Black, White and Grey

 

Not shying away from race, we sat in an Italian gelateria and openly discussed black and white. He's from the Midwest and feels at home when he visits NY. He's accepted here for being himself, regardless of his skin color or race that he identifies with.

He broke it down for me. Where he's from there's only black and white. Racially, but also where you live and how you act. The white people who act "black" are called "wiggers". The black people who act white are "Uncle Toms". I was familiar with the terminology although I don't hear them much in my circle. "So you're either black or white, but you, you're grey."

There are stereotypes and generalizations that persist; certain actions, behaviors and mannerisms are assigned to certain groups of people. Certain beliefs and ideologies are considered "normal" for one group and not the other. In his city of 297,000 he's considered weird because of his style of dress and lifestyle. His take? I'd be considered weird too.



In a world of black and white, I'm grey. That's one of the best compliments I've ever received.

*   *   *

Been There, Done French

I was talking to a guy about travel. Naturally, Paris came up in the conversation. I told him it would've been great if I had visited Paris in my 20's but that I was also glad to be going now as a full-fledged adult. I'd have a better handle on the language, and what to expect from the locals (namely the men). I won't be seduced, instead I'd choose the man I want and then let him think he seduced me.


The guy I was speaking with isn't from NY so I asked him if he'd heard of the Dominique Strauss-Kahn case (DSK is now counter-suing the hotel maid he is accused of sexually assaulting). He had vague knowledge of the case and I explained to him what I'd learned, while researching the DSK scandal, about the sexual entitlement French men seem to exhibit -- the séducteur. How much of that is actually "fah real", he asked.


Let me share the story I shared with him.

Random Musings on Partialism

Guy A:

It was all about me for the first 30 minutes or so. No complaints there. Then he asked if I wanted to "do more" or "keep going". Sure, I thought. I was attracted to him and still in the mood. I returned the oral favor; he stopped me and commented on my skill level. Ok, we get to it and early on he asked me to squeeze his nipples. All right. Tweak tweak. But when I moved my hands he demanded that I squeeze his nipples again. What does Abigail do? She hooks up with him 2 more times after that.

Talk to me about Shame

A solo performance by Juilan Goldhagen

A few weeks ago, I attended the solo performance, Talk to me about Shame, by Julian Goldhagen. He's a great storyteller; he brought us to speed on not wanting to go to a friend's birthday party, losing his virginity and never having sex with that sex again and copping a squat on an African mountaintop for the ultimate release. Goldhagen's vulnerability and courage are magnetic. 

 

Race Relations in Motor City (Bar)

Last night, I ended up at Motor City Bar. I like that the vibe there is never pretentious, it's a great mix of clientele and it'll be the setting for my upcoming photo shoot (see: Graffiti Butt)

I had conversations with interesting men at the bar -- maybe because we didn't know one another we were more direct, more quickly. The underlying theme of our conversations: race.

"So whereabouts in Brooklyn are you from?"

I answered his question but later it hit me -- I didn't tell this man I was from Brooklyn. I asked how he knew I was "from Brooklyn" and he said he's been in NY for 25 years and has learned to "just tell". Moments before that, I tried to pinpoint the origin of his brogue. I guessed Ireland, he's Scottish.

"Don't Pet the 'Fro" T-shirts Are Here

The babies have been born...

I've launched the "Don't Pet the 'Fro" T-shirts. I've gone through quite a few samples and I will continue to perfect and tweak the design (all while not allowing my inner perfectionist to slow the process). Visit my Wazala shop to order your t-shirt or as a gift!


A black V-neck was my original vision and I've made that happen! I've been wearing mine around the house and while running errands around my neighborhood... a lot. I'm sure you'll love yours too! It also seems to be the best seller. They're available in Ladies S to XXL and they run true to size. For reference, I'm wearing a Medium.

Don't Pet the 'Fro V-neck Black (Medium)

My First Obscene Phone Call

It was about 6:30am. My phone rang and through blurry eyes I saw it was from a Restricted number. Because I receive some international calls that show up that way I accepted the call but didn't say anything. What I heard were sex sounds. Sounded muffled and I thought "another pocket dial". I hung up and rolled back over to sleep.


My phone rang again. Restricted number. Now I was annoyed and on guard. I accepted the call, put the call on speaker and still didn't say anything. This was a deliberate call. The male participant's moans and sex talk directed at his female partner were spoken into the phone as though he were wearing an earpiece or Bluetooth. I couldn't recognize his voice. I was searching my brain to figure out who would do this--did the guy on the phone sound like an ex?


After about 4 minutes they finished and then the man said, "Hello." I didn't respond. I still couldn't place the voice and was extra pissed now because that was confirmation that the call was intentional. He said "hello" a few more times, waiting each time for me to respond while his labored breathing steadied and he let out one more "Shit..." at how good his nut was.

Dine and Dash?

So here's what happened:

Saturday night, a friend and I went out to dinner. I'd been craving a meal and wine from this establishment for a long time.

We were seated promptly. We made emphatically enthusiastic decisions on what we wanted to chew and what wine to sip. It was a toss up between two appetizers – a meat or a cheese. The waitress recommended the cheese. Smiles all around.

