Jackson G. Tickle Enterprises Presents…Panama’s Propositions

Over my vast 27 years of existence, I’ve gained amazing amounts of knowledge about life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. I’ve learned how to tie my shoes, which has proven to be a most valuable skill as I ventured through my formative years running amok amongst the trees.

(I’m feeling poetic today.)

I learned how to type correctly in either 6 or 7th grade, a skill set, that has continued to serve me most wonderfully thus far in life since if I couldn’t really type you wouldn’t be reading this right now and I wouldn’t be Panama Jackson, the most sexxy muhfucka on the net…no, I’d be Panama…well, you don’t want to know what I’d be doing. Let’s just say it would involve some safety pins, a few spools of wire, a parking garage receipt from Bloomingdales , and an empty bottle of Cambodian breast milk.

Bad Boy…come out and play.

I’ve also learned a lot about dating. I’m of the belief that the more relationships you experience the more you learn about yourself. You learn about the things you can and cannot tolerate, your pet peeves, your interests and how your interests parlay into your significant other’s interests. Basically you gain information on what kind of person you will be most compatible with.

Now, with this knowledge of compatibility also comes knowledge to the opposite. You’d like some examples, wouldn’t you… you dastardly devils, you?

Okay. I shall share.

Things I know that I couldn’t deal with would include dating a woman with a tattoo on her neck. And how do I know this? Because I dated a woman with a tattoo on her neck. Granted, I didn’t actually know she had a tattoo on her neck when we first met because her hair was covering it. However, once it was discovered that the aforementioned women had a tattoo on her neck I just couldn’t help but to stare at it. Her tattoo was a singular letter. Now part of the problem was that the letter was not the first letter of the name she’d given me. Turns out, she had a whole extra part of her name that she didn’t tell me about, for which the tatter alluded.

Plus, I’m a bad person so you know I struggled to NOT ask questions like: “I suppose you already have job security, huh?”

Or, “You don’t really believe in shooting for the stars, do you?”

One snap decision removed most gainful employment from her repertoire. And because I’m neither a rapper nor a ballplayer I can’t date a woman with a tattoo on her neck. Plus, she might be tougher than me because Lord knows that I’m not getting a tattoo on my neck.

Umm, fuck that.

[***Sidenote: I seriously have to wonder what would make anybody get a tattoo on their neck. With all of the free skin roaming flaplessly all over the human body, why in the flying fuck would somebody stop and say, you know where I don't have a tat?...on the sensitive area between my face and my shoulders. You can always tell a nigga who's afraid of a job, because he'll have a tattoo on a place that would scare off the nice white people who employ us. Plus, you just can't put a nigga with a tat on his neck up front unless he's doing security in which case I suppose it helps to add to the "secure" illusion of "don't fuck with us, my security has a tattoo on his neck, he doesn't play. Westside beeeyotch." Further, why the fuck would any woman do that? That shit is up there with smoking and walking like a Siamese Floating Yacht as the most unsexxy things a woman can do. There is no such thing as a sexxy neck tattoo. There's also something about Mary....but who's counting. ***]

You want another example don’t you? You’re in luck because I have another one. It’s not really an example per se, but more a realization I came to the other day that led to me having these thoughts for which I’m sharing.

I realized that, I can’t date a woman who doesn’t have at least one email address that encompasses some part of her real name.

Think about that for a minute.

*marinating*

Let me back track a little and explain where this idea came from. So I’ve done a lot of writing in some very random places. Well, I always include my email address so I tend to get lots of random emails. And I read them all…and sometimes I even make the mistake of reading people’s email addresses. I’ll get a very well written email with good points and interesting views from somebody with this email address:

Lickylickysuckysucky969@yahoo.com

And yes I made that email address up, but no I’m not really exaggerating. Not to say I can’t respect the words that are written or anything, but umm…if I ever receive a religious email from ole LickyLicky up there, let’s just say I’m calling bullshit.

It’s just one of those things that makes you go, hmmmm. Any and every reading black person that I know with multiple email address has at least one with their real name incorporated into it. I have two. I have about 6 different email addresses and 2 of them use my full birth name. And do you know what that means?

It means I can get a job. You cannot apply for a job that asks for your email if it’s: Fuggmepropadaddy@yahoo.com

Well, you can apply, but you shouldn’t exactly be waiting on a response. What the hell am I going to do with a woman who can’t get employed? Sorry, but working at McDonald’s just won’t cut it in my life right now…if it’s your own fault.

If she were to aspire to work at McDonald’s because she thinks she just looks sexxy flipping burgers that’s one thing. Actually, it isn’t. I need a little less delusion in my women. In today’s day and age of technological advancement, there is just no good reason not to have a professional email address. The only reason not to is if you have no real goals for professional careerdom of any sort. Shit, I know BROKE niggas with real email addresses.

And do you know why? Because broke niggas want to make money of the real variety.

Speaking of which, but not really at all. The funniest text message I received this week came from a friend of mine in Miami: Yung Joc was sweating my goodies last night. It was NOT going down.

That’s still cracking me up.

Good times.

So from here on out, along with asking questions about baby daddy’s and prison records, fuck a phone number, I’m asking for an email address, and if it’s something like, Sexkitten365…well, actually I might email her back. But let’s just say that if after a few days of talking, I ask what her professional email address is and she says, I don’t have one, but you can just email me at Luvulongtime@whateverthefuck.com…I’ll email her alright…

…from notgonnahappen@godie.com.

“He gon’ think I’m a hoe…” – chick from “The Morning After” skit on The Love Below

That has nothing to do with anything. It’s just something I wanted to put up there for whatever reason.

I do my thing thing, son son.

Just like with last week, I’m gonna do a recap of sorts of the Open Mic event that went down last night in the form of things that I learned. You know, there may come a time where I don’t learn shit anymore at these. Perhaps all of the knowledge that is to be gained will have been gained therefore be ungainable, not to be confused with unbreakable (which managed to be both a horrible movie AND song…who’d a thunk it), but just not gainful like employment. Yes, sometimes I write things because I like to hear myself type.

*click* *click*

Let us begin.

10 Things I Learned At The Stock 13 Open Mic While Trying To Remember The Scientific Equation for Work

1. When I’m wrong, I’m very wrong.

A few days ago, I emailed Russ (the promoter AKA “The Man”) telling him that I thought last night would be slim on numbers. For those that don’t, Washington, DC, has been overrun by the men of Alpha Phi Alpha Fraternity, Inc. Further, there was a step show last night. DC has quite the educated Black professional crowd and lots of alumni of colleges, both HBCU and un-HBCU, which means that there are a whole shitload of Greek folks in DC. Hell, for a time, I thought it was a requirement that every Delta spend at least one year living in DC since you can’t throw a rock around here without hitting a car with a DST license plate something or other on it.

All that to say, I thought everybody would be out at the step show. Fast forward to 930pm. Three words:

Standing. Room. Only.

