How to Break Up With Your Barber

Aiight, a month ago I was in search of a new barbershop, because the barbers at my old one were aging in the eyes and deteriorating in their hands; my shape-ups were becoming more and more uneven, my haircuts more unbecoming, and it came to the point where I was goin to parties lookin an asymmetrical mess. The fact was that, at the average age of 50, these men had lost both their looks and their dexterity, and you know what, I didn't want any part in it.

So in my endless quest to stay young and poppin, I had to part ways.Being disconnected from my local Black community because I'm an Oreo, I had no idea where to go next. Hmm, where am I sure to find unadulaterated negro-osity around these parts? I wondered. The local indoor strip mall full of exploitive vendors selling useless shit to low class Black people, of course! Off to the ghetto mart I went.

As I'd predicted, amidst the stores offering weaves, Amish pork chops, and "exotic" Chinese massages advertised to cure both cancer and depression, I found a Black barbershop. And unlike my old one, all the barbers were so young, so virile, so not afflicted with arthritis! A chair opened up at the station of a handsome Black guy with a light goatee, and he sat me down to experience his Black magic.

And magical it was, for on my beard he used a RAZOR, a heavenly instrument which I had previously denounced for its harshness. Yet now in its aftermath, I couldn't believe the resulting precision of my sexiness. And to my satisfaction, he didn't really try to force convo with me- which was a huge plus because I don't like to talk to the help.

2 weeks later I went back, expecting to find the same stunning results. Once again, it was great. By the third time, however, the Black magic was gone. I first noticed it when he tried to talk to me, which was totally a mistake on his part.

"Aren't you the dude who said you sing?" he asked as I sat in the chair.

"No," I replied.

"I could've sworn you were a singer and that we talked about it last time you were in my chair," he said.

"Nope."

"Oh aiight. Yeah, cause *I* sing. I even had a record deal."

"Oh what happened with that?"

"It fell apart. But it's all good, I'm still pushin on, tryna make it big, nyahmean? You gonna see me in lights one day."

"How old are you?"

"37"

"Oh that's sad."

"...Damn, 37 aint that old, man. Keith Sweat is like at least 50 and he's still goin platinum."

"No he's not...but yeah, I don't mean you're old lol. Music is just a tough business, I've written about it."

"Oh you're a song writer?"

"No, I mean articles, stories..."

"Oh you're a writer like that? I'm tryin to get my autobiography off the ground, man. I haven't written since high school. I mean I can write sentences, but I can't do all that fancy stuff. Like, you know..."

"...Like paragraphs?"

"Yeah. So all I need is a good writer to tell my story. Maybe everyday you come in to get a cut, I can tell you a small part of my life story- and then after a year, you can compile it all into a book that we can shop around."

"...."

"Yeah man, I have a story to TELL! I'd find SOME way to pay you, yo."

"Actually I've kinda retired from writing, I'm now a consultant, sorry." Heartbroken, he resumed cuttin my hair. And I think he dashed a little salt in his clippers, because my cut wasn't quite as good as it was 2 weeks ago.

And then the next time, my cut wasn't as good as it was 2 weeks prior. And then fast forward to this past weekend- the nigga butchered me!! Dude was doin too much with both the razor and the clippers, and I wasn't comfortable with how close he was gettin to my skin.

"Please don't shape up my hairline in the front," I said.
He put shaving cream on my hairline and shaped it up in the front.

"Please don't shave under my neck," I requested. Nigga took the blade to my neck.

Now if there's ANYTHING I hate in this world, it's an insubordinate shoe shine boy. And next up is an insubordinate barber. The nerve!

As I stood up to pay, I just wanted to throw my $20 in his face and walk out. Just as I turned to leave, he said with a concerned look, "Hold on, I left somethin on your face." He came towards me with a cotton ball soaked with alcohol and smeared it all over my newly raw face, burning me alive. I tried to compose myself as I stood there seething, all the niggas in the barbershop starin at me in curiosity.

