Normally I don’t do this, drop blogs back to back that is, so you know what I’m about to talk about is top flight security, the Homeland advisory level is now Red, Aye Dios Mio type serious right? Recently @DrJayJack wrote a blog for SingleBlackMale.org titled Why Men Love Hairless Women, in which he quotes Kim Kardashian in one of her more eloquent moments stating, “I am Armenian, so of course I am obsessed with laser hair removal! My entire body is hairless.”

It was a very profound post. Filled with well written prose, effortless transitional phrases and a story of self discovery as one man unearthed the beauty of the shaven va jay jay. I still fondly remember my first time too, but this isn’t about me.

Less than a few weeks later dear readers, you can imagine my shock and dismay when I found out what popular women’s magazine, COSMOPOLITAN, was advocating on its September 2010 cover  issue:

“Untamed Va-jay-jays: Guess What Sexy Style Is Back”

After confirming this wasn’t an ill timed April Fool’s Joke I – like many other men no doubt – found myself wondering the following: First, when were untamed va-jay-jays EVER sexy? Secondly, what kind of absurdity is COSMO trying to promote? I know controversy sells but this is ridiculous. Promoting a bold-faced lie such as this one that some innocent, unsuspecting hair-less va-jay-jay owning woman just might up and believe and, heaven forbid, cease shaving. The implications are unimaginable!

I remember watching a movie called A Bronx Tale and at one point in the movie, a gangster by the name of Sonny offers the following advice: “Trouble is like cancer. You gotta get it early. If you dont get it early it gets to big and it kills you.” Never has a quote ever been more applicable.

Thus, I have taken it upon myself to nip this distortion of the facts in the bud before it indeed does spread and kills us all. Ladies, read my lips/blog, “untamed va-jay-jays ARE NOT sexy nor have they EVER been, nor will they EVER be sexy.” DO NOT let COSMO lead you into the wilderness of unkempt pubic hair. I mean say that out loud, “unkempt pubic hair.” There is no way to even make that sound sexy, let alone look sexy!

Fellas if you disagree feel free to correct me in the comment section below but bare in mind I will more than likely moderate and not approve all dissenters.

Futhermore, keep in mind that this is the same organization that would have you believe they can come up with a 1000 different ways to sexually please a man each month. I’ve been a man 27 years and I can’t even come up with 10 ways to please myself, sexually and beyond. If men really had a 1000 different ways to be pleasured, do you seriously think any man anywhere would ever be faithful? I don’t think so. Besides, even if there were 1000 ways, you’d be too disgusted to do 995 of them you prude, so who’s kidding who.

Anyway, I’m glad I was able to get this off my chest. And speaking of chest, while I have you here ladies. I’ll be doing some manscaping this weekend and I’d like your opinions on the whole manscaping movement. What should a man shave or not shave? Ive heard various opinions on the subject. One woman I was dating told me “a man is suppose to be hairy,” while another said “if you don’t shave your chest you will never [make it to the airport terminal, let alone get a view of the landing strip].” I was researching this topic one day when I stumbled on this helpful on-line video directed and produced by Gillette.

Up until this point I’ve been too afraid to place a razor near my nether regions, though I have shaved my chest before.  One day I might build up the courage to venture further south. I don’t know why I’m even entertaining the thought, it’s not like I’m an adult film star. Although a landscaper told me once, trimming the hedges does make the trees stand out. For now I’ll stick with a close cut caesar fade with Elvis sideburns. Trust me, it’s hot.

A few women have offered to shave that area which we do not speak of for me, but I’m too scared they’ll get down there and have a flashback of some chick they think, rightly or wrongly, I use to mess around with and begin threatening my [Richard] with a ‘close shave’ while screaming, “Who is Keisha? WHO IS KEISHA?!?”

Not that I’m saying all women named Keisha are scandalous. I am, however, saying that a lot of scandalous women happened to be named Keisha. So if your name is Keisha or Ke$ha, now you know why your friends don’t trust you. You’re welcome.

Comment!

I’ve argued with more than my fair share of people about this subject but in some regard isn’t the allowance (and possibly acceptance) of interracial dating in itself an example of progress? For example, in this country we went from a point where it was literally illegal for a black man to date (or in some cases look at) a white woman. It seems strange that some people would only long for racial equality when it benefits them or sounds good in theory, but not in practice. Dating and marriage, to me, can arguably be considered the ultimate example of inclusion.

Granted, although it’s no longer illegal it is still frowned upon by people who can’t get over their own internal prejudices. And yes I use the word prejudice because to discriminate simply because of race is prejudice, by definition, no matter what race you are. In other words, yes, black people can be prejudice and even racist.

I’m not trying to change anyones mind, but there’s no arguing with the truth – even though people try to do it all the time. To the people who do this, I will simply point out that arguing against facts with opinions does not negate the former. However, you are free to do so and I’m sure you will continue.

I can only speak for self but in dating outside of my race I actually gained a greater appreciation for black relationships and black women as a result. I’m by no means saying that I didn’t appreciate black women beforehand and that I wouldn’t have had I never dated outside of them, so let me be clear here.

