Important Update from a 34-Year-Old Woman

Whew! This blog. It really is a relic. Just look at that vintage Hampton Tutors banner ad! This month's sponsor, last month's sponsor, and next month's sponsor. Thank you, Hampton Tutors, for not only being loyal to me all these years but also for your bravery in remaining attached to this publication which surely contains countless cancellable offenses. 

Speaking of which, I would like to get out ahead of any backlash for my decision to dress as a Cheeto-munching, maxi-skirt-wearing, pregnant Britney Spears Federline for Halloween back in 2006. I ask that you view me as a victim of 2000s pop culture rather than a contributor to it. Keep that in mind as you read back through old posts. I am a victim. 

I would also like to add a disclaimer that I stand by nothing ever written in this blog and do not endorse a single word.

Now, what's new with me, you ask? How about an update?

Let's start with the biggies. 

• A global pandemic broke out last year. For a while, it was exciting - NOVEL, if you will. We called it "coronavirus" and blamed it on a small reptile/anteater (??) called a pangolin. Now, 18 months later, we call it "covid" and it's the most boring thing ever. Seriously, don't bring it up. Snoozefest. Indeed, charitable mask sewing and Zoom happy hours have been replaced with a general malaise and deep-seated resentment toward humankind. We've also shifted the blame from pangolins to the Chinese government, who at the very least owe everybody—particularly pangolins—an apology. 

• The Killiamson family up and moved to Scotland in January 2021. There were 12 people total on our Boeing 787 Dreamliner as we soared over the Atlantic. Each of us had our own row and everybody slept (except me, of course—mom life, amirite?).

As for the more mundane updates you're used to getting from the Grassyllama in Chief, I have plenty of those as well. I'm Day 3 into a 5-day staycation at home with no kids or spouse. FIVE DAYS! I don't know how it happened either, but I'm not questioning it. Here's what I've been up to: 

• Got my ears pierced. Decided to get five piercings all in one visit because it could be years before I have a kid-free day again (mom life, amirite?). Two piercings in each lobe, plus one cartilage (helix) on the left ear. It was great. I felt like I was in junior high again—except this time, instead of Dana Gray shoving a safety pin through my lobe and into the back of a sliced apple, it was an actual professional using a sterilized needle. Progress. 

• Got a haircut. Not wise to book it on the same day as the piercings. Hard to trim this bowl without grazing the open wound in my king lear! That's cockney rhyming slang for "ear," according to a cursory Internet search from one tab over. 

• Got keys made. My front door key hasn't worked since we moved here eight months ago. Getting the keys made took less than five minutes. If you've been on the fence about going to the locksmith (or the cobbler—for some reason they also make keys), let this be your sign that you MUST GO NOW. Don't procrastinate any longer. Get those keys cut, dawg! Get loads of keys made! Give them to everyone you know in case you ever get locked out. Hide them all around your yard. Make it happen—TODAY. 

• Watched two seasons of a show called "Never Have I Ever" on Netflix. It was definitely made for teenagers, but I needed something light and breezy to zone out to while eating an entire Chicagotown frozen pizza for LUNCH. It did the trick. 

• Wrote letters to Martha and Sammie to read in the event of my untimely death. I sobbed throughout. SOBBED. I had to leave the living room and type them from bed for fear that passersby would peek through our windows and think I was having a mental breakdown. The letters are Google Docs and I've emailed them to Andy to print/deliver upon my death. However, I'm fairly certain that he (a male) will die before me. I've got statistics on my side with that one. 

• Cleaned the glass window of the woodstove. Had been meaning to do that for a while. 

I feel young again.

So yeah, I've been HIGHLY productive. The past three days have been brilliant. It sounds cheesy, but I've been reminded of who I am outside of being a mom. And who I am is a BLOGGER. A 2000s-era blogger who's brave enough to take what could just be a single tweet and stretch it into 500-words of self-absorbed drivel. 

It's great to be back. See you soon or, more likely, several years from now. 

Love, 
Margaret

New-found appreciation for the straight man

Today Andy and I walked up the hill to Great Clips to get our ears lowered. No appointments. Just a couple of walk-ins looking for a budget cut.

Naturally, I was nervous. This bowl is my identity/personality substitute. What would I be without this iconic hairstyle that I hang my new hat from Target on? But alas, I needed a cut bad. I was willing to risk it.

Image via Wikimedia Commons

To my horror, the worst-case scenario happened. There to greet me, scissors in hand, was a STRAIGHT MAN. He didn't want to chat about 'my look', or what style I was going for. I tried to explain, but before I knew it he was hacking away, having barely bothered to spritz my hair with a spray bottle.

Despite my misgivings, the guy seemed to know what he was doing. After about 7 minutes, I had a solid, 7 out of 10 bowl cut and was—get this—just $20 lighter (including tip).

Let this be a reminder to us all that, for as much grief as we give them, straight men do have value in society. They can indeed be creative, many have fine motor skills, and I actually think a good amount are capable of multi-tasking.

So, on this Monday evening, let's raise a toast to the straight men in our lives who deserve more than being the butt of the joke in 'smug mom' commercials on TV. After all, Martin Luther King Jr., Gandhi, Jesus, David Beckham—all straight men!

