Washington D.C. is having the worst. week. ever.

Everybody around here is talking about the shooting death of Washington Redskin’s football player Sean Taylor, and rightfully so. It’s tragic when young people’s lives are taken in such a cavalier and reckless manner. Even more so in this case because the details make it sound like it was less a robbery and more personal. He was shot in his bedroom. And he had a machete.

I hate to do this here, but do you remember what T.I. was holding in his bedroom? Yeah, army guns–the type of army guns that turn over Humvees and take out missile silos in countries shooting for gold in the nuclear arms race. T.I.? Wouldn’t be a victim in a home invasion. Imagine what he was holding under his pillow. My guess is that it was some sort of semi-automatic hunting rifle. You know, the kind that gives animals a fair chance to get away!

Either way, R.I.P. Sean Taylor.

That’s not the only bad news in Washington right now. On Monday, a report was released about the AIDS epidemic in DC. And boy is it ugly. Turns out DC has the highest concentration of HIV/AIDS cases in the nation and that 9 out of 10 new HIV cases are…

…in Black women.

Click here to read the article.

You don’t need to be a statistician to know that those numbers are pretty shitty. Basically, if you aren’t strapping up in this city, you are an idiot. A first class idiot. In fact, your level of idiocy is unprecedented. Your level of idiocy is on par with Magic Johnson being the only living human being who seemingly has managed to get HIV to untraceable levels in his body. Which begs the question…if you can’t trace it, is it there? Hmm…think about it.

But you know what is there? Your lunacy.

So let’s think about this for a second. DC is already a terrible place to be a Black woman in search of man, notwithstanding some level of attractiveness. Face it, if you have bad face, your stuck anywhere except the Montana and West Virginia backwoods. And its not to say that you can’t find a mate its just to say that you have no choice in the matter–you take what you can get.

Sidenote: I went to this rather upscale “supper club” last night for a small gathering and I swear I saw the largest collection of women who looked like they might have been attractive 10 years ago. Seriously, I saw two women who looked seemingly attractive and that might have been more a addition-by-subtraction thing than a natural beauty thing.

So yes, it’s already a shitty place to be a single woman who’s looking for man. But NOW you have to think that every man is a walking STD. Truthfully, everybody should already feel like that given the amount of STDs available to the masses. And I say available because the way some people go raw with their sex lives you’d think they wanted an STD just to see what it felt like.

According to science? Not good. Though according to television, catching Herpes is just like going horseback riding. Actually the commercial more illustrates that you can still go horeseback riding. So I guess that one’s not so bad. Unless you’re that horse because I’ll bet NOBODY told the horse she had herpes! As if!

Ladies, check your weave.

Then rub your tits if you love Big Poppa.

Tits is a fun word.

So yes, bad dating scene, bad HIV scene, and not to mention the ridiculous subprime mortgage lending and foreclosure rate and gotdamn, DC just is not the place to be an unmarried Black woman. This is interesting because so many young Black people move to DC because it’s a city with a young professional Black crowd of substance and visibility. In some places, being a Black person with a graduate degree makes you important. In DC it makes you manager at McDonald’s. And even then it only qualifies you for the job. EVERYBODY in DC has a damn graduate degree. I myself have 7 of them! Okay that’s not true at all. But this is DC, its possible. For Black people, its exciting to be in a city where there are lots of people like yourself who are about something and can read.

Reading is fundamental.

But now what? I remember when I read the article in the Post about women’s struggles to find a man in this city and women everywhere were in arms about it. Interestingly enough, the ratio in DC was better compared to the nation as a whole. Something like 8.3 marriageable Black men (with the .3 accounting for the myth, they don’t call it the Beltway for nothing!) to 10 women compared to 7 to 10 for the rest of the nation. But now you have to ask about their peders. Talk about your uncomfortable first date question:

Chick: So, Brian, I know your not gay, but do you have AIDS? Just askin!

Brian: Check please!

OH…and not to mention that in the article it stated that it wasn’t homosexual interactions that were making up for the majority of cases. Nope, it was the straight people. You can now remove that “gay-man’s disease” bullshit from your domes.

The moral of the story here kiddies is that if you are a young Black woman thinking of moving to DC, take your happy ass to Philly where all you have to worry about is getting shot just for breathing. At least that might take you out quickly.

AIDS?

Not so much.

I’ve got two words for you: Jean “Motherfucking” Strahan.

Also known as the ex-wife, divorcé of one New York Football Giant, Michael Strahan.

Actually that’s three words unless you just count the “Motherfucking” as a nickname (which I do), therefore making it interchangeable, which still renders it as two words. Logic be damned.

Fellas, you REALLY need to consider the shit that you do while you’re married because this here justice system is going to fuck you with no vaseline. Basically, don’t get caught cheating on your wife or you just might lose roughtly 70 percent of your net worth.

Yes bitches, not 50, but 70.

Such is the case in this sad tale about divorce, retribution, and a (must be) woman judge.

To wit:

Michael got taken to the cleaners to the tune of $15.3 million in the divorce (New York Daily News headline: “Wife: 15,000,000, Strahan: 0″). He also had to vacate the couple’s 1906 Montclair, N.J. mansion, the one with the 22,000-square feet, 12 bedrooms, seven baths and a garage big enough for 20 cars.

