In 13 days, October 11th 2006 to be exact, I would have not cut my hair for 2 years. (Minus the 500th-day sideburn trim.)
I think I’ll keep it for a while, still, for I have found more reasons to treasure my hair lately. For one, it’s never the same; meet me 3 months later and you’d think I had a different hairstyle. What cheaper way to have different styles of hair than to leave it to grow through phases? (short, slight thickness, poking your eyes, poking your nose, poking your mouth, so heavy your hair doesn’t puff, shoulder-length, long-enough-to-tuck-under-armpits-length, covering-your-bosom-length, covering-your-navel-length, replacing-your-… er, nevermind.)
My plan, after growing it till it makes no difference, would be to make dreadlocks, and then go bald, and then look like a boy again. But then I’d miss headbanging like so.
(Credits to smashpOp for taking these pictures.)
I was at my distraught-friend‘s birthday party, sitting at this rather quiet sober table with this guy and two hot chicks. Let’s label them hot chicks as Lisa and Shel.
The guy was telling stories about how he was hopelessly gentlemanly with girls, and how his friends tell him off for being a nice guy.
He once bought a girl a Hush Puppy, stuffed a RM1