Mating Practices

"Your ex-boyfriend did what? He broke up with you because you didn't have a butt?"

State: Illinois
Population: 12,831,970 (give or take) http://quickfacts.census.gov/qfd/states/17000.html
Capital: Springfield
State Bird: Cardinal
State Drink: Goose Island

The clock has flashed to 11:11PM; I sit in a foreign basement, tucked in snug by a pile of quilts, surrounded by an overabundance of stuffed animals and plastic trucks. As my purposeless inclusion of facts suggest, I am in the state of Illinois, more approximately a middle-class suburb of the Chicago area, shacked up in a house with Spanish style archways and Guitar Hero III. Today begins my two week journey across and through the states of Illinois and Wisconsin, where I will launch a path of self-discovery, to return focused and official, but if one were to account for all of the various variables at play in my life, the probability I will return with such attributes pinned to my personality is unlikely. Instead it is more probable I will approach the Colorado border with ambitions to find short-term work, a US map tucked into the front of my underwear, and a handful of darts. Permanence does not stick well to the tail of my ass.

The flight to Chicago was led by a blonde dominatrix poorly disguised as a Frontier flight attendant, the uniform procured through intimidation and lewd promises. In a deviant's display of sexual foreplay, I went to the toilet when the fasten seatbelt light was still lit, had my Ipod turned on during takeoff, my phone turned on during landing, and my backrest reclined, despite the knee nudges of the unfortunate fellow behind me. With each break of the airline rules her sexual aggressiveness increased, until I felt the crack of the whip against my seat. I casually glanced in her direction; and watched her rub her thighs together, and lick her lips while re-stocking the drink cart. This was more or less the theme of the plane ride, and as I exited the plane doors I wondered how many hours of role play it would take before she could satiate her sexual appetite wetted by one airline guest who refused to follow the rules.

Upon my entrance into Skokie I was greeted with a 12-pack of Leinenkugel and the
mating practices of birds. Not the literal mating of birds, but merely a musing of the
biological and behavioral ways in which male birds attract female birds, and more
specifically, how male birds are often more elaborate - and if I may -
"beautiful" in their physical appearance than the females. If I am correct in my
scientific thinking, then the discrepancy in outward appearance between sexes
should cross into other walks of life. One walk it does not take? – Homo sapiens. The
conversation of mating behaviors (besides conjuring images of the bedroom) struck a
strange chord on the piano of my thoughts, and I began to have a musing of my own,
a separate musing that I chose in the interest of discretion not to share with the
individuals huddled around me.

(Uh hum - clears throat) Men should be required (preferrably by law) to be more
physically appealing than women.

My closet thoughts were as follows: males of the species to which we belong –
and I hope that we can concur on the species – should exhibit the same enticing
external appearance that do other members of the animal kingdom, and because this
may not be possible on a biological level, they should instead be required to engage
in daily sessions of vanity in order to rise to the standard their biology failed to
meet. A metrosexual minus the pink. To quote my little sisters, "pink is a girl
color."

The females of our species will remain average; the burden of attractiveness
to be placed on the shoulders of the male. The fake tanning, acrylic nails, hair salon
fees, and financial demands of the woman's closet will now be signed over to the
male. The good samaritan that I am, I nominate myself to be the first female to
relinquish her high maintenance rituals used to attract a suitable mate, and don
sweatpants, hello kitty underwear, and a ripped Army surplus store jacket.

So long thirty minute prep times gentlemen.

FYI: I have sold out. In three days I plan to sell my blog and my body for fame.