What were they starin at? I wondered. As soon as I left, I raced to the strip mall's restroom to see what he'd done to my hair. Omg, why was there blood everywhere!?! Blood on my face, blood on my forehead, blood in the crevices of my shape-up; I looked like psycho ass Carrie at her prom. They're all gonna laugh at me! I thought to myself :-(

So yeah, I don't wanna see that nigga no more. Especially not this weekend when I have to look fly for my college's Black Alumni Reunion/Homecoming. However, he's always the first chair open, and I've been seein him consistently for about 2 months. When he invites me to sit down like he always does, how should I turn him down? It's obvious that I've been his exclusive customer for a while, and I feel like if I say "Nah I'm good," his face will totally crack- which would tickle my soul, but ruin my experiences at this barbershop. Help!

The Neurotic is back, bitches!!

Wow, in all my years of stalking people/reading blogs, I've never heard of someone taking a 2 year break from a blog, especially after making less than 5 entries lol. But then again, I'm one of a kind in my craziness and irrationality, as you will come to find out. Anyway, I'm back and here to stay, motivated by the exciting blogs of other Black queer men as well as my desire to vent about things I don't feel comfortable admitting to in the real world.

So when I left off, I had failed out of college, moved back home to the Philly region, and started lamenting my lack of work and life skills. I had never held a real job, cooked a pot of rice, nor had a real boyfriend. Here's how things have changed (and haven't changed) since then.

1. I got a job! Actually, I've had a few jobs. First, I worked at American Eagle, under the awful management of this bitter, Latino queen. It was my first job and yes I was kind of a mess, but this bitch snapped at me too many times for my liking. His totalitarian attitude, plus my inability to fold clothes (I told you I had no life skills) led me to quit that job in a hot 2 months.
Then I snagged a gig at a small Borders bookstore at the raggedy local mall. It was seasonal, I was clumsy, and umm let's just say I wasn't asked to return lol.
Then, I got this laughable job at a shady document imaging company. Sticking out like a Banana Republic-adorned sore thumb, I was surrounded by Trenton Bloods and Camden crack hoes as coworkers. And I'm not exaggerating; one of my coworkers asked me for crack money. It was a scary reminder of the kind of destitute existence I was possibly headed for without a college degree.

Now, I have another easy job, a clerical one at a medical laboratory. I have the most triflin work habits though; I would fire myself if I were them lol. But oh the hilarious blog posts that my job shall provide!

2. I went back to school! Well, to a community college. And then failed 2 classes lol. Ew, who does that?? Frustrated by my ADD and anxiety, I just stopped going to class, reminiscent of my experience at the University. But now, at 24, I realize the importance of obtaining a degree before I'm old and washed up. So I'm buckling down and takin courses at a different community college, with hopes of acing them and transferring somewhere respectable.

3. I am "dating" this guy, who I've been seeing since about June. However, the vagueness of our relationship and his chronic indifference towards me makes me feel uneasy. Still, I'm actually dating and meeting guys, quite a feat for a self-conscious prude like me lol. 2 years ago I was sure I'd be bitter, unattractive, and manless by this time. I consider my romantic life a small victory ;-)

So in conclusion, while my life has gone on, it's still kind of a mess. However, I'm alive and in good spirits enough to laugh about it, which is what I'll be doing a lot of in this blog. This blog is a grand experiment. It's an experiment to see if revealing all of my most closeted feelings, embarassing moments, and dirty laundry will be cathartic- or the cause of scandal(I'm prayin that no one I know will read this blog).

Moreover, it's the study of a mid-twenties Black gay male who has totally fucked his life up and has to start from scratch. Like, WHAT is going to happen to me?? I am dying to know, because I feel like I've fallen so unbelievably and hilariously low that I am just a stone's throw away from bein a crack whore lol. Everything- graduating college, having a writing career, movin out on my own, being involved in a real relationship with somebody smart, rich, and fine lol- seems like a pipe dream that is meant to be dreamed about but not achieved. However, for some reason, I'm still trying to move in that direction, just to see what happens. So will I pull off the greatest Cindarella story in all of the Black gay blogosphere? Or will I indeed become the first blogging crack whore? This is gonna be the best experiment ever!