48 Hour Film Project

First let me say that if you're reading this, then I totally don't deserve you as a friend. My blog posts have been few and far between and I won't blame anybody who has chosen to abandon me and my life experiences as they're told on this blog.

That said, I should point out that I've been fairly busy lately. If you're a member of Facebook, then you should be pretty up-to-date on what's been going on with me (unless you've chosen to "hide" me in your news feed).

I've decided to post this blog entry so that all of my readers (both of you) who aren't also members of Facebook can be made aware of my most recent adventure.

John and I signed up for the 48 hour Film Project. This is a national competition that is done every year all across the country and around the world. This is not a "movie marathon". This is a competition where they give each team a list of criteria that must be incorporated within their respective films. Then each team has a total of 48 hours to script, find actors, find locations, round up a crew, film, and edit an 8 minute movie.

There were 45 (ish) entries this year in the Salt Lake competition alone. If we win the Salt Lake competition, then our movie is judged against the winners of dozens of other cities. If our movie wins the national competition, then our movie will be shown at the Cannes Film Festival next year. You might be asking, "Yeah, Cameron, but do you really think your movie is good enough to win it all?" My answer: "If the entries this year are of the same caliber of entries in years past, then I think we will win it all."

Some of you might be curious as to how it all works. Let me give you a brief overview of the Kickoff Event last Friday Night. All of the teams arrived between 6 and 6:30. We all sat in chairs that were set up outside of Jordan Commons. Pay Attention Now: They split the 45 teams into groups of 11 or 12.
Group A, B, C, and D. They called the groups up to the stage one at a time and had them reach into a bag that contained different genres written on pieces of paper. This way, no one Group had duplicate genres. Genres ranged from Fantasy to Comedy to Holiday Film. John and I were petrified that we'd draw Western or Musical. When John reached his hand into the bag, he drew out Sci-Fi. Good enough.

After everyone had drawn their genre's, they pulled out a sealed envelope. Inside the envelope were the 3 other criteria that EVERYONE had to incorporate (convincingly) into their movies.

The first item was a prop: A certificate.

The second item was a character: Dan (or Danielle) Bridges, Roommate.

The third and final item was a line of dialog: "Whoa. I didn't see that coming."

These 3 things EVERYONE has to use in their movie, regardless of genre or group.

Immediately after this announcement was made, the teams scattered. John and I began writing our Sci-Fi script on Friday night. We had told everyone we knew to be "on-call" just in case we needed them to act, or come up with locations, or drive us somewhere... anything. Throughout the writing of the script, John was making calls and sending texts trying to arrange and finalize locations as well as securing our actors and actresses. By 4am on Saturday, our script was done and emailed out to the crew and actors. We had our first location lined up for Saturday morning at 10am (thanks, mom), as well.

We shot at three different locations throughout Saturday and didn't shoot our final scene until 2am Sunday morning. Luckily we had an amazing editor who was in a trailer (provided by someone equally cool) and was editing each scene as we shot it from his laptop inside the trailer. It was like pieces of a puzzle were falling into place all day long.

We slept Sunday morning from 4 to about 8, then we met our Director of Photography slash second editor at his studio for more editing and finalizing. Somehow, we were able to arrange an awesome sound guy to be working on a score and sound effects to match our visual effects. He was working from his own house and emailing stuff to us to plug into our movie.

At about 4pm, I started getting really nervous. We were still editing in Ogden and we had to drop off two DVD/Mini DV copies to the 48 Hour people by 7:30pm in Sandy. We hadn't plugged in the soundtrack or audio effects and we still had to burn the finished movie onto 2 DVD's.

Somehow, our audio guru was able to choose exactly what we wanted and when we received it, it was as easy as plugging it right in over the top of the video (at least it looked easy enough while our editor was doing it). The only problem was, it was 6pm.

