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2002-04-04 6:53 p.m.

Yesterday, when driving back from my private yoga class, I began to make a list in my mind of the things I was to accomplish that evening. It was only 7:30 PM and I had even eaten dinner already. My evening sat in front of me like a blank canvas.

TO DO LIST:

1) Give myself a haircut

2) Clean my room (very optional)

3) Autograph some more HT pics

4) Soak my navel piercing

5) Take a stupid shower to wash the stupid, itchy hair particles off my body


Haircut, haircut. I got to thinking about all the hair that would fill my bathtub after I cut my hair. Every time I give myself a haircut, the same thing happens: I collect all the hair from the bathtub and throw it in the garbage. I never even think about the wet piles of hair and what fate they may have had in mind for themselves. Is this how they wanted their days to end? Sitting in my bathtub and then carelessly tossed into the bathroom rubbish bin?

So I asked myself, "Why don't I do other things with this hair?" Like weave it into cloth or put it into pillows (like they did in Nazi Germany), or stuff it into envelopes and send it to random addresses from the phone book, or, in delirious fits of confusion jam it into my tender mouth by the fistful? How come nobody ever takes the hair and jams it into their mouth? My thoughts were consumed by this as I drove home.

I got home, went into the bathroom, cut my hair. And I stood and stared at the hair, the dark piles accented by the stark whiteness of the porcelain bathtub like a single typewritten haiku on a huge, naked page. The curiosity killed me. I had to do it.


Hair...bathtub...suspense...


Must...shove...hair...into...mouth. Must...feel...hair...against...tongue...and...uvula...and...tender...gums...

I thought about it for a few moments, but not too for too long. I knew if I gave it too much thought that I would realize what a bad idea it was and not go through with it. I started to form a thought having to with razor–sharp, mini hair–needles stabbing between my teeth and gums, but I quickly dismissed this thought. No time for thought! Time for action! I jammed the fistful of hair into my mouth.


uhmfmfmmfmmfuhrfmfmfmf urffffff


Seriously, I am literally teeming with bad ideas such as this one.

The sensation in my mouth was truly astounding. It was uncomfortable. Very, very uncomfortable. The nerves in my lips, tongue, and gums repeatedly sent signals to my brain that said, "You idiot. Fuck you." I was overwhelmed with the physical sensation of nagging oral discomfort with a hint of gag reflex. Hair does not taste especially bad, but I was surprised by just how bad it felt. It felt exactly how I had imagined it would, except only exceptionally worse.


After a few minutes of walking around with my mouth full of hair, I almost forgot about the itching in my gums and was able to just go about my business like nothing happened. Ok, just kidding. Not really.

"Ok, enough of this crap", I thought. I spit the hair into the bathroom wastebasket. I guess there is a reason hair always ends up there. I attempted to alleviate the lingering major discomfort and itching (did I mention itching?) by rinsing out my mouth with water over and over. I should have listened to my premonition about the sharp pieces of hair and how they would rape the space between my teeth and helpless gums. If there was some kind of music that made you think of painful gum–stabbing, then it would have definitely been the soundtrack of that moment, plus every other moment for the next few hours. Brushing and flossing only seemed to taunt the nasty bits of hair. I felt the hairs calling out, "You are only making us angry with your pathetic flossing and brushing, Justin!"

After a few hours, though, I managed to get out most of the hair. During that time, I was even able to soak my navel piercing and take a shower, so the evening was almost productive. If anything, at least I learned something. I learned that there is a reason we simply throw the hair away and do not jam it into our mouths. But, I am glad that I know this now, and I even have a few pictures to document the exciting event. When Andie finally came home, I decided not to tell her about the whole hair thing. I figured that maybe it was best if I did not go about making it obvious that I have something wrong with my brain and that I spend my time doing such inane things.


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