Category Archives: mandom

The Inventions and Innovations of Women

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Some of y'all are writing this note RIGHT NOW.

When Plato said that “necessity is the mother of invention” he inadvertently had three major groups in mind: Black people, hoodrats, and women. While it is possible for one person to be a part of each of those groups simultaneously, I’d like to specifically speak to the last group, thee of the boob.

Hate it or love it, women are the most interesting creatures on the planet. A woman’s ability to run both hot and cold at the exact same time is truly a thing upon which to marvel. Only a woman can do something completely insane and somehow manage to make it another person’s fault for her being in that predicament. So what she murdered that stripper; YOU shouldn’t have been sleeping with her. To woman, the crime is merely a role player in the drama that is her rationality. What she needs from you is understanding. It’s as simple as 1,2,3. Understanding is what she needs.

And that’s not just understanding from men, by the way. That’s from everybody.

Please direct all hate mail to deeznuts@saultnuts.com

All jokes aside, in my travels throughout Womania, I’ve noticed that there are certain inventions that either had to be created by women or concepts that are solely woman-centric. More than likely because men just wouldn’t ever think of them. Woman. Brilliance. Same sh*t.

Here are a few examples of inventions or innovations that are 100 percent woman-centric:

1. Ex-bestfriends

Women actually have these. Men, we have dudes we ain’t as cool with as we used to be. Or dudes we just don’t f*ck with at all. But there’s no title. No declaration. Women on the other hand? EVERY WOMAN HAS AN EX-BEST FRIEND. In fact, I’m fairly certain in Woman School, there’s an entire class dedicated to that day that every woman becomes full bird and has to kick a friend to the curb and denote her as an actual ex-bestfriend. And that’s her actual title in conversations. “My ex-bestfriend, Quilta, and I used make beef patties with processed crab meats. Bawse.” In fact, I’d bet good money that when you meet a woman if you want to know what kind of person she is, all you have to do is say, “so tell me about your ex-bestfriend, I know you have one.” After she gets pissy at you for making assumptions, she’ll likely talk to you for a solid 20 minutes about this friend that is no longer. Because at the end of the day…that “b*tch” was trippin.

2. The Mute function on Twitter

Passive aggression, thy name is women. I remember the first time I saw the mute button on Twitter. I had no idea what it mean or what it was for until I asked a homegirl of mine who explained it to me. So wait, you don’t want to hear about your homegirls good times or she’s trippin so f*ck her, but you also don’t want to unfollow her because then she’ll know if she ever brings up your profile, so you just mute her timeline until you’re ready to actively be apart of her life again? Unfollow is bad luck. Smart folks mute back. Must have been a woman that started all that.

3. The inconvenience phone call

People say that  you should beware of a scorned woman. Poppycock. You know that some bad sh*t is going down if you scorn a woman. You can’t beware something that you can’t stop in the first place. You can only hope she has something to lose so she stops short of a felony. However, let your woman RANDOMLY feel inconvenienced by ANYTHING and dude, you’re getting a phone call. She feels inconvenienced so she has to inconvenience somebody else. Or LET him know how much she’s being inconvenienced by either his lack of presence or lack of compassion to know she’s being inconvenienced and not call and console and apologize for something that isn’t his fault. Basically, women are the worst sports on the planet. I remember one day I was listening to Hot 99.5′s Kane Show in the morning. The morning host, Kane’s wife called up the station pissed. She was at home with their two kids who were screaming in the background. So what did she do? Call him to let him know that she was having a bad day because he needed to know. Almost in a sort of, you’re out having fun and here I am doing the hard work. You know how if there’s a way that race can be a reason something happend, its a likely culprit? Well, I think for women, inconvenience is their beef 99 percent of the time. Hmm…which leads to another type of invention…

