I'm baaaaaaaaaack: The 'F' in 'FCN' Returns!

Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to FCN.

That's right, FCN. Not CN, but FCN, which stands for Fight like Chuck Norris or Freaky College Nerds. Or Free Core Nutation, Florida Center for Nursing or Force Change Now. Sorry to disappoint, but our beloved contributor has returned from his unexplained tour of Scandinavia and the sub-continent (to say nothing of the Orient), and is now ready to reassume the mantle as one of the most pathetic writers in the blogosphere, second only to his fellow contributors and the dudes at the Daily Kos.

I was gone for five weeks, and a lot happened while I was gone.

Before proceeding, I'd like to reflect in a vague, unhelpful way on the fact that I just switched from referring to myself in the third person to doing so in the first. Third person sounds more professional, first sounds more personal. The agony of decision. At least I don't have to worry about consistency anymore. On with the post.

A lot happened while I was gone, not including keeping up with CN (now FCN, for all of you with continuity complexes). I didn't read a single thing from this blog in my absence and, from looking at the hit counter, so did most everybody else. When I got back, I skimmed the titles and noticed with displeasure that only a paltry handful of my works were worthy of being considered classics. My fellow contributors assured me that the selection process was completely scientific and unbiased, so I guess I can't complain. Still, something seems fishy.

Enough of this. Let's cut to the chase.

I found a new stylist.

My hair was sprouting off in all directions, thank goodness. I was well on my way to undoing the damage caused by my well-meaning but incompetent former stylist. I could shake my head, and my luscious locks would flutter around, much to my satisfaction. I began to get careless and unruly. I quit shaving. I stopped doing anything to my hair after the toweling stage. Then, I collapsed under the pressure and stole a beanie from one of my homies while he was looking the other way (at a fruit snack, of all things). It was clear that I needed a trim - just a little something to get my hair back into presentable condition. Enter V. E., an amateur snipper with the mad h@x0r skills of a seasoned hair dressing veteran. I don't know where she got it, but she had the technical know-how to do Nancy Pelosi's hair, and trust me, I don't say that lightly. I wouldn't let just anyone mess with dear Nancy's image.

So I knelt down in a badly embattled hallway and explained to friend V exactly - and I do mean EXACTLY - what I wanted. She proceeded to give me exactly - yes, EXACTLY - what I, you know, wanted. I went into the men's restroom and did a double take. I looked good. I mean, I looked way good. My ruggedly handsome visage was so knock-down stunning I nearly lost it right there. Whatever it is.

Anyway, I was pleased. My five weeks spent away from home were well-rewarded. If I ever need another cut (and that is a distinct possibility), I know exactly where I'm going. So consider yourself warned, FCN readers: I'm here only as long as the hair is.

And that's the story of my trip. No, nothing else really worth mentioning happened. Not one piddly little thing. Seriously.