Hair cuts and desk gongs

Today I am getting my hair cut. This may not seem like a big deal to all of you out there, but apparently, my hair is a big deal. Because my hair is big.
Ever since I was young, on at least weekly intervals, usually a complete stranger will approach me, touch my hair (the equivalent, in my mind to a complete stranger touching your belly when you are a prego--something i despise), and tell me something truly insightful like "You have a lot of hair."
No kidding. Really? I didn't know that? I mean, it's not like I brush it every morning. It's not like I don't already know that it takes three days to dry fully after washing. It's not like I know that when I cut it short it turns into a fro or a bell-shaped heavenly body that cannot be controlled.
But, then I met my hairdresser. You see, up until a few years ago I swore I would never get my hair cut. I only ever got it trimmed. Because once, when I was young, I had a traumatic haircut experience. This is the bell-shaped heavenly body that I speak of. I will never do that again. Much like the spiral perm I once got. But that is another subject.
So I went to the hair cut store one day when I just couldn't take it anymore. I was sick of my hair getting caught in my armpits without my noticing and then being neatly ripped from my scalp every time I moved. I was sick of having a cloud of hair. I couldn't take it any more. There are all kinds of girls who get to have cute hair cuts or straight, reasonable hair. Why couldn't I be one of them.
Enter Lindsay. Strangely, I knew Lindsay in some meaning of the term "know" because she is from the town that is next to my home town and because she played basketball with my sister. In Mott terms, this is "know." Basically, she knew who I was. So, Lindsay worked her magic. I mean it. You guys, she made my hair thin. And then she made it short. And she died it a reasonable color. And she made me look cute in a reasonable haircut.
Sidenote: I really hate short hair, though. I will NEVER have short hair. That is a safe never.
Anyway, my hair cut trips to Lindsay are interesting for an entirely different reason, though. I always get to get caught up on the Mott-Regent area gossip and also get to hear all the news of the younger generation of the SW ND diaspora that now lives in Fargo. And, sometimes I get to hear things from Lindsay that I was never supposed to hear.
Like the time that she told me that my husband's friends had made him a "Free Bill" T-shirt one time when I went on vacation. This is when our marriage was less than savory in the earlier days. But again, that is another column.
So, going to see Lindsay is always scintillating. I am sure that today will be no exception.
Onto the more important subject at hand: desk gongs. My friend, Heather, got me a glorious package of interesting things for my birthday (which was on Monday). Here is a list of the things in the package (that I can recall offhand--it was a big package):
a glorious book on cosmetic making
a felted pair (because everyone needs a felted pair)
a huge jug of clear hair gel--Lusti brand
cream tea from Adagio teas (www.adagio.com)
a small, perverted Christmas instrument (more on that later)
a huge egg covered in sand
a desk gong.
Yes, people, these are the friends I hang out with. If you think I am demented.....well, maybe I am demented, and it is beginnning to affect those around me.
So, the desk gong. The desk gong is about three inches high and comes with its own mallet and own instruction book. And it is right now sitting on my desk next to my phone.
I am thinking of all of the uses for my desk gong. Like when I answer the phone "Alerus Mortgage Solutions, how can I help you {gong}?"
Or my boss comes to talk to me, and I announce his arrival {gong}.
WhenI want the annoying part-time receptionist to shut up {gong gong gong gong gong gong gong gong gong gong gong}
Every time I get an email {gong}
The list goes on and on, though I think my suite mate, Sara, will kill me if I over-use the gong. I am happy about it nonetheless, because it adds a bit of whimsy to this otherwise very bland existence of bank work.
By the way, noticed that my year sign is Sheep. This is ironic because my family used to own sheep--a love/hate thing for me. Does anyone have any idea what the hell it means to have Sheep be your year sign????
I don't believe in that stuff anyway.
I will end with a deep quote today from a book I recently read:
"Worship is what we give our hearts to in return for the promise of life."
Food for thought. Now, I am going to go get some real food for breakfast.