4. The f*ck-up-your-fun call

Every man is familiar with the rampant “you don’t care about me” phone calls during that one night a month he goes out with his boys. It’s like the second you go do something you had to seek permission for, the texts start. “When are you coming home?” Or the phone calls start. “You didn’t put the dishes up”. Which leads to man’s most important invention of all time…the Loud-Arse-Universal-Hush-and-Fun-Diversion-Tactic-That-Works-25%-Of-The-Time. Or LAUHFDTTW25OTT for short. A man see’s that his girl keeps calling he knows he has to answer so he hushes his boys (and strippers) the f*ck up so it doesn’t sound like’s having fun. Which never actually works because well, women aren’t stupid. And plus, fun or no fun, when she makes that call, its going down. Joc.

Good people of VSB, those are just a couple of women’s inventions. What are other fine innovations and inventions that women have created? Make Plato proud. And to be fair, ladies, what are completely male-centric inventions and innovations?

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka MR. MAKE IT RAIN aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

Check out Panama’s recap of Braxton Family Values episode 3 and latest blog post about women’s obsession with engagement rings and trapping men over on Guyspeak. Peep game shawty.

For the DC VSBers: Come out to the latest edition of REMINISCE (Facebook event link), the 90s party,  brought to you by Very Smart Brothas x Shine On Me x Just Cause Productions. This month’s party will feature a special tribute to Heavy D and a focus on Uptown Records (Waterbed Heav’s recording home). That means Mary and Guy and Father MC, etc. That means a good time. Get yo’ azz on out to Liv Nightclub on Saturday, 12/3. Free before 11, free drank before 11, and no dress code. And Champ will be in the building too. Sadatay. And invite all of your friends. Let’s make it a night to remember.

Curtain Call: Signs It’s Time To Go…From Anywhere

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When he shows up...I'm out.

Earlier today, Lil Boosie (nee Torrance Hatch) plead guilty to transporting drugs into two federal prison facilities. I think its safe to say that he’s about to get buried under the jail. Now, the relevance there lies only in the fact that Lil Boosie looks like the kind of dude I’d avoid in general. And at all costs. You know the look. And do you know why you know the look? It’s because you profile. So do I. Which is how we got here in the first place.

By the way, Kimberly Elise specializes in looking a hot damn mess. Period.

Moving on. I remember a long time ago I was at this spot in Atlanta and a group of dudes who all looked like Lil Boosie walked into the spot. It was at that point that my spidey sense went off and I immediately closed the piano and walked the f*ck out of the spot. Some situations just look like violence or wrong is about to happen. And I for one prefer not to be in that vicinity. Well this random thought occurred to me today about other signs that it just might indeed be time to get the f*ck out of dodge.

Curious? I thought you might be. Here’s a list. Well, below is a list. Underground.

1. My phone battery gets down to 15 percent

I don’t care if I’m at church. If my battery gets down that low, it’s time to roll the f*ck out. There’s something about being lost in the world without a working cell phone. I know that emergencies don’t happen that often and all but what if the ONE time my phone is about to shut off a band of muscular midgets rolls up on me, robs me and I can’t call the police because my phone is dead…because I’m in Zaire. I’d be #madahellshawty. It’s like my own personal checks and balance. My phone battery being low lets me know that I need to rethink my life and be in a safe place. Panic room.

2. Somebody takes off his shirt/wifebeater

I go to clubs where tshirts tend to be frowned upon. But if I see out of the corner of my eye that some dude is coming out of his shirt, I assume that some violence is about to go down. Or in the illustrious words of (the ladies screaming go…) Andre 3000, “two ni**as done started bustin, one ni**a done took his shirt off talkin’ ’bout, ‘now who else wanna f*ck with Hollywood Court’” I know a crime in progress when I see one.

