#apimm

I won’t lie to you; I’ve been belaboring this entry for weeks, perhaps even a month or two and for no real reason, honestly. I don’t think it’s writer's block as much  as say brain fog or maybe inconsistent digestion attributing to my inability to get my thoughts straight (I read about this recently, may need to re-up on my  Lipase, Amylase and Bromelain). Perhaps it's the trappings of life i.e. work, other  obligations, etc. needed immediate tending to. Whatever the reason, the words  haven’t flowed as easily as they have in recent months. That is until a post-event  late night grub session with the OG homie Craig Shapiro (referred to as Shaps  from here on out) 4 Friday’s ago after a summer party in West Hollywood.

My home-girl Jules (one of the illest jewelers, Period) brought her NYC based  summer residency to LA for one night of “watching people have a good time in the summertime” civilized debauchery. After a few whiskeys and several twirls in the courtyard of the Palihouse on Holloway (ain’t stepped foot through those  corridors in about 7/8 years…ghosts of history’s past and a few delicious  skeletons lol) hunger set in and Shaps invites me to quell the beast in my tummy  by feasting on some of the best red sauce pasta this side of the Mason Dixon. I  clock in at just a little past midnight as we approach the entrance at Jones.  Upon arrival I knew I’d arrived at a place unlike any other I’d been to in the city  thus far. Let me preface this by saying, there’s nothing memorable about the  exterior of the eatery. It’s almost identical to any other pub or bar nestled on a  corner street off Santa Monica Blvd. in Hollywood, But it's the monotony of the  façade that hides the gem because inside Jones is where the magic happens. If Beatrice Inn and Minetta Tavern birthed a child it would be Jones Hollywood.  Replete with red-checkered tablecloth, leather chairs, red velvet tapestry, dim-lit  1920’s style light fixtures and a handsome bar that serves as the focal point for  the restaurant.  

The crowd is a well-balanced mix of creative types, locals and my favorite, east  coast transplants but the music takes you back to eras predating current top 40  (from 90’s Hip Hop to British Punk Rock to Do-Wop and everything in between).  

I learn that a certain big shot actor (who shall remain nameless) and is a frequent  patron, always commands the corner booth near the bathrooms so he’s  uninterrupted while getting blowjobs under the table from young aspiring  starlets (hey, no judgment, welcome to Hollywood LOL) And then there is the  Food! Shaps and I copped a squat at the bar (my favorite area to dine) and  ordered the bruschetta, burrata caprese, spaghetti & meatballs served in the  cast-iron skillet it was prepared in and bottle of primitivo to wash it all down. I  don’t think I’ll ever enjoy spaghetti any other way again! Assuming there was no way possible for the meal to get any better, out comes  another skillet of heaven only this time it served the most climatic apple pie I’ve had in ages. To know me is to know how much I LOVE apple pie! I really do  believe I had an orgasm at first bite. For sure I trembled, maybe even shivered. That was it I was hooked- line and sinker! I returned 5 times in 2 weeks and  brought new friends each time. Instantaneously Jones became my new favorite  and shortly after, my Cheers (Where everybody knows your name)! This was my Lucien only instead of French fare, my LA staple serves up classic Italian.

And then something even more momentous occurred. I finally committed to establishing a real life in Los Angeles. Now you’re probably thinking, didn’t this chick move to La La land like almost 2 years ago (scratches head)?!

