My Family is Hairy

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bad haircut, Donald Trump, Donald Trump's hair, family, genetics, hair, hair loss, haircut, humor

I just finished giving our 19-year-old son a haircut, and I’m struck again by how much hair this kid has.

For those of you wondering, no, I’m not a professional stylist. I don’t even play one on TV, although I’d probably get paid more if I did.

We just look for ways to stay in-budget wherever we can. That’s why I’ve been cutting both my husband’s and our son’s hair for years.

Swipe #1

Our son starts his sophomore year of college next week, and wanted a haircut to get rid of this summer’s growth. It’s more along the lines of trimming a hedge, or mowing a field, because his hair is so thick the clippers sometimes makes this snarly gagging sound when it hits a heavy patch.

So far, the at-home chop jobs have gone fairly well. *Cough* There was that time my husband tossed his head back, laughing at something I said. The clippers ran a bit amok, leaving him with a little wonky *cough* indentation at his hairline.

Or the time I ever so slightly nicked my son’s ear, a fact he insists on bringing up every time I get the clipper box out.

Or the time I misjudged the snap-on comb length, and he ended up with what I generously called his Modified Buzz Cut. it was summer, so it worked. Mostly.

I think I see a tail…

But still, every time I give our son a haircut, there’s so much hair laying around that it looks like a small footless mammal slunk into the house and died on the floor.

He gets this from my side of the family. There aren’t any comb-overs at our holiday gatherings. No shiny spots. No widow’s peaks. We’re a hairy bunch.

I can basically count on the fact that anyone who has the telltale dark-hair-dark-eyes combo from my grandpa’s side of the family also has hair that grows like a Chia pet’s.

This was brought home the last time I got a haircut. For obvious reasons, I don’t take the clippers to my own head. I save that for less fortunate family members. I go to the salon once a month for a trim, but my stylist is trying to convince me to come in more often.

She ran her hand through my hair and got it stuck somewhere along the top. “Jeez,” she said. “You have a lot of hair. Are you sure we shouldn’t thin it out?”

I wear my hair like a Girl Scout merit badge. It took me years to get it like this, and I shudder at suggestions that it be less than its full glory. I have friends who complain about hair loss, who are afraid that someday soon, they’ll be embracing The Donald or some such version of an awkward combover.

In the meantime, the home chop jobs will continue. And I’ll remain thankful that in a world of Rogaine, bad comb-overs, and thinning hair, I come from a hairy family.

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Five Truths and a Lie

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Bubble Yum, cemetery, childhood memories, Grand Prix, Happiness Project, humor, James Garner, Jess Witkins, lie, truths

Inspired by Jess Witkins over at The Happiness Project, I’ve decided to do my own version of her game “Five Truths and a Lie.”

As Jess explains it, I’ll share six random things about myself, and you decide which one of them is a lie.

To take it a step further, I’ve decided to run with a childhood theme. All the items listed below come from my misspent youth.

I’ll announce the winner this Friday. As Jess says, the winner gets bragging rights, and a smug sense of satisfaction that comes from knowing which of my random items is nothing but a big ol’ fib!

1. I once got a pencil lead stuck in the upper left corner of my scalp. Yes, I say “corner” because if I ever go bald, it ain’t gonna be pretty.

2. One snowy night, we drove my friend’s mom’s Grand Prix almost through the back of their garage. Notice I said “almost.” It was just a few boards that got dislodged, for Pete’s sake.

3. One of my earliest jobs was a grave digger at a pet cemetery just outside town. Creep-E.

4. I once wrote a school paper for a friend in exchange for 20 packages of Bubble Yum gum. It was a transaction my teeth soon regretted…

5. I had a secret mini-crush on James Garner when he starred in “The Rockford Files.” C’mon – tell me that smile isn’t adorable!

6. I never played Ding-Dong Ditch-It or toilet papered anyone’s house. Ever.

Feel free to guess below. Share your own list, or write your own post and link it back here – either way, it’ll be fun to guess which one’s the lie!

Triple-Secret Probation

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Clorox, humor, men, men being sick, Triple-Secret Probation, Uncle Sam

It’s an exciting day here at dmswriter! It’s my first guest post on the Nudge Wink Report, the blog offering “hilarious comic-tary on news, views and attitudes.”

A few years ago, my best friend told me about Triple-Secret Probation. Your significant other does something totally, utterly dopey? Put them in TSP. It’s basically a mental “prison,” in your head, that you lock them in. Possibly forever. Or until they do 10 or 20 things that redeem them. Then maybe you can crack the TSP gate a bit.

The full post at The Nudge Wink Report is here, but I’m also sharing my original piece below. Read on!