And even that might be underselling the point. That place was so packed with people. Young, old, white, black. I even think I saw a small chihuahua trying to gain admission, but he wasn’t on the guest list so we turned him away. Hell, there were Alphas there. I figured they’d be out doing Alpha things. Nope, they were at the Open Mic. So, Russ, I was wrong. You were right.

Score: Russ – 1. Panama – 0.

2. I’m now a firm believer in stereotypes.

People say it isnt right to stereotype. To those people I say, fuck you. Not that I’m exactly sharing anything new, but Black folks are the LATEST muhfuckas on the planet. I’m starting to believe its coded in our DNA. Perhaps my myriad attempts at punctuality are merely a mask for the fact that I really want to be late but I’ve been socialized to think that being on time is necessary. So why do I say all of this?

Doors open at 6pm, right? Well, I know getting somewhere at 6pm is difficult. Hell, I can’t even get there by 6pm. So what do you do to bring people early? Drink specials. Free food. Or the capper: Open bar.

We had an open bar and there were like 8 people there from 6-7pm. Maybe 11 people. See, this is why I thought we’d be slim on numbers as well. Add to the fact that by 815pm, I had MAYBE 5 people on the list to perform, be it comedy or open mic, in TOTAL.

By 845pm? I’m having to turn people away. All of a sudden folks want to come up and holla at the kid (Panama Jackson, perhaps you’ve heard of him) to get on the list.

We usually get started between 815pm and 830pm. Do you know what time we’d LIKE to start? 7 something.

And its because Black people are late and are in turn making the white people late too! I think that’s what Bill Cosby said…something like that.

3. If you’re a comedian and you show up and tell the same jokes week after week, say, like, three times in a row, I will begin to hate you.

Well, I suppose that kind of said it all, didn’t it?

4. I don’t have patience for overly arrogant fuckers who like to tell me how I need to be doing things.

Have you ever met somebody who told you what you should do to make your shit better, but do it in a way that totally turns you off? Probably, huh? I meet them all the time. Fuck them. Let’s just say that I only listen to one person in the entire place when it comes to how we’re gonna do shit, Russ. Any other muhfucka who comes up to me and tells me what I should do because of what he brings to the table and how he can singlehandedly keep people coming back despite any proof can essentially kiss my ass. And make my shit list.

5. Apparently I missed out on the best opportunity in life to score women, the ability to sing.

Let me tell you something. A black man that can sing, even in a cave, will get the women screaming and shit. There’s this cat that got up and sang named Brandom Neloms. Well apparently, he has quite the fandom because as soon as I even mentioned his name women started screaming.

The last time somebody screamed because I was on the mic, somebody got stabbed behind me.

Okay, thats not really true…nobody screamed for me then either.

6. Mic Fields is a bad man.

Mic Fields (MySpace page here) is this cat from UVA who comes and is part of the closing of the Open Mic part every week. Last night, he had that shit ROCKING. Performance is such a big part of any artists repertoire that if you suck on that end, well, you essentially suck period. That is not a problem for him. He did two songs and both of them got a great response. I had planned on hyping him up a little after he got off stage but he shut shit down so thoroughly I didn’t have to say anything. I feel like if they weren’t already fans, he probably made quite a few new fans. He’s a good dude, and he definitely laid it down last night.

7. Speaking of laying it down, the band, Cut The Check, is a group of talent mofo’s.

Last night I really listened to them play. I’m usually running around talking to everybody when they do their opening set and when folks perform and use them I tend to be focused on something else. But last night I really listened and watched as they on the spot learned a song Mic Fields brought in by doing what??? Listening to the shit on his iPod. And they cold rocked it. Talented cats for real.

8. DC has some funny ass comedians.

So, for the comedy part of the night, we tend to bring in people specifically. It’s not as much of a comedy open mic as the other part may seem. Mostly because we want folks to laugh so some scouting work has been done to bring folks in. I can’t find websites for both of them, but these cats Eddie B. (who hosts a joint at U-Turn every Sunday from 6 to and Seaton Smith (who hosts a joint at Bossa Nova in Adams Morgan every Thursday at like 9pm) were funny as hell to me. Seaton especially because he made mention of the fact that he isn’t gangsta because he wears flip flops.

Talk about truth. I have a whole theory behind that myself so it was just good to know that me and Michael Jackson aren’t the only ones who are not alone.

Randomly speaking, do you know that my sexxy was questioned last night? Me and this young lady who was part of the event (in fact I’ll get to that next) were having a full out debate about who was sexxier. She started polling people and all the women were like, I have to side with my sister and dudes, well, are dudes. I demand a damn recount. You see, nobody said I wasn’t sexxier, they just didn’t want to answer.

Similarly, I had on a tshirt last night that might be one of the most ignorant shirts I’ve worn in a long time. And I do ignant. It’s my forte. The shirt said “I Support Single Moms” and had a picture of a chick on a stripper pole. Boy, folks either hated or loved that shirt. Seems that more people loved it. I suppose ignorance is at an all time high in this country.

And I for one…am proud.

9. Clubbing for charity always seems to bring out more people.

The young lady who questioned my sexxy was there with a guest list of lots of people who were there to donate money to a charity (the chartiy eludes me right now). I’ve noticed this in my club going experiences…when folks can get drunk for a cause, they seem to be more likely to support it. It’s like, folks don’t want to make club owners richer, but they’ll get fucked up on some Patron for children in Africa. Such seems to be the case. The last two events we had which were jam packed had a list for donations for a cause. And it helps to bring people out. Nevermind the clear conflict of interest in getting drunk to raise money for a battered woman’s shelter (that wasn’t the case or charity last night). I just think its great that folks will party if they know its for a good cause.

Moral of the story: Before you throw your next party, get a damn charity to support.

10. You should probably come party with us if you’re in DC.

Seems like a folks have a good time. Potentially you want to have a good time as well. If you’re looking for something to do on a Wednesday night, you should probably fall through. Seems like a no-brainer to me. Then again I’m sexxier than most so what is a no-brainer for me might not be for the masses.

*snicker*

And Lysette Titi…has a wonderful voice and she sang my song, “Young, Sad, and Blue” and I was happy as a pig in slop. She has some good songs and had my ass going groupie for a good second until I realized that I am…Panama Jackson.

Stock 13 Open Mic at Bohemian Caverns…it goes down.

Once again, it’s Wednesday and once again, I’m doing a little promo for this even that I’m hosting at Bohemian Caverns in Washington, DC, at the corner of 11th and U Streets.

Or I would be if I didn’t turn straight fan a few minutes ago.

The promoter for this even sends out emails for everybody every Wednesday so that they know the event is going on. It’s usually a comical take on the last week or the future nights plans and the like.

Oh yeah, Open bar from 6-7pm.

Do you mind if I change subjects for a minute? So last week, there was free food from 6-730pm. When I tell you the mention of the word FREE turned some folks out…well, let’s just say it got real black in there real quick.

Stereotypes…food for the soul.

