn't dig in the garbage to find it. It was just there. Like a sign. Ass all over the place. I thought the timing was pretty uncanny considering I was just discussing on Twitter with @alvinthethird that I was pondering what my next erotic work of art would be because I received another request to make a sex tape and had just read some commentary on the Kim Kardashian spread in W magazine. No doubt, I want my project to be sensual as well as erotic and somewhat political -- make a statement.


I want to always be in control of my erotic art. And as an obvious extension of that, my body. If I want to pose nude, I will. If I want to sext with pics, I will. If I don't want to work with a particular photographer, I won't. It all boils down to my comfort, my mission and the joy of creating. 


Of course there were comparisons to J-Lo made with the whole Kardashian photo and whether or not a Black woman could get away with the same thing. Black women do it all the time. The question is the stigma attached to it. What made Kardashian any different? Her image is art because she didn't have a g-string disappearing between her cheeks for emphasis? We have butts. Some of us have big butts. Some of us have humongous butts. And thanks to magazines like the one pictured above, some Black women use those butts to earn a living and make a name for themselves. But what's in a name? What's behind (technically, in front of or on top of) the booty? When I was a personal trainer, I got most of my clients because of my butt. Many of them told me they wanted a butt like mine. I was never offended because they were never offensive. Sure, I had a shapely butt, but I also had the knowledge and experience to get them what they wanted or the sense to tell them it wasn't gonna happen no matter how many squats we did. 

Still Cursing The Name Christopher Columbus...

So we were taught that Christopher Columbus discovered America on his way looking for a new trade route to India but went the wrong way. He got here, marveled at the land the people, spread word back to Spain and the rest is history. "America"; North, Central and South are believed to be named after Amerigo Vespucci. Ok, so far, I got the gist of it. 


Then anthropologists and Columbus haters said the land bridge between Asia and North America (Russia and present-day Alaska) is what brought the indigenous people to this continent. Ok, works for me. Human history dictates that ancient man was nomadic. We searched for food and shelter at the whim and the weather and animals we depended on for food and clothing.

Everything Old Is New Again...And Still Kinda Old

I watched The Expendables about 2 weeks ago on a Sunday afternoon (I should note I started scribbling this blog right after I watched it) and marveled at how old Dolph Lundgren looked every time he was on the screen. 


Arnold Schwarzenegger's (or the Governator's as my friend called him) cameo didn't help the situation. These men are growing old right before my eyes. On the following Monday, I saw the commercial for Red and that's when it clicked and I tweeted: The Expendables and now Red -- I see where Hollywood is going.


Everything old is new again. I don't mean the endless remakes but the actors and the eras. Aside from Sylvester Stallone's eyebrows, it was refreshing to see people who actually looked 50 or 60 years old on screen. Side note: I enjoyed the return to a good old-fashioned shoot-em-up movie. I recently finished reading Beauty Junkies by Alex Kuczynski and the extent of plastic surgery in Hollywood and because of Hollywood is disheartening. (not taking anything away from her talent, but the over-saturation of Betty White is a sign that there just aren't that many older actress in Hollywood. And Cloris Leachman is doing her thing on Raising Hope! Who else could they have cast?