Wine was sipped slowly.

Appetizer appetized.

Entrees served at 10:20pm. I took a photo. It’s timestamped.

Fast forward about 20 minutes later. Our plates were cleared. And we still had a little bit of wine to finish. About 10 more minutes passed and I noticed our waitress leaving. She didn’t head out for a smoke, she was gone. Her shift was over. She didn’t close out her tabs. She didn’t bring our check. She didn’t say a word. The other waitresses walked by our table repeatedly. They filled water glasses of other diners and brought them dessert menus. 

Gallery Crawl

Photo by: Mia Berg

I attended the evening reception of Mia Berg's WOMAN : CAMERA at Gallery 151 on Thursday evening. The nudity, self-portraits and Spencer Tunick got me through the door. After studying the images and the exchange of opinions, my friend and I headed to Chelsea for an impromptu gallery crawl.

The Day I Became a Woman

I knew this day would come, but already? In December, I got a referral from my doctor for a mammogram. Today was the day. I went to the Rita J. Kaplan Breast Imaging Center at Bellevue Hospital.


After I walked the busy corridors of the main floor of the hospital, I made it to the Third floor, West Wing. The walls are painted a light pink with floral wall border. It was a stark contrast to the rest of the hospital I had seen. After checking in at the desk and receiving my ID wrist tag, I took a seat in the main waiting room.


Visibly, I was by far the youngest woman in there. 58, 67, 70 -- those were the years of birth I overheard. I wondered if the demographic of the waiting room would change as more younger women are diagnosed with breast cancer. I shook my head at the soap opera chosen to entertain us. I was thankful when that was interrupted by the President's press conference.


After another mispronunciation of my name, I was handed a gown and directed to the pink dressing rooms. "Waist up."

Back On (Where's) George's Money Trail

I finally spent my "Fishbone - Where's George" dollar bill yesterday. I'd had other opportunities to -- once the item I was purchasing cost less than I anticipated and once I just couldn't part with "Fishbone George" so I handed over a different legal tender.

To purchase a brownie and petit four at Betty Bakery, I released "Fishbone George". Minutes later, along Atlantic Avenue I stopped to buy some Shea Butter. I was going to buy just one tub of it, but the second proprietor of the shop told me "3 for 10." Had I not bought the 2 extra tubs of Shea butter, I wouldn't have gotten the second bill. One of the bills I got as my change had ink on it that caught my eye -- IN GOD WE TRUST -- circled in red. For a split second I thought it was a Where's George?® bill. It wasn't until I got home and was organizing my change that I noticed I did indeed receive another bill.

There's meaning to this. It's a sign. But what?

"To follow the $ somehow", TastyKeish text me.

"Hell ya. That I can do."

Side Note:  When I first showed TK the Fishbone bill she informed me that she interviewed a member of Fishbone at SXSW last year. The day I tracked Fishbone George, I got that message about the virus study and also learned the Fishbone on the bill was a reference to the same band.

Synchronicity.



So now I track this bill... it's been in Minnesota, Delaware and now New York. Where to next?

*   *   *

Whitney, Religion and the GOP

I didn't watch Whitney Houston's funeral. I didn't have access to a feed. Over lunch, I checked my Twitter feed on my phone and saw tweets extolling on how beautiful the service was (in real-time of course), how they were being taken to "black church", how glad they were that CNN was broadcasting the service, a religious service, and that that was a good thing. Even some tweeters were pleased to the point of pissing in their pants that Jews and Muslims were being shown the ceremony and that made it a "great day for the world".


Not taking anything away from Whitney Houston's career and accolades, I understand the outpouring of affection and reverence. But it made me think about separation of church and state. There's already way too much religion in this election. The same religion that was broadcast by CNN is the same religion of Santorum. I listened to the simulcast of Face the Nation last week and was in shock at what that man was spewing. But his ideologies are the same of the church that so many on Twitter, so many Blacks, were praising. I've never quite understood Black Christians (my family included). Knowing the origin of why Blacks are Christian makes it hard for me to accept that religion as my own. Many accept it as the religion. That's their choice. I don't like it shoved down my throat.

My Period Mistake

Picture it:

A 31 year old woman is sitting at her desk at work. She's menstruating. Second day.

She stands and feels a little damp. No, a lot damp. Before 11am, there's no way she could've soaked through a pad already. She makes a quick run to the bathroom to find a pad barely soaked. However, the front of her panties and jeans are soaked.

Where's George Money Trail

Chasing the all-mighty dollar.

That's the one dollar bill I received as change for my umbrella purchase on Valentine's Day (before I came face to face with Bruno). The dollar itself was actually very crisp, but it "vandalized". When I looked closer, I noticed the statement: Fishbone Was Here! in the familiar Andy font. I also noticed the request to track the bill at Where's George?®

Yeah, it took me a while, but I finally got around to finding out where George had been...

Open Your Legs, Ladies

Madonna is always opening her legs.



During a conversation in which a friend gave me the play-by-play of the Grammy's (I didn't watch), it segued to Glen Campbell being one of the best performances of the night. I chalk that up to him being from an era where you had to perform and entertain the crowd with talent. This led us to Madonna. I said my last memory of an awards show is Madonna performing "Vogue" and the moment she lifted the bottom of her Victorian gown to "bump and grind it".