The ruling was even more than Jean actually sought for the less than six years of marriage. The judge wound up giving up more than half of Michael’s estimated $22 million of net worth. from article, “Giant Headache” from Yahoo! Sports

Say it with me, class: Gotdamn! Dude, getting taken to the cleaners is so not heavy metal. However, if he OJs her ass with a gun instead of a knife, that would definitely qualify him as hip-hop.

Gunplay is so hip-hop. Word to Smith & Wesson.

And why did he get fucked 40 ways from Sunday taken to the cleaners? My guess is he sucks as a husband, but this probably helped:

Strahan’s rep took a beating in the divorce. It was alleged he ditched his wife and twin 2-year-old daughters to jet off with his mistresses, one he supposedly called “Cupcake.” Then there was the time, Jean alleged, he secretly videotaped her sister as she undressed only to later allegedly deposit $30,000 in her bank account.

And, maybe most damaging to female viewers, there was the rebuke by the judge for not remembering Jean’s birthday or their wedding anniversary. Every man knows that’s tough to overcome.

Dude, calling a woman, “Cupcake” is so not the hotness. I don’t care if she is just your jump-off sperm holder. But that’s WAY better than videotaping your sister-in-law undress. For fuck’s sake, what were you thinking? Things like that are what makes marriage such a fading institution. You just can’t trust anybody these days. Plus, people apparently can’t keep secrets either since he allegedly “secretly” taped his sister-in-law but motherfucking Yahoo! Sports knows about it. Some secret, Santa.

It’s no wonder El Idiote Strahan got laundered. He approached his cheating with reckless abandon and if the child support case of Diddy is any indication, New York state doesn’t play when it comes to infidelity and uberfuckery. Of course there is a downside to this whole thing (aside from the serious downside that Strahan will have to face if the actual settlement goes through, he’s appealing)…

…you see, Jean Strahan just might catch a bad one. Michael Strahan is a rich nigga. But he is also about to become a broke nigga. Yes people, he will not be able to live like he used to live once his career ends (like in a year). And you do not mess with a Black man’s money. She’s white too?! Oy vey. I’m getting OJ flashback as we speak, except instead of a white Bronco, it will be a black Escalade with limo tints and a bulletproof fiberglass casing.

Let’s just say, Jean Strahan might need some security because she took his house, his money, and she doesn’t really have to do shit except sit back and laugh at him.

“I ain’t saying he should have killed her, but I understand…” ~ Chris Rock, Bring The Pain, 1996

Word to the wise when purchasing a wife…let the buyer beware.

That bitch might cost you 25 to life one day.

Michael Strahan, this is your life.

From that title up there, you’d think that I was either talking about the recreational use of drugs or #$%^ing.

Today, I’m talking about #$%^ing.

According to a report conducted by the Guttmacher Institute–a private New York-based think tank that studies sexual and reproductive issues–at least 95 percent of Americans have engaged in premarital sex.

Including people from decades where we assumed sexual freedom and experimentation wasn’t as high, i.e. the 1940s and 1950s.

Um…wrong.

More than nine out of 10 Americans, men and women alike, have had premarital sex, according to a new study. The high rates extend even to women born in the 1940s, challenging perceptions that people were more chaste in the past.

According to (Lqwrence )Finer’s (research director of the Guttmacher Institute) analysis, 99 percent of the respondents had had sex by age 44, and 95 percent had done so before marriage.

Well if this isn’t good news I don’t know what is. This report basically tells us two things:

1. Women are definitely putting out and if you are a man and can’t get some, it’s you. Totally…you.

2. All of this mumbo jumbo about teen fucking has been an issue since like, forever. Only difference is the media coverage of such a thing. Out of sight out of mind.

And to think, we’ve been throwing millions and millions of dollars at programs and initiatives to promote abstinence amongst the youth. I think in the back of our minds everybody knew that was some non-sense but parents kind of hoped that their kids would wait.

Unlike them. Interesting isn’t it. I know I’ll probably have this dilemma. We want all of our kids to not do the same shit that we did. Do as I say, not as I do. Yet, history proves that they’re going to do a lot of the same shit that we do around the same time.

Hell, I knew there was a reason why my father said to me, in high school, in FRONT of me and my girlfriend:

Dad: “Don’t bring no babies around here!”

My Mom: “(pop’s name), stop that”

Dad: “Woman, I know they ain’t always together because they like talking to eachother.”

And boy was he right, she was so not the conversationalist. But a gymnast, you bet your ass she was.

The more you know!

*ding*

“It would be more effective,” Finer said, “to provide young people with the skills and information they need to be safe once they become sexually active — which nearly everyone eventually will.”

Amen. Why pretend that kids aren’t shellacking one another, why not teach them to be more responsible? I know its a tough road to hoe (*snicker*), but still, numbers don’t lie. Okay that’s not completely true either, you can pretty make numbers say what you want them too. However, how far fetched is this?

Not very.

I have to say here, that I must wonder about applaud people who wait until marriage to get their jollies off. With all of the temptation walking around here it’s amazing that anybody can wait.

Hell, I knew people in middle school schlumping one another. And by high school…either everybody was lying or I went to a very hormonious high school. It was also a Blue Ribbon School for Academic Excellence.

