White Dade World Tour Continues

The past two weeks have been an insane whirlwind of travel for me and it only gets worse. Or better, depending on how you look at it. Lat night I spent exactly my sixth night at home in the past three weeks. I wish I could say I was bed hopping and staying at a different girl's house every night, but the only girl whose bed I've been in lately is named "Motel 6." And boy is she dumpy.

From Sacramento to Phoenix to Gainesville I have found myself waking up and wondering where I am a lot lately. It's kinda fun as I get tired of spending extended periods of time in Miami and have racked up a good number of frequent flier miles. But the world tour comes to a temporary close this weekend as I make a one-night stop in New York Saturday night where I may finally get to pay Larry for that bet I lost to him a year ago when I foolishly bet him the Marlins would beat the Yankees in a three game series and will get to see Alice and some other friends up there I haven't seen in a while. Then in is off for four days in Chicago and my first trip to US Cellular field (and for those of you who asked, I am going there because the Cubs are out of town this week) to watch the White Soc play the We Are Not Los Angeles Angels. And I will be wearing my "We Are NOT LA" T-Shirt to the game to let all the good people in Chicago know that Anaheim and all of Orange County are in no way, shape or form part of Los Angeles. People there take pride no so much in being Orange county but in NOT being LA. Why the name is a real sore spot for me. But I think I'll save that post for Monday.

At any rate, though I am not nearly as popular and/or mysterious as I was a year ago when I went to New York and had a whole Happy hour held in my honor, if anybody would like to meet me in person feel free to email. I know there are a good deal of readers in those two cities (Thanks, Statcounter!) so I felt I should at least mention that I would be in town. I can't promise anything, but I am always happy to meet fans. Or haters. Or people who are totally indifferent about my blog but lack anything else to do. Whatever. Should be a fun trip and hopefully my last until July. But you never know.

Cho Goes Pro

Cho, my man, you are just making this way too easy for me.

http://wsls.com/servlet/Satellite?pagename=WSLS/MGArticle/SLS_BasicArticle&c=MGArticle&cid=1173350907846

For those too lazy to read the link, this article is an interview with an “Escort” who was hired by Lo-Co Cho about a month before his rampage. She claims to have danced for him for about 15 minutes, at which point he went to the bathroom to wash up, and she said she was going to leave. Then he told her he had paid for an entire hour, tried to feel on her, and she got creeped out and left. Oh, and her name? Chastity. Good God, where do I even start?

First of all, are any of us surprised that Cho was going pro? Homeboy didn’t exactly strike me as the type who could walk into a bar and leave with whoever he wanted. What surprises me is that a guy who obviously could only get some when he was grossly overpaying for it didn’t know that when a hooker tells you her price is “$300 and hour” what she really means is “$300 per ejaculation.” Yeah, maybe technically you get an hour to finish yourself off, but most of us guys can do that in a relatively shorter amount of time. And they know this. A lot of times these whores (and I have no qualms calling them this since that is in fact what they are) will start faking orgasms and ask you to come with them in order to get out the door faster, but the more experienced John will drag it out to make sure she is working for their hard-earned cash. Not that I would know from experience, or anything. This is just what I hear. The point is Cho should have known this and when he came out of the bathroom should have immediately started berating “Chastity” for still being there.

Second, does anybody really believe all this girl did for him was dance? If I were Cho, I’d have been pissed off just at that. Unless he managed to find the one “escort” in the world who goes to seedy motel rooms to keep guys company and is morally opposed to being touched, this “Chastity” is about as full of shit as her name implies. I suppose with a moniker like that, he really should have expected it, though. “Hmm, Chastity. That sounds like she'd be down for ANYTHING.” Given Cho’s other demonstrations of logical reasoning, I guess we shouldn’t’ be surprised he had a small lapse of judgment on this one. Odds are she only became “chaste” when he wouldn’t fork over another two bills to hit it again.

And really, Cho. Going pro in Blacksburg? I mean, talk about a waste of money. I guarantee if you’d have spent some of that gun money on a trip to Miami, LA, Vegas or even a roadie to DC you would have gotten a lot better quality. So given the combination of your premature ejaculation, her refusal to do you again for the same few hundos you threw her the first time, and your post-ejaculatory realization that you’d spent your whole month’s allowance to bang a girl I’m guessing wasn’t much above a 4, I can see why you got a little pissed off. Most vicious acts of violence can be traced back to failure to achieve sufficient sexual satisfaction. But, again, Cho, showing an absolute lapse in judgment here, chose to take it out on his classmates rather than a hooker. Doesn’t he realize that guys who kill hookers take years to get discovered? He could have extracted his revenge on the world and lived to tell about it. Oh, that Cho.

