I had an early appointment and didn’t have time for even a quick shower this morning, so I grabbed my dry shampoo to swiftly clean my hairs before I left the house. 😜
Even My Hair Is Ironic
My First Dose
I got my first COVID-19 shot this morning. I had planned to take Skitter with me to keep me company in the car while I endured a reputed long wait in line to receive the first of my two vaccinations. However, as I was gathering my books and music to leave for my appointment, I asked, “Skitter, do you wanna go on an errand with me?” She barely raised an eyelid. She was clearly content to remain in her sleeping-in mode. How could I possibly drag her out of her cozy slumber? So I took this photo of her ignoring me, and I headed out the front door.
I am here to tell you that the Davis County Health Department has really got their “sh*t” together—I mean their “shot.” Following the new vaccination guidelines, I was able to get my shot about a month before they originally anticipated folks in my age-group would even be able to sign up. I emailed them yesterday, and 5 minutes later, I had an appointment for today. I arrived for my appointment about 10 minutes before my scheduled time. I followed the car directly ahead of me through the twisty, busy parking lot, all the way into a stall inside the Legacy Center building. There, I turned off my car and sat for a total of 4 minutes, while I answered a few questions, got a few warnings about possible obscure side effects, and ultimately got stabbed with my shot. I then started my car again, cranked up the Amanda Shires cd I was listening to, and drove out of the building. Before I knew it, I was done with Part 1 of my entire pandemic vaccination adventure—a couple of minutes before my actual scheduled appointment time.
The front-line folks running the vaccination clinic were efficient, willing to answer questions, and even appreciative of my chatty humor. One guy—the nurse who shot my arm—liked my wood Bow Tie o’ the Day so much that I tried to give it to him. He told me that in a different context, he would have gladly received Bow Tie as the simple gift of appreciation I meant it to be, but since he was there as a professional nurse, he could not accept it. I completely understood. Kudos to people with principles, who aren’t shy about living by them.
BTW Since I have a history of instances of severe allergic reactions to a couple of medications and bee stings (requiring me to carry an EpiPen), my shot nurse requested that I wait in my car in the Legacy Center parking lot for at least 30 minutes before I headed home, just in case I were to have an adverse reaction to the vaccine. He suggested I park as near to the ambulance in the parking lot as I could—just in case. In my experience, I have found that no matter what the job is, those people who think of the “just in case” scenarios for others end up becoming the best at whatever they do.
Just A Baldy Selfie This Afternoon
According to my Face Mask o’ the Day, things seem to be going along swimmingly here today.
No Ties, Just Face Masks
We have assembled a closet full of puzzles during this pandemic year. This puzzle is the pandemic-est of them all. The face masks were deceptively difficult to put together correctly.
Channeling Dad Again
My dad had this same haircut for all the years I knew him, and he always had a red or blue hanky in the back pocket of his striped bib overalls. He did not, however, make a point of wearing groovy bow ties. His usual idea of neckwear was wearing a wood coyote call around his neck. I miss the old guy.
Spring Is Out There Somewhere
It looks like Spring outside today, but the temperature tells the truth: It’s just above freezing on this deceptively bright and blue-sky morning. Still, the hint at the changing o’ the seasons prompted my choice of neckwear and face wear. Face Mask o’ the Day is full of colorful ladybugs, and wood Bow Tie o’ the Day is a genteel butterfly.
I Never Miss An Occasion To Dress For An Occasion
Don’t think that just because I was adrift in Bipolar-land and/or Cranky Hanky Panky-ville on the actual dates that I didn’t dress loudly and over-the-top appropriately for Valentine’s Day and Mardi Gras. I certainly did. (I’m doing a combined fashion reenactment in this photo.) If I put on a Bow Tie o’ the Day in the Bipolar Forest, and nobody’s there to write a TIE O’ THE DAY post about it, it does—in fact—still happen. Yes, it does still make a sound, which you are hearing right now. 👂🏻✍️ And for Lent, it appears I decided to give up my hair.
FYI Skitter liked wearing her bell-bedazzled Mardi Gras collar, but she decided to pull a face for this photo anyway. She has moods of her own, that’s for darn sure.
There’s An Ascot For That
Call me Heathcliff. I woke up feeling a bit Wuthering Heights-y today, which means I just had to don a snooty Ascot o’ the Day. It’s odd that I ever find myself in a silky, ascot-y, Wuthering Heights-y mood at all because I never really got into the vibe of the book. I admit I do overly enjoy the 1939 Laurence Olivier/Merle Oberon movie version of the book. And it is also true that the Kate Bush song of the same name gets pleasantly stuck in my head for hours, at least once a year, prompted by who-knows-what. All I can tell you for sure is that when I’m in a Wuthering Heights mood like I am today, the only logical thing for me to do is to head off for a drive in my truck—in search of windy, foggy, muddy moors over which I will aimlessly run while alternately crying out “Heathcliff” and “Cathy” to all ghosts everywhere in my vicinity. The ascot-less Skitter will surely accompany me and wonder what’s up. Or—more likely—I will just sit here in my ascot and re-watch the old movie until I get the moors out of my system.
My Haircut Makes Me Look Like A Hedgehog
I’m here to confess that my occasional self-inflicted baldness feels amazing. I would describe the sensation of having all your hairs shaved off as similar to how it feels when you take off ye olde brassiere after getting get home from work. And, ladies, you know darn well how good that feels. I’m not exaggerating. Bald is a free feeling.
A naked head in winter is a tad cold, though. For whatever reason, the handful of times in my life I’ve felt the urge to go mostly fur-less on my noggin, I’ve felt it in winter. I’m not complaining about the frigid air. I do have a bigly hat collection from which my head can draw any warmth it might need, as you well have probably already noticed. It’s weird, though: My baldy head doesn’t usually get cold, but the tops of my ears freeze tremendously. I need Suzanne to crochet me teensy beanies for the tops of my ears. One ear beanie would have to be considerably larger than the the other, however, in order to completely cover the tip of my left ear, which is my Spock ear.
My pop-top drink cans Tie o’ the Day, and my Jack Daniels Cufflinks o’ the Day are an homage to the fact that while I wasn’t up to posting about it last week, I hit a sober milestone of much import to me. I managed to make it 5,000 days (5,008 as of today) without drinking so much as a Munchkin-sized drop of alcohol. That translates into almost 14 years of not-drinking God’s special fermentations. I especially miss beer, which I will always fondly think of as “liquid bread.” Likewise, I content myself with forever thinking of the bread that I eat as nothing less than “solid beer.” I have no regrets. Not about the drinking. And not about the hair.🍺💈