What with the number of pregnant girls walking around the two things my school was good at was math and fucking.

We believed in excelling!

I actually still know some virgins and with all of the sex that society is peddling, I’m often surprised by this. And they’re like real virgins. Not the fake chick ones who do “everything, but…”

Honestly, I hate those women…with the passion of Mel Gibson’s last two movies. And a soda on the side.

In fact, any woman who praises that mantra should be shipped to Saskatchewan with only Slim Jims and re-runs of Oprah, the fat years, at their disposal.

So essentially, I wrote all of this to say: Strap up America…she’s LYING!!!! And if he says he’s a virgin, you KNOW he’s lying.

Unless he has a pair of glasses with tape on them in which case he probably still lives at home with a bushel of duct-tape and KY Jelly…in which case he doesn’t have a shot in hell anyway.

And always remember this motto, it just might save your life–Lifestyles: Say YES! to pregnancy.

Me and one of mi compadres are working on a project intended to educate, facilitate, and aid in procreate (-tion). And no it’s not a How To Have Safe Sex When All You Have Are Lifestyle Condoms seminar. It’s a project that just might open the flood gates for discussion amongst the sexes. Gender roles are turned on their ear and stereotypes are accepted as fact.

Thing is, in this little booky book, we’ve tackled some issues that were close to our hearts. Clearly we can’t tackle everything. But it got me to thinking recently (actually just like 10 minutes ago), women have so many questions for men, from why do we cheat to why come we don’t be e’en known how to ack rite, etc…but how often do men have questions for women?? When it comes to relationships, quite often women have more questions than a mothertrucker when it comes time to discuss shit whereas us menfolks tend to be more observers and listeners and answerers and debaters. We debate what was said without usually bringing much new shit to the table.

Hell, the most common question males probably ask females is: what the hell is wrong with you all?

It’s a valid question.

But I’ve come to realize, through life experience, that I have other questions. And I’d very much like it if I could get some help. I’m going to lay one major question out there and see what happens from there, mostly because I’d like to know. So let’s get to it.

There’s a notion amongst the womanly community that men know when we fuck up. We’re very clear when we’re in the wrong. Usually, when doing dirt, a man will try to slyly make up for it by overcompensating in some area he normally wouldn’t, causing suspicion and ultimately leading to his be-heading because women are indeed not dumb.

Crazy, but not dumb.

But this begs the question: when a woman fucks up, does she know it? As in, are women adept at realizing when they just might have pushed a motherfucker too far? Say he doesn’t try to stab you with a fork, or he doesn’t emotionally show that he’s been trampled on like a herd of wild Buffalo running over some cowboys in 1891…

If he never outwardly says, “I’m over this shit, you obviously don’t give a shit about me so fuck you and the horse you rode in on…”, do women know that they just might have done irreparable damage?

I don’t even want to get into whether or not the average women would care or not.

Basically, how much do women pay attention to fucking up relationships? Men apparently do it all the time, but women never get any credit for fucking shit up either. Do women assume that because the man has shown over time that he can’t let go that no damage has been done?

This is just something I’ve been thinking about lately. Does it stem from anything? Of course it does. Experience is the best teacher, but the experience just may not have been mine.

Cryptic much? You bet yer ass.

Oh and a special fuck you out to everybody for NOT telling me that motherfucking Akeelah and The Bee is a STARBUCKS ENTERTAINMENT production. Yes, quite much, fuck everybody who’s seen it and didn’t tell me causing me to spend 20 dollars of my hard earned money on a movie that the evil powers that be have brought to the Black community, the same community that they’re gonna be shipping our movie-watching asses out of soon…down with Starbucks.

So yes, fuck you very much.

…but I must first set up the scenario.

And I will also assume that this is largely a female phenomenon as most men probably wouldn’t get caught up in caring too much.

In the beginning, there was rap.

Now that we have that out of the way, let us continue.

Say that you and your homechicas go to the club one day, or perhaps to a social gathering. There are various menfolks there and you end up taking up with one of the fellows. He’s nice enough and you all are enjoying the conversation. A bunch of his boys are there but you aren’t talking to them since you took up with your new manfriend. Let’s call him Gerald.

R.I.P. Gerald Levert.

We need to give you a name too huh. We shall call you Sheryld. Or her, Sheryld. I never pay attention to tense or anything, so sue me.

So Sheryld and Gerald spend the whole night talking, exhange information, or maybe even go out that night. Hey, they’re just two crazy kids having fun.

Let’s say a few days later, Sheryld and Gerald go to Gerald’s boy’s house for a get-together. Let’s call his boy, Harold.

So Sheryld and Gerald show up, and Harold and the rest of his invited guests are there, yuckin’ it up and getting slizzard off that Patron or something.

Or maybe they’re just playing Parcheesi.

You pick.

Anyway, during the course of the night, and after getting to know Gerald’s boys a little better, Sheryld realizes that Harold is WAY more interesting and perhaps even way better suited for her than Gerald is. I mean, she’s really enjoying talking to him and he seems completely genuine and like a completely good guy. Not that Gerald isn’t, but for some reason, she feels herself “clicking” with Harold.

But she’s “with” Gerald.