Triple-Secret Probation

The other day on the radio, the DJs asked listeners to share the dumbest things their spouses had done. I didn’t call in – no need to. Really. *Cough* But I’m glad others did, because it was pretty funny.

One lady went out to run errands, leaving her husband in charge of their toddler. While she was gone, the toddler had a blowout diaper disaster. The husband cleaned it all up and everything was under control. *Cough*

Only problem was, there were no baby wipes in the house. That’s one of the items she went out to buy. In his world, though, the husband had found wipes, conveniently located on top of the toilet tank.

“Those were Clorox. Disinfecting. Wipes,” the wife said. A woman would see the big letters on the container and know that:

Clorox = bleach

Bleach on skin = bad

Bleach on toddler’s skin = really, really stupid thing to do

   But what to do in a situation like that, dear reader?

You could scream and holler. Or invoke the Silent Treatment. But guys have this sneaky ability to ignore both of these, and make us think they’re listening. Instead of expending all that energy, I suggest a fresh alternative:

 Put him on Triple-Secret Probation.

   Think of it as invisible jail. Mentally hiss “You, buddy, are on Triple-Secret Probation.”  And don’t tell him he’s on TSP. Don’t tell him when he’s been released, either. That way, you can keep him on TSP for as long as needed. If he feebly attempts a good act, or 10, you can think about releasing him. Maybe.

Take Clorox Dad. Putting him on Triple-Secret Probation means that nothing he can do, for at least a month or two, will fix this. Only his wife’s spontaneous good graces can release him from TSP.

In order for TSP to be effective, there are certain guidelines. Putting a man on TSP for leaving his socks lying around the house doesn’t pay. Waste of TSP, because this one’s not going away. Pick your battles, ladies.

To help, I give you several times when TSP is deserved:

1. When he’s left his socks lying around the house. Yes, I know I just said not to bother with this one. But really – it’s never going to stop unless you DO something. TSP to the rescue.
2. When you send him to the store with a written list, and he comes home with something so ridiculously unclose to the list that it makes your head spin. Automatic, immediate TSP.
3. When he eats the last piece of cake and not only leaves an empty, crumb-filled container sitting there, but leaves a forest of crumbs scattered across the countertop. In fact, the dishwasher is so close it could snap his arm in half if the door closed on it. This one deserves a lengthy TSP.
4. When he leaves used dental floss lying around the house, like my friend’s husband. Theirs is the house of Eternal Dental Christmas, with floss hanging like tinsel from the doorknobs. You’d think Matt would use one of the many decorative trash receptacles Kari has thoughtfully set out, but I guess they’re too close to the floor and skip his radar. Bad, bad, bad.

To be fair, we should talk about times when TSP is utterly useless. This depends on your man and the situation.

1. When you’re out of GPS range, hopelessly lost in a neighborhood where you swear you heard gunshots, and your man still refuses to ask for directions. He won’t. Ever. That’s because he’s convinced that you’re only minutes away from your destination. Even if it’s two states away.
2. 
3. 2. When he’s sick. TSP is a complete waste here, because when men are sick, they can’t think about anything else except being sick. Or whining about being sick. Or speculating about what got them sick in the first place. Hack. Hack.

Ladies, Triple-Secret Probation is your weapon in this war. Use it as often as needed to keep your sanity and your voice, and keep your man wondering what he did wrong. He’ll never guess, and you can have the smug satisfaction of knowing you nipped this sucker in the bud without wasting an ounce of effort.

Getting the Fizz Back

Tags

blog posts, courage, creative writing, humor, Shannon Ables, The Simply Luxurious Life, writing

This morning I read the latest blog post on The Simply Luxurious Life. In “How to Live a Courageous Life,” blogger Shannon Ables shares 11 points on how to live courageously vs. living with a security mindset.

For the past few months, I’ve been reassessing my blog. It lacks fizz, so it’s time for a change. I originally started my blog with the hope that it would serve as a business platform for my writing.

While that was a secure goal, it didn’t allow enough of my personal writing style to emerge. It kept me playing safe, sharing things like writing tips and grammar rules. Can you say yawn? And you, my trusty and loyal readers, suffered.

So I’m switching things up. Just the idea feels fresh and interesting. It’ll still be original writing, but you’ll be reading more of “me” – thoughts, ideas and opinions. I know that last one worries my husband – he’s convinced I have way too many opinions already, so maybe sharing them with you will spare him the agony of listening to them. Ha! Just kidding, babe!

Not your best side, Sheldon…

Heck, if I’m bored, you might even hear about our geriatric Golden Retriever whose incessant paw licking drives me up a tree, or read a witty post about Sheldon, a stray cat who somehow got a key to the house and pops up in unexpected places.

What’d I tell you? Things will get interesting…