So I Chopped It Off

Roberteaux

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That is: I got a haircut. :thumb:

I let the shit go for 12 years-- which has turned out to be sort of a lifelong pattern I've followed since I was about 11: let your hair grow for years on end, then either get sick of it and get it cut off-- or maybe you got it cut because you joined the army or a police department or some other job with grooming standards of some sort.

The first time I grew the mop, I let it go for about seven years. I was starting to get sick of it, because back in those days the shit grew really fast, and it got really long. When you trimmed it back, it grew faster than ever!

But at the same moment in time, I was about to graduate from high school and mom-- who nagged me about my hair literally every day for all those years-- was now begging me to cut it for the high school yearbook photo.

So, without mentioning that I was already sick of the shit myself, I acted all hesitantly deliberative, squirmed some, enjoyed the rarely-seen, pleading expression in her eyes... and decided to act as though I had acquiesced to her request, without mentioning that I was gonna cut it anyway.

Brownie points, man! :naughty:

Of course, karma will be karma-- and I paid dearly for that little blob of treacle I laid on poor mom. See, what she did was to muscle me into her car-- immediately, before I could go back on my word-- and to then whisk me off to my Aunt Lena, who was a hair stylist by trade.

I found Aunt Lena waiting in her boutique salon, scissors snapping impatiently. She lit up like a highway flare when her hippie-hating self saw that it was really gonna happen: she was finally going to chop all that hated hair off my skull. For her, it was a dream come true! :laugh2:

***************
Okay, now this was all when disco was getting bigger and bigger, and guys were running around wearing weird shit like cuffed, bell-bottom trousers with two-tone high-heeled saddle shoes. Polyester leisure suits.

Meanwhile, I was totally greaser. Think "early Ramones" and now you know how I usually dressed and what my look more or less consisted of. Combat boots, patched jeans, denim and leather. Dull colored cotton three-button shirts.

So, I figured that Aunt Lena would give me a super buzz cut-- probably a brush cut-- just to kill off the hated hair. I figured it was a look I could live with for a while. Make me look like a '50's greaser. Hell, I might even reestablish a vintage look!


***************
However, karma really is a bitch-- and what Aunt Lena had in mind was not exactly going to be complimentary to my accustomed appearance.

But I didn't know that. She also rotated me so the mirror was to my back when she got going. When she finally spun me back around to examine her butchery, I found that I now had this weird, poofy, stud-muffiny, semi-poodle looking hairdo going. I almost shit my pants! :laugh2:

"What the hell is this?" I asked her, shocked and appalled by my appearance. I thought she was just playing a nasty joke, by making me look like a wuss like that-- and that once she had her fun she'd give me the greaser treatment.

But no-- it was no joke. With an obvious tone of pride in her voice, Aunt Lena proclaimed, "Oh my God, look how handsome you are! You look just like Mac Davis!"

I was sitting there going, "Mac Davis? Who is Mac Davis?" for a moment until it clicked in: he was one of those guys who sang AM radio Top 40 pop-stuff like "Baby, Don't Get Hooked On Me", and had one of those TV variety shows, like Sonny and Cher and John Denver and Andy Williams...

...and now I looked like Mac Davis? I was aghast! :rofl:

I was almost angry, but WTF? You gonna go off on Aunt Lena, while also breaking poor mom's heart? So, I forced a fake smile and said, "Wow, Mac Davis!" And I didn't even roll my eyes. :laugh2:

***************
God, how my friends laughed! Most of 'em thought that my clutch must be slipping or something. :facepalm:

Even worse, mom started buying the kind of ghey-looking stuff that the disco guys favored, and tried to get me to dress in what she deemed to be a "stylish fashion".

None of it flew. But I did wear a regular suit coat and tie for my senior graduation photo, complete with my Mac Davis 'Do.

I laugh every time I see that photo. I was scowling so darkly that I'm surprised the camera lens didn't shatter or something.

But mom got what she wanted, anyway. And then, after I graduated and went to work as a union laborer, I went ahead and got the total buzz job, with the excuse that as a member of a concrete pouring crew, the hair would be difficult to maintain...

***************
So that's kind of the pattern: grow your hair for maybe a decade (and maybe more) and then suddenly buzz it, usually to the bone. And it always happened mainly because I was getting tired of taking care of all that hair.