In dating other races I was able to negate the many stereotypes that abound because I experienced firsthand that most weren’t true. In other words, I mitigated the ‘curious’ factor early on in my life. I also recognized that there is some merit to the argument that someone of your own race will understand you better than another. This applies to people of all races. However, even if that’s true, which I will concede it might be, is that what you’re looking for in a relationship? You only want someone in your life that will reinforce your own beliefs, thoughts, etc without question? Essentially, you are looking to date yourself? Good luck with that.

I’m not intimidated by the thoughts, opinions, or challenges brought forth by others, even significant others. In fact, I welcome them.

Therefore, for me to return to only dating black women would mean that I only find black women attractive. Be this based on their looks, their personality or other. It would also imply that I believe I can only be truly happy with a black woman – and I say “black” because this would not be limited to African American women – but that’s another discussion for another time. Instead, I have chosen to remain open to dating women of all races  because I have found that race, for me, is an insignificant factor at best in determining if a woman has the potential or capability to make and keep me happy.

In addition – and I don’t know how others date – I don’t let what people might or might not think of me have a significant influence on who I date. In the interest of full disclosure, I will admit I do like having a head-turning-conversation-stopping-beautiful woman on my arm, whatever race she may be. If you have decided to date a certain race because of personal feelings or preferences, that’s fine – but to do so because of what your so called peers might think of you is, in my opinion, cowardice.

Still, I am not ignorant of the world in which we live and I recognize that if by some chance I end up with a race of woman other than black as my girlfriend or wife, there will always be those who will assume I chose her based on the preconceived and stereotypical reasons they have in their mind – and definitely not because I am ginuinely in love. I wish this wasn’t the case but it is and will more than likely always be that way. Regardless, I can only worry about making myself happy and finding the woman whom I believe will best influence that continued happiness; hopefully, forever, if I choose correctly.

I touched on some sensitive subjects in this series of blogs, because by its very nature this is a sensitive topic, more so for some people than others. I welcome your thoughts and feedback and I’ll respond as applicable.

Therefore, you know when I do take the time to use profanity I mean it. The infrequency of its appearance means each rare occurrence has more gravity. Quite frankly, the right curse words strung together in a sentence can sum up an entire paragraph of thoughts. With that said, I’m about to start using one curse word in particular. If you’re easily offended I suggest you leave now.

The other day I heard a song by Ceelo. I’m not the only one. When I was sent the link to YouTube, although the song had only been up two days (before it was deleted) it had well over 200,000 views. It’s definitely a winner. The name of that song is…

“FUCK YOU”

I told someone earlier this is the epitome of the postpartum breakup dedication song. Now, I’ve only had my heart broken once or twice. Admittedly, I have broken exponentially more hearts than those whom have managed to splinter my own. Still, aint no party like a self pity party because a self pity party don’t stop.

I’m on fairly good terms with most of my ex-girlfriends; even those I don’t talk to anymore, which are surprisingly few. We either parted on good terms  or over time we made peace with one another.

HOWEVER, there are a few women walking this here Earth that I will never, ever, everrrrr be on good terms with. They probably feel the same way about me. I know they say don’t burn your bridges but when I parted ways with these particular succubi I deliberately blew the bridge, as they say, “the fuck up.” Then I [did my best R.Kelly impersonation] on the still smoldering ashes as I passionately flashed two middle fingers in their direction.

I don’t wish these women physical harm – because I watch CSI and I don’t feel like going to jail. I don’t even wish them the worse. But, if for whatever reason not even the slightest sliver of happiness ever beseeched their realm again, I wouldn’t be upset.

Where maturity is absent, immaturity abounds. I don’t know about you but I can’t always be the bigger person. Sometimes I want, no I need to be the smaller person. Sometimes grudges are meant to be held. And I’m perfectly content with that. It’s to those women that brought the worst out of me when I was trying my hardest to be my best, from the bottom of my heart I dedicate this song and these words to you, literally and figuratively:

FUCK YOU.

“I see you drivin ’round town with the girl I love,
and I’m like: FUCK YOU.

OOO, OOO, OOOO!

I guess the change in my pocket wasnt enough,
I’m like: FUCK YOU and uh, FUCK HER, TOO!”

If you are so moved, feel free to join me in this dedication by shouting out an ex (or two, or three) of yours in the comment section below. Government or nicknames welcome. You’re among friends here.

Gentlemen, I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news. The good news is there really isn’t much you can do about the bad news so you’ll just have to learn to live with it. And the bad news is…size matters.

Some women will tell you different. They’ll swear on their mother’s grave that size doesn’t matter to them – but it does. They’re trying to protect your feelings. I hope I’m not the fist one to break this news to you because if I am, I sincerely apologize. Honestly, I don’t have the biggest one myself by far. Depending on whose you compare it to it might even be considered downright paltry. I mean I hear Bill Gates is surprisingly huge. But I’m pretty content with what I’ve been blessed with. Plus I think mine is bigger than average, and what I lack in size I make up for with personality!

Granted there’s been a lot of progress and the gender roles are clearly being redefined, but I still firmly believe that at the end of the day women don’t want to be in a long term relationship with a man with a little ass bank account.

