"....In Which Lennon Watches the End of The World In Good Company..."

So, December 21st was the big day when the world ends according to the Mayans and the gullible morons who believed them. For me, it was Friday. It was also Date Night.

I'd already made plans for a date, so if the world ended, I was going to spend it in the company of a beautiful transplant from Atlanta. We met a few months back on my commute to work. She admired my shirt and I admired her gorgeous locs. We talked for a while about psychology and our mutual love for writing, exchanged numbers and kept in touch. Our first date, we had a few drinks at my usual place, went for a walk through the park and talked for hours about everything and nothing all at once. While she's sort of radical in her own way, she's also very old fashioned. Her mother back home kept calling throughout the night and when I told her it was okay to answer it, she picked up and told Mom "I'm actually on a date with a nice gentlemen." This is something I'm not used to hearing women saying about any man....certainly not me (not in a while anyway).

When the chance arose to see her again, I was happy to take it. After all, the world was about to...**stifled laughter**...end. I might not get another chance. As it turned out, she lives three streets down from my house so I walked over and came to her door. Most of my dates usually prefer to meet me wherever we're going, so I'll confess a small thrill at doing things old school. The plan was to take the train downtown and happened across a homestyle-like diner. Once it stirred some memories of her hometown, she insisted we go in for a bite to eat. It wasn't exactly on the itinerary, but I'd never been inside myself, so I figured it wouldn't hurt. We laughed and joked, comparing and contrasting the writer communities in Atlanta and Houston. She told me about how the fallout of a bad breakup had brought her to my fair city. I found myself able to relate better than she knew. Heartbreak and pain can push you in the strangest of directions while you're waiting for the dust to settle until you look up and remember that the dust settling is life taking place.

After lunch, we headed to the movie theater, showing her the beautiful (in my opinion) parts of downtown. The movie theater had a full bar, so we did more laughing before going to see the latest James Bond movie, Skyfall, without confessing to one another until later that we'd both seen it already and just wanted to see it again. Then, there was the kiss....passionate...intense...slightly alcohol inspired. I'm not sure who initiated it, but I know who did absolutely nothing to stop it: both of us. She manuvered her body ever so slightly as if she wanted my hands to travel and explore. I resisted the urge, not so caught in the feeling that I would risk biting off more than I could chew in a public place and yet.....

It was the sort of kiss where you wouldn't even notice if the whole world fell apart in that moment. When I came to my senses, I noticed an older couple trying not to pay attention to us, but the wife seemed oddly compelled to glance over for split seconds at a time as if we were more interesting than the movie. Perhaps, she'd seen it already and didn't want to tell her man. Afterwards, we walked a few blocks from the theater where I showed her the way City Hall lights up after dark. We kissed deeply again despite passers-by. The bus ride home was teeming with smiling, joking and cuddling. We could hear her roommate's unruly guests from across the street as I walked her to her door. Although, I could tell she didn't the night to be over, she didn't stop smiling.

Me: I could come in for a few minutes if you like.

Her: I would like...but you shouldn't. We...

Me: I understand.

Her: I liked this.

Me: I'll tell you....it was nice to spend the end of the world with you.

Her: ......

Me: What?

Her: Do you practice these things you say?

Me: No.

Her: I have no defense for that.

Me: Then, I'll leave while I'm on a roll.

Her: Good night. **kiss**

I have to say.....I understand that I can be a slightly complicated man when it comes to sex and dating, but every so often, it's nice to have a night outside of the worry of trying to end a date with a bang (pun totally intended). If the comet or Cthulu or whatever had come that night, I'm not sure I would have minded.

The ABC's of Lennon...P is for Prince

So, I went out with my friend's roommate a while ago. We went out for drinks, shared a few laughs, went out for a walk in the park and then....sex. I'd planned for us to go to a little dive for a Prince listening party, but sex happened. On the first date. Accidental, without warning, flexible, insatiable, dirty, as-if-I-didn't-have-to-work-in-the-morning sex. Seeing as we had the second worthwhile date conversation I've had in almost four months, I got in touch with her to lobby for a second date. The following is a piece of that conversation.....

Me: So, I'm thinking we can go on the date I had planned in the first place.

Her: The one we went on was fun.

Me: I'll give you that.

Her: So, where were we supposed to go?