3. Girls get into an argument with a dude

This one is a bit of a catch-22. See, nothing good comes of a man arguing with a woman. But women also know this and don’t expect men to act like men because breasts are present. So the chick will loudcap, push the forehead, mush a ninja, and generally just get brolic on a dude. Thing is, these situations NEVER end well. NEVER. These situations end up on World Star Hip Hop with some chick getting bodied by a dude who will inevitably go to prison at some point in his life. But I can’t just run out the club since I know that the girl will need help. Basically, I stay out of clubs…

4. …where guys show up in the Grown & Sexxy special

You know, striped button ups, really cheap expensive jeans and some ALDO shoes. And fake Gucci sunglasses. At night. When a band of these merry men show up in the club…its time to go. Even if nothing does go down, they increase the potential for f*cksh*t by 1000 percent. That sh*t was written like a Drake freestyle.

Those are some signs that its time to get the f*ck out of dodge. What are some other signs that its time to roll? Share so we all may know.

I’m gully.

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka MR. ITS MURDAAAAAAAAAA aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

“The Unprompted D*ck Pic” and 4 More Things We (Men) Need To Stop Forever

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He got it at Jared

I was in NYC last week to participate in a dating and relationship roundtable discussion with several other writers and bloggers. While hanging out during the accompanying photoshoot, we — the three male writers in attendance — were involved in a kind of heated and completely hilarious conversation with a few of the stylists on set. Apparently, the emailboxes of each of these women were full of random wangs — short, tall, long, wrong, etc — and the only thing each of these pics had in common was the fact that none of them were requested.

One woman even told us about a time a year or so ago when she was in the cab back home from a decent first date with a guy. She felt her cell phone buzzing, saw the guy’s number, assumed he was texting to make sure she got home okay, opened the message prepared to see “Hey, just wanted to make sure you made it home ok” or “Had a great time tonight,” but was greeted with a glistening wang with the words “Sneak Preview” attached to it. One’s left to wonder if he carried a bottle of Vaseline in his pocket to always be prepared to send a shiny d*ck pic or if he just had the pic stored on his phone for special occasions.

Although none of us had actually done the unprompted d*ck pic thing ourselves, three possible reasons for this act were brought up.

A) It’s a simple bait for easy chicks. Let’s say you send a d*ck pic to 15 different women. Although most will be disgusted/indifferent (or will at least feign disgust/indifference), there might be a couple who are amused/intrigued/aroused by it, and now you have three new chicks who want to f*ck and all you had to do to cultivate interest was stick an iPhone in your boxers.

B) We occasionally assume that most women are turned on by our bodies in the same way that we’re turned on by theirs. As my homie J-Russ has joked, it doesn’t even take boobs or booty to get us. Sometimes a chick’s shoulder blade or bare ankle is enough to make us all verklempt, and we sometimes forget that women’s arousal can be a bit more, um, complicated than that.

C) Remember lunchtime recess in 3rd grade, when some boys used to flash girls at the swings and then run away laughing when she screamed or blushed? (and by “some” I mean “all”) Well, let’s just say that certain parts of some of us never grow up, and many of us will never not enjoy showing our d*cks to random women.

Anyway, the unprompted d*ck pic is just one of the many things many of us continue to do even though — if the women I’ve met are any indication — very, very, very few women actually seem to enjoy it.

Here’s four more.

2. The too soon “I miss you” text/phone call/email message

You know what’s funny? The men who do this are usually completely disingenuous. I mean f*ck, the date just ended 13 minutes ago. There’s no way in hell you miss her Aspergers having ass already. But, many of us send that message just to get some extra points, oblivious to the fact that there’s a 97.9% chance that she’ll think you’re a corny f*cking lame after receiving it.

3. The foreplay ear-tongue play

Guys, raise your hand if you’ve ever stuck your tongue in a woman’s ear while making out. Ladies, raise your hand if you’ve ever had that happen to you. Now, keep those hands up if you’ve ever actually enjoyed that.

Exactly.

