Ok technically, I didn't cut it (tho I so badly wanted to). At the recommendation of a girl in Buffalo Exchange (This is a used clothing establishment. I was trying to sell some of the clothes I'd decided I didn't want. No, they didn't buy anything, as the didn't fit any current trend. I know! I was shocked as well) I wandered down the street to bishop's, a hair cutting place. Wouldn't you know it, they handed me a Miller High Life to drink while I waited and got my hairs cut! What a surprise! (Not really. I was told I'd get a PBR. Sacrifices were made and I made do with the Champagne of Beers). Much later, I left, my head several pounds lighter. The Hank Williams playing over the radio took my mind off of the long process towards making me look 'respectable'. However, the poor girl cutting my hair was worn out by the end! She kept commenting on how much hair I had and how much work it was to cut it. As a result, I had to keep rubbing in my lack of employment for a year and a half (to which she responded with her having a job currently, and me questing for one. Touche). I was still amused; she fell down and took a nap on the floor. With all the hair I left behind, it made a wonderful mattress.
Not to worry, I am not super clean cut. My hair is much shorter now (it was a bit ridiculously long) but it is still shaggy. Still, I look funny when I see myself in the mirror.
Perhaps now it is time to grow out the beard?
Now I really am a sexy bitch. Meow!