I've been desperately in need of a haircut for a couple of weeks now, but have had a hard time setting an appointment (by which I mean I keep forgetting to call until after 10PM, or on Sunday, when the hair place is closed.)

I finally got around to it today on my lunch break. Have you ever noticed that when the person cutting your hair asks what you want, and you tell them, they don't necessarily hear it the way you said it? For instance, I said that I wanted it to remain kind of long on the front and sides, but to clean it up and shorten the back. I also asked that he leave my sideburns as is.

An hour later, my hair is significantly shorter on the front and sides, still longish in the back, and half of my sideburns are gone. Don't get me wrong, according to the ladies I work with, it looks great. "Very GQ" is how one of them explained it. I'm sure it's extremely hip and oh-so-def. Funky fresh, even. The problem is, that's not me, exactly. If you called 10 of my friends, I can virtually guarantee that none of them would describe me as "very GQ." I won't repeat what they would say about me, in case anyone of high moral fiber is reading (which I doubt strongly).

Also, I have this pseudo Superman half-curl thing on my forehead. However, I am not the son of Jor-el, nor do I draw my power from the Earth's yellow sun. People still recognize me when I put glasses on, and I do not change clothes in phone booths (well, I did once, but I had been drinking, and it was actually a porta potty). Maybe it will grow out soon.

The other funny thing? After making a trip to the restroom at work to inspect my hair again (I wanted to see what "very GQ" looked like, exactly), I noticed that there was hair gel in my ear, ala There's Something About Mary. Except it was really hair gel, you freaks. Aural sex, indeed. I wonder if Bill Clinton would count that as "sexual relations?"