Don't Break His Face in Case of Emergency

Photo: Ruth Fremson/The New York Times

If you were in New York City last night, Saturday, February 13 and tried to catch a downtown A or C train between 9:30 and 11 PM, you were assed out. The train I was on was the cause of the delay. The train car I was in on the A Train - 6129 - was the cause of the delay. The white man I gave that "don't sit near me" look to was the cause of the delay. He pulled the emergency brake.

I didn't know that when I first looked at him. He merely looked slightly left of center and I didn't want to be bothered. He was coherent and lucid enough to know what my look meant and kept it moving to the next set of seats.

Then I heard chatter from the center of the car - "he did it" "yeah, that white dude right there" "emergency brake" "that nigga right there"

I looked towards the people talking, "What? This dude pulled the emergency brake?" I asked motioning at him with my thumb.

"Yeah!" I saw the red cord pulled at the other end of the car and then shot a death glare at the man. Another woman sitting at the opposite end of the car, on the other side of him, asked what was going on.

"This man right here," I pointed wishing the power of anger behind my menacing point would pierce his eyeball, "pulled the fucking emergency brake."

She went off too.

And we sat there.

Somewhere between 125th and 59th street. In the tunnel.

Dude, Your Privilege is Showing

I'm going to pass on today. Juggling money and time this week. Sorry for the last min! Maybe next week when finances are better! I sent that message to a potential date. The night before I told him I could give him an answer in the morning on whether or not we'd meet that day or later date (I was waiting to see if a direct deposit would go through).

When I say no, I mean no. I don't say, "no, not this time", or "you're really nice but, no", or even "no, thank you". In this situation I said I'd pass and when my finances were better we could meet.

I thought I was pretty clear. He even got more of an explanation than I usually give most people.


His cherry-topped response: Boo.. I think you are getting cold feet. It's happy hour, $20 would go a long way...


That's when I knew I was dealing with one of those men, a bro in gentleman's clothing up until the point they don't get what they want. 

He Only Plays with Pussies

Back in the Saddle

The first pussy he played with that day

It all started with his question: Want to meet? I was down. It'd been about a year since we'd last seen each other.


Wait, here's a little backstory:  I read an article about Bushwick and they mentioned his cafe. I sent him the text: Bonjour! Ca va? It's been a long time! I told him about the article I'd read, asked how he was, he asked if I wanted to meet, fast forward to:


I wasn't up for meeting him that Sunday night. He text me:  It will be hard to wait until tomorrow... I wanted to kiss you everywhere, to lick you everywhere...


Well, that's one thing he didn't lie about. I said I could meet him halfway, that I wasn't going to Bushwick etc. especially if it's late. He suggested brunch on Monday because that's his day off. I was game thinking it'd be at a restaurant. He text: We can have brunch at my place, I'm a cook, remember... Yes, i will pay for your cabs.. (I told him I wasn't taking the train out there). He asked me if I "prefer a shaved face or not". I told him I like facial hair to which he responded: So, I don't shave...

Timing is Everything

Back in the Saddle

"Imagine if that had happened five minutes earlier," he said to me. My eyes widened as I considered the possibility.


5 minutes earlier, I was on all fours. He was on his knees behind me making a ruckus. I hushed him and told him to stop slapping my ass because the sound was reverberating off the bridge nearby and would attract attention. He bent over, resting his torso on my back and whispered his raunchy comments and commands in to my ear.


We sat in the field with the majority of our clothes back in place. My fuck buddy or Fuddy, sat to my left. We made small talk enjoying the breeze against our skin that remained exposed. I showed him something on my phone and happened to look to my right and could make out a figure in the dark approaching at a high rate of speed. Not a five or six foot human form -- but a small furry figure only a few inches tall -- hurtling towards me in the grass. My mind barely processed what was happening. I exhaled and screamed while scrambling over my belongings and Fuddy. All the while I was bracing myself for the brush of fur or a bite.

Back In The Saddle

Back in the Saddle

How many of you remember this post: Random Musings on Empty Vaginas? Yes, that was a long time ago. The struggle was real. There were fits and starts.