But you know what they say: “It’s not the size of the investment, it’s the motion of the markets.” Personally, when women ask me why my 401k is so small I blame it on the Recession – or the fact that it’s cold.

Fellas, we’ve all been in that relationship with the undercover high maintenance woman who tells us the size of our paycheck doesn’t define us. Then she proceeds to spend the entire relationship belittling your modest sized income for not being big enough to make her come – with you to the department store that is.

You know the one. She sits around complaining about how you never go out. Then she compares your average sized lifestyle to the ridiculously lavish lives of her friends. She talks endlessly about how they spend hours bragging about their boyfriend’s massive paychecks. How because it’s so big they have absolutely no shame wrapping their hands firmly around their boyfriend’s thick – car stick shift. Their man’s funds are so good it makes her girls want to blow money even when they’re not in the mood!

Every time you’re out with her she screams, “faster, harder, get it, IT’S YO MONEY!” You do your best to keep her satisfied but after a few minutes all your money is spent, you’re a minute spender! While Mr. Big Paycheck over there is spending on his woman ALL. NIGHT. LONG. Why that’s enough to make any man feel insecure.

Sometimes the truth doesn’t even come out until the relationship is ending, when the woman who formerly adored your tiny finances walks off screaming, “That’s why you got a small ass salary! You never satisfied me! I only acted like I felt good paying for dinner and a movie every time. You selfish bastard! I always made sure you got yours and I never got mine! I faked like I was satisfied! That’s right, I FAKED!” Women know nothing hurts a man’s pride worse than calling into question the size of his paycheck.

But what can you do? She knew you had a little paycheck when she got with you! It aint your fault. It’s not like you can just take some get rich pills and magically increase the stamina & girth of your bankroll. It doesn’t happen that way. She needs to accept you for you and the fact that your deposits might be as big as they’re going to get. And if it isn’t ample enough for her, good riddance!

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying women only like men with big accounts. I’m not even saying that’s the sole reason they like them. I will say that when a man has a big bank he exudes other features women do like.

For example, when you know you got a big direct deposit your whole swagger changes. You walk different. You talk different. You radiate an air of confidence that all can see, including women. As you step out of your luxury car with your high end dress shoes you can almost feel women giving you that ‘I bet he got a big ass take home pay’ stare.

Frankly, I’ve never heard a woman complain that her man’s cash flow was too large. And if she can’t handle it, I’m sure there are plenty of women dealing with men with credit scores that are less than impressive even when fully erect that would happily take her place.

So ladies, what are your thoughts on the subject? Does the size of a man’s wallet define him? Would you get with the small credit score having man? Could you see yourself in a long term relationship with a man you know will always have a small paycheck? Would you be genuinely satisfied? In the end, does size matter? Why or why not?

Fellas, has the size of your funds, or lack there of, ever been an issue? Would you date a woman whose funds are more impressive than your own? Would you be intimidated by her larger endowment?

“I spoiled her
Foiled it if you fakin’, Jack
She’s used to million dollar vacations
F**k yall gon’ do with that?” ~ Jay-Z

Of course, I’m sure she got with him based solely on his personality…

Being too old to go out hasn’t stopped me from going out. Namely because I have nothing better to do. Every now and then there’s nothing wrong with making it a Netflix night but for the most part sitting at the house being single and reflecting on my singleness is not my favorite pastime. I don’t mind being single. What I do mind is the associated droughts that sporadically ensue. Not that only single men experience droughts, as any miserably married man will caution you with sullen eyes while speaking dramatically in his best Vincent Price voice.

Let me address two points before I continue because it comes up often when I tell my friendgirls I’m about to go out.

1) “You aren’t going to meet your wife at the club.”

I don’t agree or disagree with this statement, though I will admit the odds of meeting your wife (or husband) at the club is slim to none. I don’t know where I’m going to meet my wife and more importantly, I don’t care. I’m not looking for a wife right now. I’m not really even looking for a girlfriend. At this age, I go to the club to hear good music and yes, to see some cute women. If I should so happen to get the number of one of those women, so be it. If that woman’s number leads to marriage – which I doubt – so be that, too.

2) “You don’t need to go out.”

I don’t understand this sentiment so I’m going to guess here. Some, but not all, of my friendgirls are single, yet they hardly ever go out. Every now and then they complain about being single. This confuses me. Therefore, I imagine women don’t worry about going out because when they do go out they aren’t looking to meet anyone anyway? Case in point, I’ve never had a ‘Guys Night Out.’ Furthermore, [attractive] women get approached by men everywhere, all the time. Thus it’s easy to say ‘well I’ll just stop going to the club’ when you know men will approach you regardless; be it the club, the church, or everywhere in between.

I can’t speak for other men but that’s not how it happens for me. [Attractive] women don’t randomly approach me. Plus, I’m not one for approaching women anywhere and everywhere – I’m not above it either, just sayin.

