Where Our Favorite CP3 Wears a B-Cup

You know how normal people go out on a gazillion first and second dates and stuff to get to know people?  Well, that was never really me.  I was never dating a gazillion people.  I usually find one I like and stick to ‘em.

But I have been on my fair share of dates.  Hell, now that I think about it, I’ve been on dates where I didn’t even REALIZE I was on a date.  I remember this one particular philly.  She was a friend of a friend who was moving to DC so I offered to show her around.  Apparently you can’t offer to show people around a city without being interested.

Anywho, we go to get something to eat one day and out of nowhere she hits me with: “so where is this going?”

Me:  Um, well that bus right there goes right down by the monuments.

Her:  No, us.  What are we doing?

Me:  Us?  We’re eating dinner.  For the first time ever.  So what could you possibly be asking me?

Her:  I’m saying, are we dating or what?

Me:  I just met you.  2 hours ago.

Let’s just say her arse got nexted real quick.  Being the nice fella that I am though, I took her home that night instead of making her catch the bus like I wanted to do.  Fact is, my situation isn’t special.  There are lot of people out there who end up going out on dates with people that end up being as interesting as a Beyonce interview.  And for those that haven’t seen a Beyonce interview, that isn’t a good thing.  In fact, its quite drole and boring.

I do love her though.

So let’s say you are on a first date and realize you don’t want a second one.

Well, CNN.com has …

STOP.

I’m watching MTVJams right now and Plies video for “I Am Da Club” or something is on.  This is a terrible, terrible song.  And video.  Plies needs Jesus. This video is the a*s of videos.  I do not like John Legend either.

Anyway, CNN has come up with their own list for how not to get a second date.  It’s pretty good.  Hell, some of them remind me of things I wish I could do.  To wit:

• Inappropriate disclosure of the personal kind. You know how you’ve always really admired the curve of your brother’s bum in his too-tight pair of Wranglers? Share that little tidbit and see what happens.

• Inappropriate disclosure of the medical kind. You’ve been wondering whether that festering bump on your bikini line is a herpes sore or just an ingrown hair. Make tonight the night you get a second opinion.

• Perplexing Puppetry. All you need is a pen to draw the eyes and mouth and you’ve got yourself a Señor Wences-style hand puppet. Once your date starts getting on your nerves (and on any first date, the chances are 70/30 in favor of that happening), insist that he address his comments to the hand. Bonus points if you can up the annoyance ante with a fake foreign accent. He will think you’re a nutter, and not in a good way.

Pretty good, especially the puppetry thing.  The worst thing about that one is that your date is essentially cornered.  It ain’t like they can really go anywhere.

I have my own short list of ways to guarantee one date only:

Make everythign rhyme - I’d want to shoot you for doing this.  In fact, I think I’d be pissed.  Dammit, that wasn’t supposed to rhyme.  I just can’t stop myself, it should be a crime.  F*CK.

Sneeze a lot - Follow me with this one.  One of my boys broke up with a chick because she blew her nose too much.  Just imagine being on a date with somebody who sneezed every 2 seconds.  I’d never call them again.  I’d think they were allergic to me.

Jab them in the neck - Pretty much guarantees that they’ll never ever want to see you again.

That’s just my short list.  What say you ?  Any of you all gotten out of dealing with somebody for a second date by doing something outlandish?  What are some other ways to secure a one-date-only diet?

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST

Love Actually is one of my favorite movies of all time. Yeah yeah, I know. You’d assume that a gangsta like me would only be into ubergangsta movies like Shrek, The Lion King, or Beethoven’s Second. I probably watch it once a month at least.

And that got me to thinking.

If hip-hop is ruining the Black community, then movies like this are exactly what’s wrong with relationships. It’s funny if you think about it. We put our fantasies into movies and music knowing full well that we’ll probably never achieve them.

See, these movies make us believers in love and pandas and all that is wonderful and right in the world. Love, Actually is just…inspirational!

*ding*

I start believing in the possibilities. When it ends, it makes me want to do something nice for some woman in my life. Shoot, I called my momma after watching it once just to tell her I loved her. Don’t worry though, I went out and robbed two old ladies and kicked a squirrel into oncoming traffic to maintain my gangsta, shortly thereafter.

