To the woman who can't walk in high heels

Hey.

You don’t know me, but I know you. In fact, I think I know you pretty well. In fact, we’re very close. So close in fact that I keep on stepping on you, repeatedly. Why, you ask? It’s because you can’t walk in high heels and you deserved to be stepped on.

To be honest, I don't know there the blame lies: your inability to walk in general, or the shoes on your feet. For the purpose of this letter, I'm going with a combination of both.

To start, I have to shoot the person who taught you how to walk. I always taught you place one foot in front of the other and repeat the motion in order to progress from point A to point B. You can’t even do that.

Come on, lady, shuffle or something. You do realize you’re slowing everyone down, right? Of course not. If you did, that would mean you’d actually care for the well-being of others. But, you don't, you selfish cow.

The second thing I want to mention are your shoes. I mean, why walk around in heels when you can’t actually walk in them? It’s bad enough you wobble like you weigh 500 pounds, teetering on stilts, but a stilted heifer can move faster than you.

Even though I am a man, I can probably do a better job walking in heels. In fact, I can probably strut in them, like Caroline Trentini galloping down a runway. And if I put a little effort into it, I can probably break out into a run. You know what that is, right? Running? Nah, you probably don’t since it involves actual motion.

For next time, make sure you’re wearing a pair of shoes you can walk in. If not, I’m going to re-enact the scene from Showgirls where Nomi pushes another hooker down the stairs, and you’re the hooker. And, don’t call my bluff. If I can do it to an 80-year-old woman, I can do it to you.

Best,
S.

Coming later

Even though I make a concerted effort to come on time, there are moments where everyone has shown up and I have yet to arrive. It happens. I can't help it. Sometimes it takes me a while to get things done. It's human nature.

At times, they're waiting for me - impatiently. And sensing their remote frustration with me, I don't even bother to come. Sometimes, I'd rather be doing something else, like watching TV.

There are several reasons why it happens: I'm tired, I'm stressed with work, I'm tired, I'm lost in thought, I'm tired, I'm not in the mood, and I'm tired.

Being someone who has a lot on his plate, it's hard when I can't do everything to everyone. I'm only one man. There's only so much energy I can expunge.

And, I'd rather come first and get it over and done with, having me wait for them, but I'd rather put their needs ahead of mine, even though they don't always appreciate the fact.

Grabbing my ass

Whenever I gain a little bit of weight, it goes to the same places: my cheeks, my legs, my stomach, and my ass. So, it should come to as no surprise to me that I have a fuller figure when I stuff my face with food and booze.

Ever since those pounds have made their way onto my slender frame, people have been grabbing my ass with greater regularity than before. It’s like there’s something to hold onto whereas before they were looking for it in an abyss of skin, muscle and fatty tissue.

I’ve never paid much attention to my ass because it lies behind me (ba rah BUM), and I touch it when it needs to be scratched and/or wiped. The only way I notice when it’s growing in size is if a pair of pants feels more snug than normal in the midsection.

It’s nice to get the occasional compliment when someone grabs my ass. The only downside is my stomach is also patted and rubbed like a Buddha. I mean, come on, I didn't gain that much weight.

Take a pretty picture

There are some people who are stunning in person and can't take a decent picture. And, then there are others who aren't making People's annual beautiful list but can take an amazing photograph.

Take for example, Garrett Neff - the new face and body of Calvin Klein's fragrance and underwear line. The man in the photos is a completely different one in person. Up close, he's awkward looking, with a smallish head, large forehead and nose. His body is rather thin and full of sharp angles.

When he's in front of the camera, it's a different story. Suddenly, he morphs into a godlike being, with a body resembling that of a Roman warrior. He's imposing and dominates the camera with his presence. When the shutter stops, the fantasy disappears and he's back to being just a skinny guy with a great head of hair.

Sometimes these effects are achieved by the use of good lighting, hair and make up and airbrushing. Sometimes, it's not. Sometimes it takes many frames to take a pretty picture, while other times it just takes a few.

And since I don't have any of the above mentionables, I know what my best angle is... and where to find the delete key on everyone's cameras. It's just easier that way.

Young and sexually restless

There is a greater emphasis on sexuality in the media, and it makes its way - very easily - into the lives of many kids in today’s society. There’s a lot of whoring around. True, there was a lot of that before, but it feels more prevalent now. It’s more visual. More obvious.