One woman suggested I hang out at “Starbucks or the library” to meet women. Although I appreciate her suggestion, it seems like I’d come of as more of a stalker/loser if I sat around approaching women at Starbucks and the library, but maybe I’m mistaken. As far as I can tell, women do not like to be approached by men anywhere at anytime – except for when they do. Ladies, if you have an opinion on that topic feel free to clarify in the comment section below.

——————-

The story at hand is a short one. Basically I recently ‘struck out.’ A strike out can consist of any number of unfavorable circumstances but the outcome is always the same. You leave with no numbers (or no women, if it’s a really good night). This isn’t the first time and it won’t be the last. Shit happens. Even championship teams lose a few games every now and then. The key is to win the ones that count.

The funny thing is I probably could have gotten a few numbers if I wanted to but the women that seemed to be feeling me weren’t being felt back. Also, I’m pretty lazy. Even if I see a woman giving me an obvious eye f**king, explained in this blog here, if she’s more than an arms distance away, I don’t have the energy to Michael Phelps butterfly swim through a club full of people just to get your number. I chalk it up to: “Well, I guess it wasn’t meant to be.” And I just have to hope I see her at a more favorably approaching distance later in the night.

——————-

WIM sidebar: Why the arm distance rule? Life has taught me that in the long run most women aren’t worth going out of my way to cross the club, the street or even the crosswalk to get to know them better. In dating, I haven’t lost all hope, so I’m not hopeless, but I am less hopeful. I’m an optimistic pessimist.

——————-

Not to mention I moved away from home and I don’t have a reliable wing-man out here. I’m usually doing most of these activities with no one other than myself and my ego. Even though I feel we are a formidable duo.

However, as a result of not having back-up I tend to approach groups of women like the lion stalks gazelles. I wait for the one I’m interested in – which for convenience purposes might be all of them – to fall a few steps behind the herd and I ambush her with eerie precision. I try to get her name and number before the unattractive purse carrying woman of the group returns like the [lonely bitter man hater that she is] mother lioness to retrieve her cub from the clutches of a would be predator.

Now back in my younger days I would have approached pretty much every woman with air in her lungs but no more. It’s not that I think I’m better than anyone, because I really aint shit. It’s just at this age I know what I like and I know what I don’t like. And unless I’m desperate, I don’t like to waste my time with what I don’t like. e.g. women I can’t see myself having much interest in beyond 24 hours.

In the end, it’s all a matter of perspective. Home run king Babe Ruth broke his own major league record by hitting 60 homeruns in 1927. He also led the league in strikeouts that year and in 1918, 1923, 1924, and 1928.

In the game of life, WIM is just swinging for the fences.

I started writing this series of blogs because of the uproar over Bengals wide receiver Chad Johnson aka Ocho Cinco. Too much ink has been dedicated to the specifics, so if you’re not privy to what happened then I suggest you Google some combination of words that includes “Chad Ochocinco” and “white women.” That specific discussion has died down but the conversation about black men dating white women never really dies, it just goes away for a while until the next public reconstruct. The characters may change but the storyline remains the same – like Nightmare on Elm Street sequels.

Given the prevalence of this debate I found it interesting that Ocho Cinco even bothered to address the issue over on Global Grind. Whether he did himself more harm than good by doing so is up to someone else besides me to decide (or care). Personally, if white women are his preference – which for the record he claims is not the case – then why does he owe us or anyone an explanation?

I can’t speak for other black men, but in my case, once I dated my first white woman and those subsequent, I became the “he only dates white women” guy. This is despite the fact that between dating white women I was dating black women and women of other races. It didn’t matter. Those were flukes/flings; the white women were my true heart’s desire according to the naysayers. Therefore, no matter what Chad Ocho Cino, I or most any black man that’s ever been seen within a 3 foot radius of a white woman does, we will always be known to some as the guy who “only dates white women.”

Ironically, once you gain the illustriously infamous title of “he dates white women” it actually becomes easier to date white women since 1) more white women will approach you if they are privy to this information and 2) it is what people expect of you. A high percentage of the white women I’ve dated where introduced to me by black friends because that’s what they assumed I’d be interested in – wrong or right. In other words, they kept their black female friends that I might be interested in behind the scenes. In projecting their own assumptions onto me they justified what they already believed. Funny how that works; not that I am complaining.

I’ve mentioned before that I grew up in the suburbs, which is by no means homogeneous when it comes to race. Obviously that didn’t hurt my dating options. Regardless, I find that I relate to women (and people in general) not based on race but more on upbringing, educational background and/or their being able to hold a succinct conversation, debate or argument without it being relegated to name calling, finger pointing and profanity. It doesn’t hurt if they are extremely attractive too.

I say this because I’ve met white women from “the hood” who were harder to relate to than college educated black women from the suburbs and vise versa. As a side note, I am not saying you have to go to college to be educated because I know plenty idiots that somehow managed to graduate from college – myself included.

Though I have limited this discussion to black/white it is definitely not limited to these two races as I have dated all around and I find this to be a consistent truth. As I mentioned in the first blog, yes, sometimes there are differences in culture – but culture differs from race. Besides cultural differences aren’t what most people seize on when saying why you should or should not date outside of your race.