Dilemma?

The reason I ask this question is because I have actually witnessed this shit recently. None of the folks involved read this…but when I took a step back and really paid attention to what was going on I said to myself, “poor girl, she picked the wrong one.”

So to the ladies, how much of an occurence is this? Does this happen all the time? And what do you do about it? Do you just suck it up and let it ride or do you go for yours?

Hell, has this actually happened to any dudes?? Like you started messing with one chick and then met her friend and was like, “fuck…I totally like her friend more…”???

I find it to be a funny situation actually, which is why I really want to know how prevalent it is.

Also, Snoop’s song with R “I Ain’t Going To Jail” Kelly, “That’s That” is my new favorite song. I love that shit.

Sugarpants, signing off.

[***DISCLAIMER: This post might offend some of you single, well-to-do, upwardly mobile, black women out there who complain about the lack of equally yokeded black men in the population. I just figured I'd let you know upfront and ahead of time. And in case you want to spit venom my way, find your way over to www.idontgiveas***.com ***]

On Sunday, the Washington Post ran an article entitled “Singled Out: In Seeking a Mate, Men and Women Find Delicate Imbalance”. It’s a good article about a young 31 year old woman who has been trying to find a suitable black man to date in the Washington area and the sometimes trials and tribulations that go along with that task. You see, in DC (and surely in every other city across this vast nation of ours), a black woman is at a disadvantage when it comes to finding a black man who is on her “level” to date and eventually marry.

For shame.

In fact, the article points out some very disturbing statistics. Take a gander:

“…31-year-old black woman seeking to marry a black man, which lands her in the heart of the most uncoupled demographic in the United States. For every 100 single black women, there are 70 single black men, according to recent U.S. Census Bureau figures, a number that does not take into account the prison population or men living in group homes. In the Washington area, there are 83 single black men for every 100 single black women.”

Egads! As the article states, it would seem like a dating smorgasboard for me in Washington, DC.

And I suppose that on paper, that would be the case. Hell, I’m a single, educated, sexxy (back), Black man in DC. Technically speaking, I should be tired as hell from all of the women running amok looking for a man. Oh, AND, I’d like to get married (well, for this week anyway).

But there are a few things this article fails to mention. Aside from the obvious fact that there are just more women, especially Black women graduating and getting those well-paying jobs, etc….there is one little facet of human nature that all of these articles totally gloss over.

Let me lay something on the table for you, upfront: women are better people than men are. I will always believe that. I get proof of this fact on damn near a daily basis. I know lots of great men, but I know loads of great women. I see the evil that men do and the Hell that a lot of us put women through.

[***DISCLAIMER #2: This is not to say that women aren't full of shit evil bastards, either. Let's be real, just because it seems that more men are on that non-sense, there are tons of chicks who aren't shit and believe that the crap they do isn't really that problematic either. I just wanted to go on record with that one. Plus, when women decide to be evil, I think they tend to trump anything a dude can think of...youbettaknowdat. ***]

The point to be made about women being better people than men is this: men are more shallow.

Hi, my name is Panama, and I am a shallow fucker. It’s true.

Oh yeah, it’s true.

Thing is, I’m not apologetic about it either. For one, I’m not old enough to not be shallow, and b) I don’t think being shallow is a problem.

Which is where a lot of these problems come in. Allow me to make one significantly fucked up statement that I might actually dispell before I’m done writing this:

All of these single women running around here complaining about not being able to find a man aren’t exactly hot.

As in, a lot of them are unfine.

Being a shallow man, I can attest to this fact.

[***DISCLAIMER #3: Yes, I know that a lot of the women running around single are indeed fine. In fact, I'm often surprised by some of the women I come across who are manless. Which leads me to believe that some women are just as picky as they claim we are. Sure it might not be in looks, but it for damn sure is picky in other areas, like the ability to read. I hear that's a big one. ***]

Let’s be honest here. Just because there is a single man and a single woman out there who have the same levels of education, etc. Fuck it, just because you have two ninjas who are equally yoked does not mean that there should be a connection made. Ideally, it would be nice.

Unfortunately God gifted the majority of us with the ability to see. Sometimes that is a detriment to the dating process. Being the shallow bastard that I am, I’m well aware that there are some women out there who would make great girlfriends, hell, even wives…but I saw them first, which precluded me ever actually wanting to find out anything about them.

Sheesh. In all honestly, how many Hell points do you think I could get for that last paragraph alone?

My guess is beaucoup.

Plus if you throw in the chemistry factor, you’re looking at even less connectivity. We’re talking T-Mobile here…not Cingular.

I’ll use myself as an example. Since 2001, there have been three women in my life who have utterly captured my attention (they were all fine by the way…remember, I’m shallow, I refuse to fall in love with an ugly woman…and the Hell points keep coming). Interestingly, they all taught me things about myself. The first one taught me what I didn’t want in a woman, the second one taught me what I did want and showed me that there are some characteristics I just can’t deal with even if everything else is right, and the third one showed me that what I thought was impossible does actually exist…it just didn’t work out.

However, there have been a gazillion chicks in and around those women who for whatever reason just didn’t quite jive with what I wanted.

All fine. Tastefully nude, but all fine.

