Category: Hairs

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My Spock Ear Is Cold Again

There is no chill in the world that can’t be solved by wearing a comfy sweater, bigly ear muffins, and a wood Bow Tie o’ the Day. Seriously. Don’t tell me I’m wrong about this unless you’ve tried it.

That reminds me. It’s time for another episode of Weird Scribbling In My Notebooks, in which I relay some nuggets I’ve written in my notes over the years— trying to figure out what I meant and/or why I thought they needed to be written down in the first place. These gems are from one of my 2010 notebooks.

#1 “Secret of life: Don’t get hit by a firetruck.” That pretty much explains itself, I guess. I kinda don’t know why I felt the need to record that bit o’ common sense in the first place, but ok. One really should not forget it.

#2 “My scalpel eye is cutting through to a clean, factual thing.” Sounds like I figured out something all by myself.

#3 “Am I killing this pen, or what?” I must have gotten a new pen I liked.

#4 “The Last of the Dead Shot Bubbas.” I have not one idea what that was about. I’m guessing it was a possible title for a Delta story. I dunno.

#5 “Credit on earth is bad. Credit in Heaven is good.” Let’s see: Incurring and paying bills = earthly rewards. Loving others builds up credit in your favor in Heaven= Heavenly rewards. Plus, actively loving others is just the right thing to do. CTR, all the way.

#6 “Speaking of coloring inside the lines— coloring hair is coloring ONLY the lines.” Now, that’s just seeing hair from a different perspective, pointing out that every hair is a line you can shape, cut, and/or color.

#7 “Callings don’t show up on your phone bills.” True. Usually the bishop just asks to meet with you. (Har, har, har.)

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Christmas Day, Skitter, And A Haircut

I chose a “wrapped gifts” theme Bow Tie o’ the Day to wear on Christmas Day. We didn’t do much but puzzle on Christmas Day, with the exception of joining Suzanne’s family at her parents’ house. Every year, Suzanne’s dad reads the family a Christmas story of his choosing, and tops it off by reading about Christ’s birth from the Bible. I look forward to it. Suzanne’s family is bigly and semi-boisterous and fun. I do miss being around Mom at Christmas though. (And not just for her food.) She tells me over and over she’s grateful to Suzanne’s parents for taking such good care of me. I’m grateful for it too. Now, that’s a gift!

Rowan wore his new haircut over to our place after we were finished at Suzanne’s parents. Skitter loves him, although Rowan’s male voice used to petrify her. You know Skitter loves you when she positions herself near you, then pretends to stretch and— nonchalantly and by calculated accident— puts her front paws on your arm or leg, as she’s doing with Rowan in the photo. She ever so softly and discreetly paws her way into your heart. But don’t look directly into her eyes, or she’ll shake her way to one of her crates. The Skit says, “It’s so hard to be loved.”

As was requested after this morning’s post, I’ve included here three pix of Rowan’s BEFORE hairs. His hair is thick and beauteous, so I don’t have a preference about its length. I am liking his short cut now, cuz it’s what he’s got. If it’s clean and not covering his handsome mug, I’m good with whatever.

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Breakfast With The Boy, Er, Man

We had a post-Christmas breakfast with Rowan at Vertical Diner, a vegan diner around the corner from his apartment in SLC. I wore my “ugly sweater” Bow Tie o’ the Day for the occasion. We see Rowan rarely since he slaves away many hours at his barista job and is student-ing at the U of U. He is 22, so his social life is a top priority, as well— as it should be. I think I’d be a bit worried about him if he spent all his spare time with us.

Note that Rowan cut off his flowing locks of head hairs last week. He’s donating the leftover 14-inch braids to an organization that makes wigs for chemo patients. Rowan’s heart has always been in the fight for those who struggle.

