The Digital Dating Era Isn’t All Bad

Gallery

This gallery contains 1 photo.

(The Champ’s latest at Ebony explains why some of the hang-wringing over “the death of courtship” may be overblown.) Now, I’m not here today to necessarily dispute the findings and first-hand accounts found in each of the recent articles decrying the death of … Continue reading

Church Hat Swag

I don’t understand church hats. For the most part, they’re annoyingly huge visual obstacles preventing me from seeing my pastor help me see my Jesus. You know, when I had one.

I remember one Sunday I wanted to take the obnoxious hat off of the lady in front of me and fling that b*tch (the hat, not the woman) clear across the sanctuary to see what kind of distance I could get.

But women seem to be fascinated with them. Not sure if they just look like the fashion choice of a grown or mature woman or what, but so many women I know look forward to the days where they rock the church hat and tambourine combo at church. Add to the fact that those joints look heavy on top of what has to be a pretty hefty lace-front and color me all kinds of lost.

Women love them some church hats.

I’ve always associated the 28-gallon hats that I’ve witnessed as some sort of high society southern belle snobbery type didgeridoo. ß–that’s an instrument and not a hat. Could be that I grew up down South and the women I often saw rocking them at our Stone Temple Pilot to Nowhere Methodist Cum Baptist Standing On The Dock of The Bay Missionary Non-denominational Church weren’t exactly high society, but they played the part.

And if it goes down, y’all, that’s my heart.

Maybe it’s like the Black man Cadillac. There used to be something about rolling in a Caddy that just made all right with the world. That was the established ninja car. Nowadays, Caddys have lost their stronghold in my mind of what an established older Black man drives. But a Caddy is still a Caddy. But that’s a car. It goes to and fro and doesn’t obstruct anybody’s view of Venus. It also doesn’t draw odd attention to a woman who is 5’2” wearing a hat twice her size that’s Easter pink. With a veil. And what looks like odd little blueberries attached.

And a bow.

I really hate the bows.

Then you’ve got the huge boxes the hats come in. When I was little, I would sleep in those boxes. You could move into one now in NYC and have to pay $1,000 for rent. They take up so much space in an already crammed closet with the rest of the shiny, shimmery clothing that only comes out on special occasion and funerals, which ever comes first.

So we’ve got big a** boxes that house big a** hats that barely fit in cars and doorways that are generally only reserved for the church house, a place where a man cannot wear a hat out of fear of being disrespectful…to somebody. Coupled with the ginormous sized purses some women wear and you’ve got a whole lot of heft going on.

On Sunday.

Now let me say that I have seen some women rock the mimosa out of a church hat. Hey, some women just have it like that.

I wonder…is it some type of rite of passage into womanhood in certain circles? I went to see the play Crowns some years ago (great play) and I got the impression that awoman’s crown or hat was a sort of passing of the torch type deal. Akin to somebody’s daddy handing down his most prized possession like a watch or something (my dad does have quite the watch collection…I’m scheming). Maybe the passing of the hat comes with an hours long convo about the history of this hat from Macy’s to the head of your great-great-grandmother who wore it while she was fighting injustice down by the riverside.

I don’t know. But I’m curious.

Ladies? What’s with the church hat fascination? Do you have hats? Does it add to your womanhood? And fellas, is there a male equivalent.

Talk to me. Petey.

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka MR. HAT DANCE aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

Rules That I Will Always Follow

The worst part of this is that taxpayer dollars created that sign.

I was out running the tweets yesterday morning and I came across this post by the homey (and sometimes VSB commenter) SimplyBRenee called “Two ‘Southern’ Rules That I Will Always Follow”. She states that two rules she’ll always follow are that 1) women prepare men’s plates; and 2) Men drive. Check out the post for her reasoning. Git.