I always found it funny though, that nearly all of those women were ready to settle down and be with me for the long haul. Of course, this was my first experience with women really being worried about not finding a man seeing as they pretty much were willing to put up with some bullshit. Like, no lie. Did I take advantage of some of those situations, I suppose you could say that I did.

Then again, I’m also a believer that folks will only do to you what you let them do. Myself included.

My problem with these articles is that they totally leave everything to what the dating scene looks like on paper. And it isn’t only men who are tossing some of these women to the side. It goes both ways. Plus, when you add in the locations of some of these disparities, it adds a whole new layer of problems.

I mean, everybody knows that the further North you go, the more unattractive (on average) the women get.

*waiting on the WHAT THE FUCK? statements from unruly Northern women*

Yeah, I said it.

Despite the assholish nature I’ve displayed here, I do feel bad for women. The numbers don’t lie. There is a male shortage, and I can only date so many women.

That’s a joke.

I mean, 70 men for every 100 women means that no matter what happens, there are going to be some unmarried women out there. And that just doesn’t seem right. Mostly because it seems like the women with the most to offer usually end up being the odd ones out.

*hugs*

And when you throw in Black men dating white women, I suppose the number gets even smaller. That paints a very bleak picture. PLUS so many Black women really do want to marry Black men (as I want to marry a Black woman too), it just seems kind of sad.

On a side note, I’ve always found it funny how many Black women I know who have told me that they don’t know how they’d react to me dating a white woman…

…despite my mother being white.

Which is funny because I think my mother wants me to date a white woman. Or at least that’s how it feels when she tells me I need to be more “diverse” in my dating options. Of course, having a white mother but being raised by a Black woman in a Black household in Black surroundings tends to skew you one particular way…but still. I just don’t seem to get a fair shake on this one.

I do know that a lot of these articles fail to mention the attractiveness ratio that occurs (or doesn’t occur) with a lot of the women they tend to find. I mean, dude, a lot of us are still young enough to care what we’re bringing home. And if you’re like me, you have your own history to compete with. Though, I’m not actually sure I could date a woman who would be classified as a dime (10). I haven’t quite worked that one out in my head, but I think I prefer 8’s.

It seems that most 8’s tend to have come into their 8-dom over time and haven’t been fine forever, which means they don’t have the pretty-girl-for-life attitude that makes them damn near socially unfuckwitable. Basically, I like women who used to be ugly but turned pretty. They’re just more down to Earth.

Man, sometimes I amaze myself with the shit I say.

Chemistry and attractiveness are two facets of this dating demographic that always get left out and I think for our age group (25-34), they’re just as important as the ability to both know who the hell Yoyo Ma is. Besides, all of that culture shit is just what you use to impress the other party anyway. Yeah, it’s great that you’ve been to plays and all but how does that effect if we’re able to laugh at the same things? Or if I take you to my neighborhood you won’t freak the hell out because there are true to life crackheads chillin’ on the corner.

Sure, I’m glad you can read, but do you look good reading naked while we look like two peas in a pod?

Somehow, that simple question always gets left out of these articles.

“…something ain’t right, it’s the strobelite…” - Dres of Black Sheep, “Strobelite Honey” A Wolf In Sheep’s Clothing

Has this ever happened to you?

You go to the club and meet a woman who looks like Nia Long in the club and when you see her in broad daylight she looks like the broad side of a barn? Or have you met a man in the club who looked like Brad Pitt and when you go out in a well-lit, high traffic and visible, public place, he looks like Michael Chertoff?

By the way, if you have no idea who Michael Chertoff is, you really need to read more. At least crack a newspaper or something.

If this has ever happened to you, then you have become a victim of club goggles. What are club goggles?

Club Goggles. noun. the view that one gets while in a place of hedonistic joy of an object of interest that is skewed by the lighting that might render said object of interest as being more attractive than God has intended them to be. Synonyms: beer goggles, work goggles.

Club goggles are an epidemic in this country. They are the reason that so many first dates go down in flames. You can’t be happy when you get your mind ready for filet mignon and you get steakums. Or you have your soul ready for 2 spicy chicken sandwiches from Checker’s and you get home and they’ve not only only given you one sandwich, but its a daggone fish filet sandwich…AND YOU DON’T EAT FISH.

You see, club goggles are a menace to society. Similar to O’Dog. You see club goggles show no mercy and will shoot anybody. Club goggles, just don’t give a fuck. They come in and swoop your sensibilities and parade your souped up version of a busted person before you numerous times throughout the night and then cause you to hold onto this false image until you go out on a date or something.

As an aside, I’ll bet that if we really tried, and if we took certain interpretation liberties, that we could find a way for all of the 10 commandments to be broken in the club.

Not that I’m a heathen or anything. I just know how to rack up Hell points is all.

So…

Seriously, I’ve been a victim of club goggles on more than one occasion. Luckily, my hesitation at seriously trying to holler at one of the chicks proved correct when I saw the little minion strolling the mean streets of DC a few days later and she looked like a gargoyle.

No lie. What followed was a quick laugh, a longer prayer, and me victoriously throwing my hands in the sky, pointing and saying “You da MAN!!!!”

Chuuch.

