If you’re sick of reading and hearing about my impending mohawk, stop reading right now because this entire blog post is about the day I got a mohawk. That day is today.
To remind you of why I am getting the ‘hawk, here’s the story in a nutshell. I held a RocketHub campaign to raise money so I can create The Greatest Website Jacksonville Has Never Seen (aka TheSpecktator.com 2.0). On the final day, I was still several thousands of dollars short of my goal and knew I had to do something extra kooky to get the rest of the cheddar. That day, I announced—on the radio—that if I met the goal, I would get a mohawk. And here we are.
Many people (OK, like five) expressed their disappointment that they couldn’t witness this follicular extravaganza in person (one even suggested I broadcast it live on USTREAM). While I’m sure there will be lots of pictures on social media, I thought it would be fun to live blog my day (because, in my opinion, live Tweeting can be annoying). Ready … go!
9:09 a.m. Just woke up. Only hit the snooze alarm once, which is almost unheard of in my world. I must be excited. Or have to pee.
10:15 a.m. Making a last-minute dash through Specktator HQ to make sure I have everything I need for the big day, which amounts to my phone, charger and an extra Klonopin, just in case. Feed the cats (who will probably run and hide when they see my new lid).
11:37 a.m. Too late to turn back now. Thanks to Heather of Daniel James Salon in Avondale , my hair is officially blonde … or part of it is anyway.
12:04 p.m. On our way to Hemming Plaza? I hear the folks looking forward to my public humiliation are growing restless.
12:31 p.m. At Hemming. I am greeting by applause. Probably because it’s so hot and everyone is ready to get this over with. After shoveling a delicious gourmet grilled cheese from On the Fly (thank you, Penny Kamish!) into my grilled cheese hole, it’s show time, and I take my seat. I’m not nervous. Until the buzzing of clippers start. As Heather starts going to town on my head, I see the looks looks on other people’s faces. Some are gasping. Some are laughing. One City Council member, who shall remember nameless, stood there with his mouth wide open. I read his lips: “I can’t believe she’s really doing this!”
12:50 p.m. Back at the salon for the rest of the transformation and I’m seriously thinking about starting an ’80s cover band because this ↓.
I can’t sing well or play drums or guitar, but I can hold down two keys on the keyboards just as well as Nick Rhodes from Duran Duran or that dude from A Flock of Seagulls (FUN FACT: AFOS lead singer Michael Score was a hairdresser.)
4:15 p.m. After three hours of “lifting,” coloring, cutting, foiling and non-stop selfie taking, it’s time for Heather to bring the #speckhawk to life. Somebody cue up “The Whoville Song”!
Since I’ll be heading off to my RocketHub celebration shindig, I ask Heather if she can try something a little more manageable or I’d have to get someone to drive me home since my hair wouldn’t fit in the car. She obliges with what would later be referred to as a Buster Poindexter bouffant.
5:30 p.m. Arrive at Intuition Aleworks. Commence drinking. Realize that a beer flavored with ghost peppers does not pair well with my spice-sensitive tastebuds (though I greatly appreciate Intuition dubbing the one-off “The Speckter”). Switch to King Street Stout, which is delicious and deceptively potent. Watch the looks on people’s faces when they see new ‘do for the first time. Take a gazillion selfies. Drink somewhere between 2 and 202 beers. Realize how lucky I am to know so many awesome people who believe in me enough to support my website—even if some of them threaten to take their money back because I had not gotten a “real mohawk … like Mr. T. (FUN FACT: There is no period after the “T” in Mr. T unless, of course, it’s at the end of a sentence.)
10:49 p.m. Call a friend to pick me up. Come home and pass out.