Oxnard—I was going through the endless labyrinth of paperwork involved with having a Kidney Transplant last weekend when I decided to take a break to use the bathroom.
I caught a glimpse of myself out of the corner of my eye and thought about the lyric, “And the sign said the long-haired freaky need not apply.”
In case you’re wondering, the picture of J-Train and I kissing took place shortly after we moved in together in late 1997, and I had long, curly hair down to the middle of my back when I combed it and put all my stuff in my hair.
That makes me think of our first date. It was a Wednesday at a Barnes & Noble Cafe, where we had coffee (I had coffee, and she had coffee-flavored creamer. We spent the afternoon talking and laughing until it was time for me to go to work. She was attracted to my long hair, Cowboy hat, and loud, outrageous personality. It is hard to imagine looking at my cut, professional look today.
I mentioned to The Sarge and The Paramedic that I needed a haircut, and they responded, oh, poor Dad, he needs to cut his…
