I got a haircut today. It had been exactly 52 days since my previous haircut, which was pushing it. I was sort of experimenting, and seeing how long my hair can get while still being tamable via hair gel, and I’d say that 52 days is pretty impressive. But I didn’t want to push it any further (that’s what she said?)
I’ve already discussed my haircut-timing philosophies in the past. But for those who missed it, here are my very few — yet very important — rules.
- You never get a haircut in the week preceding a big event. You never know when the day’s going to come where your barber has an off-day, and if it’s that day, then you’re screwed. This big event that you’ve anticipating for months, well, now you’re going to look like shit for it. So that’s why you get your haircut at least 10 days prior. If you get a bad haircut, then that gives you plenty of time for it to grow in.
- Try to get your haircut as early in the week as possible. Not on a Sunday, of course. Sundays are devoted for football and relaxing. So Monday or Tuesday will work. The inevitable “I just got my hair cut so I feel self-conscious and uncomfortable” feeling will be there, but at least it gives you three or four days until Friday, so you’ve had a little time to get used to it.
And those are the rules. As I do not have a big event upcoming anytime in the near future, and it is a Monday, I decided to take the plunge and get my hair cut.
Well, the stars aligned, the light shined through and God himself must have been guiding those scissors, because I received a damn good haircut. I could have gone to prom directly after the haircut and felt great about it. Of course that would be really weird because I would be about seven years older than anyone else at the prom. But you know what I mean.
When I walked down the sidewalk back to my car, I felt like John Travolta in Grease. I had a nice little strut going, and I made eye contact with everyone I passed, basically saying to them, “Yeah, damn right I look good, bitch.” Of course, I didn’t actually pass anybody in the 10 second walk back to my car, but if I did, that’s what I would have thought.
It’s a great feeling when you receive a good haircut. Your ego inflates by an absurd amount. At this moment, I think I look so much better than I really do. I have a completely unwarranted sense of narcissism right now, and it’s awesome.
The best part about receiving a haircut is the disparity between how I would feel had I received a bad haircut.
I always expect the worst when I leave the barber shop. I expect to hate how I look, and to have to utter the words, “Yeah, my barber cut it a little different from what I wanted…” several times over the next couple days.
Basically, to sum up, this is how I perceive myself the day following a poor haircut:
That’s how hideous I think I look upon receiving a less-than-ideal cutting of the hair.
Conversely, like today, when I look in the mirror… this is what I see:
Tomorrow, I might go to work wearing a short leather jacket, a v-neck t-shirt, and carry around a comb so I could run it through my hair every 10 minutes just to play the part.
Do I really look like that? No. Of course not. I’m not that disillusioned. However, I do feel good about myself solely because of this favorable haircut, so who cares? Positive vibes are still positive vibes, no matter where they stem from.
Thank you guy who works at the barbershop I’ve been going to for the last six months whose name I still do not know, you’ve made me a happy boy.
Oh and by the way, if you’re reading this before 10 p.m., you should know that the Comedy Central Roast of Charlie Sheen is occurring tonight at 10 p.m. That should be pretty good and worth the watch. Of course, it conflicts with Monday Night Football, but, that’s why they invented DVRs.
Well, for that reason, and to make a shitload of money.
And if it’s after 10 p.m. when you read this, then don’t be alarmed because I’m sure it will replay eight times a day on Comedy Central for the next two weeks.
And if you don’t read my blog, and you’ll never see this message, well, screw you. I don’t need you.