Until I Get Married

A couple of weeks ago, a good friend of mine took to his Twitter to point out the lack of songs about men done wrong in a relationship. He said, in most breakup songs, the man is at fault.

I’m with him. Male and female artists always sing melodies about fouls committed by men, men apologizing for their mistakes, or regretting the loss of a woman once had but now only dreamt about. It’s gotten to the point where whenever I hear a song from the opposite point of view, my ears perk up. I even have a playlist called, “You Damn Right You’re Sorry, Now Say It Again.”

Even though my friend wasn’t necessarily asking for some song suggestions, I threw some of the songs I have on this playlist in his direction. There’s Trey Songz’s “Cheat On You,” Mark Morrison’s classic, “Return of the Mack,” and of course, “Next Girl” by the Black Keys. Not to be left off this playlist is Janet Jackson’s “Where Are You Now”. I love how she sounds apologetic and accountable for mistakes she made. For those who forgot exactly what that sounds like, here it is.

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If you were a young, fine woman living in the DC-MD-VA area back in 2001, interested in purchasing some new music, there was a good chance you went to Sam Goody Music, located on the ground floor of Pentagon City mall. If you went on the right day, there was a good chance you left with more than just the album you were looking for, you left with a date with one of the store clerks as well. Of course, that store clerk was me.

Who would’ve thought, right? Certainly not the few lovely ladies I met during my time at Sam Goody. Probably nor did the women who walked into the Tower Records by the George Washington University campus when I worked there in 2003. Back in those days, I always saw my job as a perfect opportunity for me to talk to women I perhaps wouldn’t speak to in other settings. To say I took advantage would be an understatement. I capitalized and did well.

I say this not to brag. The other night I went to a stand-up performance headlined by Aziz Ansari. He had an extended rant on the difficulty of meeting perfectly normal people to date. His two biggest gripes were with bars/clubs and dating websites, both of which he said were horrible places to meet people.

Now, I don’t agree with him on either front. Clubs and bars have always worked well for me. I met the girl I’m dating now at a club, and I met my last serious girlfriend at another club. As for online dating, it’s become so commonplace I don’t think it’s bad, I just don’t think it’s as effective as it used to be.

But there are a lot of people who agree with Ansari and find both bars/clubs and online dating websites lost causes, which begs the question, where’s a good place to meet our next date? Well, my suggestion is the store. What kind of store? Glad you asked. Here are five stores, along with which gender would benefit from going into them the most. You’re welcome.

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So no one will ask me at the end of the article what I think about Drake’s new album, Take Care, let me be clear: I like the album and I’ve had trouble playing anything else since I first listened to my leaked copy last week. Not only do I like the album because of its crisp production and Drake’s better-than-good skills as an MC, I like the album for all the reasons most others say they hate it.

Some say, It’s too emotional; I like it because it’s emotional. Some say he sings on it way too much, I don’t like it when he sings all the time either, but that strike against him isn’t enough to change my overall opinion on the album. Some say the combination of Drake’s emotional lyrics and constant singing make for a soft album, I say the art of the quiet, ambient rap album is under-appreciated, but I digress.

What I appreciate most about Take Care is the way it’s revealing how people really feel about men who not only are expressive about their feelings, but also men who know how to feel something, anything for the women who have come in and out of their life. Before Drake, the most emotional rapper I ever listened to was Tupac, and even if he wasn’t singing on half his records (he usually got singers to handle those duties), he talked about his struggle to make it work with another woman often. For years ‘Pac has been my go-to-artist when I was down about a woman, and by no means does Drake replace him, but he certainly adds to that otherwise small group of artists who can actually rap to how I’m feeling.

Now before everyone gets all up in their chest about me including ‘Pac in the same paragraph as Drake, take heed. By no means am I saying Drake is as good as ‘Pac…matter of fact, let’s move on. If you think that’s what I’m saying you’re not as smart as you think.