John and I hopped into the car and started driving to Sandy. I had a laptop and external hard drive on my lap and 3 blank DVD's. We burned 3 copies while we were driving to Sandy... just in case.

Even though the entire process was rushed and extremely chaotic, I'm having a hard time remembering the last time I had so much fun. I loved every second of it. Even though I only spent 16 hours with our cast and most of our crew, I feel like I know them all so much better than I did before. There are a couple of them that I still wouldn't let babysit my kids, but I still enjoyed their company immensely.

I know this post has been long. I hope I've kept your interest. I'm really hoping by now that you really want to see this movie we've made. I think I've adequately built it up in your mind that you won't be able to have a good nights rest until you see it.

Lucky for you, it's playing Thursday night on the BIG SCREEN at Jordan Commons in Sandy. Our group (Group D) is on from 8 to 10pm. Tickets to our group are $8 each. Here's the catch: They're only selling the advance tickets tomorrow (Wed) at 4pm in front of Theatre 12. Otherwise, you have to take your chances buying them at the door. Lucky for you, John and I will be there at 4pm tomorrow with a list of people who want tickets. We can buy them for you so long as you pay us back. All you have to do is send me a text at (801) 690-820 three. Tell me who you are and how many tickets you want. Don't text me again if you've already told me or John.

Thanks and we hope to see you there.

The Cinematic Experience, Yo!

Chia Head

So a neighbor hooked me up with this sweet Chia Head. I've joked about them for years but never owned one. I admit I was pretty excited. I was going to get to plant seeds on the top of a clay scalp, water it, and watch it grow into a bushy hairdo. I actually entertained the possibility of trimming up his hair once it was all grown. Maybe hone my hair braiding skills since I'll probably need to know what I'm doing when my daughter grows up.

I read the instructions for the first time in my life. I studied them. I soaked the seeds overnight. I soaked the head in water overnight. I carefully spread the seeds onto the top, sides and back of the head. I placed the head in a sunny room and patiently waited.
See the photo on the box at the beginning of this post? Well, look how my Chia turned out. What the crud!?!? Apparently the clay is porous and this Chia Head needs to be refilled every 15 minutes, otherwise this happens. The water level drops too low and the seeds on the top of the head dry out and don't grow. Plus, his hair is pretty thin. I guess my Chia is a 60-year-old balding sex offender.

I guess I'll be able to practice a comb over.

Got a Plunger?

Last night I was perusing KSL and stumbled across a story about how this guy had been charged with 10 counts of Rape of a Child. My wife saw the headline over my shoulder and gasped. Tyton and Boston overheard her profane, muffled exclamations and asked what we were reading. We explained how this guy was a really really bad guy. So bad, in fact, that other bad guys in jail would probably beat him up.

Tyton started asking follow up questions about what he'd done that was so bad. I sat down on the kitchen floor and told my boys that he'd done very mean things to children. I also explained how if he'd done anything to MY kids I'd cut off his ears and shove them in his mouth. My boys started laughing hysterically and then started trying to come up with more creative punishments... which wasn't exactly what I had in mind.

We ended up deciding that the worst punishment of all would be if we all went poo and pee in our upstairs toilet and then we could put him into the toilet head first and all take turns flushing the toilet and jumping on him until he was completely flushed. Boston laughed and said, "But he's too big." Then Tyton said, in all seriousness, "He'd clog it up for sure. Then we'd have to use the downstairs toilet." Good point, buddy. Good point.

Live Animal Trap

Ever since we've gotten rid of our dog, we've had a wild cat infestation in our backyard. I've seen 3 cats at the same time in our backyard. My wife thinks they're cute for the most part, but I step in poo a couple times a week. For a while I thought it was raccoon poo. Then someone told me that wild cats don't bury their poo cause that's how they mark their territory. I don't know why they can't just pee. Obviously, no wild cat has ever moved into a rental property where the previous owner had cats. If they had... they'd know how strong and offensive their own pee really is and maybe they'd decide that was good enough.