It’s been scientifically proven – if you believe in that whole science thing – that most people only look for information that reinforces what they already believe. Anything to the contrary will be dismissed, while anything that reinforces their beliefs will be trumpeted as fact. Therefore their ‘unbiased observations’ become a cycle of self fulfilling prophecies.

Many people do this with interracial dating as well. Any man/woman of a certain race who reinforces what you already believe about that race will be used to represent the entire race, while you actively ignore all men/women who embody examples to the contrary. This is of course your decision to make and I’m not trying to change it for you. Clearly you are beyond the reach of reasoning anyway.

In my opinion, an example of this was demonstrated in an article I read recently on the New York Press about a white woman explaining Why She Prefers Black Men. If you read this story or take the time to do so now, I found that her story – though it is by no means limited to her – shows how personal beliefs can be used to guide your decision making and views in general to the point where opinions become facts and preferences become standards.

If you’ve dated outside of your race, what have your experiences been? Is mine unique or did people begin to assume that’s all you would date going forward? As a result, did it effect whom and how you date? I have one more blog left up my sleeve on this topic so general comments are welcome, too.

Jack Bauer wouldn’t last three days in my shoes. One of my more recent weekend adventures is proof positive of this theory. Granted, besides going to Miami, I haven’t gone out much lately so anything I engaged in would have easily topped sitting at the house. With that said, here is what happened to me in a 72-hour span I am trying in vain to forget as expediently as possible.

Friday: I went to this hood club around the way that I happen to know plays good music. Don’t judge me, we all know of one. I wasn’t looking to get into anything in particular more than I was just trying to get out of the house. To pass the time I might or might not have engaged in a few alcoholic beverages during my stay – but that is beside the point.

What is the point is that I got the number of a cute short haired girl at the bar. In the long run that didn’t work out so well. However, after leaving the club I ran into a tall attractive brunette just outside the exit. Things seemed to be going right when in the middle of the conversation things went horribly, horribly left, I mean wrong.

During the conversation in question she informed me that she wasn’t looking for anything serious because she had just gotten out of a year and a half relationship. I told her I respected that. Then she went on to tell me that she had a 2 year old baby girl. I made the MISTAKE of saying, “O, with the same guy?” She looked at me disgustedly and exclaimed “NO!”

Upon further analysis it occurred to me that she was upset by the fact that I had literally UNDERESTIMATED her promiscuity. I mean ladies and gentlemen, I cannot lay claim to the distinguished designation of OB/GYN, but I’m under the impression it takes the normal adult female homosapien 9 months to conceive a child. Therefore, how can you have a 2 year old baby with a different man than the one you just exited the 1 and a half year relationship with? It doesn’t add up! Unfortunately she was too offended and I too dumbfounded to seek an answer to this question. Tragically I may never know the truth, unless I see her on Maury one day, which I very well might.

I’d like to see Jack Bauer decipher that kind of mental espionage!

BUT THAT WASNT IT FOLKS, as I turned to leave dazed and confused I ran into another woman no less than half a foot away. She seized me in her clearly inebriated clutch and began telling me how cute I was. This blog is getting long so…

- yadda yadda yadda -

…I’m following her home later, right? And she calls security because “someone is following her home.” It would appear to the outside observer that she forgot the minor detail that she told me to follow her home. So as we pull up to her apartment complex security bum rushes my car demanding to know why I was following this woman – whose name I had forgotten by the way – to the house. I didn’t have a logical explanation but fortunately she came over to the car and upon recognizing me again, for the first time – but really the second time – she explained to security the mistake. Needless to say, I made my way home with great haste after that incident.

I know some of my female readers are probably asking: “WIM, exactly what were you doing following a woman whose name you had forgotten home at 3am in the morning anyway?” Well, there’s a perfectly logical explanation ladies and that is… [Internet connection lost] …and that’s the honest to God’s truth!

Then there was Saturday:

…I told myself on Saturday I was just going to keep it civil, chill, calm, and collected. With this in mind I stopped by a friend’s house on the way downtown to kill some time. I was there roughly 2.5 minutes before I was 3 shots to the wind so not surprisingly…

- yadda yadda yadda -

…I woke up the next morning in somebody’s bed. I stealthily barrel rolled out of the bed like Mr. Bauer avoiding the shrapnel of a terrorist bomb. Then I tactfully maneuvered my way through the sleeping or possibly lifeless bodies of 2 – 5 people scattered throughout the hallways and byways of the apartment before making it to my car and returning to the safety of home base.

I spent Sunday recovering from the above mentioned adventures and collecting my thoughts and trying to figure out where, if anywhere, my life is going. Hangovers tend to make me get philosophical. Well, that was my weekend, and people wonder why I’m too old for the club. Single life is NOT for the faint of heart people.

P.S. Friendgirls, you’ll be happy to know I deleted the crazy girl who almost got me arrested and/or killed because I can only deal with so much excitement. I’m not as young as I use to be you know.

So, what have you guys been up to lately?

First off I told “Reina” I knew she was fake before the blog above was ever posted. Naturally she told me not to post it. She might deny this conversation took place – and I wouldn’t blame her if she did. Obviously only she and I know the truth.

