my very first in 2006
i gave in and got it cut. of course, i choose to do this the day my normal, russian-mafia ex-con cutter is off, but i couldn't take it one more day. v. p. auntie mame kept referring to me as 'little boy,' that this shagginess has taken off fifteen years. 'you look like you're fourteen, dear. h. r. will soon be asking me why i hired a child laborer.' 'and at my salary, it's slave labor at that.'
but on she went over the past two weeks: 'oh little boy, i put some chocolate kisses in the bowl outside my office, if you're a good little boy, you may ask your manager if you may have one.' 'goodness gracious! thank you, miss [her first name, said in a gosh golly! high pitched voice.]' 'oh little boy, i saved the comics from the post, and if you're a good little boy, i'll interoffice them to you.' 'wow, thank you, miss [her first name!] that would be super duper!' and on it went. but the kicker was yesterday: on the treadmill at the gym, per usual, one in front of the windows, and i'm lip-syncing to kylie minogue (my disco sure must need me.) who walks by on the sidewalk across the street... v. p. auntie mame with v. p. tightasswhobannedmefromthemensroom. (that's a post in itself, kids.) she is in a conversation, all 6'1" of her, with the tightass who is, oh, 5'3". she is in mid-sentence, and catches me with her eye, stops the tightass and they both look up (my gym is on the third floor of a high rise.)
she waves, and the tightass give me the tightass thumbs-up sign. i wave, and wipe the sweat off my face. she makes a 'you can do it!' fist-in-the-air sign, i give tightass' thumbs-up back at them. then she starts blowing kisses to me, like she's just gotten the grammy, and i pretend to catch them. just then i realize that the guy to my right, my scary neighbor here in 10014, and some faaaaartoomuch perfume chick to my left are just looking at me and the situation unfolding. i have a window, they have mirrored columns and an iffy vantage of auntie mame and tightass. 'i work with them!' i scream, over kylie. she looks away, he just shoots me a look. i wave the v. p. brigade off, as if to shoo them, and she makes the little scissor gesture at her hair with her fore and middle fingers, followed by a 'don't forget' gesture. i tightass thumbs-up again and realize it's high time for a cut.
get there today, and the ex-con is off, like i said, so i get a guy who doesn't speak much english. 'i'm growing it out, so just clean it up a bit? do something? bald, anything.' 'que?' 'clean it up?' 'yes yes, i clean.' whistling all the way. now, i hate when people get cheap haircuts and you see the buzzer setting when you look at them. 'number two, i see.' but unless one splurges for the uber-frou-frou haircut that's all scissors and perrier, there isn't much of a middle ground... until i met ramiroquavez... dude trimmed my whole goddam head, every hair, with a straight razor and a comb. i look great. he got that i'm growing it out, got that i didn't want to look like a frat boy, and got that i didn't want that scissors-thing-with-the-teeth to thin out my hair. yes, it's longer, and i may still be the office little boy, but hot damn! i am all over the straight razor. (maybe i can get him to call it the 'gay' razor? just a thought.)
but on she went over the past two weeks: 'oh little boy, i put some chocolate kisses in the bowl outside my office, if you're a good little boy, you may ask your manager if you may have one.' 'goodness gracious! thank you, miss [her first name, said in a gosh golly! high pitched voice.]' 'oh little boy, i saved the comics from the post, and if you're a good little boy, i'll interoffice them to you.' 'wow, thank you, miss [her first name!] that would be super duper!' and on it went. but the kicker was yesterday: on the treadmill at the gym, per usual, one in front of the windows, and i'm lip-syncing to kylie minogue (my disco sure must need me.) who walks by on the sidewalk across the street... v. p. auntie mame with v. p. tightasswhobannedmefromthemensroom. (that's a post in itself, kids.) she is in a conversation, all 6'1" of her, with the tightass who is, oh, 5'3". she is in mid-sentence, and catches me with her eye, stops the tightass and they both look up (my gym is on the third floor of a high rise.)
she waves, and the tightass give me the tightass thumbs-up sign. i wave, and wipe the sweat off my face. she makes a 'you can do it!' fist-in-the-air sign, i give tightass' thumbs-up back at them. then she starts blowing kisses to me, like she's just gotten the grammy, and i pretend to catch them. just then i realize that the guy to my right, my scary neighbor here in 10014, and some faaaaartoomuch perfume chick to my left are just looking at me and the situation unfolding. i have a window, they have mirrored columns and an iffy vantage of auntie mame and tightass. 'i work with them!' i scream, over kylie. she looks away, he just shoots me a look. i wave the v. p. brigade off, as if to shoo them, and she makes the little scissor gesture at her hair with her fore and middle fingers, followed by a 'don't forget' gesture. i tightass thumbs-up again and realize it's high time for a cut.
get there today, and the ex-con is off, like i said, so i get a guy who doesn't speak much english. 'i'm growing it out, so just clean it up a bit? do something? bald, anything.' 'que?' 'clean it up?' 'yes yes, i clean.' whistling all the way. now, i hate when people get cheap haircuts and you see the buzzer setting when you look at them. 'number two, i see.' but unless one splurges for the uber-frou-frou haircut that's all scissors and perrier, there isn't much of a middle ground... until i met ramiroquavez... dude trimmed my whole goddam head, every hair, with a straight razor and a comb. i look great. he got that i'm growing it out, got that i didn't want to look like a frat boy, and got that i didn't want that scissors-thing-with-the-teeth to thin out my hair. yes, it's longer, and i may still be the office little boy, but hot damn! i am all over the straight razor. (maybe i can get him to call it the 'gay' razor? just a thought.)
posted by tom at 9:27 PM
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