Another Williams Wimbledon. The return of the elusive South End sleep watcher. Another mortgage payment squeaking by.
Perhaps I am more aware of the enormous hamster wheel from writing this blog, as I make note (poke fun) at the same (boring) events rolling by day after (fucking) day.
Driving to Fredericton and back yesterday gave me ample time to think about life – a dangerous train to hop on at the best of times. Toss in a wicked rosé hangover, compliments of my neighbours and the freedom that comes with having one's child safely tucked away one province over – and the results are the philosophical equivalent of a Tori Spelling movie – with ponderings such as, "Why in the name of Christ would anyone live here?" and "How far to Buttfuck, NB and the next McDonalds so I can soak up some of the pink poison with a Sausage and Egg McMuffin?".
I thought about how recently, I was in line at the post office when I noted the youngish man in front of me had a dollop of shaving foam on the downy lobe of his ear. Freshly shaven, and, well, a man, I had a sudden urge wipe the foam off with my fingertip – an intimate gesture when not being performed by a matronly stranger in elastic waist shorts. I also had a sudden urge to spin him around and fling him to the floor, but maybe it's the heat, or the cyclical nature of my love life – as in, not having one, year after bloody year. Nevertheless, three days later, I am still thinking about the lobe, and the dollop, and the ritual of intimate gestures lost somewhere on the side of the road.
Money Sense magazine did a close shave on several charities across Canada recently, posting their astonishing results in the July issue. Pick one up at Atlantic News and note, despite Steve Murphy's clean-shaven cherubic mug as host of the dreary, annual IWK/Grace Telethon, our local Children's Hospital Foundation earned an impressive, overall A+. The little bastard is a regular at the IWK Emerge and it's nice to know he's the only one sucking the life out of the system with every x-ray and cherry popsicle.
While you're at it, pick up the latest Halifax magazine. When I mentioned to the little bastard that my picture was in it, he said, "please tell me you weren't wearing those hiking shoes." Well, I am. Local writer Skana Gee (her parents were hippies) did her best in piecing together my bug-on-the-windshield life, and photographer Mike Dembeck didn't have a lot to work with, as I showed up fresh from the park and told him I didn't want my face on anything but my passport. As a result, you get a nice shot of my back fat and Havenot's enormous biological clock.
For 14 bucks, gentlemen (and menopausal women) can get the full face monty at Veinot's Celebrity Barber Shop in Dartmouth. On Thursdays and Saturdays, Lydia will pamper you with a classic hot towel, straight razor shave that will leave your face baby-ass smooth, and vulnerable to a stranger's touch.
That's Thursdays and Saturdays. Thursdays and Saturdays.
Comforting, isn't it.
Call Veinot's at 463.5412 and book a hot shave with Lydia. They're located at 77 Prince Albert Road in Dartmouth.