Just a Little Off the Top

Howdy there, all you high cheese maniacs. I can't tell you how good it feels to be back in action. Other than one bad hair day (which is challenging with hair as short as mine), I had a great weekend, and I hope that you had the same. If not, let the cheese soothe your soul and balm your painful hurts. You know who loves you right.

I need to get my hair cut, that's the problem. I am getting a little too wooly on top. The lid is overgrown. I need to call the greatest stylist in the universe, Margaret Perazzelli. She knows exactly how to cut my hair perfectly. Never a complaint. Never a problem.

You see, this is very important to the highest of cheeses. When the most incredible woman in the universe and I lived in Nashville, I found Jan. Jan knew exactly how I liked my hair cut. Every four weeks I got a hair cut from Jan. We had a deal--she would cut my hair and gush about her family ills and I would pay $20 and an hour's worth of therapy for the hair cut. But it was still worth it. Every four weeks for five years. I was a lifer. And then we moved...

Here in South Jersey, I didn't know who to go to. I asked around, but everyone just said, "I don't know...just use the coupon in the paper." I know...this is extremely suspect advice, but it does explain some of why most people in South Jersey have severe looking hair cuts. But, being the moron that I am, I went with it. I went to the local chain shop, Hair Cuttery (because the cheese always names names). The most incredible woman in the universe and I showed up that fateful day and sat in the waiting area. I begged her to let us leave, but she insisted that I needed a haircut (It did not help my case that in the pleading to let me leave, I was also seeking to fly to Nashville for a hair cut from Jan...perhaps a bit unreasonable).

Why was I so eager to leave, you may ask. I will tell you. The "stylist" (used in the most liberal sense) that was going to cut my hair was a stocky lesbian-looking woman with a permed mullet--or a permullet as they have been called (check out mullets galore for a laugh). You see I have standards that must be met before I trust the lid to someone, and this woman did not meet those standards.

Rule #134: Never agree to play anyone if they call the game table tennis, and not ping pong...you will be thrashed soundly. (This is of little consequence here, just giving the rule book context)

Rule #135: It is better to be seen wet than in a plastic poncho. (more context)

Rule #136: Only get your hair done by people who have good-looking hair.

That is not such a tough rule is it?

Well, I got my turn in her chair and I told her in detail what I wanted. "I would like it clipped short on the sides with a two-guard on the trimmer. I would like the top to be cut to about one inch in length. This field of hair should extend to about two inches above my ears and down about one inch below my crown. Square the back, don't taper."

I left with a bad looking marines mohawk. I had a three inch wide, crooked no less, strip of half inch buzz cut mohawk down the leftish side of my scalp. The rest of my hair was shorn with a one guard.

She asked me what I thought. I told her that she had "really badly messed-up my head." I plainly stated, "This is nothing like what I told you I wanted."

She replied with a bit of a snarl, "Sure it is, short here, long here."

I calmly replied, "No. That's not what I said. I said...(see above). Instead you did this, and it looks really bad."

She took offense, "Well, it looks fine, I do twenty of these a day."

To which I replied, "Then twenty people leave here mad and unhappy because you just made them look awfully stupid."

She offered to fix it, although I have no idea how you could fix it. I declined, I would take my now butchered head elsewhere. I missed Jan more than ever.

Well, the most wonderful woman in the world got her bad haircut (I think it was an empathy cut--she knew it was coming, but wouldn't make me get it, then back out on it herself), cried about it, laughed at mine, and we went home where I immediately shaved my head. I kept it shaved until I met Margaret. Margaret, and her entire family has good looking hair (I would like to have hair this good-looking). Turns out, Margaret is not only good, and not only really good, she is actually better than Jan. So now every four weeks, I am there getting it cut just the way I like it (and don't have to give free therapy either).

All that to say, my hair is long and needs to be cut. I need to call Margaret. Perhaps you should too, Taylor...perhaps.