Wednesday, April 26, 2006

You're Not Romantic, You're a Stalker

Gentleman, I know there are a lot of really shitty chicks out there. I know it is difficult to weed through the gold diggers, the self-absorbed princesses, the girls who don’t shut up, the fat girls, the drug addicts and the crazy ones. And I can certainly understand your excitement when you finally find a girl who meets all the criteria you are looking for. But here’s the thing, Bob: She has to like you back.

In the movies and sometimes on TV, that perfect person is perfect for the hero and loves him unconditionally. In the real world, though, it takes a little more than “Hello” from across the room and swelling music to create a storybook romance. More often than not, the object of your affections is not going to reciprocate your enthusiasm. In fact, she will most likely brush you off as just another loser who thinks she is Miss Perfect. When she does this, gents, you better learn how to take no for an answer or you may end up being the object of someone else’s affections. And “no” is definitely not in his vocabulary.

It is largely the fault of stupid movies, mostly starring John Cusak, that show a guy getting rejected but being persistent and eventually winning the girl. Guys, love is not rock climbing. Unlike every cheesy black-framed poster with a motivational phrase at the bottom hanging in office managers’ walls around the country, perseverance is not the way to a woman’s heart. Money typically is, but sometimes confidence, looks and a sense of humor can help. The point is, if you ain’t what she’s looking for, the answer isn’t going to change just because you stand outside her window with a boom box.

Girls are partly to blame, too. You all watch these ridiculous movies, mostly starring John Cusak, and say, “Ooooh, that’s so sweet. I wish someone would do that for ME.” And then when they do you call the police. Much like having sex on the beach, it looks great in the movies, but kinda sucks in real life. What passes for a “grand romantic gesture” on the big screen is considered more of a “Class 2 felony” in most states.

Typically, the girls who you will be after are nice girls. So they will not flat out tell you that you are, in fact, a fat loser who still lives at home and that they want nothing to do with you. Instead they will give you some line about “Not wanting a relationship right now,” or “Not being emotionally ready.” Gents, I guarantee you if Tom Brady came along and said he wanted a relationship, the girl would magically be “emotionally ready.” What she means is that she is not ready for a relationship with you. Actually, it means she doesn’t want one with you at all. Ever. Take the hint, go away.

Obsessive emails and IM’s? Not sexy. Showing up unannounced at all of her social gatherings? Not winning you any points either. Saying things like “I’ll change to be whoever you want me to be?” C’mon, guys! You know girls love the challenge of changing a man. What fun is it for them if you just agree all the time? Getting perpetually rejected and coming back for more does not make you romantic. It makes you a borderline stalker.

You become irritating not only to the female you so adore, but to her friends and, even more so, any guy she might be dating. Yes, that guy is getting the ass that you would sell your left nut for. But you know what? Life ain’t fair. Maybe it’s because he drives a Harley, or maybe it’s because he makes $250,000 a year, or maybe, and I don’t know if you thought of this one, it’s because he doesn’t obsess over her and IM her 150 times a day telling her she’s perfect. Just a thought.

Guys, quit embarrassing yourselves. When a woman says no, it is not a challenge, she is not throwing down the gauntlet to test your affections. She is telling you she wants absolutely nothing to do with you. Take the blow to the ego, get over it, and move on. There a like 3 billion women in the world, and chances are somewhere there will be someone who will feel as passionately about you as you do about her. Quit wasting your time and dignity on someone who doesn’t like you and get some self esteem. And if that doesn’t work, get a hooker. But whatever you do, leave the poor girl alone and learn that not everyone thinks you’re as great as your mother does.

I would like to than kAlice, aka Betty, aka FeistyRed, for inspiring this rant with tales of her numerous psuedo-stalkers. Guys, if she hasn't invited you out yet, she's probaly not interested.

Saturday, April 22, 2006

Nice Girls Don't Use Condoms

It is really America’s dirty little secret, isn’t it? I mean, even the most sexually irresponsible figures around try to make it seem like condoms are just an accepted part of sexual activity. Tom Leykis, despite his uber-degenerate and irresponsible persona, preaches condom use on every show. Snoop Dogg says that he’s got "A pocket full of rubbers and my homeboys do too," but I doubt those pockets will be getting lighter any time soon. Gil Grissom finds used ones at sex clubs and orgies to help solve crimes. Which is funny, because I'm sure everyone having ecstasy-infused sex in the VIP room stops to put on a Jimmy before they have their mind-blowing orgasms. My point is nobody, and I mean nobody, is using condoms.

Oh, sure there are those super responsible and perpetually sober few that use them religiously, but those are the same people who floss their teeth. And hookers are certainly keeping latex futures prices up, but you really can't judge a society by the actions of its sex-industry workers. So again, I reiterate, nobody is using condoms.

A lot of you, probably those who aren’t having a lot of sex, say "Well, that’s just becuase you hook up with skanks and your friends are slimeballs so of course they’re going to not use condoms." Oh, really? My female friends, who are for the most part what I would call nice girls, talk to no end about how much they hate condoms. More than most guys I know. The ones with boyfriends never use them, often opting for my personal favorite, the ever-effective "pull out" method. Guys, of course, will hit it raw unless the girl suggests protection, and more than a few friends I know have lied about having a condom just so they didn’t have to use one. Only 20% of the girls I have been with have used protection every time with me, and this number seems to be pretty consistent as I look over the sexual histories of others. Playing with fire? Sure, but our degeneracy does not equate to condom use. It is, in fact, quite the opposite.

