Monkeywrench by The Foo fighters.

If ever there was a song you physically CANNOT listen to without having the urge to crank the stereo up to eleven* there has not been one. It is a perfect song for a bar fight. If ever I have the ability to score a bar fight with my mortal enemy** Kevin (not his real name***) this song would play in a loop until he was a whining pulpy faced mass on the floor. I would then chug back a double shot of high-test rum, walk briskly behind the bar and rinse my knuckles off in the bar sink, chewing on a lime garnish as I did, until the cops arrived. It would give me time to concoct my alibi and as a professional liar I am sure I could have one pretty fast.

“Kevin” is/was a jackass. “Kevin” was a skinny, tall bully who surrounded himself with other guys who did his bidding and his bidding was usually picking on the nerdlings including myself. Sure, being a short, small in stature guy who was not very adept at making/keeping/attracting friends and who was one of the more academic sorts who disliked hockey (a crime in my small town) I had at least one guy a year who made my life hell. Two of them are now dead and being a person who is very good at holding grudges way past their expiry date I smiled when I found out. Kevin however is still alive, in a management position with a wife and children. I’d post a photo from his corporate page if only to show you that he still has that smarmy look he had when he was sixteen, the one I’d like to punch while The Foo Fighters played overhead multiple times, but hey, maintaining anonymity for him and all that.

I have in recent years noted my fiery nun-punching angry hatred of Kevin to a few semi-close friends. They expressed “no idea” that he was like that and that he “always seemed nice” to them. “Well of course he did, you were female” I think. Not that he had a chance with any of these people, but in true form he hid his alternate self from them in the hopes they would be nice in return. Nice as in eighties teen comedy girls dating bad boys they had no idea were bad nice. Needy smarmy prick. I am SO glad he never got in any of their pants. I am also glad he had other personal, medical shall we say or more accurately pharmaceutical issues in his past. Sadly he overcame them so he probably feels pretty good about himself.

This frankly sucks.

We had a reunion a few years back that did not occur in the end. I had no desire to attend at first, but was roped into assisting organize it by a cute girl asking me to help and yeah, I’m a sucker for a cute girl asking me to do stuff. The only reason I found to be unlikely to bail on it at the last-minute was that he would be present. He and his wife and hopefully his older kids. In my mind I wrote a speech, as I was asked to, and in said speech I would crack jokes, introduce people, defer to the djay and all the usual jazz. I also had in my mind a separate speech add-on that would involve mentioning aloud how much I hated high school and how a good part of why I did and why I turned out to be as jaded toward humans in general was (dramatically point finger, spotlight goes up on his table) Kevin. To see his dainty wife, who stood by him as he overcame his personal crap and became a local business professional (of sorts, I mean I don’t stalk him but he clears MAYBE 70k/annum) and a father to her children, find out that he was a bully in school and there was at least one person who still could not be happy completely so long as he was still breathing, or at least not under a train bridge doing favours for hobos for beer money and smokes. My apologies, Long sentence. Run on thoughts.

I would then drop the mic dramatically, pull out a couple of pairs of boxing gloves and offer him the chance to go out back. He would decline with an embarrassed laugh, a laugh that rattles due to years of smoking etc. I would say “thought so”. Then just like the last reunion, I would get up, down my beer and walk out the door with my wife on my arm, get in my much-more-expensive-than-his car and crank Monkeywrench.
* If you do not get this reference, seriously, stop reading my things until you Google it.

** As opposed to my nemesis, Jason Priestly, who people have on and off thought I was


*** Yes it is


hair – The Hair Song

I like to think I look decent for my age.  Well, let’s be honest, I only say this because other people say I don’t look forty-nine whereas I think I look like a bag of wet garbage.  Some may thank I am vain because I worry about this but again, not true, I merely try very hard to look decent and not like a hobo.  Some days I fail.  Some days I look okay. Some days I don’t want to leave the house, but I do because I have a job and responsibilities.

Like most people who are overly concerned with how they look on the outside, it’s not narcissism but inversely it is insecurity that makes them seem so.  That said, I have great hair and am pleased that I wear a size 33 pants and have only a smattering of grey hair, just enough to prevent people from thinking I dye it.

So in recap before I proceed, I’m insecure, slightly neurotic and as we know not all that social but concerned that I need look good (and smell good) every single time I leave the house.  I am also for the record exceedingly cheap. Well, frugal, it sounds better.

This Christmas past my wife blessed me with two small pots of very expensive hair product from American Crew ™. One was a paste, one a pomade (there is a difference you heathens).  I was pleased as punch as I am always a fan of having backup toiletries especially free ones.

She laughs when I rob my hotel room of unused bottles of shampoo etc. before I leave each day as I know when they turn down they will refill them (I use them at the gym). She laughs when I snag extra peanut butter containers from the continental breakfast set up (protein for after the gym!).

She laughs that I am persnickety about my hair.

She knows however that as much as I am frugal I do fully respect quality, hence the posher than I usually buy product.  Sadly, I left one in a hotel in TO and I used all of another.  I then ran out of all backup leftover mostly empty pots of pomade.  I woke up one morning looking otherwise decent (I guess) but with hair wet and unkempt.  I had a mild panic.  My insecurity level was eight and rising.  I dropped into problem solver mode and found a solution that made her stylist sneer and cringe when I related it to he a week later.

(I’ll tell you about my revelation after the flashback)

Christmas 2013. I was staying in a hotel in Toronto.  After work I rushed to check in, shower, change and meet my colleagues at a pre-chosen location for our unofficial Xmas gathering.  Most of them would have just  gone from the office to the restaurant/pub, but being me and the child of my fashionable, former disco queen and king parents, I refuse to go out for the evening when I am abroad in clothing I have worn all day.  I lay out my jeans (ironed), shoes, shirt (ironed, of course) and underwear.  I jumped in the shower, washed, temperature not too high as it will redden my face and make it obvious I showered, shampooed, dried and donned the terrycloth gown the hotel provided.  Drank a lot of water (good for the skin and prevents you from guzzling too much beer too soon), brushed teeth and ran out to throw on clothes and shoes.  Examined myself in the mirror, hid valuables so turn down squad wouldn’t rob me and realized “hair!”.  Ran to bathroom and immediately realized I had no product.


Insecurity level 9.

I looked around me and saw the following:

  • Body lotion (mildly scented, not too girly)
  • Shoe wax
  • Scent free antiseptic hand gel

Using my McGuyver abilities and knowledge of chemistry I used the alcohol to break down the wax somewhat and the body lotion to soften the resulting goo and make it less harsh.  I produced Magical Emergency Hair Product and proceeded to try it on myself (all the best experimentation involves SELF experimentation).  Success.  Though note it required three shampooings to get out the next morning.

Flash back to this month.  Panic.  Insecurity level 8 and rising.  I thought about my previous dilemma and looked around, seeing nothing useful except for one bottle.  My savior. I grabbed it and carefully rubbed a fair amount between my hands then in my hair.  I styled it as per normal and was shocked to find it made for a more than acceptable emergency hair product. In fact, strike the word emergency.  I have been using it for two weeks now.  I wouldn’t call it a fulsome replacement, it is not re-moldable should you choose to mess with your hair midday, but it is a fine solution to hair issues and cheap.  I mean frugal.

Aveeno body lotion.


I kid you not.  You will thank me, neurotic, insecure, fashionable, loyal teller of tales.

Now to find a cheap alternative to the expensive sock fetish I have developed of late…