I'm that bad.
To people who've known me in real life, this isn't news at all. Things have improved from my younger days, when I'd just let it grow until it got in my eyes, then head over to the Aunt's house for a fresh bowl cut. But it's still pretty bad.
I just don't know what to do with it. Do I spike it? Give it that messy look? How the hell do I get it to do those things anyways? My hair never seems to do what I want it to. If I want it up, it goes down. If I want it down, it goes up. It reminds me of when I couldn't control my erections in high school.
The funny thing is, I can clearly spot a guy who has nice hair, but when I'm trying to style it myself all my objectivity goes out the window and I can't tell the difference between Flock of Seagulls hair and something worthy of Tobey McGuire.
As a result I just leave the "fuzzball" most of the time. Unless a friend who can style hair is around. Then I make them do it. Of course this isn't a sustainable way to manage one's hair.
So what the hell should I do? Is there a class I can take? Does somebody want to mentor me?
In the meantime I took my usual cop-out. I took my hair, which I've been dutifully growing since Hallowe'en, and had the nice lady buzz it down to the height of an M&M. I've got that Ewan McGregor in Trainspotting look. Except it's not the eighties.
Anyways, I've won the battle for now. But the war isn't over until I'm bald or I can coif as well as the stereotypes say I should.
Image courtesy of Drawings Of Light - Paul.
Underwear is a strange thing. Tantalizing, yet functional. Tawdry, yet universal. For most of my life I've considered underwear in a very pragmatic way, as the last line of defense between my goodies and the outside world.
In fact, when Tavy and I moved in together, we famously merged our underwear collections into a single pool. A lot of people found this objectionable. But logically, between any exchange there is a wash cycle, and as his live-in boyfriend I was clearly comfortable with his wang, so why not?
Unfortunately this influx of briefs allowed me get lazy. Truth be told, shortly before I met Tavy I went to Wal-mart and stocked up on budget boxers. These were the last underwear I purchased for nearly three years. Sure they got a little beat up, but as long as they were keeping everything hidden I really didn't care.
My how things have changed.
Last summer I started to realize just how important nice underwear is in the Toronto scene. In Ottawa it wasn't nearly as big of a deal. But here, not only to people see more of your underwear (should you choose to remove your shirt), but they seem to place a lot more importance on it as well. Also, tight-fitting briefs are essential for successfully smuggling goodies into your venue of choice.
Now instead of underwear acting as a rarely-seen tool to keep the horse in the barn I look forward to throwing on a nice pair of underwear for a night on the town.
As a result, I've gone from spending nothing on underwear to spending most of my meager clothing budget on them. In fact, I haven't been able to find the cash to make a meaningful investment in my wardrobe since the summer. The shirt I wore for New Year's was in fact a cute little number I picked at Value Village. It went great with my thirty dollar undies:
$30 for underwear. This is a personal record for me. But I challenge you to look at them without smiling. The only way they could be better is if they had a target on the ass.
Besides, they serve an important purpose. When you think about it, underwear is a lot like the curtain in a theatre. It hides the good stuff until it's time for show to begin. If you saw a tattered curtain, wouldn't you wonder if it was worth staying through the second act?