The only times I have been refused sex on the grounds of not having protection were with girls that can only be described as hookers you didn’t have to pay. These girls were literally sleeping with a different guy every weekend, so they knew they had to be careful. But nice girls who have to "get to know you" before they let you stick it in? They hate condoms with passion worthy of a suicide bomber. While in other facets of life these ladies may be more responsible than their morally casual counterparts, when it comes to keeping themselves protected their brains just seem to shut off.

Nice girls don’t keep condoms in their bedrooms. So when they finally do invite a guy upstairs, if he doesn’t have anything it’s bareback time. Come to think of it, I have never even had one of these types of girls suggest we use a condom, nonetheless actually have one. There was another girl, not necessarily "nice," but not a tramp either, who actually took one out, looked at it, then grabbed me and went ahead without one. I guess they figure they can roll the dice since they are only with a few new guys a year. These are probably the same girls that use the "Anal sex isn’t really sex, so I’m still a virgin" logic. Again, we really do need to hang out.

I suppose the ease of abortion and the rise of anti-HIV drugs have fueled our carelessness with protection. And I am far form one to lament it, as even the most intelligent and responsible people I know in normal life throw caution to the wind when it comes to putting on a condom. We can do Public Service Announcements and talk on TV and in music like using condoms is actually a part our culture, but in reality, it's not. We need to stop acting like safe sex is part of the American Way and admit that everybody has lot better time without a latex barrier. It may be irresposible and ultimately detremental to public health, but at least we wouldn't be kidding ourselves the way we are now. And nobody likes a hypocrite.

Friday, April 21, 2006

What? Me? EVIL?

Contrary to popular opinion, I do not spend my days scouring the internet for information on the girl who made me minutely famous for about a minute and a half. I prefer to spend it writing about myself and scouring various message boards to see what people are saying about me. What can I say, I guess I’m just self-centered like that. I am rather tired of talking about her, actually, and swore I would never write another word on the topic. But it has been a slow week devoted to sub-par content on this blog anyway, and this morning good ole’ Johnson, sent me this email today:

From: Matt Johnson
To: White Dade, Various other people who shall remain nameless
Date: Apr 21, 2006 5:32 AM
Subject: More JS b/c I know that's what you all want

Dade, she mentions you in the 4/19 entry. she calls you a "certain, evil Miami blogger...

http://jennifersterger.blogspot.com/

I'm sure there's probably more about you in the blog,but I didn't feel like reading more

Actually, Johnson, that was about it. Unlike myself she has better things to do than rip on other
people for 1500 words. She prefers to do it in about 25. Here is the exact excerpt...

My parents called mid way through the game to tell me that they had seen me on TV.. and to quit copying their team's cheers. They happen to cheer for the guys that look like they had stolen FAMU's uni's. You can't fault them for genetics... I guess I have just crossed over from the dark side. (May have something to do with a certain evil Miami blogger... who I will not mention.. as his fifteen seconds of fame have come and gone.. all at my expense) :::cough::: haters.

At any rate, I left a comment telling her that I was deeply hurt that she called me Evil. Apparently comments on her blog are moderated (by whom I am not sure, but my guess is the same people who run her website) and I can’t promise you that mine will show up. While the writing is most certainly authentic, I wonder if she does the actual posting and maintenance of the blog, or just handles the creative end. If it is the latter, we should all be so lucky. At any rate, since she has been indirectly responsible for a good deal of my traffic, go check her site out, it isn’t too bad. Reads like a typical college girl blog, except for the “Go check me out in Playboy” post. Not one you see every day.

And I checked her stats and was happy to report that they are about the same as mine. Ironic, since a good 40% of the people who come here are looking for her. That’s why I never do any of those cute “What keyword searches brought people to my blog” posts, because there are only two. And I think we all know what they are. Anyway, I was still disappointed that she didn’t at least link me under “Evil Miami Blogger,” but she’s new, so I’ll cut the girl some slack. And maybe I can get her to tell me how to put half-naked pictures of myself as the background. THAT would be cool.

Thursday, April 20, 2006

Here Comes The Ax, Here Comes the Smash

I deeply apologize to the regular readers of this blog for the lack of angry, bitter, topical content this week. Hell, even Graig was nice enough to point out to me that I’ve been off lately. So to continue with this week’s theme of unoriginal posts, I have been tag-teamed this time, by both Johnson and Tara. I feel like Marty Ganetti sitting in the middle of the ring, getting the snot knocked out of him by Ax and Smash while the Ref has his back turned and Sean Michaels is telling him to turn around. I am supposed to tell you six interesting facts about myself. I find this much preferable to the 100 that a lot of bloggers like to tell you, because, really, by #87 you start getting things like “I am wearing blue pants today.” So here goes:

1. I was a judge in the Miss Florida System. I also ran Miss University of Miami for 2 years and Miss Miami for 1. I judged a couple of pageants including the 2004 Cinderella International Pageant in Las Vegas, where I was on a panel with a former soap star and a professional Ballroom Dancer. Call it gay if you want, but when you are the only straight male under 65 with a bunch of pageant girls between 18-24 from Florida, it can be a LOT of fun. I know several Miss Florida’s and actually got to escort former Miss America Erika Dunlap one year during Evening Gown at the State Finals. She didn’t win.

