In Our Zoot Colored Zoot Suits

(I am warning you all now, the following contains some words in spanish. This is a language I have not fully mastered and nor does it seem to improve anytime soon. So before you read keep in mind that if my grammar is wrong, or if I said something that makes no sense whatsoever, I'm sorry. I did not mean to offend anyone.)

I got a suit yeah yeah.
I got a suit yeah yeah.
I got my suit.
Its the color blue.
With a purple shirt too.

I went to JC Penny today. My parents received an anonymous tip that suits were cheaper on Wednesdays at JC Penny. Suits. I have never been suit shopping. In fact, I especially hate shopping for clothes with my parents. It was middle school all over again. The constant following, the thoughtless suggestive chatter, 'Do you like this?' and 'Do you like that?'. I had to listen to them though because I don't know dip about suits.

Now I'm into fitted clothing, fitted tops, baggy bottoms. Just the way I was. I like to think of it as a cross between, Pharrel, Kanye, and Common. No y'all. I don't do the Arab extra tall tee look. And I'm not a sneaker fiend. (I am fond of Ice Creams, and I swear to god if Nina gets some before me I'ma freak! Straight freak!)

There I am with my father, "the King". I like to think of him as "the King" of formal fashion. When it comes to suits and fancy shoes the man fucking knows. He used to be a shoe salesman, a pizzeria cook, a supermarket manager, a tailor, (skip forward a decade) and now a construction worker (the man works hard, so I'm proud to call him "King"). We're looking at blazers. Stripes, no stripes, solid black, solid blue. He shows me what labels are best and what labels suck just by touching the fabric, doing some weird 'elasticity test', smelling the fabric, and crunching it with his hand. Then it happened.

The department suit salesmen came onto us (ironic, and you'll see why in a moment). He was a nice guy. Nice haircut, dark gray hair, overweight, and spoke very flambo' spanish. But yo he was cool. 'Te vez lindo!' he would say. 'Tienes el cuerpo perfecto para ese traje!' with a smile on his face. He'd giggle 'ay que bello!' when I tried on my suit. I finalized on a dark blue suit and a purple dress shirt to go under, with a purple tie selected by him.

So I came up with a conclusion. When you're suit shopping you gotta have a sense of humor. I knew my dad was uncomfortable on the inside but he was smiling the whole time. I watched him as the suit guy gave a reach around to measure my father's waist line (and yeah my immaturity thought, gaaaaaaaaay). My dad settled on a black suit with a matching (my mother's words not mine) champagne colored dress shirt with handsome canary and powder blue tie. 'El corbata se da vida al traje. Se ve elegante pero con vida!' After the whole thing my dad and I went home.

I'm glad my dad is no homophobe. He's pretty cool about things like that. He doesn't really care about the lifestyles of other people, and he doesn't hold any choices they made against them. However, if I ever got those dreads I always wanted, or showed my planned pierced nipples, THEN he'd open his mouth. He's the FIRST reason why I cut my hair, while JESSICA'S FATHER was the second reason. Funny how dads do that?

Oh yeah, and kudos to Mexico for beating Brazil tonight, 2-0. Brazil played hard but that Mexican Goalie just kept fucking them the fuck over! Mexico almost squeezed another goal at the last second. Darryl you BETTER represent!

(Maybe Mexicans ARE naturally good goalies.)

My current media is classic reggae (in the order left to right, top to bottom):
"Drop Him" and "Pirate" by The Ethiopians.
Also "As Long As You Love Me" and "Barrabas" by The Maytones.