Finale of the Moustache

It’s Finally Over

It’s finally over. It’s finally over. It’s finally over. It’s finally over. It’s finally fucking off my face. I would post a picture but I feel strangely naked. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

The last day was dull. Nothing happened. The happenings did not exist. I barely remembered I had one. Like it wasn’t some major part of my life. Weird.

I had a grand send off for it. A candlelit bathroom with some soft jazz playing in the background, a single tear flowed down my cheek, dropping into the sink, mixing playfully with the fragments of a broken moustache as the electric noise of an electric razor effortlessly removed a part of me.

Kidding. The thing was gone in seconds and I don’t even have any soft jazz to play in the background.

Things I Have Learned

People are gigantic liars. Or moustaches just aren’t as socially unacceptable as I thought. The support for the awful thing was astounding.

As much of my time has been spent thinking about this moustache, I had less time to stress over important things, like school. This was nice. I liked that.

Also it is now coming to my attention that I have so much schoolwork to do.

But most importantly – I haven’t actually learned anything. This experiment was a complete bust. I spent a week of my life looking ridiculous for no reason. Is this a sign of mental instability? Please say no. I like my mind.

What I Can Do Now

Many things. I could grow my beard back, I could keep clean shaven (even though it hurts and itches and I don’t know how dudes do it), I can experiment with another crazy (gross) facial hair style (underbeard?), I could focus on things that matter.

Truth be told, I think I’ll do the last part. A lost of matter intensive things are fast approaching. Leaving dreams of growing follicles on the back burner is probably the wise choice of actions.

And Movember is just around the corner…

WHAT A TERRIBLY ANTI-CLIMATIC FINALE

 

Chronicles of Moustache: Day 5

Behind on School

But ahead on facial hair. I think that’s a win. Somehow. Take that university.

True Facts

The moustache is really growing on me. Literally though. Not in any kind of metaphoric or pun sense. It still looks awful.

People are still staring, mouth agape, and I can’t seem to shake the ironic hipster comments. Can’t they tell this is very sincere?

A kind lady said I look like a young Sam Elliot today. I’m making this up; but it was still very nice of her. Thank you.

Every time I see another moustache I can’t help but wonder what the hell they are thinking.

I need to switch my computer from American to English. These red lines I see under moustache are starting to bother me. I never thought I would type that word so often.

Can I Just Rant a Bit?

Okay cool. This next bit actually happened today. I got home from school and as usual I stared at myself in the mirror for a healthy ten minutes just to make sure I was still unfairly handsome. I was. I am. But. My eyes were bloodshot red, like someone coloured in the whites with a pencil crayon, and the bags under my eyes were big enough to carry groceries home in. Not just a couple groceries. The groceries you get after you notice your fridge has been completely empty for a couple months; save the one lone bottle of nearly empty ketchup and the mystery dish you don’t remember ever seeing before. Groceries so heavy that you have to double bag them while promising to yourself that you will remember the reusable bags currently lost under a pile of discarded pizza boxes.

Yeah alright. I know six classes is a big deal. It’s 2 buttloads (which is much more than 2 shitloads for any of you measuring nerds out there) of classes. But I feel I’m keeping up alright with the workload and the little bit of work I do on the side. The feeling of being pulled under the current still hasn’t hit me. I’m still only wading hip deep, though the undercurrent is probably just a step away.

It’s not the school keeping me awake. All my work is finished at a decent time. I’m on top of this. And sure the work is exhausting. Reading John Hobbes and various death rituals of different religions don’t make a guy want to go line-dancing.

The thing is I’m not sleeping much. Only during my religion class.

It’s this damn moustache. The thing is messing with my mind. It keeps me awake with worry at night. What if my trimmer breaks and I’m stuck like this? What if all the razors in the world just cease to exist? What if I actually do start to like it? Why do people keep saying it looks good when it doesn’t?

Why am I so neurotic about a damn moustache?

The Moral of the Story

Do not do the things I have done.

Chronicles of Moustache: Weekend Edition

I’m Actually Kind of a Hermit Guys

This weekend I decided to get to know my moustache better. I feel like we haven’t had enough “us” time. All this time it seems like this experiment has been about other people when at the core it’s just about me and borderline socially unacceptable facial hair.

Needless to say my moustache and I didn’t get into any crazy adventures. Mostly just the odd car honk while walking to the corner store to buy a 55 cent package of Mr. Noodles and lament over the rising prices of chocolate milk. I’m distrustful of you dairy corporation.

