Who Pays For The 51st Date?

"You're not fooling anyone. I know you just wanted to "take a romantic walk" cause you don't wanna spend any money."

“You’re not fooling anyone. I know you just wanted to “take a romantic walk” cause you don’t wanna spend any money.”

We’ve all heard the story.

Boy approaches Girl while at annual Delta Sigma Theta “Twerk For The Cure” sickle-cell research fundraiser. Girl, slightly impressed by Boy’s confidence despite his quite conspicuous reverse widow’s peak, gives Boy her actual real phone number. Four days later, Boy and Girl go on first date at Irish/Cajun fusion tapas bar. Date goes extremely well. Boy covers tab for this date, as well as the next three Boy and Girl go on. By the fifth date, Girl offers to cook for Boy—a Bougie Black Girl’s way of saying “We go together now, and I’m officially open to the idea of f*cking you.”

Boy and Girl go on a few more good dates—all on Boy’s dime—while both becoming more and more convinced that this is will turn into a relationship.

It does. They officially make it Facebook official eight weeks after the first date. 

I know it’s not the most politically correct and/or progressive thing to say that there’s a “right” or “wrong” way to court, but the scenario above—where the man foots the bill for the majority (not all, but the majority) of the dates that take place while courting—is the right way to do things. If you disagree, that’s fine. You’re wrong, but you’re allowed to be.

(Yes, I understand that many of these types of “rules” were crafted at a time when it was just more practical and financially prudent for a man to always pay while in the courting phase. I also understand that it may not make much logical sense for a man to be expected to pay even if the person he’s dating makes more money than he does. But…well, there is no but. Just shut the f*ck up and f*cking do it.) 

But, while the rules and the general financial responsibility of courtship are generally understood and agreed upon, what happens when courtship ends? Basically, we all know who is supposed to pay for the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd date, but what about the 51st, 52nd, and 53rd? Is there a “right” way to handle the bill when an established couple is out to eat or any other date-like activity?

In theory, this seems like a question with a pretty practical solution. If you’re a serious couple, you’re likely sharing expenses. And, if you’re sharing expenses, you should—in theory—also share date expenses. But, as anyone who saw After Earth last weekend will remind you, just because something should work in theory doesn’t mean it actually will.

There are people who believe the courting dynamic should last for the entire relationship. Basically, aside from his birthday and those rare and random days when she finally apologizes for some bullshit that she’s always done—and, despite the apology, will continue to do—the man should always pay. Others believe that couples should take turns, which, although this seems to be the most reasonable choice, can get weird if someone starts keeping count (and someone always does).

And, while splitting things 50/50 is the best idea in theory, who wants to be 40 years old and still going on dutch dates with your wife?

I guess the best thing to do is just to communicate your financial expectations before the “real” relationship starts instead of assuming that you’ll both be on the same page. But, while this also works “in theory,” I just can’t see too many women with the balls to interrupt a conversation on a date with “You know this shit’s on you for the next 50 years, right?” while happily clutching a forkful of lobster.

My advice? Just don’t date Deltas.

***BTW, today is Panama’s birthday and shit. So, if you see him today, buy him a shot. If you don’t see him and see me instead, just buy me the shot and we’ll drink in his honor***

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

Things I Think I’d Hate About Men If I Were A Woman (Which I’m Totally Not)

Beat the p*ssy up beat the p*ssy up. Like bam bam bam bam bam.

Beat the p*ssy up beat the p*ssy up. Like bam bam bam bam bam.

“Don’t bring no whips and chains to bed with me. I wasn’t a slave, but I heard about it. I watched Roots about seven or eight times: I’m liable to have a flashback and choke the hell out of somebody.” – Don “D.C.” Curry

I’ve never been a woman. I know this may be a surprise to some of you but I checked with my parents and everything. Nope, I was never of the boob. So since I was never a woman nearly all information that I have about the fairer sex comes second hand from sisters, mothers, aunties, etc. Having an inordinate amount of all the above has afforded me a sometimes more intimate than desired look, or at least insight, into how frustrating life can be for a woman. From the man standpoint, aside from the tiny sexism thing, being a woman looks like it rocks.

There’s free dinner. You can call somebody to kill bugs and nobody bats an eye. You never have to take trash out once you’re in a relationship. If you’re pretty, people like you more. It seems like 95 percent of television is catered to you and there’s an entire lineup of shows dedicated to women killing men and anybody who watches them totally understands.