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Today I caught a clip of Condoleeza Rice on Jon Stewart’s The Daily Show where she was promoting her memoir “No Higher Honor.” Stewart asked Rice about Muammar Qaddafi, who, when he was alive, had what Stewart called a “fixation” on the former Secretary of State, but the word fixation is putting it lightly.

The Civil Rights era folk would call it a “jones”, the hip-hop generation would call it “sprung”, and kids in any high school these days would say Qaddafi was “thirsty”, but no matter which way you spin it, Qaddafi was all about Condi Rice. As she revealed in her interview last night, dude wrote a song for her called “Black Flower In The White House.”

In her book, Rice explains why she was hesitant to make her first trip to Libya.

There were two reasons for this: one traditional and the other, well, a little disconcerting. Obviously, the first visit by a U.S. secretary of state since 1953 would be a major milestone on the country’s path to inter- national acceptability. But Qaddafi also had a slightly eerie fascination with me personally, asking visitors why his “African princess” wouldn’t visit him.

I decided to ignore the latter and dwell on the former to prepare for the trip. The arrangements were not easy, with all manner of Libyan demands, including that I meet the leader in his tent. Needless to say, I declined the invitation and met him in his formal residence.

Later in the book, Rice talks about the visit with the evil dictator himself and the song.

At the end of dinner, Qaddafi told me that he’d made a videotape for me. Uh oh, I thought, what is this going to be? It was a quite innocent collection of photos of me with world leaders—President Bush, Vladimir Putin, Hu Jintao, and so on—set to the music of a song called “Black Flower in the White House,” written for me by a Libyan composer. It was weird, but at least it wasn’t raunchy.

In an interview with ABC News, Rice said when Qaddafi introduced the song he said, “‘I have Libya’s best composer, most famous composer write this song for you,’.”

There is not one part of the story that I DON’T find funny. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Qaddafi was a horrible man, but how can you read any of this and not get a good chuckle? The guy put a full on clinic on how NOT to get a woman. I actually wish Qaddafi would have reached out to me before Condi came to visit and asked me for some advice on how to get her to like him back. Had he done this, I would have told him the following.

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Men lie, women lie, we’re all guilty of it. We lie in big ways, we lie in small ways. We lie to get by, we lie to get over. We lie not to argue, we lie to make each other feel better.

That last reason I just wrote is the reason we lie most often. Half the things we say to our significant others isn’t said out of the kindness of our heart but rather the sense in our head. Most of us are familiar with these lies. We say things like, “You look great” when we know the person looks awful, etc.

Well, today, I have decided to uncover one lie men tell all women because I’m tired of telling it myself and with this post I know I will never have to say it again. But I’m not only going to call out the lie for what it is, I’m also going to reveal the truth.

I’d be lying if I said there was a good reason for me doing this, but the truth is, there is no good reason I’m revealing the lie. Men, before you go getting all mad at me, remember, the truth shall set us free.

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Because some of you women really just don’t understand how men get heartbroken and the effect it has on their friends. I kind of tried to explain before, in this post, so maybe a few of you came away understanding breakups from a man’s perspective a little better. But today I read an interview by a man who saw his friend heartbroken with his own eyes.

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I only wanted to share this theory with close friends because most of you have already denounced it from the minute you’ve read the title. But I’ve decided to go to the place most people tell me not to go, which is “there”. By taking it there, I am opening up myself to all types of critical backlash from women who want to tell me they’re single because they want to be and they’re happy being single and as a man, I wouldn’t know the first thing about why they’re single. All good points except for the last one because, well, frankly, I’m a man who can actually do something about your single status but don’t want to largely because you have issues you’re unwilling to resolve. But that’s neither here nor there. Your status is none of my concern, I know, and therefore this theory of mine should be none of yours.

