60 Days? Try 60 Seconds: Why Age Makes Us Easy

"Where were you when I was 19???" "In middle school."  "Oh. Nevermind, then."

“Where were you when I was 19???” “In middle school.” “Oh. Never mind, then.”

While on Gchat with Panama last Thursday, he showed me a couple sex-related quotes with considerable overlap that he was going to include in his Friday post. One had to do with the fact that the older you get, the “easier” it seems to have sex. The other was about the idea that those arbitrary 60 to 90 day waiting periods some women set on new potentials before considering sleeping with them are usually null and void if she likes you enough. Basically, be her Jay-Z.

I (obviously) agreed. In fact, I’d bet that if we polled all the 30+ men and women on VSB, most would agree that it’s substantially “easier” (more on why “easier” is in quotes a little later) to get someone you actually like in bed now than it was when you were 21. Ironically, for those who went to college, this theory still may hold true despite the fact that you might have literally lived within four blocks of thousands of eligible singles at that age.

Anyway, while I have no doubt that age makes us easy, I spent all weekend (and by “all weekend” I mean “the 240 seconds it takes me to drive from my house to Giant Eagle“) thinking about why. Here’s what I’ve come up with.

1. Sex Just Doesn’t Matter As Much

Ok. Ok. Ok. Ok. Put down your pitchforks and rotten tomatoes. I don’t mean that age makes sex meaningless or unimportant or irrelevant or any other adjective you’d use to describe Swizz’s role in the Magna Carta Holy Grail spot. Sex is great and wonderful and magical and murderous and shit.

But, as a grown up, the actual act of having sex with a new person just doesn’t have the same gravity as it does when you were younger. As you get older, sex morphs from that THING that has a tendency to define a person’s social status and their entire perception of their own self-worth to a thing that people who like each other (or just happen to be drunk next to each other) do. Or don’t do.

And, when you remove all the social baggage—as age tends to do—getting some becomes less overwrought with metric tons of external and internet conflict and context and just, well, easier.

2. You’re Better At Vagina Vetting (and, um, Penis Protecting)

I imagine that most of you reading this have at least a few people in your dating histories that make you cringe, crack up, or cry (or all three) when thinking of them. These don’t even have to be people you dated seriously. Maybe it only lasted for one date, but you shake your head at the fact that you even accepted an invitation from that guy at the bus stop with the plait beads and the Coogi jumper who wrote your number down with a magic marker.

No one is above this. But, hopefully those types of stories happened more often when you were younger. As you get older, though, you (should) start to get more of a grasp on what you like and don’t like. Maybe you don’t have the exact answer yet, but the spectrum of what you’re willing to consider gets smaller and smaller each year.

As the spectrum shrinks, you’re less likely to interact with people you know you have absolutely no future with. Naturally, this makes you more likely to date people you actually like. And, if you’re spending more time around people you actually like, you’re probably more likely to like them enough to sleep with them. You’re not necessarily “easier,” just more thoughtful about dating people you could be easy with.

3. You Just Know More About The People You Consider Sleeping With

2007 was the last time I did a cold, context-free approach. I’ve met/approached numerous different women in that time period, in numerous different venues, and in numerous different manners. But, in each situation, there was some commonality. Maybe we were at a house party and shared friends. Perhaps we were at a happy hour and belonged to the same professional organization. And, maybe we knew who each other were before actually getting to know each other.

Point being, it’s extremely rare for me to meet someone new without any type of back story. And as I get older, it’s becoming rarer. (I am a pretty big deal and shit.)

Perhaps this doesn’t happen as much in cities with higher populations or with people who travel more often than I do, but I bet my experience is more the norm than the exception.

I’m bringing this up because this familiarity—even if it’s faint—causes us to relax ourselves a bit more than we would with someone completely new, and this relaxation tends to lead to quicker asswaxation. Maybe we don’t knowknow them yet, but we know where they work, know who’s in their circle, and know that we have 118 friends in common on Facebook.

And, like with all other things, context can be good (more informed choices about who we actually decide to date) and not so good (“I know I shouldn’t hit it raw, but she’s a lawyer and a Delta so we’re probably good.”)

4. You Give Less F*cks

And, when you give less f*cks, you do more f*cking!

5. The Power Shift

At the risk of offending 77.8% of the people reading this, I’ll keep this short. When younger, women (generally) wield most of the sexual/dating power. The first 21 or so years of most men’s life is a perpetual quest for “Yes.”

The power dynamic starts to shift as we get older, as (generally speaking) “committed relationship” replaces “sex” on the top of the “Thing Wanted More Than Anyone Wants Anything Else” list.

This change, um, changes things.

(And that’s all I’m going to say about that.)

.—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

The Beauty Of Breaking Up

"Wait, you're finally breaking up with me??? Great!!!"

“Wait, you’re finally breaking up with me??? Great!!!”