Me: A nice little out of the way place. Great for drinks and music. The night we were supposed to go, there was a Prince listening party for the latest album.

Her: He still makes music? Like really? Lol!

Me: ......

Her: What?

Me: Easy, now. Not his Royal Badness.

Her: Why not? He made music when my mom was in college. Let that simmer.

What I'm about to say may come across shallow or awful or any myriad of things. Whatever. I have rules. They're my ABC's. P is for Prince. It doesn't matter how good your conversation is, how smart you are, what sexy heels you have on, how good you look naked (Oh, for the love of Zeus, that woman looks good naked)....thou shalt not blaspheme against his Royal Badness. Ever. When a Prince song comes on, you don't change it. We listen until the song's over. When Purple Rain is on, unless the Houston Texans are playing, I am watching Purple Rain....specifically the opening where he plays "Let's Go Crazy." I understand that everyone is not a Prince fan. That's totally fine. But when I am in Prince Mode....this is the thing that takes you from the Cheesecake Factory to Denny's.

I'm okay with getting crap for this one.

"...In Which Lennon Has Many Mouths to Feed..."

So, I was thinking about a talk I had with a friend recently about relationships and why I don't have a particular taste to be in one and it made me think about my platonic friends (well, most of them are platonic, anyway). They're mainly women because I don't have the stomach to hang out with large groups of men for longer than five minutes (I have my reasons, but that's another blog topic). I was at work recently and every single one of my female coworkers seems to be....in a mood. As I was recounting this to a friend, he told me that if women share a space regularly for an extended amount of time, their menstrual cycles tend to occur closer to each other. I'd heard this before, but I believed it to be an old wives tale (I get a lot of those living in the south).

It occurred to me...there are a lot of women in my life and I love them all. I'm always there when they need me and I always will be. But that's a lot. A lot of feelings, a lot of menstrual cycles, 2 a.m. phone calls, venting, a lot of man problems to listen to, boyfriends to pretend I don't approve of, tall things to grab off the high shelf, heavy things to lift, opinions on hairstyles, opinions on outfits, doors to open, chairs to pull out, purses to hold, more menstrual cycles, toilet seats to remember to leave down....and that's just the ones I don't sleep with.

And I'm supposed to want to sign up for a relationship, too? Just thinking out loud today.

"...In Which Lennon Avoids Male Sabotage..."

I've discovered further proof that men are each other's downfalls. I was thinking about the psychotic woman I wrote about in my last two posts (Follow Up: I haven't heard from her since her four attempts at contacts. I think she's got the message at this point.). On our first....and thankfully last date, we ran into a longtime friend of mine who works nearby. He literally took one look at the woman and pulls me to the side.

Him: Is that the wife?

Me: Come on, man....you know better than that.

Him: So...no?

Me: No.

Him: You need to make her one.

It's important to keep in mind that he'd yet to introduce himself let alone engage her in any form of conversation. All he needed to see was boobs and ass before immediately thinking "Wow, Lennon really needs to snap that up.

I brought me back to another instance where I was hosting a function that was inevitably crashed for reasons unknown by my walking anthrax attack of a former lover and her blissfully ignorant husband. I was going around introducing myself to people, making sure they had everything they needed and found myself talking to a lady friend who'd shown up unexpectedly. The conversation went on for a while when she nudged me and quietly asked why my former was staring a whole in the back of her head. Later that evening, after they'd both left, a couple of the guys were talking with me about the disrespect of The Tumor showing up to clearly show off the new guy.

Friend: Yeah, that was foul. I'm surprised you didn't throw her out.

Me: I would have, but I don't want slut on my hands. That shit gets into your clothes and you won't get the smell out for days.

Friend: That's funny.

Me: Who's laughing? I still have stuff that smells like patchouli and wheatgrass.

Friend: **chuckles** Yeah, you don't need to worry about her. You're better off. She's not exactly...

Me: Not exactly what?

Friend: Well...she's kinda big, you know?

Me: .....

Friend: And, I mean, she has kids. That's two strikes.

Me: Is it?

Friend: Now, you need to be concerned with that sexy thing you were talking to all night.

Me: That....is complicated.

Friend: I mean, there's clearly an attraction there.

Me: Only an attraction. She's spoken for.

Friend: You need to do something about that.

Me: I don't break up happy homes.

Friend: Funny how I didn't see him here.