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Grow Yer Own

It’s that time of year when I grow out my Christmas beard. In my opinion, my beard is coming along dandily. Unfortunately, snowman Bow Tie o’ the Day is lost ‘neath my face’s plastic, furry locks. I don’t want to have to lift my beard for every person I see in order to show off a bow tie, so from now on I’ll be a strictly necktie person whenever I am with beard.

I don’t know if my beard makes me look like Santa, an elf, a gnome, or my dad. But I’m groovy with any and/or all of the above.

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Lost In The Tie Room

When last I posted, on Halloween, I showed you Skitter in her french fry costume. I fully intended to post later on Trick or Treat day, showing you my costume. But I made the mistake of saying to myself, “Self, while I’m waiting for the short ghouls and superheroes to knock on my front door in search of goodies, I’m going to fetch the Christmas neckwear out of storage, cuz I need to start wearing it ASAP if I’m going to wear every piece.”

There isn’t room in the Tie Room for the ghastly amount of Christmas neckwear to have year-round residence in there, so it all lives in a storage bin apartment complex in the garage— in the space where my car should park, but can’t. Oh, I made it into the garage to retrieve the bins containing X-mas neckties and bow ties, but after I moved all those bins into the Tie Room, I somehow got overwhelmed and confused. I lost my way out of the Tie Room. Yup, I have spent the last few days mountaineering my way through the maze o’ neckwear which is my decades-long collection.

Aside from being very dehydrated from my lostness, I emerged from the Tie Room relatively unscathed. I drank a mini-keg of water, and promptly sat down to write this. So here are some photos of me in my costume for Halloween. Bow Tie o’ the Day displays a dandy cast o’ sugar skulls, which complements my Suzanne-made Day of the Dead cape. But what am I?

I love the frightening and fantastical costumes Halloween gives us, but when it comes to dressing up myself, I gravitate toward the obscure, clever, or punny things to be. For example, in the fall of 1994, when Major League Baseball went on strike, I donned a white sheet and an Orioles baseball cap and became the Ghost of the Baseball Season. And when “the war in Iraq” was the most repeated phrase on the news, I stuffed my bra to overflowing with plastic toy soldiers and went to Halloween events as “The War in My Rack.” It’s who I be.

Anyhoo… When Miss Tiffany was last cuttin’ my hairs, I saw the idea in the mirror: my hair took the shape of a comma! How cool is that, since I’m a writer? Punctuation is part of everything I create, and the comma is my fave-rave punctuation mark! With my cape, I just had to be a superhero called Comma Woman. In fact, I am more than just plain old Comma Woman— I am Oxford Comma Woman!

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Leapin’ Toe Shoes

After Miss Tiffany cut our hairs Saturday afternoon, we took our new hairdos to Capitol Theater to act snooty at the ballet. It was opening night of Ballet West’s current offering, which consists of three short ballets. I wore a spiderweb Bow Tie o’ the Day for the occasion. Suzanne wore yet another necklace (turquoise!) I bought her in Taos with my malnourished wallet. As per usual, Candy Corn Bow Tie On A Shelf o’ the Day was a stowaway in The Saddle Purse for the evening.

Every so often, I feel like it’s my civic duty to go to the ballet. Ballet is amazing. The dancers always put up a gorgeous fight with gravity on the stage. I admire the whole production, including the orchestra most spectators can’t even see down there in the orchestra pit. Although the ballet is not something I feel the need to experience regularly, I do want to support it. Its awesomeness deserves to thrive. It’s my pleasure to buy tickets on occasion.

We need to make sure we appreciate things— especially the arts— for their incredibility, even if we aren’t “into” them. In fact, that pretty accurately explains why I do attend a ballet here and there: I go to the ballet to find wonder in its intricate strength and beauty, and I also go to the ballet to remind myself that it’s not one of my fave-rave ways to spend time. I’m a better person for attending, but it just ain’t my thing.

BTW Suzanne is very proud of the post photo in which she’s gazing at the ceiling— because it shows her inner nostril. I look just plain sinister in that same pic.

