Zen and the Art of Properly Talking to a Woman

Zen and the Art of Properly Talking to a Woman

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. I’m old school.

See, as I was growing up, learning how to properly talk to a woman was one of those coming of age things that not only earned you respect with the fellas; but it also made you very popular with the ladies. Plainly stated, in African-American communities, “if you have no rap, you have no game”. It’s a practiced art, really. I’d dare say that I really started learning at age 12. If a girl takes and interest and you can’t say the right thing then you’d not only earn her disdain, but also the ridicule of your friends. It was one of things where if you screwed up, you’d take your lumps, roll with it and move on.


Text messaging. Circa 1982.


I’ll share a little secret with you folks. My wife and I met online. It all started with internet chat (back in the old Yahoo days). Back when online interaction was still young (i.e. AOL; and if you know what that is you probably don’t even need to keep reading this), you actually had to know how to carry on a conversation. You had to know how to open the conversation. You had to know how to keep the conversation going. You had to be interesting. In order to be interesting, you had to be charming and well-read. That sort of thing takes practice. It also takes a proficient vocabulary, regardless of if you’re doing it online or in-person. It makes an impression, folks, and the formula works.


SKREEEEEE….URRRRRRK! You’ve got romance!


I remember when I was 16 years old, I dated a girl for a brief period of time during my junior year of high school. She lived with her grandmother; and because of this I had to formally court her. This meant that I had to show up at the house in a presentable manner and actually introduce myself as someone who wanted to date the young lady of the house. While the relationship did not last, it taught me about making a good first impression.

Nowadays, we live in the era of hyper-active social media. My wife and I are no longer the anomaly regarding how folks meet. We’re the norm; but I’m sad to say that the fine art of conversation, especially with a potential love interest , seems to be dying a slow, uncomfortable death.

In other words fellas, you got to step up your game; cause dick picks just don’t work.


…not even if your name is Carlos Danger, fellas. Just don’t show it.


Who actually opens up a conversation by sending a pic of their member, anyway? How could anyone possibly think that could go well?

As entertaining as it is, it’s caused a sad state of affairs for communication between men and women nowadays.

Here’s another example.

“Hi. Nice to meet you. Wanna fuck?” (true story)


Seriously, folks…happens more than you think. Hijacked from a friend with her permission.


I mean, really folks.


Please don’t tell me that actually works. Please tell me that I didn’t read Don Quixote, Romeo and Juliet, A midsummer Night’s Dream and Cyrano DeBergerac works for no flipping reason. Fellas, please. Women don’t go for the “way too direct” approach. It’s like the difference between a professionally made cake and a microwave cup cake. Sure, you can have immediate gratification from the microwave cake; but ultimately you’re getting crappy cake. Give me something I have to go to a professional pastry maker to enjoy. Guys, be a professional pastry maker in your choice of words when wooing a woman.


“Romeo, Romeo….wanna get laid?” Never happened folks…trust me.


…by the way, is the word “woo” even used anymore? Do today’s young adults even know what that means?

Informally defined, to “woo” means to pursue as a love interest. This means going through the actual formalities of gaining a significant other. I don’t care your gender preference. It means introductions, casual conversation, asking her (or him) out, dating, an introduction to the parents, and (horrors) asking permission for the person’s hand in marriage. That’s woo’ing. Folks don’t do that anymore.

….when my daughter starts dating (at age 47) I will make her potential boyfriend court her officially. I will track the wooing process. Cause, that’s what dads do. But I digress….

Getting back, we live in a world of Snapchat, Kik, instant messaging and whatever else basically circumvents the anticipation of getting a letter from someone. Does anyone ever actually write love letters anymore?

A text that says “wanna fuck” does not count… all.

That, again, is a practiced art. When did we decide that speaking and writing eloquently to a potential love interest is unimportant? My wife once told me that I was so well-spoken at our initial face to face meeting that she came away from our first date unsure that I was heterosexual.



No actual reason for this, but any blog post is automatically made better by inserting a pic of Morgan Freeman. And yes, he’s well-spoken too.


In other words, you gotta pursue a standard. Believe me, at 5’2″, if I didn’t know how to talk to a woman, I’d still be single. But yet, I still see lamentations, from too many women in my age group, about meeting someone of the opposite sex, barely getting through introductions, and getting a picture of a wiener on day 2.