***************
But no more: I have buzzed it off and will never allow it to become long again. I'm 64 years old, and the shit was starting to thin out anyway... and more, I operate a home-hobbyist machine shop and got back into welding, and just don't want all that hair hanging (for obvious reasons), but also don't feel like putting it up in a perky little bun or whatever.

So, I chopped it off. And I'm pretty sure I will *never* willingly let the shit get really long ever again.

Wow! So now I'm Clean Gene! :thumb:

***************
Instead of leaving all that hair around on the barbershop floor, I decided to tie it back really tightly and have the barber cut the pony tail off while it was all strapped together.

That way, I could donate it to an org down in West Palm that makes wigs for little kids with alopecia. When I first got in touch with them to find out how long the hair they wanted had to be (mine was only about 13" long) I spoke of kids with chemo and found that no: this org, which is called "Locks of Love", specializes in distributions for children with alopecia.

I never would have guessed that such a clinic would actually specialize to that degree, but there you have it: my hair will become part of a wig for some child who suffers from the same autoimmune disorder that David Ferrie and Jada Plnkette Smith suffer from.

I'm kind of happy about that, even though I seem to be suffering from some sudden, rather strange compulsion to find Chris Rock and slap the living shit out of him... :hmm:

Of course: here's the before and after views:

1.jpg





2.jpg


So, there you have it: I look almost like a normal, semi-responsible sort of person once again. :laugh2:

--R :laugh2:


 

smk506

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You might recall us talking about doing exactly this a few years back Rob. I took the plunge back then and haven’t looked back. I’ve saved a small fortune in shampoo alone!

Looks good dude!
 

edro

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I thought about finally getting my hair cut and do away with my pony tail....





But I seem to have lost my round Tuit... Oh well... After I retired from the college system, wife asked when I was gonna get a hair cut since I stopped getting them at retirement... "When I get a round Tuit."

I seem to have lost it...... It's here somewhere.... When I was a teen, at work one day Daddy went over to the machine shop on base at The Muther, and machined a round Tuit for me for some reason. Gave it to me and said 'Maybe this will come in handy some day, damnit....' ;)

It's here somewhere.... I'll look for it again one day when I get around to it....



:cool2:
 

redcoats1976

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That is: I got a haircut. :thumb:

I let the shit go for 12 years-- which has turned out to be sort of a lifelong pattern I've followed since I was about 11: let your hair grow for years on end, then either get sick of it and get it cut off-- or maybe you got it cut because you joined the army or a police department or some other job with grooming standards of some sort.

The first time I grew the mop, I let it go for about seven years. I was starting to get sick of it, because back in those days the shit grew really fast, and it got really long. When you trimmed it back, it grew faster than ever!

But at the same moment in time, I was about to graduate from high school and mom-- who nagged me about my hair literally every day for all those years-- was now begging me to cut it for the high school yearbook photo.

So, without mentioning that I was already sick of the shit myself, I acted all hesitantly deliberative, squirmed some, enjoyed the rarely-seen, pleading expression in her eyes... and decided to act as though I had acquiesced to her request, without mentioning that I was gonna cut it anyway.

Brownie points, man! :naughty:

Of course, karma will be karma-- and I paid dearly for that little blob of treacle I laid on poor mom. See, what she did was to muscle me into her car-- immediately, before I could go back on my word-- and to then whisk me off to my Aunt Lena, who was a hair stylist by trade.

I found Aunt Lena waiting in her boutique salon, scissors snapping impatiently. She lit up like a highway flare when her hippie-hating self saw that it was really gonna happen: she was finally going to chop all that hated hair off my skull. For her, it was a dream come true! :laugh2:

***************
Okay, now this was all when disco was getting bigger and bigger, and guys were running around wearing weird shit like cuffed, bell-bottom trousers with two-tone high-heeled saddle shoes. Polyester leisure suits.

Meanwhile, I was totally greaser. Think "early Ramones" and now you know how I usually dressed and what my look more or less consisted of. Combat boots, patched jeans, denim and leather. Dull colored cotton three-button shirts.

So, I figured that Aunt Lena would give me a super buzz cut-- probably a brush cut-- just to kill off the hated hair. I figured it was a look I could live with for a while. Make me look like a '50's greaser. Hell, I might even reestablish a vintage look!


***************
However, karma really is a bitch-- and what Aunt Lena had in mind was not exactly going to be complimentary to my accustomed appearance.