But let’s be real. It’s a movie for a reason. The people who wrote it created it because they wanted to see love and happiness on screen since they have to go home to their wives and the loved ones who have caused them to consider murder at least once or twice.

Music is just like that. There are so many great love songs out there that make you believe. And that’s great except its only part of the story. We just all happen to forget that we are d-bags or untrustworthy or flakes. We all believe in the hour and 30 minute version of love or the 3 and a half-minute version of love and want that. We forget about our insecurities that won’t let us love the way they do in the movies or the way crooners sang on tape.

Or that K-Ci was an ACTUAL crackhead.

Confusion. We hope for the beautiful love and happy endings that we see or hear, but all the while do everything in our power to protect ourselves from being hurt. We see the beauty and are afraid of it, all at the same time. We relate to the warm feelings that our favorite actors and actresses put out then go home and are pissed because our significant others don’t make us feel that anymore. Because you know what? They used to.

There was time when you had the butterflies and seeing the person that gave you butterflies made your heart skip a beat. It was because of the possibilities and newness of it all…and it went away and you can’t understand why because the people in the movies seem to have it. We now get into arguments because we don’t understand how our loved ones don’t see how much we love them and how we’d never hurt them. Or we wonder why they don’t do those little things. In the movies they do the little things.

We forget that they are actors and actresses who have screwed up lives of their own. But that doesn’t matter because they made us happy. Hell, whenever I feel bad, I just throw in that movie and I feel better.

Well, that and a shot of Patron.

Which gets back to the other point, living on hope. When we watch these movies they make us feel all warm and fuzzy inside and they reignite that flame of hope that makes you believe that you can have what they have onscreen.

And that’s how the media screws up relationships. It gives us hope and belief in love without telling us how to get over our own insecurities about love and romance. We get so caught up in the quick images and emotions that we fail to realize that everybody isn’t perfect. Even the worst case scenario, as occurs in Love Actually, made me believe that sometimes love can trump all and make somebody work through the rough times. The only problem with that is the assumption that love actually is there in the first place.

So the next time you go to the movies to see a romantic comedy or just story about love or hear the best love song on the radio, remember, reality can suck and that the people on screen or on the radio in real life have three divorces and run over people in expensive cars at supermarkets.

And if all else fails, don’t watch romantic comedies…

…just watch porn.

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST

I haven’t done a list in a while.  So I’m doing one.

One thing you all might not know about me is just how doggone sexxy I am.  And yes, I spelled that right.  You spell it wrong.  How do I know this?  Because I’m sexxy.  It’s law.  I can’t make this up.

Well because I love you all so much, I want to make sure that you all stay as sexxy as possible.  I mean how do you expect to catch and keep a mate if you aren’t sexxy?

That’s a good question, Panama.

I know.

Well, as a sign of good faith, I shall apprise you all of ways that you just may lose your sexxy if you aren’t careful.  So then…be careful.

PANAMA PRESENTS JUST STOP IT, DON’T DO IT AND BE SEXXY

1. Have the most Gawdawful walk on Earth

This is for the ladies. Some women have very sexxy walks. Some women just walk. Which is fine.  But if you walk towards me looking like King Kong just got finished putting a hurting on your arse (and we both know King Kong doesn’t exist), I will find you to be in contempt of sexxy.

Guilty.

2. Be Colorblind

You know what is really unsexxy? People who do juuuuuust a little bit too much for no apparent reason. You know the people who are hell bent on making three shades of pink match.

Or.

I live in Washington, DC. It’s was hot as Hades here for the past couple months.

So why, oh why, did I see a man driving a mini-van in 98 degree heat with a button up long sleeved blue and yellow shirt with an off color arse sweater vest on? In the summer. With the windows rolled down.

You see? Doing too much. Un sexxy.  He is stupid. And thereby, unsexxy.

3. Since we already started down this path…be dumb.

Stupidity is the easiest path to unsexxiness.  I’ll never understand how folks can date really stupid people. I start to get hives when people who are afraid of information come into my sphere. It’s the quickest way to go from “oh she’s fine” to “i’ll break her off if she never speaks.”

But they always speak.

