Side Piece Rules of Engagement

I was reading Single Black Male today (singleblackmale.net; a good read) and it made me think of an argument I saw not too long ago.  There were two young women and one man that looked like he’d much rather be somewhere else.  From what I could gather, one woman was the girlfriend, the other the side piece, and they were fighting over who got the right to call him their man.

I couldn’t help but think that he broke one or more of the side piece rules somewhere.   Did he make her feel too special?  Did he pour out his heart to her? I don’t know.  But he did something wrong.

But that made me think more.  If you apply the Six Sigma philosophy of the “5 Whys” (ask why 5 times and you usually get to the root cause), you get to the foundation of the matter.  If so many guys are following the side piece rules, why do so many guys get caught?

I know I addressed how to manage a side piece in one of my earlier posts (“Something On The Side”), but maybe I gave you guys too much credit.  I assumed you knew how to get a side piece the right way in the first place.

(Note: again, I do not advocate having a side piece.  If you have a monogamous relationship, stay true to it.  But if you’re going to cheat, dammit, do it right.)

If you don’t get a side piece the right way, you are setting yourself up for failure.  Just like the House of Quality (for some reason, I’m on my Six Sigma today) if you don’t have a solid foundation, the house will collapse.

So I’m going to give you 3 rules that help form the “Side Piece Rules of Engagement.”  They will guide you into getting a side piece the right way.  After that, proper management of the side piece should be a snap. As the late Biggie Smalls said,

I been in this game for year, it made me a animal

It’s rules to this sh*t, I wrote me a manual

A step-by-step booklet for you to get

Your game on track, not your wig pushed back

1 . The Rule of Opposites

Fellas, if you are going to have a side piece, you have to be willing to explore the spectrum of women out there.  Yes, you may have to go outside of your normal comfort zone or race to find a safe side piece.  You are not looking for a soul mate (that’s some bullsh*t anyway) or someone to call your lady; you already have your main girl for that.

Your side piece must be the opposite of your main girl.  If your lady is a diva that needs to get her hair and nails done every week, get a cute ass tomboy that likes sports. If your lady is an ebony soul sista, you should be looking for Pamela Anderson.

(Another note: Pamela Anderson is a fine white woman.  I’d tag that and write an article about it in Essence for all of you to read).

The reason is they are less likely to have the same interests or the same circle of friends.  Just like in math, you want to decrease the probability that Circle A will intersect with Circle B.  You might have to listen to some groups like Nickleback (actually, they’re not that bad) and go to the movies to see some stupid sh*t like Saw VI, but you probably won’t run into your girlfriend while you’re out either.

2.  “Something To Lose” Rule

Whenever possible, get a side piece that has something to lose to.  That means she is in a long-term relationship of her own or is married.  She will be less likely to catch feelings or grab your cell phone and call wifey.  Plus, she already has a man, so she is looking for something on the side herself that doesn’t have commitments.  That’s a win-win.

3.  30 Minute Rule

This rule is very important, probably the most important of any of the side piece rules. If you meet a side piece, no matter how fine she is, no matter how big her ass is, she must live at least 30 minutes away from home base. Minimum.  No one said having a side piece was going to be convenient, but again, the goal is not to get caught.  You don’t want to be out with wifey and bump into the side piece at the supermarket.

In my post “The Mission”, Greenbacker commented that he flew about 2 hours to meet an old side piece.  That’s planning for your ass right there!

You will have to take the side piece out for drinks, to a movie, etc., so you need to be smart about it.  Unless you live in rural America, there is plenty to do by your house, so you and your main lady probably stay local unless you’re planning something special.  In most cases, you probably don’t go more than 30 minutes from home base, especially if you live in or near a big city.  So local isn’t an option for having a side piece.

Another advantage is that the side piece isn’t likely drive 30 minutes from her house to make a surprise trip.  She’s likely to call first to make sure you’ll be there, so you can have your alibi ready.

Again, I don’t condone cheating, but if you have ever had an experience like ol’ boy in the argument, you’re f*ckin’ it up for everybody.  Keep these rules in your wallet and refer to them often if you’re going to have a side piece.

Feel free to comment.

“All Around The World, Same Song”

I’m writing this to you from Canada, so I guess I should start with “Aye”.  Business trip.  The traveling isn’t anything new, but I haven’t been to Canada in a while, it was nice to go back.  I’m in Mississauga, about 20 minutes or so  outside of Toronto.

It’s nice “north of the border”  and they say it’s different from life in the States.

I caught a cab from the airport to my hotel from my Indian cabbie.  I understood about every third or fourth word but he was nice.  We talked about my trip, how long I’d be staying, and recommendations for a few good restaurants to try.  I reach my hotel to find a crew of Asian deskclerks, which because the hotel was new, were only too happy to help me, almost harassing.

As I check in, the Hispanic looking woman from housekeeping confirms to the deskclerk that my room is cleaned and ready.  Thanks.  I hate a dirty room.

