I was out and about getting my drugs (always good to see my pharmacist. He rocks on several levels). I also thought I had an appointment at 10:30 this morning, because I got an appointment reminder on Friday. I remember scheduling an appointment the last time I was in the office, but I forgot to put it in my phone. Whether it was their mistake or mine, whether the appointment was earlier or later, was not the issue here, Dude. The issue is that I got an appointment reminder call from literally the only doctor I have. Then, I show up and my appointment isn’t in the computer at all. It didn’t matter. The only reason I have to see a doctor every month is to refill my Adderrall. I don’t need it all the time, but there are days when it bails my ass out.). I have trouble with doing a thing and going home immediately, so I decided to do two things. I went and got my drugs, then went and got a haircut. I have been complaining about the sensory nature of the hair on the back of my neck for ages, so I just got a fade and cut it all off. Well, not *all* off. Just enough that I don’t feel like autism is creeping up the back of my neck and touching my ears. Both of those things happening are way too loud. The only other thing that I asked the barber is to cut it short so that I wasn’t dependent on a hair dryer. That my hair would stay back with gel and wax. Mission accomplished on that front, too. I am so much happier.
Me, trying to be cute once my punk look is complete. I made the barber laugh when I said, “I like that you’ve managed to turn me into Justin Bieber. Can you turn me into a sparkly vampire by the end?” Fairly certain this is the haircut you get when the barber says “challenge accepted.” I have to belieb that I’m at least as cute as Kate McKinnon on some days, because I can look like Justin Bieber as easily as she can. For those who are interested, I am wearing a TARDIS t-shirt and maroon Chucks. You’re welcome, Britain. Either way, my haircut comes from the Commonwealth. Bieber is Canadian, the sparkly vampire is British. Whether I look the part is up for grabs, but whether the haircut is cute is not. Neither Zac nor I are interested in hairdryers. That’s just a little too much girl shit in the bathroom.
All the crap I put in my hair is the reason I use a shampoo that’s close to detergent. I can’t let that much wax build up on my head…. although it is a truism that when you decide you need to wash your hair, it’s the cutest bedhead in your life. I also love a cut that’s so fine-tuned it doesn’t need product at all.
So here is his card. I told him I would promote him, and I am proud to do so. He was proud I wanted to promote him, and I had to say “no pressure” a lot. Because it really is a win-win situation. I wouldn’t have told anyone he was the wrong barber, but the wrong barber for me. Thankfully, I genuinely like him because he’s cut my hair three or four times now.
It’s Raphael’s Barber Shop, but he’s not Raphael.
Sometimes you have to call on someone else’s guardian angel when you can’t feel yours. I feel lighter than I have in a long time. More handsome, more beautiful, more all the things because I don’t care what gender I am, the haircut looks good either way.
In another stunning recommendation, I don’t think that David goes to Ebrahim, but he does go to the same barber shop. He’s not punk and I am. Yet, it’s still the cool place to be to get your hair cut.
Stories That Are All True 