Apollo Creed's Revenge?

Most of the past few days have been spent having quality time with The Boy.

Let me explain something first, though, 'cause I feel this needs to be said. I don't call him The Boy in that douche-y way in which chicks sometimes refer to their dudes. Also, no offense intended to chicks who do that. I know plenty of people (who I like and admire, etc.) who do just this thing and I often even find myself also engaging in the practice, but -- you gotta admit -- it is pretty fuckin douche-y.

No, I refer to him here as The Boy...because, well...let's just say that when I was a first-year in college, he was... like 13. I mean, it's all on the up and up these days, but yeah... I sometimes find myself asking (out loud) who's got the better part of this deal?

Note: For discretionary purposes, I'm going leave out the exact when and where of how I met The Boy. But let's just call the when "sometime last month" and the where "somewhere outside of my apartment". This stuff is not very important at all, but if you're really dying to know...then hit me up in real life.

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In his own unique way, The Boy has somehow managed to endear himself to me. Maybe it's the way he turns adjectives in to adverbs by adding the suffix "-ly", but then continues using the word as an adjective. Or maybe it's because, like me, he enjoys a fun concept. He'll talk about something that he thinks would be fun (or funny) to do -- the difference is, he goes that extra step further to try to carry out the deed. In contrast, I also like amusing concepts, but I'm pretty satisfied in keeping them in the conceptual stage.

It's always nice to change things up every once and awhile, though, which is how we ended up at the Hafentreppe with liter bottles of San Miguel beer. We were trying to brown bag it , which if you think about it is an utterly ridiculous thing to do in Germany, since you can literally drop a keg in a wagon and pull it behind you and your friends, whilst drinking til thy cup runneth over-eth. Also, the kiosk had no brown paper bags...so we got orange plastic ones. Then we hung around with some punks around a fire for a bit.

Lotsa times he's got fun ideas like that. Sometimes, though, he'll throw something out there has BAD IDEA written all over it.

For instance, before I left for OKC, The Boy mentioned that he needed a haircut. I didn't disagree. A few days later, he bought some clippers when we were out at Rossmann. I didn't think anything of it. A few days after that...he asked me if I would cut his hair. I politely, yet vehemently declined.

If there's one thing that my 26 years on this planet has taught me, it's this: NEVER, under any circumstances, let a female in my family near your head with any type of haircutting device. EVER.

I tried to convey this to The Boy and, silly me, I believed that being away for 10 days would get this idea out of his head. Sadly, I couldn't have been more wrong.

Finally, I relented on Sunday and asked him what kind of haircut he wanted (not like I could make it happen or anything, but it's always polite to ask). And he said:

"Just shave the sides and back and leave the top long, I'll totally look like a Russian. It'll be hilarious!"

For some reason, the image of Dolph Lundgren in Rocky IV popped into my head when he said "Russian", but as everyone knows Dolph Lundgren is actually a Swede...so, needless to say, I was perplexed.

So, armed with Schmidt's clippers, I proceeded to whack away at The Boy's hair. I shaved the back, the sides and very awkwardly handled a comb in combination with the clippers in an effort to create some kind of transition from shaved to long parts of the hair.

It might go without saying, but I think he learned his lesson. Or maybe not. He's quite stubborn like that.

He's got a pretty jacked up haircut, that's for damned sure. He was right though about it being totally hilarious.