Am I saying if this credit card whore had just sucked him off he wouldn't have gone berserk? No, but as my good friend Sgt. Biff pointed out to me there are no women and no sex in combat arms units in Iraq. Coincidence? I think not. It breeds rage and violence. So perhaps Freud really was onto something, and all of you who said Cho just needed to get laid may have a valid point. Let this be a lesson to all of you who are on the verge of going on a shooting spree and think an hour in a motel with a hooker will solve your problems: You’re not going to get the full hour.

Yeeeick.....

I like to think of myself as a rather forward-thinking and open-minded person when it comes to homosexuals. I am all for gays being able to do all the things that us straight folks do (aside from the whole military thing which is a whole other post in and of itself) and I often wonder about those who devote their lives to making sure they can’t. As I have said before, I think homosexuality is the same to as interracial dating. Who you fuck is your own business and decisions like home loans, employment or other things not related to your sexual preference should not have that factored in. Marriage, well, I really don’t care if gays get married or not, and again I don’t really understand why anyone does. It is a non issue to me since I’m not gay, so if some judge wants to say it’s okay for them to get hitched, then fine. No skin off my nose. Let them be miserable too. And now that I have thrown out my open-minded disclaimer….

Dude, I get seriously creeped out when I see two guys holding hands. I mean, like turn the other way and run creeped out. I was on a large college campus (aka world capitols of open-mindedness and unabashed liberalism) today and saw two dudes walking around with interlocked fingers. And I had about the same reaction I do when I see a guy with half his face burned off. It was like “Oh, dear God, please don’t do that.” Now, theoretically, yes, these Bobby and Billy have every right to walk around campus holding hands like Bobby and Susie do. But that does not stop me from being extremely uncomfortable with the sight.

I tend to avoid gay clubs, not that I would want to go anyway, but I really don’t want to see random guy hookups on the dance floor. I have avoided watching “Brokeback Mountain” because I know I couldn’t handle the gay sex sequence. Just doing the image search for that picture to your left made my stomach turn. There are even scenes on “Will and Grace” that make me squirm. Like I said, I’m not for making any laws against it, but man it is just not something I can handle watching.

I recently had a very attractive girl I met ask me if I’d be down for a threesome with another guy if I let him suck me off. She insisted that wasn’t gay. I politely told her it had been nice meeting her and did two quick shots to forget that it had even been brought up. I am seriously hoping this is just her way of getting guys she doesn’t like to go away.

I am pretty comfortable with the fact that I am straight and can honestly say I have ZERO curiosity about other guys. At all. So this is not an issue of suppressed homosexuality, if that is what you’re thinking. Maybe there is a part of me that is still just a little old-fashioned and is still a little weirded out by two guys doing it. And apparently, by “it,” I mean holding hands.

Oh, That Cho

I tend to not like to chime in on the big stories du jour, since so many people have so much to say I figure there isn’t much I could add. Like Don Imus, for instance. I think you can pretty much all figure out where I stood on that and it was such a non-story I didn’t really feel like contributing to the discussion since I thought the discussion was already quite extraneous. So it is not that I have great feelings about the massacre in Blacksborg this week, but I just feel like sharing a variety of thoughts I had on it that I actually hasn’t heard addressed that much.

First off, I found this event WAY more upsetting than 9/11. Most likely because I can relate to college kids in a classroom much more than I can to a bunch of New York Stockborkers and whatnot. And for some reason I find the killer to be much more interesting than the 9/11 dudes. Also, there is not this “This will change the way we live” attitude after this that just allows it to be sad and not a referendum on national security. You really think any laws or agencies are going to be created because of this? HA!

And in case you missed it, once again many are calling for stricter gun laws now. But again, they miss the point that other countries like Canada have equally open gun laws and yet somehow they lack the persistence of whack jobs shooting up schools, post offices and fast-food restaurants. Passing strict gun control is first of all unconstitutional in many respects, but also fails to address the real problem which is our culture. It’s kind of like saying “Well, if we give more money to welfare moms their problems will be solved.” No, their problems will be solved when we eliminate the financial incentive to giving birth to future felons. Use that money to pay for their abortion and you save the welfare, criminal justice and penal systems a lot of money. I am going on a tangent but it really irritates me that people love to blame guns and the gun lobby for this when the problem is the society that allowed a guy like Cho to develop into the psycho that he is.