Yes and No. Allow me to explain…

Technically speaking, yes, I relocated just under 2 years ago as part of the  arrangement for the job I’d accepted but I maintained my Brooklyn residency  and hadn’t spent more than 3 weeks in LA at any given time since I moved. I  lived bi-coastally, my soul firmly planted in NYC but my feet were on the west  coast. Up until this point, I hadn’t been able to officially say goodbye to the city  that raised me, molded me, loved me, abused me, broke me and celebrated me.  Maybe deep down I feared the change as much as I welcomed it. I remember  shortly after my first month living in WeHo on the drive to my office, I had this  sense of melancholy or perhaps dissatisfaction and I couldn’t figure out why.  There was absolutely nothing wrong in my life. On the contrary everything was  lining up. Blessings in abundance but something inside felt off. I recall during  brunch one Sunday with my sister and fellow foodie, Melina, sharing my  perplexity and confusion over my current state. I remember telling her that I was  so disappointed in the culinary experience I’d had thus far and was sick and  tired of hearing about how great the restaurant scene in LA is. Outside of my  own cooking, I’d been frequenting the same 4-5 restaurants for months and the  lack of diversity in my food experiences was starting to weigh on me. “I’m eating the same shit and it’s depressing me!” I explained. Mel being the meticulous  Capricorn she is then proceeded to list on the paper tablecloth, 35-40 eateries  she knew would blow my mind and lift my spirits! Broken down by area, cuisine,  known for, must try, lunch-brunch-dinner, etc. (insert a gazillion heart-eyed &  drooling emojis) I swear the Universe gives you exactly what you need at exact  moment you need it if you’re brave enough to step up, make the change and be  present in your one shot at life! This list was the start to the beginning of a new  experience. During the weeks and months to follow I would set out on food  crawls alone or with friends to get my fix. We’ve since coined this list the M&M  as in time I would include my own additions and share with my like-minded  greedy gut peers :-)

Which brings me to Jones! Much like all things I love, I attach a nickname or  shortened version as a term of my appreciation and endearment. Jones  Hollywood is Joni to me. You may be asking yourself, how can one restaurant  make such a strong impact or influence such a hefty decision in one’s life. I think  it’s more akin to what Joni represents. Joni represents the timing of things. I was  introduced to Joni at a point in my life where I’m finally really ready to close yet  another chapter, damnit a volume or end a season. Truly bid farewell to the past  and plant both feet firmly into the present and look to the future! Joni offers a  generous amount of nostalgia in a completely new environment and all in perfect  timing. Perhaps if we’d met sooner, though she’d still have all the wonderment  and deliciousness she does today, I wouldn’t have been ready to see it or be  open to it. Yeah, I “moved” a while ago but my spirit was everywhere else. I live  a life of spontaneity as much as I possibly can but I’m never, ever impulsive. I  am steadfast but patient because I trust the universe implicitly and allow it to do  its work with no interference on my part because I truly believe that what is  meant for us will be ours in perfect divine timing and not one moment sooner. I  don’t care how impossible something may appear to be or random, far-fetched.  The odds are usually in my favor and my faith is unwavering. Epiphanies and  affirmations can happen long after a decision was made and I thank Joni for that  reminder :-) -APIMM

Playlist for this entry from my schizophrenic iTunes library

Questions, dancing around my mind frame like water in a hot frying pan.

What if.

What if I could say the things I really wanted to say?

What if I could share, in detail, what I really want to share?

That’s not to say what I’m sharing isn’t of my choosing, I write as It comes to me  or as I recall an emotion so everything shared thus far is as true and accurate to  the moment it happened.

What I’m attempting to say is, what if I could share the memories, many of you would never ever believe, or at the very least, you’d doubt, considerably, as human contempt has been normalized in our current culture and haters exist.

What if I could connect it for you or pie/venn diagram it all.

What if I could write the greatest love story ever told but never lived. What if I could tell you about the beginnings, the beginnings of so many things  you read about or recant in glorious splendor at dinner parties.

What if I could tell you my inspiration for this entry (what inspired me to share  this moment of vulnerability.

What if I didn’t care? Like really didn’t care about the greater perspective of  things.

What if I didn’t compulsively bleed all over Facebook every other day about my  outrage toward the hypocrisy we live in called America.

What if I, to the best of my ability, caught myself immediately in those moments  and reflected on my blessings and remind myself that I could’ve been destined to  chart a different course and mine has been a joy ride in comparison to other’s  experiences.

What if I didn’t truly believe I was sent here for a purpose much greater than  even I understand or can comprehend fully?

What if this is getting too lefty already. LOL

What if I (pregnant) pause right here and rewind a bit.

What if I shared a timeline of my Wonder Years dating back to the beginning.  Would that be ok?!

It would go a little something like this,

What if I wasn’t JAMAICAN, First generation yes, but Jamaican, for real,  nonetheless?

What if Eric and his daughters Audrey and Valerie didn’t alight in New York City  in the early 70s?

