Monday, January 17, 2011
Like a weed whacker to the head
So. It's Saturday. Time for a haircut. I go down to the Barber Shop. A real one. The kind where there are NOT full-color hairstyle books for one to flip through. The kind with a big flatscreen showing the Duke game while Men discuss Important Stuff...
Unfortunately, the guy barber wasn't there. His wife was. She's cut my hair before and it hasn't been a problem. So she cuts and snips and hands me a mirror. "I could take a little more off if you'd like." It was close to where I wanted it, but still a tad long. "OK." Next thing you know, my hair is the shortest it has EVER BEEN. I was born with more hair than that. Wow. The sides aren't really any longer than my couple-days-worth of unshaven-faced-ness. The outrage!
I figger this is something that HAS to be shared, so I set up the camera. If you think that I look all pasty from the flash washing out all the color, you'd be wrong. That is really how I look. That is how everybody in western Oregon looks. It hasn't stopped raining for like 8437 straight days. It is like that stupid story I had to read in middle school. It is horrible. There's a mudslide warning on the radio. It has been so cloudy for so long that last month I got sunburn from my neighbor's Christmas lights. Make it sunny and gimme back my hair!
Photo 1 caption: In the ongoing war between the forehead and the hairline, the forehead is winning.
Alternate caption: Heyyyyyy, Joker!
Photo 2 caption: Wow, dude. Them's some screwy looking ears!
Alternate caption: You have 5 seconds to get off my lawn and I've already spent four seconds warning you!