My co-workers took a later flight, so I had some time to myself.  I decided to take a walk to the convenience store a few blocks away to get a few items.

The Korean store owners smiled nicely as I walked around the store for my spray starch, bottled water, and bubble gum.  I decided to bypass the skin magazines and the bootlegged DVDs and CDs.  Gotta pay with cash, card not accepted.  As I make my way towards the exit, I notice the store owners seem a little more at ease.

I walked by a small stand where an African gentleman was selling sunglasses.  They looked like some cheap knockoffs, but you can’t knock him for trying.  The warm greeting “Nice eh’, my friend” doesn’t phase me.  I keep it moving.

About a block up, I approach a few of the “block boys” dressed in baggy jeans, Timberlands and hoodies.  No words were exchanged between us; just a “whats’ up” head nod as I passed by.  Keep a sharp eye out…just in case.

It’s a little cold and rainy today, so I dipped into Starbucks to grab a small coffee.  Old, white lady, you don’t have to grip your purse as  I walk by.  I just want a coffee.  Can’t believe I’m getting this overpriced bullsh*t, but it’s cold.

Time to head back to the hotel.  I’m passing by a Popeye’s and peer through the large glass widows.  There’s a little bit of every type in there.   I guess everyone loves greasy fried food.

I’m almost at the hotel.  As I pass the office building next to my hotel, I notice it’s empty, except for a few mannequins in the lobby.  I ask the kind young lady behind the desk about it and she tells me the business that used to be there closed down because they couldn’t get any business.  About 200 people out of work.

I guess things aren’t so different over here after all.  All around the world,  same song…

Feel free to comment.

The Sins Of The Father

I have an interesting story to tell.

This past weekend, I took my son to Great Adventure for Fright Fest.  The park is decked out for Halloween and the staff get dressed like ghouls and goblins and tries to scare the living daylights out of you.

We got on the Superman ride with these two young white kids.  They couldn’t have been older than 13.  They said “hi” as the carriage the four of us were in lifted us into the air and took off.

As we dipped, turned and twisted through the air (I hate rollercoasters), I heard a very loud and unnerving noise…

“JIGGABOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO”

I turned to my right and the young white teenager next to me was screaming at the top of his lungs, lips puckered up…

“JIGGABOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO”

I was in disbelief.  My son and I were sitting right next to him and he’s saying this.  This young punk.  I figured the best course of action was to grit my teeth and get through the ride.

(If you haven’t figured it out, yes, I’m African-American.  My son is African-American and Puerto-Rican.  I call him my “Bor-Negro.”)

As the ride slowed down towards the end, I turned to Eminem’s stunt double and asked him, “Young man, why would you say that?”

“Say what….jiggaboo?”, he replied.

“Yes,” I continued.  “You know what that means??”

To quote a Talib Kweli lyric, “the question was rhetorical, the answer is horrible…”

“No, I don’t’ know what it means.  I just hear my dad say it a lot and I thought it was a cool sounding word.”

Now, I was no longer mad at the little boy.  I was mad at his father.  His father thought it acceptable to say those kind of words in front of his son.  If you’re ignorant enough to say that in front of him, at least be man enough to tell him what it means so your son doesn’t look like an ass in public.  Be man enough to let your son know that you don’t have the intelligence to judge a man by the “content of his character” and that you probably don’t’ have the “testicular fortitude” to say that to someone’s face.

I told the young man that was a horrible, offensive word.  He instantly apologized.  At that point, I honestly believed, and still believe that he wasn’t being hurtful.  He really didn’t know.

It just so happens when we exited the ride, his father was waiting for him outside.  My son and I waved goodbye as we saw his son ask, “Dad, what’s a jiggaboo?”  His father turned as pale as a ghost and caught my eye staring at him, waiting for the answer.

My moment was interrupted by my own sin.  My son looked up and asked me “Dad, what’s a jiggaboo?”

My sin was for a different reason.  My little boy was getting older (he’s 10) and I’ve tried to protect him, so I’d never really told him how cold people can be when it comes to race.  I can’t protect him forever, even though I’d like to.

I needed to man up.

I wasn’t going to let this ruin our night, and I knew that if I didn’t tell him, he’d be wondering about it the whole time we were there.  So I told him.

He stood there for a minute and thought.  And as I had to grab him by the arm and pull him back (“I’ll be right back, Dad.  I’ma go smack the chap off his lips”), I told him that if you spend all of your time fighting people like that, you’ll be fighting for the rest of your life.  If they put their hands on you, beat em’ like they owe you money, but don’t people like that get to you.

He smiled, gave me a hug, and we starting walking towards another ride.  I took a look back at the young white boy, and I started to feel sorry for him in a way.  The sins of  his father’s ignorance would be passed onto another generation.

And we wonder why things won’t get better.

What are your thoughts?  Feel free to comment.