Witz DOESN'T Pick: My Super UnSweet Asshole Haircut

Eff.
Eff.
Eff.

This is why I don't get my hair cut very often. This is why I have long hair. This is why the Jews are still struggling in this world.

Eff.
Eff.
Eff.

I got a haircut this morning. Nice lady. Good lookin' place. Expensive. So I go in and this lady gets all excited for my long curly hair and says she can cut curly hair and I showed her a picture and she said great and oh, she likes the picture haircut so much more than my hair now, blah blah blah. So she does the washing of the hair gig and then just rips into my definitely too long curls with her scissors. She's taking some off the top, taking some off the sides, really working it, but talking too. I'm making conversation, but know better than to let down my guard, so I'm watching in the mirror the whole time. She finally comes to a stopping point and I look and IT LOOKS GOOD! I'm baffled, but happy, and say "Good length, looks good, thanks!" and notice that she's inexplicably left the back of my hair in a mullet. Long in the back. I look like the photonegative of Patrick Swayze in Road House. So we keep going. She takes it up some, cuts some more off, and it still looks good. Great. Fantastic. She does the spin around with the mirror, the back looks good, we're good to roll. She takes the thinning shearers and thins out the top a bit, and everything still looks good. So we make our way over to the sink to re-wash my hair and get rid of all the excess. When I'm done, it looks crappy, but that's because it's wet. She restyles it a little, throws some gel in, and it once again looks like a good haircut. I pay. Tip. And leave.

Eff.
Eff.
Eff.

AS SOON AS I LEAVE THE STORE, I KNOW SOMETHING IS WRONG.

I get in the car and take a look in the mirror. Holy shit-- it's tiny. I am not a small dude, and my hair is tiny. Boxy. I try to mess with it like before, but it won't puff up, it won't spread out, and it looks like I'm rocking the Hair Club For Men-- and I can't tell if I'm a before or after picture.

I drive fast to get home and rush to my mirror. AWFUL! I take a shower, redo some stuff, try again-- AWFUL! MY HAIRCUT IS MISERABLE! I try on hats and look like I have cancer. My cowboy hat is the only hat with a speck of helpfulness and I'm not cool enough to wear cowboy hats in public. Plus, I did look a little like a cowboy with cancer which means EVERYONE will assume I smoked a lot of Marlboro's and got cancer from it-- serves me right.

Taking a closer inspection, I try to gage what's wrong. It's kinda long enough on top. The sides are suddenly lacking depth and very close to my head. SO I look like Lyle Lovett. One sideburn is higher than the other. And then there's the back. She took more off, but still left it long apparently in a way that I didn't notice in the shop. It's curling up like a wave and looks REALLY DUMB with the short hair on top and the sides. HOW COULD SHE MESS THAT UP?? How come nobody can just gimme a legit hair cut with even sideburns, clean cut in the back, and even all the way around? And did they have secret special mirrors that make everything look in proportion in the store? Cuz now I look like a fat guy on a little scooter so to speak, and I don't know what to do.

I decide my clothes aren't helping-- baggy isn't gonna make this look any bigger on my head. I change into some long shorts and a tight black t-shirt. OK-- looking better. I try on a hat again-- worse worse worse-- cancer and whatnot. Damn. Then I see my new reflective aviator glasses I bought over the weekend for five bucks. Worth a shot. I put them on and-- it's like putting on The Mask in the film The Mask. I suddenly look alright-- only, what is it, what is that I'm noticing? Oh-- I look like a GIANT ASSHOLE. BIG BIG D-Bag. I look like I should spin albums in clubs and be known as DJ Date Rape. Like if you came up and said, "Dude, you date raped Cynthia?" all accusingly, I'd say, "Phff-- at least I'm getting laid." THAT GUY.

But I don't think I have any alternatives. The only way I achieved this hair looking even remotely bearable was through a series of unpredictable, never-repeatable swooshes of my hand through my hair. If I touch it, it'll only get worse. Only, without the glasses, it still looks doofy and weird. SO I have to wear the glasses. And the black shirt (if I take it off, my hair will get effed up). I'm not even in good enough shape to WEAR this black t-shirt, so I guess I better get on that. And the surfer long, plaid shorts. That's my only versatility. Am I Asshole Surfer Guy or am I gonna be Asshole Jeans and Black T-Shirt 1970's guy? I'm pretty sure if I add any hair gel I'm going to have to get into Devo and Duran Duran, so that options out. Asshole is in.

And Asshole IS in. People love assholes, even if they don't admit it. Who were the popular kids in high school. Assholes. Politicians? Assholes. College sports stars? Assholes (except Greg Oden, who looks like he had a lot to deal with). So I'm going with it. I'm gonna try this out and hopefully it'll right itself by the time I go for a job interview or meet someone I want to like me. I'm gonna go hear Natalie Portman talk about Microfinance or something later today, and up until now, I didn't think I'd say anything to her afterwards. But ya know what? Now that I look like an asshole, maybe I have a shot. I look like Zach Braff with, you know, like, any testosterone in my system (fine-- I'm hairy, ok? There, I said it). And besides, until this sorts itself out, I'm introducing myself as Cecil Rose, my number one fan on tvfodder.com/survivor.

Whudafxup,
Witz