So yesterday I got a haircut. I don't like getting haircuts and really have a problem paying some lady $20 plus tip to run a clipper over my head for five minutes. It isn't because I'm cheap (yes, it probably is), but it is more the fact that I think that I could do it better myself and I really feel that every haircut looks like shit. I could pay for a good haircut, but giving some fruit $50 to style my hair sounds like about as much fun as ripping off a fingernail. Instead, I get the cheapest haircut from one of the national chains and trust that my hair follicals will regenerate at their usual warp-speed (suck on that those of you losing hair in your early 20s).
Unfortunately this haircut was so piss poor I couldn't even do that. I just asked to buzz the top with 5, the sides and back with a 3 while blending it a little. Instead, the lady insisted it would look better if I had the front longer to style. For some reason I hate being too upset about a cut with the ladies at the salon because I imagine that they go home at night to get beaten by their drunk husband, so I usually thank them and leave thinking I will like it better after I shower. I don't, but by then I have moved on.
I dealt with my shitty hair for about 24 hours, but after a run and workout got my hair all sweaty, I realized that my hairline was fucking lopsided. One side was about 1/2 an inch long in places, and very straggly, and the other side was about a 1/3 of an inch, all cropped short. My balding friends have said a receding hairline wasn't too bad because they could still hide it most of the time, but how the fuck do you hide a crooked hairline.
Well, I figured I'd bust out some scissors to even it out. I was doing good for a while, taking care to "measure twice and cut once," as my dad always instilled in me, but then my lack of patience got in the way. "I'll just use my new all-purpose beard trimmer, that should work." (It has four different heads and a number of attachments, including one perfect for Man-tenance.)
You can guess what happened next. Yep, everyone either knew, or was, the little kid who failed miserably to give themselves a haircut, and laughter at their expense taught us all not to do that. I should have learned this then, and that time in middle school when my sister convinced me I was growing a uni-brow and I shaved off half and eyebrow.
But some people don't learn, and while I tried to make sure I was over the toilet, so it could collect the hair and save me some cleaning time, I took out a big-ass chunk on the right side of my hairline. PIIIIIIIIIIIISSSSSSSSSSS.
I am due to begin working at a fairly upscale club in San Diego in about 48 hours. I could fix the crooked hairline with gel and hair wax, but not this. I really had two choices, admit failure completely and get another haircut, or try to level the front myself.
If anyone knows me (which you all do), I have a remarkable ability to put myself in dumb situations. I will almost assuredly spill food on myself at a meal. If I can get lost, I will. If I throw something, it will break something. I get myself into a ton of stupid situations, but doing so has allowed me to learn many skills necessary to alleviate my embarrassment. This served as another one of those, as I now have confirmed that I can cut my hair better than that bitch at SuperCuts.
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