I’ve been inordinately busy, so apologies for being so incredibly unreliable the past couple of weeks. In fact, I’ve been 70 year old dick levels of reliable in all my areas of non-professional recreation, sorry bout that.
Before I get into what I want to chat with you about today I’ve got one little thing to get off my chest: Women in cowboy boots. I saw this a couple days ago and at first I thought it was kind of sexy, mainly because she was wearing one of those short frilly skirts that say, “I shaved for the first time since November today.” The look was odd, but cute.
As of today I’ve seen about fifty pairs of cowboy boots, all on females. What the fuck? I’m going to blame this on the same thing I’ve been blaming everything on for the past six months: Brokeback Mountain. (I blamed the new FOX show The Loop on B-Back the other day, the logic was astounding.)
Obviously women are unable to handle the sheer amount of man-love flying through the ionosphere and they’re reacting the only way they know how: Shoe shopping. Something they indeed, do not know how to quit.
Anyway on to the column!
Miss(ed) Manners: Secret Stache
I grew a mustache!
Let me rephrase that, I fuckin’ grew a mustache, man. And it was awesome. Some weeks ago I decided to start a tradition, that whenever my roommate and I were going to throw a party in our apartment, I would grow a mustache as a tribute to the surefire greatness of said party. This mustache would be number two.
There a few reasons for growing such an unsightly patch of hair. 1) I got to go around shouting, “Who wants a mustache ride?” and NO one gets tired of hearing that, right? hahah! right? 2) Carded at a bar? Please, I got offered JOBS at the bars I walked into whilst stached to the nines, and of course 3) People’s reactions.
If I learned anything while paying the upper lip service to myself it was that people have very defined, predetermined views on the entire facial hair arena. No one gets a bottle of cabernet, sits down by the fire and explores their feelings on mutton chop sideburns, you know how you feel about them, they’re ridiculous. Everyone knows that and NO it doesn’t make you look like you’re in a folk band in a good way.
I spent a few days with my stache/soul patch combo and literally ran the gamut on reactions, gamuts are HUGE. Amongst friends, family and strangers I got some pretty hilarious kneejerk reactions to what is really not that much of anything, it’s hair for Christ’s sake. To some people, that hair was like an unspoken insult just waiting to be said. Let me explain:
The Good Reactions:
A lot of chicks really fucking dig mustaches, man. I found myself out and about a few times and honestly, fellas, I was getting eye fucked more than a twenty foot walking penis covered in Tiffany’s receipts. I’m almost positively exaggerating that by 100%, however I certainly felt like it, it was probably just the extra testosterone.
I got a ton of positive reactions from guys as well, mostly, “bad ass stache, bro,” followed by the rock n’ roll sign (which I’m a fan of). It was a real conversation starter. You know how you run into someone at a bar and you saw them last week and they say, “what’s up?” and all you can say is, “same old same old,” because you’re a lame fuck and nothing is up with you? Not me, I just pointed to the stache and we’d talk about it for an hour.
The Bad Reactions:
There were almost as many of these as there were good. For example, I walked into my morning deli which is staffed by a guy from Yemen and two Mexican guys on the grill. They straight up laughed at me, no joke. Like side splitting laughter at my silly gringo attempt at a mustache. Apparently mustaches are more common in Yemen than fat kids are in America. That was definitely a low-point.
At a party a “friend” of mine told me that she had a razor in her car and that she wanted me to shave it off right there, such was her hatred for it. There were like three other girls who joined in on this, however two of them were part of that chest shaving cabal incident, so they were just looking to get in on scraping me to death again.
It’s either love or hate for mustaches. There were no, “ehhhhhh I guess it’s alright.”‘s So I started to wonder, what’s the deal with facial hair? Your Dad is the deal with facial hair. I’m willing to bet that everyone’s father had some sort of facial hair at one point or the other, so I’m going to assume that they’re intrinsically linked and say that anyone who didn’t like my mustache harbors some repressed anger at their father’s. You should have that checked out, mustache hate is not healthy.
On the whole I’d mark up this experience as having been extremely enjoyable and eye opening. Look for me next time I have a party as I’ll be sporting the full on biker stache and you can either tell me it’s awesome, or punch me in the face, it’s going to be one of the two, trust me.