It's Hard to Admit Things

For instance, it's hard for me to admit that, for the past two weeks, instead of working I should have been sending in my application for the Mullet Hall of Fame. I tried to cut this dead animal off of my head a couple of weeks ago, but my stylist couldn't fit me in. What's worse is that my hair has huge patches of platinum blond (trust me, it looks good when kept up), which have not been touched up in so long that I look like Shakira in her former "Whenever, Wherever" days.

I was so desperate in fact to secure an appointment with my hair stylist that last night I sent them a fax which said,

I'm feeling crappy because my hair is nappy. This is an emergency. I have a mullet and I'm not kidding. If you can't fit me in, my mullet and I are coming anyway. P.S. I'll bring the beer.

Thank the good Lord that I am getting rid of this nasty ass weed on top of my head this afternoon. I guess I could have gotten my hair taken care of sooner; however the following reasons are why I will continue to go to my stylist as long as I live in San Diego:

1. I can drink beer... in the chair while she's doing my hair... and while other customers are waiting or getting their hair done. Yep, that's right, I just there shooting the shit and drinking alcoholic beverages.

2. This beauty salon seriously needs a reality show. It's owned by two Latina sisters. Think of the movie "Barber Shop" and insert Mexicans in the place of Ice Cube and company. I've seen everything from scars from a breast augmentation (actually saw both of the ginormous tatas) to hearing about neighbors who try to milk visitors.

3. I can make fun of customers I do not know and the Latina's encourage it. They don't care if you have a trillion dollars to your name. If you walk into their shop, you're fair game.

4. There is always drama! It's like sitting in the middle of a train wreck. One of the Latina's was engaged to a 23 year old (she's 37). Oh man, she was in mad love. She was planning the wedding for Halloween of this year. Until that is, the 23 year old had to move back to Florida where his baby and baby's mama lived to try to get joint custody of his kid. Last I heard they don't know if he's coming back, but she still wears the ring.

5. They charge shit for their services. I can get my hair cut, colored and styled for $65 (not to mention the sheer entertainment that is associated with every visit). To top it off, they actually do an awesome job.

6. I can hang around people that are weirder than I am. I get my hair done, laugh my ass off, catch a buzz and leave with some moola in my pocket all the while feeling like my life ain't so bad.

I am so looking forward to finally getting rid of the bird's nest. I was contemplating cutting it myself, which would ultimately turn out disastrous.

On another note, this weekend Donny and I are going to watch the Yankees with two gay men, which in and of itself is not too exciting. Except for the fact that these guys are both about 6'2" and look like they could kick your ass and then have sex with it. They are a bi-racial gay couple and both are republicans. I think that makes them about 0.0000001% of the population. Anyway, (how can I say this and still sound politically correct?) the black dude and I are long lost soul sisters. That's P.C. right?