Thursday, November 06, 2003
I get to work and Mike starts kidding with me about getting a hickey. I'm puzzled. I don't have a hickey, not that I'd mind having one (or well I suppose I'd prefer the process of getting one), but I don't. He's not buying that I didn't get any hot action in the last 24 hours.
I really only learned how to shave with an actual razor in the summer of 2001, I didn't have anyone to show me how to shave other than roommates and the drug dealing friend of a roommate (who to date is the only person I have ever bought pot from). I guess I was suppose to learn how to shave with a razor when I entered puberty, but it just didn't happen. We were a pretty bougie household and my dad, and my older brother all had electric razors (still do). My rite of passage was getting my own. It looked like a phaser from Star Trek, I thought it along with the cologne, Colours for Men, and dating a 19 yr old who was in the 10th grade made me pretty dope.
Shortly after graduating in May 2001, my razor konked out and I had to ask a household of virtual strangers how I was suppose to shave with a hand razor. I ended up with lots of nicks and scratchs, because I really wasn't use to demonstrating patience when it comes to cleaning up the facial scruff.
I usually wake up, wander around in my boxers bumping into things for a few minutes (thus earning me the title of "the pantless wonder") before heading to the bathroom and taking care of my hygiene. I really hate shaving, but unfortunately I generally have to do it every day. I usually try to rush through the shaving, sometimes I emerge unscathed, sometimes not so much.
Today I miss the little bit of jawline that's in front of my ear and somehow ended up inflicting pain upon part of my neck, part of my neck that's nowhere near the body part I was trying to shave. I suppose I deserved it as I was thinking of an awful thing I had done to someone (more on that later). It stinks like a goddamned burn and it looks like a hickey.
I really only learned how to shave with an actual razor in the summer of 2001, I didn't have anyone to show me how to shave other than roommates and the drug dealing friend of a roommate (who to date is the only person I have ever bought pot from). I guess I was suppose to learn how to shave with a razor when I entered puberty, but it just didn't happen. We were a pretty bougie household and my dad, and my older brother all had electric razors (still do). My rite of passage was getting my own. It looked like a phaser from Star Trek, I thought it along with the cologne, Colours for Men, and dating a 19 yr old who was in the 10th grade made me pretty dope.
Shortly after graduating in May 2001, my razor konked out and I had to ask a household of virtual strangers how I was suppose to shave with a hand razor. I ended up with lots of nicks and scratchs, because I really wasn't use to demonstrating patience when it comes to cleaning up the facial scruff.
I usually wake up, wander around in my boxers bumping into things for a few minutes (thus earning me the title of "the pantless wonder") before heading to the bathroom and taking care of my hygiene. I really hate shaving, but unfortunately I generally have to do it every day. I usually try to rush through the shaving, sometimes I emerge unscathed, sometimes not so much.
Today I miss the little bit of jawline that's in front of my ear and somehow ended up inflicting pain upon part of my neck, part of my neck that's nowhere near the body part I was trying to shave. I suppose I deserved it as I was thinking of an awful thing I had done to someone (more on that later). It stinks like a goddamned burn and it looks like a hickey.