There’s a scene in season one (I think?) of The Wire where the scene opens with one of the cops (“Herc”) trying to move a pretty large desk that’s stuck in a doorway. He’s not making much headway, and his struggle is so obvious that a couple more cops stop what they’re doing and help. One even gets into the room by crawling underneath the desk so he can help on the other side. Still, no progress. After a few more futile moments, every cop present stops what they’re doing to help, half on one side of the desk, half on the other. This doesn’t help at all. The desk doesn’t budge.

At this point, the cops—exhausted by the struggle—all stop for a second to catch their breath and think of a better way to move the desk. While they’re all standing there, wiping the sweat out of their eyes, Herc says (paraphrasing) “Damn. At this rate, we’ll never get it out.” As soon as he says this, another one of the cops (I think it was “Carver”) looks at him incredulously and says “Out?” Herc replies “Yeah, we’ll never get it out.”

As soon as he says this, the other cops roll their eyes, shake their heads, and mumble different variants of “motherf*cker” in his direction before going back to their desks, all coming to the same realization: The desk wasn’t moving was because while everyone else was trying to get it in the office, his dumb ass was trying to get it out. 

This scene was meant to be a metaphor for the futility of the drug war, and how much time and effort is wasted on it doing things that ultimately counteract each other. But, while thinking about it the other day (I have random moments of Wire-based nostalgia. Don’t you?), I couldn’t help but think that scene also could have been a metaphor for how we (generally) view dating and relationships.

All of the blogs, books, podcasts, Nightline specials, panels, interviews, features, shows, oral histories, news stories, and web series devoted to this topic have the same underlying theme: Helping people get into and stay in relationships. 

This is understandable. Being in a healthy and happy romantic relationship is something desired by most people—mankind’s existence is somewhat dependent on it and shit—so it makes sense that we’d devote a ton of resources to help make that happen.

But, maybe we’re going at it backwards. Maybe all this talk about relationships has helped to cultivate a condition where people eschew all common sense to achieve this elusive goal. Maybe instead of putting the focus on getting people into relationships, we should be more concerned with getting people out of them. Maybe instead of thinking of a break up as the worst thing that can happen to a person, we should start to recognize the beauty in them.

Yes, the beauty. The beauty in recognizing that certain fundamental incompatibilities are never going to change. The beauty in being willing to free yourself from some contrived commitment to get a return on an investment that you know will never be recovered. The beauty in not having to make excuses to yourself and everyone else when asked why you stay if you’re so unhappy. The beauty in enjoying singledom and not allowing external factors to pressure you into doing something you’re just not ready to do yet. The beauty in the hundreds of thousands of people back on the open market after freeing themselves from non-starter relationships; people who may actually be perfectly compatible with someone who’s currently single, but will never know as long as they stay in shitty situations. The beauty of taking time “off” to legitimately work on yourself. The beauty in saying “No” and continuing to say “No” until you’re completely ready to say “Yes.” The beauty in shifting our focus from getting people into relationships to convincing them to leave and stay out of shitty ones.

***BTW, today is the 2nd anniversary of Liz’s twenty-somethingth birthday, so if you see her, please wish her a happy one and buy her a shot. If you don’t see her and can’t buy the shot, just read a random Bible verse to yourself on an Apple product in her honor instead. If, while you’re reading the verse, you happen to come across Liz, continue reading and give her a lapdance***

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

Be His Beyonce


Get married.

Pay for dates.

Introduce her to his friends.

Approach her.

Let her know where he lives. 


Make long-term plans.

Be affectionate.

Be seen in public together.

Be seen online together. 

Claim her. 


Give head. 

The actions listed above are just a prominent few of the many things I’ve heard…

1. Many women claim that—despite however many requests they’ve made—the men in their lives just aren’t interested in doing.


2. Many men claim that they just don’t do. 

Usually, when you start to dig deeper, you’ll find that the man’s reluctance to do these things is out of “principle.”

“You know I don’t believe in marriage.” he’ll say over an half-eaten plate of under-cooked garlic parm chicken wings. “You also know I love you. Why isn’t that enough?”

“You know we’re together, and I know we’re together.” he’ll remark while watching back episodes of Hannibal, “Why does it even matter if everyone else knows? What’s the point in telling people and having them all in our business?”

“I’m just sayin.” he’ll type while in the comments section of his second favorite blog. “It just doesn’t make any sense to automatically foot the bill on a first or second date. I mean, she got a job too. Why do I have to be the one to pay?”

Initially, their reasons will make perfect and practical sense. I mean, a marriage is just a piece of paper, right? Why does any one need to know about your relationship? And, what logical sense does it make to pay for a woman’s food if her ass makes more money than you do?

But, after the smoke clears and the dust settles, there’s only one realization left:

Those guys are full of shit. All of them. Every single one. 

How am I so certain?