Well, I’ll be. I can dig it. I’ve actually been in a home where the men had their plates prepared by women no matter what. Sh*t threw me for a complete loop because I grew up in a home with enough women to make me a feminist and nobody ever made my plate for me. But then I was exposed to this life and I wanted in. Actually, not really, I kind of like making my own plate.

Some of y’alls potato salad looks maaaaaaaaad sketchy. You let somebody else make the plate and they put that sketchy food on it and you have it to eat it, lest you be rude.

By the way, “eat it, lest you be rude” should be part of the 10 Sex Commandments.

Anyway, the homey’s post got me to thinking about traditions or rules that I, myself, personally, I’m just saying would always practice.

1. Opening doors for women

I still believe in chivalry and a long time ago we mentioned that holding a door open for a woman is a win-win for everybody because you get to look at her arse. I don’t even remember why I learned to do this, I just do it. Even if I can’t stand you, I’ll still open the door for you. I was just raised right. Random arse observation time: I’ve been noticing a lot lately that many women who have very nice legs have absolutely no hips whatsoever. How does this happen? Why does this happen? Heaven, I need a hug.

2. You don’t touch another person’s car stereo

I can’t tell how perturbed I get when folks get into my vehicle and change the station. I give them the look of 12 midgets pointing tridents at Gulliver on house arrest. My car, my sounds. Honestly, I’ve only seen women do this f*cksh*t and I’m convinced its because women like to test boundaries (and start unnecessary arguments about why they can’t do something) and see the man’s reaction. Don’t get mad at me when I swat your hand you stoolie. I got a homeboy who would pull the most ignantastic music moves in his car. One night, we’re coming from the movies at like 130am, hype on our way to the club and this dude throws on Nina Simone, “Strange Fruit”. This same dude once decided to piss everybody off by playing the instrumental to Bilal’s “Soul Sister” for 2 hours straight on an out of town drive. Oh well, his car, his sounds.

Duly note this: If you’re driving said person’s car, the radio is yours. The city is mine. You belong to the city. WATCH THE THRONE.

3. (back to the eating thing), “Eat it, lest you be rude.”

If you put food on your plate you are responsible for its eating. This has gotten me in more trouble than I can shake a stick at. I’m not one of those people who believes in wasting food. I’m skinny as hell so I understand the starving kid epidemic. When I get food, I eat it. Even if I hate it. Or at the very least I do my absolute best. Okay, that’s a lie. I just make sure that it looks like I ate it by strategically throwing sh*t away inconspicuously. You know the scenes in movies where folks say, “look at that” somebody turns around and then you throw food in another direction? I swear ‘fore God and three white men that I’ve done that multiple times in my life.

4. Men shovel snow

I f*cking HATE shoveling snow. I can’t express to you how much I hate it. I’d rather slam my wang in a door after cartwheeling naked through a pack of Hyenas with Free Gaddhafi tshirts on while driving through an African safari tour in Compton, than shovel snow. But if it snows…boo, I got your sidewalk. If I’m there. If I’m not there, there’s a good chance that I will have cell service interruption. Again, it’s not a pretty picture…I DON’T LIKE DOING IT! (name that reference) I have spent upwards of 5 hours in one day shoveling snow off my car, my boothangs (when I’ve had one), and neighbors cars because I’m a man. I’m Tim Taylor.

5. You don’t smang your man’s girl.

Should be self-explanatory. Apparently it needs reiterating over and over. G-code whoadie.

Alright, those are random rules that I will always follow. What are your random rules that you always follow?

Word to SimplyBRenee.

Oh, and Happy Friday, b*tches.

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka MR. NO YELLOW SNOW aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

[***Admin Note: One last reminder that tomorrow night, Saturday, November 5, 2011 at Liv Nightclub in Washington, DC, VSB brings you another edition of REMINISCE, the party dedicated to all 90s everything. It's free before 11pm, there's an open bar from 10-11pm, and no dress code. Remember, it ain't no fun if the homies can't have none. Doors at 10pm. Party with your folk!***]

Traditionally Speaking, I Disagree

I hate destiny.