What if another of Eric’s daughters, (my mother) Maxine, didn’t demand (nothing  short of a then 15 year old girl having a temper tantrum) on being the next from  the family to come to ‘farin.”

What if my family’s American Story began anywhere else other than The Bronx? What if Maxine didn’t attend Lehman College and meet a handsome dreaded  young fella named Orville Williamson. What if they never fell in love. What if Maxine wasn’t chosen to bring me into this world.

What if I wasn’t Orville’s first daughter, dispelling his initial desire of wanting a  boy. How could he not fall in love with this “beautiful little creature he’d created”  On no, complete and total elation, he was overjoyed on sight. What if Maxine & Orville’s dynamic were different and their relationship lasted  longer those few early tender years.

What if Maxine were less overprotective and more tolerant of her young  impressionable daughter during those childhood years.

What if she hadn’t tried her best to “shield me” from the inevitable temptations  of adolescence, keeping what felt like to me, locked in the house until she  couldn’t any longer.

What if I was never allowed to go to Ayana’s 14th birthday basement party. What if I never met him…

What if I never loved him?

What if I never sang of him… a song.

What if I remained a virgin a bit longer.

What if I saved it for someone more deserving, kinder or at the very least,  honest.

What If my naiveté towards the ways of boys/men remained prevailed. What if I  hadn’t been in a rush to “grow up” so fast.

What if I wasn’t a hopeless romantic who despite a few harsh lessons continued  to believe in true love.

What if I would’ve tried out to be a DJ on the air at my high school radio station. What if I majored in Broadcast Radio instead of “Journalism and blab blab blab “  and earned a degree in “it didn’t matter much in my career anyway” in College. What if during those undergrad days I didn’t meet a few nice fellas. Some good,  some, eh but cherished memories still.

What if along the college way, I didn’t meet him my sophomore year. What if we didn’t love.

What if we didn’t…song.

What if we didn’t chaos.

What if we didn’t create…

What if we decided differently.

What if…

What if I, after 2 years of University and living in Philadelphia, hadn’t decided to  change directions and move back to New York.

What if I never landed in “fashion”

What if I never took that first long journey to the Far East, Hong Kong to be exact. What if, upon returning to the states having completed my first real  job/internship, I continued to work instead of taking the summer off to “chill” What if Aliyah didn’t die a few weeks after.

What if the Towers hadn’t fallen several days later.

What if I stayed at that shitty music PR job all the way out in bumble fuck middle  a no ‘where New Jersey because that’s the only place I could find work after  9/11. NYC had flat lined.

What if out of desperation to get back into the city I never accepted the  administrative position at that advertising agency on Park Ave South. What if, during that time on a lunch break some random Wednesday in July, I  hadn’t craved something very specific (somethin’ sweet I’m sure but exactly  what, fails me now) that only one deli on Lexington Avenue sold. And what if on the way back to the office from that deli I didn’t run into him. What if it hadn’t been about a year since we last saw each other. What if the attraction wasn’t as dynamic from the beginning as it was in that  moment.

What if I wasn’t completely enraptured by his brilliance.

What if he hadn’t been in complete awe (his words not mine) of my entire being.  He said it was my face he couldn’t get past. It was etched in his brain forever. What if his voice hadn’t gripped me like a magnet.

What if my “smarts” hadn’t mesmerized him.

What if during that time, we didn’t hear the world through a mirroring set of ears. What if we never fell in love?

What if we’d never come of age together.

What if we didn’t love.

What if we didn’t grow.

What if we never…song.

What if life didn’t happen.

What if things would’ve HAPPENED.

What if we weren’t kids.

What if I wasn’t afraid.

What if we didn’t chaos.

And what if things didn’t eventually and perhaps inevitably, fall apart. What if Tokio wasn’t taken from me… (I still tear up thinking about this… how  could anyone do that)

What if my external life/career life had been more conventional. What if I had sought to be an educator or a veterinarian instead of traversing  down the path of “creativity and/or artistic industries”

What if, when the opportunity presented itself, I accepted that job offer and

moved to Switzerland.

