Thursday, March 11 2021

Dear Journal,

Good evening, everybody! Welcome to another rare weeknight evening journal entry. After slamming a chimmichanga for dinner, putting Rodney to bed, watching a Hawks game, and putting in some time on the stationary bike, writing is the last thing I feel like doing right now. But nevertheless, I owe you people a thousand words, and dad-gummit I'm going to get it done. Life is busy. These days, fitting something into my schedule is a game of inches, and the haircut appointment which overlapped with my writing time by a measly fifteen minutes was enough to bump it to some other time of the day. From then, it was nonstop action all the way to the bitter end.

At least I finally got a haircut. I went to the same salon that Marissa frequents. At 9 AM, I slammed a cup of coffee in the car and took my place as the first customer of the day. Marissa's stylist met me at the door and showed me over to her station. It was one of those salons where a scalp and shoulder massage is included.

"Isn't that the best?" asked Marissa. "The scalp massage is my favorite part. I always fall asleep."

I wasn't feeling it. I'm most alert in the mornings right before I start working, and as a result I wasn't really feeling the massage. All the coffee coursing through my veins made it impossible to relax. So I just stared straight ahead like a statue. I even thought about asking her to just skip it in hopes I could get a discount on the bill. Excuse me, how much money do I save if we, like, don't rub my head right now?

"So what are we looking for?" asked the stylist. When I was younger that question used to make me choke from nervousness. Older and wiser now, I came prepared.

"So I'm growing it out," I explained. "But I don't like how moppy it is. Everything looks the same length, I literally feel like an upside down mop head."

She pulled at the hair strands with her fingers, observing the weight and length.

"I think I want to do an Owen Wilson look," I continued.

"Do you have your phone on you?" she asked. I took my phone out of my pocket. We sat in silence while I flipped through head shots of Owen Wilson.

I finally broke the silence. "So, do you want me to keep it open, or..."

"Oh sorry," she replied. "I was just enjoying looking at Owen Wilson."

I nodded in agreement.

"You know you do kind of look like him," she said thinking aloud. "I can definitely do that with your hair. I can't help you with the nose, though."

"After COVID I'll make it a point to get in a bar fight," I quipped.

We chatted as she got to work combing and snipping. She noticed a crease where I usually part my hair.

"So you're, like, thirty?" she said. "I can tell because you part your hair to the side."

"Wow, spot on," I said. "Tell me more, I'm amused."

"Millenials part their hair to the side. Have you heard about this thing where Gen Z teases them for not parting it down the middle?"

She explained that side parts just make receding hair lines look even worse - and my hair was receding. That was probably the first getting old pill I've ever had to swallow since turning thirty.

"So don't part it to the side," she advised. "You're going to want to, but you'll have to train your hair."

I was determined to apply her wisdom. When your doctor tells you how to exercise or what to eat, you listen. Why shouldn't you also listen to a stylist when they tell you how you should be wearing your hair?

That being said, I massively underestimated how difficult it would to not part my air. Several times while working today, I instinctively reached at my hairline to sweep everything to the side, and I had to stop myself. It's not an understatement to say I thought about where my bangs were sitting all day.

Sip. In other news, the other day Rodney saw a Ryan's World video featuring a dunk tank. Ryan's family constructed a cage where his dad would sit, and they threw balls at a target until it knocked Ryan's dad in the water. Since finding that video, Rodney has become positively obsessed with dunk tanks. He's fascinated with the concept. He recreates his own dunk tanks with Lego's, K'nex, and pillows on the couch. Several times while passing him to refill on coffee, Rodney has invited me over to try his blanket and pillow version. Rodney had me sit on top the back of the couch. He threw a dog toy at a pillow propped up against the fireplace. Taking my cue, I slid down the back of the couch into the imaginary water.

"Now dadda, you have to say Oh! It's wet!" directed Rodney. No dunk tank transaction is complete without gratuitous humiliation. _Oh no, I'm soaked! There are... um... blankets everywhere."

Rodney has rediscovered the K'nex we stashed away in his room after we decommissioned the family roller coaster. He's mainly concentrated on dunk tanks right now, but somewhere in the wreckage I discovered a one armed man wearing skates and holding a hockey stick.

It was a long day today. Having to go without my morning writing ritual, I felt a little off balance. I hate the weekday mornings where I don't have time to write. Even though I won't have much to say tomorrow morning, I'm still looking forward to the return to form.

Thanks for stopping by tonight. See you tomorrow morning, readers. Have a wonderful night.