And about this Cho character…You did this because you hated debaucherous rich kids? Buddy, you went to VIRGINIA FREAKING TECH! It is the school the kids at UVA look down on as being the cheap-beer drinking Ag school full of white trash and kids too stupid to get into Charlottesville. I think Cho would have lasted roughly three hours at UM before he killed half of Coral Gables. Okay, I know he was crazy but his rage just seems a little misplaced. I don’t recall seeing too many BMW’s parked around Blacksburg. And aside from the football players, I have yet to meet a group of Hokies with a penchant for fine cognac. Or vodka. “Your Natty Light and your Milwaukee’s Best weren’t enough? Your F150’s and Camaros weren’t enough?” That might have made some sense.

The thing about Cho is, we all know guys like him. Some friend of mine told me of a guy he knew his freshmen year who told a dorm room full of guys “Tomorrow, I’ll change the way you look at this school forever.” And you know what he did “tomorrow?” Slept until 2, went and had lunch, drank some beer, watched TV and went to sleep. I understand that sometimes you really should look at a guy who writes weird plays or manifesting rants or takes creepy cell phone pictures a little closer, but 99,999 times out of 100,000 this guy is harmless. What I hope does not happen is a sort of modern-day witch hunt, where every kinda-creepy eccentric kid is hauled in for extensive medical examination and kicked out of school just because he’s a little weird. Shit, you could look hard enough at this blog and find reason to have me committed. But for the sake of the alternative, fringe-dwelling weird kids out there, lets not all assume they are potential school shooters. I understand sometimes it is too late when you find it out, but there is no sense in ruining their lives because Cho was the gross exception.

I’m not sure what would have stopped this from happening, perhaps nothing. Much like so many tragedies, we all like to think they were preventable but, sadly, the only thing tighter restrictions do is inconvenience the innocent. The guilty, like water seeing through a crack, will always find a way.

Baseball: It's a Man's Sport

Baseball is my favorite sport. To watch, anyway. I can’t really put my finger on why, but there is just something about the pace, the strategy, the fact that you can sit at a game and have a real conversation with the person you went with, all of these things really make it the perfect spectator sport. At least, it does for most guys.

Unfortunately, I have not met too many girls who really like baseball. Sure, there are some who will humor you and go to a game, but most by the 6^th inning are beginning to whine and say “It’s sooo boring. When can we just gooooo?” They, of course, fail to understand that the 6^th inning is actually when baseball gets interesting, when managers must match lefties to lefties and righties to righties and pull double-switches and pinch hit and sac bunt. These are the subtle nuances that make baseball such an awesome sport to watch. But, sadly, they are lost on most girls.

I have sat in front of a good many women at baseball games in my time who have had to have every play explained to them. “Well how come he got to run from third to home if the guy caught the ball?” This is fine, but I have to think that by 35 most ladies have seen at least one game, on TV or in person, and had some guy, a father, brother or boyfriend, explain this to them before. They just decide to not retain the information since they consider baseball to be so dull and complex anyway.

Girls will go to football games because while football is infinitely more complicated than baseball, they can get drunk, yell and scream, have absolutely no idea what is going on and still have a good time. Some learn the basic rules in college if they went to a school where that is a big thing, so there are always stories to tell and enthusiasm to be feigned. I think a lot of women also are under the impression that men love football (we do) and that their interest somehow makes them more attractive. No, not really.

Basketball is really the ultimate chick sport. The rules are incredibly simple, there is lots of fast paces stuff going on and they get to jump up and scream a lot. And it is usually pretty apparent when to do it. Ball goes in hoop, clap your hands. Basketball is also a sexy sport to be into, since it is where celebrities are spotted courtside and one rappers talk about incessantly, So your typical girl with a copy of “Now That’s What I Call Music Volume 612” and subscribes to US Weekly will more than likely be down to accept your $98 ticket behind the visitor’s backboard.