I went to Smith and Edwards and asked the lady working in Sporting Goods if they had a Cat Trap I could purchase. With a look of shocked disgust, she replied, "A CAT trap? Um... no. But we DO have a Raccoon Trap right over there." I was a little confused over why she'd respond with such disgust. I figured she was simply a cat lover. When I saw the device, I noticed it was actually called a Live Animal Trap. Funny enough, there were three animal photos on the side of the box. A photo of a raccoon. A photo of a cat. And a photo of an armadillo or aardvark or something. I'm actually not sure what the difference is between an armadillo and aardvark. So apparently, the name of the trap changes depending on what it is you're looking to trap. The lady didn't want to think about the raccoon trap accidentally catching a cat... even though that's exactly what I was trying to catch. And since the makers of the trap decided to include the photo of the armadillo, I suppose those animals are a nuisance somewhere in the world.

So over the last three weeks I've put out this cat trap just to see if any animal would be stupid enough to walk into a metal cage just to get a chunk of hot dog. So far, 12 cats and 2 raccoons have been dumb enough. I heard two cats fighting earlier today so I know there are still at least two more up there in my trees.

Yes. It is.

Telephone conversation I had three minutes ago:

Offender: Hey Daley. I'm gonna be a few minutes late for our appointment.

Me: Did you talk with that detective then?

Offender: Yeah. I just got done.

Me: So he didn't arrest you, I take it. Are they still gonna charge you with Rape?

Offender: I don't know. He said it sounded like it was consensual.

Me: But she was your half-sister. They might charge you with Incest.

Offender: Is that a crime?

Me: (pause) Yes. It is.

Offender: Well, I guess they could then.

Me: How about you come into my office and talk with me.

Anomaly?

I worked for Layton City Police Department for a little while about seven years ago. Ultimately, I quit and came back to work for Adult Probation and Parole, but I learned several valuable lessons while I was employed there and I learned a lot about myself, as well. The biggest thing I learned about myself is that I have absolutely no idea (nor do I care to learn) what the makes and/or models of cars look like.

At the end of my first month with Layton PD, I was driving around with my trainer and he started to quiz me on makes and models of cars. I honestly had no idea. The best I could do was tell him the color and how many doors the cars had. That was the extent of my vehicular knowledge.

My trainer seemed surprised at the time... especially when I showed him how awesome I was at The Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon game. He kept telling me to forget all the useless crap about actors and actresses and replace it with car information. I kept trying to explain to him that I felt like car info was "useless". I mean, honestly, who else besides law enforcement people even CARE about the makes and models of cars?

The answer to that question, according to my friend, John... is "everyone". John seems to think that 90% of guys between the ages of 18 and 35 could look at five cars lined up and be able to tell you the make of the vehicle... and in most cases... even the model.

It wasn't until a few years ago that I even knew the difference between "make" and "model". I'm so extremely ignorant about cars that I have a hard time believing that 90% of men would care as much as John seems to think they do. I think a more accurate number would be 50-60%. I think it's fair to say I'm not as much of an anomaly as John claims. There's no way I'm a 1 in 10. I'm more like a 1 in 3.

I've been asked this question a lot as well: "If you could own any car in the world, what would you want?" My answer is a Honda Element. Why? Cause they look pretty cool, I guess. The funny thing is, if you were to line up a Honda Element with 4 other similar looking SUV's... I'm only KINDA sure I could pick it out.

By the way, John... I may not be able to tell you what the make or model of a car is, but I'll always be right more often than you if the question comes down to the color of the car.

"Just Don't Be Mean..."

Tyton is in kindergarten. He has about 20 or so kids in his class and Tyton is one of the smartest and funniest kids in his class. So... pretty much the complete opposite
of me when I was in school.

He's enrolled in a Charter school and it requires a certain number of volunteer hours each month by the parents so I've had the opportunity to get to know his classmates more than my parents ever got to know my own classmates when I was little.

