Day 018 "Hairdebacler"
Just woke up from a three hour nap.
So I've pretty much ruined the rest of my year sleep wise. I should just accept the fact that I'm now a vampire, embrace my nocturnal future and start biting people in the neck. It's the only thing to do now. I slept too long!
If you know me, just let it happen until you get used to it. I promise not to bite too hard or take too much blood. In fact, I doubt I'll take any at all. Makes me nauseous. So this'll be a tough year for all of us.
These are tendencies I have to work hard to avoid. I've always been somewhat nocturnal. Being up late was always my preference. I used to rollerblade around town late at night like a lunatic. I don't know what it was. Something about being up late when everyone else was in bed that I was drawn too. Thankfully I had good parents or perhaps I would have chosen a future of crime instead of comedy. Though neither career is something I'd encourage.
It was a long day today. And as you know, if you read yesterday's entry, I was up pretty late writing. So I was a bit of a zombie.
My head got assaulted by a hairdresser. I could tell you about that I suppose. As I lay here, with my hood pulled over it to keep the wound covered.
Jeannette knew the woman and was getting her hair cut so I figured why not? I could use a trim. The mop is getting a tad out of control after all. Taking on a life of its own. Lately it's taken to dipping itself in vats of alcohol while I'm sleeping. - I have no idea what that means. I was just asleep. The blog is fusing to some dreams I was having I think. Can't be helped.
But as nice as the woman was, sadly, she suffered from the same affliction that all hairdressers seem to suffer from. Which is the inability to simply do what you want.
"Just a trim."
Such a simple request, repeated many times, until it was too late. Which would have been after the second or third cut. That's when Jeannette, who loves the chaos on my head said, "oh, too short!"
The rather flippant reply; "oh well then just let me add some length." She looked at me as of for support. Me! The one who's head she had just utterly attacked.
All I could say, given Jeannette's relationship with her, and my unwillingness to have the police called in, was "Well, I guess it'll grow back."
She said it was too long anyway. Hmmm, I'm no scientist but that seems like an opinion to me. An opinion from someone I don't know and who only met me just then.
What if I liked my hair? What if I was hoping to have it long for the second season should that ever actually get confirmed? What if I was trying to cover up a massive swelling or hole, or plate of some kind? Should these considerations not be taken into account by someone who is being paid to do a service?
I've had this issue with hairdressers my whole life. They ask what you want, you tell them, they nod - seemingly following you, but instead, I think, merely agreeing with the voice in their head telling them what you "should" look like - and then they cut away and ruin your next three months.
Oh everyone has been very complimentary, don't get me wrong. I'm surrounded by lovely people over here in Ottawa. Jeannette's family is great. And much better actors than me! For I have seen the 80's rock star cut atop my head. And "handsome" is not what comes to mind.
The only bit of harsh honesty came from her six year old niece. We were putting stickers on a McDonalds monkey today and when I put the mustache on his head to make a combover she said. "Ohhhh, it's weird. Like yours!"
Ahh the harsh but fair honesty of a child. Appreciated, but stinging nonetheless.
Look. I'm not a vain man. I don't really care all that much how it looks or I would have just gotten her to trim it up and put it back to the way I've always had it. Short.
But I miss the chaos! I like looking like a weirdo. My Einstein locks have been robbed from me! (Instead of physics I'm writing about aliens.. And it's not white yet, but still!!) I see why he wore it like that. It's fun to play with while you sit around thinking!
I bet Albert never went to a hairdresser. That was probably why it looked like that. He probably saw very early on what kind of a racket that was. In fact it's probably what inspired him to speak for the first time at the age of four. I bet his first words were "That's not a trim!" And then he ran home crying and locked himself in his room and thought about the universe.
So now that's my fate as well.
So be it. Perhaps the woman was trying to motivate me to work harder by making it impossible to go out in public without being mocked in the street.
Am I being over dramatic? Of course I am. Would anyone read this blog if I wasn't. No! So yes, I'm aware of this. But that doesn't mean I didn't see red for most of the morning.
I won't be getting it cut again for a good long time. I'll have Jeannette cut it next time, when I'm tripping over it on the way to the wood stove. Or maybe my mom. Or perhaps I'll just have Hubble bite some off every few months. He couldn't do a worse job than an actual hairdresser.
Have I just started a culture war? I hope so! It's high time me and the world of beauticians had it out. -mp