A Cut And A Spank, Please...

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So, I went and got my hair cut on Friday afternoon. Actually, I had a lot of them cut, not just one.

When I was growing up, my Father cut my hair down in the basement.


And I looked like fucking Dorothy Hamill for the first 17 years of my life.


That's fine if you're Dorothy Hamill, America's Olympic ice skating sweetheart back in the 70's.

Or that's even fine if you're A GIRL.

That's NOT fine if you're a 15 year old boy...or a 16 year old boy...OR A 17 YEAR OLD BOY.

Scars, no doubt, remain.

When I was 17, I began going to a stylist who made me look less like Dorothy Hamill and more like a pinhead.

Anything was better than the Dorothy-do that I had been sporting for so many years.

Well, after I arrived home from boot camp for the U.S. Coast Guard when I was 20, I once again allowed my Father to cut my hair. He could do military cuts that were certainly better than the gender bender I had known previously. And to be honest with you, the times spent with him while he'd cut my hair were priceless. It was some Father-son time that is already golden to me and would've been worth it even if he had just shaved my head everytime.

But, he didn't need to do that. He did a pretty good job once we broke free from The Dorothy.


See? Not terrible. I'm the one of the right. THE RIGHT, I said.

Haircut

And I was even known to give haircuts myself. Who needs clippers or scissors?

So anyway, since I live 2000 miles away from my Dad, I can no longer go to him for haircuts. Although, I wish I could.

Over the years, I've been going to barber shops. And up until recently, I went to Fernando's for quite a while in Santa Barbara. The price is only $14. Even though they always fucked my hair up, it was only 14 dollars to fuck it up. Which is better than $20 to mess it up. And I can't pay $50, I just can't. I CAN'T DO IT, I TELL YOU!!

But, after Friday, I might have to start.

I didn't think that it was awful. And usually, the difference between a bad haircut and a good one is about 3 days. Usually.

So, Teresa cuts my hair now over at Fantastic Sam's. She's terribly sweet and only charges $19. She barely speaks a word of English, so she may be saying really horrible things about me, but she seems truly nice. And as long as she's nice to my face, that's what I care about.

She's almost as wide as she is tall and has beautiful long curly hair that she practically trips on. She said in very broken English, that if she doesn't tie her hair up at night,


"I look like LION! RAAAHHH! DE ODDA NIGHT, I TIRRRED, GO TO BED AND FORRRGET. I WAKE UP AND LOOK IN MIRROR AND AIY, AIY, AIY, I LOOK LIKE LION!! RAAHHH!!"

She's so fricking cute I could just PINCH HER.

So, she cut my hair. Lots of them. And we talked and giggled and she was sweet.

And she didn't make my hair look like this,

or this,

or this,


which is good.

But, while I was sitting in the chair, I noticed that she's certified by Fantastic Sam's to do...waxings.

I wasn't thinking; upper lips and eyebrows.

You see, the older I get, I have stray hairs on my...damn it...on my, shoulders and back that I despise.

I hate them.

ALL OF THEM.

I usually take a razor to them, but they grow quickly. So, I've been thinking of doing some manscaping and waxing my shoulders and back.

Let me stress, that I DO NOT, look like this,


I don't. But, I'm particular and want a smooth back and shoulders without razor stubble...plus, those horrible little fuckers grow FAST. It's bullshit.

So, I inquired. Quietly. I said, "Teresa, you do waxings?"

She replied, "Jes."

I asked, "Could you do a waxing for me? Pour favor?"

And she replied kindly, "Jes."

And COVERTLY so the whole waiting area (which was FILLED) wouldn't hear me, I inquired about her waxing my shoulders and back. Well, she thought, "Jes", but she had to go check with her boss. And she'd meet me at the counter because we were finished and I needed to pay.

So...She met me up at the counter with her EXTREMELY LOUD boss. Who also speaks very broken English. The boss took on the personality of a bull in a china shop and for the hearing impaired informed me, "YOU HAVE REALLY HAIRY BACK?? WE NO DO BACKS!! WE NO DO REALLY HAIRY BACKS!! YOU GO NEXT DOOR TO SPA TO GET ALL DE HAIR FROM YOUR BACK PULLED OUT, OKAY?? OKAY. BYE-BYE! HAIRY BACKS NEXT DOOR."

I wanted to pinch Teresa, I wanted to pepper spray her boss.

Everyone in the waiting area (all women) stared at me not like I just had scabies, but like they had just tasted them as well. And I put my tail, that was just below my fur-laden back, between my ape-like legs and hobbled out the door, dragging my knuckles behind me.

When I arrived home from all of my errands and my haircut and my weekly humbling, I walked into Will's studio. I asked him how his day had been so far and then I asked him how he liked my haircut.

He replied, "Where'd you go? Fantastic Sam's again? I hate that place. They're nice, but their haircuts are hideous."

Thanks a lot.

That was Friday. And today is Tuesday. Did I say that the difference between a good haircut and a bad haircut is 3 days? I think I meant 9...or 90.

And the difference between pride and no pride? Well, Teresa may occasionally wake up looking like a lion, but suddenly, I feel as though I wake up looking like an ape. And I'd rather look like a lion.

A waxing or two might be in order, next door of course.