Category: Hats

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The Return O’ The Posts

TIE O’ THE DAY is on its knees, begging your forgiveness. We shirked our entertainment duties, and we know how y’all get when you don’t get your daily dosage of neckwear and too much information about me. Bad tblog!

So today I found my redneck Hat o’ the Day and paired it with a lovely argyle Bow Tie o’ the Day. We figured the look would help us get back into our readers’ good graces.

Here’s our true excuse for our absence: I went to my TMS appointment early Friday morning. Now remember, last week was my first week of tapering the TMS from 5 to 2 sessions per week. After I got home, I wrote the day’s first post. Immediately after I posted, my crazy head went weird on me. Now, I know you’re saying to yourself, “This dame is bipolar, so she always has a weird head. What’s the big deal?” Well, this was a brand new territory of weird head. My head had never before been in this particular zone of crazy. For three days, I was forced to explore the new universe spinning in my noggin. That’s how I spent my Memorial Day weekend– with a new kind of weird head.

I’m sure it had something to do with tapering off the TMS. I suppose that at least shows TMS has done SOMETHING to me. I wish I could tell you whether or not my weekend crazy head was positive or negative. I’m not sure. I think my noggin was more level, but I’m still too mystified about the experience to make a judgment, myself. One thing I do know is that I wasn’t in a frame of mind to write posts, and that’s an odd thing.

I tried to describe to Suzanne how my head’s soul felt, and the best I could do was the following: I felt like the “dumb blonde” in the dumb blonde jokes. Oh, I felt intelligent as ever, but I felt like if you put a tire gauge up to my eardrum, you could test the air pressure in my skull. And it would be high. See why I can’t tell if the feeling was positive or negative?

After TMS this morning, I felt a little more like my abnormal normal self. Not to worry, folks.

33 TMS treatments down, 3 to go.

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A Sunny Day, I Hope

Got some swingin’ clash going on today. Bow Tie o’ the Day has already helped show off my outfit at my TMS treatment. (26 sessions down, 10 to go.)

It’s looking like an actual Spring day outside. Plenty of sun. A touch of warmth. I can wear my shorts– the style of which Suzanne and I have referred to since the 80’s as my “big, fat, ugly” shorts. I have a pair of pants like them too. Both are way too big for me, but they have lots of bigly pockets. They hold as much as a carry-on suitcase, I kid you not. That’s why I never needed to own a purse. I’ll do a post with my big, fat, ugly shorts/pants soon. I didn’t even think of it until I wrote this paragraph.

The hat I’m wearing in this snapshot is too girly for me, which means it’s Suzanne’s. I bought it for her last September when we were at the beach on Dauphin Island, AL. It is a humongous sunhat. It has the “wingspan” of a bald eagle. Just guess the most memorable thing about Suzanne’s hat on that trip. Yup, you’ve come up with the correct answer if you guessed the hat highlight was getting it onto the plane to come home. Did you hear me when I said it is a large hat? It is officially sombrero-size. The hat couldn’t go in a suitcase, and we already had the max of what we could carry onto the plane with us.

So Suzanne wore her hat onto the plane, where we hoped no airline person would tell us the hat was just one thing too many. When we walked down the plane’s aisle to our find our seats, that dang hat brim touched both sides of the plane. It nearly decapitated a number of passengers as Suzanne passed by. And then when we found our seats and sat down, the hat had to go somewhere during the flight. We tried to put it under the seat in front of me. It didn’t fit, of course. I kind of hovered my feet above it to hide it when the flight attendants walked by.

Suzanne and I made it home to Utah. The sunhat made it home with us, where it now lives in the closet with my gangster fedora, hogging half the closet. And the closet is a walk-in. Since the sunhat moved in, all of my hats (except for the fedora) had to move from the closet to The Tie Room. I’m so “glad” I bought Suzanne that hat.

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Salt Is Salty. Duh!

Aside from collecting neckwear, I spend some of my time in search of relaxation for Suzanne’s aches and pains, as well as for my stoopid, bipolar head. I seek out off-the-wall relaxation opportunities, on my quest to find something effective. Suzanne and I do like a fine massage, but I’m also willing to try just about anything else that mellows us out– both body and psyche. Heck, I try weird stuff simply to have new experiences. You already probably know that about me. Having a fresh adventure is enough reason to dive into it.

Wood, magnet-clasp Bow Tie o’ a Month Ago went with us on one of our attempts at relaxation. For Valentine’s Day, I gave Suzanne (and myself) a session at The Salt Cave, which is one offering at Awaken Wellness– a New Age-y wellness center in South Ogden. A few weeks after V-Day, we finally found some time to put the event on our schedule.

I didn’t know anyone who had been to The Salt Cave, so we had no idea what to really expect– except salt. I don’t even remember how I discovered the place existed. I scored a Groupon coupon for the 45-minute session, so it wouldn’t bankrupt me all for nothing if it turned out to be a letdown. All we had to go on was the photo and info I found online.