4. Asking “how many” 

Although “how many” does actually matter (that’s another topic for another day), asking the question is an exercise in futility. Why? Well, she’ll either get pissed at you for asking, lie about the number, or tell the truth and make you want to hide under the table. And yes, if you’re the type of guy who’d ask, you’re probably also the type whose feelings would get hurt if her number is higher than D.Wade’s jersey.

5. The plan-less date

I know, I know, I know. We think we’re doing the right thing. We just want to make her happy, we want her to enjoy her time, and, ever since that time two years ago when we accidentally watched a couple scenes from Erin Brockovich, we’re aware of women’s rights and shit.

But, while many of us think that “It’s whatever. I don’t have any preference. Whatever you want to do.” is the optimum way to approach dating in these increasingly androgynous times, there are few things that dry panties quicker than a date without a plan.

Seriously, it doesn’t even have to be a good plan. It could be a bad plan. An awful plan. An egregiously shitty plan on par with “Let’s let the guy who was caught raping a kid in the showers unrestricted access to our locker room.” Shit, you can even change plans. Just make sure to have something, anything in place to let her know you put more than five seconds worth of thought into your evening. Plus, if you allow her to make her own plans you make her accountable for her own happiness, and we all know they don’t want that to happen either. (another topic for another day)

Anyway, people of VSB: Do you agree with my list?

Also, can you think of any thing else that we (men) continue to do even though we know that most women kind of hate it? 

***Coming tomorrow: “55 Things Women Need To Stop Forever“***

—The Champ

If You Know Better, F&^king Do Better

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If they were Black, I'd say they don't know their daddies.

While I know why I do certain things, I can’t really explain why I do certain things.

Feel me? Probably not. Let me try this another way.

A long time ago, I washed a pen in some jeans. Genius move I know. So I pull the pen out of the now so fresh and so clean jeans andI get to pondering. I say to myself, “Self, I wonder if I open this pen cap, will ink spill all over the place?”

Hmm.

Now, this is a dumb question. Everybody knows that if you wash a pen, it generally breaks and goes squidward on your 501s. Most people are just happy to find out that their jeans are unblemished. Panama on the other hand? Nope. I shun common sense in the face of adversity. I scoff at normalcy and unproven factual theories. Sure there MIGHT be ink, but if I don’t pull the pen cap off, can I really say with complete certainty that my pen DID break and I’d get ink everywhere? Philosophy, thou art my maiden.

So yeah, I pulled open that pen cap and got ink on my hands (took forever to clean off) and all over my cheap beige-Halle Berry colored rug. Pure genius move. Plus, everybody knows I’m a motherf*cking monster.

Now the point of this story is that I pretty much knew what was going to happen but I still eschewed conventional wisdom and pulled the cap, caught the fade, and cleaned the carpet. Quadruple C’s.

So what’s the second point of this story? Well, two things. 1) scared money don’t make money, and b) relationships would probably be so much smoother if more of us acknowledged that we just damn know better most of the time…and f*cking leaned on that principle. I can’t tell you how many situations I’ve been in where I KNEW what the right answer was, or what the right way to handle a situation would be, should be, or how it all could be, and because of my own pride, I let the sh*t ride. Front back, and side to side.

That rhymed.

It’s interesting too because nobody is immune to it though it seems like a solid 99 percent of men’s problems in relationship comes down to knowing better and doing otherwise anyway. In fact, that’s probably the reason women stay pissed and peeved (not angry) with us so often, we do little stupid sh*t that we know better than to do. Our biggest liability in most situations is that we aren’t dumb.

Like, I know that if we get into an argument you just want me to listen to you and acknowledge what you have to say. But we’re beefing, f*ck that. I’d rather create the second argument that has nothing to do with the first one just so that you don’t get the satisfaction. Seriously, how f*cking retarded is that?

