I got my haircut last night and, while driving home, called Jessica (the girlfriend). Wait, I’d like to back up a step and complain about something. Okay, if you read my stuff you know I bicycle to work and it’s pretty strenuous. I go to one of these high-end salons in the Gold Coast of Chicago off Michigan Avenue. For three years I’ve been a patron, and for three years I’ve biked there. I arrive covered in sweat with the helmet, my gross bike clothes, and my dog in a backpack. They couldn’t be nicer about it. During the winter months I take the subway still with dog in tow.

Well, I needed to drive to work yesterday for some nonsense. I wrote the other day about how I have this nice car provided to me by my parents. One of the bummers of the Gold Coast is that there’s no parking. I called the salon to ask where to park. “Oh, we have valet!” I became excited in the prospect of a free valet service, basically unheard of in Chicago. She continued, “Yes – it’s only $12! Special pricing for our clients!” I did a big, “Harrumph!” and hung up.

Let me describe the scene as I’m as pulling up to the valet station. It’s me in my suit sitting my parent’s hand-me-down luxury car with a six pound chihuahua perched on the passenger seat. The guy says, “Sir, will the dog be coming with you?” I looked at him like, “Of course the dog is coming with me – um, I’m getting my haircut! Who doesn’t bring their dog into the salon?” In reality I mumbled a, “…yes.” Then I scooped her under my arm and exited the Jaguar.

I was telling my girlfriend this story afterwards and how I felt like a giant douche getting the car valeted and then walking into the salon with my dog (who was wearing a sweater). She asked me how much I spent on the haircut. I’m not a guy who likes fancy things – later on that night I picked up Pizza Hut. But the fact is I still have a full head of hair at thirty-six, despite Ashley (stylist) telling me I may be slightly thinning. “$55 – I know it’s a lot.” She then wondered if that included tip. “No, I tip $20 – $15 to Ashley and $5 to the hair washer.”

I would like to point out that I wear $60 dress shoes with my suit. Just saying, yo.

Jessica did the quick math and said, “Oh my. You spend more than twice as much as I do per year on my hair.” I was aghast. This is not what a straight man wants to hear. How could this be? Birds spend a fortune getting their hair done, don’t they?

Well, not if you don’t need coloring. Jessica has thick, brown hair. Four times a year she gets it trimmed at $60 a pop. I spend $75 every six weeks.

Sure, it’s not my cheapest expense, but I buy the generic dental floss. So, it’s sort of even.

photo credit: pattyanne:made via photopin cc

I put an event together at our office recently to offer free headshots to employees. I realized that I had not updated my own headshot in over eight years.

Since then I’ve become fatter which is something I can fix at anytime except I started eating candy three years ago and have only occasionally come up for air.

Everyone needs a professional headshot that makes them look way more attractive than they really are. Women are masters at this and every one of them has a photo where they’re a ten. I have no problem with this strategy as my Twitter and Facebook photo is one of these. I didn’t purposely try to take a sexy photo. It was a band photo from the great C.B. Lindsey and just came out that way. It’s my “ten.”

In real life I’m much more non-ten. My friend J.C. Little said, when she saw me for the first time, “You don’t look like Ken [Barbie’s beau] at all!” She assumed I was hunky and sorely disappointed.

I hired a photographer for this work even and she brought all her crap – you know, the lights, backdrop, and the weird thing that flashes on the stick. I had to bolt out of the session early to drive to the other office so mine was done in thirty seconds.

My intention was to lose a bunch of weight before the shoot, but I decided to eat my feelings that month (girls, you know how we do) and shot up a good five pounds.

I turned, followed orders and it was over. Two weeks went by and she finally sent over the pictures. I’ll spare you the color version as my pale complexion will offend your sensibilities.

First the photo of me in my mid-late twenties.

Next is the photo recently taken referenced above.

Neck fat. Goddamned neck fat.

So, now, here’s what I have to do – hit up one of my buddies (or you readers) for whoever can crush out some neck fat lines on Photoshop. That’s an embarrassing conversation.

Hey, I’m really ashamed that it looks like my neck is bubbling over into my lapel and I need you to use computer magic to change it so that my neck isn’t doing what my neck actually does. I need you to lie for me!

I’m being a little dramatic. Hey, I had to write about something tonight. The photo itself is good. So, if you want to airbrush out the two neck vaginas I currently have, I’ll send you something special in the mail. A gift. Like a pair of avocado earrings the  Mexican Hass Avocado Importers Association  gave me for doing a video commercial on their website for avocados. Yes, you can have that.

Also, for some reason I have a sad smile. That smile is not a good smile. It’s like I’m fighting back crippling depression. I swear I wasn’t. Well, at least not at that moment.