Anyway, apparently drink and food specials do wonders for the black psyche. The mere notion of free shit seems to be a driving force. Almost as if folks feel a need to be somewhere on principle alone…DESPITE HAVE TO PAY TO ENTER TO GET THE FREE SHIT.

I love people. I really do.

We crack me up.

Anyway, back to the fandom. So on this promotional email, as usual, there are some pictures from the previous evening. He even put up a picture of these three fine chicks who came in and completely ransacked all male attention upon arrival. And in true form, they were actually STILL cute after the camera captured their immortality. Seriously, I’ve seen some women in clubs amongst the dim lighting that look hot only to find out that she was Jabba The Huts slimmed down twin once we enter into the cool night’s air. And fuckin’ lights.

I’m sure women have that problem as well with uberfugly men.

Well, on this particular email, at the end (and seeing as I’m the host you’d think I’d know some of this shit up front…nope, I find out when everybody else does), he made mention that there was going to be a performer, by the name of Lysette Titi this evening.

Now for some reason, that name sounded familiar to me. Ah…she has a MySpace page.

Well fuck, who doesn’t?

So I went to her MySpace page and I’ll be a squirrel’s cousin if it isn’t the chick who had the phenomenal ass song “Young, Sad, and Blue” from like 1998. Apparently she lives in the DC area. And has been making music.

Thing is, why am I so excited that she’s gonna perform. I don’t think you know how much I loved her song back then. Hell, how much I still love it. One damn song. I’ve been wondering what the hell happened to her and now I know. Well, I suppose I don’t really know, but fuck…I suppose I can ask her. I’m the host and shit right?

Panama Jackson. Click here.

I still have the CD single from that song. I think me and my boys were like the only entire crew of folks who each had the single. The song was that damn good. Shucks, I’ve been listening to it all morning on her MySpace page. Anyway, I’m really excited about this. Which is especially funny considering I haven’t heard shit from her since 1998. That’s a full 8 years later.

Anyway, for those who might be interested:

Stock 13 Open Mic at Bohemian Caverns
Doors open at 6pm
$7 Cover
Open mic, live band, comedy

After party from around 10ish – 2am with DJ Source on the 1’s and 2’s
RSVP for reduced price admission to the Afterparty before 1045pm at www.stock13.net

Open Bar from 6-7pm

Hosted by the most gangster of them all: Panama Jackson AKA He Who Links Himself With Reckless Abandon

Guest performance: Lysette Titi (check out her MySpace page by clicking in her name)

I think I might start doing a weekly recap of the night before at Bohemian Caverns. I think I might start today. Well I suppose I won’t be thinking of starting today since I’m already something like *hold on*…

…37 words into this post and the clear intention was to write about what happened the night before.

And yes I really did count the number of words.

I’m sexxy like that.

Now mind you, I have a deal with the promoter who sponsors (I suppose that’s the word) the Stock13 Open Mic, as well as his monthly Stockholm 180 Charity parties, to do a write up for everybody to read. But the site is not up and running yet so I figured, what the hell, last night was interesting so I figured I’d write it up here.

I’m going to tell you how last night went by telling you some things I learned. In fact, that might become the running theme. What did Panama learn?

10 Things I Learned Whilst Sipping on One Too Many Long Island Iced Teas

1. Sometimes, it’s possible to forget that an open mic means anybody with aspirations of grandeur can show up and show their ass.

Before the joint got off and kicking, a Latino fellow approached me telling me that he wanted to sign up for the list. No problem, its an open mic, that’s what people do. I ask him what he wants to do and he informs me that he wants to rap. Check. I put him down. I proceed to talk to him further and he tells me, in a roundabout way, that he does lots of open mics. Cool. Even hands me a flyer of his with all of his contact information. This cool laid-back dude volunteers to go first, which if you’ve ever hosted an event you know is like pulling teeth. For some reason, every muhfucka thinks that they’re too good to go first. Like that’s proof that they haven’t made it.

Umm…Bohemian Caverns is a cave. If you’re ass is performing in a cave on Wednesdays…you haven’t made it yet. Just take my word for it.

Anyway, El Toro (yes that was fucked up for me to call the Latino fellow El Toro but fuck you anyway), gets up on the mic and it goes a little something like this:

El Toro: W’sup to all my Latinos. I’m touring on the East coast and heading to the Southwest and I’m doing this for all the fucking’ shit that muhfuckas talk about muhfuckin’ Latinos and that fuckin’ reggateon bullshit fuckin’ fuckin’ fuckin’ fuckin’ (add like 10 more of those) shit. Fuck all the folks that think us fuckin’ Latinos is on some fuckin’ shit. Fuck fuck fuck. Yo, DJ drop it…

Now, I’m no fan of reggaeton and for some reason its become the Latino identifying music. All of a sudden every Latino in America has determined that the ass melange that is reggaeton is really a force to be reckoned with. I happen to disagree so for about a split second, and despite the profanity-laced opening statement, I was at least glad there was one Latino who doesn’t fuck with reggaeton. However…

…if you’re gonna talk shit about something, at least be good enough to make me agree with you. What happened was kind of like the combination of too many drinks, too much energy, that Latino whistle, a Chevy, a shootout in East LA, and a black Primitive Baptist Church in Mississippi. You have no idea what that combines to create do you?

Neither did anybody else there. Nobody could understand shit he said except one word: FUCK!!!! Must be his favorite word. Either way, the point is that its easy to forget that open mic means open mic. And El Toro just might show up.

Or a white girl singing Beyonce songs and actually doing a good job with it despite technical difficulties. Understand…it’s going down at the Stock 13 Open Mic!!

(Wow that was long.)

2. This one is kind of common sense, but if you put enough grown ass folks in a room together and they start talking, not trying to holler, but actually talking, relationships and why men and women don’t understand eachother will inevitably become the soup du jour.

So yeah, as the host I tend to walk around and talk to any and everybody in the venue before the show starts up. Well I happened upon a group of three lovely young ladies and was told that one of them was going to perform. She said her name was Sexual Chocolate. Well, clearly, anybody who loves Coming to America enough to name themselves after Randy Watson’s band is alright with me. I don’t know how it happened, but a full fledge discourse on relationships, Black men in DC, Erykah Badu, and Southern living occurred. We must have conversated (since we’re black we are allowed to conversate, irregardless of whether or not its a real word) for a good half hour. Good times, I hope they come back. Especially Sexual Chocolate since I didn’t get a chance to drop the microphone while stomping my feet a few times then exiting stage left only to hear somebody in the audience say, “that boy good!”

3. I love the fact that at any majority-Black venue if you start doing HBCU shoutouts, folks will get hype at least for a second at the chance to rep their alma mater.

One of the dudes that performed a song goes to Alabama A&M University, which is in Huntsville. Well I went to high school in Madison, Alabama, which is a suburb of Huntsville. So of course we got to talking for a little while about the ‘Ville and shit. When it came time for me to introduce him, I decided to do a quick roll call since I know quite a few folks in there went to Hampton and Howard. That was cool. And of course you KNOW I had to let everybody know that Morehouse and Spelman were clearly the directions they should have gone, but they all probably could have done worse. You can tell a Morehouse Man, but you can’t tell him much.