But baseball? Most women I know, old and young, just can’t appreciate its subtleties. They can’t get excited about a well-executed sacrifice bunt or a hitter who fouled off 9 pitches to get the one he wants. “Why are they clapping? He got out!” she’ll ask. “He hasn’t even hit the ball yet, why is everyone cheering?” I’m not sure what it is about the female brain that does not appreciate baseball the way men do. It’s not a Mars/Venus thing because girls will get excited for basketball of football, but for some reason the more slow-paced and intellectual baseball does not hold the same appeal. As I’ve said before,

I don’t like girls who are big sports fans, it’s a turnoff along the lines of a guy who is too into fashion. I don’t want a girl who can tell me the Marlin’s backup catcher. But one who can sit through nine innings and actually understand why I am applauding a guy who got out on purpose? Well that scores more points than the girl drunk at a tailgate any day.

Thoughts on Karma

I am a fan of Karma. Not sure why, but in my life it always seems that as soon as I do something wrong, something bad happens to me. Often of the same nature. I have friends who do not believe in it, and say that life is just a series of cause-and-effect, but I really do think that the more bad things you do, the worse things happen to you. And, no, I have not been watching too much “My Name is Earl.”

It is the major driving force behind me not doing bad things to people: I am just afraid to have them done to me. Perhaps it is the Golden Rule driven by fear, but my belief in Kara has led me to stop doing a lot of things I used to do. And my life has gotten better. Now some might say that because I do not engage in ill-behaving activities I open myself up less to bad things happening to me, and that is quite possible. When you run with a cleaner crowd you tend to expose yourself less to the bad elements.

Now that I think about it, the only bad things that have happened to me that I had no control over (getting fired form jobs is more or less my fault no matter how you cut it) are thing which, at some point in my life I have done to other people. So, as much as I can, I am planning on not engaging in any activities that would hurt someone else I would not mind having done to me.

I guess my question to all of you is if you believe in Karma? Do you think there is actually some sort of rule of life whereas the worse shit you do the worse you get it? Or is it more a result of the lifestyle you lead and the company you keep. I believe in the first, and therefore it is the fear that governs my daily actions. For better or for worse, I think I am a better person now not so much because I want to treat others better, but because I want them to be nice to me. Call it selfish, but at least it gets the job done.

California Girls Know How to Stay Thin

I hate California girls. No, I mean, I generally dislike most girls that come from the Golden State within ten minutes of meeting them. Why I dislike them so much is a whole post in and of itself that I will do on a day when I have little if any material, but suffice to say they may be my least favorite brand of girl not called “Stripper.” That’s not to say I wouldn’t date any, all of my ex’s save for one live in LA, but their personalities can generally either be categorized as “Stuck –up-bitch” or “Vapid moron.” Usually both, or at least this has been my experience. That being said, one thing I must say for Cali girls: They know how to stay skinny.

I arrived here on the left coast Saturday and was more or less convinced every woman in my family had discovered cocaine in the last year. Seriously, my sister, all her friends, my step mom, my Aunt, my sister-in-law, EVERYONE looked like they’d lost at least 15 pounds. I asked my sister about it and she informed that a couple of people had lost some weight, but pretty much everyone was the same. Then I went out that night and I was hard-pressed to see a girl over a size 6. They all had those skinny shoulders and arms you see on celebrities, flat stomachs and slim legs. No matter what race, color, religion, whatever, it was like everyone in there was trying to look as thin as possible. And then I remembered the one thing I do love about California girls: They are, hands down, the hottest in the World.

Perhaps I have been living in a town for too long where “thick” is in. I have met many a white female transplant who has said “God, I love it down here. A girl can have a few extra pounds and still be considered hot.” Yes, I suppose that is the case, as most men in Dade prefer some “junk” in the proverbial “trunk” and many would not look twice at a girl with hips under 38 inches. “Sucking in” is unheard of for Miami girls, and I meet few if any who ever say their ass is too fat. While I find this to be highly unacceptable, it is, like most things I find highly unacceptable in Miami, something I have learned to look at and complain about profusely but don’t ever expect to change.

So thanks again, Miami. That you for desensitizing me to fat and starving me for skinny. I really do understand what transplant girls are talking about now, as most girls who consider themselves “healthy” in Miami would fall somewhere between “obese” and “shamu” in California. Not that Miami is the Milwaukee of the South, just that once you get off South Beach your typical Dade girl isn’t devoting her entire life to looking like a toothpick. Which is a shame. Of course, some might say it is that steadfast dedication to thin that makes California girls have such awful personalities, but I like to think its just the water shortages, wildfires, constant influx of illegal immigrants, occasional rolling blackouts and unrelenting traffic that have them so pissed off. Makes a lot more sense to me, but who knows? All I know is that when I get back to Miami on Thursday, everyone is going to be looking a whole lot fatter.

