Lies, Lies, Lies part deux

No electric boogaloo jokes here. Not this time. Unless, of course, you count this as a joke.

I don't.

I'm getting such a kick out of the comments to this post. So much so, that I'm reposting the link to an old attention-whoring vote I put up at some point on this blog (I am far too lazy to want to find it). The vote was to decide which of my various hairstyles was your favorite. As I recall, the newer, balder Dave was the popular favorite. Then again, as Sass said to me whenever she saw a picture of me with hair, "I wouldn't even know it was you." Strong, but true words.

Here's the link. I say vote again for the hairstyle you like best. Let me again, break down the approximate times of each picture:

#1- My 2nd favorite picture of my brother and I. I'm the big kid with a bowl cut holding the 3-day-old baby. Call this one the bowl cut years.

#2 through #5- High school and early college, the long-hair-metal-head years. Yes, friends and neighbors, that is me in fencing gear. Do not adjust your TV sets.

#6 through #9- the bob years lasted from about 1995 to 1997 or so. Picture #6 I believe was taken at Macalester College's Springfest.

#10- after growing my hair back out to the long-hear-metal-head style, I took a trip back to St. Paul for a weekend with friends. My best friend scheduled an appointment for me to get my haircut at some relatively fancy-schmancy place. I didn't know I was supposed to have an idea of what I wanted done. I sat down in the chair and asked for the David Duchovny-Noah Wylie look.

After some trepidation, I walked out with about 3 pounds less of hair, and for the first time in probably a decade or more, I could feel the wind on the back of my neck. It was weird. That's my cousin, by the way, who wasn't feeling well, curled up on me. She was so cute that day. "Uncle Dave, can I take a nap on you?"

Of course you can.

#11- the "fuck hair" years. This is what I look like now. Bald, beautiful, and without any plans to grow hair back out. I love being bald. Love. It.

My friend A wants to pay me $200 a day to grow my hair out for a week. I have flat out refused so far. In all honesty, I'm holding out for $250 a day. I'm also thinking it would be a neat fundraising idea- if people contribute $250 a day to my MS ride, I'll stop shaving until the cycle is broken.

But then again, I'm not that crazy, am I?

One last thing before I go for a bike ride, something Sass would want me to include in a post about my hair: the brief but fascinating journey which turned me into a bald man:

Back in the crazy days of 2002, I had just moved into my apartment with my friend and hetero life-mate, S. We had been living here for about 2 weeks, and I had been incredibly busy unpacking, going to school, and working. So much so that I hadn't had a haircut in weeks. And I needed one something fierce.

My romantic interest at the time, M had come into the city to go bowling with S, myself, and another friend. We got ripped, and I spent the entire time bitching about how long my hair was, and how pissed off I was that I still didn't have time to get a haircut. Finally, M, being as multi-talented and diverse as she was, offered to cut my hair.

After many, many frames of bowling and many, many rounds of drinks, we finally wound up back at my place. I marched into the bathroom and emerged with a clipper and a towel. "Let's do this."

I sat down, and M went to work. She cut and cut and cut and trimmed and trimmed and trimmed and worked rather well with hair. At least, I thought things were going swimmingly. I was wrong. She basically managed to cut my hair down to a 1-blade length. M was extremely nervous about what I would think of my new hair, seeing as she felt responsible. Honestly, she need not worry. The lesson to be learned here is never ask your girlfriend to cut your hair while you're both drunk.

This entire section of the story, by the way, has been traced by all who were there, bit-by-bit. None of us actively remembered this in the morning. We drank a lot.

In the morning, my alarm went off at 7, because I had to be to work at 8. M, needing to be home, and probably having the presence of mind to want to avoid my sober reaction to my new hair, and left already, so I woke up naked, bald, and with little hairs all over my pillow. I walked into the bathroom to brush my teeth and thought to myself "damn, that's one fine lookin' haircut your got there, motherfucker."

I haven't gone back since.