Bitches.

EXTRA: So as SOON as I said I went to Morehouse you know what happened. I walked off of the stage to about 5 different folks asking me if I knew such and such that went to the ‘House. Which just proves the point that Morehouse Men run shit. Non-sequiter. Surely. I went to Morehouse, I’m sexxy, and I’m Panama.

Kiss my ass.

4. Some people just aren’t smart.

PSA: To all of my idiots out there, the two people you DO NOT want to heckle to a point where you’re pissing them off are: 1) Panama Jackson aka me aka The Host because I control the mic the whole night and will ALWAYS have the last word AND get you kicked out; and 2) FUCKIN’ COMEDIANS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I can’t stress that enough. Why would you heckle Red Grant, the fuckin’ headliner, and most popular comedian in the joint as well as one that drew a crowd? Do you really think that you’re going to win that battle? Of course, somebody had to test their gangsta last night. Sometimes I think folks pride gets the best of them and they don’t know how to stop themselves once they start talking. In the famous words of whoever sang the damn song, “that’s what friends are fooooooooooooooooor…” If your friends let you get into a pissing contest with the two niggas in the place that are hands down going to clown you and make you look especially stupid, they aren’t your friends. Word life.

5. If its a majority-Black venue, and there are white people in attendance and there are comedians present, every comedian will talk about the white people.

Shit must be some kind of default. “My jokes are bombing, but I always have the white people to fall back on.” Though last night, none of the comedians really sucked or anything, but each and every one got on the white people at some point. Luckily there were a GANG of white folks there so they took in stride.

Though they were the LOUDEST fuckin’ unruly group of white folks ever until Red Grant quite seriously told them to shut the fuck up. Like seriously.

Total sonnage.

6. Comedians with no jokes who headline will go for a very long time if they don’t have a structured routine ready.

Annnnnnnnnnd such was the case with Red Grant. Funny cat, but to me he wasn’t even the funniest cat we had last night. He didn’t have any jokes for real. He just got up there and started talking for like 40 minutes. This dude named Marion Kendrick was way funnier to me. Which is even funnier since before he went on I set his ass up for trying to debo me on his spot in the lineup. I told the crowd that this nigga specifically told me he was going to shut the shit down.

Word to the wise: Do not fuck with the nigga who is running the event. It’s not a good look. Did you see The Five Heartbeats when the Host told the crowd that The Heartbeats said they were better than Bird and the Midnight Falcons and The Temptations all put together in one? Yeah…don’t fuck with me fool. He was cool though and he did shut shit down.

7. I really like women poets at open mics.

Do you know why? I’ll tell you why. Women tend to be more easy natured than men at these events. We’ll call it the Pride factor. This means that when a women goes up to perform and discusses something I have an opinion on, they usually take it in stride when I totally deconstruct whatever the fuck it is that they wrote. Men…not so much. Men need hugs. Or need to stop hugging so much since apparently, and according to Sexual Chocolate and Co., sensitive men are really getting a little carried away with their pussyness lately. Bottom line, women poets are a good lot. They’re a lot more interactive than dudes.

8. It’s always funny to see a man taking his friendship with a chick a little too far on the dance floor.

Let’s call it borederline harassment. Dancing with your friends is always a risky proposition. Say you get a little bit too touchy feely. Like say you just put your face in their breasts. I mean, isn’t that a bit much? Well once they back up that first time and remove your face from their breasts and then you proceed to place your hands on their buttocks in a rubbing manner and they remove them…shouldn’t the message be clear? Of course not. Which is why I believe women are better than men sometimes. There was good cause to slap the monkey shine shit out of this cat but it never happened. She just perseverently kept removing his hands, face, toenails, and credit cards from going places they shouldn’t have gone.

I love the 80s.

And no that doesn’t have shit to do with shit.

9. If you have enough liquor and enough folks who are old enough to remember and love BBD’s “Poison”, you will get a danceoff in the club.

It never fails. Trust me. And I swear the DJ must have been reading my blog because he played Bobby Brown’s “Don’t Be Cruel” and followed it up with Guy’s “Teddy’s Jam”. It’s like he was testing to see which got the better reaction. Of course I had to break out the Bobby Brown dance. Then a few of us started doing the Kid ‘N Play. Good times. Dancing can become quite the spectator sport when you got folks doing old dances that folks used to love. Oh yes, and I don’t like reggae very much. At all. If you want me to sit down at your party, play reggae for 30 minutes straight. I’ll sit.

10. It must suck to be the unattractive one in a group of fine women.

Not that this was so much the case last night, but let’s just say, the thought did dawn on me at one point. Oh yeah, I might as well mention this here. The whitest man in America was on the dance floor chopping it up something serious. And you know what? I wished I could have as much fun as he was having. He did the same dance all night. I even counted it off with a young lady next to me because he did all the moves in the same order. He reminded me of Kevin James in Hitch.

Well those are the things I learned last night. Either show up next Wednesday if you’re in DC or tune in next week to read about what goes down at the Open Mic where fun is had by all.

Until then…

I call this one part II because I want to say that like a year ago, I wrote another entry that will be just like the one I’m finna write.

So let’s begin.

So a brotha has been strapped down by his employment status for something like two weeks now. Not that this is necessarily a bad thing but I’ll be damned if my job doesn’t go something like this:

Slow Time: Twiddle thumbs and spend all day debating whether or not space travel would actually be possible if you had two paper clips and a bottle of Ajax

Fast Time: Can’t breathe, work pretty much around the clock to include weekends, holidays, and all cultural observation days, lose track of days because working on weekends tends to throw your day-time-equilibrium meter

There is no middle ground involved here.

Speaking of your days being thrown out of balance, that is a very real phenomenon. For instance, I worked both Saturday and Sunday this past weekend. On Monday night, going into Tuesday morning, I had a dream that it was actually Thursday, woke up and thought it was Friday…AND…came about this close to thinking it was actually Saturday and staying in bed.

This same thing happens to me when I take a nap during the day. Apparently I have time dyslexia because I’ve taken a nap before in the day, woke up like 4 hours later and assumed it was the next day and got ready for work. Nevermind it was dark outside and in the summer nobody goes to work when its still dark outside. And nevermind that I learned how to read when I was 3 and knew my numbers as well so I could easily just look at the clock. And nevermind that I could have easily just, I don’t know, turned on the television for further clarity depending on what was on.

Nope. Time dyslexia. It’s a real thing.

All this to say, I’ve been getting straight mollywopped at work.

Hold. Me.

And I have like 3 jobs right now. Which would be 2 outside of my standard employment. I have about one free night a week.

And even that is being used for sleep…kind of.

Add to the fact that I have a damn project I’m working on that needs to be done like 3 weeks ago with a friend of mine that will make household names out of the both of us.

