5 Things I’m Probably Too Old For…#ButNah

too-old-too-old-demotivational-poster-1275631292I almost got into a fight recently.

The kind of fight propelled by pride and heightened by shots of Jameson. Now of course, it wasn’t my fault. Rarely are most things violent my fault. Perhaps I should tell you a story. Have a seat…or if you’re a hot gal, lay your head on my pillow. I mean the cutie pies they always l-a-y on my pillow.

So here’s the situation, and remember, the word situation always indicates that you are about to be made privy to some n*gga sh*t. So three n*ggas walk into a bar in DC and we are at the upstairs bar chillin. Just us and the bartender. Unbeknownst to us, a trio of silly, simple n*ggas ventures upstairs. We’ll call them SSNs for short. Me and my compadres are having a conversation. It is ours. It is a conversation about men’s fashion that darts into a conversation based on a dialogue I partook of about unfashionable women and whether or not as a fashionable man one could date an unfashionable woman.

Don’t judge me. Or us.

But that happened.

We are at the bar. One of the SSNs had managed to slide around us to talk to the bartender who was giving him so little rhythm my man could have been a white man on Soul Train in 1982. Amidst him getting played by the bartender, he decides to gallop full steam into our convo and says to me, in reference to the conversation we’re having, “oh, you must be one of them n*ggas who wears makeup.”

Scrrrrrrrr. Now watch how pride takes over.

The simple response could have been, “Actually I borrow your mothers after I smash.” “Actually I don’t, but that’s neither here nor there, kind sir. This is not your conversation and we’d appreciate it if you’d leave us to our debate. Thank you and good night.” I’d have been mad at myself for saying that. So what does Panama say?

I immediately look puzzled, then look at dude and say loud enough for everybody to hear, “Yo, who the f*ck are you?” At which point buddy’s antennae went up for underestimating my willingness to wreck shop. Then, one of his boys comes over trying to make sure he’s got his man’s back. But the problem is, the two dudes I was with are some gym rat body building types who, well, you don’t work out all the time and exactly run from a fight. What started as an off-brand comment from a SSN turned into what looked to be an asswhuppin. My partners realizing that it wasn’t worth it, talked me down, as buddy continued to try to talk sh*t while I ignored it (“he offered up an apology at one point that I rejected telling him that he meant what he said so he could keep his b*tch ass apology and keep it moving”). This seemed to have angered him as he begins staring down my other boy who proceeded to tell him not to let the shirt and tie fool him. Long story short, a fight almost broke out, but cooler heads prevailed after the level headed SSN pleaded for his boys to get out of there. Literally pleaded. Impressive pleading. I also noticed he was married. Homey had something to lose. He was smart.

Now, after they leave and we debrief on what could have been, I remember thinking, am I too old to be getting into a fight at a bar? The answer is probably yes, but you know what, n*ggas gon’ n*g so if the squab comes to you, you can’t just walk away (physically we couldn’t, we were boxed in.)

Well this got me to thinking of other things I might be too old for…#butnah, we gon’ do ‘em anyway. Such as?

Such as…

2. Getting drunker than is recommended by 9 out of 10 dentists

Recovery time might take a bit longer nowadays but I feel like this: If I see a shot, I’m taking a shot. It worked in my 20s and it still works in my 30s. Only problem is Instagram. There’s something that hurts a little about being called a high functioning alcoholic by a sibling. To be fair, this sibling gets buzzed off Lime-a-rita’s. Those are disgusting by the way. I have a box full in my refrigerator if you want them. Seriously. Call me at 202-867-5309.

3. Outdoor music festivals

Real conversation that happened in my Gchats:

Homey: that shit is exhasuting
definitely worth it if there’s a band you wanna see
and maybe i just feel too old cause it’s been a few years
but. i don’t really want to do crazy amounts of molly and cocaine anymoreand uhhh i mean, that’s what festivals are?
i don’t mind the cocaine as much as i do the molly lol
damn am i gonna get your chat banned

Yes. Yes you might. $10 bucks says she ends up a Coachella anyway. I mean, it’s Outkast.

4. Drive anywhere longer than 4 hours

I told myself that when I got a job, I’d buy plane tickets instead of roadtripping everywhere just to save money. Yeah. Okay, feeling broke is not just a young thing. Happens to people with jobs too.

5. Underdress

Colds are real people. So is pneumonia. At some point you should just know to put on a hat and scarf and gloves and a jacket that weights more than a joint. But every now and then I’ll sacrifice my health for personal style or convenience (or swag as one my friends who refuses to wear coats claims) and just be cold because “I won’t be outside that long” says the person who stands in line at the club in sub-zero weather.

Know better. Definitely. Do better? Eh. I’ve made it this far, let’s see how much further I can take this whole life thing under these conditions.

So yeah…what about you? Tell us about yourself today. What are some things you may possibly be too old for…#butnah.