The other day I went with Tyton to one of his extracurricular activities with his peers. Every time we saw one of his female classmates, I'd hear them yell, "Tyton! Hey Tyton!" We'd both look toward them and she'd wave with a huge smile on her face. Nobody smiled at me like that until I was 17. Tyton would smile shyly and wave back. A few times I actually sensed the girls fathers glaring at Tyton and I... kinda like they were mentally preparing for 10 years from now when Ty takes advantage of his daughter.

The saddest and most entertaining part is, every time this would happen I'd lean down to Tyton and whisper in his ear, "Who's that?" Every time he'd answer, "She's in my class." Then I'd ask, "What's her name?" He'd shrug his shoulders every single time. He has no idea who most of the girls are in his class, but I got the distinct impression that they ALL know who he is. What a stud.

So now here's the dilemma. Tyton has a kid in his class who is very very slow. My wife and I helped out with P.E. a couple of weeks ago and it was the first time I'd seen this kid in action. The students were doing somersaults on a color mat and when it was this kids turn he would do one somersault and then rest for 15 full seconds before doing another one. I thought maybe he was just dizzy and needed to reorient himself, but even if that was the case... it's still sad. He's worse than Paul Pheiffer on The Wonder Years. Betsy and I have been wondering what kind of advice to give to Tyton.

Last Friday when I picked Tyton up from school, he told me about how this classmate of his was standing in front of the class doing his show-and-tell (which, sadly enough, was a McDonalds Happy Meal toy) when a different classmate yelled "It's leaking!" referring to the toy. Well, unfortunately, the toy wasn't leaking. The boy was wetting his pants.

Geez. That poor kid. Ultimately, Betsy and I have told Tyton that he doesn't need to try to to be his best friend or anything as long as he's never mean to him. We've just been trying to stress to Tyton that it's important to never ever be mean. We thought briefly about trying to get Tyton to befriend him, but I don't think six is old enough to feel that kind of pressure. But maybe it is. Maybe he's old enough to accept that much responsibility. But I, personally, think Tyton should first be able to swim, do a front flip on a trampoline, or at the very least open his own GoGurt without help before he's burdened with trying to be friends with someone he isn't naturally drawn to.

The Shocking Illegible Conclusion

Again... I apologize for my choice to write in cursive for the last few pages. If you need any help translating, let me know what you're struggling with and I'll tell you what it says.

Also, plan on this post taking you at least twice as long to read as the other ones. Yup... it's THAT hard.

Lucky or Unlucky?

I remember my first physical when I went to scout camp at age 13 or so. I was pretty nervous. My older brother Ryan had tried to prepare me for the "turn and cough" portion of the exam. His words of comfort included a description of the hernia testing process. He claimed that it included jumper cables and a car battery. I was old enough and familiar enough with Ryan's so-called "words of wisdom", that I knew he was lying. At least I really really hoped he was.

When our troop got to the Dr.'s office, I remember being escorted back to an exam room by an older, unattractive female nurse or assistant or whatever. I noticed a hotter nurse that was busy doing something else and I wasn't sure if it was good or bad that I got the ugly one. Either way, MY nurse led me into the room, asked me a few questions and then, as she was leaving, she instructed me to undress but to "leave your underwear on". I instantly felt gratitude that I got the ugly one. For some reason I felt the idea of an attractive nurse telling me to undress to be extremely embarrassing. She closed the door and I proceeded to strip. After I did as I was instructed, I found myself standing in the middle of the freezing cold exam room unsure of what to do next. I felt extremely vulnerable with my tighty whitey's wrapped not so tighty around my exposed 90 lb frame. I felt another wave of gratitude that IF a nurse were to accompany the doctor for the actual exam... at least it would be the ugly one.

