Yesterday was my six-year blogging anniversary, frequently referred to as a bloggiversary. I've never understood why my bloggiversary is so popular in certain regions of Mexico, but it is. No doubt they were partying last night in Puebla like it was 1862.
I got home from the beach Sunday evening, but it feels like my brain is still on vacation. Until it returns, I figured I would regale you with the tale of what went down (that means what happened) with the great head-shaving experiment of 2009.
I was chatting online with the female portion of Kywana on "the day." By the way, do you realize that instant messaging, text messaging, and email now compose approximately 70% of all my communication? The rest of the breakdown is: phone (25%), face-to-face (4%), all other communications, including telepathy (1%).
Anyway, after discussing the topic for awhile, she posed this question: "So are you going to shave it yourself?"
That prompted the following response from me: "Well, that's the other thing. Would you wanna shave me?"
It's safe to say that is the first time in my life I have ever uttered those words to a girl. (Or anyone, for that matter.) But as luck would have it, she agreed. Turns out that while 'Wana is not a professional cosmetologist, she does have previous head-shaving experience. Also, her sister attended cosmetology school, so that has to count for something, right?
Wheels were in motion. I was about to put my head in her hands. The only thing that could stop it at that point was me totally freaking out, which let's be honest, was still a decent possibility.
I showed up armed with every set of clippers I owned--which amounted to three--my trusty Mach 3 razor, and shaving cream. On the drive over, I had a lot of time to think about things. Things like hair, life, Andre Agassi, and what the heck was I doing. I had decided I'd get her to shave it with the #1 guard, which is the shortest, see how I liked that, and then decide if I wanted to go all the way.
After giving me one last chance to back out, she began. There was a brief moment of panic at one point as the clippers died when she was only about halfway done. Apparently, when the instructions say to charge them for at least ten hours before the initial use, you can't just arbitrarily substitute 45 minutes for ten hours.
The shaving process itself wasn't too bad. There was no mirror nearby so the only clue I had about how things were progressing was the looks on the faces of Kywana Jr. and the male portion of Kywana. I would describe them as looks of sympathetic bewilderment. I remember the words "don't look down" being uttered at some point, no doubt as to keep me from freaking out at the sight of my manly locks showering the floor.
As suddenly as it began, it was over.
Then came the hardest part for me--going into the bathroom to look at myself in the mirror. I covered my eyes, separating my fingers slowly to reveal what the clippers hath wrought. And you know what?
It was HORRIBLE!!!!! Noooooooooooooo!! Why?!?!?! Why did I do this?!?!?!
I'm kidding. It wasn't that bad at all. The only question now was whether to stop there or go all the way. I took a pic and sent it to my inner circle. Reaction was swift and decisive. My sister replied, "Oh, you really do look like Steve-O. Yeah, I think you should stop there." My Mom proclaimed, "Well, you'll never get married now. I still had a little hope before." Clearly, everyone was in agreement: it was a complete success.
So now, for the first time in the history of the internet, I am able to present for your enjoyment a freshly shorn (and somewhat tanned) Bone:
OK, so it's not the full Dalhausser. I didn't go all the way. In the head-shaving arena, this is known as third base. And I'm thinking I might stay here awhile.
"Way down south of the border. Way down Mexico way. They're having a big celebration. It's on the fifth of May..."