I’m the type of person who would rather understand a situation than inflame it without cause. I tend to try to see things from both perspectives, no matter how egregious in error I consider the other party’s perspective. I concluded “Reinas” motivations were rather straightforward.

“Reina” was using this woman’s pictures, who I might add is very beautiful, because she thought she would reach a larger audience – male and female – with her message as a result. I have to admit, as flawed as the reasoning behind the logic might have been; the final objective makes perfect sense. The very success of ReinaSong.com is/was tantamount to her theory being sound.

Getting back to why I shared this information with the public, my reasons are essentially selfish. You see, I have a big ego. Simply stated, I shared this information because “Reina” lied. Granted she lied to everyone, and it’s not like I was worthy of exception – but if she had lied to every last one of you except me I literally could not have cared less. I probably would have sat in the background laughing at your misguided admirations. After I found out the truth, I considered doing just that, keeping it to myself. I had no obligation to let anyone know, I knew – and that was enough for me. This brings us to reason number two.

I dated a model in the past that had her pictures stolen in a similar fashion. Except in her case it was Myspace. When she told me about it, I thought it was hilarious. Who cares about Myspace?

Nevertheless, she was adamant about having the profile removed because the girl was ignorant, ridiculously so. One day she admitted she was flattered that someone would find her attractive enough to even want to steal her pictures. Since imitation is the sincerest form of flattery; however, she did not want someone seeing those pictures and associating her with this make-believe woman’s ignorance. While this is not parallel to “Reina” because she came off as intelligent, what she told me later is pertinent.

She noted that as a professional model it’s already difficult enough getting people to notice you and then take you serious while also finding consistent means of employment. What if someone where to see or heaven forbid, contact this fake profile trying to give her work? Imagine the untold sums of lost money and jobs that might or might have already taken place. When she pointed this out I finally fully appreciated her dilemma.

What “Reina” did is not unique. Any successful to moderately successful model will tell you their photos get used over the Internet and beyond all the time – sometimes appropriately and sometimes inappropriately. In fact, I’m not even a model and I’ve had my photos stolen on more than one occasion. As disturbing as this is – because it’s guys in my case – I don’t use my photos to profit directly so in general, I don’t care.

Regardless of if you disagree with my justifications, I decided to post the information. If you consider yourself a friend of “Reinas” I don’t think the new information should have a huge effect on your relationship. If beauty is only skin deep and you’re a real friend then her looks shouldn’t have mattered to you anyway. However, you will have to decide if this is the only lie or is her entire story a compilation of lies. It’s not up to me to make that decision for you. For instance, I was surprised to find out she probably lives on the gulf coast, not the east coast – but at this point, I guess nothing is truly ‘shocking’ anymore.

I do feel bad about one thing even though I shouldn’t. Whoever the real “Reina” is, she did use her blog to reach out to and connect with women. She was an advocate for women’s rights and stopping domestic abuse. It upsets me that such a voice might be lost when there are already so few heard. Still, the fact that she put the responsibility this title held at risk by creating a fake profile in the first place is her burden to bear.

A part of me has to admire and respect the fact that “Reina” pulled off this deception for such a long period of time. And as I said in the blog and will say again, I have no grudge with “Reina.” I have no doubt that she’ll read this and the other blog and if she wants to speak publicly about her reasons she is more than welcome to do so through whatever venue she sees fit. Then again, she by no means owes anyone an explanation.

I recognize “Reina” may very well tell me to go to hell, do all in her power to slander my name, hope all the bad things in life happen to me and only me, and spend the rest of her days wishing for or even plotting my death. That is her prerogative.

BUT she wouldn’t be the first and I doubt she’ll be the last. I mean I drive enough real women crazy in my day to day life, so she’ll have to get in line. Whatever happens next, I plan to return to my regularly scheduled blogging program.

Relax people; it’s only the Internet…

About a month ago I was talking to the woman behind ReinaSong.com. As of the date of this posting this website no longer exists, all that is left is remnants of formerly active links on Google, but I took the liberty of grabbing a screenshot. I talked to this woman for about four months or so. It was a pretty good experience. She’s intelligent and I thought beautiful – the latter of whom I’m not sure of anymore, because I later found out that the pictures used on ReinaSong.com are those of another Internet model.

Editors Note: Most of you don’t know this but I get paid to investigate people for a living. I like to think I’m pretty good at my job. I do this writing thing because I enjoy it, to keep myself entertained, and to make a little extra money on the side. I say this because I was essentially just going to say “Reinas fake” and let it go BUT someone advised me to have my case “air tight” if I was going to post this blog and convince anyone I’m right. Therefore, from this point forward there are a lot of links. You don’t have to click them all. If you think I’m an honest person, you don’t have to click any of them. However, they’re there for reference if you need them – and they’re not all work safe. Do you.

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Recently “Reina” posted a blog claiming she was in a reggaeton music video called Sueltate with a group called EL DUO DEL CONTROL. Like a few people around the web I was suspicious about Reina’s existence, because as far as I could tell no one had actually seen or met her outside of the Internet – this includes me.

