Shave and a haircut  


Today I went to get my hair cut. I don't like spending a lot of money on things I could technically do myself with a pair of scissors and a mirror, so I don't typically go to what you would call high end establishments.

You hear a lot of girls say they don't want to end up looking stupid, so they are willing to pay for the expertise. This is a good point, and well taken, but I think they have failed to consider that the money they spend on hair could very easily go toward comic books. Yes. I see you understand my point.

That said, everytime I walk into a supercuts or a style america I get the same feeling. I look around at all the generic styling products lining the wall, take in the two men getting the exact same half inch shave and wonder: have I stumbled into a barber shop? Do they even know how to cut a woman's hair here?

Then I get nervous and start looking around, trying to find any other female client in the building. If I don't see one, and this happens often, I contemplated striking a line through my name on the sign in sheet and booking it. But by that time, one of the stylists ( I use this term only because I can't think of a better one, they aren't, after all, barbers) has made eye contact and it is my turn.

At this point my palms are sweating. I have to explain the hair cut I want, dreading that blank expression that inevitably follows.

"You want layers? But you still want to wear a pony tail? This does not compute." I always expect them to over heat and explode at that point, and I would then be free to leave, but instead they pull out very sharp looking scissors and dig in.

This time was much more pleasant however. The woman who cut my hair knew exactly what I was talking about, she even told me the fancy hair dresser term for what I wanted done to my bangs: "angling."

So I am pretty satisfied. And all for under 15 bucks.

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Man Hunt  


Since I now have a child, albeit a fuzzy one, I am one step closer to my goal of having a set of characters to blog about like my hero Steve. (If you want to see a great example of character based blogging you should see the latest blog on the Sneeze, where Raisins and Lux go at it once again.

And Jarvis, I can tell already is going to provide great entertainment for us here at Blatant Exposition. For instance, the little evil genius has already learned what the sound of my alarm means. It means it is time to get excited, jump all over the place, and whenever possible, punch me in the face.

You did hear that right, my dog is a puncher, with his fists.

But the addition of a child in my life does highlight a deficiency as well. Jarvis needs a father. I don’t want him to be raised in a single parent household. He can’t grow up chasing all the girl dogs around but never marrying any of them. For one thing, he is neutered, those would be some unsatisfied girl dogs. So clearly, I need to set a good example for him.

To that end, I recently went on a blind date. My first in fact. We went on a hike. Hiking may have been an unwise choice since I am not what you would call… graceful. But there is this Sanatorium up in the mountains and I do have a bit of an abandoned building obsession so I was in, all in.

Unfortunately my date was not all in. He was cute, and relatively nice and really liked hiking, but had no desire to help me break into a dirty, dark, and disease ridded building that used to be filled with Tuberculous patiences.

I don’t have a lot of rules for the men I date. Well. Ok I do have a lot of rules for the men I date and one of them is this: if I am doing something stupid, either stop me or join me. Do not just watch me enter into a hole in the wall and creep around sneakily. It is just no fun.

So the search for Jarvis’s father continues. I’ll keep you updated…

Probably not actually.

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