Give Me A Head With Hair

When I was 16, my hair began to fall out. Just a little bit at first. You know, you start to see it clogging up the drain while you’re in the shower. Then, you start to notice a slightly receding hairline. It’s something that happens to most middle-aged guys. Only, it started with me when I was just a teenager. (Fortunately for me, it only hurt my chances of getting laid slightly.)

The reasons for my premature hair loss are still up for discussion. Some possibilities are:

1. One of my biological parents was an alien who came down from Alien World and screwed an ape in the jungles of Washington, D.C., possibly the Black Forest. Then, both of my biological parents left me on Earth to be raised by human beings which was just too much for me and my hair to take. Yes, of course both of my biological parents were males. What kind of sick monkey do you think I am?



2. I grew my hair really long in the late 70’s and very early 80’s. It was all the way down to my nipples. Gradually, I kept cutting it shorter and shorter. When I came out in 1982, I cut it really short, since my boyfriend at the time liked it that way. So, naturally, after all that hair cutting, my hair just decided to keep on growing shorter and shorter all by itself, and it continued to recede.



3. The stress of being a young gay monkey in the Reagan era was very depressing. So, in 1983, they put me on an early form of the anti-depressant called Tofranil. I was always way ahead of my peers as far as drug experimentation was concerned. In this case, however, the pills were actually prescribed to me. Shortly after starting on this drug, my hair started falling out.



4. The last theory is that as more and more hair appeared all over the rest of my body throughout my pubescent years, my young monkeyhood years, and the "knocking on the door of a midlife crisis" years, less and less hair has grown up there on the top of my head. It’s almost as if there are these little hair elves who come along at night while I am sleeping and shave all of the hair off of my head and glue it everywhere else on my body. And, trust me, I do mean everywhere else on my body.

Anyways, let's skip right on up to the early 1990’s. To a time when I knew who Fugazi was, but I don’t think Nirvana had gotten really big yet. It was at that time, that I just got tired of looking half-haired. I took what I later referred to as "The Plunge" and shaved my head completely bald. I was inspired to do so by one of the sexiest and best bass players in the world, Tony Levin. Now, keep in mind, that I did this back in the days before everyone else dove in to the hairless look. Also at that time, I was sporting a long Salvador Dali’esque handlebar moustache waxed to a sharp point that came up to just under the corners of each eye. People would come up to me and say, “Are you some kind of Nazi skinhead, or what?”

Now, on to present day. Last November, I decided to grow a beard to keep warm for the winter months. I thought that the beard looked kind of weird with my head being bald and all, so I decided to grow my hair back. Well, at least the parts of my hair that would actually grow back. It’s been growing more and more ever since then. I had completely forgotten about some of the small things that come along with having hair, like the wind blowing through it, or that it gets dirty and that you need to shampoo it. I must admit that I do like the feeling of running my hands through it. It reminds me of what it feels like making out with a guy that has hair. (Like Bubala, for example.)

Now comes the hard part of my story. My hair is getting a little too long for me. I’m starting to feel like Bozo The Clown. So, I had Bubala make hair cut appointments for the both of us. I haven’t had to have a haircut in over 15 years. I almost feel like it will be a big rip off since I’m just going to shave it all off when the weather warms up anyway. For now though, I guess I do need to get it trimmed. I won’t touch the beard, however, because I think that Bubala is liking my beard for certain reasons. Maybe, when I get to the barber shop, I should throw a big temper tantrum just before I sit down in the chair like I used to when I was a little monkey. That way, they’ll give me a lollipop or something. Then again, maybe the lollipops and all that other sweet stuff are Bubala’s responsibility now...