Mustaches are Funny (unless you accidentally look like a pedophile)

It has been well chronicled that I cannot grow facial hair. Oh, I try. But it just doesn't happen like other big boys. Here's a reason this doesn't make any sense to me: my brother may or may not be part werewolf. I kind of wonder if he secretly just carries around a straight razor with him and every time I've ever thought he went to get a glass of water or something, he's really just ferociously hammering away at his manbeard. The guy makes me feel like I'm some pre-pubescent kid at a middle school dance. But while it's funny (and incredibly normal) to be that kid...in middle school...it's just not that great to still have this theme going on in your life in your mid-twenties. The thing is, it's not like I don't grow facial hair. That'd be at least something that was silly. I grow Orlando Bloom facial hair. The kind where you look at someone and you think, "Awwww CUTE! He's trying!" The kind where regions inexplicably just don't grow in, and the stuff that does grow in kind of looks like you are using rogaine in odd dime shaped placements on random parts of your face. You know how it's funny to not put suntan lotion on part of your body to get a silly tan? Imagine if you could do this, but with facial hair. Because I can. And I didn't even ask for this gift. What can I say...I'm the spiderman of beard growers...it is my gift...my curse. But here's the odd thing: I can grow the MOST fierce mustache on the planet. Honestly. Like, industrial strength dirty whiskers. And there's no stopping it. It in no way connects to the rest of my beard, so in turn I look like that dirty kid from gym class who had upper lip growth WAY too early (Ralph Macchio is also a great example). Awesome. Thanks God! Let me know what other treats I have in store!

So I didn't shave all week. Not because I thought it looked really good and chicks were just randomly humping my leg on street corners because I looked so manly. It's part laziness, part "owwwwiiie it huwted my face when I used the bad bad wazor." I just can't shave that often, so I play it off like i'm totally meaning to grow a beard. Eventually, someone at work just asks me if I'm hungover, and this usually causes me to do something about it. But I waited until this weekend, and in talking to my friend Kevin, we both thought it would be hilarious if I just went for it and finally shaved down to what I was meant for: the stache of all staches.

The problem with this, as we all know, is a mustache makes you look like a pedophile. Which, last time I checked, is not a good thing OR a way to get girls to like you (knock it off, hipsters). But we both thought it would be hilarious to just see people's reactions all day if I went for it and didn't tell anyone. I was heading to a BBQ at Crissy Field today, and it seemed like the primetime to bring out stachebash '09.

Before the others got there, Kevin and I picked up the food and booze, and decided to go hang out and play some wiffle ball to pass the time. The stache was in full force, and I legitimately looked disgusting and dirty. Watch how this all comes together, because it's almost like I accidentally almost got myself on the Megan's Law website today.

Apparently, the parenting population is just tired in general. Instead of following any privacy law you were taught your entire life, people have kids and decide it's completely fine to let them take their pants off at random moments at the beach (sidenote: this is not okay. stop).They don't even try to shield the kid while he does so. He needs to put his swimsuit on, so why not let the little guy just drop trou entirely with no warning for the rest of us. It's a tad uncomfortable, but it's what people do. And on a nice day at the beach (today), this was just going on everywhere. Apparently I didn't get the "I'm gonna take my kid to the beach and he may take his pants off intermittently" memo before heading out.

So basically: I was at a public park. I had a disgusting mustache. I was drinking a beer on a bench. Holding a children's sized whiffle ball bat and a beer. We randomly bought sour patch kids, so these were next to me. And if I haven't mentioned it yet, I had a child molester mustache which was supposed to be a hilarious joke. At this exact moment, a kid standing on a ledge over by the beach just decides to drop his pants so he can change or...I dunno, just be a kid and do inexplicably weird shit. And I'm sitting there. With a dirty "haha wouldn't it be funny if I shaved to a dirty mustache for the day?" child molester mustache. With a children's wiffle ball bat. And candy. And booze. Accidentally witnessing a kid randomly just take off his pants for no reason (I mean, I may as well have been in a windowless van at this point in time).

Lesson learned. I'm never shaving down to a mustache and going to a public park again. Ever.

At least I totally killed it in wiffle ball.

Drew Hoolhorst

San Francisco, CA 94110, USA

I have a black belt in feelings.