A Big Hairy Ordeal

I am not one to brag.

OK, yes, on occasion, I brag, but I try not to make it a habit. On one such matter however I do have to give myself “props”…I have great hair. And since I am not the man with chiseled features or rock hard abs, I am going to go ahead and give myself permission to brag it out. My hair has a great natural coloring that is a mix between honey and maple, great shape and bounce that seems to glisten on demand, and it is outrageously soft, and thrives in the presence of hairspray..but since I was getting to the point that I could French braid it I had to get it cut, and now my hair won’t even talk to me…it is PISSED. This 30 year old trendy girl at Floyd’s in Hermosa, who shall remain nameless, for I am about to shame her, “did not pick up on the fact that I was gay”. That’s a direct quote, and should have been my first sign to stick the scissors in her leg and run out with my Rapunzel hair still intact. I believe in the bible some where it says “A gay man’s hair is his crown and glory…” or something along those lines, she obviously isn’t a Bible reader or else she would not have committed this mortal sin. This bitch cut the shit out of my hair, we are talking like, 3.5+ inches off. My hair is so pissed off at me that it is has decided to go on vacation to recuperate, so I am left to deal with the aftershock of this terrorist attack on my scalp.

I hyperventilated.

I am not this person. I am not the person with bad hair. I am supposed to be a gleaming beacon of hope for all the frizzy headed fuckers who only wish they could have this natural bounce and shine. I am supposed to be the person people call for advice when they over condition. I am supposed to be the Messiah of Hair Maintenance!

I have hit a low. After indulging in the Apple Pies from McDonald's (please stop judging me, I am in mourning), I did the unspeakable…I started wearing a baseball cap, BACKWARDS. I KNOW.I don’t even put product in it anymore! What’s the point?! I am a fraud. I washed up has been who used to be at the top of his game, and is now indulging in high caloric foods from fast food chains and wearing frat boy accessories. Just call me Delta Burke and put me out of my misery.

I used to be such a critic. I would call out the boys who highlighted their close to black hair with bleach, I would throw rocks at the ones who thought that frosted tips were ever in style, I would laugh at Jerry curls and rat tails, and I would berate anyone who voluntarily put their hair through the process of perming. Now, I am no better than any of them. I am a failure.

I used to talk to my hair, every morning. That is my secret, like people say you should talk to your plants to keep them alive, if you talk to your hair, it will respect you. It will be thankful that you are showing it the extra attention, and will work with you (rather than against you) to achieve the optimum “WOW” factor. I used to preach from the Gospel of Good Hair, that you are responsible for your bad hair days, you can keep them from happening if you respect the hair on you head, it will respect you. But now, since I disrespected my beautiful mane, and cut it all off, it is refusing to work with me, I am talking fly away central.

Ughskies, is there a Saint that you can pray to for your hair? Can we make one? Or does this count me as a martyr of my people for sporting such a wretched hair cut, that I automatically become the saint? I like the sound of that.

Please pray for me in these horrible times..

Amen.

Loving you All.
Saint William-Patron Saint of Hair & Hair Maintenance.