I know when you ask me how you look that you don’t want to hear “fat” or “not bad”. But do I just say “good” or “lovely”? Nope. I say “not bad” or “you don’t look bad at all.” Semantics is a motherf*cker and I know that. Yet, for whatever reason, my ability to take the shortest distance between my mouth and your nudity never seems to occur. Which is even worse for somebody who writes a relationship blog (unless its a sh*tty one…they really might not know better). I can’t get out of any argument because it’s OBVIOUS that I just damn know better.

I know what to say. I know what to do. I just chose not to do or say the right things because…well, I don’t wanna. Pride is a helluva drug. Which again…stupid logic. I’ve got hometraining and effectively, my entire upbringing was dedicated to making sure that I knew better than to make a bad decision whenever one presented itself.

It’s like getting a liberal arts degree. I keed. I keed. #occupywallstreet

*ducks tomatoes*

I know better than to stick my wang in what looks like a wang shredder. I know not to poke the bear. And I know to just letting sleeping dogs lie. Because I know better.

I know to just tell you whats on my mind. I know to let you know if I’m going to need to change plans. I know that I shouldn’t grind up on that chick in front of you or anybody that knows you. I know I shouldn’t make certain comments to an ex or hug that voluptuous chick with the dong too long. I know that I shouldn’t find myself in a compromising situation even if its not totally my fault…and if I do, I know that I should get myself out of it as quickly as possible. ASAP. And I know that if I get caught doing something I wasn’t supposed to be doing, either big or small, I shouldn’t lie. When I was 6 lying made it worse and when I’m 60, lying will make it worse.

I just damn know. And yet I don’t do it anyway. Or do do it anyway. Or do that thing that I wasn’t supposed to have did done. The things you do, make me come running to you…to stab you. Or at least that’s what she said.

With great power comes great responsibility and with growth comes bigger drawz. But sometimes I wonder what’s wrong with me as I quest to get better about doing some things. Or why I’ve been that way anyway. Like, I KNOW what I should do or say most of the time and I still struggle. If I was a Carebear, I’d be Struggle Bear. Actually, that doesn’t even fit.

But if I know better, I should just f*cking do better, right? Like Donuts track #2, I’m workinonit.

Sadatay.

What about you? Are you part of the #struggleteam? If so, why? Why don’t we (men and women – women f*ck up too) just damn do better? How much time do you spend mad at your boo because they do some f*cksh*t despite the fact that they know better? Why are there so many questions? Do I know? Do I know? Why’d I just ask the same question twice? Who ya wit?

-VSB P aka THE ARSONIST aka MR. FEELYOGUHL aka GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL HE A 3

The Dance: Understanding Isaiah Mustafa

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Perhaps I should get back on my horse. It's much safer up there

I came across an episode of the latest season of “The Real World” last week. Although I’m no longer a regular viewer, I watched 10 minutes of it to find the answers to the same six questions that pretty much every black male casual viewer has when learning there’s a new cast

1. Are there any black people?

(If that answer is “Yes” and there’s at least one black female)

2. Are they good-looking?

3. Do they date brothas? (I know you shouldn’t be able to watch a black person on screen for 10 minutes and immediately be able to tell their racial dating preference, but I can and I’m pretty sure that most of you reading this can as well. Also, how much you care about the answer to this question usually directly correlates to how good looking they might be. Basically, we only care whether she dates brothas or not if she’s attractive.)

(If that answer is “Yes, there are black people on the show” and there’s at least one black male)

4. Does he represent? (In this sense “represent” basically just means “Is this a dude I could be cool with in real life?“)

(If there are no black people on the show)

5. Any cute white girls?

(If that answer is “Yes”)

 6. Do they date brothas? (Re-read aside #2)

I didn’t watch long enough to find the answers to my questions. (A bit of Google recon did prove that there actually is a black woman on the show — Alexandra, a Zimbabwean-American with an awesome Wiki page.) But, I did watch long enough to hear one of the cast members — a white dude (Nate) so consciously and stereotypically “white dude” that his white friends probably call him “White Nate” —  offhandedly describe what he’s looking for in a woman.