Since I’m such a nice fellow, I realize that people need to be aware that club goggles are out there lurking and that with just a little bit of thought, you can avoid waking up next to a woman who looks like Jabba The Hut. Of course, if that’s your thing, then hey, by all means, do you. Or her.

Thing is, you don’t have to be a victim. Here, I’ve comprised 3 simple rules that you can follow to ensure that the person you meet in the club is still the same person you see a few days later. Me, I don’t downward spiraling surprises. If you don’t either, then just follow along.

1. You don’t have to get the number at the spot you meet, you can wait until you have better light.

Think about it. You’re in the club. It’s dark. Your vision had to adjust to being in a dark space. You should realize that if your vision had to adjust, then potentially its adjusted to your interests face as well. Perhaps, finding a more lit part, which will uncoincidentally be better for conversation since we all like to be in the darkest parts of the club t get our inner-perv on, will enable you to actually see what in the hell you are considering adding to your cellphone.

Speaking of cellphones, fuck it, take a picture and look at it in the bathroom. Also, notice if you’re the ONLY dude trying to holler. In this case, numbers don’t lie.

According to Shakira, the hips don’t lie either, but trust me, don’t believe that shit at all.

2. Make sure you leave when she leaves so you can see her outside.

You know, this happened to me recently. I wasn’t actually trying to holler at her anyway, but inside this woman seemed so hot. Outside, she seemed so not. Seeing her outside…

…not a good look. Went from a Darkness 8 to a Lightness 6. I’m talking in under 10 minutes too. That’s the difference in bragging about what you’re bringing home to meet he parents and not even telling your boys about meeting her.

“We don’t date 6’s” 3. A.C.A.F.

It’s a simple acronym that more people should be aware of, even if just for safety reasons. Who knew it would be helpful in the club as well. You’d never believe how a simple technological innovation would be able to keep you from knocking up a busted ass woman, or sleeping with a man who looks like the ugly version of an ugly person. Which is actually possible. In fact, I know this chick from undergrad who is recognized as being quite the unattractive woman. In what can only be described as a glitch in the ugly matrix, I found the unattractive version of the busted chick.

It was a dark day. Which is funny since we’re speaking of club goggles and its usually caused due to darkened conditions in the club.

What was I talking about again? Ah yes…A.C.A.F.

Quite simple actually and will solve all your problems.

Always Carry A Flashlight.

That, mi compadres, will solve all your problems.

If you put any group of able bodied, nubile, young to “professional” (which is my catch all for not quite 30 but older than 24 and able to read and more than likely pre-marriage/family) adults of mixed gender in a room together, two conversations will undoubtedly arise: sex and relationships.

It’s written in the DNA of every newborn that around the early to mid-twenties, all of us have to discuss these things. If it’s a group of black “professionals”, then the conversation will go to how much black men suck and how there are no good black men out there causing some poor misguided male soul to utter “well that’s why we date white women” causing a ruckus and lots of hissing and if not contained properly will result in objects being thrown about leading to the ultimate demise of that one antique item that has been passed down from generation to generation in somebody’s family causing further dismay, becuase it’s an antique and shit, forcing folks to get kicked out Martin style (wzup!).

This is just my interpretation, of the situation.

And for good measure, now who else wanna fuck with Hollywood Court?

But before the melee and after the hors d’ouevres (because us young urban professionals always have hors d’ouevres, though if you come to my house it’s chips and maybe some Cheez-Its), one question always arises as well:

Can men and women truly be just friends?

Oh yes, the old platonic friends question is sure to come up at some point. Me and my boy Johnny Kwest argue about this all the time. I contend that it is possible for men and women to be just friends, even at this age. He thinks otherwise.

I use myself and my female friends as examples.

He uses me and my female friends as examples.

*scratching head*

Needless to say, I often lose these arguments. I mean, how can you really win an argument when you’re being used against yourself…and you’re your best defense???

Somebody’s going to have to re-read that a few times. It’s okay, we’ll work on colors tomorrow.

Well I’m not going to discuss whether or not men and women can be platonic friends or not. I have platonic female friends but my boy has made some very compelling arguments as to why these platonic relationships exist. Doesn’t make them any less platonic, but I do understand that a lot of these relationships exist as they do due to circumstance.

But fuck that, Panama has platonic female friends.

However, having platonic female friends SHOULD mean that all rules of overly-intimate contact and the like are in place and nothing of romantic or overly flirtatious nature SHOULD exist.

Well, I’ll be the first to tell you that, umm, very seldom is that the case. In fact, I’m probably part of a group of Platonic Friends ‘R Us that could be a considered a habitual over the line-stepper. And it’s not usually me…well not always anyway. Apparently, just because you are just-friends, doesn’t mean that flirting and playful touchyfeely is out of bounds.

Then again, it never happens with folks you don’t find attractive (if you can help it). Which begs the question, if you find somebody attractive (but aren’t necessarily attracted to them), and you are friends…does anybody hear it?

Oops…I mean, are they platonic?

And this is what I’d like to delve into. Certain behaviors, anyway. I remember when I was in elementary and middle school, we used to have the D.A.R.E. officers come through and tell us about the dangers of drug use. D.A.R.E. to keep our kids off drugs, they’d say.

Do you remember McGruff the Crime Dog? Take a bite out of crime. He must have retired, because crime is up in DC.

