I've already picked my New Year's Resolution for 2007: I will never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever go to the Hair Cuttery again. Ever. Ever. Never. It won't fucking happen again. I swear. Ever. Never again.
Usually I go to the Hair Cuttery out of a combination of fear of and desperation for a haircut, and I'm usually 97% disappointed. And even though I walk out with sharp little hairs all over my neck (because those idiots NEVER TIE THE SMOCK ON TIGHT ENOUGH and ONE PAPER TOWEL is not going to seal up the space between my vulnerable neck and the smock and will ALWAYS ALLOW hair to get trapped in there) and a haircut that makes me look like this:...I always go back three to four months later after my hair has begun to grow horizontally. And two hours after paying fifteen stupid dollars, I hate myself.
Well, this time I came out looking like this:
Granted, my hair is not that red or spiked, and my nose isn't that big. But that's exactly the expression I will have on my face for the next month. It may finally begin to soften once the hair on the SIDES of my head grows in and matches the hair on top of my head.
To put it in another perspective, I'll tell you what I told Nicole: If I had blond hair, I'd look kind of like one of these delightful children:Alas, I have red hair, and the nickname that my high school friend Eileen (Oh, Eileen Grant: I hope you Google yourself some day and find that I still have the same head abnormality!) gave me: DQT. I'm tall and lanky with a big egg-head. I look like a walking Q-Tip. A dirty Q-Tip.
Seriously, this was the last time.
Not going to the Hair Cuttery again.
No, sir. Uh, uhn.
No way, Jose.