I performed a Google search to verify who the models in the above video were and they are: Angela Serna, Stephany Ospina and last but not least a very familiar looking woman named VANESSA GUITERREZ. The real models are tagged in the in this video section on Facebook and in the tags section on YouTube.

You can Google Vanessa Guiterrez later if you want – but I’ll warn you now that the real Vanessa Guiterrez is a former model for adult sites lindapop.com and lazonamodelos.com. Through these websites and others you can purchase and download video and picture  packages of Vanessa Guiterrez. A few of you will recognize these screen shots: here and here (I wasn’t about to buy the videos or the pictures).

The real Vanessa Guiterrez is of Colombian decent and lives and works in Cali, Colombia. “Reina” claims to be Puerto Rican and Black and live in DC. Now of all the identities to steal why “Reina” chose this particular model I am not quite sure. Perhaps the real woman’s relative obscurity is what drove the real “Reina” to her. Who knows and who cares.

“Reina” has/had a Facebook. I have the link but I’m not sure if she was using her real name so I don’t want to put her ALL the way out there like that. However, some of you are her Facebook friend. We talked on the phone but like you I clearly have no real idea who “Reina” is but I do know none of you have ever met her in real life no matter how close you live together or how good of friends you thought you were.

There are those of you (read: Men blinded by pictures of a beautiful woman that you have probably invested quite some time trying to sleep with) who will not find the above evidence sufficient. In your pursuit of bliss, you would rather remain ignorant of the truth. That’s your choice to make; however, if you are one of those people I highly recommend you leave now and NOT visit the Facebook page of the real Vanessa Guiterrez by clicking here – because neither she or her modeling agency had any idea who or what a ReinaSong.com is/was and I am deftly afraid your feelings might be hurt by this revelation.

It’s my understanding “Reina” has been building this on-line persona for years and years going all the way back to the heydays of the now obsolete Myspace.com. I find it interesting no one bothered to look for this information beforehand despite the woman being a unicorn – plenty of pictures exist but it’s never been viewed in real life.

I don’t know. I only found out about “Reina” a few months ago myself. Although I hold her accountable, it seems that others are culpable in their complacency to let this obvious lie go on for so long. This is after all people, the Internet.

“Trust, but verify.” ~ Ronald Regan.

With all this said, I personally don’t hold a grudge with “Reina.” I just thought the truth should be out there. In the grand scheme of things, what does it really change? If you were friends before, will you stop now? Why? Some of you want to believe in her so badly that you’ll refuse to believe any and all evidence to the contrary.

Fake pictures or not, whoever “Reina” is she strikes me as an educated, intelligent and very well written woman judging from her various blogs. In fact, it saddens me she felt that in order to convey her message to a larger audience or any audience at all; she had to use a fake persona to do so. Sadder still, she might have been correct. Would her words alone have had as much merit if not cloaked by the beauty of the model’s photos she used? I must admit that I was intrigued by both the beauty and the intelligence. Unfortunately, this is an illusive combination to discover #inreallife.

Now if “Reina” has personal information on you, I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe you shouldn’t be so open on the Internet. If it’s any comfort, I don’t think she is looking to expose anyone but I could be wrong. Besides she’d clearly target me first, right?

I recognize that “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,” so clearly I wouldn’t have posted this blog if I didn’t know what I was doing. Unfortunately for you I can only cover my own ass, which for the record, is the only ass that matters to me. So “Reina,” I’m talking to you now because I know you’re going to read this blog.

You ran an impressive swindle on everyone that I must admit, I kind of admire. You had a great run. You got caught. It happens and that’s that. To this point I’ve limited this ‘exposure’ to just the Internet. However, if you want to take it beyond – which I don’t think you do – just know that I know how and where you obtained your most recent profile photos, the annual show where you got your most recent round of TwitPics and I know you have an affinity for lifting videos of Vanessa Guiterrez from Colombia’s Annual Car Audio Shows.

If I brought this information forward, I’m sure I have plenty I kept for myself behind the scenes. Not to mention many of the photos and videos you altered are copyrighted. We don’t have to be friends and we don’t have to be enemies – lets just call us even, ok? Cool.

Now as not to completely alienate my usual readers who don’t know what a ReinaSong is and don’t care, the remainder of the blog is for you.

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The Internet is quite the conundrum isn’t it? What is the accountability standard for the Internet? Is there one? Are we inclined or obligated to be as truthful on-line as we are off-line? Where does the line between reality and on-line stop and end? Is it blurred beyond recognition at this point?

In the past the Internet was a means of escape – not that it still isn’t. Nowadays it has metamorphed into an entity where people gain and lose employment, relationships and even marriages begin and end, and as demonstrated by the above example, secret identities are created and destroyed all because of the same source, the Internet.

So readers who made it this far, I ask you the following: What does the Internet mean to you? Do you hold yourself to the same standards, ideals, morals and ethics on-line as you do off-line? If not, how do you distinguish the difference between where the fake you ends and the real you begins?