What if several months, perhaps a year or so later, my mother hadn’t run into one  of my older cousins at some family function and insisted that he and I reconnect because we work in the same “business” (her words) as the other. What if the reunion with said cousin was less than desirable and he and I hadn’t  ventured out together and gone on to build a successful media and branding  agency.

What if somewhere along the “road to success”, I wasn’t introduced to him. What if our company’s travel agent wasn’t able to rectify the itinerary she  screwed up and I missed my flight to Los Angeles that one Thursday in  November.

What if at this posh Hollywood gathering, filled with folks you probably read  about and assume they’re more fascinating than they actually ever are, there  were more interesting people to converse with instead of our small insular  group.

And what if the evening felt more like work and less like, “hmm, I might actually  be enjoying this party.”

What if I wasn’t pleasantly surprised to be so surprised…intriguing as he was. What if we didn’t break bread together?

What if we didn’t…song.

And what if we didn’t hear the world through a similar set of ears. What if I wasn’t so oblivious.

What if back then I wasn’t so hard-nosed focused on work and reputations. What if once in a while I came up for air.

What if he didn’t shoot his shot.

What if I never responded in-kind.

What if it hadn’t caught me off guard.

And what if after hearing that one he played for me, I didn’t know what I knew  the moment the beat dropped.

What if I had been prepared.

What if it weren’t complicated, so very complicated.

What if that hadn’t stopped us.

What if that one morning in February, an unexpected blizzard began just an hour  earlier and my flight to Kingston wasn’t able to depart.

What if we had more time.

What if he wasn’t the man he was.

And what if I didn’t have karmic cycles, unbeknownst to me, I needed to go  through.

What if later that same year sometime around late fall, I stayed home and  enjoyed a cozy evening in the new apartment I worked so hard for. What if I didn’t ignore the voice in my head, going against my better judgment  and skipped The Box nightclub and all that came with it. Yuck. What if I didn’t enter into stimulation over-drive from that moment forward. What if I hadn’t been a zombie for the 3 years following that Box

encounter. Uggghhhh.

What if I had overdosed at any point during those black out years. (True story) What if She succeeded in killing me or convincing me to kill myself. (Hard to  believe and incredibly sad, I know but an even Truer Story :-( What if amid all the chaos, at my core didn’t exist a solid foundation that would  eventually kick in and pull me out of despair.

What if I never woke up.

What if I never stopped. Stopped EVERYTHING.

What if I didn’t fall.

What if I wasn’t forced to change.

What if I HADN’T forced the change.

What if I didn’t fight through the pain of change.

What if I STAYED.

What if I remained the same.

What if I hadn’t removed the rose colored glasses I’d worn for longer than I can  remember.

What if I didn’t shift perspectives.

What if I didn’t face fear.

What if I didn’t run from the fear.

What if I hadn’t stopped dead in my tracks, do an about face and confront fear  head on.

And what if, at that moment, I didn't make the most important promise to 7 year  old Mashariki. A promise I vowed to do my ABSOLUTE best to never EVER consciously or subconsciously break again.

What if she doubted me or didn’t believe me.

What if she never accepted my apology?

And what if she didn’t give me a second chance to make it right with her. What if I never came to the realization that she is the one I’m stuck with for life  so I have to get right with her. There was no other way.

What if I didn’t realize that once I get right with her, ALL else would be right as  rain.

What if Mashariki didn’t welcome me home.

What if she gave up on me?

What if she didn’t continue to push me each and every day since. What if she didn’t remind me to live in gratitude and remember that God is my  homie for life.

What if she hadn’t continued to protect me all the years and thousands of miles  traveled since.

What if along this new roadway, I didn’t meet him.

And what if we didn’t…song.

What if I shut the fuck up from time to time, LOL ;-)

Cheers to the last 10 years! Happy Holidays, Happy New Year but most of all… Happy Birthday, Daddy! You’ve been here the entire time and I know you’re  pleased. November 20th :-) -APIMM

Soundtrack for this entry from my schizophrenic iTunes, Tidal and Spotify libraries.

