Battle with Hair

My battle with hair is both manifold and multiform. Ridiculous growth and outrageous loss both plague my early-30’s body. It is worse than puberty….and I still have acne. My back looks like the beach of Normandy, 1944. My frontal baldness has subtly crept up on me, taking an unostentatious widow’s peak and turning it into something of which Bram Stoker would be proud. If I place my index fingers at the two furthest points from my face, where my forehead stops and my scalp begins, I am literally pointing to the back of my head. Outrageous.

So let’s head south. I am able to grow some facial hair, but my nickname is “Captain Patchy Beard” or “Burbs” so it isn’t exactly manly growth. My ears need weekly trimming and my nose hairs make me look like I have tiny hedgehogs burrowing into face. I’ve never had chest hair before but that is changing too. I’ve had exactly eleven nipple hairs since “the big change” when I was 14 or 15 years old. Yup, six 3” fly traps encircling the left nipple and five 3” stringers on the right. I plucked them on occasion and sometimes shaved them when they started to catch on my long sleeve button-ups, but they were basically harmless. I now have two perfect rings of fire at the exact edges of my areolas. The circles are complete and full. If you found them in nature, you would step inside and make a wish. I am also getting a nice inverted triangle betwixt my man-boobs similar to Zangief of Street Fighter, but instead of a curly bushel, Magnum P.I. style; I have long, straight, black silkies, matted to my chest with sweat and exuded oil. It is disgusting. So I now have to shave my chest and nipples regularly being careful not to uncap the whiteheads with my Mach3.

Sorry, but we are continuing south. My lower body is nothing less than Yeti-like. I have gobs of hair bursting from my pudgy hocks. My nethers, if left unkempt, would ensnare cotton, paper, lint, insects, really anything within its Velcro-y grasp. So I have to do a little tuck ‘n tails as well. Men, you may think it feminine, you may think it gross, but trust me, you have got to spruce up the undercarriage. Dude, you are disgusting, and sweaty, and rank-ass-stanky and all that hair is just holding onto your filth and smell like an enormous moldy sponge. Grab the clippers, set it to a 2, and get to work. Remember that loose skin is an electric clipper's prey, so do what you gotta do to protect yourself. Your women will thank you…I promise.

I’m fighting a battle that I can’t win, but I will continue the fight. The day I give up the trimmer is the day I start wearing pants with elastic waist bands. If this is what it is like at 32, what the hell is it going to be like at 42?

Sorry, but it is true.

Caution: this blog contains some candid language and is a little explicit. It is not for the faint of heart or those unable to truly be honest with themselves. This blog is one of several I plan to write outlining some of my more personal theories that I rarely share with others.

The topic for today: Why all women are really lesbians. Hear me out on this one, I have ample proof. Disclaimer: I am not speaking about any religious beliefs, morality, or any political or social ideals. I am only speaking to raw, innate, sexual attraction.

I’ll illustrate my point by describing a situation and ask that you honestly listen to your visceral reaction before calling me a moron.

You walk into the bedroom and catch a woman in the throws of self-pleasurement. Her smooth body is cradled by the billowy white comforter on which she lays. Candles surround the bed and you detect just a hint of Jasmine floating in the air. Tiny flickers of firelight dance across her alabaster skin. You treasure that moment of her sweet escape as she arches her head back, consumed by the passionate gift she has granted herself.

Scene change:

You walk into the bedroom and catch a man auditioning his finger puppets. He is standing, hunched over, in the corner of the room facing the wall. He assumes this position because he knows that the intersection of these two walls is a place that God’s eyes can’t see. Sweat pours from his acne filled back as he pants loudly while performing “The Rabid Dog”. If he turned now, you would be shocked at the self loathing burned on his cherry red face.

Walking into each of those scenarios, man or woman will both have the same guttural reaction. One will elicit a passionate stir, a sensual beckoning. The other causes just the slightest amount of bile to creep up your esophagus, leaving an alkaline taste in your mouth for weeks, if not years.