Well, do you also remember the Department of Transportation’s drunk driving campaign? Friends Don’t Let Friends Drive Drunk?

Well, I think we need to discuss, in the realm of platonic friends, things that friends don’t let other friends do…

AND YOU SAY HE’S JUST A FRIEND: THINGS THAT FRIENDS DON’T LET OTHER FRIENDS DO, EVEN WHILE WATCHING FRIENDS

1. Friends don’t let friends give eachother backrubs.

This has been a point of discussion for me and some friends over the past few weeks. Sides have been drawn, arguments have been made, and policy decisions have been completely disregarded. It’s like the Bush Administration all over again. Let’s be frank here, by a show of hands, how many people have ever had an innocent backrub from a person of the opposite sex, that wasn’t paid for using cash or a credit card??

*crickets*

Shit how many people would ask a “random” person that they wouldn’t think of in an impure manner, to put their hands all over their body in hopes of easing some tension or releasing some stress?

Hell, who doesn’t think of sex when they think of easing tension or releasing stress????

Skin-on-skin (basically hand to back) backrubs are purposeful. It’s just like the book, Purpose Driven Life. Backrubs? Purpose Driven Action. It’s too sensual and the back is a very sensual place. You get to rubbing and shit and who ISN’T going to get all randy? I remember a long time ago, I was talking to this chick and anytime we’d be at her home and she needed a way to say, “hey Panama, I’d like some right now…what do you think?”, she’d just ask me for a “back-rub”.

Now, if you give folks a backrub and you don’t go up under their shirt…well you’re clearly not trying to start anything and that’s “safe”.

Here’s a simple rule of thumb. If your sister/brother can’t do it, then maybe it isn’t so…”friend-friendly”.

I’m just saying, back-rubs are treading dangerous territory.

2. Friends don’t let friends kiss on the lips.

You’d THINK this would be self-explanatory. Hell, Europeans, who are all kissyface, at least kiss on the cheeks. But do you know I know some folks who consider themselves to be platonic friends actually kiss on the lips.

Platonic friends my ass.

I know you see it…I know you see it…

Lip-to-lip action, just doesn’t make any sense to me, if you’re just friends. If you get the pleasure of touching my lips, you’d probably get the pleasure of some NFL kick-off action. *wink**wink* Know what I mean??

Speaking of the NFL, Nick Saban, head coach of the Miami Dolphins, is an idiot. Thank you.

And since we’re talking about idiotic things…

3. Friends don’t let friends sleep with eachother.

Oy vey!

We can add, or touch people in their special places to that as well.

Fellas…if you EVER meet a woman who tells you she can have sex with you with no strings attached…throw something at her and run like hell. She’s lying. No matter how much she tries to convine you she can, she’s a liar.

LIAR. Only a select few women can do this, and you know what? They’ll probably have your ass sprung. Yessir, she will turn you into a woman.

I just don’t think you can be a platonic friend and sleep with your friends. It just doesn’t make sense. Sure, we all have our moments of weakness, but you have them with folks you’ve thought about in vertical terms. If you go to thinking about your friends in vertical terms, it seems counterintuitive to think that they’re actual platonic friends. Sure, you may make strides to keep the relationship platonic by going out of your way to respect the rules of space, time, and Soul Train, but in all truth…when it comes to mental sexnastics, if you think it, you will drink it.

Kool-Aid that is.

And yes, I just wanted to say that.

Do it. Do it.

Just don’t sleep with your friends, mmkay.

Live and learn. Call me Joe Public.

4. Friends don’t let friends hold eachother while sleeping.

Now this one gets tricky. I believe that a man and a woman can sleep in a bed together and not touch eachother and it be all good. Hell, I’ve done it. It’s easier than it sounds. But if one person goes all cuddling up to the other one in the middle of the night and wants to be held and shit, I’m raising a red flag. Holding and being all up under folks is a prime way for feelings to develop. And you wouldn’t just snuggle up to Ray-Ray from 18th Street, now would you? Nope, somebody you truly trust and care about…and if you truly trust and care about them and are all arm locked and wake up and look into eachother’s eyes and smile and then discuss going to the zoo to look at furry and fuzzy animals or God forbid, go feed ducks together…well, your platonicity is at stake, pimpin’.

It was written.

Besides, that cuddling shit leads to sex. See #3.

5. Friends don’t let friends hate on other love interests and relationships.

If you are truly platonic friends, you’ll be happy when your friend meets somebody new that they are really interested in.

We’ve all seen it happen. Some dynamic due of platonicity hangs tough and swears that there’s nothing going on until one of them meets somebody else. All of a sudden they can’t stop talking about how fucked up it is that things are going the way they are…then somebody throws around the, “they should have known I liked them, even though we never talked about it…”

Basically, the non-sense and bullshit starts flying like black folks with reparations checks.

If you got beef, then clearly you need to re-evaluate their place in your life. If your friend tells you that they met somebody at the mall and you automatically call her a ho, you just might not be platonic. If you meet somebody at a library, and you tell your “friend” and he calls the new dude a pussy for reading…you just might not be platonic.

If you both meet somebody new and then fight? Just might not be platonic and you probably broke rule #3.