4. Just Be Annoying

I don’t care how attractive you are in theory. If you are annoying, you are not sexxy in practice. Period. Point blank.

Luckily, most supremely attractive women aren’t overly annoying since they spend so much time being fine that they don’t get the option to be annoying since they spend so much time being annoyed at the annoying d-bags. It’s a kind of addition by subtraction thing.

5. Be an Un-fun A**hole

I’m an a**hole. It’s been proven time and time again. Some say its part of my charm because at least I’m not mean. I tend to skew towards funny. And for all you people who only listen to people like Three 6 Mafia, skew is similar to leaning, except smart people use it to make mention of the fact that their biases lean them in a particular way.

For instance, Fat Joe could have easily renamed the song “Lean Back” to “Skew”. You see, Fat Joe’s dancing tendencies seem to skew towards backwards motions. Hence, he leans back. See?  Skew.

Education…Panama Jackson style.

Anyway, being an un-fun d-bag is definitely unsexxy. If this is you, go die.

Bonus #1. Be one of those d-bags who never knows what they want to do but rejects every idea that gets tossed into the ring.

This is a personal pet peeve of mine. Hence, I will remove some sexxy from you for it. Either put up or shut up. In fact, all people like this should be placed on House Arrest, STAT.  Or at least Utah.

Can you imagine how funny that would be? What if we put all of those people in a room together with one of those 1,000 item menus from a Chinese carry-out?  Would they all just eventually starve to death or would somebody finally get so pissed that they’d attempt to storm out except we’d have Jerry’s Angels keeping them all in the house causing them to be even more pissed while no decisions ever get made? Seems like bedlam to me. I’m excited, how about you?

Bonus #2.   Don’t listen to Panama when he drops jewels of knowledge.

I am sexxy. Therefore I know what sexxy is. Therefore, if you don’t listen to Mr. Oh So Sexxy, how can you rightfully expect to be sexxy. You can’t, that’s how.

This is just a mere smattering of ways that folks lose their sexxy.  What have you seen that’s killed somebody’s sexxy?

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST

One of my favorite songs is the chart-topping Tavares song, “It Only Takes A Minute Girl”.  I love this song.  It makes me want to hug squirrels and emu.  If you’re unfamiliar with this song, you should find it quickly.  You will love it like I do.  Or you shall feel the grapes of wrath.

(I’m not actually sure if the plural for emu is emu or emus.  So just be aware that when I say emu in that second sentence, I mean more than one emu.  I’m also too lazy to look that up. )

The title of the song got me to thinking about this saying:  It takes a minute to like someone, an hour to love somebody, and a lifetime to forget someone.  Or something like that.  Removing the literal interpretation of that statement and I have a question and I get to wondering how quickly you can actually fall for somebody.

Screw that, here’s the better question, who falls “in love” faster – men or women?

Now, in my estimation, and judging by the number of relationships that I’ve been in where a woman has told me she loved me before I knew her last name, I’m inclined to think that women fall harder, better, faster, stronger.  Now this could be easily explained by the mere fact that so many women seem to be looking for love….actively.  Like standing on the side of a road with signs that say “Will Sing, Strip, and Cook for Love”.

Seriously, I saw a woman with this sign.  By the way, that last sentence is completely fabricated.  If you don’t know what fabricated means, then that first sentence is totally true.

Now what’s interesting about this observation is that most women I know are very guarded about their vulnerabilities.  This seems to fly in the face of falling so quickly.  Yet, we all know women who meet a dude and 2 hours later she’s naming their imaginary children and scribbing his name on her Palm Pilot Etch-A-Sketch.  But alas, you can’t stop your heart from feeling what it feels.

Unless its heartburn, in which case you should find an antacid.

Of course, children, this is not to say that men don’t fall hard.  I’ve been the victim of the Fastfall.  I met some chick and before I knew it I found myself mysteriously interested in a woman I’d known for all of 3 hours.  I guess you can’t argue chemistry but truth is, I’ve never worried about getting screwed over in a relationship either, so for me, falling fast isn’t so much a problem.  I don’t assume that all women are triflin’ ho*z – despite having dated two outwardly trifing ho*z.  (Seriously…one of my ex’s ACTUALLY asked me if her ex-boyfriend could spend the night with her while we were dating– not to sleep with her, but because he was in town for the weekend.  I told her “sure, while you’re at it, get pregnant too.  So she did.)  So it seems that for men, like me, who aren’t really trying to guard their emotions and all that jazz, falling hard is just one of those byproducts of a big butt and a smile.