Years ago, it was like a little secret that few people knew about. Now, it’s as if they want everyone to know. But, they don’t understand that for every action, there is a reaction of greater consequence: Pregnancy rates are on the rise. STIs are running rampant. And, no one seems to care about the outcomes.

Are their libidos the ones to blame? Probably. But, they can't use the excuse they didn't learn anything in school, unless they've been living in a hole. And, if they were living in a hole, they'd probably fuck that, too.

I’m not saying kids should be locked up in a monastery or nunnery (they can still get some ass there if they tried), but maybe they should be taught that it’s not all fun and games. No one laughs when they’re waiting for the results of a test that’s not taken in a classroom.

Purge

There is nothing quite as liberating as purging. The elimination of something that is considered to be undesirable from one’s life can have a detoxifying effect.

So, for the past few months, I’ve been seeing what I use, what I don’t, what I want to keep, and what I want to chuck. Most of the time, the belongings have been mine. The other times, they were my parents (fortunately, they don’t know it, yet).

One of the joys is knowing your castoffs will make a difference in the life of another. The other joy is when you’re able to make a buck off of the crap you’re offloading.

Whether it’s Craigslist or Kijiji (eBay isn’t worth the time and effort for things that are only considered collector items in an ironic way), I’m selling off these things, bit by bit. And, now I have a lot more room and my place feels more spacious, almost loft-like.

And, with all of this extra cash on hand, I can buy more shit to fill up every nook and cranny in my place.

They didn't make 'em like that when I was their age

Both S and I are sitting in the same coffee shop we normally meet in. The sun is shining across the side windows and catches on our faces. We’re talking about everything and nothing at the same time. It takes us no time to start chatting about sex.

"I don’t know about you," I say to S, "but I don’t know what is up with the kids these days."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," he replies, not knowing where I'm going with the conversation.

"They didn’t look like that when I was their age. I don’t even look like that now." There’s a pause while I take a sip of my coffee. "And I don’t know if I’m just horny, or what, but these kids are hot."

"Uh huh. I know what you mean." S raises his eyebrows, mischievously.

It’s true. Back when I was in high school, the only thing I saw was a bunch of pimply-faced kids, with bad haircuts and even worse fashion choices. I won’t even go into the realm of body-types because almost everyone wore baggy clothing.

Nowadays, kids are using grooming products, getting their hair done (with highlights) and wearing clothes that fit. And, on top of that, they’re joining the gym and working out with regularity. That would’ve never happened when I was in high school.

Then again, it’s not like I’m an old man. I might not be able to pass for a kid from high school, but I can sure pass for a university freshman.

As if I don't even exist

Down the street, I see N walking towards me. He’s wearing his usual working uniform of dark on dark clothes and dark sunglasses even though it’s cloudy outside, on the verge of raining.

As he approaches me, I think he’ll stop and say something. We haven’t spoken in weeks and it’s not because I haven’t tried to get a hold of him. At first, I thought it was because of his schedule; his office is very busy right now. After two missed phone calls and no returned e-mail messages, I know something is wrong.

I smile, waiting for him to say something. He walks right past me, as if I don’t even exist. I turn around to make sure if it was really N. It is and was N. He just strolled past, pretending he didn’t pass me. And, it's cold. Ice cold.

It hurts. It hurts a lot. The pang of rejection from another makes me feel like I don’t even deserve to be acknowledged. I burn inside, not out of anger, but out of a mixture of emotions I can’t put my finger on.

Whatever happened to our past? Whatever happened to the times we spent together? They were good, if incredibly complicated. Still, complications shouldn’t be a deterrent to enjoy the company of another person. No one lives a simple life, and we can’t avoid it no matter how hard we try.

Still, it hurts.

Wearing pyjamas in Burger King

For lunch, my father, mother and myself are taking my older niece to Burger King for lunch. It's a treat for her since she loves french fries. The burgers, not so much. It's all about the fries. And ketchup.

When we're sitting at a table, munching away, my niece looks over at me - mouth full of food - and grabs onto my sweater.

"Uncle, you're wearing pyjamas!" she yells out. A couple of people turn around and look at our table.

"Shhh..." I say, grabbing onto her hand and releasing it from the sweater I'm wearing.