2. I didn’t kiss a girl form ages 11 to 17. The only dates I had in High School were to dances, and I didn’t even hook up until a week before graduation. With a freshman. I was fairly popular in High School and had a lot of friends and even a few girls who liked me, but I just had my head completely up my ass. It really explains a lot.

3. I used to sing Vocal Jazz. Not particularly well, mind you, but it was my favorite activity I did in High School .We were a pretty good group, and got to travel to Mexico to perform. You might think this explained why I never got laid back then, but actually in my school the star of the Musical was the stud of the farm. We had linebackers taking tap lessons over the summer so they could be in the chorus of “Crazy for You.” I’m not exaggerating.

4. My mom has been disabled since I was 7. My parents were divorced I think 4 days after I was born and my mom raised me by herself. Until I was 7 and she got sick and I pretty much had to learn to do everything for myself at that age. As a result, I still insist I cook, clean and do laundry better than most women I know. When she got sick, I had to move to Seattle with my Aunt and Uncle, and I think I still hold that resentment against the Emerald City to this day.

5. I look like a phenomenal athlete but am actually terrible. In school, I was always the first one picked for the first game and the last one picked for the second game. It’s because instead of playing team sports as a kid, I just spent time in the weight room and on the treadmill. It frustrated my football coaches to no end that I was the third or fourth strongest guy on the team and couldn’t play worth a lick. The only reason I am passable at any sport is because of my size, strength and conditioning.

6. I am not gay. I looked over this list and it pretty much reads like facts about a closeted homosexual. The truth is, I love girls. I really don’t even make too many gay jokes with my friends anymore, and there are scenes in Will and Grace that make me extremely uncomfortable. But I was raised by a single mother in two liberal hotbed cities (Oakland and Seattle) and this is what shit like that breeds. Why I had to join the Marines out of High School, to infuse some testosterone into my system. Of course, most people who know me now just throw the whole Marine thing by the wayside and call me a giant homo anyway. Then, since I’ve been called out, I have sex with the first girl who comes along, who is usually about 2 bills, and I get made fun of for that. I just can’t win.

Since I have been following tagging etiquette and passing it along, and my luck has gotten no better I’m gonna buck the trend here and, much like my family’s lineage, let it end with me. Good night, and I’ll see you on the other side.

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

How I Changed Florida Law

You see that picture up there? That’s Florida Governor Dan Akroyd signing into law the Chad Meredith Act, Florida’s anti-hazing statute. And, really, I should be at the signing. Because without me, that act would never exist.


Back in college, I was the president of my fraternity and as president part of my job was to attend Intra Fratenrity Council, or IFC, meetings. One week, the meeting fell just after I had returned form a grueling Drill weekend with the Marines, where I was hazed until I passed out. And loved every minute of it. Well, this particular week the topic of said IFC meeting was hazing. I was asked my thoughts on the issue, and, being the motivated Devil Dog that I was, told them, “You know, you all make hazing sound like this awful, terrible thing. Did it ever occur to you that sharing a miserable experience brings people closer together? Makes them appreciate what they’ve earned? Without any adversity, we’re just handing letters out for no reason. Used responsibly, I think hazing is a valuable tool to the Greek system.” I was fired as president 2 weeks later.

That fall, after an on-campus Ludacris concert and Game 7 of the 2001 World Series, (where the Arizona Diamondbacks beat some team I’m not remembering right now) a few of my fraternity bothers decided it would be a good idea to try and swim across Lake Osceola, the raw-sewage and crocodile infested body of water in the middle of the UM campus. Filled to the brim with alcohol and marijuana, the boys entered the water as the outer bands of a category one hurricane were descending upon Coral Gables. The group was comprised of Travis Montgomery, the individual instrumental in my firing and consequently my replacement as President, Chad Meredith and a couple of other guys named Timmy and Dave. Chad was a pledge, the other three were brothers, including President Travis. Well, four guys went in the water, and only three came out. And I’ll be damned if the pledge was the one who couldn’t swim.

Of course, it made big news. I was saddened to hear of Chad’s death, but also quickly phoned Channel 7 (Miami’s Sleaziest News Station) and gave them the names of the individuals involved. Since they’d fucked me, I figured I’d give one back. At any rate, it was a big story and the media called it a “hazing” incident since, you know, it involved frat guys and the youngest one died so it MUST be hazing. And again, I’ll be damned if every fucking news story that week didn’t mention that a “past president had made pro-hazing remarks at a recent campus-wide meeting.” I was never mentioned by name, but it was most certainly me.

