Bad Hair Day

Since I felt a little guilty about laughing at Sarah’s bad day, I offered to tell the story of when I got my long hair caught in an egg beater.

Like many of my good stories, this one starts with “Back when I was in college, we were all sitting around drinking…”

I was the only longhaired guy in my group of college friends. Most of them were the sons of successful lawyers, teachers, businessmen, etc. from up north in the DC suburbs. Me, on the other hand, I’d be the second kid in my family to go to college (behind an uncle on either side), I was from way down South, spoke with a heavy accent, etc. The guys I roomed with were always good-natured about it. The friends of these friends, not always.

We were all sitting around pounding Flaming Dr. Peppers and playing 3-man or something when a group of my friend’s friends, also hammered, drop in. For a while it’s all good, the game is bigger, and we’re all happily drunk. Then one friend’s friend with something of a propensity to be an asshole…I’ll call him J…whips out the manual egg-beater and begins to jokingly fuck with me with it. I jokingly invite J to get thee hence and practice self-copulation. Everybody’s having a good time, until J (being drunk and all) bobbles a little bit while whirring the handles and BOOM, a big hunk of hair just behind my left ear is tangled in the egg beater.

Me: “Ow! Shit! Motherfucker!”
J: “Oh, shit! I’m sorry, man, I’m…” [breaks out laughing]
Everyone except me: [laughing]
Me: “Get it the fuck out.”
J: “I’m trying, and…”
Me: “OW! Sumbitch!”
Another friend, M: “J, get your drunk ass outta the way.”
[J steps aside, leaving the beater dangling from my head like some space-age hair adornment as M staggers his way around the table to investigate]
[Everyone still giggling drunkenly]
AMP: “That is fucked up, but fuckin’ funny.”
ChurchBoy: “*giggle* Man, that sucks. *giggle*”
M: “Umm, TB, I can’t get it out. We might have to cut your hair.”
Me: [temper rapidly flaring] “Try. Again.”
M: “Uh, ok.”
Me: “J, you better hope to FUCK that he gets it out.”
J: “Sorry, man, really.” [giggling]
M: “We still might have to cut it.”
Me: [sighing] “Okay, but cut as LITTLE AS YOU POSSIBLY CAN.”

Only somebody as drunk as I was at that moment would rationally agree to having an equally drunk friend cut his long ass hair. Of course, in all likelihood, only somebody as drunk as I was could end up with a fucking egg beater in his hair. Anyway…

M: “Oh…wait…GOT IT.”
Me and J: “Oh thank fucking GOD.”
Me: “J, you live. For another day. You fucking prick.”
J: “WOOO!”
AMP: “Fuck this shit, I’m making another drink.”

Party continued, everybody happy. Even, eventually, me.  I kept my long hair for another year and a half before cutting it into a buzzcut, and I haven’t had a run-in with an egg beater ever since.  J, last I heard, was still married to his college sweetheart and still working the job he took right out of school…for the CIA.  [I shit you not.]

Somewhere at home I have a picture of this moment. It’s hard to tell exactly what’s happening if you don’t know already, but if I recall correctly, I’m sitting at the table wearing an Atlanta Braves hat with my hair coming out beneath, and J is standing next to me, posing with the handle end of the beater looking like it’s issuing from his crotch and me grabbing at the blade end stuck in my hair. I should scan it sometime.

Anyway, there you have it. 15-year-old embarrassments don’t count for anything if you can’t make your blog-pals laugh, right?

Y’all have a good weekend, and take my advice: avoid drunks with egg beaters and scissors.

War and Remembrance

In honor of D-Day, a moment of silence in memory of the 116th Infantry Regiment, 29th Infantry Division.

Fun With Extreme Metal

This one’s for Laura, who’s having a “DAMN THIS CUBICLE” kind of day.

Here’s a game for you:

Watch this video with the SOUND TURNED OFF.

Write your own lyrics. Not to the whole song, just whatever part you’d like. Post ’em up for others to enjoy.

Laugh at muttonchop-sporting, slightly chunky white kids trying to look scary.

Rinse, repeat as necessary.

I’ll start:

“To NIIIIIIIGHT! At homecom-IIIIING! I will drink a case of PABST!
We, the Spartans, will kick the Lions’ asses!
We will feast upon their BONES!
(BONES!)

I will try to grope your boobies,
You will slap me in my SIDEBURNS!
(FACE!)
I’ll say fuck you! (FUCK YOOOOOUU!) and snivel off in SHAAAAME!!

I will go (WILL GO!) to Wendy’s!
And eat three Smoky Bacon Cheeseburgers!
(BACON!)
My friends will drive me home,
where I will pass out, NAKED (NAKED!)
Too drunk to mas-tur-BAAAATE!!!!”