I'll Leave My Hat On Thank You

Pamela Anderson's butt is laying next to a Peter Pan pop-up book on a church pew.

Normally, there would be something very wrong with this picture, but not at my fiance's barber shop. Once upon a time...well, some time in the late 90's at least, this barber shop was a magical land with an old tile floor, a barber pole, good children getting their hair cut for the first time, and a happy Greek man cutting everyone's hair at just the right length.

Then came along an enterprising 20-something who thought he could spruce the place up a bit. Let's call this man MR. OVERCOMPENSATING-FOR-SOMETHING or Mo' Fo' for short. He buys the happy little barber shop from the Greek man, re-names it "Mo Fo's", fills the magazine racks with porn, Newsweek, and assorted men's health magazines, and makes a good living from the barber's sitting fees and the minimal amount of work he needs to do to this place. The floor is groaty to say the least. I think I might have discovered the long lost hair of Jimmy Hoffa. The shelf is covered in taxidermy - dead animal heads stare at me from all sides. They all seem to say, "Get out of here while you still can! We didn't!"

This is the place where I had considered getting my hair cut. That was before I saw it. I'm a simple woman with minimal needs when it comes to hair - I just need it chopped off every now and again. That day came today - the day when my regular barber is not in. Since my fiance needed to cut his hair I thought we could just get both done at the same place. After all a barber is a barber, right?

WRONG

A couple crew-cuts later I was rarein' to get out of there. I patiently waited for the barber to finish my fiance's hair, then walked out the door after he paid for his haircut. I'll just keep my hat on thank you.

SEPERATE WORLDS

Consider all the places sort of sacred to one’s traditional manhood. Today one of those sacred places was not exactly compromised but let’s just say voluntarily invaded by my dear fiancé. Admittedly I OFFERED. Why, well one thing lead to another. HER barbershop was closed (Monday), we both needed a haircut, and well…it just made sense.

We got there half past the hour of four. The shop closed at five. I reminded her that this is the barbershop I have ALWAYS gone to. To be clear the ONLY place that has EVER cut my hair. Ok, so some say sheltered life….I can understand. But it is about six-eight weeks between haircuts so generally I am always in town to get one.

MY BARBERSHOP
About four years ago the superb, dedicated, and amazingly good barber sold his place to a trendy young lad in his late 20’s. The old Greek guy (Louie) still cuts but today only one barber was present. This guy, whose name I do not know, happened to be the one I dislike the most. I got my hair cut with the understanding that it all grows back….at least at this point in life!

My fiancé whispers to me after some time of waiting that she has decided not to get her haircut. I can’t say I blame her. I really didn’t want to either.

I read the Times News Paper, Men’s Health, said ten words to my barber, and got the deed done while my fiancé looked on with SOOOOO many thoughts in her mind.

The floor of the shop is solid oak from the bed of a old semi, virtually every game animal in the Midwest can be found somewhere on a wall and magazine editions from Maxum– National Geographic–Dr. Seuss can be read while you sit calmly on a 12 seat church pew.

Yea, it is not the barbershop I spend my first 30 years in. The spinning barber thing is no longer outside, the coca-cola pop dispenser from the 50’s is gone, the old red sitting chairs, the tile floor, and the gentle and sincere greeting from my steadfast Greek barber is gone.

Tomorrow I will go to my fiancé’s barbershop. She will get her hair cut while I sit, wait, and experience her old Greek barbershop at work.

Today, my fiancé helps me reconnect with my childhood in a most unexpected way. I cannot wait for tomorrow.
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TRUCK FILLED 2x!

OK, so every now and then you have windows of opportunity to get projects done that have been festering for some time. We ALL have them. For one reason or another they are slow in getting completed.

On this past Wednesday afternoon, I had the chance to dump a whole bunch of stuff at the house. The truck came nearly empty. Upon seeing the truck I quickly realized that I had enough stuff to fill two and half trucks if stacked to top of truck walls (safety first you know…)

We began filling the truck. I had corrugated steel sheets, wood posts, and large packaging materials. At this point the truck was about 75% full.

The only thing left to place in the truck was the BIG stuff. Piles of old storm screens. We stacked and we stacked in layers like --__--__-- on the truck. They were mostly screens and such that stakes well if overlapping. The gracious driver assured me that the new clamp belts would hold things down securely. We can kept stacking. At the end we had staked SO high that the whole load in the trailer teetered back and forth after each hoisting of screen. Now the screens were at least FOUR feet above MY head at a good two feet about the cab of the truck.

At one point, I stated out loud this was like the “Sanford and Sons” TV show. Without a hitch my finance chimes in and sings a bar or two of the theme song. All are giggling at this point.

Well, tendencies toward modesty did slow the whole stacking process down.

The clamps clamped.
No side road got any of MY trash!
All got dumped!

I still have more stuff to take to the dump. This time it is only about one truck load!

After dumping, all of us talked, cleaned, and shared a meal at a local resturant.
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Father and Future Son-In-Law Bonding

Here's a little story about the bonds that form between future father-in-laws and future son-in-laws:

My father is here with Matt and Matt has a lot of junk. It is not a surprise that someone like myself would be attracted to and marry a man who just happens to be as messy as I am. Now - one thing about me:

After having a few car crashes that seemed to have happened out of the blue, I tend to envision the worst possible scenario that can possibly be imagined. Take for example this scenario:

My fiance and father are loading junk into the back of my Dad's pickup truck. The pile grows higher and higher. It is beginning to look like a giant Jenga game, only in reverse. The pile has become several feet higher than the base of the truck cab.

This is where my imagination takes over.

Instantly I see visions of my Father and Matt driving along the local highway with the entire pile teetering in every ol' direction. The pile is strapped down with two heavy-duty straps, but random pieces of scrap still fall onto the highway or...better yet...other people's cars. I see windshields cracking, people screaming, and a trail of junk by the side of the highway.

In the meantime while I write this the boys are gleefully preparing their pile of stuff. I hope they make it onto the highway. Maybe the backroads have reopened. Maybe everyone will decide not to drive today.

It's times like these where I am reminded that we ARE from Indiana.