Me: He's probably at home with their child, man.

Friend: Oh, she has a kid. Well, that's one strike.

Here's another instance where a guy didn't really know either party that well and preceded to judge her worthiness for a monogamous relationship by two things: looks and children. For all he knew, she could have been a known felon. She could have been crazy, jealous, intellectually inferior or any number of things that should take someone out of the running. Why do men do this to each other? My theory is that men who are already in relationships are desperate to drag other men into the same complacency they find themselves in as a twisted form of fellowship.

Another working theory of mine is that it's because men are just plain incompetent when giving advice about women.

Or it could very well just be like this in the South. I haven't quite decided.

"....In Which Lennon Is Nearly Driven to Murder...."

So, a ladyfriend of mine was having a rough time the past week or so. I offered to buy her a drink and show her a good time to get her mind off of it. The following fit of psychosis actually happened on a date last night. First, there was the phone conversation:

Her: I'm almost ready, but I don't know if I should do something to my hair or wrap it up.

Me: It doesn't particularly matter to me. I'm sure you'll look gorgeous either way.

Her: I really don't want to have to do anything to it.

Me: Then don't do anything to it.

Her: Okay, I'm on the way.

I want everyone reading this to note that she clearly decided not to do anything to her hair, put a wrap on it and be on her way. Harmless, right?

Now, she's been out with me before, so it's no secret that I'm an outgoing date. The plan was to go to my usual place for some drinks and then head to a little "come as you are" open mic kind of event and then play it by ear from there.

When we met up, she had clearly done something to her hair (though I'm still not sure what). This is the conversation that followed.

Her: So, where're we going?

Me: Drinks first and there's this little thing over at Cafe So N So....

Her: Cafe?....like a club?

Me: Like a cafe.

Her: I didn't know we were actually DOING anything!

Me: What did you think we were doing?

Her: I don't know. I just....

Me: Please tell me you thought we were going to get a hotel room because that's still a possibility.

Her: Well, I'd have done something different with my hair.

Me: I thought you said you were going to wrap it up.

Her: I changed my mind.

Me: Well, it looks fine. I told you you'd look lovely regardless and so you do.

Her: I'm not sure I feel comfortable going somewhere people are actually going to see this.

Me: See what? I don't understand.

Her: You don't know. You're a man.

Me: It's a very low key place. Look at me. I'm in a tee shirt and jeans and I'm telling you I'm overdressed.

Her: I don't know....

Me: Tell you what...let's just go to the bar and get some drinks and see how we feel.

The subtext here was "Hopefully, after a little liquor, you'll calm the fuck down about your hair and let me quarterback the evening as planned." Unfortunately, I was wrong. Very wrong. Record breaking wrong. "I thought Leonardo DiCaprio was going to live to the end of The Departed" kind of wrong.

Her: What is this?
Me: A margarita
Her: What's in it?
Me: **shrugs** Margarita mix. I don't know.
Her: and what else?
Me: Some form of liquor, I'm to assume.
Her: Drink yours.
Me: **eating** Now?
Her: Drink.
Me: **sips** Tastes fine.
Her: Do you taste any alcohol?
Me: Yeah, I guess.
Her: It's not a guess. Just yes or no.
Me: Okay, fine. Yes.
Her: No you don't.
Me: I do. I've had these before. I've walked out drunk. It's fine.
Her: You're just saying that because you think I'm going to make a scene.
Me: Wait. THIS isn't a scene?
Her: No, this is Kool Aid. I wouldn't pay for that.
Me: Gee, it's a good thing you didn't. I did.
Her: I'm just saying. You can admit it's not strong.
Me: You know what? **signals for bartender**
Bartender: What's up, Len?
Me: Punch me in the face.
Her: Huh?
Me: I said "Hit me with a shot." 151, if you please.