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka MR. 50 IS THE NEW 20 #BUTNAH aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

On “Smart Drinking” And Happy Endings

I’ve always been what you (well, I) would call a “smart drinker”—basically, a person who does what’s necessary to end up in a bed by the end of the night instead of outside of a boarded up KFC, naked with church socks on, and singing the chorus to Redman’s “Sooperman Lover.” I don’t drink and drive anymore. If out, I only drink drinks I’ve drank before. I make sure to eat before I know I’m going to be drinking heavily. I also have a good idea of when I’m about to cross the line from “f*cked up” to “I’m about to die!!!!,” and I usually stop drinking by then.

This hasn’t always been the case though. I’ve definitely been a dumb-ass drinker before. One time in particular, I was hanging out with a chick I was seeing at the time (“Carmen”). We started the night off at her place, passing a bottle of Jack around before going out. We then hit a couple clubs, each had a few more drinks, and finally ended up at this lounge spot to meet up with some friends.

Now, at this point I was feeling a bit more wasted than usual. Considering the relatively small amount I had to drink, uncharacteristically wasted. And, while I was at the lounge, halfway to the bottom of my second Long Island in a 10 minute span, I overheard Carmen say something that sounded like “Fee fearful. Wu pennet beat many moods.” It wasn’t until the next afternoon that I realized she was actually saying “Be careful. You didn’t eat any food.” 

Now, anyone who’s had any experience drinking knows what happens when you drink heavily on an empty stomach. Basically, you go from zero to DMX in less than five songs. I don’t know exactly when it happened—I think while I was awkwardly attempting to heel toe during a dancehall set—but I all of a sudden wasn’t able to keep my balance, falling into random couches and chicks with fuzzy chests. My words weren’t even slurring. They were slobbering.

Apparently, my friends parked me on one of the couches, and apparently I passed out and stayed there for the rest of the night. I say “apparently” because I honestly don’t remember. I don’t remember laying on the couch. I don’t remember falling down the steps and busting my elbow. I don’t even remember singing “I Like The Way You Move” to an embarrassed Carmen as we were all waiting for a cab.

I do remember somehow “waking up” on Carmen’s bed. We apparently had just gotten back to her place, my clothes were somehow off, and she was giving me head. I remember still being so out of it that I was looking down at her and thinking “Why is she trying to tie my shoes? Doesn’t she realize my shoes are off?” Apparently I even said “Carmen, stop. I’m shoeless.” (And, apparently this made her laugh so hard that she almost bit me)

But while I still wasn’t completely awake, my penis definitely was, and she climbed on top of me. We both, um, finished, and I went right back to sleep. It wasn’t until a conversation the next afternoon that I even remembered having sex. And, when the experience finally started coming back to me I thought “Yessssss! Happy endings like a motherf*cker”

That night has been and will always been one of the most memorable nights I’ve ever had. I had a great time—too great of a time, perhaps—acted a fool, hung out with some friends, made it to a familiar bed in one piece, and had a very happy (albeit, not completely lucid) ending. It remains the most drunk I’ve ever been, and it will likely be the last time I ever get that f*cked up.

Yet, as I sit here today, reading through the comments on this piece at The Frisky, I’ve come to realize that if the roles were reversed, and Carmen was the too-f*cked-up-to-really-consent-even-though-I-know-she-wants-to-have-sex one instead of me, I could have been charged with rape. And, well, even if I wasn’t actually charged, it would have been rape. Having sex with a woman when she’s not able to consent, regardless of your relationship to her, is rape.

While I’ve never slept with someone who was clearly passed out, I have initiated sex with women who were laying next to me, drunk or half asleep. Sure, their bodies eventually responded to my advances, but those reactions were initially instinctual/unconscious before they woke/sobered up. And, while I was 99% sure that each of these women would be okay with me doing that, I don’t remember getting any clear consent.

I guess the best and smartest thing to do would be to just not sleep with a woman if there’s a possibility that either of you are too drunk/sleepy/tired to give unambiguous consent.

Or, even better (and more realistic), have a conversation beforehand to explicitly state that it’s okay to go ahead if in that situation. Even this has some loopholes, though. I mean, can you really consent to something weeks, days, even hours before it actually happens?

I don’t know where I’m going with this. I’m kind of just thinking aloud right now, and I know that a man using the wrong words and tone when even mentioning subjects like consent and rape have the potential to trigger some very serious reactions. This is me treading light as a motherf*cker.

Trigger or not though, I have to admit that in situations like the one with Carmen—situations that many of us reading this have been in—there seems to be more gray than black and white.

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

Summer Tips From A VSB

For the vast majority of us, Memorial Day represents the unofficial start of the summer season. It’s the first weekend where grills sell out and the sweet smell of hickory smoked something or other can be smelt from Hollis to Hollywood. And because we believe in love here at VSB, we want everybody to have a fun, safe summer full of whatever level of holiness or debauchery that best suits you.

