I Look 27 Again

I was thinking about saying 24 but 27 seems more appropriate.

At any rate, after a couple of weeks with scruff/beard/stubble, I shaved off my facial hair. Maybe it had something do to with the fact I found three (or more) gray hairs poking through. Maybe it had something to do with the itchiness. Maybe it had to do with the guilt my electric shaver gave me.

Yes, I’ll admit to somewhat of a love affair with it. How cool is it, it cleans itself. Is always ready for me anytime I want it. There’s something to be said about that. After all, it doesn’t ask much in return, just to make me happy while doing its job. I’m not saying that the stubble/beard/scruff won’t come back soon. I’m just enjoying a different look, a younger one.

I remember when my dad shaved his beard, I couldn’t believe how young he looked. When I was a kid, I thought he must have taken some potion that made him look younger again. Check out the classic photo of my pop lounging around in his best Hefner look on the classic 70’s couch. Yes, that is a picture of me in the background. Please no comments on my attire, it was the late 70’s or early 80’s, yo!

So yes, I again hope to have all of those people who don’t think I’m in my 30’s (ahem, mid 30’s) believe that I’m in my late 20’s again. Now all that I need is my hair cut because I’m looking a little like Shaggy again.


Bards & Beards

It’s never a good thing when a co-worker tells you they dreamed about you last night.

That conversation never quite happened because most of the people who I work with end up sleeping or at least napping during the day. So it went more like “I had a dream that you were in the other day.”

At any rate, the co-worker announced to my other co-workers that in her dream, I was dressed like a 20-foot chicken and was chasing her through the streets in her neighborhood. Apparently it wasn’t fun and games because I was throwing sharp stars on strings in an effort to take her out. Each time I’d throw the weapon at her she’d figure out how to avoid them. I was happy to hear about her defense.

To that end, I offered up these excuses why it could never happen in real life.

1.) I don’t own a 20-foot chicken suit. It wouldn’t fit in the elevator in my building. Not even in the freight elevator. Where would I store such a thing?

2.) I could never quite master a throwing star. I can throw a frisbee like a madman but throwing stars… not so much. I could never be Chuck Norris but no one else on this planet could be either. I guess Wham-O would have to manufacture my weapons. I’d hope they’d be the kind that glow-in-the dark.

3.) I don’t even know where my co-worker lives.

I apologized for her id’s opinion of me and reassured her it would never happen again.

Speaking of Chuck Norris and I know I was, I’ve been sporting a beard of sorts. I’ve gotten more positive comments than negative. I can’t believe the time it saves me every day. It’s like 10 minutes which translates into about an hour a week. You have to substract 10 minutes because I keep it trimmed up. I don’t want to look like Grizzly Adams.

I have a fair amount of red in my beard. It may look a little silly because I have brown hair. For now, I’m enjoying the extra hour that I can devote each week to different things.

Another one of my co-workers has a full-fledged beard. We figured he’s saved about a couple weeks of his life not shaving.

I’m just happy with the extra hour a week, I’ll take it.

Bock, Bock… just kidding…