Hard to believe we’re already five months into 2019. It was just 2009 eleven months ago. Time is moving faster than freight trains with no breaks on a  downhill track. Since the year began, I’ve been to six countries in five months,  and not because I’m a rock star, nope not at all, not in the literal sense at least, something better. I’m FREE. Free as a bird and I’ve managed to create a career  and life path that’s allowed me to go anywhere I want, whenever I want,  however I want, with whomever I want at any given moment on Any Given Sunday. This also allows for me to rarely be at a loss for content to share. Oftentimes having multiple situations swirling around my head in a linear time frame. Memories from 30 years ago remain as fresh as the ones from 30 hours prior;  intricately weaving this quilt I call “Life” together. All the puzzle pieces start to fit together and my view of the forest is as clear as a cloudless day.

I don’t rush this stuff, when it comes. Stuff being my column, my  stories, my chosen “shares.” This one began on a Sunday in late January while on a girls’ trip to Cartagena. I managed to break away from the group on our last  day to savor a few precious solitary moments, settle into the experience and  enjoy a charming lunch date for one. Cartagena, a historic coastal city in Colombia, feels like a mélange of New Orleans & Havana w/ touches of Mexico  City and Florence. I’ll be honest it took a day or two to catch a vibe or The Vibe,  mainly due to my traveling companions. I like small charming hotels, even  smaller restaurants, and no plans – wake up in the morning and go where the  day takes me. My girls are, the “full planned itineraries, a large hotel group, eat at  restaurants in said hotel, spend-the-day shopping,”  kind of gals. Absolutely nothing wrong with that and they have been my sisters for close to 20 years but we  have very different travel styles. Nonetheless, when the opportunity for a little  solo exploration presented itself, I ventured off and instead of Sex got “lost in  the city” much in the way I typically do when I travel.

There’s an easy breezy relaxed rhythm during the day in Cartagena and the  scenography is reminiscent of the NOLA Garden and French Quarter districts  but the nighttime is when the city comes alive. It reminds me so much of Old  Havana between the salsa blaring from every venue at every turn and young  people spilling into the streets at all hours, sweaty from dancing, happily inebriated in search of the perfect Arepa to lessen the next day’s impending  hangover. I kinda love Cartagena and look forward to returning one day with my  love, falling deeper in love and getting “Sexed” in that city ;).

Like Cartagena, I love Sundays too! And every Sunday since that Sunday has  been a mixed bag of events, cities and circumstances. As I conclude this entry on Sunday May 12th from a Palazzo in Treviso, Italy that dates back to 1562, ending an incredible week and my first experience at Biennale de Venezia, I  reminisce over the joys and pains of this beautiful life and all the blessings and  lessons it brings with it. The fourteen Sundays In between Cartagena and now, found me back in Marrakech laying the foundation to my next creative endeavor  and the soft launch of a new artistic platform AFRƎE culture, returning to Paris in a serendipitous twist of fate and perhaps impending love, having a Sundae on Sunday with friends during a pit stop home in New York only to descend into the  depths of despair a few hours later at the devastating news that one of our generation’s prophets, a master creative and rare soul had lost his life to  cowardice. I’m still processing the loss of Ermias Joseph Asghedom, known to  many as Nipsey Hussle The Great…We’re either living in hell on earth and all the great ones are being taken from us or their being called home because the  work they’re needed for surpasses anything they're able to do while in this  physical 3D space. Why did he have to go?

The outpouring of love, admiration and respect since the news of Nip’s passing I  believe would shock even him! Nip was always respected amongst his peers but  I don’t think any of us truly understood the impact he made on his community  and the culture until we no longer had him. Which brings me to a point I  addressed in my last entry- why do we wait until people are no longer here to  celebrate them? Why does it take someone dying for us to fully appreciate life?  We’ve lost so many irreplaceable souls over the last few years, when will we  finally understand that life is not promised! This isn’t a practice run. When it’s  over, it’s OVER and eventually All Men Must Die…Valar Morghulis. With that I’ll  say it again, Give Them Their Flowers While They’re Still Here If you care for  someone, tell him or her now. If you respect, admire, appreciate and are  inspired by someone or something, say it now. If you Love someone, TELL HIM  OR HER NOW! Last chances rarely come with warnings. – APIMM

Soundtrack to this entry from my schizophrenic iTunes x Tidal Libraries