Sunday, August 1, 2010

31, my tragic beard and other disappointments

The potrait view almost looks passable, but don't be fooled the profile view reveals a deeply disatisfying beard. Hair folicles are sparsely distributed across the cheeks resulting in an unacceptable patchy look

For the ancient Greeks growing a full on facial beard was a right of passage. A signifier of manhood. I can't help but slouch in despondent defeat. My attempts at a beard are, prepubescent, nothing short of girlish. Wait, that's an insult to girls; I know plenty of members of the fairer sex whose razors I'm not worthy to wet. I mean these chicks can sprout thicker side burns than Elvis. Alls I'm saying is that I'm jealous. Masculinity will you forever evade my grasp?

This is the perfect metaphor for my life thus far, chalk up another sad attempt in a long line of disappointments. Honestly, I hate my life. Don't get me wrong, I turned a corner, for sure, when I disavowed my allegiance to god, the queen and country, but we're talking baby steps here people. All I ask is that everything that I hope and wish for materialize as soon as possible. Like now would be nice. Do you hear me universe? Sure, Rome wasn't built in a day, I know, but what do you expect from Italians? Between contemplating the mysteries of the universe, regular siestas and even more regular orgies, it's little wonder town planning wasn't high on the priority list.

I have a degree, a semi-stable income, a near genius IQ, abs, a raging ego. What's not to like? My job for one thing. I turned 31 today and can't grow a beard. Do you know how demoralizing that is? I'm old, free and single. Relieved of the quote unquote moral constraints of mormonism I should be living it up, but I often find myself drifting off at inopurtune times throughout the day, it's getting so bad the boys have nicknamed me gramps. Oh the humanity. I'm usually completely catatonic by 10 o'clock, I can't even make it out the door. Those ladies at the club wouldn't know what hit 'em. I could've been a contender. I'll show 'em all, I will.

Millions are starving to death worldwide and I'm lamenting the state of my facial hair. Everyday I meticulously plan my revenge on planet earth for me not being amazing. Oh, I've got plans for you all right. I desperately need to join some kind of charitable community to distract me from my constant machinations to take over the world. OK. Slow down. Breathe. It's not about the beard. It's not about the beard. It's not over yet (well the beard is, for the sake of all things holy shave that mother fucker son), I can be redeemed. I shall return. Watch this space.

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