In true Miami slimeball lawyer fashion, attorneys started lining up to represent the Meredith family. They took the media’s statements and ran with them, saying it was an awful incident of obvious hazing, and that the fraternity should be held responsible. Right. Because Dave, Timmy and Travis forced poor, innocent, doped-up and drunk Chad Meredith into the lake and told him he had to swim across or he wasn’t “in.” Bullshit. He was a nice kid the few times I met him, but the reason he died was out and out stupidity. On his part. And there is no one to blame for his death but him.

But in America, parents never blame their children’s flaws on the children, and instead blamed the school, the fraternity, the other guys involved, the janitorial staff, Ludacris, and Luis Gonzales for giving them all a reason to celebrate. And blamed them to the tune of tens of millions of dollars. Of course, since the media and all the parties who were never there and never met anyone involved deemed it hazing, some dipshit judge gave the Meredith’s a ridiculous amount of money for their son being a pothead idiot and deciding he could go swimming during a hurricane. God bless Lawyers. But the Meredith’s did not rest, and started appearing in Tallahassee on a regular basis with pictures of smiling, innocent Chad saying that if there were laws against hazing, he’d still be alive. No, Mrs. Meredith, if there were laws against underage drinking and marijuana use your son would still be alive. Oh, wait……

So, last year, Jeb Bush signed into law the Chad Meredith Act which, I believe, makes hazing a felony in the State of Florida. And had I not made that stupid speech, I probably would have remained president, and the attorneys would have had no basis for their argument. Had I still been president, I also doubt the chain of events that led to Chad’s death would have happened. So, if you are ever convicted of felony hazing (and is that a pussy phrase or what?) in Florida you can not only than overzealous lawyers, sensational media, and a doped-up college freshman, you can thank me. Because without White Dade, kids all over the state would still be exposed to such viscous practices as teamwork conquering adversity and respecting a title you have earned.

Tuesday, April 18, 2006

Passover for The Carb Inclined

For those who are not familiar with Judaism or do not live in Miami or New York (in other words about 2 of you) Passover is a Jewish holiday commemorating the Jews fleeing Egypt. Because they left in such a hurry, they weren’t able to let their bread rise and so now, every year for a week, Jewish people are supposed to remember them and eat no other grains but this stuff called Matzoh. For those of you who have never tried Matzoh and do not live in a city that sells it (and I could write an entire blog post about trying to find it at the Piggly Wiggly outside Camp LeJeune, NC) go down to your nearest construction site, find a piece of plywood and take a bite. If you add salt, it may be preferable.

Passover is the absolute worst week of the year for me. I am a carb freak, and limiting what grains I can eat makes me one of the most unbearable people you will ever meet. Last Passover, I punched my friend in the stomach when we were at a Taco shop and he was rubbing in my face what he could eat and I couldn’t. By the 6th day, I snapped at my great-aunt Hilda when she suggested we go to a deli that “I can’t eat fucking bread. Why the fuck would I go there?” So, after years of trying to follow the strict laws of Passover, I have decided that my interpersonal relationships are far more important than interpreted law, and I am making my own rules.

I say interpreted law since a lot of the rules about avoiding such foods as refined rice bran powder were made up by a bunch of guys in beards sitting around in Brooklyn somewhere and not handed down by God. Because I know Moses was not standing there as the Hebrew’s fled Egypt going “Hey, we don’t have time to refine corn syrup here, people, let’s move!” Being the half-assed Jew that I am, I present to you some foods I have been enjoying since sundown last Wednesday, and why I believe God would have no problem with my eating them:

RICE – Okay, first of all, there is absolutely no mention of rice in the story of exodus that I can remember. As a matter of fact, I am pretty damn sure the Hebrews brought sacks and sacks of it with them, as it is a staple food and relatively cheap. Also, how on Earth were they supposed to eat Chinese food on Sunday with no rice? It just doesn’t make sense. If they had it, I’m sure they brought it and enjoyed plenty. Once they found water.

CORN – Corn is a new world grain, plain and simple. Wasn’t really used before the 15th century. Would the Hebrews have had time to bring it with them had it existed? Who knows? One can only speculate, and I’m speculating that if those Jews were anything like me, they are all about tacos and corn chips. And when was the alst time you saw somebody leavening a tortilla? And what about corn-fed beef? Would that be off limits too? We can go down this slippery slope forever about a grain that wasn’t even known to the people fleeing the desert. Therefore, when it comes to lunch during Passover, I will be consuming as much Mexican food as possible.

LIQUOR – I will avoid beer since it has yeast in it, but hard liquor? Sure, why not. Throughout history every society has prioritized alcohol when considering its necessities. I think my ancestors in the desert were no different. How else do you explain jumping in the Red Sea and saying “Dude, I bet I can make it to the other side. No problem, I’m a GREAT swimmer.” Drunk bastards were lucky God parted it for them or it’d have been like 10,000 Chad Meredith's a few thousand years too early.

FOOD ADDATIVES – These are in everything. And if my time in the vitamin business taught me anything, it is that pretty much everything that is put in your food comes from corn. Either that or wood pulp. No matter, the Hasidim would not approve. And, seriously, they totally gouge you on those “Kosher for Passover” foods, so avoiding these corn-derived additives is almost impossible and would probably limit me to eating nothing but apples and celery. And if you thought I was bad before, wait until I am limited to foods with a color other than beige.