I can guarantee you that this dude did not ride around on his horse with a picture of his penis in his satchel; nor did he open any conversation in a vulgar manner. If you don’t know who this is, stop reading my blog and pick up more books.


Believe me, I am, by no means, anyone’s expert in interpersonal communication; but there are some basic rules that I just don’t see being taught in today’s world. So, at no extra cost to you, fellas, here are some words to live by.

  1. No dick pics.
  2. “Wanna fuck” should never be part of the conversation.
  3. If you’re talking about “nudes”, then you better be referencing the color, not making a request.
  4. Remain well-read on current affairs so that you can carry on an intelligent conversation.
  5. No dick pics.
  6. NO quality woman wants to open a conversation with sexual innuendos.
  7. Develop an educated vocabulary.
  8. If you’d be uncomfortable saying it face to face, then don’t shoot a message about it.
  9. No dick pics.
  10. Don’t ask to see her tits via mobile device or internet. Not on day 2….not on day 200. Just don’t ask.
  11. Repeat #10 to yourself about 50 times.
  12. Read classic literature. Learn what “romance” means.
  13. Strike the word “bae” from your everyday speech.
  14. Spell your words right. Don’t take shortcuts.
  15. Understand that first impressions are EVERYTHING. Don’t squander that first chance at bat.
  16. No dick pics.

In today’s technologically advanced world, we really do need a resurgence in the art of classical romance, cause it just doesn’t happen anymore. Learn to sweep a lady off her feet verbally. Give yourself a standard to live by, and stick with your rules. You’ll wind up with a lady worth holding onto.






Posted by on December 16, 2014 in Uncategorized


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Six Hour Chicken Nuggets….but not by choice…..

Let me start off by saying that the internet is a liar.

On Friday of this week, I found what seemed to be a darned good recipe for Hawaiian Crock Pot Chicken, as posted by a friend on Facebook. Rarely as internet recipes do, this one appealed to me. It seemed simple,. the ingredients were darned cheap, and it looked scrumptious.

I so rarely get to use the word scrumptious. Unfortunately, I can’t use it for this post either.

So today, I get the bright idea to give it a shot. Sundays are largely hangout days in my household, so I needed something I could put on and forget about until it was time to eat. Unfortunately, one thing I should know about anything on the internet is that if it looks too good to be true…it is.

Nope. I call bullshit.

I had really high hopes from the outset; but I also had 2 hits of moonshine in me (that’s another story, by the way). Still, I followed the directions accurately. I was really pumped to get something that looked like homemade Sesame Chicken.

…and I just KNEW this would magically turn into manna from heaven…or at least something that looked and tasted like something from Hawaii.

6 to 8 hours of cooking time folks. SIX HOURS. Do I need to say that again? SIX HOURS. That’s a full day to ponder your mistake.

3 hours into it, I gots this…evidently the magic hasn’t happened yet.

…and so I waited…..and waited.

At about the 4th hour, I get this grim warning from a friend on Instagram:

The bottom comment spelled DOOM. This is not what you want to hear after you’ve invested yourself in a meal.

I really didn’t give up hope until I reached the bottom half of the 4th hour….

No magic, damnit….no magic at all.


…fortunately, there is a way to save ANY Southern meal in danger of being ruined……

Hawaii never looked so bad…..


….so you fry the shit out of it……

So, being the quick thinking amateur chef that I am, I got out the cooking oil….

Behold… SOUTHERN magic…the fried pork chops are thrown in for ambiance.

…also, be sure to drown your failure in barbecue sauce.


Needless to say, I just made SIX HOUR CHICKEN NUGGETS. I shall call this “SOMEBODYLIEDONFACEBOOK Chicken” because it was still edible when I was done. Needless to say, I probably will NOT be making this again.




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Posted by on December 8, 2014 in Uncategorized


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Morning y’all!!


In only posting this because it’s Sunday and I have a waffle maker. That is all.

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Posted by on December 7, 2014 in Uncategorized


Oh, snap…


Caught this random burn online today.

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Posted by on December 5, 2014 in Uncategorized


Health and Eating Habits are NOT Bound by Culture

Sometimes you have to turn off the comedy chops and talk about “stuff”. This is one of those entries.

A couple of days ago, I received a call from my mother about a former boyfriend of a cousin of mine. It was unfortunately grim news because he had recently passed away due to a bout with serious illness that had resulted in his hospitalization. The poor kid was at least 10 years my junior, and evidently had a number of health issues. I’ve been kind of dwelling on this news since I was told. My cousin and this guy had a child together; and while they were no longer a couple, her son has lost his father.