The Salt Cave is not an actual cave, but it felt like one when we were in it. It was a room about the size of a small bedroom. What appears in the photograph to be sand covering the floor, is salt. The lighting was extremely low. The pyramid in the wall was constructed with bricks of salt, and it glowed like a low-ember fire.

We sat in zero-gravity chairs. Calming music played, which we were told was programmed with “corrective healing frequencies, binaural beats, and isochronic tones.” Whatever that means. I don’t know if the music “healed” me, but it did help me mellow out.

For the duration of the session, a medical device called a halogenerator dispersed salt into the air. We couldn’t see the salt, but we felt it in our noses. I can say it felt like my nasal passages were clearing themselves out. Salt air has long been thought to improve respiratory ailments, as well as other health issues. We left with a faint layer of salt on our clothes. You can sort of see it on my hat.

The Salt Cave wasn’t magic, but we enjoyed our time in it. We certainly got relaxed. We were kinda sad when the session was finished, and I think we’d go again. It doesn’t matter that the experience was not profound and life-altering. It was fun.

After our session was complete, I was parched for salt. I needed plain old Lay’s potato chips. I did not lick the salt pyramid which was built into the wall. But I thought about it.

Perhaps for Christmas, Suzanne will give me my own salt lick to install in The Tie Room. Better yet, I would like enough salt licks to install one on at least one wall in every room in the house. And in my truck. And in my car. I don’t think it’s asking too much to have a permanent salt lick with me when I travel.

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I Joke, Therefore I Am

I take my mental health seriously, as we all should. But part of what allows me to keep trudging along through my bipolarity issues is poking fun at myself and my “crazy head.” If I can’t laugh about it daily, no matter how precarious or smooth my state of mind, I can’t survive it. In fact, my ability to joke and snark about almost any hard time in life is a great comfort to me. Being playful with words helps me be patient and firm with whatever is at hand. Humor is one of my self-defense tactics. I’ve been told my vaudeville act has helped others keep their heads healthy on occasion. I hope so.

Anyhoo… To be silly for my TMS technician this morning, I put together a hypnotic, googly-eyed Bow Tie o’ the Day (complete with matching Cufflinks o’ the Day) and a googly Shirt o’ the Day. (I did the best I could with the hat. Paisley will have to do.) My attire symbolizes my dizzy, goofy, insane, wacko, loony, mesmerizing “crazy head.” When I use these words– and others like them– in my quest to be comedic about my bipolar travels, my purpose is to take away any power they might have to mock mental illness. I own the words, so they don’t own me. I work to transform them into my zaniness.

Hey, it works for me.

15 TMS treatments down, 21 to go.

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Sealed With A Lipstick Kiss (S.W.A.L.K.)

As opposed to regular ol’ S.W.A.K.

Here’s the same bigly, jumbo-ly Bow Tie o’ the Day as this morning’s post photo offered up. In this snapshot, my hairs and I were getting ready for today’s TMS treatment. In fact, it was my TMS technician, Tenzin, who finally mentioned the lip print I had on my cheek. Doh!

When Suzanne told me goodbye as she headed out to work this morning, she told me to NOT forget to wash the goodbye lipstick off my face before I went out into the world of neuropsychiatric treatments. And what was the first thing I promptly forgot to do right before I, myself, left the house for my appointment? Yup. Off I went, feeling just slightly more loved on my left cheek than on my right cheek– but unable to come up with the reason for the strange imbalance I felt.

Vonnegut Grace Vibe was gas-less, so I gassed her up before hitting the freeway. The woman I chit-chatted with at the 7-11 gas pumps didn’t point out my cheek’s lip print . Jack, the dude who seems to work at the Centerville 7-11 24/7, didn’t clue me in about it either– even as I stood at his register gabbing with him and buying a bottle of Diet Coke. The two office assistants I spoke with in the reception area at my TMS clinic spoke nary a word about it either. Finally, Tenzin commented on it.

Looking back, none of these folks seemed fazed by what was on my face. Clearly, you don’t have to know me well to figure I must have meant to do whatever I did, fashion-wise. To know me even a little is to expect to view an odd style. I decided to wear the lip print for the rest of the day, and the people who assisted me as I got a new phone at the Apple Store didn’t bring it up once.

So far, nothing unpleasant has happened to me or my cheek. In fact, the whole lipstick faux pas is generating ideas about what else I can get away with putting on my face– causing people to notice, but not tell me about. I see it as a new challenge. And I think Suzanne needs to invest in a bunch of much brighter lipstick than she already has. Like she says, “If you’re going to wear lipstick, make sure people see it.” Amen to that.

I’m positive anyone who saw me noticed my smooch print, but I think they were jealous. I was lucky enough to have a kiss on my cheek, while their cheeks were kiss-less. I think the red remnants of the kiss I received actually made some people feel unloved. Sorry. But not.

