Short Cuts

got the worst haircut of my life on Sunday. since then people have either assumed that the draft has been reinstated and i'm off to boot camp where i can lose a little weight. "what do you have here? an 8 week program? that's perfect for me. i'm gonna be a lean, mean, fighting machine." or they assume that i've taken my love for fight club to dangerous new levels and i'm just waiting for tyler durden to smack the back of my head and tell me i'm a space monkey ready to be shot into space.

lyndsey from st. paul you may not want to read from here on out.

looking to kill time i popped into the ol' great clips on snelling and grand for a quick cut. after this atrocity i'm thinking of petitioning them to change their name to Poor to Very Poor Clips. i'm still spitballing ideas though. so lyndsey sits me down in her chair and starts chatting and cutting and chatting some more. about 30 minutes in i realize that at this pace i'll have my hair cut by august 12th. i'm conflicted because this will save me another haircut in august but - y'know - i'd like to do some other shit in the next month so maybe we should pick it up a bit.

35th minute - i resolve to give yes/no answers to her incessant questions in an effort to stop distracting her. lyndsey, undeterred, launches into a diatribe about the founder of juut salon who lives in burnsville. the conversation king has died, long live the monologue king.

42nd minute - i contemplate if one car garages are inherently sexist and if so, who are they sexizing? meanwhile lyndsey knicks my noggin with the razor again.

53rd minute - i realize "knicks my noggin" sounds vaguely like a slang term for something sexual, which regrettably it is not. lyndsey takes 35 excruciating seconds to snip an eighth of an inch off my forehead.

59th minute - i try not to scream. seriously. it's all i can do to not smack her hand and shave my head myself. my haircuts usually take about 15-20 minutes by the way.

67th minute - i make a call for the bullpen. as politely as possible i let lyndsey know that i need to go and that someone else needs to finish up. she takes it in stride. she's a sweet girl and i hate doing it to her but for the love of fuck i need to not look like some boseephus off the bus from mobile, alabammy even less.

79th minute - new girl wraps up the reclamation project. on the plus side i no longer have a gigantic hair divot on the top of my head. on the negative side my gourd looks like a dark brown tennis ball. a really fucking big one.

84th minute - lyndsey offers me a line of shampoos to combat my dry scalp problems. i think to myself that my scalp isn't that dry and realize she was probably just shaving off healthy skin. i pay and leave.

86th minute - i have a good cry in the car.

okay i didn't have a good cry or even a bad one. but it was fucking justified.

that evening - in a sign of solidarity my goatee demands to be shaved crazy short. the goat knows how to keep us all looking good and does his part. i comply.