And just because, #geminiseason.

With that said, and hypothetically based upon the Memorial Day Weekend that I just had, I figured that I’d share some tips and lessons learned that might effectively help the next man or woman make it in these streets. Again, these tips may or may not be inspired by actual events and go in no particular order.

1. Bottomless mimosas are the best and worst creation known to mankind, so proceed with caution.

Let’s just say this, there is no buzz like a champagne buzz. I learned this the hard way some years ago when after consuming upwards of 10 tiny bottles of some house champagne my entire next day was spent in prayer. They go down so easy. They are less filling, taste great. And your glass is magically delicious always full! You blink and voila. MORE MIMOSA! It’s magic I swear. And the next thing you know and two hours later you have to convince the owners of an establishment that the person you’re hanging with really is special and you promise to never bring them back. I will say this, apparently, the bottomless mimosas are the great racial equalizer because, well, drunk liberals are drunk liberals and really just want to have a good time…with whomever. This does, by the way, include the nearly 90 year old white woman who grabbed my face and told me to let the good times roll. <—— that happened.

2. If you’re at an outdoor event with thousands of people, do not wait until you know you must use the port-o-potty, anticipate it ahead of time, THEN go stand in line.

Pretty self explanatory stuff here but that’s some love talk and slow jams for that azz. There is nothing worse than seeing the CLEARLY drunk and in need of some privacy young lady 50 people from the front of the line doing the pee-pee dance…at age 35.

3. Watch the weather forecast, people.

Say that you’re still at said outdoor event and what has been forecasted (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ktAKHww9wPo&feature=related) comes to pass. Being surprised by such weather and acting a damn fool because of that is wildly entertaining for those of us who brought tents AND sat under them. But word to the wise ladies, not a single one of you looks good walking down a grassy knoll with a white bag covering your had that says “THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU” in red block letters. Not a one. I’m aware that you have to do what you have to do. What should you do though? Bring an umbrella. Rihanna made a song about it for cripes sake, invest in one.

4. Ladies, do not wear white if this is a possibility.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J6z88ur-8bY&feature=related

5. Do not sit in direct sunlight, in 80+ degree weather, drinking either wine or champagne.

Or anything else for that matter. In fact, just don’t sit in direct sunlight. In the famous words of Genie from Alladin: It’s not a pretty picture, I don’t like doing it. While that last sentence has nothing at all to do with the price of duct tape in Botswana, the point is, that sun will seep into your soul and iron  you all the way out. You will be compelled to sleep away an entire day.

6. Make sure you do bring something to the cookout.

Real talk, when somebody shows up to a cookout or celebration emptyhanded, its like the record scratches and all eyes immediately turn to that person as they walk in the door. It just ain’t right is all. It just ain’t. Bring a pack of chili peppers. Bring a deck of cards. Bring the banginest chick so at least you are good for something. Bring a white person so you can play the cultural diversity card. Something…JUST BRING SOMETHING YOU INGRATE. Hell, I have unopened bottles of wine and champagne JUST for that purpose. I don’t even drink wine.

Speaking of not drinking wine…

7. DC/MD/VA has a plethora of wine festivals. The wine will come. It will see. And it will conquer. Know that you will always lose to the vino.

Word to the two ridiculous dbags in a tent near mine who decided that they should….wrestle. And take out other people’s tents in the process. By wrestling. Grown men. Wrestled. I’m sure one or both of them were also copping feels. Bazinga.

BONUS: If you feel the need to tell somebody about your extra-marital affair that you’re going back and forth about, try not to tell the sober dude who’s tweeting.

Those are some quick tips based on things that may or may not have happened to me this past weekend. VSB, let’s share the wealth and ensure that people have a fun and happy summer. What are some summer tips that need to be shared no matter how grand or acute they may be.

Share. Just share.

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka TANGLE JIG P aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

****DMV RESIDENTIALISTS: Come celebrate Panama’s B-day on Thursday, June 2, a VSB Happy Hour and Game Night at Tap& Parlour at Bohemian Caverns located at 2001 11th Street, NW (corner of 11th and U) from 530-until. Game 2 will be on the TVs, games will be available, and happy hour prices. It’s a win-win-win.****

No rapture means that God wants you to stay on Earth and purchase the paperback or the $9.99 Kindle version of “Your Degrees Wont Keep You Warm at Night: The Very Smart Brothas Guide to Dating, Mating, and Fighting Crime”

Lastly, we’d like to thank all of you for coming through and nominating us for FIVE Black Weblog Awards. We’re on the final ballot for Best Humor Blog, Best Writing in a Blog, Best Sex & Relationships Blog, Best Group Blog, and Blog of the Year. Please vote for us here.