But I didn't know that. She also rotated me so the mirror was to my back when she got going. When she finally spun me back around to examine her butchery, I found that I now had this weird, poofy, stud-muffiny, semi-poodle looking hairdo going. I almost shit my pants! :laugh2:

"What the hell is this?" I asked her, shocked and appalled by my appearance. I thought she was just playing a nasty joke, by making me look like a wuss like that-- and that once she had her fun she'd give me the greaser treatment.

But no-- it was no joke. With an obvious tone of pride in her voice, Aunt Lena proclaimed, "Oh my God, look how handsome you are! You look just like Mac Davis!"

I was sitting there going, "Mac Davis? Who is Mac Davis?" for a moment until it clicked in: he was one of those guys who sang AM radio Top 40 pop-stuff like "Baby, Don't Get Hooked On Me", and had one of those TV variety shows, like Sonny and Cher and John Denver and Andy Williams...

...and now I looked like Mac Davis? I was aghast! :rofl:

I was almost angry, but WTF? You gonna go off on Aunt Lena, while also breaking poor mom's heart? So, I forced a fake smile and said, "Wow, Mac Davis!" And I didn't even roll my eyes. :laugh2:

***************
God, how my friends laughed! Most of 'em thought that my clutch must be slipping or something. :facepalm:

Even worse, mom started buying the kind of ghey-looking stuff that the disco guys favored, and tried to get me to dress in what she deemed to be a "stylish fashion".

None of it flew. But I did wear a regular suit coat and tie for my senior graduation photo, complete with my Mac Davis 'Do.

I laugh every time I see that photo. I was scowling so darkly that I'm surprised the camera lens didn't shatter or something.

But mom got what she wanted, anyway. And then, after I graduated and went to work as a union laborer, I went ahead and got the total buzz job, with the excuse that as a member of a concrete pouring crew, the hair would be difficult to maintain...

***************
So that's kind of the pattern: grow your hair for maybe a decade (and maybe more) and then suddenly buzz it, usually to the bone. And it always happened mainly because I was getting tired of taking care of all that hair.

***************
But no more: I have buzzed it off and will never allow it to become long again. I'm 64 years old, and the shit was starting to thin out anyway... and more, I operate a home-hobbyist machine shop and got back into welding, and just don't want all that hair hanging (for obvious reasons), but also don't feel like putting it up in a perky little bun or whatever.

So, I chopped it off. And I'm pretty sure I will *never* willingly let the shit get really long ever again.

Wow! So now I'm Clean Gene! :thumb:

***************
Instead of leaving all that hair around on the barbershop floor, I decided to tie it back really tightly and have the barber cut the pony tail off while it was all strapped together.

That way, I could donate it to an org down in West Palm that makes wigs for little kids with alopecia. When I first got in touch with them to find out how long the hair they wanted had to be (mine was only about 13" long) I spoke of kids with chemo and found that no: this org, which is called "Locks of Love", specializes in distributions for children with alopecia.

I never would have guessed that such a clinic would actually specialize to that degree, but there you have it: my hair will become part of a wig for some child who suffers from the same autoimmune disorder that David Ferrie and Jada Plnkette Smith suffer from.

I'm kind of happy about that, even though I seem to be suffering from some sudden, rather strange compulsion to find Chris Rock and slap the living shit out of him... :hmm:

Of course: here's the before and after views:

So, there you have it: I look almost like a normal, semi-responsible sort of person once again. :laugh2:

--R :laugh2:


i miss getting dirty looks from old ladies that didnt like my hair,but it is easier to deal with.now that haircuts are getting pricey along with everything else it might be allowed to grow a little longer...
 

DeafDumbBlind Kid

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I wanted to donate my last ponytail but it wasn't long enough and probably too fine. I haven't buzz cut it since the 2nd grade but maybe next year when I turn 65. I'd cut it every month but for the expense.

you do use a lot less shampoo when it's short.
 

Tim Fezziwig

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I did same thing LONG MANSON HAIR AND BEARD......then SHORT HENRY ROLLINS HAIR....look like a 'Nam vet or a PUNK DUNKER?

My dad HATED my long hair ,so,6 or 7 years ago I cut it all off and continue to keep it short.

Really ,makes no difference,short or long hair people can sense I am " other."
 

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