It was like this for a significant amount of the night. I got a text from my friends, saying they wanted to link up. I asked her if she wanted to go and she readily agreed. The drinks there were a little stronger and I needed eyewitnesses to this woman's insanity. It continued:

Her: **hears country music** What's up with the music in here?
Female Friend: Oh, it's the jukebox. It plays random stuff sometimes if nobody's using it.
Her: Oh, no! We have to fix that. I'm going to go play some music. What do you guys want to hear?
Me: As long as it's not Rick Ross, I don't care.
Male Friend: Doesn't matter to me. It's your money, darlin.
Female Friend: Whatever you want.
Her: Are you sure? Here....write down what songs you want to hear.
Me: They said it's fine. You can just pick something, dear.
Her: No, I don't wanna just monopolize.....
Me: You know what? Come on. Let's pick something. **tries to insert money, but doesn't work**
Her: What happened?
Me: Wouldn't take money.
Her: Why?
Me: Wasn't working.
Her: Why?
Me: I don't know.
Her: Are you sure you did it right?
Me: "Insert bill face up" Pretty sure I followed the directions.
Her: Is it plugged in?
Me: Yes.
Her: How do you know?
Me: **points to plug** Because it's plugged in.
Her: Do you think the bartender knows how to work it?
Me: I think he knows it's not working.
Her: You're not going to ask him.
Me: Hadn't planned on it.
Her: Huh?
Me: Means "no"

From now on, I'm going to start evaluating all my dates like they did the androids in Blade Runner.

"....In Which Lennon Follows Up and Expresses His Gratitude..."

So, after the events of last night's post, the crazy woman has attempted to call twice and text three times with no answer from yours truly. I haven't answered back and unless she gets really persistent or annoying, I have little or no intent of ever answering again. In truth, the thing that irked me the most wasn't that she was self centered, pushy and condescending. Granted, that shit was horrible and any one of those things on their own was grounds for deletion. What really disgusted me was the fact that she was so shallow. The volunteer work she (allegedly) did seemed to not matter to her as much as having it on her resume to brag about. She just wanted to own (enter fast car here) and (enter big house here). At no juncture did she offer any insight into what it feels like for her to help people or the actual impact she wants to make on the world. She just seemed to want something to hold over everyone else's head to feel superior. And after dating an evil woman who seemed to be the summation of such ambition, it's needless to say I have no interest in having such an awful person breathing the same air as me. More to the point of this post, it makes me thankful for knowing what's important to me: following my dreams and caring for my loved ones. Money is necessary and useful, but only with proper perspective. It doesn't make me a better writer and I can't spend it when I'm dead. The love of my family, making the world a little better than it was before I got here and doing something to make myself happy every single day....this is what makes me thankful. And of course, I'm thankful for everyone who reads this.

"....In Which Lennon Meets a Crazy Person..."

No, this isn't her....

Is it possible for someone to talk so much, it physically fatigues the listener? I think that's what happened last night. So, this woman asked me if perhaps I wanted to get a cup of coffee after work. There was a Starbucks across the street from my job (I genuinely think there a Starbucks across the street from everyone's job) and I could have used an Izze. Besides, I always appreciate when a woman has initiative enough to ask, so I said "fuck it" and agreed. She asked for the address to my job and said she'd be there when I got off. The night before, my friends had invited me out to a bar at the last minute when I received a text from her, asking if she could call. I advised her that I was in loud, mixed company at the time. She joked (I'm pretty sure she was joking) about how I didn't invite her. Even though I explained that it was last minute, that was a preview of what was to come.

The next day after work, I waited for her at Starbucks as agreed. She texted, saying she'd be a few minutes late because she'd had trouble finding the place which was totally fine. As it turned out, she called with a terrible attitude about getting turned around, insinuating that if I'd called from the bar the night before, this wouldn't have been a problem (...in the age of Google, computers, smartphones with GPS). I laughed it off because I'm no stranger to women being pissy when they get lost. She made it fifteen minutes late when I met her outside, greeting her with a hug. She noticed this place along the street called "The Chocolate Bar" which is exactly what you'd think it is. After pointing out that she'd never been, I decided to forego the coffee and introduce her to something new. A few spoonfuls of ice cream later, she spoke about her love for manga (Japanese comics). I mentioned that I spoke a little Japanese I'd picked up from an ex girlfriend from Japan in high school. And so came Red Flag #1......

Her: So, I'm just going to ask....have you ever dated a black woman?

Me: Yes, of course.

Her: A lot of black women?

Me: Well, I don't keep a tally, but yes, I'd say so.

Her: How black?

Me: Excuse me?

Her: I mean, how black are we talking about here?

Me: I didn't know "we" had a scale.

Her: Well, there's "African American"...."mixed"...."Oreo"....

Me: I don't think that's relevant. So, how's the ice cream?