As for the rest of you lovely ladies who do at least welcome the voice of someone who doesn’t sound like your group of girlfriends who harmonize by talking through their nasal passages, I am presenting this theory for you. Most of you all are beautiful. I know this because I meet you in person and you ask me, “Jozen why am I single?” Time and time again I wax poetic on my theories and thoughts after asking some questions about yourself. But from now on I will only respond by saying, “Go to my blog untiligetmarried.com and search “buffet theory”. Your answer is there.” You will respond either one of two ways:

1) You’re a genius, I had no idea this was my problem. Thank you, Jozen.
2) You’re a genius, but I already knew this, because I’m a genius too, which means we should get together.

To the first response, you’re welcome. To the second, you’re tripping.

So here we go with a not necessarily original theory but a twist on presenting it so that maybe some of you single women out there can understand why you’re single. I’ve decided to do this in pictures so that maybe we can all understand things a little better. Some of you have a hard time reading at length, others treat my posts like scripture and end up over-dialoguing on it. Well, goodbye to all that. Here it is, the buffet theory.

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Still swamped with work for the man and whatnot, so today’s another brief post. FYI: I’m doing these just so you all know I’m still alive and breathing.

A lesson I would preach to any young man:

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The worst news I’ve read all week, without a doubt.

The other day, I was sitting on the train with an idle mind that brought me back to a memory in high school. My girlfriend at the time and I had a science class together. I hated science and I hated my teacher, which as we all know is a recipe for low test scores and sad excuses for why my homework was never done or turned in on time. My girlfriend, on the other hand, loved the subject and did well in the class.

Naturally, I would ask her for help to prepare for tests and she would do her best. I appreciated her efforts, but the night before one of our big tests, I grew tired of these endless hours of studying and asked her if for me she would take the ultimate risk. Since we sat next to each other in class, would she help me out by letting me copy some of her answers. I was smart enough to not copy every single one, and I wasn’t trying to get an A. I just needed a C on the test to average my overall grade out, and at the rate we were going, I retained enough information to get me a D at best.

Without even taking the time to look up from her study guide she flat out told me, “No.” I didn’t fight back or ask her why. We just continued to study and study hard. The next day we took the test.

One week later the results came back. I ended up with a C+. My girlfriend was happy for me and said, “See, I told you you didn’t need to copy.” She was right, I didn’t need her to copy, I also didn’t need her high-mindedness and holier-than-thou attitude polluting her ability to be a woman who rides out for her man by any means necessary, so in my head, I gave her an F in reliability, which weighted against the rest of her virtues and resulted in her being single again.

This all happened over 12 years ago, and I decided to pose the question to women who follow me on Twitter and are friends with me on Facebook when I got off the train. The question was really simple. It goes as follows:

Go back to high school, you and your man have the same class, he wants to copy your test. Do you let him? Yes or no? Simple question, don’t answer with follow-up questions, just answer it. Yes or no

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Two nights ago, I had a dream. Actually, it was a nightmare, and not one of those where when you wake up you’re relieved it’s over and you just fall back asleep because all is well or at least normal. This nightmare had me up for a good couple of hours after it was over, and remains swirling in my head days later to the point where I’m writing about it now.

In the nightmare, I lose one of my best friends. I don’t lose him to a tragic accident, no one dies. We are both very much alive but our friendship is frayed and I ask him if there’s a problem. He says he can’t be my friend anymore. I ask him why and he says not to worry about it, then he walks away. I go looking for him, we’re in the city, in some random neighborhood with a strip of bars, and I’m going from place to place trying to find him to talk everything out. In the middle of my search a woman, whose face I still remember but doesn’t belong to anyone I know in real life, stops me and says, “Are you looking for your friend?”

“Yes,” I say.

“He’s gone, don’t look for him anymore.”

At this point I get really mad with this woman I don’t know. “Why,” I ask.

“Because I told him you don’t want to be friends with him anymore,” she says.

From the top of my lungs I start yelling at this woman, going into a tirade asking her why she would say such a thing.

Then I woke up.

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