So call me a bad Jew if you want. I’m no worse than the Catholic kids I know who forego meat on Friday so that they can engage in premarital sex and excessive drinking and drug use. Religion, I think, is open to your own interpretation, and this is mine. I think I’m going to call it “Starch Judaism.” And as soon as Madonna starts practicing, it will become the new fad.

Thursday, April 13, 2006

Song of The Year and Some Topics For Debate


I knew this song was going to be good when it came on XM 81 at the gym last night and the DJ said, “I don’t know how to introduce this next song except, maybe, Hide the Kids?” It’s called “Bilingual” by a DJ named Jose Nunez. If you don’t like Dance Music, just give it a couple of minutes for the words to pick up. I’m guessing Praga Khan has started writing lyrics for this guy since Lords of Acid hasn’t come out with anything new in a while. And if any of you would like it on MP3, I’ll email it to you.

You know, if this song worked in reverse, I would seriously be trying to sleep with every non-English speaking female in Miami.


Some reader of this blog has started another blog devoted to my cyber-stalker Dennis. I kind of liked it. Whoever started it, nice work. .Similarly, if you have me on your blogroll and you’re not on mine, and you’re not afraid of mean-spirited comments from a loser posing as me, let me know. I may not have caught your blog yet and I’d love to see who else is reading my nonsensical rants.


What do Miami, Florida State, Florida, Arkansas, Tulane, Ole Miss, Kentucky, Iowa, Oklahoma and Washington have in common? Perhaps they all read The Porn Czar.



Some debate topics from Tuesday’s Heat Game in the cheap seats:

College football is the only sport where pretty much the best team over the course of a whole season wins the championship. Not the best team at the end of the season, but over the entire one. As opposed to college basketball, where the best team the last month wins. Because I don’t think too many people could argue that Florida was really the best team over the course of this entire season.

Tim Duncan is not a center. He is a Power Forward, and should not really be compared to Shaq or Kareem or any other big-time center since that’s not the position he plays. Compare him to Karl Malone or Kevin McHale. He may play like a center, but he’s not.

A team of 5 Manute Bols vs. a team of 5 Mugsy Bogues. Who wins?

Hybrid cars are not an economically sound purchase at this point. The savings in fuel do not adequately offset the higher purchase price. Similarly, their production by car companies will only explode when there is a significant savings to the consumer. Until then they will be the “look-at-me-I-can-afford-to-save-the-earth” show off toy or upper middle class liberals

Would you break up with a girl if she didn’t at least finish blowjobs?

Girls on the pill have a low sex drive.
This is a result of taking birth control. Of course, for some reason, college girls on the pill are freaks.

Wednesday, April 12, 2006

I AM BEING IMPERSONATED

To anyone who got an immature, explicit comment from the loser in Atlanta posing as me:

Since "dennis" or whatever his name is (I picture Dennis looking a little like Dennis form Head of The Class, actually) decided to spend a lot of time and get his own blogger acocunt with a name almost identical to mine and started commenting on various blogs, some of which I'm not even aware of, I am letting everyone know that the culprit is not me. Those of you who I comment on regularly know the general tone of my comments, and it is nothing like what this irate FSU fan with nothing to do is doing.

Sir, unless your last name is Sterger, you have no reason to have a personal vendetta against me. Leo showed a lot of class in his response, and you should have taken a hint from him. Why you are spending so much time trying to defame me is beyhond comprehension. If you really hate me so much, and have this much time on your hands, start your own f-ing blog and write about what a racist/sexist/loser/faggot I am. Or, better still, email me directly, let me know your beef, and we can hash it out man to man. That would seem to be the honorable way to do it.

Anyway, since this douche is not going to apologize to any of you, I will for him. I apologize for any undue stress this bastion of courage may have caused you. Usually getting put on someone's blogroll is a good thing, but I guess not in this case. If you got any of these offending comments, please delete them immediately. I have emailed everyone on my blogroll, but some of you not on my blogroll may have gotten comments anyway.

As a result, I am going to take a hiatus from commenting on other blogs for a while. I am still reading them, trust me, I have little to do at work STILL. And I hope many of you continue to comment here. I know it really is a recipirocal thing, but I just want everyone to know that if you get a comment form "White Dade" for the next little while, it's not me. To avoid confusion. When I'm back, you'll know. Won't be long, and I don't know that all of you will miss me.

I regret that I have to devote an entire post to this, but whatever. I'll live. Dennis, you are taking this Miami-FSU thing way too far and you are an embarassment to all the FSU alumni I know who have class. Which, bleieve it or not, is most of them. Get a life, and if you have a problem with me, take it up with me. Perosnally. Otherwise shut the hell up and have a nice summer.

Later
Dade

Tuesday, April 11, 2006

Immigratrion Irrelevance

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this before, but in Miami, there are a lot of Hispanics. And, in true Miami fashion, they have decided to start protesting this whole immigration reform thing about a week and a half late, since doing it on time may have given some sort of indication we did anything like Americans. A few people have asked me why I haven’t written about this yet since immigrants seem to one of my favorite ranting topics. Well, mostly it’s because not much going on right now will affect me or Dade County.