See? All of that up there? Advantage women.

Even though being a woman clearly rocks, nothing that rocks does so without issue. And from where I’m sitting, it seems that the thing that probably makes being a woman rock less than it totes could – aside from that whole menstruation thing which is women’s fault – would be some of the things that men do. Before the men release the hounds and go all medieval on my arse, let me explain. Being a man allows us a certain amount of inconsiderateness. Ultimately, we pretty much do what we want and smoke crack in the bathroom on a lark. While every man isn’t a douche, many of us play them on television. Conversely, all women aren’t saints. These are all facts.

Well one of the things that I think many of us fail to properly do is truly attempt to place ourselves in the shoes of the other sex. I’m pretty sure folks call that empathy or something. I honestly don’t know. I suck at empathy. However, I’m going to put on my “if i were a woman” hat and based on the men I know and the life I’ve led ponder about some things that I’m pretty sure I’d hate if I were a woman.

Such as…

1. Male insecurity

I’m a guy and I hate male insecurity, but I almost can’t fathom what its like to deal with it head on as a woman. For instance, you meet a guy, you all hit it off well, then he starts questioning why you’d go out of hte house wearing certain clothing. Clothing, mind you, that he was okay with when he met you. Or a guy wondering if you’ve dated “men of name” before and judging you based on it. See, I hate it when folks take out their issues on me. So I can’t imagine how it must feel to be a woman and have a dude question you about something that clearly is his issue. Unless you leave the house looking like a ho on your way to Ocho Cinco’s house. Then again, I probably MET you at Ocho Cinco’s house looking like a ho, so thats more than likely on me. Yeech.

2. Obscene cat calls

I know there are “Stop Street Harassment” campaigns and I’m sure they’re working exactly like you think they are. But awareness is never a bad thing. To that end, I’ve seen guys make THE most obscene and ignorant comments to women walking by. I’m sure its not so bad for women a few times as long as no lines are crossed, but it seems like men, we like crossing lines. Again, not all of us…but those dudes who cross the lines step all over that line, do the “typewriter” hit a “tootsie roll” then backflip and spit on it. I’ve actually heard a man (not one I knew) yell to this woman that he wanted to put his d*ck in her lightskinned ear and that she knew she wanted that to.

(To be fair, I’ve been manhandled by a woman that I’m pretty sure didn’t know she was a lesbian yet. I’ve always been slim so in high school this chick, “Nancy” grabbed me up and hugged me like a toy doll and dragged me to her next destination. That made me feel like less of a man and I hated every minute of it. I thought she was going to stick me in her vagina and keep me there for a rainy day. That never happened but it felt possible. “Nancy” is gay now.)

3. Having to be “strong enough to let a man be a man”

I get it. I’m a man. I appreciate when my woman knows to let me be the man. But geesh that has to be annoying sometimes. Or maybe its not. I have no clue how women feel about that. But I can imagine sometimes feeling like “f*ck” I could totally build this IKEA boudoir in 10 minutes and this dude is over here struggling with the Allen wrench. By the way, DAMN YOU ALLEN WRENCHES OF THE WORLD.

4. Having my face licked in a club by anybody, Kappa or not

I’ve seen this happen with my own two eyes to somebody who used to (and presumably still does on occasion) frequent VSB. Some dude trapped her, then licked her face. In the club. Just because. If I never saw that, I’d think it was a myth like men refusing to ask for directions (something I have no problem doing). But that’s just nasty. On the contrary, I also witnessed a man suck on a friend of mine’s toes in the club and she was totally okay with it. Buddy also had baby oil on deck. The most important lesson here (as with anywhere): know your audience.

5. Double standards

Goes both ways, but I figured if I didn’t mention it, folks would ALL immediately go with double standards as something that sucks.

So let’s have fun people and play some role reversal. For the men, what do you think you’d hate most about men if you were a woman and women, what do you think you’d hate most about women if you were a man?

3…2…1…contact. Go.

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka MR. LADY SINGS THE BLUES LIKE A DAMN G aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

How To Please Your Mate And Sh*t

"I'm sorry. I don't know why I can't stop farting. I think it's that coconut water."

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I can’t stop farting. I think it’s that coconut water.”