Red Flag #2: As soon as she heard I was a writer who didn't care about money, she went into a self righteous diatribe about how I should be writing here for this publication and letting this person who she's soooo tight with read my work (Sidenote: I know half of the people she knows. Also, I've been to a couple of the things she's allegedly been to. She wasn't there.)...."or you can just keep it all to yourself in your notebook." It's almost as if she didn't hear me previously talking about how my other line of work involves me sharing my writing...or how I'm also a blogger. It was more like a job interview where you're listening to the applicant ramble on, boasting and bragging about her accomplishments, beating her chest about her work in the community when, unbeknownst to her, I've done just as much volunteer work as she has. I wouldn't be surprised if she wrote Chuck Norris-like musings about herself and masturbated to them at night. But she didn't exhale long enough to find that out. She talked so non stop, I honestly believe the woman doesn't have lungs.

Red Flag #3: The following text conversation happened this morning.....

Her: G'mornin, Lenny. What's on the for the day?

Me: Hello. Writing, a few errands, some relaxation and some more writing.

Her: You are really committed to this writing thing...all the more reason you should be profitting from it....if not in cash, in notoriety.

Me: You do know what I do involves me sharing my writing, right? As in "out loud"? As in "in front of people"?

Her: Oh yeah...forgot that part.

Me: In addition to my progressing blog projects....

Her: Oh. Forgot that too.

Me: And my freelance work. Also, for the record, the word you were looking for was "profitable." And please don't call me "Lenny."

Her: Why?

Me: Not a fan of that name.

Her: Never again. What term of endearment should I use, love?

Me: Lennon.

Her: That's not a term of endearment....it should be special. Can I call you "Nommo"? "Nommo" means God's vital force through word.

Me: No.

Her: But it's from our continent...sacred language.... :( Maybe it's just sacred to me...never mind.

Me: I don't like pet names and it's a little too soon for that.

Her: Maybe so. As you wish, Lennon.

Me: I won't keep you. I am sure you need to finish your projects. ttyl

One of these days, I want to meet these men that find women like this endearing.

"....In Which Lennon Throws a Flag On The Play...."

So, I was on the bus ride home when I ran into a sister I hadn't seen in ages. We met once, exchanged numbers and had a few productive conversations about possibly getting together. However, the timing was bad and I'd just started seeing someone (one of the only exes that I still respect), so we eventually lost touch. She seemed to not have changed much (to her credit), so I exchanged a few words with her and she inevitably asked for my new number. Later that evening, we engaged in a small bit of conversation. This is part of that exchange.....


Her: So, what've you been up to?

Me: Oh, same old same old....the job's treating me okay. Same with the writing. Other than that, nothing special.

Her: Lucky you. I'm looking for bigger pay, better job. My job is steady so it's not a rush, but I'm always about advancement.

Me: Well, just stay positive. It'll work out for you.

Her: It had better! Do you know how hard I work?

Me: I can imagine.

Her: I want to live well and guarantee my future for myself and my future children.

Me: That's commendable.

Her: That's reality. I don't know if marriage is the plan but children definitely are so I have to grind now so I can enjoy them later.

**Blows Whistle** Umm..."I don't know if marriage is the plan, but children definitely are..." What?! Do you want a baby or a puppy? I understand that shit happens. People  have children with people that shouldn't be in a relationship with ALL THE TIME (seriously...watch MTV for a day), but I'm skeptical about women that knowingly want to sign a child up for a one parent household. I'm just saying....beware.

"...In Which Lennon Calls Out a Backpedaler..."

One of the most fun things about being single is that you get to watch things go full circles. You get to watch people tell you they're not looking for relationships when they really are. You get to watch evil exes preach on Facebook about what you shouldn't put up with from a man when you know for a fact that's exactly what they put up with (from you AND the guy after you). More to the point of today's post, it is inevitable that you'll run into the occasional "backpedaler."

It wasn't so long ago that I was a lanky Peter Parker of a man. Intellectually capable, but just a bit awkward. I held my own with the opposite sex, but my batting average wasn't exactly one to brag about. I got dissed just as much as I succeeded (if not more than)...especially by one young lady in particular. I was working on a video project at the time that required several street interviews when I, by chance, ran into this endearingly southern woman who was willing to be on camera for a few minutes. After the interview, I thanked her for her time and as an afterthought, asked her if she'd be willing to meet up for a cup of coffee sometime. She politely passed and we went about our separate directions.