Just then I heard the door handle start to jiggle. I looked down at my pasty skin and felt myself start to blush a little bit. Then the door opened and the hot nurse stuck her head into my exam room. "I'm just checking to make sure you... Ok... great. Looks like you're ready to go." Then the door closed. All of a sudden, the air in the room didn't seem quite as cold. In fact, I was pretty hot... standing there practically naked and bright red from the neck up.

Fast forward 10 years. I was told I needed a physical before starting my job working with Layton Police Department. I arrived at the Work Med and I was feeling pretty confident in my health and wellness. I had pretty much forgotten my mid-pubescent experience ten years earlier.

I was escorted back to my exam room and, again, told to strip down to my underwear... only this time I was provided with an open-back gown to hide the majority of my lack of muscle tone. As I was waiting for the doctor to come in, I noticed a sign on the wall. It said "If you feel uncomfortable and would like another member of staff present for your examination, one will be provided".

I thought to myself, "What kind of female wussies feel uncomfortable with their man doctor? Aren't they used to male doctors checking out all of their private parts by now? Geez."

Just then the door opened and a female assistant carrying a clipboard came into the room. She sat down across from me and asked me a series of questions from the paperwork she had clipped to her board. I answered them all honestly and politely while silently wondering who my doctor was seeing and what was taking him so long.

Then the assistant asked if I was familiar with testicular self examinations. I told her that I was pretty sure how to do them and what I was supposed to feel for during the self exam. She started to explain in glorious detail how the exam was supposed to be conducted, what was considered normal with testicles and what sort of lumps, protrusions, and sensitivity was considered abnormal.

I started to get a little uncomfortable. I mean, I'm cool with talking about my balls in almost any situation, but this doctor was significantly older than me... like, about my moms age. She was kinda cute for a 50 year old, but I really just wanted to have the conversation with the doctor.

Then the assistant pulled out a stethoscope and listened to my breathing through my back. She had me sit on the edge of the exam table and tested my reflexes. Then she had me lay back as she applied pressure to different parts of my abdomen. I thought to myself, "This is a very thorough pre-examination. I guess this assistant is only going to be leaving the turn-and-cough part for the actual doctor."

Then she told me to stand up and she rolled backwards in her little rolling chair until she was on the other side of the room. Then she said something I wasn't expecting... "Ok, Cameron. Walk over and stand right here (pointing to the ground in front of her) and pull your underwear down for me."

Uhhhhh. Apparently she'd decided not to leave anything for the doctor. Then I remembered the sign. I'm not exaggerating here. It took me all the way to this point to realize that she WAS the doctor.

I'm glad I couldn't see the look on my face as I did what I was told to do. I'm sure she could tell how uncomfortable I was. What baffled me the most is how long she seemed to drag out this part of the examination. I mean, I don't think I was molested or anything, but she went through a step by step tutorial on how to conduct a self-examination. I've blocked most of it out, but I remember hearing her say "THIS is how you do the self exam. You need to roll-" That's where my memory stops.

To be honest, I have no desire in recovering the memories that seem to have disappeared.

The Ultimate Ninja's: First Blood Part 2

Here is the much anticipated continuation of the infamous ninja chronicles titled The Ultimate Ninja's. I'm sorry, but I'm not sure if anyone (including myself) can ever outdo Part 1. It was pretty sweet.

I need to set the record straight regarding the villains. I don't remember why I chose Dom and Curtis as my nemesiseses. I don't think I ever had a conversation with either of them all through Junior High. I might have overheard them swearing or something in the hallway and decided they must be "bad guys". This might explain why one of them actually swears at me in part one (which I edited out). Who knows?

You might also have some questions when you get to the really cool part about how we can breath under the water. You might wonder when The Abyss was in theatre's since that's a cool trick they use in that movie. I just realized that The Abyss was released in theatres in 1989... when I was 12 years old. So someone must have read The Ultimate Ninja's and stolen the idea for the movie. The only other option (and this isn't very likely) is that I saw the Abyss a few months before writing this sweet story.

