Icon. Showstoppah. Main Eventah.

So….I’m tempted to let that say it all, but I won’t because currently thanks to the hairdresser not listening to me multiple times I now look like Trent Reznor circa 1999. Which is especially sad because I made that joke when I first walked out of the salon and then one of my friends just happened to have a Rolling Stone from ‘99 with him on the cover and it’s true. Although Bat will be extra pleased with this….I am not.

So I go down to Shirlington to the big fancier salon they have there. I tell them I am donating to locks of love and I get a bunch of “awwws” and three hairdressers trying to talk me out of it because I have the best hair they’ve ever seen on a guy. I tell them ten inches which would put it just at my shoulders when my hair is wet. Dry my hair is curly that it goes above my pecs. Sopping wet or straight it touches the tip of my six pack. I have donated every year or so since returning to the States. I know this process.

So we mark off 10 inches with a pony tail holder and I say “just right below the poytail holder so it comes to the shoulders” once again.

Well….it didn’t work out that way.

SNIP SNIP SNIP.

“Wow, that’s ummm…much shorter than I asked for. That’s the bottom of my Jaw”

Oh. Now it’s uneven. I need to even it out for you.

“No Really. It actually looks okay. I can salvage…

SNIP

“What are you doing? You just cut another inch and a half off!”

Now I have to do the other side so it is even

“Well yes. NOW YOU DO, DON’T YOU?”

Worst off, they still made me pay for this travesty. The other hairdresses were really unhappy with her not listening to me repeatedly and this black chick got in her face because she loved my hair. The one alternative type hairdresser (there’s one everywhere isn’t there?) made the first Reznor quip of the day and I’ve been hearing them since (Although my friend Chris made that observation back in 11 of ‘03).

It’s okay. It’s salvagable. My hair grows about an inch a month, so it will be the length I wanted her to cut it to by oh…MY BIRTHDAY.

I know I should be okay with this as my hair grows back really quickly and even now I still have more hair than all of my male relatives and spouses of my female relatives combined AND that some little girl is going to have one of the best wigs ever made because I have hair that rocks. But I just can’t help feeling like I look like I should be listening to Bright Eyes or some other craptastic Emo-Indy fusion and wearing awful clothes that we made fun of people for wearing in the late 60’s and 70’s but have somehow become hip due to a misuse of the word irony.

So yeah. I don’t even have enough to put in a ponytail and I suppose on my date tomorrow afternoon I’ll be fucking like an animal. I looked about ten years younger than I really am with my long hair but now? Holy shit I’m “Dave Foley in Newsradio” young looking. I’m “I can’t let you go see this movie without a parent or guardian” young.

It was for little girls with cancer. It was for little girls with cancer. It was for little girls with cancer.

This entry was posted on Friday, June 27th, 2008 at 10:14 am and is filed under my life is weirder than yours. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.