I grew excited talking about her "Don't Tell Me" video (male dancers and crotch-watching opportunities) and of course, "Human Nature". That scene where she sits with her legs open and slowly slides her thighs together and snaps them shut. Love it (not to mention the entire video and the message of the song).


Express yourself, don't repress yourself

That's when I made the statement, "Madonna is always opening her legs."



I do too. It's such a comfortable posture. It provides stability. It can be sensual and sexual, depending on context.


And it's frowned upon.

BLT, Bruno And Me

BLT Burger is Native Creative Concierge™ approved.

 

Bruno

As I peered from behind my BLT Burger menu, I took in the sight of the massive steer, horns cutting clear across the restaurant. He hadn't noticed me. He was watching the table full of women before him.

Bruno is his name. He scared the bejesus out of me.

My friend offered to change seats with me. The waiter later suggested the same. Oh no. I couldn't have my back to Bruno. I had to see him. I had to (literally) face my fear.

My first attempt to take a photo of Bruno was pathetic. I barely got past the booth when I could feel his immense strong-like-bull energy. Oh no. Wasn't gonna happen.

My fear was palpable.

The Pisco and grapefruit drink hadn't supplied me with liquid courage yet.

I ordered The Steakhouse, a burger made of Brisket, Short Ribs and Sirloin beef. I'm no stranger to where the succulent beef on my plate came from. I've witnessed cows, goats and chickens slaughtered for delicious, tender meat. I just don't understand the need to reanimate the corpses or mount the heads on a wall. It creeps me out to no end.

Synchronicity

Photo By: William Perls

There are coincidences in life.

I'm aware of them.

Last week, I was introduced to the term for those coincidences that are a bit more - synchronicity.


We stood on Rivington Street and discussed art, philosophy and metaphysics. BEAU commented on how small the world is and that his life is full of synchronicity lately. Turns out I went to one of his shows in February 2010 and here we were meeting again, so I agreed with the small world observation; lately I can go anywhere and run into someone I know. Even in the most unexpected places. We're all connected somehow. At one point during the brain-bending conversation BEAU shared his belief that life may be already planned for us. Not by any particular religious deity but that there is a predestined plan. That was a Monday night.

Pregnancy, Exercise and Beyoncé

The above showed up on my Tumblr timeline this week. The reblogs and likes included comments like, "I can't believe she just had a baby!", "How can she look like that after giving birth!", "My goal is to look like Beyoncé", "Told you she was never pregnant!"


Why is it expected that a woman will look like a shell of her former self after giving birth? Yes, there will be changes in her body after pregnancy and childbirth but it's unusual for her to be "in shape" or "look good"? The way the body handles the changes (and trauma) of pregnancy varies from woman to woman. One factor that makes the "recovery" easier (and apparently, astonishing to some) is exercise.


Beyoncé was in great shape before she became pregnant. She joined the Let's Move! Initiative which encourages physical activity and educates on the importance of exercise. I'm assuming she remained active during and that exercise (dance, weights, yoga, whatever) will be a part of her life now that she's a mother. I hung out with a friend about 2 weeks after she gave birth and it didn't strike me as odd that she looked like she did before she got pregnant. Genetics do play a role, but activity is a huge part of it. She exercised on a regular basis for years before becoming a mother.

Pain, Pain, Go Away

I've had a uterus my entire life. We've had a very amicable relationship. At about 3 pm on Monday afternoon something upset her. She slowly grew enraged. But I was weathering her storm. At about 8 o'clock while I was trying to wind down she was just getting started. I text a friend about these newfangled pains I was experiencing. I wasn't doubled over but was definitely uncomfortable. They say it helps to talk about your problems; you gain insight on how to manage them, solve them or perhaps they'll even go away. I don't remember when I dozed off but at about 11pm I was woken by CM Punk screaming into the pipe bomb and my uterus screaming louder. What the what? I made myself a little more comfortable but was determined to sleep this off like I could sleep off other pains.


Shame on me for not having any pain meds at home but I'm rarely in pain. Moaning and whimpering, I stumbled around my bedroom at about 2:30ish in the morning. Pain blurred my vision. Pain made me sweat. Not doubled over in pain, uh, Abigail? Merely uncomfortable, Missy? I slumped over the bathroom sink for a while when a wave of nausea hit me. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's nausea and vomiting. That was the push I needed. I swallowed hard and had a heart-to-heart with the grimace in the mirror. I needed meds. But I couldn't walk straight due to the pain (my vagina was now singing backup). Never in my life had I experienced pain like this. Who are these women who deal with this every month?

Your Black Is Beautiful

I was contacted earlier this week about participating in an upcoming PSA and documentary, Black is Beautiful, a project created by Babatunde Odesanya of the Black and Latino Film Coalition.

"This documentary is the culmination of 100 Black and Latina women verbally celebrating the strength, power and beauty of being a person of color.  From their hair, to their features to their varied tones, these ladies will be expressing why "Black Is Beautiful" to them."