Trips to exotic locals. Expensive dinners. Extravagant parties.
Nope, not me. It doesn't take much. Time with the family (aw, tender). A bike ride, of any duration, at any time, in any weather, on any bike (Unicycle with a flat tire at midnight on New Year's Eve in an ice storm? Perfect!). Even something as utterly simple as a haircut can make my day... okay week.
Well, no, not any haircut, I don't have some weird fetish or something. No, I just really like having a mohawk. It makes me happy, looking slightly ridiculous. No, not happy. Stupidly happy, deliriously happy, retardedly happy. Seriously, just look:
Me without a mohawk:
 |
| Meh |
Me with a mohawk:
 |
| Awesome Sauce |
Fine, yes, I'm goofy looking either way, but by god I'm happy about it.
You know what they say about simple minds and simple pleasures, and I'm not sure it gets a whole lot simpler than a haircut. Oh, wait, yes. Doorstops. You know, these things:
Yeah, my daughter is mildly entertained by them. You know, because you can flick them and they go "boing-oing-oing-oing." But then, she is only 8 months old. But me? Yeah, I love those things. I've found myself standing in our bathroom, flicking it with my toe and giggling to myself. Hmmm, that sounded kind of dirty. Well, a little dirty, but mainly dumb and pathetic. But seriously? Boing-oing-oing-oing. Hehehe.
Moving on. So why do I devise so much pleasure from a hairstyle? I'm not quite sure. Most likely because I am a bit of an idiot, and it's nice having a quick and simple way to show that to the rest of the world without having to speak or wear a slogan t-shirt (You know how hard it is to find a "Tapout" or "Affliction" t-shirt? Sadly, not hard at all. I think I just got one free with my last fill up.)
But, unfortunately, my love of doorstops isn't the only thing my daughter inherited from her father...
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