:: Life on Planet Dan-E ::

:: Friday, February 10, 2006 ::

:: Testosterone-y. The other San Francisco Treat. ::

I remember reading this one study that claims that once men enter long-term relationships or get married, their facial (among others) hair grows at a faster rate than men who are still single. Possibly due to the male body sensing the close proximity of female hormones, some sort of chemical change or imbalance caused by a different mental state when a man enters a relationship (technical term being "whipped"), or quite possibly result of razor-producing companies being in cohorts with food growers to add stuff into food products that women force upon men (crap like yogurt, fruit, cottage cheese) that contain some hormone to cause accelerated hair growth. (I may be fabricating that last one). I mention this for a few reasons:

- I hate shaving.

- After years and years of two blades, the world almost came to an end when Gillette came out with that Mach 3 razor. Yet it wasn't long before someone came out a four-blade razor. I casually joked to a friend that by 2009 we're going to be shaving with a 9-blade razor on an inch and a half wide head that guarantees to remove all your hair, and the top layer of your epidermis, with only one stroke. Maybe even smooth out the acne scarring from your teen years in the process. And instead of replacement cartridges, these high-tech blades are constructed in regenerative layers so every time one breaks off, a new one rises to take its place. Just like a shark's tooth. (Sorry, I'm rambling again.)

Now Gillette has come out with their new "Fusion" razor that has a grand total of six (6!) blades. There are five on the front side (if only Seattle's front five was this sharp. Sorry, didn't mean to gloat) and one blade on the reverse edge that serves as a "precision trimmer" for shaped facial hair, sideburns, and self-defense against ninjas. Now let me ask you guys: is there anyone out there right now looking at their three or four blade razor and thinking to themselves "this razor works okay but dude, if I just had a couple more blades my life would be complete!" And from the way their commercials are carrying on, it's almost like some dude from the future came back to present with this great and life-changing new grooming tool.

(And you know it's only a matter of time before they release a version of this for women where they can use the "precision trimmer" for say, I don't know, shaping a landing strip, arrow, a heart, or even a Zodiac symbol. Not that I'd know anything about such things.)

Along with the accelerated beard growth, I've noticed other sorts of changed behavior caused by my testosterone-induced haze:

- I'm extremely protective of My Girl(friend): During a trip to a zoo, I almost killed a parrot for biting her finger so hard that it actually bent her thumb ring. I'm pretty sure I would have had just cause.

- I get mild cases of road rage: This may be partly due to the fact that South Florida has the stupidest group of drivers outside of Asia but still. I honestly never yelled at a guy in traffic before last week (he totally cut me off and still had the temerity honk at me). I mean, it's only thing to call a guy an asshole while your windows are rolled up and he's a few car-lengths away but we were at a red, his car was right in front of mine, my windows were down and the sunroof was open. And my voice is loud enough that not only did he hear me, I scared the crap out of the guy walking on the sidewalk.

- I try to make myself better: you know the usual guy stuff. Improve myself by trying to be attentive to her needs, get myself in better shape, be a better provider (even though she's going to be a doctor and will eventually make more in one year than I will in the next decade, such that if we're stil together then, I'll be relegated to being one of her cabana boys), improve both my grooming and hygiene...

- ... And yet I can be a complete slob sometimes: I was always a bit cluttered before but she has this incurable desire to clean up after me (despite my repeated protests). Not only that, she doesn't care if I burp, fart or scratch myself around her so sometimes tend to carry on like no one else is around. You guys know what I'm talking about, right? (Umm, me neither.)

- In some ways, I'm completely whipped: As if it's a subconscious need to balance out the testosterone, I not only want to do stuff for her, I enjoy doing things for her. I get a kick out of doing stuff like cooking for her, tucking her into bed, running my fingers through her hair, and staring into her big blue eyes. And I love it when she puts her head on my shoulder.

And the best part is, she a cool enough chick that she takes everything in stride and is completely willing to put up with some of my quirkier oddities (or is that odder quirks? Never mind).

:: Miscellaneous Ramblings by Dan-E at 3:10 PM [+] :: | 0 comments
.....