The struggle is over.


In true life fashion, resuming relations with men has come with its fair share of blog-worthy, smile-inducing, cringe-worthy, WTF and oh, Oh, OH! moments.


On my HowAboutWe profile, I answered the question -- For me, a first date no-no is: with "giving me something to blog about instead of something to text my friend about". Oh, my adventures have consisted of both.

One Woman's Struggle with Celibacy.

How I got My Groove Back.

She's Gotta Have It... and How She's Getting It.

(Pick a subtitle... any will do)


I will share those tales and lessons in my Back in the Saddle series. I may not have the life years under my belt that Sophia Petrillo has but I've got anecdotes for days. Picture it...

*   *   *

The Date That Wasn't

One of my recent forays into online dating...


We exchanged a few messages before deciding to go to the movies. Previous plans to go on a gallery crawl didn't pan out because of location (he's in NJ) and other plans (I had other plans).


He'd be in "the city" (Manhattan, NY) on this particular day. He played an active role in selecting which movie we'd watch where, took into account my travel, all that jazz. We had the movie and time all picked out (4:15pm on a weekday). We were going to meet at the theater. I had his photo queued up on my phone so I could match it up with the man I would meet.

City Crab Lunch Break

City Crab is Native Creative Concierge approved.

Juan mans the raw bar at City Crab in NY

Last Friday's lunch was at City Crab in the Gramercy/Flatiron neighborhood in Manhattan. My friend and I had been there before for drinks during happy hour and for post-brunch drinks on a Saturday (we like drinks). My friend chose City Crab because of Juan, the oyster shucker.

He's Too Short For Me

He answered my ad, which was more of a rant on folks going online to meet people then never actually meeting.


He told me he was "quite young", in his 20's. In any capacity, I avoid them. But since this wasn't a date-date, I was my usual open-minded, adventuresome self. I sent the message, "Quite young"? Oh boy. But I'm not looking to date so I guess it's ok." I could go for some witty banter and a drink. What I did like was that he chose the place and time. I have declared to no longer deal with lazy men -- you ask me out then have a plan if I say 'yes'.

Michelle Obama and My Teeth

The day after Day 1 of the Democratic National Convention, I was in the dentist's chair at NYU College of Dentistry. Once the student dentist completed my examination she informed me that she'd bring in a faculty member (any one that she could find that was free) so they could examine me and determine whether or not they agreed with her course of action.


My student dentist is a young Nigerian woman. The faculty member she found is a Black woman of about 50. The DDS lowered my chair, and reclined the back, so now I was practically lying flat on my back. She examined my tooth in question and the rest of my teeth -- commenting that I have nice teeth and I obviously take care of them -- and agreed with the student dentist's findings and treatment plan and signed off on it.

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.

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.

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...

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.

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?

Shall We Dance?

"Do you dance?" he asked.

"What do you mean, like in general?" I asked. "Yeah, I dance."

"Do you dance to this kind of music?" The music playing was 30's, 40's & 50's swing, jazz and blues.

"No, I've never danced to this."

He extended his hand, "Shall we?"


After the Holiday Shops Opening event, that is how I ended my Thursday evening in Bryant Park under a crystal clear sky and waxing gibbous moon. He looked harmless enough, Ray did. That's his name. Ray. I didn't get a last name. Black gentleman of 60. He led me through the basics of the Lindy Hop and foxtrot. An audience formed, some snapping photos of us. When I caught on to the steps, he added kicks and spins. "Some times the man flips the woman over his head..."

Can't Afford Free

Photo credit: Fred Guenther

As I sat in the corner two-seater of the Q train, under the refreshing air conditioner blast, two men boarded the train at DeKalb Ave. I went back to my reading until one of the men  began to fill the car with the sounds of his accordion. Girl you look so sharp every time you pass in dem pum pum shorts It was an unconscious distraction as I sang along to the familiar melody in my head.


My phone rang indicating I had a text message. I joined many of the other straphangers in checking our phones while we had service above ground. Halfway across the bridge, I decided to put away my book; I was getting off at the next stop.