Hey, humans, kiss your people goodbye each day as they go out to conquer the world. They are going out there for YOU, you know.

BTW   Yes, I do have another pair of paw print Sloggers just like this at home.

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Hairs Thursday #10

Paisley Bow Tie o’ the Day is aghast at the state of my hairs! As am I. Something needs to be done, people. Even a baseball cap from Albuquerque can’t hide the hideousness of my overgrown mop. The very minute May ends, these hairs go! I might just get it all shaved off so I can forget about even having hair, if only for a couple of weeks. Oh, how I wish today were June 1st. But I will buck up. I will muster my courage and keep a proverbial stiff upper lip. I will fulfill this promise of growing my hair for one year, but I will not grow it out for even one minute beyond the 12 months you voted for. I must arrange for my cutter o’ hairs to have her scissors ready at 12:01 AM on the first day o’ June. I guess it’ll be a sleepover. I can already smell the late-night pizza being delivered.

But for now, in 5 minutes I’m headed to SLC for my 13th TMS session. After it’s completed, it’ll be 13 down, 23 to go.

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Every Day Can Be A Holiday

Three nearly identical snapshots of Skitter in her Bow Tie o’ the Day is three times as good as one snapshot. Skitter was especially excited to be in the pix because today is National Piñata Day. She even had a nap in her sombrero this afternoon. After she eats dinner, we’re gonna take that colorful stick and beat the stuffin’ out of our taco piñata. I hope Skitter isn’t disappointed when tacos don’t fall out. I also hope I’m not disappointed when tacos don’t fall out.

[Yeah, I’m still working on my TMS-and-me post. I keep adding to it. It’s still coming.]

 

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Hairs Thursday #9

Mustache Bow Tie o’ the Day. Sasquatch Socks o’ the Day. And animal print Sloggers o’ the Day. The Hairs o’ the Day are doing the front-ponytail-through-a-backwards-baseball-cap thing.

[I haven’t quite finished writing the post I promised yesterday, about why TMS treatments are a good choice for me. It is coming.]

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Visiting Mom In Deltassippi A Couple Of Weeks Ago

M & M’s Bow Tie o’ the Day knows as well as anyone that a trip to see Mom at Millard Care and Rehab is a trip for Suzanne to see the other Mom also, as in MOM’S CRAFTS. Yup, Deltatucky is a two-mom town for Suzanne. I hang with Mom. Suzanne hangs with Mom AND the Mother of All Fabric Stores.

M & M’s Bow Tie also reminded me to deliver a very important gift for Mom. You see, every Easter season, when all the malted milk ball eggs show up in the stores, and the Peeps take their place alongside them in the Easter candy aisle, I buy Mom a bag of spiced jelly bean eggs. This year, when I thought about getting them for her, I figured I should skip it– since her blood sugar has been fiendishly high. I hoped she wouldn’t think about them this year. When I went to visit Mom a month ago, all she could talk about was the bag of spiced jelly beans I didn’t show up with. I wasn’t going to let that happen again, so on my last visit– a couple of weeks ago– I made triple-sure I delivered a bag o’ spiced jelly beans to her bedside.

Should I have given her such a sugary treat? Not really. But Mom is 88. She knows all about her high blood sugar. If she wants to risk eating a bag of Brach’s Spiced Jelly Beans so badly, she’s going to get ’em from me. I might be 55, but I am still Mom’s baby– and I do not say NO to my mother. Never have. Never will. My job is to spoil Mom. And I’m telling you right now: If Mom wants a six-pack of Budweiser to drink, a pipe to smoke, and a tin of Copenhagen to chew ‘n’ spit, I will get them for her. I will even barricade her door at MCR while she partakes of her vices, so she won’t get caught by her “guards” while she’s being bad.

BTW   When I was at MCR last time, I left Skitter with Mom in her room while I talked with a couple of family members in the hall near the facility’s entrance. Well, out of nowhere, here comes my pal, Katie, who takes such good care of Mom at MCR. Katie took one look at me and immediately said, “Oh, didn’t Skitter come down with you today?” I told her Skitter was in with Mom. And, without one more word to me, off Katie went to check it out I guess. Apparently, Katie was done with me. So I went back to the conversation I had been having with my people. Later, I looked for Katie throughout the day, but I couldn’t find her again before Suzanne and Skitter and I had to head back to the bigly city. I have always joked that it’s Skitter who MCR really likes to see show up, not me at all. Now– thanks to Katie– I know it’s not a joke. It’s true. Skitter is my ticket in. As long as I have her, I’ll be welcome at MCR. I hope.

[Note to Katie: I’m exaggerating that tiny story bigly, for the purpose of increasing chuckles. But I really did try to find you, and couldn’t.]

FYI   Yes, that’s Suzanne in one of the photos, showing Mom my purse. My purse gets around. I wonder if it “sleeps around,” as well.