Naw, that’s the old style.

But perhaps I’m shortsighted.  I know there are lots of other chaps out there who meet a woman and get all enamored and blindsided by some woman they barely know and get messed up in the game because they go professing their love and it becomes unrequited.  Next think you know, she’s out tricking or something and you roll by Cheesecake Factory and see her and because she’s supposed to be at her grandma’s house, where she said she’d be, you have no choice but to go in their and yank her the fu…

Um.  Never mind.

Either way, citizens, who do you thinks falls faster?  The easy money seems to be on the women, but are men just as prone to fall in 2 shakes of a lambs tale?  And if we assume that women do fall faster, what does that say about the contradiction of most women doing everything they can to not get screwed over by being guarded?

What say you?

Say you, say me.

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST

P.S. I’d like to thank so many folks for signing up for the DC Happy Hour.  I’m working on setting the date for that right now.  Just need to hammer out the particulars and we’ll be shooting out some information soon.  Should be a blast though, and I’d like to say I’d buy everybody a drink, but that’d be a lie.  Cheers!

***paraphrased version of a question raised by a friend of the champ’s last week***

With the most important election of our lifetime coming up, its getting harder and harder for me to separate peoples political selves from their actual selves. I was able to compartmentalize before, but I’m so aggressively pro-Obama now that I can’t see myself even considering the idea of dating someone who wasn’t. Is this a bad that I feel this way?

–friend of the champ

you know what, i’m not even going to touch this one (yet). somewhat intelligent people of vsb.com, how would you answer her question. in regards to dating prospects and relationships, how important is politics to you?

—the champ

Attempted murder suspect, victim were romantic rivals

An arrest warrant was issued for Valerie Walls, 27, suspected of assaulting a 29-year-old San Bernardino County woman between 7 p.m. and 7:30 p.m. Tuesday.

The victim suffered deep slicing wounds to her upper torso area and she lost a lot of blood, Desert Hot Springs Det. Sgt. Radames Gil said Wednesday. The victim was able to get to the K-Mart store, where she sought help and authorities were called, Gil said.

Walls and the victim were romantically involved with the same person, Gil added

we all do it. whether conscious or not, every second of every day we spend on earth we’re doing it. you did it with millions of other sperm twenty six years ago in the back room of your mom’s shanty, when that pint of md 20/20 convinced her to finally let her uncle’s leadfoots jenkins squirt his “kind milk” inside of her. as a toddler, you did it with your dad for your mom’s attention, at least until you grew older and focused your energy on your siblings. you did it for a spot in that college you’re still paying off loans for, along with that job that allows you to spend three hours a day on vsb, and that apartment you lay your head in every night, dreaming about the champ of ways to do it better. shit, that air you’re breathing? you’re doing it with trillions of other organisms for that as well.

we can’t help doing it, even if we do want to. competing is in our nature, as fundamental to humanity as oxygen and stacey dash.

this everlasting competition extends to the dating arena. each of us are equal parts free agent and general manager, constantly evaluating, being evaluated, and battling for spots on the right team. with more intense focus than kobe in a snizzles anus the 4th quarter, we’re as cutthroat as anton chigurh. we lie. we cajole. we run game. we rock wonderwaterbras and subtlely twirl our benz keys while we’re walking in the mall. we sabotage. we throw salt. we’re subtle, tactless, implicit, and direct. we start trojan wars, and gleefully shank boat ninjas outside of kmarts.

a couple questions, good people of vsb.com:

1. in regards to romance, how do you compete? (notice, i’m not asking “if” you compete, because everyone does. stop lying to yourself. you aint special and sh*t)

2. has there ever been a situation where you’ve openly competed, or have been openly competed for?

3. have you ever been shanked outside of a kmart?

remember, we’re all fam here. just me and roughly twenty-five hundred of your closest friends. dont be scurred to tell the truth and sh*t.