Add to the fact that I actually have a whole lot of shit on my mind right now that I’d like to get out but don’t have the time to do it. Hell, at this point I’ve only been typing for 3 minutes and I feel like I’m wasting time right now.

I’ll probably talk about this a little more one of these days, but I have to give a special shout out to one of my oldest friends in life from Alabama. Some people talk big shit about making things happen. Some people actually make shit happen.

My friend got my ass played on the radio in Birmingham, Alabama. As in yours truly has now gotten official radio burn on a big time radio station. Just thought I’d share since, as we all know…

…sharing is caring.

So…well…umm…err….ah yes.

The main point of this post today was to inform you of the open mic occuring tonight at Bohemian Caverns in Washington, DC on 11th and U Streets.

Clearly this is for anybody in the DC area.

Not people in the Cincinnati area.

Stricly for live men.

Not for freshmen.

Tonight is gonna be heavy on the comedy I presume. We’re thinking of changing up the format to have something like a comedy open mic one night a month. So tonight is looking like it’s gonna be that night. A special guest comedian who’s been in quite a few ghetto movies is slated to perform.

Red Grant

I’m hosting as usual so feel free to come on down and get some laughs in.

Oh…and there is free food from 6-730pm.

I didn’t make that up. FREE FOOD from 6-730pm. I’ve heard that the food there is actually pretty good. I’ve never had it before. I bet I will tonight.

That ninja said FREE!

So if you need something to do on this hot, steamy ass Wednesday evening in your Nation’s capital…come on down to Bohemian Caverns and kick it with yours truly, Panama Jackson.

And yes, I linked myself again.

RSVP ON THE HOME PAGE (WWW.STOCK13.NET) FOR WEDNESDAY, JULY 19TH FOR FREE ADMISSION TO AFTER PARTY BEFORE 10:45 PM BEFORE 5PM. DOORS OPEN AT 6PM. COMEDY AND BAND FROM 6-10PM. AFTERPARTY WITH DJ SOURCE ON THE 1′S AND 2′S FROM 10PM-2AM.

My speakers at work blew. I have no idea how in the hell this happened. It ain’t like I’m in here bumping Dre and Rick Ross “Chevy Ridin’ High” or anything.

Or some of that ol’ skool Outkast.

Or Luke for goodness’ sake.

Nope, I just listen to some of that good old fashioned quality good good shit.

So since I can’t listen to it, I’m going to list the top 10 most played songs on my work iTunes and discuss them a little bit. You see, I’m quite obsessive with some of the music that’s on here. I have songs that I’ve listened to well over 200 times…that I only put on here a week ago.

Repeat is my oyster.

Oh, and while we’re here, the other day, in my comments, HC stated that Guy’s self-titled album, Guy, (of course you already know it was called Guy because I said “self-titled” which would imply that it would be titled after the self as opposed to perhaps the id or superego or some other overly arrogant subconscious narcissistic notion) was a better album than Bobby Brown’s Don’t Be Cruel. Well, as any good researcher would do I went back and revisited Guy’s album.

No comparison homey. Not even close. I think I will do an indepth Panamalysis on this sometime next week.

So, being as I’m in the purgatoratious hell-hole that is work without the sultry sounds of melodious splender, let us begin the sharing…as you know…

…sharing is caring.

Panama’s Purgatory Playlist: Making It Thru The Day

1. Psapp – Cosy In The Rocket

This is the theme song from Grey’s Anatomy. When I tell you I love this song, I mean I want to hug and kiss and hold and cuddle the music on this song. Umm…no brokeback. Seriously, the music on this has such a hypnotic feel to it I get lost in it every time. And I STILL have no clue what in the fuck they’re talking about on it. I just know its gangsta. I wish I could produce a song like this. In fact, I don’t think I’ll stop trying until I make something that hits me the way this did the very first time I heard it.

2. Phyllis Hyman – Be Careful (How You Treat My Love)

I remember the first time I ever really listened to Phyllis Hyman. It was at my boy’s crib quite a few months back. He played her big hit “You Know How To Love Me” and its a good song but it didn’t really draw me in. I’d heard of her but I wasn’t all enthralled. So one day, I was in Tower Records blowing more money I didn’t have and I saw this compilation. I was like, fuck it, so I picked it up. The next day I was driving to New York and I put it in as I left my street.

Do you know I listened to this one CD on the entire 4 hour drive to NY. AND on the way back. And this song? It made a fan, a believer, and a sad sap out of me. Her voice is so beautiful I can’t believe I never discovered it before. And the way she sings on this song nearly brought a tear to my eyes. Shit sounds authentic even if she didn’t write it. You betta…bee-eeee-eee careful how you treaaaaaaaaaaaat my loooooooooooove. Hands down one of my favorite songs ever. This is the second most played song on my iTunes and only because I intentionally stopped myself from listening to it.

This song also made me really really sad that she took her own life. Then again, that fits in right nice with my other favorite singers who have tragically met their end or got head in the whip one too many times.

3. Jefferson Airplane - Somebody To Love

Between the drugs, white rabbits, and peace signs, I love hippie shit from the 60’s and ’70s. Most of it was just so fun and drug oriented. Not that I’m into drugs or anything. Just say no! However, Jefferson Airplane was that hot drug music way before Cam’ron and Dipset flooded the market. They were the Clipse before Malicious niece felt that chinchilla. Of course the difference being they were using it and the other niggas are distributing but we’re just splitting hairs. Hell the album this song came from was called Surrealistic Pillow. If that ain’t a drug induced album title, well call me Jeb and make me governor of Florida.

All I know is that I love this song and Grace Slick’s voice works really well with their sound. Viva white rabbits and San Francisco!

4. The Mad Lads - Make This Young Lady Mine

Another of my favorite songs of all time is De La Soul’s song “Eye Know” off the 3 Feet High and Rising album. This song with an assist from Steely Dan (I love Steely Dan) are the reasons why. I’m a sucker for horns. The horns that kick this song off make me want to hug squirrels…then boot them little fuckers down the street. Speaking of hugs then kicks, similar to kicking and pushing, Lupe Fiasco style, have you seen the commercials for the sour gummy bears? Where the bears do something evil and then like give you a hug…because they’re sour and then sweet? I William H. Holla LOVE those commercials. They crack me up everytime.

Yoski.

5. Tom Scott - Today

I paid 30 dollars for the album (Honeysuckle Breeze) that this song was on. It’s a Jefferson Airplane cover from the same album that “Somebody To Love” was on. I won’t say too much more. Aaron McGruder used this song in an episode of the Boondocks and I nearly spit my Kool-Aid all over the television. There’s a really good reason why too, but if you don’t know…then I ain’t tellin.

I should tell you here that I don’t really put too much rap on my computer at work. Reason being, I refuse to use headphones. I blast shit out of my speakers and figured that blasting 50 Cent’s “Many Men” wouldn’t be such a good look around the office. Especially since people like me like to forget to turn my music off when I leave my office for a few minutes.

Not. A. Good. Look.