This may come as a surprise to those of you who consider me a xenophobic zealot, but I don’t have too much of a problem with illegal immigrants coming here and taking jobs nobody else wants. I mean, seriously, when was the last time you saw a white guy picking tomatoes? My only problem with illegals is when they start demanding access to government resources. Because coming into a country illegally and then expecting to capitalize on programs funded by those who are here legally is like breaking into my house and demanding a beer. But while this was a cause of great debate in California in the 90’s, it is not the main issue in this current round if “immigration reform.”

Here’s the other reason I really couldn't care less about all the Latinos in the street yelling “Si, se puede” (and, really, if you’re going to argue that you should be allowed into a country, perhaps you should try protesting in THAT COUNTRY’S FRIGGIN’ LANGUAGE): While immigrants in places like LA, Houston and Phoenix are for a large part illegal and taking crap jobs that Americans won’t do, the ones in Miami are largely somewhat legal and taking jobs most Americans want. But, since they are educated, have money and are here legally, there’s not a whole lot you can do about it. Money will buy you naturalization faster than any bill passed by congress. I can sit here and complain until I am blue in the face that nobody in Dade County has bothered to learn English, but there is really nothing congress could do to change it except completely shut our borders to Latin Americans. And even I will admit that would be an idea too stupid for even President Bush.

The only real way to stop rich South Americans form moving to Miami is to invest in South American economies so guys like Hugo Chavez, Augustus Pinochet and Fidel Castro do not rise to power and the rich are not forced to flee. And while the US has been doing that with varying degrees of success, the popularity of capitalism in Latin America is still debatable at best. I could devote a week’s worth of posts to that subject, but, quite honestly, it is a little too high brow for this blog and I doubt anybody wants to read my views on MERCOSUR.

While I am frustrated on a daily basis by the dominance of Latin culture in this city, I am more or less ambivalent about the recent immigration controversy. Illegal immigrants are fine by me as long as they aren’t utilizing government programs that legal residents pay for. They provide valuable services that may not otherwise be provided and probably do more good than harm to the economy. And since the glut of legal immigrants in Miami could only be stopped by foolishly closing our borders, there just isn’t much for me to say on the issue. Illegals, if you want to come over here and work in the fields and clean houses all day, go right ahead. Bienvenidos. If you want to do more than that, get yourself naturalized and work your way up. Because my problem has never been with the Mexican doing yard work who decides he wants a better life. It is with the Argentine who comes here with money and perpetuates a culture of conspicuous consumption while turning his nose up at the people who founded the country which he now calls home.

Monday, April 10, 2006

Are You Hot? Probably not.

Where do you rate on a scale of 1-10? Got that number in your head? The one you give when your amorous internet interests ask you for a figure? Okay, now drop it down two. That’s about where you are. I don’t care if nine guys asked you to go home with them last Friday night. I don’t care if a fat girl grabbed your ass and told you you were the hottest guy in the place. However hot you think you are, you’re not.

If you are female, guys will hit on you no matter what you look like. Because I’m pretty sure I am not the only guy out there with low standards, and we’re all horny. Similarly, if you are a mediocre girl hanging around with a bunch of heifers, you are going to get the most attention. And a lot of girls do this on purpose. But it doesn’t make you any better looking, it just makes you decent in comparison. So ladies between 5-7 out there, if you think you’re the belle of the ball because every other girl is over a buck eighty, think again. You still wouldn’t turn a single head at Pearl. Those girls are 8's and 9’s. You are a 7. At best.

And guys, while getting hit on by women in most likely a sign that you are at least attractive, it certainly doesn’t mean you are Brad-freaking-Pitt. First of all, unlike us, girls have varying definitions of what they consider “hot.” So while you may be the cutest guy in the place to a select few ladies, you may not even register to some others. And if the girls hitting on you are fat or old, trust me, the only reason they’re giving you attention is because everyone else turned them down. If they’re good-looking, well, you are probably doing okay in the looks department. But unless you are getting ass-on-demand without putting in any effort and having no game, chances are you’re not much higher than an 8.

My personal favorite has to be people who say “I’m attractive but I don’t photograph well.” Really? So you’re really hot but have no visual proof? Could it be that maybe you just aren’t as good looking as you think you are? Yeah, I think that’s a little closer to the truth. Anyone who prefaces every picture with “Oh, but I look awful,” is more than likely referring to themselves in real life rather than in photos. Because, really, when was the last time you heard the hottest girl you know apologizing for a picture?

In my experience, people always think they are about two notches higher on the scale than they are. I’m not sure why this is, but knocking yourself down a couple pegs seems to put you squarely where you stand in the eyes of others. But, for those who are either A) REALLY bad at math or B) Think this is a gross oversimplification, here are some guidelines to seeing if you fit into a semi-attractive category:

Ladies, getting hit on is not a measurement of your attractiveness. Guys are sluts, we don’t care. If you are getting free drinks regularly, you are probably no worse than a 5. If you are getting free drinks at a place where they cost $14 a piece, you are no worse than a 7. If you’re attractive enough to hold a man’s attention so much that he takes you to a restaurant, take the number of stars the restaurant is, multiply it by 2, and you have your rating. This formula seems to be pretty much foolproof.

