Hairline discrimination

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My hairline, like the economy, is in recession.

I'm not oblivious to the fact that the corners of my hairline have slowly inched their way back over the last few years. I like to think that my widow's peak is just getting longer.

This change is not surprising or necessarily unwelcome. So long as my hairline looks like Seinfeld's more than Costanza's, I'll be A-OK.

I hardly noticed my failing hairline for the last few months, until I had my hair cut yesterday.

The nice, punked-out chick at Rudy's first combed my hair in such a way as to expose my Achilles' corners before going Edward Scissorhands on my dome. Not so bad, I thought. However, SHE was noticeably timid around the corners and even spun me around in the chair a few times to assess how she could manage the damage. It was like I was Lindsey Lohan on a Vegas trip and she was my publicist. WTF?

THIS was a whole new process. I wasn't being put through the regular, half-assed motions like the rest of the guys down the row of chairs. My hairdresser was being MUCH more careful, especially regarding how the front of my hair lied down. I suppose this extra care and attention should be welcomed, but I also didn't arrive on a short yellow bus.

This was hairline discrimination. Separate but equal, my ass.

I often wonder how the truly bald guys, and especially those sporting the reverse yamikas, approach the barber. I suppose it's the same way those with townhouses handle their pea patch lawns -- you just work with what you got.

I'm not ready for that though. Hell, I just bought a house with a sizable yard and LOTS of grass.

My hairdresser did a fine job and I tipped her well considering the attention to detail and extra few minutes that required. I stepped out on to the street and felt the cold breeze on my scalp, the usual gig after a short haircut. I checked myself out in the reflection of my car window as I opened the door. I thought I looked good, and I guess that's all that matters.

I picked up Amanda from work and she commented that the top of my hair might even be too short, which is quite the compliment for a guy who will likely have trouble growing hair to cut in the future.

There's no stimulus package for this hairline recession, but I'm feeling the impact and bracing for the worst. So far, it's not as bad as I thought.

Moving brings out the thrift in us

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Amanda and I made the final push on Saturday and moved our remaining possessions out of Ballard and into the Oakes Tree. What a relief! We are now living at the Oakes Tree full-time, which is a totally rewarding feeling.

We were so tired from the move on Saturday that we skipped church on Easter (gasp!) and slept in (yay!). We later pulled ourselves out of bed to burn some gift cards at America's congregation, Wal-Mart. On the way, we swung by the McDonald's across the street for a snack and coffee.

Now picture this: Amanda and I walking into Wal-Mart with McDonald's coffee in hand.

We were feeling a little corporate until we saw a McDonald's inside the Wal-Mart.

"At least we didn't actually eat here," Amanda commented.

"Yeah!" I replied.

With that renewed sense of status, we skipped off to the aisle of storage bins, looking for some classy answer to organizing.

Review: Marley and Me

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On Friday night, Amanda, Sarah and I watched Marley and Me. The movie, starring Owen Wilson and Jennifer Aniston, is about a couple who learn some life lessons and build a family around their wild, rambunctious dog.

IF YOU HAVE EVER OWNED A DOG, DON'T WATCH THIS MOVIE OR YOU WILL CRY LIKE A LITTLE GIRL FOR TWO HOURS.

Otherwise, I recommend it.

"Nothing Tastes As Good As Thin Feels"

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The Wives have a brief history of diets and boot camps in the interest of carving their curves and more closely aligning their shapes to those on the cover of Shape.

This is NOT to say that they need to lose weight. Most men with two out of five senses would find them attractive after a cheesecake bender.

The Wives' latest effort is a major investment: They signed up for a 10-week "body sculpt" program that cost several hundred dollars. Why they've signed up for this is beyond me. I've concluded in my 26 years that a woman will do anything for a more naughty body. It's a necessary quality of womanhood, just like inclination to gossip, affinity for chocolate and adoration of celebrity.

The Wives are two weeks into the program now, and they're up and out the door by 6:30 a.m. four five days per week. The above picture shows the quotes and menu the Wives taped on the kitchen cupboard for motivation. The second quote, "No one ever says, 'I wish I didn't go to the gym this morning,'" was the mantra last year when we all belonged to the same gym. We abandoned our commitments to regular workouts sometime around the end of summer. Growing an extra layer of skin saves on electric bills during the winter anyway. The new mantra, "Nothing tastes as good as thin feels," is obviously less gender-neutral and applies to the new season of fitness.

My fitness season hasn't started yet. The moving diet, which includes non-stop take-out food, hasn't helped either. The most aerobic exercise I've had in the past month was a walk to the Proctor Market from our house with Matt Wood and Amanda last weekend, and that was a Jesus walk. I have no doubt this slump will end after we're living in Tacoma full-time. I have full intentions of getting back to working the stairs at Stadium and am actively exploring getting a home gym for my new garage via Craigslist.

But while I'm still moving junk, I'll have more junk in the trunk. The Wives on the other hand -- their junk is getting lighter and tighter, or at least that's the goal.