6. Blue Oyster Cult - (Don’t Fear) The Reaper

This is an old school rock song from the 70’s. Talk about a weird as group but this song knocks hard as hell. It has a very subdued sound to it but its some quality good shit, trust me. It reminds me of drinking Long Island Iced Teas with my home C-Breeze sitting under some trees down in the West Indies…word life. I don’t know how many of you boho’s out there are anti rock ‘n roll but this is definitely a good song to have in the repertoire. Sounds like some shit Babyface would have written if he wasn’t black, was high, wasn’t into R&B, and was into strange pseudo-weird rock ‘n roll.

See, just like Babyface.

7. Rick James featuring Smokey Robinson – Ebony Eyes

Two things to say with this song: 1) I do not like Smokey Robinson, at all. I can only think of like 2 of his songs that I like, maybe 3 and they were all with the Miracles. 2) I remember hearing this for the first time in May. I’m so ashamed.

When I tell you I can’t get enough of a particular song…well, I suppose that would mean I can’t get enough of a particular song. This song would be one in particular that I can’t get enough of…particularly. “And I bet you didn’t know thaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat…ebony eyes…” This is the kind of song you sing to a woman you’re really feeling but since its so goofy feeling you can fuck it up and have all kinds of fun with it. You should own this song.

Actually, you should own every song I tell you about. All my choices are topshelf homey. No bottom shelf here.

I am Panama Jackson.

8. Soul Survivors – Soul To Soul

This is some of that blue eyed soul straight from the streets of Philly. These fellows were one of the first groups that Kenny Gamble and Leon Huff worked with when they began developing the sound that would take over the city and eventually add another sound to the national landscape. I don’t know why I like this song so much, it isn’t especially great but the beginning just makes me want to slap Stedman. So maybe that’s it. Either way, it stays on repeat around here something vicious.

Freak of the week.

9. The Doors - Light My Fire

This is possibly one of the most popular songs of all time and for good reason. Jim Morrison was one drugged out white boy. But he did his thing until his untimely but seemingly predictable demise in 1971. Everybody’s heard this before so it doesn’t need much discussion, but I love it. Im a big Doors fan. Despite the horrible sound that some of these recordings possess they got a lot of raw energy involved.

10. Jimi Hendrix (as part of Band of Gypys) – Who Knows?

Talk about your resident party starter if you’re a part of the neo-soul or just drug loving set. This song is so damn smoking. I get my whiteboy on everytime this song comes on. I will drive down the mean streets of NW DC blasting this song as loud as it can go. Okay, saying I get my whiteboy on is kind of stupid considering two of the three people playing on this album were black (Jimi and drummer Buddy Miles), but you know how you black people get when it comes to rock and shit. And further, the whole song is just one long ass question mark.

They don’t know…I don’t know…

It’s just a bunch of clueless folks trying to find answers to questions they don’ t know. I’m sorry, but music doesn’t get any better than that.

And as a bonus:

11. Petey Jakes - The Lookout

(I also have it up at my regular MySpace site [panamadjackson] but that shit is trippin’ right now. )

Yeah so, a lot of people don’t know this, but I’ve been working on an album for a little while now with a one of my boys/producers I know. It’s a work in progress and slow moving but I got a hell of a shot in the arm like two days ago. Could be big news, could be unbig news. Either way, somebody will find out something soon. I don’ t know. (see song #10) Anyway, I linked one of my songs to MySpace, so in the even that you want to hear one of my songs, just click on the link and check it out. If you want to offer feedback, please do. Of course if you hate it, kiss my ass. I’m sexxy.

[***Also, if you're looking for a party to go to tonight and you can't think of shit else to do, go to this link, RSVP before 5pm and get in free before 11pm. It's a good party, I always have fun and wyle out, and its for charity (Sudan). You just can't lose. ***]

[***This is what we will call shameless promotion. Follow me. ***]

Are you a poet?

Or perhaps a singer?

Or mayhaps you rap a little something something?

Do you just want to be seen somewhere and share whatever talent you assume you have with the masses because you just know that all it will take is once for your big break?

Do you live in the DC area?

If you answered yes to any of those questions, but most specifically yes to the last question (DC residentials beeyotch) then this Wednesday night, and subsequent Wednesdays, you should shake a tailfeather down to the historic Bohemian Caverns at 11th and U Streets, NW.

Why?

Because there is an open mic night followed by an afterparty followed by you going home and going to sleep waking up going to work for the next few days, interrupted by a weekend, then working for a few more days then VOILA…back to the open mic at Bohemian Caverns.

And it’s hosted by yours truly, the sexxiest cat this side of the River Jordan…Panama “Mr. Oh So Sexxy” Jackson.

You can check his blog here.

Seriously, how many folks do you know that are SO gangsta, they link to themselves in their own blogs?

No, seriously…

At the first event we had quite the turnout, even Raheem DeVaughn and W. Ellington Felton came through to hang out (neither performed). We had poets, singers, and comedians.

Hell, even I sang a song.

Kinda.

We had Grap Luva (brother of my favorite producer of all time, Pete Rock) holding down the crowd for the afterparty at Liv (upstairs at Bohemian Caverns).

At the second we had a lot of comedians come thru and crack jokes all night and a few poets/singers, etc.

But we need more. So if you got the talent, then we got the funk.

Backed by house band Cut The Check, it don’t get no righter.

So if you need something to do on a hot ass Wednesday, come down and hang with the coolest muhfucka on the planet, Panama Jackson at Bohemian Caverns. Doors open at 6pm with drink specials until 730pm. Open mic usually kicks off around 730 or 8 something until 10 something and the party goes until 2 something.

Shit, if its cool, we can do a lil something something. Get it? Got it.

Also, I linked myself again.

Somebody stop me!

So, bring your talented friends so we can get things on and poppin. Come ready to perform, and come ready to enjoy yourself at the Bohemian Caverns, each and every Wednesday.

Woosah.

Go to www.stock13.net to sign up for a discount for the afterparty.

Cost for Open Mic: $7 (that ain’t fine print neither)

Or at least that’s what the headline would say if I was writing for a major newspaper.

Of course that assumes any major newspaper would give a shit about what happens on BET. Either they don’t know, don’t show, or just don’t care about what goes on over at BET.

Rightfully so too.

In case you haven’t heard, it’s been reported (this article via Allhiphop) that BET has cancelled BET: UnCut after a six year run. I don’t know about you but I’m fairly conflicted about this for a few reasons.

For one, I like UnCut. Not from a quality standpoint but more from a social good standpoint. Where else are non-talented rappers and busted chicks who didn’t make the cut in quality videos going to get a shot now? Public access?? I’m sure they have some kind of screening process for public access channels. BET clearly does not, but isn’t that the joy of BET?

As much shit as I talk about BET I have to give them credit for always looking out for the little guy. Nearly every rapper on UnCut is some guy with a video camera and some luchini to spend who decides he wants to rap one day. How else do you get guys named Black Jesus making songs called “Tell Me What That Thing Smell Like”? And he isn’t talking about the air freshener. And for the record, that might have been one of the most entertaining videos ever to hit television.