Gents: In our case, it is really a function of how much ass you get with no money and no “game.” If you never have to hit on a girl to get laid, you’re not much below a 7. If, again, you are putting in ZERO effort, and girls are buying you drinks, asking you for your number and always call you, you’re looking in the 8-9 range. If you are not rich or famous and can get pretty much any girl in the bar with little more than a “Hello,’ you may quite possibly be a 10. We need to hang out.

So, folks, believe it or not, you are probably not much more than above-average looking. My apologies to the swimsuit and underwear models who are regular readers of White Dade, but to the rest of you, male and female, start being honest with yourself. The sooner you realize what league you’re in, the less you will be frustrated and disappointed with the quality of person you are dating. I’ve found my range (no, not fat or underage girls) and am happy with it. I suggest the rest of you do the same, or you will all die lonely, miserable, and highly unsatisfied.

Saturday, April 08, 2006

My Best. Sex. Ever.

Since my post asking you all for your best sex stories was perhaps the most horrific flop in the history of this blog, and the only comments it drew were ones asking me for my own story (so you won’t feel cheated Nicole, Ash, J) what follows is an account of the single best night of sex I ever had. Maybe not the best sex ever, but certainly the best single night. If you know me, and don’t want to picture anything you don’t want to be picturing, stop reading now, click your Back button, and check back Monday afternoon. Now, I am not a sex writer (so, again, why anyone was calling me a cheap Tucker Maxx is beyond me) but sometimes, you know, it’s good to take a break from vitriolic rants and write something a little different. Regardless, I’m making this post extremely long and burying it on a Saturday in the hopes that it is lightly read…..

I met Susan on a ski trip during Christmas break my senior year at UM. She was a friend of my sister’s, and since her boyfriend was a snowboarder, we ended up skiing together all day. It only took one chairlift ride for the subject of sex to come up, and for the rest of the day we discussed various acts in which we had participated, and had a lot of conversations that went like this:
Susan: I want sex like four times a day, but my lame-ass boyfriend can’t keep up with me
Me: I’m the same way. My girlfriend can’t keep up with me either.
Susan: Sucks, doesn’t it?
Me: Yeah (long pause, simultaneous exact same thoughts running through our heads)

Flash forward to June. I was at my sister’s High School graduation, and, of course, Susan was there. She was a year behind my sister in school, so she was not actually graduating, but was there to suppoer her friends that were Seniors. I asked her how things were with her boyfriend, and she replied that they had broken up. I, too, had split with my girlfriend. I informed her that my friend Biff was coming to town to visit and we would be going to a local adult entertainment establishment and invited her along. Of course, Susan accepted.

At the strip club, Susan sat between the two of us and immediately began stroking my thigh as soon as the first dancer came on. A few strippers into the night, one of them made Susan stand up, took off her shirt, and threw it across the room. So Susan, and her D-cup breasts clothed only in a black, lacy, see-through bra were sitting in front of me for the rest of the night. And for the record, she was not even close to overweight, just blessed in the right areas. She continued to stroke my thigh, and then more than my thigh. As we left Biff suggested we go to a bar, but Susan and I had other ideas. She used the excuse of not having an ID (since her fake was for 18) and we took her back to her parents’ house. I walked her to the door, kissed her, and said “Do you really want to go home?” To which she replied, “No.” So we got back into the car, and Biff took us to the Motel 6 off highway 50, about a mile from my parents’ house. What followed is material I use for masturbation at least once a week.

The first thing she did when we walked in was call her mom and say, “Hi, mom. Yeah, I’m staying over at (WD’s sister’s) tonight. Yeah. No, I’ll be back tomorrow morning.” I found this amusing as, at 23, you usually don't have a girl call her mom with an alibi. Boyfriend, yes, but never a mother.

The sexual tension had been so high between us for so long, that we immediately dove onto the bed. Clothes were removed within minutes and as I began kissing her chest, stomach, and making my way down to her waist and below, she pulled my head up and said, “Foreplay is a fucking waste of time. Do you have a condom?” A condom? Of course I didn’t have a condom. Who brings a condom on a date to a strip club with a 16-year-old girl? Not me. So I answered in the negative and rolled off of her. Apparently, though, this did not deter Miss Susan as she pulled me back on top of and inside her. We proceeded to have rough, hard, fuck-the-sheets-off-the-bed (not a tough feat at a Motel 6, but you get the point) sex until we were both completely covered in sweat. I put her in positions she had never been in before, and she took to each one like a natural. She came several times, or at least pretended to, and when she finally asked me to finish, she added, “I have an IUD and I’m on the pill, so I want you to come inside me. With me.” And so led to the first of a series of simultaneous orgasms that night. We proceeded to repeat this four or five times, going through every position both of us knew and climaxing together each time.

