"....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?