Lastly, I cannot stop you from judging “ReinaSong” nor am I inclined to do so but before you do please take a minute for self reflection as you log in to comment with your made up screen name, covert profile picture with hoodies, sunglasses and hats concealing your face, wads of money you long ago spent or maybe never had – or like me you use a cartoon image to maintain whatever level of anonymity you deem appropriate on the Internet as you type away on a computer some advertiser got you to buy while wearing overpriced branded clothes some designer convinced you is stylish – take a long deep breath and fully assess how real you are really keeping it.

And then…comment away.

I remember the exact time and place a girl first called me ugly. It was High School summer break. I was at the pool with some friends and let me preface this next sentence with the following clause: I was at the peak of my assholeness.

A ferociously unattractive woman swam across the pool towards me as I sat in a lounge chair. As she got closer, I could see in her eyes this clearly wasn’t going to end well. I had hoped she would approach one of my less fortunate friends but she walked right up to me and asked my name. I told her. She then asked if I had a girlfriend. I said no. She then asked me for my number. I said no. She then asked me why not and I responded rather nonchalantly, “Because you’re ugly.”

I don’t know if it was because of how bluntly I stated it or because I had no reaction after saying it but she stood motionless for a few seconds. After collecting herself, she responded “No, mother [expletive], YOU ugly!” And that was the last time someone called me ugly to my face – until today.

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Recently I was at a bar when what I mistook for a cute white girl came within arms distance. I found out later she was Brazilian. For kicks and giggles you can use your own formulaic methodologies to determine how high one’s BAC has to be in order to mistake a Brazilian for a Caucasian.

As I wrote about here, I don’t even like the club anymore. For that reason I kept the conversation short and to the point. I asked if she had a man, she said no, I asked for her name, told her mine and then got the number.

But the next day I couldn’t remember what this girl looked like. All I knew is that I had a new number in my phone and I vaguely recalled obtaining it from some short-haired white girl. I called and she remembered I had on a “white shirt.” A fact I could not confirm, because I couldn’t remember what color shirt I had on or if I had a shirt on at all. I took her word for it.

We spoke briefly – but she managed to inform me that she was from Brazil. Anyone who knows me knows I like Latinas, so I was instantly intrigued. To ensure we accurately remembered what each other looked like we decided to exchange photos.

– PAUSE –

I’ve written before about traumatic events that have taken place in my past where I talk to what I think are fine women under the guise of dimmed lights and eyes blurred by Patron shots only to find out when I see them under the full UV spectrum of sunlight that they are nothing more than wildebeests in name brand clothing. Therefore, I am in no position to judge the ‘lets exchange pictures because I have no idea what you look like even though I met you last night’ game.

– PLAY –

I’d just left the gym but considering we’d already met, I didn’t think anything of snapping a quick pic before I hopped in the shower. I never heard back (and never received a picture *angry face*) but I was sleepy and didn’t think much of it.

A couple days later I followed up to see if she planned on ever forwarding me one. She responded: Look, no offense but I was on that liquor the night I met you. You’re not my type. Please delete my number.

Folks, I was really planning to let it go at that. I swear I was! I respected and admired her honesty, but then my ego got the best of me. I mean I’m 27 years old – and I’ve only been called “ugly” once and that was by a girl I called ugly first.

As seconds became minutes and minutes became ….5 whole minutes my ego started to LOSE HIS DAMN MIND. He kept asking: “WTF was THAT suppose to mean? Is she saying without the influence of liquor she no longer finds us attractive!?! Is she somehow implying that we’re ugly? O, HELL NAH!”

At this point it became less about whether she found me attractive or unattractive and more about principle. I didn’t want to be casually dismissed based on a 3.2 megapixel pic I snapped haphazardly outside the gym, LOL.

I recommended she visit this very website. She might even be reading this very sentence. In any case, if after seeing me in a more appropriate setting she felt the same way, then I guess there’s a first time for everything – or in this case, a second.

Once I was finally able to get my ego in check I recognized the absurdity of my reaction. I mean who the hell do I think I am to assume I am EVERYBODY’s type? Especially since I’m superficial as hell my damn self. I’ve spent a lifetime dismissing women simply because they don’t rank high enough on my arbitrary superficial scale and the SECOND a woman does the same to me, I flip out?

PATHETIC.

Today for an entire five minutes I felt the tinge of insecurity most self conscious or unattractive people experience their whole lives and I couldn’t handle it. This made me wonder.

For someone who has ‘cocky’ tattooed across his stomach – which I got not because I consider myself cocky, or ever have, but because everyone else called me cocky – am I really? Is the majority of my so called self-esteem based on the appreciation and adulation I’ve received from others over the years? Have I taken these devilish good looks and southern charms and the tangible and intangible benefits they have afforded me for granted? Had I gone so long having my ass kissed that I forgot what it was like to have it kicked?

This was a very eye-opening albeit traumatizing experience. I learned a lot about myself today, which of course I’m sure I’ll promptly forget tomorrow – but still.

So folks, has this ever happened to you or have you ever had to deliver some devastating news like the message described above? Conversely, have you always been attractively challenged and what I’ve described is nothing more than the status quo for you? What’s that like?