I g
ot my hair 
cut yester
day. The “men’s salon” was incredibly nic
e. Upon arrival, the hostess took my coat, hung it on the coat rack, and 
of
fered me a complimentary bevera
. 
After fi Dating minutes, I was taken back, got my h
r cut while making small talk and glancing at flat scre
TVs on occasion (but no important games were on so it didn’t matter much). As part of the service, I had my hair shampooed, received a neck/shoulder massage, and got a warm-towel for my face. I loved it. My “beautician” helped me pick out some new hair stuff, too (Fiber Paste — sounds weird, but works well).
I’m rocking the fauxhawk again.
As I was having my payment processed I made small talk to the hostess. She was super cute and distracting and very likely hired for that reason. She mentioned how she’d really been wanting to see Juno. I mentioned how I’d been wanting to see it, but hadn’t found anybody to go with yet.
So I got her name, said “nice to meet you,” and left.
It took me thirty minutes to realize I should have asked her to the movie. I’m a moron! But at least a fabulous-looking moron.