After several romps and internal ejaculations, her vagina was literally dripping with various bodily fluids. I found this as I attempted to get her excited manually after about our fourth round, going for round five. As I reached down, she got up, got on all fours, and put me inside her. “Go slow,” is all I remember her saying. Fair enough. Since we had been going at it like wild animals for several hours, I figured maybe she wanted to change it up. So I started slow, and picked up speed and intensity a little, and she immediately responded with "Ow, no, slow down.” I found this odd, since she had taken it like a champ form behind several times already. But I kept going at a slow pace, since, you know, I’m a considerate guy. After about ten minutes of this she whisepered, “Can you come? I’m sorry but I’ve never done this before.” I pulled out, stopped, and said, “Never done what?” You see, during our ski trip she had divulged that she was disgusted by the prospect of anal sex and said she would never do it. Not the first girl to make this assertion, so naturally I had figured that she would not have partaken in it with me. (and please, save your small penis comments for another time. I had had anal sex many times before, and each time, I knew it) But since her ass had been so wet, and at sixteen her vagina was extremely tight, I really had no idea that I was sodomizing an underage girl until after I had done it. I’m sure the judge would have believed that too. We both just sat back, laughed for a minute, and then she finished me off orally. That’s right, I said orally. Disgusting? Not at the time.

We had sex twice more, the last time being in the shower at about 7:30 AM, when I was barely able to finish. And when I did, I shot dust. I have only been fucked dry twice since then, and never win a period of about 7 hours. At 8, she called one of her friends to come pick her up (and can you imagine being a Junior in High School and having a friend call you form the Motel 6 off highway 50 to pick them up at 8AM on a Tuesday? Ahh, summer vacation) and I was dropped off at my parents’ house in a brand new BMW convertible with two High School juniors in the front. I’m sure the neighbors were highly entertained. I told my sister I had met a girl out that night and went home with her, but did not disclose who it was. But since High School girls keep secrets about as well as a front-page headline in the New York Times, I got a call exactly a week later form my sister. She was not happy.

But you know what? Even knowing that my sister would find out and not speak to me for several months, I would not take back a single thing I did with Susan that night. Unfortunately, we tried to repeat the experience several times and the sex just degenerated into nothing. So I have blocked our four or five encounters after that out of my mind. To this day, she is the only girl I have been with who rates in the top 5 in appearance and sexual skill. And even though she is crazy and a compulsive liar and cheats on her boyfriends with little if any conscience, whoever her boyfriend is today is a lucky, lucky man.

Thursday, April 06, 2006

Office Narc BEATDOWN

You remember those kids on the playground who used to witness one kid pushing another kid and felt it was immediately necessary to tell the teacher when you got back from recess? Of course you do, because he is more than likely the reason your dad kicked your ass that night when you got home. And, deservedly, you transferred said ass-kicking onto said tattle-tale the next day. Well, unfortunately, those ass-kickings were not fatal, and that kid grew up. And now he, or more often she, works with you. Maybe in the office next door, maybe in the cube you share a wall with, or maybe in a different department altogether. But no matter where they are, they are watching how much time you spend on the phone, what you’re looking at on your computer, and what time you get to and leave work. Even though, technically, their job title is “Payroll Clerk.”

Some narcs grow up to be cops, where they get paid to get other people in trouble. And while I am no fan of police, at least you can say that it is their job. So they have found their true calling. But when you are a middle-management systems analyst, there is no part of your job description that says “Time co-workers personal phone calls and report total to supervisor.” There is not one part of being a marketing assistant that requires informing HR when someone leaves at quarter to five. And I did not take one class in business school called, “Telling The Boss Your Cube-Mate is Stealing Staples 429.”

Yeah, I’m not perfect. I’m late sometimes. I’m on the internet A LOT. I make personal long-distance phone calls from my office. I take post-it notes with me at the end of the day. And you know what? Nobody cares. Nobody, that is, except the narc. We have a narc at the gym. She tells me every time one of the hourly people is late and doesn’t write it on their time sheet. She tells me about all the mistakes the owner makes. And she often tells me how she knows every aspect of my job inside and out, and why can’t I do my job as well as she does. I can’t even imagine what she says to my boss. My hourly employees should thank her for her belligerence, since I systematically ignore her advice on their tardiness just to spite her.

Here’s a crazy fucking concept: I do my job, you do yours. Don’t worry about what I’m doing, because if it really is all that bad I’ll get caught eventually and probably fired. And if it’s not that big a deal? Then business will go on as usual since nobody seems to be getting too hurt by my perusing Orbitz for airfare to Sacramento. I guess it must just get your goat to no end that I can do the same job as you and still manage to fuck off all the time, doesn’t it? Well, deal with it. I never point out the fact that you are 20 pounds overweight and working at a gym, you shouldn’t feel the need to tell my boss how much time I spend on craigslist. Capish?

It’s too bad ass-kickings are not socially acceptable after 5th grade. I think if Herman in accounting got taken out to the parking lot and roughed up a little by the guys who stroll in a little late after a rough night of drinking every time he mentioned it to the boss even though nobody else picked up on it, there would be a lot less intra-office tension. The problem with this, of course, is that 90% of the time the narcs are women. I will not speculate on why this is, but guys generally don’t seem to concern themselves with what their coworkers are doing. And women do. So perhaps each company could hire a former prostitute from Detroit whose express job it is to beat the living shit out of every busybody female who narcs on her coworkers (the guys can take care of each other). She’d probably work cheap, and the office peace would be worth the investment. Because while something like $400 billion dollars are lost each year by employees being late, surfing the internet, and stealing office supplies, I guarantee you the amount lost on worthless tattling is even higher.