Ben’s haircut
[ 1 Comment ] Posted on 06.11.07 in animals, hair, pictures
Lately, my parents have been advocating giving the dog a haircut for the summer. I was originally very opposed to this, but gradually decided that it might be comfortable for Ben. I have since changed my mind again.
Before, Man’s Best Friend looked like this (nestled snugly in his chair with the cat):
Two trips to the vet and $80 later, however, my dog looks like a giant naked mole rat with an unusually hairy head:
When Hairy Met Sally
[ 1 Comment ] Posted on 07.25.04 in friends, hair
I’m looking for a female volunteer to shave (or wax) my lower back. I was going to have my good friends Sharf and Trizis do it, but my idealistically masculine family poo-pooed that idea. My pop stipulated that it wouldn’t be gay if I got a girl to do it.
That being said, any takers?
My Haircut
[ 2 Comments ] Posted on 06.17.04 in complaints, hair
I broke down last night and got a hair cut. All of them.
Back in the day, when my parents would tell the barber (or, to be politically correct, hairstylist) how to cut my hair, they’d demand a #2 buzz on the side and hair relatively short on the top.
But since this past school year, longer hair has sort of been my thing. So, I told the young lady cutting my hair exactly what I wanted.
“I have grown on the thought of long hair as it has grown on me, so I propose a hair cutting as long as can be without curling. You see, my hair curls at one constant length on each strand. This creates sort of a wave effect, you see. I would like you to find this point, we’ll call it the apex of curlation, and cut roughly 1.5 centimeters below it.”
The young lady looked at me. I looked at her. She had no clue what I was saying.
“Oh, and a #4 on the sides.”
That did it. She didn’t want to play my childish, though thoroughly entertaining games. She started clipping away in an effort to speedily move me out of the local Supercuts.
That’s when it all began.
It started as mere molecules of water nestled within its safe spray bottle. But then the problem built itself up.
She sprayed to the upper left of my head, attempting to wet my hair. And that she did, although a rogue droplet distanced itself from the others that were meant to dampen my follicles. Harmless at first, it crept down my cheek inch by agonizing inch, coming to rest in the middle of my left cheek. And there it stood like an indignant child refusing mother gravity’s demanding grasp. It was there to stay.
Normally, an immobile water droplet wouldn’t be so bad. But in this situation, nothing could save me. Having already irked the hairstylist, I dared not move my arms to my face. She may have cut them off. Then what?
Minute by minute passed, each second becoming longer with the anxiousness built up within. Just then I realized. The young lady was Asian!
“Chinese water torture,” I said to myself. “What a gruesome practice for Supercuts!”
After I surmised this, my hairstylist caught on to the fact that I knew. She had to get me out as soon as possible, before a ruckus came about. She told me I was done, and I paid and left. She must have thought she got off scot-free. Wrong she was, ladies and gentlemen.
Right here, right now, I am proclaiming to the masses on the World Wide Web – Supercuts endorses torture within their properties in these United States!
Let it be known.