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gay like that •
what's up?
So last week, or the week before, I looked into the mirror and realized I needed a hair cut. Sadly a hair cut was not in the budget. But I knew the scissors were at hand. In fact, in the drawer to the left. It was just too easy. I then made the fatal error. I self-cut.
Now realize, this is a serious situation in any case, but as a GAY MAN this was a major error. I am lucky that Cher didn’t swoop down out of the sky and beat me herself. But I was desperate! I had to look my best and a hair cut was NOT an option. So I picked up the scissors and got busy. Truth be told I was actually cuter than I had been for about 48 hours. It went downhill from there. Fast. In 4 days I looked bad. Haggard. Just bad. I see why self-styling is so risky.
So today I went in to my usual gal. We said hello, and she asked if I wanted anything different. I spilled the beans: “before we start, I have a confession.” “I know”, she replied with a smile. “You cut it yourself.”
OMG. She could tell by looking. It was embarrassing. I had made the fatal error. My gay card was at risk…
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anger management •
what's up?
I went up to the gayborhood to get my haircut again today. It had been a really long time since the last one. I was waay over due. It was disappointing though. My usual gal had jury duty. I almost left I found out. Everyone else there is so snooty. Especially for a Fantastic Sam’s. I don’t care what neighborhood you are in. But I looked in the mirror and resigned myself to stick it out. The guy from last time was there. He seems like he’d be a fun guy, but clearly he’s the snootiest one. I like him despite the fact that he makes it very plain that he doesn’t want to cut my hair. This time was worse than the last time. Today he took an obviously long time with the customer before me. Long pauses to talk, sitting, and then taking payment in slow motion. Bitch. When it was finally my turn he stated that he didn’t remember me from last time, and I’d have to tell him what I wanted. I never said he’d cut my hair before so he at least remembered that much! So I did my best to explain while being totally distracted by a new photo hanging in his station. It was of him. He looked just the same except for the part where in the photo he was in full drag. At first I thought it was cool that he put it up like that, but then I noticed how he was going about clippering my hair. He was slouched over, barely watching what he was doing as he disinterestedly rubbed the clippers over my head like a pencil erasure. The rest of the experience was about the same.
I have decided I hate him. It’s not a bad haircut. Not as good as my usual gal. But not bad. Still better than the other chop shops. Why must a haircut be such torture? I know it’s not challenging. I know I will never be a showcase of your work with my receding hairline. But can’t you at least be nice? It’s already traumatic enough to be wet-headed in public. I should just go back to salon cuts… but it’s so damn pricey.
There’s always self-styling.
Okay, forget I said that last part.