And what of the guy from Alaska who’s name eludes me. In this particular video, he had video hoes shaking that ass against a backdrop of the freakin’ mountains. The guys? They had on parkas. The girls? They wore the standard UnCut paraphanalia: g-string and g-string looking bra.

I was happier after seeing that video.

BET was the place where non-talented black people had their shot. And I’ve said it before, but video hoes provide a service to the community that other women will not do. They exist so that loser men may look successful. And you can’t just manufacture that kind of commitment, it has to be sincere.

Viva la video hoes.

Another point of conflict is this: despite liking UnCut for its entertainment value (I can appreciate good ignorance) it really was quite an asstastic mess of a show and put our male/female problems right on front street. Yeah I like seeing scantilly clad women but good got damn. We sure know how to take shit too far, don’t we? Some of the shit I’ve seen on that show surprised the living shit out of me. Women really will go a long way for some shine. And men, well we’ll let women go a long way for some shine.

Then there’s the other point. BET, in all of its uberfuckery, ran UnCut for 6 years. They cut Cita’s World after a few and cut Ed Gordon’s shit for budget reasons. Which makes me think this wasn’t any kind of moral reason though I wouldn’t be surprised at some point if they tried to spin that. Hell this is the same station that claimed it didn’t show Coretta Scott-King’s funeral because it wanted to offer a different viewing experience…which was videos.

I hate BET.

Point being though, this clearly wasn’t a decision they wanted to make but it seems kind of strange as I can’t imagine UnCut was costing them money. It was probably one of the few shows where artists would pay to get some burn. Shoot uncut versions of videos, throw in some video hoes and some credit cards and voila, bingo bango…you’re on TV. I suppose my conflict on that point is that I feel like they were forced to cancel it and that’s just not fair.

Oh what a twisted web I weave.

Truthfully it should have been cancelled long ago. Women’s groups quietly protested the show blowing up with the Spelman College tirade a few years back. But BET and UnCut kept it moving. Oh yes, fuck Bob Johnson (for good measure). So why now? Why cut the show now? I know there was no social conscience, but it seemed like a cheap ass show to run.

Which leads me to my fully conflicted conclusion:

I think BET is finally going under.

I think its on the way out and I’m not sure how I feel about that. Despite my disdain for BET, I don’t openly boycott the station, I just don’t remember its there. There isn’t a single show on BET that I need to see…so I rarely end up on that station. I still think that BET could turn itself around and in some ways I kind of wish it would but the two new shows they’re rolling out (one with Keysia Cole and the other with DMX) aren’t really going to get people flocking to BET. UnCut was the staple that people flocked too.

So I’m kind of torn here. On the one hand, I don’t really give a shit about BET and it hasn’t been worth shit for years now, but what if it is on the way out?

Which brings up the most important question of all…

…where will all the aint-getting-a-shot-at-TV-nowhere-else hosts and shit go if BET goes under?

Unemployment in the black community might be on the way up.

Hold me.

Have you ever been to the club and wanted to straight mollywop the DJ for being hands down the worst you’ve ever heard in your life?

That was me on Friday night.

I’m still pissed about it.

Let me paint you a picture.

A crowd of black people standing still. At 2am. While music is playing. Nary a drunk enough person in sight. People looking at one another in one accord as if to say, “this DJ fuckin’ sucks.”

If you’re young, gifted, and Black (and haven’t committed suicide in New York City in 1979…I’m still bitter about that), and live in Washington, DC, then mayhaps you’ve ventured to Ozio’s on a Friday evening.

Who am I bullshitting? You’ve probably been there more times than you care to admit. I don’t think I’ll be going back there anytime soon.

Since the inception of digital turntables, many DJ’s are now able to just bring a laptop and their turntables to the club and they have their sounds prepared ahead of time. Such was the case with this DJ. He dipped out for a good hour and played his tracklist. And do you know what that means?

It means this dude was playing entire songs. But it wasn’t entire songs you wanted to hear. He was playing 6 minute versions of songs like Jay-Z’s “Big Pimpin”…fuck that…do you know what’s WORSE than that???

Check it.

You know how some album versions of songs fade out and turn into an interlude. Good googly moogly we were listening to interludes up in the club. Standing around like, “why the fuck am I listening to an interlude?”

AND.

He played all the good current shit around midnight when we got there. Ozio’s ain’t close til 3am. Or so I believe since I left at 2 something and slapped the bouncer on the way out.

My favorite song of 2006 is Yung Joc’s “It’s Going Down”. Fuck you. That song is bananas in the club. He played it at midnight. Never again.

In fact, he didn’t play a recently popular song from about 1230am til we left. This dude played Puffy and Mase “Can’t Nobody Hold Me Down” (which I love) but still, folks would rather have heard something a little more recent.

AND.

I hate reggaeton. But I can take it in spurts. For a straight hour though? When NOBODY is dancing to it? El fuckboy needed to be shot.

Who doesn’t play recent shit towards the end of the night? I say who????

Horrible ass DJ’s. That’s who!

Somehow I think Jim Jones was responsible.

Now, prior to heading there me and mi compadres were up in Silver Spring at the Austin Grill. For those not in the know, its a country western spot with killer drinks. They have a live band playing country music. The country music there was 10 times better than the DJ at Ozio’s.

Let’s take it a step further.

On Saturday I went to the Annual White Party that is thrown in DC (actually it was in Nowhere, Maryland). My boy DJ’d that party. That party was off the fuckin’ hook music-wise. Of course, we were all in white so the bougieness stepped up to the plate but it was fun. This is about the DJ though. My boy, knows the concept of the club-banger. He laid it down.

That party? The DJ was on point. And was a good 20 times better than the DJ at Ozio’s.

After the White Party, we somehow ended up in Adams Morgan at The Diner. The music they had playing in The Diner??

30 times better than the DJ at Ozio’s. And I heard Phil Collins “Sussudio”.

Don’t sleep. Phil Collins is the man.

Speaking of which, Bobby Brown’s “Don’t Be Cruel” album? I’m taking a stand. That’s the best R&B album ever created.

Discussion? Buh-ring it.

All this to say, I went to numerous spots this weekend…OOOOH OOOOOH…I forgot.

The nigga’s driving down my street in DC blasting their music as loud as possible?? Way better than the shitty as DJ in Ozio’s.

In life, the most depressing thing I’ve ever seen might be a bunch of sober black people praying for a good song to come on so you don’t have to fake being hype to Kris Kross’s “Jump”. Nostlagia only takes you so far.

It felt like we were being held hostage to the rhythms. Or maybe he was just fucking with us.

All I know is that the DJ tried to kill us.

Everybody mambo!

