This papito would get extremely upset whenever I would wear any shoe with something even remotely resembling a heel. “Why do you have to wear those shoes?”, he would ask. (As if it were the shoes.) To which I would reply, “Why do you have to be so short?”, which usually shut him up immediately.
Awwwwww, the little man. One of my personal favorites. As a group, they’re just so cute. Not to mention short and little. Hence the name.
Let me just start with saying that I’m a tall girl. Not freakishly tall, although the Dominicans I came into contact with while studying abroad in the DR might beg to differ, but tall nonetheless. 5”9’ ½ . So you would think that Itty Bitties might stick to women their own size, right? Wrong. NNNNNNOT!!! (this NNNNNOT! will be funny to you only if you saw the movie Borat and even then perhaps not that funny.)
Since there’s too many Mini’s of yester year to pick just one to represent for this category, I’ve decided to share a few favorites who barely hit 5 with you in subsequent posts. I just may retire the group in its entirety as potentials because of the things I have to do when dating one, like scouring the town for flats and the expense of a brand new shoe wardrobe. We’ll see.
The term “men” being a very questionable word and a generous one for many of these let me just refer to them as “people” I’ve encountered lately. I mean, honestly, WTF!!! Sometimes I wonder if they’re joking sometimes. I really they might be messing with me. But no, in all the sincerity and earnestness of a fat kid loving cake, they come forth with their pick up lines and comments. Check out the “Worst “Men”" category for more posts on this particular species of man and the particular forms he shows up in.
It is NOT easy for a girl in LA.
A girl in LA has some TOUGH competition from other girls when she goes out, at least in Hollywood. This isn’t the minor leagues. This is big-time.
A friend of mine, a cute black girl who in any other city in the country has no problem getting male attention, says that in LA she feels like “Biggie Smalls in a dress.” And I quote. It’s just that there’s SO much competition. These girls take it VERY seriously.
Another friend’s sister takes 3 hours to get ready. Three whole, entire hours. That really is a lot of time. The finished product is amazing, but 3 hours? That’s 160 minutes. Or 180, if I could actually multiply properly. That’s six episodes of The Office. That’s the combined time that I actually work during a day. Okay, a week. Let’s keep it real, Cherie, keep it real.
I was outside of a club the other night and these girls walked up looking like Playboy Bunnies. I even made a joke to my friend about how all the girls in LA dress like Playboy Bunnies and how hard it is these days to tell a club girl from a prostitute.
Turns out they really WERE Playboy Bunnies. The first person we see inside the club is Hugh Hefner surrounded by these little blonde girls. EIGHTY YEAR old Hugh Hefner, I might add. Grandpa Hugh. I personally think it’s all for show these days. Or maybe I just prefer to think that it is so I don’t have to visualize what goes on behind those closed doors. Not what you want to think about right before you go to sleep. Not the stuff that sweet dreams are made of.
But seriously, how is your average, everyday girl supposed to compete with actual Playboy bunnies? Not that I’m actually interested in competing with them per se. I personally have NO desire to get their prize, an 80 year old shriveled up D attached to a fake tanned capped teeth toupee wearing man. No thank you. That’s very kind of you, but I’ll pass. BUT, you can’t help but do a little comparison when these girls are right in front of your face. It’s only natural.
I guess that’s just a time when you have to pump yourself up. Everyone has that friend who’s a natural pumper-upper, right? “Cherie, your hair looks SO good.” “Where’d you get that top. It’s SO cute.” You just have to be that friend to yourself. Pump yourself up like there’s no tomorrow. And you’ll be just fine.
This is serious business. When I was waiting to get into a Hollywood club last week, I almost felt like a cultural anthropologist taking notes on a rare phenomenon. Someone should study this sh*t. Seriously.
Here’s what their dictation would sound like:
“It’s 11:15 at night, and the subjects are out in prime form. There’s small groups of underdressed freezing girls interspersed with men trying to talk to them. A big muscle-y man keeps yelling at everybody to “Get in line!”, but the subjects are ignoring him as if they don’t understand his language. They are continuing to congregate in no organized fashion whatsoever.
Everyone seems to be trying to get the attention of a man holding a list in the inside of a red rope. This list man must be higher up on the chain than the rest. Wonder what he’s done to deserve such status? And if you tried to take away that list, how hard do you think he would fight for it? Something tells me pretty hard. He seems to be like the “God” of the rest, choosing who gets in to Heaven & who does not. “You, get in there.” “Uh, you, yeahhhh, not so much.” The men are trying to bribe the “God” by slipping him money, which actually seems to be working for some of them. The faces of the masses are dead serious as they attempt to talk to the “God”. Apparently this moment could make or break their night.”
It’s really is a sight to see. Nothing else quite like it.
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