Jungle Fever in the 916

My sister and I, we are very different people. She planned out her whole life at age 15, I have no idea what I’ll be doing 6 months from now. She stays as close to home as possible, I moved to the furthest possible American (theoretically, anyway) city from home as soon as I graduated High School. I like to get drunk on a Monday whenever possible, my sister had about 5 sips off of wine coolers throughout her entire college career. I won’t date anything but white girls and my sister, well, apparently my sister likes the dark meat.

Her first boyfriend, who she was with for 7 years or so was Indian (tech support variety). Cultural differences aside he was a great guy and if your sister has to be getting it form someone, you just hope he’s not a complete asshole. Then I show up at her birthday party on Saturday and I am surprised by a few things. First, my sister’s downing Kettle One like it’s water, second there is an 11-year-old serving us drinks for tips, and third there is a strange black man in the house. Actually, my time in Miami has warped me so much that I thought he was Dominican until the next morning when my dad clarified it for me, but it turns out that my sister’s new boyfriend was, in fact black. I really shouldn’t be surprised: she’s a tall white girl with a big ass, so it really kinda screams “Black Man Magnet.”

Now I have always viewed interracial dating in much the same way I view homosexuality: Perfectly fine if that’s what you’re into, but it’s just not for me. So, again, this is really not an issue to me at all. Further, this guy was a two-sport athlete at Stanford and is probably smarter than me and my sister combined. So really I couldn’t care less if he was colored bright green. If I think about it, given our families’ genetic make-ups they could probably produce some solid D-1 athletes, so I wish my sister and her new man the best. But it just furthers to illustrate that in the types of people we are attracted to, much like in pretty much everything else in life, we do not exactly see eye to eye.

Or perhaps we are actually becoming more alike than we think. Somewhere between teaching said 11-year-old to make a Mojito and doing jello shots with my fifty-something aunt, I spent a good part of the night with this girl, who I had not seen since out faux-date three years ago. All else aside, I can safely say she may be the one Latin girl I have ever me that I would date with no hesitation. Not sleep with, mind you, but actually date. And no I’m not just saying this because I don’t want to piss off my sister. Again. I suppose it doesn’t hurt that I had no idea she was Hispanic for the first year I knew her. Or that her Spanish is probably worse than mine and when I told her I was on “Sabado Gigante” her response was “What the Hell is that?” But nevertheless she is fourth generation Mexican-American but that fact really never crosses my mind. We have never both been single at the same time nor do we even live on the same coast anymore, so this is more of a hypothetical than anything else, but it does show me that as much as I like to write about my “whites only” policy when it comes to women, there are exceptions to every rule. Or maybe my experience on Sabado Gigante has taught me to relax those rules a little bit.

Between this and my sister finally finding a little bit of her nasty side, perhaps we are both moving more towards the center of our two extremes. I got to get completely obliterated with her for the first time in 8 years this weekend, and apparently this was not a once-a-year occurance. She has gotten her first ticket and enegaes in some other activites that just make me smile. I guess as Rocky Balboa once so beautifully put it “If I’s can change, and youse can change, maybe we all can change.”

And for those who like to netstalk me, the entire photo gallery from the party can be found here.

Nobody Ever Writes Movies About Bill Pullman

Have you ever seen that movie where this guy, I think he’s a doctor or an accountant or some other highly-successful guy from a good family, falls in love with this girl and they get engaged? And as they plan the wedding and his family meets her and everyone gets all excited she dumps him during a seemingly romantic weekend in New York to run off with some guy she barely knows? Or maybe that TV show where the hard-working warehouse guy is in love with this gorgeous receptionist in the management office and he finally sets a date for their wedding. Only this douchebag sales guy has developed a “crush” on her and tells her and she calls the wedding off. All of a sudden poor warehouse guy is left heartbroken and alone. Forced to watch the love of his life pine over the richer, better looking sales guy who has now moved to New York.

That movie, for those who didn’t realize it, is “Sleepless in Seattle.” Or “Breakfast at Tiffany’s.” Or, if you change a couple of details, every single movie John Cusak has ever appeared in. The TV show? That’s The Office. Only the perspective you get is form the “Destined-to-be-together” lovers who then live happily ever after and not the poor schmuck who got fucked over. But, sadly, nobody ever thinks about that poor guy who thought he had found the love of his life and lost her because she had some silly romantic notion. I saw “Wicked” a few weeks ago and it really drives home the point that history, and fiction too, are told from the perspective of the winners. So we just assume the losers went on to live happily ever after too, but I bet that is rarely the case.