Tradition is the backbone of a strong society. Without our traditions, we are left, well, traditionless and searching like Roy Ayers, which is so sad since everybody loves the sunshine. We are the equivalent of the lost Black girl who doesn’t enjoy talking about that God body back to Africa stuff.

NOT THAT WHITE STUFF!

What does this have to do with the price of Magnums in Tokyo? Not very much really, but it got me to thinking about a bunch of relationship norms that while seemingly sound in theory, are actually quite non-sensical. And if non-sensical is too strong, then they’re at the very least Urkelian.

And I’m guessing Magnums in Tokyo go for real cheap. I figure its one of those places where supply doesn’t necessarily create demand. Take that Reagan. Swing low, sweet chariot. Trickle deez.

Back to the lecture at hand. There are quite a few tenets that many of us tend to hold pretty tightly too, and if we were to actually examine them more closely, we’d realize that perhaps, we’ve got it wrong, even if we hold onto them for the “right” reasons.

Wrote a song about them, like to hear them? Here they go.

(Okay, no song.)

1. No living with somebody until you’re married

It’s common knowledge that you don’t know somebody until you’ve lived with them, or at the very least spend a significant amount of unintentionally inseparable time together. Yet, so many of us (and by us, I mean ninjas since white people are ready to move intogether after two weeks or a cup of coffee, whichever comes first) swear that we don’t want to live with our boyfriends or girlfriends until we’re married. Here’s the thing, I understand. Women don’t want to give up the milk if the man isn’t purchasing the cow. And men hate buying cows. It’s this notion that by living together, we are inadvertently prolonging our desire to marry the woman we’re living with. Or, more simply, we don’t want to share our space until we HAVE to. It’s the stuff of legend and rude awakenings. Of course, once you’re married and you realize you hate your spouse you’re required to at least attempt to work it out before you call Al Cowlings. Again, I understand why we hold off on living together, it just seems like a good place realize whether or not you actually want to marry the person that you’re about to…marry. Or not.

2. Waiting until you’re in love to sample the goods

Fret not, this isn’t another “ladies, give up the booty after date 2″ plea. No. This is more about those individuals who chose to wait until they are in “love” before they are ready to sleep with eachother. And that makes sense. I get it. You want to ensure that the person is fully deserving of your all before you go all in. Pun intended. And that makes lots of sense. Thing is, what if you fall in love with somebody who effectively gives you the worst schlong of your life. Every time and can’t get any better. Or can’t help but use her teeth. Like the damn things just STAY in the way. And you love chicks from Atlanta and the Georgia Dome? It is a beautiful thing to both decide to wait knowing that when you do partake, it will be a surreal and beautiful experience for you both. Or so you hope. If bootydo matters a whole lot to you and you have a terrible partner, will that color the love? Or do you just work it out? If coitus and finances are the main reasons that marriages die, and you ain’t rich and getting bad partnerplay…then what do you do?

3. Waiting to discuss finances until you have to

While I realize that asking somebody their FICO score can be a red flag of tremendous proportions – intrusive much? – the fact is, the more you know about how somebody handles their money will ensure that you don’t end up married to the person who effectively ruins your chance to buy a house with an interest rate that doesn’t rival current employment rates. So I get it, we date people and try to ascertain as much about their responsibilityness and self-management through observation. But peep game, how somebody manages their finances will tell you more than you need to know about whether or not you may want to move forward. But, generally, those conversations don’t come into play much later at which point when you do find out that your partner’s credit score is the over on a Knicks-Golden State basketball game score.

Those are three “traditions” so to speak that I think could use some updating. What say you? Do things make sense as they are? Do we need to hold onto these paradigms to ensure the continuation of the species?

What else you got? Any other perhaps shortsighted traditions?

Speak to me. Petey.

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka lower.case.p aka TANGLE JIG P aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3