That's it...

I have some very specific things I'm a teensy bit OCD about. (Nothing major: Dishes, Cleaning, Taking shoes off before I enter my house, etc.) And there are little dumb things I get weird about too. As an homage to my general depth of character (Which, I'll have you know, is approximately 1 3/8th inches deep. It has been measured. For Measure.) I will inform you of what is now going down in the archives as the "P haircut StressFest"

In theatre, typically they want male actors to try and grow their hair out during the course of the run. The exceptions being when, you know, you're supposed to be bald- Or militant, or if the period setting calls for a shorter "quaffed" 'do. Mostly, it's an effect to make your head appear larger, so that you create a bigger image on the big ol' stage.

I have always kind of wanted flatter, straight hair. Having a big blonde 'fro as a child hasn't helped the cause, and the natural wave tends to take on a life of its own. This can be itinerantly frustrating when it starts to get to "That Length". When the wingers and flippers start making appearances, and no matter how liberally I apply "build-up" inducing hairspray/mousse/gel- It always outpowers the control agents and bursts free from it's shackles. Leaving me with some pretty unruly hair. Big. Not rakish, or billowy. More like Richard Marx circa 1989. Mushroomy.

So, it's cut time. I gotta get some of this shite under control before it threatens my entire way of life. I think I'm the only person in the world who treats getting a haircut as such a life-changing decision. You may say "Farg, P...just go get the shit cut if you want it cut!"

But no...I cling to the brief hope (for 3-4 months) that my hair will look like this. Which won't ever happen,(you know) since I'm not 6'2", mus-clely, devilishly handsome...or Wolverine. I have been known, however, to burst out into show tunes. That's right... Haircut. It's time.

It's not all glamour.