I have a hairy chest. It’s been hairy since I was about seventeen. Oh, relax. It’s not gross and it’s not thick and brillo-y but it’s definitely an even covering. I’m no sellick, or Reynolds, but I’m definitely no Zac Effron or Nick Lachey either. I’ve never shaved it, because, hey, what the fuck, right? I’m not a fucking woman/backup dancer/Olympic swimmer and I don’t really care enough to navigate a fucking razorblade around my nipples. There’s a time and a place for that, and that time and place is when you were unfortunate enough to have hairy tits but still be a woman and you can’t get to the waxer so you shave your unfortunately hairy tits. Wow, that’s a bummer of a concept. Not hating, you hairy titted ladies, just saying, I feel your pain. Ah, to grow up in a world that doesn’t understand…
Anyhoo. Here’s what I do. About twice a year, I take a clipper at about a two guard and even everything out. that’s because while most of the hairs just stop growing on their own, some just keep on keeping on, and about every six months or so, it starts to get weird. So I tirm the shit up. It’s been going on for years. It’s not really something I give a terrible amount of thought to, it’s just something that I bust out, usually if I’m really sprucing things up for a special evening; you know, generally some time when I think I’m about to get laid and I really want to make sure all the I’s are dotted and the t’s are crossed, etc. Whatever. Not important at all. Just throwing out a bit of my personal grooming habits, because, well, hmmmm….okay.
Not long ago, I went to trim my chest hair. Now, usually when I take the clipper and run it across my chest, there’s not really a noticeable difference. It’s just a little maintenance that is probably only appreciated by me…but this time, and I’m forgetting what the occasion was, there was a clear line where I’d drawn the clipper across my sternum. The hair was noticeably shorter. “Hmmm. That’s odd. Must have really been a long time since I’ve done this” I thought to myself, and then continued on as though everything was normal, until, about three or four passes in, I realized that I didn’t have the fucking guard on the clipper. So, there I am, presumably sprucing myself up for what’s gonna maybe be some boning, and I’ve got this hole shaved in the middle of my chest like some sort of fucking pre surgery heart patient.
What’s a boy to do, right?
I shaved the whole thing. I mean, what else is there? I can’t walk around with the hole. And I can’t just go get a sharpie and draw the shit back in. I was fucked. Rock and a hard place style. I shaved my chest. Not with a blade, mind you. I finished with the clippers. So at the end of it all, my chest looked like george michael’s face in the Faith video.
It was a little stubbly. It looked WAY stupid. I looked like one of those dipshits that somehow comes to the conclusion that shaving your chest is the right move, and lord knows, I’m not one of those dipshits. Of course, I’m speaking from a fairly blessed perspective. If I had one of those thick pelts that completely submerged the skin, well, maybe I’d be whistling a different tune. I know some dudes like that and, well…ew. Anyhow, not the point. The point is, as I pointed out yesterday, yesterday I had to go to tot swimming, where I stood in the pool (as per usual on Wednesdays) with a bunch of moms and babies and tried to pretend that I wasn’t the only man in the pool or the only person with a large portion of his body tattooed or the person with the child with the longest hair of any child in the pool, male or female. I mean, fuck. We’re sore thumbs as it is, and it’s a real scene as a general rule, but yesterday was even better, because I suddenly had this stubbly shaved chest. And sure, these ladies are all saggy and granny style one pieces and “flattering’ sarongs and all that, but uh…I’m the only guy in there and suddenly I’m rocking a shaved chest? They must think I just got back from france or something…So lame. Maybe they thought I was trying to impress ‘em, thinks I. So I fucked a few of them in the family locker room afterwards and everything turned out fine.
It was the last day of class, after all.
Oh, and I met tommy Wiseau the other day. Just saw him on the street and got a picture. No shit. Promise. If I knew how to do pictures on this bad boy I’d post it. Hell, let’s give it a try, right?
Okay, you know what? It’s not working. Oh man! This must be the first time EVER that tommy wiseau has been photographed and the results have seemed half assed and unpresentable. I’m ashamed.
Oh, google him already! Jesus.