Yeah right. Like I'd steal a cool idea like that.

One last thing. On page 12 I decide to switch to cursive for some reason. I have no idea why since my cursive in near illegible. I'll apologize more profusely when I post Part 3 since most of the last third of The Ultimate Ninja's in written in cursive.

Without any further ado, here are pages 7 through 13:

The Ultimate Ninjas

It wasn't until college that someone told me I wrote well. It was my English 1010 teacher. She read a couple of my assignments to the class because she thought they were so good. It was shocking to me. She even told me after class one time that she thought I should write for The Signpost, Weber States Student Newspaper. I was flattered, but I never pursued it.

It was always my older brother, Ryan, who was the writer in my family. He wrote short stories all the time and I always thought they were so awesome.

I would have been held back in several grades in Elementary School if it wasn't for the Junior Authors Fair. Most of my teachers offered extra credit to any student who submitted something to the Fair so I always did... just to ensure I could progress to the next grade.

I wrote several of these books when I was growing up. I wrote a book called Friday the 13th about my best friend, JB, and how we'd explore haunted houses during sleepovers. I wrote a sequel, conveniently titled Friday the 20th. I even wrote a Friday the 27th. I stopped there, though, cause I could never figure out what the title of the next book should be. It would depend on what month Friday the 27th fell in and it really wouldn't make very much sense... and I'd probably have to explain it to people so I just didn't bother. Instead, I abandoned the "Friday" series and moved on to The Ultimate Ninjas.

I remember when I turned this book in to the Jr Authors Fair I was excited that someone besides by best friend would be reading my book. When I got my book back and it had the gold, embossed sticker on the cover, I thought, "Awesome! A judge read my book and liked it enough to give me an award."

When I found this book in the garage the other day, I was still excited about that stupid gold sticker. I decided to read the book and try to take an impartial, neutral stance... much like the judge who read the book and gave me the golden award on the front cover.

As I started reading it, I started to blush a little bit. My story was grotesque. My friend, JB, and I were slaughtering our peers with our sweet ninja skills and blowing up schools and ripping our teachers to pieces. But that's not what made me sick to my stomach. It was the realization that the judge never read my story. There's absolutely no way any judge could have read my story and not expelled me from school.

Looking back, I wish the judge would have actually read my story... even if it ended up resulting in my expulsion. After all, this is a sweet tale of adventure, deception, and the ninjatastic relationship between two friends... written by a 12-year-old using an old school mixture of black pen, blue pen, and pencil as well as a creative blend of print and cursive... sometimes varying within the same word. All of this literary genius has been bound in an upscale brown folder provided by my dad, Brandt Daley. How could any judge not be completely enthralled before even opening the folder/book?

Whether you spell it "Ninja" or "Ninga" didn't matter to me then and it doesn't matter to me now. Here are the first six pages of The Ultimate Ninjas.

Throat Chunks

Tyton suffered through Round 2 of this crappin' Tonsillitis. He had a pretty severe case about 2 months ago and it kicked his butt, as well as our own. On Christmas Eve he got it again. We thought it was odd that he'd get it twice so close together so we took him back into the specialist.

The doctor said that he wouldn't suggest getting his tonsils out as long as we could keep his fever under control. I told him that we couldn't ever get it under 102 with medication. The doctor decided that was a good enough reason to have them removed.

So on the 7th of January, Ty went in and had his tonsils out. He was a pretty tough kid. I'll admit, though, that I had a hard time concentrating on anything while I was at work on the day he had them removed.
I wish I could have been up there, but it was impossible on that particular day. Anyone who knows me should know that my work ethic is about ZERO. I can always excuse my laziness... in fact, I've gotten pretty good at it over the last 10 years. However, I just happened to have scheduled over 30 appointments a month earlier on the exact day Ty was scheduled for his tonsillectomy. So I was at work all day.

