Dirty Man Competition: Week 1 - Monday March 23, 2009

I wake up at 9:30 AM, take a leak and jump in the shower. I contemplate shaving before work but end up opting against it because I won't be able to get my hair cut until after work, so it will just look weird. I'm a big fan of keeping things on an even keel, and to me, shaving before I cut my hair would just throw everything out of whack. I want everything to be done at the same time. Anal-retentive? You could say that. I, myself, like to think of it as a practice in organization.

After sitting at my computer air-drying, checking e-mail and updating the diary, I throw on my clothes, feed the cats and am out the door. I get to work and everyone can feel my nervous aura that I'm apparently giving off as I pace around the store. I let them all in on the wager that was made and I get a lot of laughs and best wishes. Everyone is actually more anxious to see what I look like with short hair and clean-shaven. I, on the other hand, do not share their enthusiasm, as I am terrified to shave the beard. Cutting the hair doesn't bother me as much, but once the facial hair is gone, I am going to look like a 12-year-old.

Work goes by pretty quick. Almost too quick as the clock nears closer to my 7:45 hair appointment. I clock out a little after 5:00 and cruise home as quick as I can. I fix myself a sandwich and crank some 311 on my stereo to give me some positive vibes and hopefully make my shaving extravaganza easier to cope with. I contemplated putting on the song "I Almost Cut My Hair," by Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young, but I felt that it was ultimately too cliche and I opted against it. So, with the 311 making me feel a little better about myself, I start the procedure. Sure enough, after the first stroke of the razor on my face, I immediately regret it. I start to think of ways in which I could get the hair back on my face, possibly glue. I then snap back to reality and face the fact that it's already gone and all I can do now is either finish shaving and look like a prepubescent boy, or leave my beard the way it is with one patch missing and look like a complete jackass. I vote the boy.

After all is said and done, I look over myself in the mirror and truly forgot what I looked like sans the beard. It didn't look bad, but it just looked different. But that bad kind of different. The different that makes you feel uncomfortable and isolated. I quickly hit the light in the bathroom and avoided looking into a mirror until it was time to go to my hair appointment. I didn't want to keep getting angry with myself for shaving and possibly break a mirror, so I thought it was best to just avoid them all together. I throw on my coat and head out to the salon for my 7:45 appointment.

Now I know I'm gonna rub you homophobes the wrong way when I say I have an appointment at a "salon," and not just your typical barber. Does it sound a little feminine that when a supposed "straight" dude in his 20's says he has a hair appointment at the salon? Without a doubt. But there is a reason that I am going to the salon to get my hair "styled." And it's not because I like cock. It's because I am very anal about my hair and every time I go to a barber, they fuck it up. So I gave in to the "stylist" trend and ultimately end up spending way more than I should on a haircut, while also having to admit that I'm making a "hair appointment" at the "salon," but in the end it's worth it because my hair doesn't look like shit. So there you have it: the reason I go to a salon instead of a typical barber shop. It's pretty fucking sad that I have to explain myself in detail, but sometimes it is necessary.

I get to the place and walk to the front desk to check in. I notice that I'm the only person there and am kind of taken back by it, thinking that maybe they were going to close or the girl cutting my hair was going to leave early, but ended up staying because of my dumb ass making a 7:45 appointment. However, it's a pleasant surprise when I find out that the girl cutting my hair is actually someone I know through Dave T. So this makes things a lot easier in the sense that she knows I'm not a prick and it also gives us shit to talk about during the procedure. We bullshit the whole time and talk about the good old days back at my old house when we used to party every night. Everything goes well and she ends up doing a real fuckin' impressive job. I still look like a 12-year-old, but now I look like a damn good 12-year-old.

I get home and the regression kicks in right after I get off the phone with Justin telling him to come over and confirming that the procedure had been done. His giddy tone of voice is like nails on a fuckin' chalkboard because I know that I'm in for a night full of ridicule and laughter all at my expense. I grab a beer and sit in silence for a few moments just trying to prepare for what lies ahead.

Stin, Mary, and Phil all show up and immediately catch one glimpse of the New Jon Bode and are doubled over with laughter. I damn them all to hell. We all sit around the table drinking and conversing for the rest of the night while everyone rips on me for looking like a little school-child. I think I got more insults for shaving and cutting my hair than I will when I look like Grizzly fuckin' Adams about 2 months from now. Mary takes a picture of me for the log book and which leads to the discussion about how it may be quite difficult for me to buy booze now that I look so young and am nothing like the picture on my driver's license. All in all, this new transformation is not as promising as I hoped it would be. And it's hard to retaliate against insults when you look a good 10 years younger than the people insulting you. Son of a bitch.

I end up drinking pretty heavily and everyone cruises around 1:00 AM. I get ready for bed (sloppily) and pass out watching Tango & Cash