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Gettin’ Hairs Cut

We had big plans for last Saturday night, but we needed our hairs cut before we went out. I donned my hairscuttin’ scissors Bow Tie o’ the Day, and off Suzanne and I went to Great Clips Saturday afternoon, to have our hairs hacked off by the wondrous and skillful Miss Tiffany. I put Suzanne in charge of directing Miss Tiffany in the cutting of my mop, and she was excited about that. Suzanne was very adamant about how she wanted each of my hairs, so Miss Tiffany got to see a bossy side of Suzanne she had never seen before.

I was kinda surprised Suzanne ordered the construction of what is basically one of my fave, go-to asymmetrical cuts. She says it’s one of her faves on me, so that works out dandy for both of us— since we’re the only people who have to spend a great deal of time being in the same vicinity as my hairs.

Of course, y’all have to see my hairs in posts daily, so sorry about that if you aren’t a fan of my half-bald head. But it could be worse: I could try to grow it out again. Be grateful every day that I won’t put any of us through that disaster again.

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The B-Words

When I was a much younger chick, I seriously contemplated whether or not to have my own biological children. I decided it wasn’t my thing, and I’ve never regretted my decision. Nonetheless, I ended up being a parent my whole adult life anyway.

Bow Tie o’ the Day laid out across this 8th Grade school picture helps present some of my reasoning for remaining bio-childless. I’m sure I’ve made this true joke before in a past post, and you’ll probably have to read it again in the future: If I had a bio kid it would have bad hair, bad teeth, big boobs, and be bipolar. And who wants to give their kid those blessings?

It’s a joke which drips with truth. You can’t see the bipolar in me here, but it’s already working in full force. I have no doubt that the breasticle genetics are so formidable in me that even a bio son would likely end up with a trophy rack, and that wouldn’t be pretty. My teeth only lasted about five years beyond when this photo was taken. And my hairs in this photo are a perfect example of how stubbornly straight my hairs are. I had just had a permanent which was supposed to give me a tight afro.

This is my hair. This is my hair on afro.

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In 4th Grade, We Were Dorky

1974. I doubt any Bow Tie o’ the Day could redeem me from my own personal 4th Grade dorkiness. I mean, check out my developing unibrow. I’ve also got my first crop of zits beginning to pop out on my chin. Bad hair, bad teeth. Yup, ’tis I. I think Mom had made my shirt, so that wasn’t dorky.

The class photo shows that even my eyes are dorky at this age. Are my eyes mostly closed? Mostly open? Let’s split the difference and call my eyes “clospen” in the class pic. Have fun trying to name each of these souls in Mrs. Knight’s class. List ’em in the comments. Correct each other’s wrong guesses. This identification can be tricky because, although this is a Class of ’82, 4th Grade photo, we housed a number of Class of ’83, 3rd Graders in our class all year. Good luck recognizing our dorky selves.

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Grace Anne Update!

Remember picture day in elementary school? What I most remember about it is that girls came to school with their hair all done up in ways they never wore their hair before or after that day. Their hair did not resemble their “true hair.” Fortunately (or unfortunately) for me, I had basically the same short, straight-bang haircut until I was 11, and nothing could be “done up” with that. My hairs always looked exactly like themselves, even on Picture Day.

Grace’s current hairdo is similar to my kidhood cut. Minions Bow Tie o’ the Day declares Little Miss Gracie-thang was in fine form yesterday when I and my SWWTRN mauled and squeezed her to bits before and during church at Bishop Travis’ Provo ward.

One of Bishopette Collette’s sisters and her husband visited Gracie’s ward yesterday as well. Bishopette Collette sat between both sides of the family, so she could fairly referee Gracie’s time spent with each of us. We all seem to be pretty good Sharers o’ the Grace– at least while Bishopette Collette is looking, and we’re sitting on a pew in Sacrament Meeting. Sharing is good, boys and girls. Choose The Share! (Seriously, Collette’s family is amazing, and I wish I knew them better than I do.)