(Paraphrasing)

“You know, blond, blue eyes, big boobs, straight teeth, the usual”

I don’t recall if Nate said this in a confessional or to another roommate, but I do remember thinking the following thoughts when hearing it.

A) Generally speaking, blondes are at the top of the average American white man’s pyramid of attractiveness.

B) Natural blondes comprise a very small percentage of the population.

C) Nate is not blonde.

D) Nate will probably never be asked to defend, apologize for, or even explain the connection between #A, #B, and #C.

Now, you’re probably thinking that I’m going to examine why Nate’s preference stays a preference while a person of color expressing a similar preference for a rare and highly sought-after look usually becomes a complex. I’ll eventually get there, but what stood out in particular was how Nate’s statement was actually more of a mental muscle memory exercise than a fully thought out sentence.

I’m not saying that he doesn’t like blond, blue eyed, big tittied women, but the way he responded let me know that I’m sure he knows that’s a “safe” answer — the one that a person with his resume is supposed to give — so he repeats it without giving it much thought.

This isn’t uncommon. We generally know who and what we’re supposed to be attracted to, so instead of making waves, many of us (myself included) will just spout what we think people are expecting to hear. It’s really no different than the “How was your day?” dance we all love to do. The person asking usually doesn’t really want the answer, and the person answering usually doesn’t really want to answer.

This dance — where the steps vary depending on who you’re talking to and why you’re talking to them — is the reason why Isaiah Mustafa (better known as the Old Spice guy) is currently on a “Hey, I came out of a black woman’s vagina! I love black women and shit!” apology tour. Background: During an “E! News” interview a couple weeks ago, Mustafa was asked what he was looking for in a woman. His replies seemed innocent enough, until he mentioned that because of his natural naps, a woman he’d procreate with would need to have “good” hair to balance things out.

Predictably, this statement wasn’t received very well in certain segments of the blogosphere.

Now, aside from his Old Spice work and the fact that he might have the single blackest name I’ve ever seen in print, I don’t know anything about Isaiah Mustafa. But, although I’m a bit surprised that he wasn’t savvy enough to realize how charged and pejorative any mention of “good hair” could be, I don’t see anything particularly harmful or egregious with what he said.

Actually, let me rephrase that. His mistake wasn’t that he misspoke. He misstepped. He just made a wrong dance move.

Consider the context.

A) He’s an attractive actor known for his sense of humor and deadpan delivery.

B) He’s doing a very short and very light news spot for a very light network (E!) about a very light show (Charlie’s Angels) he’s currently on.

C) He was interviewed by an intentionally attractive woman (Giuliana Rancic)

With these factors in place, it’s easy to see what happened. He wasn’t trying to diss black women (or any woman who doesn’t have “good hair”). Instead, he was just attempting to play on that “I’m a handsome black guy, but I don’t take myself that seriously” persona he’s cultivated by talking shit about his own looks. Basically, he was flirting, and he made a self-depreciating funny — a funny no different than a short person joking that they need a tall mate to balance out their genes — that went too far

His mistake was failing to realize that a black man making certain jokes about himself can very easily touch on an extremely sensitive nerve — a phenomenon further exacerbated by the fact that when a person in what’s thought to be a somewhat privileged social position even jokingly implies that people at the opposite end of the spectrum aren’t mate worthy, a preference has a funny way of turning into a complex.

Now, Isaiah Mustafa may in fact have a complex and may in fact hate everything about his black skin. I don’t know, and I doubt anyone reading this knows either. But, you just can’t make that determination from his statement. A surprising lack of social savvy? Definitely. But not a damning example of self and sista hate.

Anyway, people of VSB, I’m curious: What are your thoughts about this situation? Do you think he’s guilty of serious self-hate, damned with a dumb dance move, or somewhere inbetween?

Also, so we can finally settle this once and for all, what the hell is the difference between a preference and a complex?

—The Champ