Which means you aren’t platonic anyway, because…the bottom line is…

Friends don’t let friends break friend rules.

It was written.

It’s kind of like Snakes On A Plane, only not at all.

Let me just say this right now, I’m actually excited about the movie Snakes On A Plane, but only because I love the title. I’ve been running around telling people about the snakes on the planes for a while now. I like simple things.

I also like good things.

You know, I seriously can’t date a woman who uses sentences like that to answer questions like “what are your interests in life?”

Anyway…

When it comes to dating, there are certain principles that hold true; certain occurences that must occur for there to be actual occurences that occur for the balance of world power to make sense.

For instance, this is a usual order of operations. Man approaches woman. Woman sizes up man. Woman either rejects man (hopefully in a decent enough way) and man picks up face and saunters back to his boys who will joke him about it for the next 10-15 minutes. Or woman accepts man’s opening statement and agree’s to go into trial for a little discovery, litigation, and sentencing.

It usually happens like that in some way shape or form. And you know, when man gets rejected by woman I usually understand why a woman might be upset if a man makes some unnecessarily disparaging remarks because she turned him down. Hell, it’s usually his fault. I’m of the belief that the less a man says, the better he usually does.

Ladies?

YEAH!

I said Ladies!!?!?!

YEAH!!!!!

How many men have you dealt with that have blown a good date or some possible nude Twister because he just talked to much and said something stupid?

*all the ladies screaming*

See?

I’m often perturbed even when men go the asshole route because a woman just isn’t feeling him.

However…sometimes, just sometimes, I believe it’s warranted.

Follow me.

The following situation is real. The names have been changed to protect the innocent.

One day not so long ago, this fellow named Pablo was riding the A train in Brooklyn. He caught the train at his normal time and sat down in a seat to begin his daily trek into the Big Apple. Upon sitting down, he noticed a woman that he’d seen on numerous trips on the same train at the same time. He always noticed her because she was attractive and there was something about her that caught his eye. She was special. And she noticed him too. He’d caught her looking before.

Pablo then walked away never to be heard from again.

Now, this heffa didn’t even need to do that. If there is one thing that is completely unnecessary in the pre-courting process, it’s total assholishness. Unless the woman is approached in a jackass manner, there is no need to be a jackass.

Panama’s Theorem of Relative Curse-ability: If you are to reject somebody, the way you are approached should be the way you reject. Anything less is uncivilized. If somebody rejects you in an assholish way after you’ve approached them in a respectful manner, you are well within your rights to say fucked up things to them.

It was written.

I’m sorry, but I almost wish a ninja WOULD try to play me like that on a train when I approach her on some humble stuff. I mean, the dude even said excuse me and opened up with safe lines as to not step on her toes or be overly aggressive or anything.

Oh yes, that mumbo jumbo about, “well Panama, you sexxy mofo you, you have no idea what could have happened her that morning, etc, yada yada yada…”

Yeah, save that shit for the falcons. Her life situation should have very little impact on the way she rejected him. There is a proper way to let a man down so that no unnecessary lives are lost. Think about this…a lot of us reading this are black…

…we KNOW that we’re crazy. Especially some black dudes. And for the white people…yeah, it’s true, a lot of us are nuts.

But we don’t drive around picking people off on some serial killer shit like other whi…oh wait…

Well, we don’t cut up people and place them in the refridgerator to eat later.

Yeah!

You see, my friend Pablo up there would have been well within his rights to ream her ass for that shit on the train.

SNAKES ON A PLANE!

There was no reason for her to be disrespectul. Hell, it was his first time ever speaking to her (and the last…can’t forget that part). And truthfully, I just don’t even really understand what would compel a woman to be jackass like that when a man approaches respectfully.

Okay, let’s think about that for a second. Women, do have to deal with a lot of crap from men on a daily basis. Especially the more attractive you are. I’m sorry, but ugly women just don’t have the same set of problems as pretty women.

But we’re all beautiful on the inside.

*ding*

In dealing with all of that, I can understand how a woman’s first reaction can be to get defensive and ready for the asshole to come out and say something like, “Hey ma, I been watching your ass jiggle for the past two months on the train now. I can’t wait til the train slows down so I can watch your breasticles sway with the brakes…so how about me and you just cut the bull and the sexual tension and just get better acquainted over a bottle of $4.99 champagne and some strawberries on my faux-real bear skin rug at my place??”

Okay, see, I can understand how that might get a little annoying. But is it fair to hold Pablo and every man that Pablo stands for in contempt because of the actions of a few?

“Naw…bitch I said naw…” ~ Day-Day, Friday After Next

In order for us to keep this thing moving, we need order.

We need ordeeeeeeeeeer.

I’m looking for insight into this matter, but I’ll tell you now, there is nothing good enough that can justify a woman being an asshole to a man for no good reason, unless he has slept with her before and he has forgotten in which case she would have been completely justified.

But to his knowledge, he had never slept with her.

Women, let this be a cautionary tale. Me? I might have had to return the asshole tenfold.

Amazing these lessons you can learn on the train.

And for kicks…

SNAKES ON A PLANE!

And for additional kicks, a new friend of mine who chastised me for not posting in quite a few days sent me this picture yesterday. You might live in the ghetto if you see this:

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.