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.

This entry was posted on Monday, July 31st, 2006 at 10:29 am and is filed under Learn Ya Somethin', Relationshipism, Truisms. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.