1. Make decisions for him.

“Her planning an entire day with me knowing nothing about it. As someone who makes majority of the decisions this would be nice.”

2. Give him compliments.

“i think you look sexy when you clean the gutters….”

“Have you seen your butt when you take out the trash?”

“I love it when you can open jars.”

“my girlfriend called me handsome 3 months ago and it still makes me feel like a stud.”

3. Wash him.

“Trust me, it will wash the stress away, relax his mind, fill him with amazing thoughts, and fill him with deep appreciation.”

4. Provide him with sustenance.

“A DVD of Blazing Saddles and a BBQ chicken pizza.”

“I once said I want a caprisun when my girlfriend came home from a girls night. Now she brings one everytime. I guess remembering little things is what makes me feel great about her.”

“random Nestle Crunch”

“case of beer and a bag of potato chips.”

“Tacos. Like, I want to have a Saturday where we’re driving to the mall or something, and suddenly she pulls out a whole tray of tacos from under the seat and is all like ‘SUPRISE! TACOS’ and then we would eat tacos.”

“Muffins. Delicious home made muffins.”

“Chocolate cake and a bottle of whiskey.”

These quotes are from Jezebel’s The Foolproof Reddit Guide to Pleasing Your Mana collection of responses to a woman who wanted to do something nice for her boyfriend, and turned to AskReddit for men’s advice. As you can see, the quotes ran from the surprisingly mundane to the hilariously specific. (I’m not even a huge fan of tacos, but a taco surprise date would be one of the three best things that ever happened to me.)

Yet, they each had a common theme: Simple

I know it’s a stereotype that men are these walking, talking, and bleching tunnel-visioned nincompoops who don’t need more than pancakes and random dusk fellatio to keep us happy, but this is generally true. Somewhat misleading—these simple ways to make men happy only work if he’s already generally happy with the woman he’s with—but still true.

You know what else is true? Women are simple too. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. Women are complex and difficult and bipolar and unique and moody and volatile and nuanced and special and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. But, when it comes to putting a smile on a woman’s face, I think we (men) have a tendency to forget that they love the same things we do (sex, occasional silence, surprise tacos, etc), but the path to mutual happiness could be as simple as “You hit the snooze button on her alarm this morning so she wouldn’t have to reach over you and do it. She’ll now be able to sleep 14 minutes longer than she usually does. This made her happy, morning happiness makes her horny, and now she’ll want to f*ck you.”

Anyway people of VSB, I’m curious. What little and “simple” things can your significant other do (or not do) to put a smile on your face? 

-–Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

Wanna Be A “Good” Guy? Assume Women Are Liars

"Hmm. Does it count against my number if he can only climax while sleep?"

“I rocked my American Apparel unmentionables for this?”

A couple months ago, a friend of mine (“Jack”) shared a story where he ended up sleeping with someone he knew he shouldn’t have slept with. The woman (“Jane”) had been a close platonic (Ha!) friend of his for several years. They shared dating war stories, knew each other’s families, and even occasionally attended church together.

But, one night a few months ago, a “let’s hit this happy hour after work” text turned into “eh, this happy hour is wack, do you still have that bottle of honey jack from the last game night” leading to “i’m too f*cked up to drive home, do you mind if I crash on your couch?” andeventually ending at “do you have any condoms?”

After breaking the seal, they’ve had sex at least once a week for the last three or four months. Apparently, she had feelings for him for some time. And, although she knows the feelings aren’t reciprocated—a fact he made very blunt after they slept together the first time so she wouldn’t get “the wrong idea”—she swears she’s perfectly fine with the arrangement. They’re still cool, they still share dating war stories, and they still (occasionally) go to church together. Only difference now is that he knows that, if the spirit moves him and he wants to get some ass, he can go over there at any time. And, not only has he hit her up after going on dates with other women, he’s gone over to her place before dates as well.

I imagine that most people reading this story have come to the conclusion that Jack is a major douchebag. Even those who might envy what he’s been able to do probably still think it takes a special grade of douche to sleep with a woman (a friend!) who has feelings for you even though you know they’re unrequited, and an even specialer, enhanced grade of douche—douche crack, I guess—to openly and brazenly date other women in her presence.

But, believing Jack is a limited-edition douche means that you’ve made another assumption—an assumption many of us also make even if we don’t want to make it and don’t realize we’ve made it:

Jane is a liar.

