Good news! Yesterday I broke down, faced my fear, and got a haircut.
I was sitting at my desk trying to figure out if I should just trim it myself again or spend the fifteen dollars at Hair Cuttery. I figured it wouldn't be too bad to just get out the old electric razor and thin it out myself in the shower (Nicole still hasn't hung up her mirror, so I could have used that to see the back of my head). After thinking about the possibility that I was just lucky to not fuck it up the first time I cut it, I decided that I should really just have a professional do it, even if that professional worked at the Hair Cuttery.
After practicing what I was going to say ("Um...I want it short in the back and on the sides, but leave some length in the front? I have a big forehead that needs to be covered up. Can you do that? Would that look weird? Can you just not make me look like a Flock of Seagulls fan? I'll promise at least a two-dollar tip."), I walked to the place up the street from my house. I had a good feeling about it since it was just a little south of Boystown, and everyone knows that gay men know good hair.
Then I walked in and realized, after looking at some of the employees, that I was in a Hair Cuttery and there was no way that this would have a positive outcome.
Luckily, however, I had Drev to take care of my hair. Drev just loved my hair and he knew exactly what to do with it. After the inevitable awkward exchange over my hair ("Who cut your hair last?!" "Heh heh... uh... I don't really remember, I mean it's been such a long time..." "Well, this is a weird haircut."), things were okay and normal. Drev was very chatty and asked me many questions. He also said "fuck" a lot ("You live by the Panera? I love that fucking Panera!" "Ohmygod, I fucking hate all that Cubs shit."), and told me that he was about to get into a fight with his manager. If there’s one thing in my life I can’t get enough of it would be positive sass.