It wasn't the last time I saw her, of course. We turned out to be on opposite ends of the same social circles. We ran into each other quite often and, as someone who's very honest about what he wants, I made no secret of my intentions. My advances were spurned quite regularly for gym junkies, jerks and men with tight shirts. Fast forward a few years later...I work out more often and although I don't quite look like Spartacus, it's noticable that I'm in decent shape. I look better, I have a better job than before...suddenly a woman who has never interacted with me on Facebook texts me everyday. I even get pet names like "handsome", "cutie", "babe." In all likelihood, I'll be in a position to be able to sleep with her within (rough estimate) two or three dates.

I don't say this as some testament to my own arrogance. It's quite the opposite, in fact. Other than a couple of pushups and a slightly bigger paycheck, I'm the same old Lennon. My circumstances haven't changed so much that I'm that much more significant a catch. What's the catalyst here? It's always been my philosophy that a true judge of character comes from watching how people treat someone they don't "have to" treat well. The real educational moment comes when people feel they're not being evaluated and you can see them for who they really are. It's not that I don't appreciate the karma (if you believe in that sort of thing) at work, but I submit that "backpedalers" are the most suspicious kind of people there are.

"...In Which Lennon Questions Your Manhood..."

In terms of dating and relationships, men and women alike subscribe to several pipe dreams. Although there are so many I could cover here, the one that irks me the most is the concept of manhood. I don't mind saying  that I think I'm a pretty good guy. When I was a "relationship guy", I'd like to believe that I was reasonably indicative of the man my mother raised. However, as it stands today, I think some of the frequently ridiculous notions that are often associated with the stereotypical man would keep me out of the running if I wanted to be someone's "boyfriend."

On this day last year, I was entering the death rattle of a bad romance. As it turned out, if you ask her, she was entering the honeymoon phase of a wonderful romance...with another guy. And she forgot to tell me. For two months. In short, I became the "other guy" in a relationship I didn't know was happening. The guy had been around long before me and whenever I asked, I was told there was nothing going on. At this point, she'd earned enough of my trust that I was comfortable believing her. Later, whenever I pressed the issue, it only resulted in a shouting match. This is how we spent the last leg of our time together. Fighting about shit that ended up being true. Recently, I was talking to my friends and it came up. Granted, it only came up because my friend thought it would upset me enough that I would concede her point, but I digress. One of my friends went on to point out that I should have "put my foot down" about her hanging out with him, that women expect a "real" man to talk forcefully with them. It's actually very much like the stereotype of the cartoon caveman that would hit the cavewoman on the head and drag her back to the cave as a form of choosing a mate. This is where we go wrong in relationships.

There are many women who subscribe to this fantasy that it's only true love if a man drags you by your hair into a decision. Men are assumed to not care about their s/o if they don't beat their chests like silverback gorillas at the sight of another man taking his shot at her. You know what that reminds me of? High school...where teenage girls let a man hit on them to get their boyfriend's attention. I wonder....what governs their lives when they don't have a man? How do these women define themselves as adults if they're still waiting to be told what to do. I'm not saying this to be mean, but it seems like it never occurs to them...or some men, for that matter.

I'm not ashamed to say that if I did decide to entertain the notion of monogamous relationships again (which is very much up in the air), it would be because the woman on my arm WANTS to be there without me having to tell her to. Maybe it's just me, but love doesn't have to do cartwheels atop the Empire State Building to be relevant. Love doesn't care about competition because love isn't a race. Love isn't concerned with planting a flag in conquered territory like Christopher Fucking Columbus, recognizes that quiet dogs bite hard, appreciates the bond between mates instead of the idiocy they put each other through. In other words, if you ask me, Love is a grownup.

"....In Which Lennon Blames Tyler Perry..."

Okay, I'm just going to come out and say it: I think "Do you watch Tyler Perry movies?" should be added to the battery of questions you ask before going out with someone. Yes, really. I came to this conclusion a couple of years ago after being dragged to "Why Did I Get Married Too?" which is the Dark Knight of contemporary black melodrama. The woman in question's film choice blindsided me because it seemed out of character given her cynicism and intellectual prowess, but I figured it couldn't be that bad. Besides, it was an early showing, so I figured there was still an opportunity to have some fun afterwards. I was wrong. Really wrong. On so many counts. It was a fundamentally silly movie and she was so sucked into the silly movie that there was no room for the small beats of interaction that should take place on a date. And after the silly movie, making something happen (namely sex) became a vague pipe dream because all she wanted to do was drone on an on about the silly movie. Though, to be fair, of Perry's movies, this one was the least date-friendly. Now I know. Anyway, this brings me to the point....