Our perception of Jack’s douchiness directly correlates to Jane’s feelings. We know Jane has feelings for Jack, so even though she swears she’s a-ok with being his f*ck buddy, we know she’s lying. She can’t possibly be telling the truth. There’s no way the satisfaction she gets from being a 3am on a Wednesday night booty call of a person she wants to be with is worth the shame of being a 3am on a Wednesday booty call of a person she wants to be with.

And, why are we so sure that she’s not being honest with herself? Well, she’s a woman, and, well, she’s a woman, and since she’s a woman, she’s not telling the truth cause that’s not how women “think” and “feel” about sex.

Now, if we believed Jane was being completely honest, Jack wouldn’t be seen as a douche, and this would just be a story about two adults who’ve decided to have some fun with each other in a mutually agreed upon and mutually beneficial way. But, since Jane is a woman—and since both socialization and experience has taught us that she’s probably not being honest with her feelings—the socially palatable (read: good) way for him to have dealt with this situation is to assume that Jane’s gender makes her completely unable to be honest about stuff like this. Basically, the only way for Jack to avoid being considered a douche is to assume Jane—and any other woman who’d say “I’m cool” in a similar situation—isn’t really a-ok with the arrangement, and not sleep with her. Basically, to be a “good” guy, sometimes you need to assume that women are liars.

I can imagine that many of you don’t think this is a fair assessment. Shit, I said it and I still don’t. But, it’s only unfair because, out of me, you, Jack, and Jane, Jack is the only one we know is telling the truth.

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

The $12.95 Question: How The Hell Do Women Use So Much Damn Toilet Paper???

3-7-08-toilet-paper

I am not an expert on toilet paper use or usage. I doubt anyone is, actually. I don’t think there’s much of a demand for “toilet paper use/usage” experts, and, since there’s no demand, I can’t imagine anyone spending enough time studying toilet paper use and usage to become expert at. But, just in case these people do exist, I just want to make it clear that I’m not one of them. Toilet paper use/usage expertise poseur, I am not.

Anyway, since I am no expert, I’m not sure of what constitutes an “acceptable” amount of toilet paper use. I know how much I tend to use and how often I tend to buy toilet paper, and, assuming I don’t do an abnormal amount of shitting, I’ve crafted my idea of what is normal around that knowledge. I could be wrong, but I’m probably not. I am sure, though, that every single woman I’ve ever been with somehow manages to go through toilet paper like there’s a bacon-wrapped rainbow at the end of each roll.

Originally, I thought this might have just been a coincidence. Maybe I just happened to find and date the small percentage of women who go through rolls so quickly it seems like they’re just eating it. Maybe I was buying cheap paper. Maybe I just happened to like chicks who shit a lot. Stumped and saddened, I began asking friends if they noticed the same pattern, hoping that I wasn’t the weird one, the one who somehow ended up dating a perpetual stream of toilet paper Krakens.

I was happy to learn that I’m not alone, that there were other men suffering in silence, fatigued after having to make midnight toilet paper runs to 7-11 even though they’d just purchased eight rolls the weekend before, shamed by the fact that, when in relationships, their bank statements look like the “what wrong with this picture?” page in Highlights Magazine as they’ve had to budget for car payments, rent, student loans, food, and toilet paper, and embarrassed that they had no f*cking clue how or why this happens.

This realization came some time ago. Now, a few years and a couple women later, aside from a couple theories (My favorite? Since women’s asses tend to be bigger than men’s asses, maybe it just takes more toilet paper to do a thorough wipe. If it seems like I’m reaching pretty far, good. Mission accomplished. And pun intended.) I’m still stumped, and I still have no idea how the hell this happens. I’ve thought about hiding in the shower the next time The Gay Reindeer takes a shit to see first-hand what happens in there, but, um, yeah, no. As much as I want to figure this out, I want to keep the hairs in my nostrils from burning off even more.

So, once and for all, can someone please tell me how the hell do women use so much damn toilet paper? What the hell are they doing in the bathroom that requires them to use 14 sheets per second? Are they eating it? Hoarding it? Making paper mache effigies of hated co-workers and Keyshia Cole? Is it about some subconscious sexual thing with plumbers?Please, for the love of God, someone let me know.

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)