If you’ve been reading my crazy ramblings for some time now, you know that it’s no secret that my family and I have had almost zero luck in the attractive hair department. In case you haven’t caught the posts I’ve done on hair fails, I’ll link to those AND provide photographic evidence later on.
What almost no one knows, however, is that total epic hair fails also extended to my dad and to a major motion picture. As in, The Godfather II. Intrigued? Maybe even more appalled?
Well, come along. I’m warning you, though. It’s gonna get hairy.
Back when my brother was nine or ten, my dad decided that he’d cut his son’s hair instead of drive two miles to have a professional do it. I’m sure he figured it would be easy. I mean, the professionals make it look pretty damn effortless, don’t they?
I was not present during the actual cutting of the hair and the two who were, do not speak of it to this day. If prodded, my dad merely says, “I cut his hair. What can I say?”
I recall that when I arrived home, I thought someone had died, because it appeared that my mom, dad, and grandma were in mourning.
All three were sitting in their places at the kitchen table with their heads down. I was actually quite concerned, because I didn’t think I was emotionally prepared for them all three to be crying.
“Uhh…” is all I said.
My mom “shushed” me and went back to their weird mourning/devil worshipping/group napping.
It was then that I noticed their shoulders moving up and down. If they weren’t crying, they had to be laughing.
“Mom…” I implored.
“Just. Don’t.” She was able to get out.
Upon further observation, they were crying, but because they were laughing. Silently. They were sitting around the kitchen table, red-faced, silent cry-laughing.
I just figured they must have started Wine o’ Clock early, so I moved on from their weirdness into the living room.
That’s where I saw it.
He was laying on the floor, watching TV. Even from behind, I could see the dejection in his shoulders and in the way he propped his head up with his hands.
The form appeared to belong to my brother. But, it was…not right.
He looked like some creature from Goosebumps. He looked like he was infectious. He looked shocking.
His head was part red, naked scalp and a smattering of one-inch tufts of hair.
There was no order to the madness. The random clumps of hair looked as if they were just glued, helter skelter, onto his angry, raw skin. Yet, in some places, instead of bare skin, there appeared to be what was likely the desired outcome- a short buzz cut.
It was simultaneously grotesque and comical.
All of the above I took in in a split second and I responded accordingly.
I responded with my trademark, “WHOA!”
(In my, I Was An Asshole post I explain a little more about my natural “whoa” reaction to all things fucked, funny, and far-fetched.)
I’m obnoxious like that.
Well, my “whoa” set off the fools in the kitchen. They couldn’t contain themselves anymore and they each lost their collective shit.
I swear, to this day, that amidst the snorting and crying and laughing, my brother’s head made a complete 180, he stared at us with exorcist eyes, and he yelled, “LEAVE ME ALONE!”
I swear.
Don’t fret, though. My mom took him to a Supercuts the second she was able to contain herself, and my dad was forever disallowed to even look at the clippers.
My mom did admit that the entire ride to Supercuts, she tried really damn hard to do the Good Mom thing by reassuring him. But, “It’s OK. It’ll be alright. It doesn’t look that bad.” is not one bit convincing between snorts and ugly cry-laughing.
This could totally be us reenacting the Clipper Incident of 1997.
Our second Haircuts From Hell story involves a different set of electric clippers, another beauty school reject, and The Godfather II.
Back when my mom was in college, she was friends with a guy who played the violin professionally. He actually started the Reno Chamber Orchestra. So, he was legit.
Not only was (is) he super musically talented, he was apparently a real hoot to hang around. Some of my favorite stories my mom tells of her college days include this guy.
A kinda related aside:
I arranged for him to come to my mom’s surprise retirement party that I planned a few years ago. They hadn’t seen each other for close to a decade. So, the look on my mom’s face when she saw him was absolutely priceless. Well, now that I’m thinking, I wonder if she was simultaneously elated to see him and worried he was there to finally seek vengeance with a rusty hair clipper.
So, the story goes…
Close to midnight one night, my mom heard frantic knocking at her door.
Brave, or delirious from sleep, she opened the door to find her buddy, all in a tizzy.
He was scheduled to play with the Reno Musicians’ Union Local 368 for The Godfather II the very next day.
He needed a haircut to look professional for this incredible opportunity.
(My mom still chides him for waiting until all the salons and barbers were closed to get such an important haircut done.)
The only problem was- my mom was most definitely not Rhonda from Tousled Tresses.
Here’s some proof to back up that my mom is not exactly the first person you’d ask for a late night, last minute hair job (too bad these horrendous hairdos happened after the Clipper Catastrophe of 1973 and were of no help to her pal):
Now, mind you, my mom can’t be held totally responsible for all of these, but she approved these looks, so there you go.
Because it was a big deal to have a part in a major motion picture, she acquiesced and went to town with electric clippers.
My mom recalled how often she saw her mother clip her brothers’ hair. She said it looked incredibly effortless and easy.
“Your grandma just went ‘Buzzzz’ with the clippers and–‘Voila!’–they had snazzy new ‘dos!”
What my mom didn’t realize was that, unless you want next to no hair left, one uses a guard on the clipper head.
After just one swipe it was clear that she had made a huge mistake.
“Shit.”
Without the guard, she sheared a landing strip clear down to his scalp.
I’m sure there was a lot of yelling and freaking out, but in the end they just left it, because my mom had done enough.
When the movie finally came out, my mom, excited to hear her friend play in such a big time movie, almost choked on her popcorn and Charleston Chews.
There, very clearly in the Tahoe party scene, was the back of her friend’s head. His awkward strip of scalp practically glowed.
In the words of my mother’s very good-natured friend, when I sent him the screenshot of his head, “My bad haircut can live on in posterity!”
At least he’s a good sport.
Here’s the scene in the movie where Haircutz By Judy has a starring role:
Here’s the screenshot:
Before I go, I have to share one more haircut fail. It’s actually more of a hairstyle fail.
The night my family and I were laughing about the above stories, we were also looking through family albums. My aunt came upon this picture:
She said, “That’s weird. Why is Mark decorating the tree with Jarrett?”
My uncle: “Why is Mark wearing a Betty Boop shirt?”
My boyfriend: “Whoever Mark is, he’s a real dweeb.”
I take a look at this, now infamous, shot of elusive Cousin Mark, who, apparently, made an appearance at Christmas in a Betty Boop sweatshirt and then go, “WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL? THAT’S ME!”
They then proceed to debate about whether or not it’s really me or Mark for the next ten minutes.
What a bunch of assholes.
It’s no wonder I’ve had such a hard knock hair life- look at where I come from!
My Hairy Life
Where My Hairy Ladies At?
