Cut it Out

I woke up feeling an augmented level of desperation pulsing through my veins. I thought perhaps it was because I had forgotten to take my meds yesterday.

Yeah, they're just for allergies, but I always make sure to shake violently and toss my head back when I take them, then manically sip water out of a wine glass. To increase the drama. You understand.

But even after I popped the pills, I couldn't shed the stress. I knew there was only one solution.

The salon.

However, when you're as down and out as I am (and it's Sunday morning) your choices for a trim are far and few. I scoured Yelp reviews and perused prices as I clicked between bank accounts deciding how much money I could spend on a coif.

I decided I had zero dollars. Luckily, there was a Supercuts just down the street.

Guys, don't go to Supercuts. Respect yourselves. Knock on your neighbor's door and say, "Do you have scissors and a hand mirror?" and if they do, ask them to tap your head with the scissors like a magic wand and wave the mirror in front of your face three times. Then, give them all the change you could find in your car and the crinkled dollar bills from the pocket of that jacket you wore once last October, and let them call you the wrong name three times as you leave.

Because that's essentially what I did today. Except I had to buy something at Target so I could get my parking validated because Los Angeles makes you pay to cross the street.

The weather was great though.

I am not Andrew,

TJB: Making It