I was pretty stoked, though, cause I was telling Tyton about how he could take his tonsils in for show-and-tell when he goes back to school. He was pretty excited for that, as well.

I guess things have changed since I was growing up, though, cause they don't let you take your tonsils home anymore. I'm not sure why. Maybe because they're choking hazards or something. Some white trash kid in West Valley who decided to eat his brothers tonsils ruined it for the rest of us.

Looking back, though, I think it's good that he didn't get to bring them home. I still remember the one kid in elementary who brought his tonsils for show-and-tell. They were soaking in some greenish-yellow juice in a mason jar. I remember being extremely grossed out by them. So much so that I decided I never wanted to talk to that kid again. And I don't think I ever did.

Luckily they let us take a few sweet photos of his tonsils... complete with clinging chunks of throat flesh and blood splatters.

Judging by the sheer mass of the gooshy throat matter, I'd say Tyton is about 5 pounds lighter than when he went to the doctor.

Cosmectomy

My wife doesn't care for me as a bald man anymore. I was bald when we started dating and when we got married, but when my hair grew back in and she realized it wasn't falling out or thinning, she was pleasantly surprised. She has since told me she prefers it longer and has continually instructed me to grow it out.

As if my wife wasn't cool enough, on my birthday last year she bought me a gift certificate for a haircut at Bikini Cuts as a reward for growing my hair out as she'd requested. In case you didn't know, Bikini Cuts is the establishment that requires their all-female staff to be dressed in a bikini while cutting your hair. Awesome! Even though I can't help but wonder how the girls can handle being itchy all day long in places where customer hair shouldn't normally end up.

I'm sure there are plenty of people who would never think to patronize a business such as this, but at the same time can't help being curious about what actually goes on during these so-called "haircuts". Well, that's why I'm here. To tell you about my experience so you don't have to experience it yourself... unless you want to.

First of all, the place wasn't busy at all. That was a good thing. The last thing I wanted to do is run into someone I know at a place like that. Also... the girls weren't very cute. When I was on my mission in England, I used to LOVE getting my haircut. It was the one time that I could have a cute girl run her fingers through my hair and not be breaking any mission rules. But the girls at Bikini Cuts weren't attractive. I wouldn't go so far as to call them RMC's or anything, but they were pretty far from hot.

I've never cared much for the forced small talk that happens during haircuts. I just want to sit there quietly and get serviced (no pun intended). I don't want to answer questions about what I do for a living or what I did over the weekend. It was worse at Bikini Cuts. It's like they assumed I wanted them to flirt with me. I mean... why else would I be paying extra to have a half naked girl cut my hair, right? So I did my best to be nice and flirt a little with the uglies while they pampered me.

"Pampered?" you might be asking. Well... kinda. The cuter of the two (who also happened to be the one who looked a little more "used" if you know what I mean) gave me a hand massage. Yup. A hand massage. I wasn't expecting it, either, which made it a little extra awkward.

The uglier one was shampooing my hair before the cut (by the way... I wish they saved the wash for AFTER the cut. I can't stand having hair all over me) and the other one was just hovering around my torso like a hardened, tattooed, bumble bee. She told me to close my eyes and relax which I was trying to do already. Then I felt something warm and wet fully engulf my left hand. I pulled away instinctively cause I'm married, you know. Then they started laughing as she yanked my hand back and re-wrapped it in the hot towel.

After I realized what she was doing I was able to relax a little more and the hand massage actually felt pretty good. By the time she got to my right hand, though, she was telling her uglier co-worker (who was washing my hair) about how she was still hung over from the night before. I started getting a little grossed out as I wondered if she'd washed her hands since her playful romp with several guys the night before. The hand massage became a lot less enjoyable.

The haircut itself was mediocre at best. I'd much rather have my wife cut my hair while wearing a bikini. At least then we could both rinse the hair off our bodies together... and I wouldn't have to worry about where her hands had been.