"Uncle! You're. Wearing. Pyjamas." She says it louder this time. I open my eyes wide, partly in shock, partly in embarassment.

"B, leave uncle alone." My mother leans across the table, pushes her down and stuffs a french fry in her mouth. "He's trying to eat."

"Where did she get that idea? That you're wearing pyjamas..." My father, who's sitting across from me, asks while looking at me.

"It's because it is," I look down and mouth the words between bites. "Well, technically, it's a sweater, but I wear it to sleep sometimes when I'm cold. It's cheaper than cranking up the heat every night."

Since my parents value creative thriftiness over insipid spending, the conversation ends with that sentence.

But, this is the last time I'm taking my niece to Burger King for lunch because it's easier than having to change clothes before leaving the house.

Well, I don't want to fuck you, either

Some people take physical leaps when hurling themselves off cliffs, as a way of experiencing a thrilling moment. Then, there are others who take mental leaps into presumptuousness that makes little sense.

C's Facebook status mentioned an upcoming trip to Toronto and wondered who would want to hang out. I send a message saying I'm around and am pretty free after work. What I get as a response is a little ridiculous.

A direct quote:

"Yeah it'd be cool to hang out but i know how toronto is and if you're just looking for a hook up you just prolly shouldn't even message me back. No offence.."

Hmmm... Interesting. Where/when did sex come into the equation? You don't want to have sex? Well, I don't want to fuck you, either.

I never knew meeting up and hooking up were the same thing. I meet up with a lot of my friends, but I don't have sex with them. It's called meeting, not fucking. And, the term hooking up never made much sense to me because it reminds me of throwing a coat on a curved piece of metal near a entranceway so it doesn't fall on the floor.

Some people are just presumptuous.

Out of my league

Even though I think I have a pretty good level of self esteem and a lack of body issues, there are times where I'm in a situation where I begin to reconsider those thoughts. This situation entails a moment where someone out of your league is interested in you. Not only are they smart and funny, but their beauty would make God weep and weak in the knees.

Because it's me, I start to ask questions in my head: Why are they interested in me? Are they making fun of me? Why aren't they talking to other people? Is this a part of some cruel, Mean Girls-like game? Do I look fat in this shirt? When I bought it, it looked good on me, but then I had some broccoli last night for dinner and it always makes me a little bloated...

But, then I take a step back and convince myself there must be something about me that initiated this attraction. Maybe I'm not so unattractive to garner an ounce of attention. Maybe it's the personality. Maybe it's the threads. Maybe it's the fact that I can make them hoarse by having them scream out my name after using them as my own personal rag doll.

It's not any of that. It can't be. My cynicism won't allow me to believe it. Deep down inside, I think they like me for some twisted, ulterior motive they have up their sleeves. Only when I can let go of that feeling, will I realize there is something that attracted them to me.

Hmmm... Maybe I don't have a good level of self-esteem when it comes to these matters.

Comment moderation: On

Being someone who believes in freedom of speech, I let people say what they want even if I don't agree with their points of view. That is the reason why I never put on comment moderation for Human Nature.

Until now.

A couple of weeks ago, I received a lovely (now edited for content) comment that I thought I'd share with my eight readers. Not only did it make me wince (meaning it made its point), but it made me feel ill; not only for myself since it was directed towards me, but to the hatred and discrimination that exists in society.

To prove my point...

Die you disgusting **** ****. I found your blog by accident thinking it would be about human nature.... but it's about a mentally ill **** whose life is a crime against nature. You **** **** **** **** ****... you make me sick, and billions of people around the world agree with me. I hope you get **** **** **** **** **** ****.

You're nothing but a **** **** **** ****. What's the matter? raised by a single mom and ended up with **** **** **** ****? you **** **** **** I hope someone **** **** **** **** **** **** **** ****.

Go to **** or **** **** you need restorative therapy to correct the damage that obviously occurred to you in childhood **** ****.

If an asteroid came to wipe out man and there was five days of this earth left... I'd **** **** **** **** ****.

You're a criime against nature... and a disgrace to your ancestors. Die.

Of course, this person was anonymous.

So, because of that lovely sentiment from an unknown person, I'm going to moderate my comments. Sadly. I thought people would've moved beyond such hatred and ignorance.