The reason why I’ve been meditating on the subject is because it kind of echoes the premature death of my own father, who passed away in 2000 at the tender age of 52. Dad had some glaring warning signs before his 3rd heart attack put him in the hospital and the 4th one killed him while he was there. I recall Dad ignoring, on purpose, all of the advice that his doctor gave him after his first heart attack at age 42 (my age right now). It was sometimes a humorous journey towards his own demise because he would often wait until my stepmother was out of the house and binge on bacon, chocolate milk, and anything else that could be fried. He also chain smoked.

Now, granted, I was raised by my mother (a now-retired dietitian, educated at Southern University) to believe that my physical health is one of the most important priorities in my life. While I’ve slowed down considerably since retiring from an active martial arts lifestyle, I do still keep in mind that if I do not monitor and maintain my health, things will begin to go wrong. It’s the legacy that my father’s untimely and unexpected passing left me. Unfortunately, I see that that is often not the norm amongst African American males in my respective age group. I tend to find that rather troubling. Quite honestly, we as a culture tend to not pay attention to such matters.

When time allows, I do enjoy hanging out with the older generations. I think that afternoons under someone’s driveway while drinking is largely a part of our culture. It’s kind of a bonding experience, and almost a “coming of age” rite of passage to be invited to such informal gatherings. As rarely as I see the subject of health maintenance amongst those in my age group, it’s practically non-existent in those generations older than mine. I also see that such lack of attention is being passed on to those age groups younger than my own. In other words, you’re not going to see a bunch of older Black guys comparing notes about what they’re doing to maintain their health during such gatherings.


Lemme finish this line and we’ll talk about that high fiber diet I used to lose all that weight and get my cholesterol down….


Y’know, I’m fighting a number of things, including not only my own genes and culture, but Southern culture in general. Hey, we like to eat. We like to party. It’s what we do down here. The deep south is all about the “eat, drink and be merry” aspect of life; but as someone steeped in a healthy lifestyle, don’t think that I don’t make note of the fact that I see more Black folks at the last crawfish boil than I do at the YMCA. It’s really up to the older generation, myself included, to teach those under us that there’s more to life than a 40oz beer and a Playstation in your free time. Get up. Get out. Move around. Eat in moderation. Drink in moderation. I’m not saying that you have to totally cut off the fun stuff; but there’s a time and a place for everything. Make time to maintain your health.

I’ll be the first one to tell you that I enjoy a few good beers on a regular basis; but I can also tell you in the same breath that I make sure my kids know and see that Dad exercises, eats in moderation, and does whatever I can to make sure (God willing) I’m around to bug them when I’m an old man. It’s easy to say that “I don’t have time”; but you make time to do such things. One of the subjects that my father and I used to disagree upon sharply on a regular basis was food. During the short time that he and I lived together, he’d sometimes catch me eating a bagel and remark that “Black folks don’t eat that kind of thing”.


Well, um…what sort of things do Black folks eat?


Um, eww….


Don’t get me wrong here, we’d always have a good laugh about it; but underneath all that humor was the mentality that foods laden in fat and high in cholesterol should be the norm in the African American diet. Now, combine that with one of the highest sedentary cultures in this country and you have a recipe for a high mortality rate at unfortunately young ages. We’re not taking care of ourselves folks.

Fortunately, one of the best lessons that I learned from my parents at a relatively young age was to “never give in to stereotypes”. That advice has largely shaped who I am as an adult. Just because the wrong thing is easily available, it doesn’t mean I have to always take advantage of it. There are choices…and those choices lie outside of those things popularized within our own culture. It’s not “being weird”. It’s being smart. There’s nothing wrong with regular walks. There’s nothing wrong with choosing a salad and eating in moderation. There’s nothing wrong with joining a gym. Heck even in today’s modern world, I sometimes got funny looks from my own kin because I was an African American seriously involved in martial arts.

Hopefully, the legacy I leave to my kids is that there is a time and a place for everything, that all things should be done in moderation, and with good health practices come a wealth of other benefits. I don’t see myself as having an African American mentality, a white mentality, or any other ethnic group for that matter. It’s a human mentality. Embrace the culture from which you came, but also evolve past it as well. It’s the only way we’re going to break this cycle of bad health.


