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6:28 a.m. - 2005-06-06


Saturday morning I take Andrew to get his hair cut.

Andrew isn't all that keen on getting scalped yet. He doesn't trust anyone with scissors dashing around his head and just isn't comfortable being there but each time he goes, he gets better.

The last time he got his hair cut, the girl who cut it was very good with kids and talked about Thomas the Tank Engine and all this other stuff that made him feel at ease.

This time?

Josephine Sadomasochist cut his hair.

This was an old woman who had a permanent droop in her lower lip due to keeping a cigarette lodged firmly there for the last 50 years. The kind who continuously curses society under her breath because she's not allowed to puff a butt while she cuts kids' hair.

So she's silently clipping Andrew's hair without trying to engage him in any conversation while I stand guard in case he decides to slide out of the chair and bolt towards the front door.

I'll admit ... he's squirming a bit.

And then he starts to scream.

I'm telling him to be quiet and that it's almost over while the Hair Nazi goes over to her little shelf full of hair products and grabs a Kleenex.

She then folds the Kleenex and presses it against his ear.

"Ah cut 'im," she mumbles.

I'm all "Huh?!?" and move to the other side of his head where I see blood on the Kleenex while she pinches the shit out of his upper ear.

Wait just a goddamned second ... here's my boy with a fear of getting his hair cut ... and you just cut his fucking ear off??

How in the HELL do I ever get this kid in a barber's chair again???

The whole reasoning I've been using so far is that getting your hair cut "doesn't hurt".


"Lemme see," I say, meaning "Move the fucking Kleenex NOW, HAIR NAZI."

She removes the Kleenex while he's wailing and I can't really tell how deep the cut is because there's so much blood on the top of his ear.

Those of you without children wouldn't understand ... but I was on the verge of going ballistic on this woman.

I'm fully aware of the fact that this probably wouldn't have happened if he had been sitting perfectly still. But it's not like he was acting as if his foot was in a blender. He was just shying away from the scissors when they were near his ears.

And now he looked like Evander Holyfield after a round with a hungry Mike Tyson.

I didn't know what to say.

Well ... I knew what I WANTED to say. I WANTED to say "You stupid ignorant fucking fucker fuck ... can't you at least act like you're trying to be careful here?"

But if I said that, I could see her jamming her scissors in his eyes while calmly saying "Oops. My bad."

So I held Andrew by the shoulders and neck while she slowly continued to cut his hair.

When all was said and done, it was only a nick on the top of his ear which has already scabbed over less than 48 hours later.


I have no clue how I'm ever going to get him to get his hair cut again.

I hear bribery has its advantages.

I did a party Saturday night for a steel workers' union group.

Jesus, Mary and the spook.

I would have had a livelier crowd at a funeral.

Here was the agenda ... they ate at 7:00 which meant they wanted soft music played while they ate.

Then at 7:45 they were going to have some speakers speak their speakity asses off.

Then some kind of game.

Then I played music for them for the rest of the evening.

The average age in the building was about 60.

Fine ... I'd play music from the 50s and 60s to get them dancing. No problem.

While they ate I played a combination of jazz saxophone music and classical stuff at a low volume. No problems. No complaints.

Then the speakers start speaking.

The first guy was an old man who didn't fully grasp the concept of how microphones work. He figured since there was a microphone in the VICINITY, it would pick up whatever he had to say no matter where he stood.

Wrong, Gramps. Nobody can hear a fucking word you're saying when you're 10 feet away from the mic.

From what I could hear, most of his speech was cribbed from vintage vaudeville acts. He told several jokes which had nothing to do with union leaders from steel mills.

And ... in order to get the cheap laughs ... he'd say things like "Everyone needs to fill out their paperwork each day ... nobody wants to be like ... SCOTT CRAWFORD!!!"

Which would generate a slight titter amongst the crowd because everyone knows Scott Crawford doesn't always fill out his paperwork on time.

Then he'd say "As we all know, the Union is a great organization to be a part of ... unless you're BILL MOULTON!!!"

And the same uncomfortable chuckles would quietly fall out of mouths because apparently Bill had a problem with the Union at one time or another.

Which made me realize ... inside jokes are only funny to those on the inside and not people on the outside.

So ... naturally ... expect more inside jokes on this website in the future.

Anyway ... they eat, they speak and then ... they're all mine.

I open up with Conway Twitty's "It's Only Make Believe". Man oh man ... THAT will get 'em!!

They all rise to their feet!!

They all start walking towards the dance floor!!

They bypass the dance floor and walk straight out the exit back to their hotel rooms!!

There were 150 people in the room and 130 of them were gone before the end of the song.

Obviously Conway Twitty wasn't the way to go with this crowd.

The guy in charge came running over to me and I halfway expected him to say "WHAT?!? ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY?!? CONWAY TWITTY KILLED THESE PEOPLE'S PARENTS!!!" or something to explain the mass exodus.

"Looks like you'll have an early night," he chuckled. "They're all tired and some are leaving to go home (this was a statewide event)."

"Oh," I said. "I thought Conway Twitty killed their parents."

Which ... went over like a lead balloon with this guy since he was too young to know who Conway Twitty was and most likely thought he was an axe murderer.

It was around that time that a particularly ugly prepubescent kid came up and asked for the song "Wait" by the Ying Yang Twins.

C'mon ... you know the song. It's the one with the chorus that goes:

Ay bitch! wait til you see my dick
Wait til you see my dick
Ay bitch! wait til you see my dick
Imma beat dat pussy up
Ay bitch! wait til you see my dick
Wait you see my dick
Ay bitch! wait til you see my dick
Imma beat dat pussy up

And to clarify ... it's not about a guy who's extremely proud of his private detective who wallops kittens on the weekend.

I would ask what's wrong with society these days, but I'm Diaryland's Ying Yang Twin, thus pot kettle black.

So I play the song for the kid who gets out on the dance floor BY HIMSELF and starts grinding his ass in the air to the delight of his parents.

(Naturally, I play the clean version of the song which removes all the nasty language to the point where there's basically no lyrics at all.)

Fifteen minutes after what will go down in DJ history as "The Conway Twitty Massacre", the organizer walked back over to the DJ booth and said "You can probably start shutting it down."


What gave you THAT idea?

Could it be the fact that the only dancer I have on the dance floor is the 200 lb. 12 year-old with the fucked-up eyes who thinks he's a coke-addicted stripper whose only dance move entails putting his hands on his knees and waving his ass around in exaggerated circles???

Color me shut down, Slim. I'll be outta your hair in five minutes.

I packed it up and got home by 11 p.m. which was EARLY for me as of late.

Walked in the door and Andrew was still awake while Mama had fallen asleep on the couch.

He jumped up from playing with his trains and gave me a hug.

And then said "The lady today cut my ear and I got two new trains!"

Thereby, teaching him the age-old lesson that mutilation inflicted by others begats gifts.

What a warped fucking kid I'm going to have.

But I can promise you he won't be shouting "Lemme beat that pussy up" on a Steel Worker's dancefloor anytime soon.

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