Round-a-bout logic at it’s finest, plus, fun with math

Instead of achieving my life-long goal of throwing someone through a plate glass window, I opted for a  less terminatorial (made up word meaning “terminator-like”) activity today.

There are probably a few constants in your life; whether you are an AM or PM shower person, how tall you are, whether or not you are secksy (I am sexy, and I intentionally spelled that wrong), and where you get your hair cut.

I decided that I was going to go somewhere different to get my hair cut.  For the ladies that read this post; this might seem heretical, lest you forget that I don’t actually give a flipping turkey SANDwich what my hair looks like.

I totally don't care what my hair looks like. Really, I don't. I purposefully spend 1.5 hours messing it up with just the correct amount of product so that it's messed up ever so correctly so that people know I dont care that its messy. Messy.

My first stop was into a barbershop.  Not a barber shop like “Ice Cube” barbershop, but a barbershop with old white men.  First thing I hear upon walking in the door, “Have a seat, young man.”  The door was propped open.  Wood paneling filled the walls.  The decor was unchanged since roughly 1973.  My kind of place.

So far, so good.  I look into my wallet, $11 cold, hard cashe (pronounced cay-sh).  I look at the price list- $13 adults.  I start to panic a little.  Not like the panic you get in school when you know you are going to get in trouble for having murdered someone in the bathroom, but the kind of panic you get when a waitress asks you what you want to order when you are only 95% ready to order.  We might explore this concept further..

You are thinking to yourself: “Yes, this is good.  Great restaraunt, great date, and I’m thinking I know exactly what I want.  The blackened chicken with veggies just sounds right to me.  If I could only decide on “soup” or “salad”…. “

THEN, BAM!!! You are nearing the perfect order, in your head, and you are bombed with the question, “So, have you guys decided.”

Well, I am a man.  So of course I tell her that I have decided.  Yes, hunny, I knew what I wanted before I walked in.  (inside, you have gotten the dreaded diarrhea-panic sweats, and become shaky, and unsure of yourself)

And just like that, you fucking blew it.

Apologize for the digression.

So, if you remember, I panic about only having $11, worry that since it is barbershop they won’t accept credit cards (not rational thinking), and I actually pretend to answer my cell phone so that I can walk out.  And I get in my car, and leave.  Pussy.

I drive around, intending to find a Sport Clips, and instead find a Great Clips.

I don’t want this to deteriorate into an all out bashing of Great Clips, but I swear on the Good Lord and savior Buddha Christ, that place is depressing.

For those of you who don’t speak regular language, but only text-message abbreviation hogwash:

Too bright fluorescent light, reflecting off a sickening white tile create the perfect environment for “less than ideal looking people” to look less than ideal.  The conversation I had with the hairdresser/cutter lady was sub-par.  I typically like getting my hair cut by nice looking 18-24 year old girls.  If they try hard, I am appreciative.  This was just bad.

BUT, I am a positive person.  I am not writing this blog to bash people, but rather to improve myself and recognize my own deficiencies.  So, what can this uncaring, cold haircutter woman teach me about myself.

Probably, that people are always noticing the way you do things… You are always being evaluated, by everyone.  If you are giving a 8 dollar haircut, you are being judged.

Or, if you are seemingly just mowing your front lawn, and then using the leafblower to clean up the sidewalks, you might be being watched:

True Story

If, Haircutter lady= shitty at their job

and, Shitty at their job= Frank

Then, by the transitive property (maybe)…. Frank= Shitty Haircutter lady.