I have not posted lately, but it's not for lack of ideas. It's not really for lack of time, either. It's been lack of effort. I apologize for this. I have a few posts floating around in my skull that haven't quite materialized the way I want, and rather than rewrite them, I just give up and do something else. To placate the MILLIONS of loyal readers this blog undoubtedly has lurking in the dark corners of the internets, I have decided to write one to fruition. Sadly, it'll be the one where I obsess about my looks.
Remember back in February when I confessed to feeling a little bit down? Well, one side effect of that down-feeling was that I stopped shaving. I have not shaved since early February. One might wonder what sort of monstrous, Wookieean visage I currently bear as a result of this shaving fast. Wonder no longer, mythical literary device person:
A mustache. And a goatee. With no connecting facial hair. I call this facial hair style the Musketeer, and it happens to be the only style I can actually grow. I kept it for much longer this time because a few women complimented my mustache. These were not women I have any desire to date or sleep with, but when it comes to my admittedly quirky looks, I take whatever friendliness I can find.
There is no point to this post other than to point out the weird facial hair I have, but I will provide a glimpse of mustache insight for the mostly female readership of this space. See how my mustache easily hangs over my freakishly tiny upper lip? This allows me to taste my mustache, and it tastes like a sweaty kiss. I would work out with my first girlfriend while she was getting in shape for hockey season, and frequently went hiking with my second. Many a pleasantly sweaty kiss were exchanged in these times, and it appears the exact flavor is preserved in mustache hair. Who knew?