New face, with ladder

What do y’all think of the new glasses? I haven’t had plastic frames since elementary school.

You tell me

How old do I look?

Because, okay, I do have a Birthday of Significance coming up, in just barely over a month. I’m not entirely ready for it, to be honest. It has a good chance to be a pretty rough day. But do you know what shit happened to me today? I went to the grocery after work today, with my wife, because of course there had to be a witness along for this bullshit, to buy Many Snacks for the final meeting of my weird little gay kids club tomorrow.

I had too many snacks, so rather than going through the self-checkout I went through a regular register, with a checker and a bagger and shit. The human being manning the register … well, childing the register, was a larva. Maybe seven years old, at most. And do you know what this prepubescent little bastard(*) did to me?

Without saying anything or asking a single question, he gave me a senior citizen discount.

Which I took. Because fuck you, groceries are expensive, and 10% off is a good discount.

But seriously. Tell the truth, especially if you don’t actually know how old I am. I know The Youngs don’t have the slightest idea how old anyone over 30 actually is, but I can go back to this grocery store tomorrow and smack this little asshole, right? Because last I checked senior citizen means sixty-five, and … no. I don’t even plan on living to 65 and I sure as shit on my worst day on Earth don’t look 65 now.

I’mma kidnap this little diaper-wearing-ass smooth-skinned-ass no-retirement-plan-havin’-ass have-fun-with-global-warming-after-I’m-dead-ass whippersnapper and dropkick him onto my front lawn so I can tell him to get the fuck off of it.

(*) By seven, I mean seventeen, because if this little shit can fuck up my age I can sure as hell fuck his up.

49, unshowered and unshaved

… eh, I’ve looked worse.

Face v. 48.67

New glasses, less facial hair, same shitty attitude. How’s your Sunday going?

In which I’ve made a terrible mistake

I am roughly forty-three and three-quarters years old. For roughly 25 of those years, I have had facial hair, and for the last, oh, 15 months or so it has been long enough to be notable.

Apparently, in all that time, I have not acquired the necessary skills that “let’s trim this mess back by a couple of inches” is something I am actually capable of doing. Believe me, it came as a surprise. I thought that was something I knew how to do! But I do not. I did not intend to do this terrible thing to my face when I began “trimming” my lovely beard earlier today. And it happened anyway. I am very sorry, particularly since the children will not want to discuss anything but my face on Monday.

I am probably going to go ahead and dye it now, because it’s not like I can fuck up any further than I have.

Why not, right?

STATUS: Ridden Hard, Put Away Wet

So we ended up going with Pair #2, against the advice of virtually every single person who voted except for my entire actual family, all of whom preferred this pair– and since my wife, in particular, who has to look at my face a lot more often than y’all do, liked these the most, that was what we went with.

But man, do I look raggedy right now.

That face is the face of a man who has just completed his fifteenth year of working in schools, and who is mildly surprised that it only turned out to be fifteen when he sat down and did the math. In accordance with tradition, I’m completely and utterly fucking exhausted and I plan to sit in my chair for a couple more hours and then go to bed.

Oh, and I got rehired for my job. So … good news, I suppose? Sure.

In which I alter my face and it is still terrible

Guys, I totally recommend being an old white man if you can find a way to do it. Because I have been walking around looking like this since October and no one has said shit to me about it the whole entire time:

I tend to grow a full beard between October and March or April every year, right? It’s cold outside, Goddammit, and I’m already losing enough heat through my bald-ass head. This year for some reason I decided to throw any caution about, like, basic grooming completely to the wind and just let that bastard grow out however it wanted to. I kept my upper lip somewhat trimmed because otherwise it gets in my mouth when I’m trying to eat, but other than that? You do you, beard. I’m not getting in the way.

(And, okay, I hadn’t showered or really done much of anything when I took that. I usually don’t look that bad. But still.)

(This is utterly male privilege, by the way. I know nothing about grooming at all, despite having had some sort of beard for all but maybe two weeks since I went to college. I just let the shit completely go. And no one said boo the entire time. Let a woman go two days without brushing her hair and try to show up at work, I dare you.)

There is also the variant I call the Full Pappy. This is the Full Pappy:

To achieve the proper Full Pappy, you take your bushy-ass unkempt-ass beard and brush it against the grain for a couple of minutes until it looks even more ridiculous. Now, I never went out of the house looking like this, but still.

Anyway. It’s mid-March and the beard is starting to get annoying when I’m trying to sleep (that’s a thing!) so it was time for it to go. So now, because, again: white dude, I look like this:

I was in the bathroom killing off my cheeks and trying to figure out how in the fuck I wanted to shape this raggedy monster and it suddenly occured to me that I really like the feeling of the extended length on my chin, as I am an inverterate, unapologetic beard-stroker, and so I just stopped shearing the sides of the damn thing at a 45 degree angle and left all the length. So now I maybe look a little younger and a touch more in control of my face but I also look like I should be wearing a jean vest covered in patches and carrying some sort of flag.

I dunno. We’ll give it a couple of days and see if I decide to trim it back to something civilized or if it’s gonna be halfway to my nipples by summertime.

And now…

…to spend the next several hours sweating like a pig.