—the champ

slowly but surely, straight men have become american culture’s whipping boys. the scapegoats for everything that’s wrong with everything, we’re looked at as the ugly elephant in the room scratching his nuts with his forearms, reeking of axe body spray while downloading porn and drop kicking kittens like jack black in anchorman, and i’m sick and tired of it.

yeah, i know. we’re pretty much responsible for every war, the holocaust, slavery, rape, the inquisition, the murder of Christ and big l, and pink tims, but we’re not as bad as everyone makes us out to be. we’re people too, with feelings and sh*t, and we’re sick and tired of taking sh*t from everybody else.

today i will name three separate culprits. three sources of our unrelenting agony and pain. three completely unrelated ways that all contribute to our ridicule, and hopefully by recognizing these we’ll be able to make some changes.

1. SITCOMS

it’s no secret that i’m a huge fan of comedy. from arsenic and old lace to bingo long’s traveling all-stars and catch-22, i have a great appreciation for sh*t that can make people consistently laugh. this is why it pains me deep within my loins to see how thoroughly dissed males are in every sitcom. think about it, seemingly every popular sitcom revolves around the same basic premise: men are f*cking dumb as hell. unhealthy, simpleminded, and senseless nincompoops who’d be utterly useless without our hot and witty wives to balance our utter thimblebrainedness out.

now, before i continue, i want to let it be known that i’m not complaining about the hot and witty wife part. cheryl hines, and kelita smith can complain about me not taking out the garbage any day of the week with their milfy asses. i know this formula is used because nobody would watch a show revolving around an attractive guy and his witless, clumsy, and unattractive wife, but damn…throw us a f*ckin bone. would it hurt to show one of these men with a brain or a spine? would ratings really plummet if jim belushi didnt walk around with mustard stains on his chin for 23 minutes each week?

again though, please understand that i’m not complaining about the unproportionately good looking and witty women part. i want to make that as clear as possible. its not my dream to turn on cbs one day and see idris elba and niecy nash starring in “baby hair and her baby“. i’d just like a little equality here. not full, but just a little. a smigen.

2. THE TOILET SEAT

honestly, out of all the gripes women have about men, this confuses and infuriates me the most. can somebody please explain this to me? how lazy does it make a gender look when you universally complain about something which would take less than a second to rectify? plus, its been researched at harvard that leaving the toliet seat up actually improves the airflow in the room and has a positive effect on your immune system.

for those still griping about the callousness and inconsiderateness of leaving the seat up, just think of all the potentially objectionable things we do and put up with, and never complain about:

sleeping in the wet spot
eating the, ummm, you know.

***seriously, i enjoy doing it, but, you have to admit, the vagina is one of the most intimidating looking substances on the planet. imagine if you had never seen one before, and the earth was invaded by a bunch of 8 foot tall vagina monsters. you’re telling me that wouldnt scare the sh*t out of you? a bunch of drippy, stretchy, flappy, leaky, multi-colored beings that spit random red substances at their whim? spielberg or eli roth couldnt even dream of something more frightening, but we still happily partake with our tongues a blazing and necks a crampin.***

kissing after fellatio

***someone, please tell me. what is it in your minds that triggers the thought “cool, i’ve just had my mouth on his meat for the past five and a half minutes…this would be a perfect time to kiss him!!! i’m sure he’s always been curious about the relish of semen, especially his own“? please, somebody, explain this to me***

four words: pantyhose in the sink

3. YOUR WEIGHT

from this point on, we will not take even a hint of blame anymore for the masochistic obsession you all have with your weight. it is finished.

of course, i know that women are judged to a different standard body-wise than we are, and i do realize that for many women, self-image/attractiveness and percieved self-worth have a direct correlation, but the only people who give a damn about a stretch mark on your boob or reserve hero worship for ultra-waifish chicks are gay men and other women. thats it. nobody else. we’re no longer to be blamed for anorexia, bulimia, siberia, rihanna, and any other eating related disease thats been invented in the past 25 years. its over.

this is a start. if these things can’t be rectified soon, we’re prepared to protest and boycott certainsh*t until our demands our met. i have a crew of n-words right behind me (insert phrase that rhymes with “go slowmo”) ready to follow my lead. be afraid, women. be very afraid.

—the champ