Wednesday, May 20, 2015

Bald is Beautiful

I’ve always wanted to know what I’d look like bald, so I shaved my head.  I didn’t leave a quarter inch of follicle. I took it down to the scalp.

The first few days I was in the “I am bald” shock-phase and wore a baseball cap everywhere.  I needed time to adjust and brace myself for what friends might say.  I feared the “You look like Uncle Fester from the Addams Family” comments, though, when I think about it, Uncle Fester did have a charm and sexiness about him. 

I gradually took off my baseball cap while driving.  I’d look in the rearview mirror and see a reflection I’d never seen before.  I was tough-looking, like a recent parolee from prison.  It gave me a boost. I accelerated the gas pedal with a “don’t mess with me attitude.” 

I then started slipping off the cap while walking the neighborhood.  I’d catch a glimpse of myself in the storefront windows. Yeah, I was looking badass. 

The first thing I noticed about being bald was the chill, the cold skull. If a gentle breeze blew around my scalp I felt a chill, a tickling.  It made me rub my head. It felt good. 

I also noticed I have a nicely shaped head with hardly a bump or a valley, though there is one blood vessel that seems to be prominent just above the hairline. 

With a slight beginning of follicle growth my baldness looks like an atlas, like the map of South America. If I’m ever lost in the southern hemisphere all I’ll need is a mirror to find my way around.  And that protruding blood vessel looks a lot like Peru. 

The good bald news is I can stand tall and proud and proclaim I’m contributing to saving water during this California drought. Shower times are much shorter because I don’t shampoo, rinse, repeat, condition, and rinse.  

This bald head is here to stay… for the summer at least. As winter approaches I might need to grow it out to keep me warm… or I’ll invest in a few battery powered heated knitted hats. I’m sure I can find them online, maybe on Amazon. 

But for now… 

Bald is beautiful… and badass… and so am I.

Thursday, May 07, 2015

There’s a Homeless Man Pooping in the Bathroom!

My adventures in life continue… and today I couldn’t believe what I witnessed. 

I went to a gas station/minimart to buy gasoline.  As I was standing in line waiting my turn to pay, a woman, who seemed to appear out of nowhere, started shouting:

There’s a homeless man in the bathroom. He’s been in there a few minutes. Too long. He’s pooping in the bathroom!

All eyes turned to this relatively normal looking woman. This was no joke. She was serious. 

I can’t go in there after a homeless man poops. That’s #2, pooping, not #1. He’s pooping in the bathroom. It’s gonna smell! 

The workers in the minimart didn’t know how to respond. They looked as dumbfounded as everyone else. It was getting hysterical… as in funny and out of control. 

I’m a lady. I can’t go in there. A homeless man is pooping. I have to tinkle real bad! 

At this point she’s rocking from side to side, holding her hands over her nether region. I was suddenly afraid she might let loose with a river of pee. I slowly backed up. 

I’m a lady!  I have to tinkle!  You’ve got to help me. I can’t go in there after a homeless man poops! 

The manager of the minimart, somewhat scared, moved towards the restroom.  I don’t know if she was going to knock on the door or not, and neither did she. 

I’m a lady! I have to tinkle real bad!”

Before the manager could knock, the restroom door opened. All eyes were anticipating a homeless man… not knowing what kind of creature would emerge.

A middle-aged man in business clothes came out of the bathroom.  And to say he was surprised to see everyone staring at him is an understatement. The woman began to bellow as loud as possible. She no longer was shaking her legs and holding her nether region. 

You’re not homeless. Oh dear lord, I thought you were homeless and pooping in the bathroom. 

The poor mortified man forced a smile and without saying a word made a quick exit. 

I thought he was homeless!  

She ran into the bathroom. 

I paid for my gas.  

And as I drove home I wondered if the man really did poop or not. 

Wednesday, May 06, 2015

Locker Room Selfies

Today, like every day during the week, I went to the gym.  It began pretty uneventful. I started on the treadmill and walked 5,000 steps while watching reruns of “Roseanne.” 

After treading the treadmill I worked on my biceps and triceps.  I do confess they need a lot of work.  Sometimes when I flex in the mirror, naked, in the privacy of my own bathroom, I notice my upper arms tend to shake like human maracas.  And if I add a little bopping up and down to the rhythm of my shaking arms my man-boobs do a little dance, and my… well, use your imagination because that bounces too, but not as much as I’d like.

So after my workout I headed to the locker room. As I did I put my water bottle on the counter which is in front of the mirror. That’s when I heard a groan, a harrumph, that caught my attention. I looked to my right and saw a man in his shorts with no shirt and he was taking a selfie. I was blocking him from seeing himself in the mirror. 

Suppressing a giggle, I said an inaudible “sorry” and moved out of the way.  

While opening my locker and gathering my things I watched him through the corner of my eye. He posed like a model taking photo after photo. 

He flexed his biceps and took a selfie.

He stood sideways, breathed in, and took a selfie.

He lowered his shorts to get a line of visible pubes and took a body shot selfie. 

He rubbed his chest and took a selfie. 

Apparently he didn’t care that he was being watched by others around him. 

After taking numerous selfies, he admired himself by examining each photo. Self-satisfaction never looked so funny. 

I wanted to imitate him and take selfies of myself, but I didn’t think he’d appreciate the humor, nor would he appreciate my less than stellar biceps, triceps, and pecs. 

I wish I had taken a photo of him taking a selfie to share with you, but that wasn’t possible. There’s a “No camera phones” sign in the locker room, and I didn’t want to break any rules, nor did I want to have my nose broken if he caught me taking his photo. 

This could be me... someday...

Tomorrow I work on my chest, and I’m increasing the weights.