May 21, 2003

I’m adding May 21, 2003 to my ever-expanding list of holidays, birthdays, anniversaries, psychiatric evaluations, clinic appointments, brothel visits, and other dates of yearly significance. May 21, 2003 will be known as Mustache Wednesday. I’ve done about every facial hair variation to date, every combo of sideburn, beard, goatee, chinstrap, soul patch, et al., but I’ve never gone with a simple and pure mustache. Why? I’m positive I will look like an utter ass with only a mustache. Some people look good in a mustache, I won’t. I gotta give it shot anyway and I gotta hold out for an entire day to make it count.

Currently, I am harvesting a sweet goatee with chinstrap. The facial hair must go prior to June, otherwise I’ll shave it off in July to discover a sickly un-tanned chin and lip contrasting relatively healthy looking cheeks and nose. I shudder to think of the last time I made the mistake of shaving off facial hair in the middle of summer:

I was working construction oversight at the Rocky Mountain Arsenal (soon to be the Rocky Mountain Arsenal Wildlife Refuge). We had drained one of the lakes and were constructing manmade/designed peninsulas in order to create an aquascape more suitable for fish spawning. (I never understood the logic of draining the lake --thus killing the entire fish population-- to build peninsulas that would support optimal fish breeding.) After a summer in the prairie sun I decided it was time for a fashion change and I mowed off my goatee. Bad idea. My pink lips were offset from my brown sun-weathered face by a ring of bleach white flesh where my goatee once grew. I looked like a goddamn grinning clown with white makeup around my mouth. I’ve learned my lesson.

May 21 is a carefully selected date, no meetings and no planned trips out in public. All I have to do is persevere through 8-hours of taunting coworkers. That’s easy enough. I’ll just keep reminding myself that my coworkers are socially inept fuck-ups that can’t even score with their own wives... hell, I’ll even spot them $50 and a bottle of Wild Turkey. (How any of them are married in the first place is beyond me.) More than likely my mustache will get them all hot and bothered because it will remind them of their furry-lipped wives.

...and so the psychological preparations begin.
...and so it was written, shenry at 5/12/2003 03:15:00 PM.
...and so it was appended with .