I've been on countless dates in my lifetime and I'm asked any myriad of questions. 40 percent of these questions usually have to do with money or employment which is understandable.  It's a simple formula: question your partner according your needs and values. Commonly, since most of my needs and values from the opposite gender equate to sex and company it goes without saying that my questions are fundamentally different. Society demands that a woman has to take a man's ability to maintain her security into consideration when evaluating him as a life partner.

I, on the other hand, have to take my sanity into consideration if I'm going to maintain another human being's security....especially if that human has the potential to either a). subject me to Madea Does Atlanta or b). spend my money subjecting me to CSI: Special Soulfood Unit. I need to know whether or not I'm going to have to buy multiple televisions or start a Netflix account for my laptop. It's possible that my primetime television block is going to be commandeered by the two hours worth of evening television Big Mama 2.0 produced material absorbs on any given night. This is serious stuff.

Moral of the Story: Find out your potential date's Tyler Perry level. Unless, of course, you yourself like Tyler Perry films. In that case, may your nights be filled with love, cornbread and crossdressing.

"....In Which Lennon Clears the Air..."

I was on a date with a particularly gorgeous Louisiana transplant with one of the most lovely asses I've ever seen. The first time we got together a while back, we had a few drinks and got sort of frisky in the park. We didn't actually have sex, but we'd done enough fooling around that night to leave me curious. I kept in relatively frequent contact from then on.

After checking out an awesome live performance where she ended up meeting the friends, we ran off to a little out of the way jook joint (think of the first date club scene in Love Jones). The concept here was not necessarily for us to actually dance. I...just don't do that. It's my theory that guys shouldn't really dance on a date unless they've been on America's Best Dance Crew. I mean, let's be honest...when was the last time an average joe was just tearing up the dance floor doing the robot and a woman thought to herself, "I would totally fuck him." Just a snap and a light movement of the hips to show that you can keep the beat will do it. The idea was to offer a venue with a possibility for dancing, fast beats, basslines and basically things that suggest rhythmic movement in close quarters. In other words, sex. My friends took the hint and "retired" for the night. The woman held her liquor better than me which was once a difficult task. As we were getting more drinks from the bar, I could tell she felt the mood to dance coming over her. I got close enough to that our bodies were teased with the thought of touching (Pro-Tip: Most of what I do follows 90/10 law...Go 90% of the way and let her come the last 10%). Just as it looks like she's about to get something started, she playfully pushes me back if she's going to start of fucking dance battle.

Her: Come on. Let me see something.

Me: Here?

Her: Let me see what you got.

Me: What I...got?

Her: Yeah, I know how men are. They want the women to do all the work.

Me: They do?

Her: Yeah, they want men to grind all over them. They want the stripper show.

Me: Umm...listen, dear....

Her: Women want men to give them something to think about, too.

This moment brings me to my point. In truth, I couldn't have given a damn how she wanted to dance. If she decided to moonwalk all over the place, I would have still wanted to sleep with her. But she had me pegged. She just knew I was trying to make a stripper out of her. Because, as far as she's concerned, that's "how men are." I suspect there are several men reading this who've heard this applied to them in different circumstances. Am I the only one who notices how often some women complain about men being all the same, but pass judgment on them before they even open their mouths? Men are pretty simple. If a guy really likes a woman, he might do something to try and change her mind. But for the most part, guys don't like being placed into a category right at step one. Nobody does. In fact, I bet it never occurs to these women that men keep acting the same because they're treated the same (the ones that stick around long enough to sleep with them, anyway).

Think about it. Generally, men only do what gets them laid. When women decided that Iron Man had brought Robert Downey Jr. back into fashion and they thought he was sexy, dudes turned up with goatees left and right. Hell, I have a goatee. If women all decided that they would fuck Trekkies if they had the chance, every man you know would show up to work the next morning dressed like Captain Kirk. By this logic, it stands to reason that when a woman indicates that she's made up her mind that men are a certain way, a man is either going to adhere to those parameters long enough to get what he wants....or walk away. Either way, I think a lot of women will end up disappointed by the end results.