[***Yeah, yeah...it's long. Sue me. And this could very well be one of the most disjointed posts I've written in years. However, my sexxiness precludes me from stopping myself from putting it out there. Sadatay! ***]

There’s a popular clich?�d statement out there that goes a little something like this:

Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me. You may have heard that somewhere. It’s popular on schoolyards everywhere as future millionaires fend off the numerous taunts of usually bigger, cooler, or more assholish kids who make fun of each other during Act One of the omnipresent stage play, Life.

I know I’ve said it before to somebody. Probably to some girl who called me a name when I was six or seven. I’m guessing it was my best rebuttal. Either that or the similarly popular, “I’m rubber, you’re glue, whatever you say bounces off of me and sticks to you.” It’s funny how ridiculously ridiculous these statements are but how clear they are to children. I swear, there isn’t a kid alive who doesn’t know how to turn that statement around on another kid.

The main notion behind these statements is that words are just that, words. That they don’t necessarily hold much Oprah sometimes and that short of being bludgeoned with a Louisville Slugger, for the most part, you can just get up and move on past something someone has just said that you don’t necessarily agree with.

Well, me…I’m calling bullshit, especially the older you get. I don’t know which is a bigger lie: actions speak louder than words or Ken Lay’s actually dead.

And no, I don’t think he’s dead. There are times in life where death just seems a little bit too convenient. Ken Lay’s untimely demise? You bet your ass that’s one of those times.

And for the record, I do think actions speak loud. But I think that words carry just as much weight.

Now, I won’t be focusing on that “actions speak louder than words” segment, but more on how certain words really can totally get you in an assblender of trouble. One specific word actually. But since I’m verbose as a German bratwurst, I can’t just simply tell you the word. With that said…

…what’s the worst word you can call a woman who’s got any sort of interest in you?

Or shit a man for that matter?

You in the back.

No, it’s not bitch.

Though calling a woman a bitch is not recommended and calling a man a bitch can result in an asswhippin.’ Unless you’re friends of course and as along as its been discussed at some point that such language is okay and that all parties are in agreement that such okayedness is indeed alright, or alright with me, like Janet Jackson who has a new song out that really isn’t so stellar featuring Nelly produced by JD which sounds a lot like “We Belong Together” which sounds a lot like “Confessions” which was the partial title of a book by a woman with a son who is of school age who must venture everyday around a bunch of people who know that the best thing his mother has ever done in her life was fellate Shaq…well.

I mean, it’s a fucked up word to call a woman and all and probably will fuck you up in the game but by the point you actually were to call a woman that I’m guessing the interest has probably dissipated faster than a Halle Berry relationshiop.

But no its not bitch.

Ah, what the hell, just for good measure: Who you callin’ a bitch!!?!!?!!

U.N.I.T.Y.

You, over there scratching yourself.

No, it’s not cunt. Though…though, I REALLY don’t suggest calling a woman that, especially if she likes you. She will commence to un-liking you. And just…why would you do that?

You all are killing me.

The word?

Buddy.

Yes. It’s buddy.

Oh, you don’t believe me? You can case study this shit if you want to. Allow me to offer a situation from my own life as fodder for discussion.

Once upon a blue moon, I was a lovestruck idiot in college. I’d managed to find a woman who for whatever reason got me all in a tizzy. Now, despite my constant attempts to woo this woman, she managed to fend off my advances like she was practicing for the National DisANigga Time Trials. But she didn’t exactly want me to not continue to woo her since my woo-age was neither stalkerish nor annoying. My woo-age included flowers, poetry, trips to cheap dinners. Basically, I had your all around being a nice guy who really likes a girl thing going on. I’d do dumb shit hoping she’d take notice despite the fact that she’d made it clear she wasn’t really trying to be with me, though clearly she was interested but it might have just been in the way I treated her. Figure out if she’s worth it, then treat her like a Queen. I had that little equation backwards.

I was idiot, hear me roar. Actually, it should read like this. I was idiot, heard me roar (since this shit was in the past and all).

But one fine day, as we were on the phone, me in my non-chalant manner innocently said to her, “hey buddy…”

STOP.

Have you seen I’m Gonna Get You Sucka? Do you remember the part where the mother who is on her period turns into the monsterish thing who is doing back flips and shit when folks come into her house looking for Jack Spade? Yeah, that was this chick. Hell, throw a conniption in there too.

I felt like I had just shot her grandmother with a rusty barnacle. She went off on me. Now remember, this was a chick who didn’t want to be with me, but apparently she for damn sure didn’t like the connotation that comes along with being called a buddy.

“I am NOT your buddy.”

Sheesh.

I left that alone after that and had learned my lesson.

That was until the next time I used that term and the exact same shit occurred.

And you know what, I didn’t get it at first. Why would these women who seemingly don’t want to be with me get so offended at the use of the term “buddy”. Then it dawned on me.

Women fucking HATE that word because it makes them feel less special. “No he didn’t call me his buddy. What I look like? His boy Jim that he plays ball with!!! Shiiiiiiiiiiiiit…he better had get right in his mind!”

And in some ways I can kind of understand. Maybe its unintentionally intentional, but words like “buddy” and shit tend to pop up when people are dating and they’re in that limbo, where-are-we-going stage. Maybe we’re all just playing mind games with one another.

I prefer mind strip-poker.

While we’re talking about stripping, I actually played strip spin the bottle once. Talk about just TRYING to find a reason to get naked.

Mentos…the freshmaker.

Back to the point.

The dude is thinking that if he calls her buddy and he gets a reaction then he knows she’s feeling him definitely. Kind of like forcing the green light. On that stupid ass Love Jones shit.

I need to say this here…I fuckin’ HATE when people try to passively aggressively bait me into shit. I know some folks who go out of their way to force an issue by total beat-around-the bushage. I want those people to get hit by lightning.

Most people I know hate passive-agressive ass bastards too. It’s one thing if two dating people are passive-aggressively feeling each other out in hopes of, you know, feeling each other out later. It’s something altogether different when people say this:

“We might need to talk about something later on.”

Umm…the fuck does that mean? What do you mean might? If we might need to talk about it later on then we probably DO need to talk about it now.

Spit it out nigga!!!

Sounds personal, n’est-ce pas?

Wow, I’ve taken some tangents but that was some major tangential shit right there.

Ah yes, women hate feeling less than special. Especially if they like you. Even more especially than the past especially if questions are lingering about the direction two people are heading.

Yo, are you actually still reading this?

In some ways I don’t even think its deeper than that. An interested woman wants to know that you feel that she’s more special than other random folks in your life, whether its true or not.

Speaking of which, and since I’ve already written like a gazillion words, what in the fuck is up with some women really thinking that they should be the ace numero uno priority in a man’s life, above his family and shit. I had to cut a chick back before behind that. She actually told me that she felt she should have a higher place in my life than my momma(s) and sisters and just family over all.

After like 3 months.

Of knowing each other.

I thought she was joking. She was not. I thought it’d be best if she exited my life. She did not.

She went bye-bye.

I think at this point, my original point, whatever it may have been has gotten lost so let me just end with this nugget of advice:

Wear shower shoes in public showers.

Goodnight and goodluck.