I’m pretty sure the night Meg Ryan runs off with Tom Hanks, old Walter cranked out a vitriolic email calling her an immature bitch, a stupid whore, and a lot of other names not suitable for this family blog. I’m sure he immediately told his entire family and they all end up resenting her for calling off an expensive wedding. Then there is her alienating every mutual friend they had and pretty much being seen as a untrustworthy whore by most of their acquaintances. No wonder they moved to Seattle.

Does anyone ever stop to think that the heroes and heroines in these romantic comedies are actually cheaters and men who do not respect someone else’s relationship? Of course not, because Hollywood likes to perpetuate that unrealistic myth of “soul mates” and “the one.” They like us to believe that love conquers all and that its okay to fuck someone over if it is to be with your “destiny.” Hey, newsflash, assholes. What this does is gives women everywhere justification for cheating. Nobody ever makes movies about guys who fuck around being destined for their mistresses, do they? Oh, no. That guy is always the bad guy. But the girl who flies across the country to see some total stranger when she is ENGAGED to someone else? She’s romantic. No, she’s actually worse because ultimately she is going to ruin somebody’s dreams.

John Cusak has shown men everywhere that if you love somebody, fuck that guy she’s seeing. You’re better for her than he is. No, pal, you’re not, You’ve just seen one too many John Cusak movies. But still you continue to pursue a girl who is already promised to somebody else, and then are shocked when she decides to actually go through with it and MARRY him. That’s how the real world works buddy. Sometimes people get married for reasons other than love, but it is their mistake to make. And that guy you are trying to get her to stand up at the altar? What has he ever done to you? I know you think this may be “true love,” but “true love” only exists in one place: John Cusak movies.

There is a reason Closer is my favorite movie. It is the only love story I have ever seen that actually portrays relationships in a realistic light: fragile, fleeting and ultimately destructive. The romantic male who tries to steal what he considers his “true love” ultimately gets fucked over by the husband and loses both women, and the romantic female ends up staying in a more or less unsatisfying marriage. It is the anti-Romantic Comedy. Or, as I like to call it, real life.

So the next time you start welling up in the last scene when the boring accountant gets left for the sympathetic hero, remember that that guy has feelings too. Remember that the illusion of “the one” is like the siren luring ships into the rocky shore: Once you realize it’s a fake you’ve pretty much lost everything you have. The sooner you stop believing in that nonsense the sooner you stop fucking people over. Because when you find out that the “one” was actually just the “37” you’ll have wasted a lot of time. And, more importantly, a lot of people.

Trust Your Gut

There are irrational, over-possessive people out there. I like to call them Hispanics, but some do not fit this designation. Some people are just insecure in themselves and never feel like they are good enough for the person they are with and therefore assume they are out looking for something better at every opportunity. For years, I have prided myself on not being one of those people. But what I have come to learn is that there is a fine line between possessive and naive, and it is a hard one to straddle.

In every relationship there is a point where one party’s behavior changes dramatically. Perhaps it is the first time they don’t pick up the phone when you call. Or maybe it’s when the time for a call to be returned is 12 hours longer than usual. Perhaps it is a lack of interest in sex, or sometimes it is as simple as a change in the tone of voice. They are the subtleties someone who knows you well can pick up. Sometimes this happens after a major fight, a life-changing event or some explicable factor that makes the change fully explainable. But I have learned something in my years, kids, and that is that when it happens for no apparent reason you are not the only person in their life at that moment.

I have never, EVER had that gut feeling and not been right. I can usually tell within 24 hours but choose not to press the issue out of fear of looking like said overprotective jerk. I like to think I am the type of person to give someone the benefit of the doubt, especially when it is someone I trust. And because I am generally very confident in myself in relationships (evidenced by my continual ability to date strippers) I never fully think something is going on that shouldn’t be. And that is where naiveté comes in. Experience is the greatest cure for that disease and what I have learned is that if my gut tells me something else is going on, is most motherfuckingly is.