And for the record: I ended up dancing. I'm not saying anymore than that.

"....In Which Lennon Becomes A Dinosaur..."

I slept with a woman (on the first date) who considers Michael Vick to be "old." In related news, I feel absolutely ancient. I honestly thought she was more like 25. I can deal with 25. A 25 year old at least has some vague memory of Voltron. In her defense, she's mature and much wiser than others her age For the record, she is old enough to drink, but in your late twenties, when you date someone more than two or three years younger, you will almost certainly be the target of ridicule among your peers.

The following conversation happened with my best friend....

Me: She really called Michael Vick old.

BFF: Lennon, did you go out with a 90's baby?

Me: No.

BFF: **raises eyebrow**

Me: '89

BFF: Bwahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!

Me: Shut up.

BFF: You slept with her, didn't you?

Me: .....

BFF: You slept with a 90's baby?!

Me: '89! '89!

BFF: Whatever. Age rounds up.

Me: '89 is NOT '90!!! If it were, the 9 would be in front!

BFF: Excuses.

Me: There was plenty of stuff happening in '89 that wasn't happening in '90!

BFF: Name two.

Coworker: What's going on?

BFF: Lennon is dating a 90's baby.

Me: One! One date! Uno! You don't know. We may not go out again! A lot of stuff could happen between now and a second date. There could be a meteor.

Coworker: Or she could turn 21.

Me: SHE'S 21!!!

BFF and Coworker: **raises eyebrows**

Me: At least!

BFF: Cradle robber.

Me: .....you're short.

BFF: I was born that way. You've become a creepy cradle robber person.

Me: I want a divorce.

"....In Which Lennon Introduces Himself..."

My name is Lennon, I'm single, 29 years old and I live a love life that is an A-list sitcom at its best and a sequel to Paranormal Activity at its worst. Since whatever day I decided girls didn't have cooties anymore, I've met some bizarre members of the fairer sex as well some truly incredible people that have earned a level of respect few ever achieve. I've experienced more love than some people know in their entire lives and endured more than heartbreak than I would ever wish upon my worst enemy. Nowadays, I just go out looking for some semblance of company. Sometimes, it's romantic while other times, it's intellectual, but it's always sexual (or at least I'm always looking for it to be). As a writer, I found it to be sort of a crime not to share some of these misadventures with those of you who care to read them.


I was on the bus, heading home from work and I couldn't help but overhear (over my earphones..."noise cancelling" my ass) two women discussing their relationships, one of which was pregnant. The most interesting part came from the pregnant woman who went on and on.....and on about how she wore the pants in her relationship, describing how she makes it as difficult as humanly possible for her man to get back into her good graces even when she's not really mad. You have no idea how often I hear this sort of thing and all I can think is "Really?!" There are so many questions I ask myself. Is it really necessary to assemble such an elaborate set of hoops to jump through? Is this what some women mean by "training" their men? Are there men so damaged that they find it fun to be nagged and fussed at for pure sport? Are these the same women that are shocked when they find bathroom pictures of other women in their men's computers? Now, I'm NOT advocating cheating on any level, but I just want to take the time to point something out here.

When they get home from work, most men I know are thinking, in this order....
1). Kiss her hello
2). Shower
3). Dinner
4). Sex
5). Cuddle
6). Bed

I'm sorry, but that sounds like Heaven on Earth.

I have female friends who are of the mind that, somehow, it's a man's lot in life to endure fussing and nagging from his other half. The idea is that being in your boyfriend/husband/whatever's face about trash and dishes when he comes home from work strengthens the relationship. This seems counter productive in nature.

By this logic, my relationship with my boss should be stronger when we're short staffed and I have to take up the slack. My friend and I got pulled over a week ago by the police. When they were running my friend's license plate information, I overheard dispatch reporting a possible robbery in progress five or six blocks from where we were. A cop who could have been preventing a real crime was nagging us over a "licence tag light." Was my relationship with the cop supposed to be stronger?

Then, why run your mate up the flag when all he wants to do is get along? I know the old adage gets a lot of play, but should love really be a battlefield? Is it possible that maybe there are some women going about things the wrong way? If love looks that much like war, is it love?