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Posted by on December 3, 2014 in Uncategorized


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Drunk Towing Rules

So, as I heard on the radio this morning, there’s a local towing company (a’la “Tipsy Taxi”) that’s doing free towing for the inebriated in my local area over the holiday season.

There are 3 stipulations:

  1. Vehicle must be in drivable condition. (i.e. you can’t call them before you call the cops if you wreck your shit.)
  2. Must be a licensed driver that’s getting towed. (i.e. don’t call if you stole mom’s car and you’re only 12….and where did you get the money for that Old English 40oz, anyway? And who sold it to you?? Y’know what…you’re just grounded)
  3. It must be towed to your home, not a 3rd party or another social engagement (i.e. no one is towing your drunk-ass to a booty-call at 3am).

I can pretty much guarantee you that all 3 of these will be severely tested over the next month. Don’t drink and drive y’all.

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Posted by on December 2, 2014 in humor


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Rap Happy

‘So, I recently heard that Alfonso “Carlton” Ribiero won the latest season of Dancing With the Stars. Honestly, if you’re an 80’s kid like I was, you knew long before the results that he was going to stomp all over the competition. I mean, the guy has been dancing since he was 12 months old.


Contrary to popular belief, this is not a Pepsi commercial he did with Michael Jackson. It’s for Pampers. I think he was 2 at the time.

Anyway, I couldn’t help but wonder if his old buddy from The Fresh Prince of Bel Air called to give congratulations: namely, Will Smith. As my thoughts turned to the latter, I couldn’t help but reminisce about the earliest stages of Mr. Smith’s career. Is there anyone else out there that actually remembers the illustrious rapping career of The Fresh Prince?

Correction, does anyone remember anything outside of “Summertime” and “Gettin’ Jiggy Wit It”?


Don’t get me wrong, there are other sing along titles for ‘ol Mr. Smith; but there is now an entire generation of kids out there that just knows Will Smith, the actor. See kids, Will Smith wasn’t one of those scary rappers from the 80’s and 90’s. He usually rapped “happy”. His material was usually unintimidating and normally non-risqué. Right on top of his moderate success there came “The Fresh Prince of BelAir”, one of the most popular sitcoms EVER. Still, growing up in the 80’s, I do remember his less-than-appropriate stuff. It just got swept under the rug a lot. Just look up his earliest album, “Rock the House”. That’s gonna be the Will Smith that I’ll always remember.

Funny how some rappers managed to successfully change their images with success, and others failed miserably at it. Ice Cube, on the other hand, is “that hardcore gansta rap guy turned actor”. If you actually remember NWA, then the movie “Are We There Yet” is absolutely hilarious. Still, he’s achieved some very keen successes of his own, including the now classic “Friday” (which I call the Car Wash of my generation), the XXX franchise, 21 Jump Street and its sequel.


I waited for Ice Cube to bust a cap up in some kid’s butt for this entire movie. I was severely disappointed.


Then, there are the “nice guy” rappers that tried to turn over to a more hardcore image. The most failed attempt at this, by far, had to have been MC Hammer. Look, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it; but I think Hammer received so much criticism from the Black community that he caved in to what was working for other folks. We wound up with the VERY forgettable “Pumps and a Bump”.


Please Hammer, don’t hurt ‘em…as a matter of fact, please just put some clothes on.

This song is a hilarious attempt at MC Hammer trying to “go hard”….you can take that the way you want to. You owe it to yourself to find this little gem and watch it….once.

Now the squeaky-clean image didn’t work for those that stuck it out either. Chubb Rock was a very positive lyricist, and he really faded into oblivion. What’s he doing nowadays, anyway? That guy didn’t get enough credit; but he was a contemporary of Heavy D, who usually rapped about being fat and having sex.

…hey, it sold albums…..

Even “Wild Thing” Tone Loc got to be in an Andrew Dice Clay movie and voice an alien in a cartoon.

….wait, are those even accomplishments?

…but I digress…

Will Smith had a formula that upper middle class kids could relate to. I mean, for heaven’s sake, there’s a line in “Parent’s Just Don’t Understand” about him taking his Dad’s Porsche without permission. Really? A Porsche? These were the kids that were buying his albums. Sell out? No. Smart man? Absolutely.


I tried taking my dad’s car without permission once too; but I didn’t get out of the driveway.

Anyway, rap happy, folks; and don’t change who you are at heart. You’ll go places. Will Smith saves the world in every single movie he’s in; and poor MC Hammer is wearing what looks like a sock over his johnson.



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