Well, let’s say Beyonce happened to break up with Jay-Z or Zoe Saldana happened to be single (and happened to be dating brothas) or Rihanna happened to be sane. Basically, let’s say whoever the baddest and finest woman of the moment happened to be happens to be single and very interested in one of those guys. Do you really think that if they happened to have a shot at locking down Kerry Washington, they’d still be on that “I don’t believe in marriage” shit? Do you think they’d refuse to allow Nicole Beharie to post and tag pictures they’ve taken together on Facebook? Do you think that if they finally were able to somehow land a date with that bad-ass chick at the gym that they changed their workout schedule for just so they might “accidentally” bump into her one day, they wouldn’t be ecstatic about paying for the first few dates?

Basically, their “principles” are opportunity-based…which means they’re not even really principles. Just arbitrary rules he’s found no reason to break.

Now, I can already see a counterargument formulating in people’s heads.

“I mean, of course they wouldn’t act that way if they had a realistic shot at Beyonce, but how realistic is that scenario? I mean, I know I’m cute and all, but I’m not Beyonce.”

You’re right, hypothetical woman asking me this randomly specific hypothetical question. You’re not Beyonce. But, that’s exactly my point.

We (guys) talk a very good game. I know this for a fact, because I am one. We’ll say what we’ll do and won’t do, and we’ll appear to be very insistent, stubborn even, about our relationship mores and principles. But, for 99.9999999% of us, all of those principles are thrown out of the window once we meet someone we really, really, really, really like.

The source of much (not all, but much) of the dating and relationship-related angst I’ve witnessed and read about—and the source of the “full of shit”-ness cited above—stems from the fact that many women find themselves in situations where they’re dating someone who just isn’t very excited about them. Maybe they’re not actually Halle Berry or Kerry Washington or Nia Long or whoever, but if a man is excited enough about a woman, he’ll think of her (and treat her) with the same regard he would with any of them. She would effectively be his Beyonce. And, if she’s his Beyonce, there’s no f*cking way he’s insisting on dutch first dates, no f*cking way he hides her from his friends, and definitely no f*cking way he allows “I like you, but I’m not ready to be in a relationship right now.” to escape his lips.

And, for women upset that the guy you’re romantically involved with just doesn’t seem that excited about you and is dead-set on his principles, the “goal” isn’t to convince him to change his mind. Just, well, just find someone who doesn’t need any convincing. We’re all full of shit¹. We just need to find the right person to help prove it.

¹Women are (generally) full of shit too, but today just happens to be about a particular type of man’s particular type of full of shit-ness

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

The $12.95 Question: How The Hell Do Women Use So Much Damn 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”)


Rants And Resolutions For The Day After Valentine’s Day

If this is you every V-Day, please save us the trouble  and eat some crackers

If this is you every V-Day, please save us the trouble and eat some crackers

What’s the day after Valentine’s Day without some love-related resolutions and rants from The Champ? 

Stop saying “I’m so sorry to hear that” whenever you hear about a relationship ending.

If a relationship ends it’s because two people don’t want to be together anymore. People realizing “Hey. I’m not happy anymore. Lemme go find some happiness” is a good thing. A great thing! “Something ending” doesn’t always have to mean “something bad.” You know what’s bad? People choosing to stay in shitty relationships. In fact, save “I’m so sorry to hear that” for the next time your shitty-relationshiped friend tells you they’re still trying to work things out.

If you’re in a relationship and you care more about Valentine’s Day now than you did when you were single and/or dating, you likely have a shitty relationship.

The angst some single people feel around V-Day is understandable. Annoying ass the f*ck. But understandable. Even roaches like company.

But, if you’re in an actual relationship and you absolutely need this day to be special, to prove that something is still there, to validate all the time, effort, and swallowing you’ve put into it so far, it’s probably time for you to take your relationship to the animal shelter. `

Letting everyone know every Valentine’s Day how much you hate Valentine’s Day doesn’t make you cool.

No one cares that you hate it. Really, no one cares. Collectively, we give less f*cks than Rozay’s nutritionist. Just go to Yoga, eat some lonely-ass peanut butter crackers, and watch Colbert on your phone while on the toilet at lunch like you do every other day.

If you can’t f*ck with the lights on, you shouldn’t be f*cking

Not saying everyone needs to f*ck with the lights on. Sometimes, you need the shadows to bring out the Dark Knight. But, if you always need a shroud of darkness to be comfortable enough with someone to do it, you’re not really comfortable enough to do it

There’s nothing wrong with being a hypocrite

Like whatever the f*ck you like. Just don’t be a hypocrite who complains when you’re not able to get whatever the f*ck you like.

If you’ve ever been seriously mad at someone about a ridiculously improbable hypothetical—Example: he took too long to answer when you asked him if he’d leave you if he had the chance to bone a 21 year old Pam Grier—go eat a beet

No. Seriously. Stop reading this, get up, go to your fridge, take a raw beet out of it, and eat it. If you don’t have a beet, just eat a fork. While doing this, strip naked, walk to the nearest full-length mirror, and do 25 crunches

Think about this experience—the memory of you doing crunches on a cold floor, the taste of the mouth full of beets, the shame of being face to face with your anus every time you complete a crunch in the mirror—the next time you consider getting pissed about a ridiculously improbable hypothetical

That’s enough ranting for me today. Did I miss anything?

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)