I hate getting my hair cut. I never know how to describe what I want, and that, combined with a tendency to go to places with the word “cuts” in the name of the business results in a different look each time. It’s usually passable, but it’s still a stressful thing. Sure, if I was to go to some fancy place where they serve you coffee while you’re waiting and if I went more often than once every six weeks (at which time my hair has deviated excessively from the original look), I might have a better time of it, but that would conflict with my overall lack of aesthetical sense. I went four years without a haircut once for these very reasons. It just grew, and once a year the ends would get trimmed off.
Today I did something about this.
That’s right.
I am now a barber.
Yep, I cut my own hair. And why not? Girls seem to be able to do this easily enough, and I’m big on equality! The people that usually cut my hair don’t generally have a university degree in physics, and how can you cut hair without a thorough grasp of physics, like I happen to have (on paper, anyway)? On a similar note, AngelA left about an hour before and wouldn’t be coming back for at least 24 hours, and that definitely called for a round of bachelor university. I even knew where the scissors were, and they were that kind with the curly bit of metal on one finger loop – barber scissors! Why, that’s like leaving a loaded gun around, as far as I’m concerned. I’m so not to blame here.
I tried cutting my own hair about six years ago, and it didn’t exactly go well. I figured it was time to give it another try, because if nothing else, well, I know a lot more HTML. That’s really all the rationalizing I need to do about something, folks. This time I didn’t try to use clippers, opting for the pure-scissors approach. I figured that this would take me longer, allowing my (obviously) confused brain time to take corrective action if things started going really bad. Also I didn’t have clippers.
I started with the top, because it’s usually encased in gel anyway, so I had a good chance of sculpting any bad mistakes out. I moved to the sides after that, but that was mostly because my head looked weird with the sides longer than the top. I knew I was in a bit of trouble, but it was mid afternoon and I hadn’t started drinking yet, so there was lots of time. The back of my head was a bit of a problem, because I couldn’t arrange mirrors in any combination to see it, but I really didn’t want to end up with a mullet, so I kind of went blindly at it. Later I used my digital camera and camcorder (works great with the mirror) to guide me through trouble spots.
The whole operation took about an hour and a half, which I think I could get down to an hour with a little more practice. It was tricky making the scissors do what I wanted while looking in a mirror, and I had to figure out how best to hold my hair for cutting. I got the hang of things after 45 minutes or so. I knew I was getting better when I stopped trying to think what I would tell the hairdresser when I went to get everything fixed.
Things looked good enough to chance going to work. Nobody said anything, which I take to be a victory, because our group likes to prey on the weak. It’s a team building thing, as long as you’re not on the weak team, which usually only has one person. I went shopping after that, and I must have looked different because someone asked me if I was a student, which could mean my new ‘do is very youthful, or that it’s really obvious that I cut my own hair to save up beer money. (For the record, I got the student discount).
The plan right now is to never see a barber again, but AngelA comes back tomorrow, so we’ll see…