Yours truly,

Nargaret

P.S. An extra thanks goes to Andy Williamson who typed this post out while I dictated it. I am under the weather and incapable of staring at a computer screen. Thanks, Andy.

Trend alert: the rat tail returns

I totally called this.

The "rat-tail" is back.

The Guardian is speculating that, thanks to Shia LaBeouf and menswear brands like Cottweiler, we will soon be seeing a lot more men sporting nasty little hair-eels down their necks. It's sad but true. The 80s hairstyle, also known as the 'barber missed a spot' look, is this year's hipster man bun.

I have a distant memory of someone telling me that they cut off a boy's rat-tail in elementary school. He was sitting at the desk in front of them and they couldn't resist. Just pulled the scissors out of their pencil box and removed the ugly growth with a single, satisfying snip. Who was it that told me this? I can't remember. If you're reading this, know that you're my hero.

Found this on Wikimedia. The file name is "Grey Tail". Seems accurate.

Image by Bmuzyka via Wikimedia Commons

If we're going to rule rat-tails unexceptable, which we are, then it's only fair to offer alternatives. What are some acceptable men's hairstyles? Here's a list.

• Afro
• Crew cut
• Duck's ass
• The Ceasar
• Curtains
• Fauxhawk
• Flattop
• Hi-top fade
• Ivy League (aka a Harvard Clip or Princeton)
• Jheri curl
• Moptop
• Payot (note: must be an Orthodox Jew)
• Pompadour
• Psychobilly Wedge
• Quiff
• Regular haircut (Yep, that's an official hairstyle. I recommend it.)
• Shape-Up
• Surfer hair
• Undercut

Guess what? That's almost every male hairstyle on this list, excluding mullets, mohawks and rat-tails. So, I'm not picky. Heck, even mullets work sometimes. If you're Canadian or a hick, I say go for it. Same goes for mohawks, actually. Are you in a band? Sure, go ahead and get a mohawk. Just avoid the rat-tail! I repeat: AVOID THE RAT-TAIL! Don't let Shia LaBeouf tell you what to think. It's a trap. A rat trap. 

The Duck's Ass

Image by Charlesfrederickworth via Wikimedia Commons

Also, the rat-tail renaissance begs the question: what does this mean for us ladies? Are feathered bangs are on their way back too? Let's hope not. 

OK, gotta finish packing. This time tomorrow, I'll be in Seattle!

LYMI, 

Margaret

P.S. 'LYMI' stands for 'Love ya, mean it!' Just FYI.

P.P.S. 'FYI' stand for 'For your information'.

P.P.P.S. 'P.S.' stands for 'Postscript'.

What it's like to have a bowl cut

Last week at the pub Andy interrupted me mid-sentence with a loud guffaw. He had spotted something hilarious happening behind me. 

"What?! What is it?" 

"That guy over there is taking the mickey out of your bowl cut."

"Oh noooooo. Should I look?"

"No. Don't look," he cries laughing. 

"WHAT IS HE DOING?"

"He's pointing at you and doing this—" He takes his pointer finger and twirls it around his head in a perfect circle.

"Typical."

_________________________________________________________________________________

Image by AudunLG via Wikimedia Commons

When you have a bowl cut, you learn to own it. Questioning it is not an option (think about the bloody grow-out). 

You've made your bowl, and now you have to lie in it. Sleep in it. Eat in it. Walk in it. Talk in it. 

Other things you have to accept:

• People in the UK might call it a basin cut. I think this is terrible. I really prefer 'bowl cut'. But C'est la vie.

• You have the same hair as Angela Merkel.

• You have the same hair as Simple Jack.

• If you sleep on wet hair, you wake up looking like the guy from Sum41. Deryck Whibley. Remember when Avril was married to him?

• Often, you look very middle aged. There's really no way around it. Although today I got carded for buying glue, so maybe I've still got it. 

But there's a massive upside.

• You are UNIQUE. My number one goal in life. 

• It's an attention-grabber. And boy do I love attention! For me, it's up there with food, water and shelter. 

• You don't have to worry that you're slowly causing your hairline to recede by wearing too many ponytails.

• Ponytails! That reminds me! You don't have to search high and low for the one hairband you've somehow managed to cling on to for the past three months. 

• It's easy. You don't have any options other than just letting it sit there and be a bowl cut.

My hands are so dry I want to cry. 

Tootski, 

Margaret

Hair's to ya!

It's not often that a grown woman walks into a hair salon and asks for a bowl cut, but this morning, that's what happened.

Call it boredom or a quarter life crisis, but for some reason I had the urge to cut my hair SHORT. I was inspired by this photo of my mom and my sister Anna, as well as the haircut I had when I was a kid.

Mutti Nadinksi and Anna

Me balancing a basketball on my head. Age 6?

Anyway, I won't make you wait any longer! Hair it is:

Remember when you see me with the new cut for the first time, don't react like this (fast forward to 6:40):



 HA. "It Takes Two" starring MaryKate and Ashely. Classic.

Cheerio,

Smadge