I decided the best thing to do was to get to know my moustache as a person and let it get to know me. All the things I normally do on a weekend I brought it along with me. I wanted to see how it could handle being a part of me. I read poetry with it; I found a great new poet through a great person. His name is Jeffrey McDaniel and he writes  like this:

My third grade teacher told me I had no future.
I run through snow and turn around
just to make sure I’ve got a past.

He takes words and butters them up and shows them a nice time. After showing them that nice time he discreetly takes them to a back alley in the bad part of town to fuck the shit out of them before leaving them with a roll of loose change to catch the last bus home. I wish I could write like that. My moustache wishes I could write like that.

I fired up my xbox and played video games with my moustache.

My moustache wasn’t a fan. I won’t be doing that again.

I struggled through schoolwork and became discouraged after it became apparent that I am dumber than the hair above my lip. It was a low point for my self esteem.

During my inventory of all the stuff I own that I will be selling, I tried to task my moustache to count and order things, it was around this time that I realized that it’s just hair growing out of my face and it can’t actually do any of the things I’ve been talking about above.

I sat in the dark silence and contemplated my growing insanity. Softly stroking my moustache as if I was looking for some comfort or answer in the bushy confines of my own manly (and some would say unevolved, but seriously, fuck those guys) ability to spout dead follicles from pretty much every part of my body. None was found. Denying my moustache a personality was like denying my own self. The experiment I’ve been doing seemed pointless at this time.

But Then Something Happened

A noise from my computer shocked me out of my existential crisis like a point blank shot fired into my heart from a cannon. A notification. Someone wanted to hear what I had to say about something. Anything. That was nice. It was my friend Josh, who I think is mostly crazy most of the time, and he wanted to talk moustache with me. This re-validated this entire process. My moustache and I were back on track. Top of the world! Or at least residing in the top drawer of a mid sized dresser. People are actually interested in this crap!

Oh, let me give you a bit of a back-story after I’ve already told the entire story. You see, Josh himself grew a moustache, independently and without knowledge of mine. Of course, mine is better, and he thinks his actually looks good. So, I kind of win there. Take that Josh.

My all around betterness as a human being aside, Josh is okay, just misguided in attempts at facial hair. It’s not his fault though; he can barely grow any.

And Then MORE Stuff Happened

But not really. I mostly just did stuff for school and tried to sell some comic books.

Chronicles of Moustache: Day 2

I’m Still Doing This

Somehow people keep reacting positively to this awful thing. Is it true? Do I look awesome?

Yeah I didn’t think so. The more real explanation is that people are too afraid to lie to a man with a moustache. They figure, and reasonably so, that if a guy is crazy enough to wear a moustache there is no telling what he will do. It’s appeasement. Normally, I hate when someone pulls the Hitler card, but I’m seeing some correlation between the two.

Actual Real (Not Made Up At All) Responses

A lot of stares. I’d like to remind everyone that this isn’t an invitation to creep me out. It’s kind of the opposite.

“Can I touch it?” This was to my surprise about the lack of the beard. No moustache petting today. Also in regards to my not wearing my trademark (am I right in calling it trademark? I think so) beard a fine gentleman wanted me to assure him that I didn’t shave for some girl; citing the fact that his own prior experiment in facial hair led to poor reactions from women.

A young child pointed at me. His father laughed. I’m telling myself that it was an awkward laugh due to his jerk kids lack of social grace. I’d like it if you told me that too. It would mean a lot. An aside while on the topic of laughter: when I hear someone laugh, chuckle, giggle, snicker, titter, fall to the ground in tormented bursts of howling merriment I can’t help but know it’s directed to the direction of my moustache and me.

I’m becoming more aware of moustaches around me. I counted 11.5 today. This might not count as an epidemic; but I still think it’s cause for worry.

Some smart-ass called me Quigley. Not cool dude.

A confused, probably first year student, asked me what faculty I teach in. I remained convinced that it wasn’t unethical to answer the misguided inquiry with “foreign languages with a focus in Esperanto. Oh, and Nursing.”

What Hasn’t Happened Yet

No one has asked me to be a part of the western movie they are filming. Disappointment.

That’s actually the only thing I’m hoping for. Everything else that hasn’t happened is an invisible issue that I’m not going to concern myself with.

