__2004-05-20 @ 4:05 p.m._______
Perhaps it was the fact that I came into the "salon," or "hairstylist place," and looked a little shaggy...ok, really fucking shaggy. But I don't remember coming in with a t-shirt that said "please cut my hair to the specifications of a mullet, thank you." But apparently, that's what the dumbass shit-for-brains thought it said. After she had finished butchering my hair, I was in such a daze that she actually conned me into buying another $35 in shampoo and conditioner to wax my newly formed neato mullet. I walk out of the place and find Jill in this stupid mall, and as soon as she sees me, she has that "hmmm, interesting" look on her face. "Do you think it looks ok?" I ask her. "Yeah, it looks...nice." At this point, I am simultaneously afraid to admit what had just happened and pretending that it looks really good. And for the next 45 minutes, I continue to remain in this alternate state of being (which is far from the reality most of us live in).
So I go over to this graduation party later on in the day, thinking that if anything maybe somene will either slip and say I have a mullet or say how much they like it and ease my tension. At the party, I'm drinking beers and eating chips, and enjoying the social environment. Occasionally, I go up to the bathroom at said party and relieve myself, and look at this ugly gag of hair behind my ears. "It doesn't look THAT bad...does it?"
This goes on for the next three hours or so until I finally start to realize who I look like- I have the same haircut as the bully in Junior High that use to pick fights with me for talking to his girlfriend. The same one who had the problem with laughing like a goat and spitting on the carpet of the junior high entry way. The same idiot who would grunt out cuss words and jerk his head back like a squirrel...and use a comb to "shade," the back of his hair. "What the hell," I'm thinking to myself, "must...cut...hair...now, my god!" So I finally have the professional indie-rock stylist do the deed of cutting the gag in the back of my head...that being Richard Shirk (god bless his soul).
While I do have short hair now, and no one will really be able to tell anything happened, I do have the jaggedness in the back of my head in place of the mullet. I paid that hag $14 to cut my hair and then had it fixed by a drunken shirk. What a catastrophe. Isn't there a Pavement song that would be mildly appropriate here?
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