When your gut tells you this is the case, do not sit back and wait for events to play out. At this point it is okay to investigate. Make no apologies and demand the truth. Follow someone, check their phone records, call "Cheaters," do whatever it takes. Because if you are right, they really can't complain. Their actions were the impetus for yours. Will it hurt? Probably, and more often than not you are simply speeding up a process that will have inevitably happened anyway. But ultimately it is better to know what is going on and perhaps even get a sincere apology out of the person rather than sitting and waiting and tying your stomach in knots for days at a time.

My days of ignoring obvious signs are over, and I will never again make apologies for being suspicious of anyone. What I have realized is that I am not naturally a suspicious person, my radar for inappropriate behavior is not very sensitive. So when it is set off it is almost always right. In my case, when I suspect something is going on its not because I am insecure. Its because what you are doing is so obvious it has alerted even the most non-possessive of people. And you, my dear, are most likely in the wrong.

Physical Cheating vs. Emotional Cheating: Which One is Worse?

Cheating, as is stated over and over in Dateline NBC exposés on the dangers of the internet, takes on many forms. The most traditional is physical cheating, where as one typically unsatisfied partner in a relationship finds another person with which to engage in various acts in which the regular partner usually will not. Typically blow jobs for married guys. But what is getting more and more attention now is what they like to call “emotional cheating” where maybe there is no sex involved, but there are definitely feelings. A lot of them. Now which one is ultimately more damaging and more of a betrayal? This is a hard topic for a lot of people, but I am going to go ahead and vote for the emotional variety. And here is why.

As someone who has partaken in physical cheating on a number of occasions, I can safely say that never has one of these incidents adversely affected my relationship. Nor has anyone been hurt by it. Had it been discovered, of course someone would have gotten hurt. But if I go out without my girlfriend and meet some skank and spend the rest of the evening doing things I probably shouldn’t, and I keep my mouth shut about it, my relationship never misses a beat. Is it right? Hell the fuck no it’s not right. Ideally I wouldn’t be cheating in the first place. But we’re not talking about not-cheating vs. cheating here, we’re comparing what is the lesser of two evils. And assuming no children or STD’s arise from said sexual encounter, life moves on and nobody is the wiser.

Now lets take emotional cheating. Imagine if you will you are dating someone and then you meet somebody else with whom you click. But you are not quite the scumbag to just jump their bones and call it quits, so you continue talking to the person. Behind your S.O.’s back. Maybe it’s emails, maybe phone calls, maybe even hanging out in person under the guise of being “friends.” Pretty soon you start to think “hey, maybe this is who I am ‘destined’ to be with.” And the next thing you know you start losing interest in the person you are with and become distant, cold and disinterested. The relationship gets bad, everyone thinks about cheating and what was once a pretty good thing is thrown down the drain in the name of some ridiculous romantic illusion. And then you know what happens? While you’re with that person you thought was so much better, you go and meet someone else and do it again. And it becomes and endless cycle of you ruining good relationships. Better to just fuck and move on.

Now, one would read this and say “Gosh, White Dade, you are a guy so of course you think physical cheating is preferable. You can fuck without emotion.” And, yes, men are probably more prone to the physical cheating vs. the emotional for women. But since we invest little if any emotion in extraneous sexual encounters, it really is the proverbial tree in the forest. If I never call my bar skank again and my girlfriend never finds out, nobody gets hurt. But if I meet a girl in a bar and go on long walks with her and have deep conversations and hold hands and then say “Stop, I can’t, I have a girlfriend,” well then she becomes the forbidden fruit and therefore more desirable than the girl I am with. She takes on mythical proportions and begins to represent everything my girlfriend is not and then, poof, good relationship ruined by romantic delusions. The other advantage some prefer in emotional cheating is that they can always justify it themselves by saying "Well, I never slept with them!" It leaves some ambiguity so the cheater can feel better about him or herself. Nice try. Sadly, the physical cheater always is made out to be the bad guy or girl because what they do is defined by a physical action and not an intangible emotion. But in truth neither one is better than the other. One is just a little easier to define.

I suppose if you are not a jaded as I, you may say “Well, if that emotional affair turns out to be the person for you, then it is worth it.” But, sadly, that is rarely the case. Usually what it is is you finding in someone else what was lacking in your relationship, then finding later that this new person is severely lacking in a lot of other areas as well. And, given this country’s pension for divorce and staying in unhappy marriages, my guess is you ultimately realize that you are no better than the guy who fucked a blonde because his girlfriend was Asian, and admit you are a bad person just like the rest of us.