The things I’m willing to do to my head

Cosmetology students love me.

Why is that, you ask?

Because I’m the fool who walks in, sits down, and says “I don’t really know what I want to do with my hair, so…just do whatever.” Blank check, table four. Cha-ching!

I popped by the Solano College cosmetology school last night for a haircut. Don’t worry, I actually have a friend who is going through the program there right now…I’m not just follicly suicidal. So I walk in, plop down in her chair, and declare loudly “I don’t care what you do. Just make it not look like shit anymore!”

Immediately we were swarmed by the advisors and other students, eager for a crack at my blank canvas of a head.

One lady actually suggested I put bright blonde streaks in my hair (little does she know, I was already planning on that). Another said I should go with shaved sides. And the slim gay man serving as the head advisor warned me that asking for too short of layers would result in Bad Things. He went off to find a hairstyle book from which Sara could work through my desired cut (we’d hashed out what was pissing me off about my hair and decided I really needed to snatch my cute layered style back from the jaws of the femmullet that was threatening to emerge). You can imagine my surprise when they returned after conferring, brandishing a book that was probably published in 1983. The fantastic 80’s do’s were spilling forth from the pages like an episode of Solid Gold. I offered to buy the cosmetology department new books. I was very much concerned.

I became even more concerned when, during the course of the evening, I learned that they are taught how to perform damn near every hairstyle. This includes mohawks. MOHAWKS, people. MOHAWKS. I don’t know where my brain thought that mohawks came from. I guess I just assumed that they were these like mythical hairstyles that fairies bestowed upon disgruntled teenagers while they slept. As a kid, I secretly wished that I could wear a mohawk…unfortunately my large head and concerned parents pretty much put the kibbosh on that.

Can you believe it took two and a half hours for me to get my hair cut? No. I’m dead fucking serious. It took 150 minutes from start to finish. You don’t even know what it’s like to converse with your hairdresser for 150 minutes. After a while you just pray for distractions so that you don’t have to have the “How’s your family?” discussion for the eighth time. Even though Sara is my friend, I felt a bit of concern over engaging her in convoluted conversations while she was snipping away at my locks. You can kinda understand, right?

So as it is right now, my hair is short and perky and I added highlights as soon as I got home. They came out darker than I intended, but really, I’m too damn old for porn-star highlights anyway, you know?

I’d take a pic to show you but I’m too lazy. So you’ll just have to wait until I come back from vacation and share those photos. I’m sure there will be at least one of me. Somewhere.

Those Wacky Spammers

Just when I thought they couldn’t top themselves…I received two spam in the same hour. Both contained incredible offers of giant cocks and low-rate mortgages, but their subject lines are what caught my attention and made me wish I had a cock to enlarge…

From: Spammer
Sent: Tue 7/12/2006 7:42 AM
To: Spamee
Subject: Crackers and cheese

From: Spammer
Sent: Tue 7/12/2006 7:55 AM
To: Spamee
Subject: jubilant gripping

I of course opened the first e-mail, believing I would be rewarded with a tasty snack. I thought “That’s the best type of spamming! Offer appetizers while performing their sales pitch!” You can imagine my disappointment when I realized they were just jerking me around.

I opened the second one because I really just needed to know what the hell “jubilant gripping” was. You can probably guess what my initial thoughts were on that one. Got me to pondering…does this mean you have a shit-eating grin the whole time? Or maybe you’re stroking in a celebratory fashion? With confetti and balloons even.

I bet jubilant gripping could actually be really dangerous if done improperly or too often, resulting in serious injury. Like throwing out your shoulder or something. Hm.