Trust Me, I'm Dr Ozzy (8 page)

That’s what Sharon calls it: “pruning.” And she does it to me at every available opportunity. If she sees so much as a single nose hair—she calls ’em “Hitlers” ’cos they look like the Führer’s moustache—she’ll go after it like a lioness going after her prey. After a while I gave up trying to escape, ’cos putting up a fight wasn’t worth the pain. By holding out, I was making only one person miserable:
me
. Besides, I didn’t exactly want to go around looking like three different families of crows had set up a nest in my conk.

It’s reached the point these days where I actually enjoy a pruning—especially if it involves a long massage before a gig. I might be the Prince of Darkness, but I’ve had more pedicures now than I’ve had hot dinners. I don’t take it too far, though. I’ve never had my balls waxed. My anus has never been bleached. And I ain’t into all that “caviar facial” bollocks.

To me, looking good is about working with what you’ve got, and taking care of the simple things. Then again, if something really,
really
bothers you, I ain’t got any bones about saying, “Get it fixed.” Going under the knife once in a while doesn’t mean you automatically end up like Michael Jackson or that crazy Cat Woman in New York. You’ve just gotta make sure you save up enough dough to pay for a top-notch doctor—and you’ve gotta know when enough’s enough. In the meantime, you’ll be amazed what you can achieve with a bit of regular maintenance.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

I’m a 24-year-old single man with a big date coming up, and I want to make sure I look good in the buff—y’know, just in case. With that in mind: should I trim my armpit hair?

Simon, Bethnal Green, London

How long can your armpit hair possibly be, man? I mean, I could understand if you were worried about the hair on your head, or the smell of your cologne, or what kind of clothes you’re gonna wear—but unless you’re planning to get this poor woman in a nude headlock over dinner, how the fuck do your armpits come into the equation? Since you asked, though, let me give you some man-to-man advice: I shaved my armpits once for a joke, and it hurt like you wouldn’t believe for a whole month. Worse than that, they broke out in an ’orrible pimply rash. So if I were you, I’d leave your armpits well alone and concentrate on something else, like your conversation skills.

Dear Dr. Ozzy,

I can’t resist the temptation to squeeze my blackheads and spots, even though I know I’m not supposed to. Is this bad? Does anyone seriously just wait until they “pop” by themselves?

Chris, Kent

None of my spots ever go unsqueezed because of Sharon: if she sees one, she’ll be at it with a hammer and chisel in a heartbeat. You’re right, though: you’re not supposed to start hacking away at your forehead, or you’ll leave behind a scar, give yourself an infection, or force that white gunky stuff in the wrong direction, making you look like Elephant Man. If you’ve got a bit of dough in the bank, go and see a good facialist and they’ll do the squeezing for you. Pressing a hot towel to your face and then massaging the pores can also help. Whatever you do, make sure you wash your hands thoroughly first.

Dear Dr. Ozzy,

My ears stick out at right angles. I wouldn’t mind if they did something more useful—like picking up Sky Sports—but they just make me look like an idiot. What should I do?

Neil, Glasgow

No-one wants to walk around the place looking like the Ryder Cup. But I think you’re being a bit hard on your poor old lugs—the job of hearing is pretty important (take it from someone who’s half-deaf). And Prince Charles does alright with his ears, which he could rent out at the weekend as parasails. But my advice is always the same with these things: if it bothers you,
do something about it.
Yes, the operation might be expensive. But buying an iPad or a new telly is also expensive, and no-one ever seems to have any problem saving up dough for that. If your ears are making you miserable enough to write to Dr. Ozzy, it might be the best investment you ever make.

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

I’m in my mid-thirties and sadly losing my hair. Should I resign myself to my fate, or fight it by any means necessary? How do you maintain your manly flowing locks?

Leo, Maryland

I’ve always been blessed with good hair. I don’t wear a rug. I don’t wear extensions. And I don’t use spray paint to touch-up bald spots. The only thing I do to my hair is dye it. In fact, I’ve always promised myself that if I ever start getting threadbare on top, I’ll shave it all off rather than getting an Irish (Irish jig = wig) or spending half the day trying to arrange my last three strands into a greasy comb-over. I mean, whenever I see these guys with crazy rugs, or the ones who wear cowboy hats all the time, I just wanna say to them, “Fuck off, we all know you ain’t got any hair.” And while it’s possible to buy some very good wigs these days if you’ve got the time, the dough, and the patience, most of ’em are ludicrous. I remember one time, I sat down at a bar in New York next to a bloke with the worst wig I’d seen in my life. It was ginger, and made him look like a cat had died on his head… I mean, buying a wig is one thing. But a
ginger
one? In the end I reached up, pulled it off, and used it to mop up my spilled beer. The guy went fucking mental. But if it taught him to be bald and proud, I did him a favour.

DR. OZZY’S AMAZING MEDICAL MISCELLANY—

Beauty Secrets Through the Ages

If you’ve got bad skin, try using a three-inch-deep layer of white powder foundation to cover it. Then add some smudged eye-liner and fake blood. It won’t get you laid, but it’ll get you out of babysitting duties for the rest of your life.

They say that putting a cold tea bag on a bruise will make it go away faster. If a doctor ever asks if you’re up for a bit of “tea-bagging,” though, it’s best to say “no.” He might mean something else.

If a bird craps on your head while you’re standing under a tree, wave and say thanks—in Japan, that’s considered a $150-a-pop facial treatment. (The stuff they use is a powder made from nightingale shit.)

In the Philippines, mothers have been known to cut their baby’s eyelashes ’cos they think it makes them grow back longer and darker when they’re older. Personally, I wouldn’t trust anyone to hold a pair of sharp scissors anywhere near a baby’s eyeballs. The kid ain’t gonna thank you for his long eyelashes if he needs a white fucking stick to cross the road.

If you think rinsing your mouth out with Listerine tastes bad, you should have been around in Ancient Roman times: in those days, dental hygiene meant gargling with piss (as long as it came from someone Portuguese).

Dear Dr. Ozzy:

I’m thinking of getting some cosmetic surgery done, but I feel very self-conscious about anyone seeing me with bandages over my face during the recovery period—and I’m also concerned about the stares I’m going to get when I show up in the office with a completely different face. What’s the best way to handle all this?

Sarah, Keswick

What exactly are you planning to do when your face is all bandaged up—go clubbing for a week in Cancun? The fact is, you’re gonna have to stay indoors and rest after the operation, so you won’t need to see
anyone
unless you want to. Over in California, they put you up in a special hotel where there’s a whole floor for recovering patients. If it’s a cheapo job, then obviously you ain’t gonna get that kind of service, but in that case I’d recommend that you wait until you can afford a better surgeon. As for the last part of your question: I don’t understand why you’re changing your appearance in the first place if you’re worried about people
noticing
your change of appearance. It sounds to me like you haven’t thought this through. If I were you, I’d put everything on hold until you’ve had a long talk with a therapist and sorted this out in your head.