The Chronicles of Moustache: Day 1

Fact 1: I own a moustache.

Fact 2: I’m wearing it now.

Why?

Well. The short answer, if there is one, is I thought it would be good for a cheap laugh.*

The long answer is a much more disturbing journey to the centre of my being. That centre is not fit for human visits as it is a rumbling volcano or raging insecurities and half baked philosophies. Besides, my being? It’s all I am. To give that away would be to give away myself. Trust me, you don’t want that.

So, if it’s alright, I think I will stick to the medium answer.

I’ve always fashioned myself as something of an observer. If we are hanging out, enjoying some cool beverages, and you think you were sneaky enough to conceal the fact you just picked your nose. You weren’t. I saw it. If I’m walking down the street and I see some crazy fucker walking an imaginary dog, I’m also watching the drug dealer on the corner with the black hat and silver shining rims who probably goes by the name of Shifty Sam (I should probably move to a better neighbourhood). If you shift slightly in the elevator I will assume you just farted and pray to whatever higher power might exist that my floor comes soon.

You get the point.

Something is missing though. I’m never a part of these observations. If I wasn’t there, noses would still be picked, Shifty Sam would still peddle coke to wherever had the cash. If live were a math equation I would the test pen scribble on the side of the page.

So naturally I grew a gross moustache in an effort to connect with human kind. To become a part of the process.

My pledge

For one week I will wear this moustache like a badge of honour. I will not try to hide it in my scarf, cover it with my hand, nor will I tell anyone that I lost a bet. No. For one week this moustache will be as vital to me as my arms or my legs or my – well, use your imagination. And while I proudly display my badge I will record and collect responses to it. I will become part of the observation, not just a part of the process. I will note anything moustache related; whether it be hurtful or harmful.

It is to be a grand experiment dealing with issues of self-confidence, judgement, and probably some other things too.

That’s the medium answer. Or, to save time, you can just say the short answer** to the medium answer is “I have way too many stupid thoughts.”

Great, but why a moustache?

It’s because moustaches are fucking weird. Anyone not named Super Mario shouldn’t have one.

The First Day

I woke up, having shaved the night before, up with nothing on my face but a moustache and a grimace. Not sure if I could go through with it I wrestled with the thought of grabbing my dying beard trimmer and putting the moustache out of its misery. The moustache won and I left my apartment with the sure knowledge that the day would be awful. Exciting my building I felt like a spy, hiding behind pillars and dodging cameras, on his first assignment.

The bus ride and beginning of class was the worst for the self doubt. I could all but feel the ridicule piling up as fellow students piled into the room.

To my shock, and surprising disappointment, I didn’t get the awful reaction I hoped for. Megan told me I look good, Jake pet it, Craig saluted me, Jared called me sexy, which given the context, I thought was weird. Only Charlotte said she didn’t like it after I asked her.

However, these jerks***? They all know me. People who know people don’t tell the people they know the truth. It’s a social faux-pas. Everyone knows that. So these reactions I can’t take to heart. I’m sure everyone hates it, except Charlotte, who is probably thinking about how good it looks even now, almost 12 hours into the future. I had to get reactions from strangers.

Here is what I found:

An older security guard with a moustache looked at mine with eyes full of superiority. I don’t blame him. He had a much finer moustache. My eyes probably gleamed green with envy.

A pretty girl at the food court locked eyes with my moustache. I’m 83.7% certain I might have maybe seen her mouth “ewwwwwww” as I walked past. Another girl I will never go on a date with.

A mother with a small child in a new stroller sat as far away from me as possible on the bus. In her defense, I was at the back of the bus and everyone knows strollers fit best at the front. This one could have been a coincidence. One can never be sure.

At the metro station two young metal heads with spiked bracelets and black mascara looked at me as if I was the crackhead digging in the garbage; drinking from discarded chocolate milk cartons. I told them real men grow moustaches they don’t put on makeup. After I managed to crawl out of the garbage container (the crackhead helped, turns out he is a really nice guy, we have set a date to go for some sushi) I decided it probably isn’t wise to try to defend the moustache. Just accept my fate as a moustache owner and welcome the menacing thoughts about my person.

The moral of the story? Young metal heads are the worst. Oh, and wearing a moustache still freaks me out.

I can’t wait for day 2.

*A Video of me and my moustache playing accordion and answering questions
**Not to be confused with the first short answer
***Sorry guys