Ok. So, I for some reason have a tendency to make no claims as a fashionista. And I dont care who cuts my hair. If you get into the archives of my BS, you will find a tale of Angies hair brutality to me. Hair grows back, I figure.
My brother-in-law, the great Francois* (named changed to protect the moronic) is a gay, cross-dressing hairdresser. He used to cut my hair, and did it really well. It never looked, well, 'gay'. But his meth addiction and relative stooopidity got him axed from the home front. Now dont get me in a basket with bigotry, cause it makes no diffrence to me what floats your sexual boat. I am straight, and stooopid as well. But a bad haircut, it just ...for want of a better word, sucks.
This leads up to my encounter with Augusten Burroughs. See, he is a gay writer. He writes kinda half-creepy, half-funny, half-bitchy (thats alotta halfs, no?) But thats not the point. The point is I happened to be in Barnes & Nobles, looking for a CD by Alphonse Muzon, and flipped thru a book titled "Magical Thinking" an a short story on Tele Marketers which was hilarious. So I made a note to pick it up for a easy kine read.
Oops.
Let me restate that I could give a rats okole (ass) on anyones sex orientation; you aint hurting me or anyone else, who cares?
So I go back to Barnes& Nobles another day to pick up what I figure is a cool read.
With my new - awfully bad, awfully 'gay' friggin' haircut.
Remember, now, I have no idea that Author Burroughs is gay.
So I get the book, and (i guess) sashay to the check out counter.
Of course, the cashier is a overtly gay cashier.
Do you see this coming, or what?
Cuz I sure didnt. Matter of fact I never even put 2+2 together until 'bout and hour ago.
So B & N cashier is sooo friendly he is just yakking up a storm, and me, I am just trying to be like, civil and shit. But he is overly friendly, and making comments like -
"Oh my I just talk tooooooo much, dont I"???
And the like.
'course I am too numbnuts to figure this stuff out until I start reading the book, and ....
****DING****
Ah shit, man.
Wheres my damn kiddo, or Kaleo to back Gramps up?
Suddenly, I feel like scratching my 'nads.
Just another day in my ozone depleated life.
Aloha
(books OK, a bit too poor me bitchy for my taste, but funny as hell observant in spaces)
I am getting a flow-bee.
Aloha, once again.
3 comments:
Long live the flow-bee! Can you still order 'em from the back of TV Guide?
Augusten Burroughs cracks me up. David Sedaris, too. Both recommended to me by Chika. I was not hit on by a gay man at Borders, though. Poor me!
Mark, I am sitting here trying to imagine you sashaying…nope, can’t do it. Heh heh. But if you say you did, then I’ll have to take your word for it.
Funny stuff! I shot soda pop down my wind pipe laughing over the sashaying and yakking.
My best friend is a makeup and hair designer…he cut my hair once while suffering from a tooth ache, only he took a percocet to numb the pain and I ended up with a BI-level cut….one side was up to my ear the other side was down to my shoulder….ya, I looked great if I held my head crooked.
Oh the pain of a bad haircut. Heh, heh.
Still laughing.
And feeling up on my reading because I read Running with Scissors and Dry. Not Magical Thinking, however.
Is this your entry for Zilla's contest?
And where's the picture of the gay haircut? I just can't picture it.
Sorry about the gout, btw. For some reason, gout makes me think of pirates.
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