By dotropolis on Sunday, February 2nd, 2014
There’s this blog I follow that posts nothing but women with curves. And it’s one particular woman that’s posted all the time with thick legs, big booty, and the smallest waist you’ll probably see. It’s odd because it’s the tiniest part of her body and I’m sure this is due to her wearing a corset, which she sells on Instagram. It’s nothing that bothers me either way but it is noticeable.
I won’t say who specifically, in case she happens to read this, but a woman that I’m close to came to me the other day and asked me to help her tie a corset around her torso. We attached the first of probably 20 hooks and she was struggling to breathe. She had to take deep breaths for every hook and it was painful to listen to since she doesn’t have a flat stomach. It bothered me, trying to squeeze this contraption around her. And if she was planning on wearing it all day or all week or all month, it’ll be torture. I wanted to say, “Whoever you’re doing this for, they don’t deserve you.” Instead we tried to attach this Jigsaw puzzle to her body for 15 minutes. But the most torture that we, men, put ourselves through for women is washing our ass. And sometimes we don’t even do that. For me specifically, in the past few years I dated a woman with an overbite, a woman with a very big nose, a barely chubby woman who thought she was obese, a skinny woman who thought she was fat, and I never considered any of these things a problem when I was with them. Honestly, I think we’re all missing the bigger picture when it comes to attracting the opposite sex. It’s not about appearance or weight or even personality. It’s about hygiene. And if you ever learn anything from reading my posts, I hope you learn to always wash your ass. No days off. Pretty please.
With sugar on top.
By dotropolis on Monday, January 27th, 2014
…and the bathtub.
I was at a mexican restaurant last month paying for my food at the register. It’s a small place with brick interior walls and tiny wooden tables. There’s only one cook, a man, and two waitresses, two women. All three of them rotate with working the register and they speak english just good enough for you to understand them. I gave one of the women my debit card, which has my full name on it including the “II” after my last name. She said, “Ohhh you’re a second? That’s so nice. Are you going to name your son the third?” “Yeah probably.” I laughed a little bit because she seemed like one of those people that love kids. I’m not one of those people. I like kids and kids love me but I don’t like the idea of having my own. Not yet.
Two of my male cousins are having babies. One is having twins, a boy and a girl, and the other is having a boy. The boy’s name will be Blake Daniel Sanders. Blake is expected to be born this week and I honestly won’t believe that he exists until I hold him for the first time. It’s the first baby in our family that I’ll consider my nephew because me and his father have been around each other so much. You know that cousin that you’re forced to take a bath with when you’re a baby? And some jackass ends up taking a picture of you two and showing them to you your whole life to remind you of it? Yeah, he’s that cousin. I’m low key more freaked out than anybody. I keep picturing that random call I’ll get while I’m work that the mother is in labor. The lobby where they make you wait and how much pain she’ll be in. Looking at him for the first time and experiencing his hand gripping one of my fingers. And how much he’ll probably look like my cousin in that picture of us in that bathtub. The older you get, the more you see your friends and family members around your age have babies and get married and secure better jobs and progress and grow and evolve. There are people that actually take steps back the older they get but you never notice them really. You want to keep up with the ones you consider successful. Or at least have something going on. So some days you’ll feel like you’re in a rut. Other days are little different.
You’ll just be happy to not have any children.
The Water Bottle…
By dotropolis on Tuesday, January 21st, 2014
…and the strangers.
Kaytranada performed in Chicago at The Mid, a medium sized club downtown, and I found a nice spot in the crowd where I could see him and enjoy my beer. It was close to the VIP section but close enough to the bar in case I needed a refill. Midway through the second song, a mentally handicapped man wearing blue jeans and a leather jacket walked up to me and shook my hand. Three white kids were standing a little to my left and I noticed them laughing. Almost cheering him on, I thought. I mouthed the words, “Are y’all together?” Because they were laughing as if this man was their friend. But as they got closer, I realized they were laughing at him. “Dude, that guy has been fucking with people since we got here! Dancing and grabbing on our clothes and shit.” The man wasn’t bothering me and I ain’t with laughing at handicapped people so I kinda eased my way away from them.
Soon after, an Israeli man, who looked around my age, stood next to me and said, “Hey man, who is this performing?” "It’s Kaytranada." We somehow started talking about neighborhoods in north Chicago and how expensive it is to live downtown. The conversation wasn’t long though because his whole point of talking to me was to sell me molly. But before I could even answer, an asian girl that was dancing by herself in front of us, spun around, leaped into the air, and landed on his foot. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! Your foot is important!” There’s a video on my phone of Kaytranada’s set and you can hear this whole exchange. How she’s apologetic but drunk. He’s nonchalant and flirtacious. She starts giggling and flirts back. That awkward moment when they run out of things to say for a quick second and they try to decide if they want to take things further. You can’t see them but the microphone recorded everything loud and clear. He switched his focus to her and left me alone. A few minutes later, as I’m trying to send this video to my friend, I noticed a girl with big, curly light brown hair stand next to me. She looked like a college freshman if I had to guess. Everybody that stood next to me that night said something. This girl didn’t. In fact, she waited for about 60 seconds and because I didn’t jump down her throat with pickup lines, she went into the crowd and found somebody to dance with. I finished my beers and left after he was done spinning but I made the mistake of not going to the bathroom first. Not even halfway home, I’m stomping on the floor of my car and bouncing my leg up and down uncontrollably. I’m also on the phone as I’m driving. My friend says, “Pull over and piss on the side of the road.” But I didn’t want to get harassed by police that night if they happened to drive by. “Do you have a water bottle? Use that.” So I pulled over on the expressway and found an empty water bottle in my backseat. I decided sometime last year that if I write a book, it wouldn’t be a memoir or a non-fiction novel. It would be a collection of short stories, similar to how I run this blog. If I ever write that book, I’ll explain what happened exactly. But anyway, there’s a quote floating around that says you don’t really know how intoxicated you are until you try to urinate.
I couldn’t agree more.