Wednesday morning, I woke up rejuvinated and refreshed, thinking of the infinite possibilities a day like that could hold. Perhaps, I would volunteer at nursing home or maybe find a cure to end all world hunger. Or at the very least find a pair of plaid boardshorts that matched my light-blue Empyre jacket. After taking a shower and eating breakfast, I proceeded to do my hair.
For me, doing my hair, is like constructing a building. I lay out the foundation using pomade and putty. Then, to support the structure of the hair, I use a comination of wax, paste, glue, gel, volumizer and moouse. To get the look of really great second-day-dirty-bedhead hair, I then rub a towel over my head, pushing my hair foward. A spray of hairspray, and bada-bing, bada-boom! I am sportin' one stylishly cool, coifed, head of hair.
I was in the middle of gluin' and gelin' when I realized I didnt have a towel. The towel closet only had fancy guest towels, and thats when I noticed the rag on my brother Darrin's nightstand. I was on my way to lookin' hot, when my younger brother Collin saw me using the rag.
COLLIN: David!
ME: What?
COLLIN: That's Darrin's rag!
ME: So? He aint using it.
COLLIN: No! It's his rag!
ME: Ok. It's his. Who cares?
And that's when I saw beads of a white gooey substance in my hair. Apparently, it was a rag Darrin used nightly. I freaked. It just couldnt be. There was just no way I had a head full of jizz in my hair. But there it was. Taunting me, and making me angier by the second. I didnt have time to wash my hair and build it again, so as I rubbed my hair with a fancy guest towel, I pleaded with God, asking him to rid my head of spooge. And he did. For the most part. But there, at the top of my head, was a cowlick, like no other. I was already running late, and my hair was starting to set. So I did the next best thing. I cut a chunk of my cum-covered-hair.
My hair was ruined. A disaster beyond repair. And because I never liked the way I look in a hat, there was just no hiding to the fact that I my hair was deformed. But the funny thing is, no one really noticed the damage. Was I just overreacting to something not that big?
Later that day, I went to my dermatologist, to have a mole looked at. As it turns out, it was bordering in wart territory and so Dr. Brehnan zapped my face with freezing cold nitrogen. As I left his office, he told me that the mole would blister and that it would take ten days for to heal. Ten days. What could possibly make my doctor assume that I could look awful for 10 days? And then I realized, that maybe he saw my hair.
Devastated, with my jacked-up hair do and my face looking like Eric Stoltz in Mask, I decided my best option was to stay at home, and surround myself with orange cones and police tape. But I couldnt. I had a test in my Geo class, and so it was with a deformed look, I went to school.
I could feel everyone's eyes on me, and for all the bad reasons. I mean, being the center of attention is kinda cool, but when you look like you should come between the man with three nipples and the bearded lady at a circus freak show...not so great.
The weird thing about my abnormality was that it didnt seem to bother anyone, but me. What was even weirder was that it opened the bonds of communication to the other freaks and geeks in my classes. People who I never talked to before, started talking to me, acting as if we had been aquaintances for so many years. For a whole semester, these people ignored me, and I them, but now...it was different.
Was it that obvious that I looked like a wreck? And why was it that it took my hideous, Quasimodo-esque deformation for these people and I to talk? Is it because I was now one of them? It's weird. Before, it seemed as if there was an unwritten, mutual agreement that they keep to their own fantasy world and I to mine. But now, with my herpe-looking face and lawn mower hair cut, I feel as if the only reason they're talking to me is because I look...like...one of them...
For me, doing my hair, is like constructing a building. I lay out the foundation using pomade and putty. Then, to support the structure of the hair, I use a comination of wax, paste, glue, gel, volumizer and moouse. To get the look of really great second-day-dirty-bedhead hair, I then rub a towel over my head, pushing my hair foward. A spray of hairspray, and bada-bing, bada-boom! I am sportin' one stylishly cool, coifed, head of hair.
I was in the middle of gluin' and gelin' when I realized I didnt have a towel. The towel closet only had fancy guest towels, and thats when I noticed the rag on my brother Darrin's nightstand. I was on my way to lookin' hot, when my younger brother Collin saw me using the rag.
COLLIN: David!
ME: What?
COLLIN: That's Darrin's rag!
ME: So? He aint using it.
COLLIN: No! It's his rag!
ME: Ok. It's his. Who cares?
And that's when I saw beads of a white gooey substance in my hair. Apparently, it was a rag Darrin used nightly. I freaked. It just couldnt be. There was just no way I had a head full of jizz in my hair. But there it was. Taunting me, and making me angier by the second. I didnt have time to wash my hair and build it again, so as I rubbed my hair with a fancy guest towel, I pleaded with God, asking him to rid my head of spooge. And he did. For the most part. But there, at the top of my head, was a cowlick, like no other. I was already running late, and my hair was starting to set. So I did the next best thing. I cut a chunk of my cum-covered-hair.
My hair was ruined. A disaster beyond repair. And because I never liked the way I look in a hat, there was just no hiding to the fact that I my hair was deformed. But the funny thing is, no one really noticed the damage. Was I just overreacting to something not that big?
Later that day, I went to my dermatologist, to have a mole looked at. As it turns out, it was bordering in wart territory and so Dr. Brehnan zapped my face with freezing cold nitrogen. As I left his office, he told me that the mole would blister and that it would take ten days for to heal. Ten days. What could possibly make my doctor assume that I could look awful for 10 days? And then I realized, that maybe he saw my hair.
Devastated, with my jacked-up hair do and my face looking like Eric Stoltz in Mask, I decided my best option was to stay at home, and surround myself with orange cones and police tape. But I couldnt. I had a test in my Geo class, and so it was with a deformed look, I went to school.
I could feel everyone's eyes on me, and for all the bad reasons. I mean, being the center of attention is kinda cool, but when you look like you should come between the man with three nipples and the bearded lady at a circus freak show...not so great.
The weird thing about my abnormality was that it didnt seem to bother anyone, but me. What was even weirder was that it opened the bonds of communication to the other freaks and geeks in my classes. People who I never talked to before, started talking to me, acting as if we had been aquaintances for so many years. For a whole semester, these people ignored me, and I them, but now...it was different.
Was it that obvious that I looked like a wreck? And why was it that it took my hideous, Quasimodo-esque deformation for these people and I to talk? Is it because I was now one of them? It's weird. Before, it seemed as if there was an unwritten, mutual agreement that they keep to their own fantasy world and I to mine. But now, with my herpe-looking face and lawn mower hair cut, I feel as if the only reason they're talking to me is because I look...like...one of them...
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