Sauce: Da bald truth.

So, since my last post was pretty shallow, let’s move on to topics involving national security and stuff of utter importance. And stuff. Shall we?

I don’t know about you, but I used to think bald guys were cool. They’re obviously very humble and they’re low maintenance. They don’t need shampoo or conditioner, they don’t get tangles or bed-head, they aren’t constantly flipping their bangs out of their dreamy eyes...they’re unaffected by all the needs and problems of your average fluffy human. Plus they all automatically look like Mr. Clean. How attractive. But that was before I was stuck sitting behind a bald dude for two hours last week. I had time to memorize every pore on his scalp, and realized five things about bald guys that I’d never known before. Are you taking notes? ‘Kay, good.

1. Scalps have pores.

2. When you’re bald, they become visible.

3. Also some people have skin folds on the backs of their heads, ditto number 2.

4. Bald guys must be kept in a carefully monitored indoor environment at all times to prevent ultra-violet flaying and frostbite.

5. Hair grows back. Continually. Which means - bald guys must shave their heads constantly to maintain that glistening sheen! Which means - being bald is actually way higher maintenance than having hair! Which means - it’s all a lie!

I’ve since transferred my affections to guys with knee-length dreadlocks and only one pair of socks.

Just...if you see one, don’t tell him where I live...because he’s probably a psychopath.

Thank you

Comments

Welcome to Weirdness!

Hi, world, and welcome to “The Password’s Lasagna”! One day I’ll share where that name came from - for now, just revel in the wonderful idioticity of the word “Lasagna”. Say it over and over again. Let it flip off your tongue in all its gleeful lasagnaness. Say it until it means nothing, say it ‘til it means everything. Lasagna. It’s a word with many layers. Moving on quickly now... I have to wonder if, in a year, I will regret this first post. I’ll think “what kind of imbecilic idiot was I, to think starting a blog would be a good idea?” As if there aren’t more constructive things to do. Like...fishing. Or hunter-gathering (which is the sport of gathering as many hunters as possible in one weekend and stuffing them all in the back of a closed pickup, preferably with a limb or so hanging out and dripping blood). Or making clay...things. Useful things. Mugs and the like. Or I could be chilling with friends...engaging in meaningful conversations over cups of coffee.

Noodles: Just, noodles.

I realized on Thursday that I have no idea who I am. It was very disconcerting, particularly as it happened moments after I’d stood up suddenly, not realizing there was a heavy plank shelf directly over my head. It was also after two or three hours of inhaling the stale remnants of ten years of uninhibited mouse parties, and an entire bottle of environmentally caring cleaning fluid. Anyway, this isn’t exactly humorous (unless you get a kick out of existential crises), but it made me wonder if anyone else feels the same way. So, readers, tell me this - do you feel as if you know who you are? Or are you just pretending to know? Or are you, at this moment, simultaneously reading this on your phone and telling a complete stranger all the ways that you feel isolated from the rest of the human race? Let me know. “I” am interested in your answer. PS Anticipating zero comments, because the majority of my readership is too intellectual to stoop to the paltry pract

Noodles: It’s autumn, all of you.

Hi world. It’s me, your favorite super sheltered, extremely Scandinavian, strangely endearing pile of soggy, tomato-drenched crinkly noodles! Otherwise known as Baby Swedish Lasagna under an Inadequate Tent. The reason I bring up my origins is this: I grew up without hearing anyone say “y’all”. I believe the contraction never crossed my path outside of a book until middle school, when it became trendy among my equally sheltered, pale-skinned friends. I started saying it often, with little understanding of its pronunciation, spelling, or proper usage. At some point, perhaps in a fit of cultural sensitivity, maybe after the madness of middle school had seeped out of my neurons, I stopped using it. Except in emails. Yes, my friends, I am an email y’aller. It just works for the already-awkward group conversations. There’s honestly no equivalent in northern dialect. Check it out. “You guys.” Offensive to feminists. “You girls.” Offensive to mature women. “You ladies.”

The Password’s Lasagna.

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