I’ll take it a step further. Think of the sexually liberated woman and her buffet of sex toys. Your mind swims and your blood stirs with the possibilities. Reverse the situation where a man has one little exchange with an inflatable, but very lifelike, silicon torso. The neighbors are called and he is put on the police watch list for life. Women and sexuality are sisters (attractive step-sisters); men are only a necessary evil.

Men are hairy assed baboons that are really attractive to no one. Oh…could you imagine his hot, acrid breath on your neck? My stomach is churning. Women are well groomed, clean, tender, and generally free of unkempt body hair. They are sexuality personified and not just to the hulking gender. Women, protest if you will but given the opportunity and no social or religious pressure…every one of you would give Angelina a throw.

Just Friends?

So I was having a conversation a while back with my niece and a fundamental misunderstanding of relationships arose. She is 13. A few months later, I had the same conversation with my sisters. They are mid-20’s and 30+ in age, same delusion. Finally, I watched an episode of “Everyone Loves Raymond” and again this topic of misunderstanding arose. I am duty bound to inform the uninformed. Here goes. Ladies, we don’t want you as friends. There, I said it. It’s out there. Those of us of the heterosexual ilk have no business having “Just Friends” of the opposite sex. This is a universal law and no you are not an exception. Let me explain. One of the two friends ALWAYS wants more. Why don’t you people understand this? I know, this delusion can be on the male side too, but it predominantly seems to infect the brains of the gentler sex.

Side note: I am new to blogging and thought I would mention a phrase that will be commonly used yet based on the blog topic, refer to various groups of people that I neither understand nor comprehend…and they confuse me too. The perfunctory phrase is “You People”. I like it. It generalizes and seems to fire up people very quickly.

Back to the explanation: These “Just Friend” friendships can be summed up in 4 categories.

1. Guy is not attractive to Gal, she loves him as a friend. He says he feels the same. Deep down he craves her madly and will become suicidal if she mentions one more time how hot another guy is. (Reference: Ducky.)

2.Gal is not attractive to Guy. She secretly loves him. He doesn’t give her the time of day, but she thinks they have a great friendship and one day he will see past the festering goiter to the beauty within. (Reference: Every chick flick ever made, minus the bogus ending, and often minus the goiter. Only in Hollywood can Julia Roberts be considered for the role of the Quasimodoish “Just Friend”.)

3.Gal and Guy are not attractive to each other in the least. Never were friends, never will be. Moot scenario.

4 Gal and Guy are both attractive to one another, but they claim to be just friends. Great prospect. As future lovers their friendship will blossom. (Reference: The start of most long term relationships.)

Notice I used the word attractive, and not attracted. One infers an innate affinity towards the other where friendship is secondary in the mind of the attracted person. Attractive, on the other hand, means you are probably not auditioning for the role of Rocky in Cher’s newest film “The Mask II” but your reasonable looks allow a friendship to start without fear of infection or capture.

So far, I have only been referencing uncommitted, single people. A whole new world of misunderstanding is involved in those who are in committed relationships and but still tip toe across the fiery coals of maintaining friendships with the opposite sex. Do as you will, but recognize that the above rules still apply….and contribute greatly to the fantastic marital statistic of a nearly 60% failure rate. Women, it is much better to remain in ignorance of the prospects that are still out there. You made your choice, as ill-conceived as it was. Men, let’s be honest, you can’t do better, so stop trying. If you have a woman who is good to your children and lets you touch her on occasion, drop to your knees and thank The Almighty. You are a lucky man. If you are ignorant enough to say that you want nothing more than a friend who happens to be the opposite and you are perfectly happy with your companion, you are either lying or stupid. You might be lying to yourself as well, but you are a liar nonetheless, or mentally handicap. No offence to the mentally handicap.

Women, please don’t try to be one of the guys. Your breasts deny you the right….’cause we are going to look at them. Guys, don’t be the sensitive one to whom the girls can tell anything; you’ll spend weekends on W.O.W. and take lots of long showers.

It has never worked, and never will. You people try time and time again and it always falls back into the four categories I have described. So men, just live with the fact that you cannot and should not try to have women as friends if that is all that you want. Women, you can’t have men as just friends either.….and Mathew McConaughey, you can’t have either as friends because although I am 100% hetero, wow, you are a sexy man.