"....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.