Heather: I so want a cane! And hey, I stopped wearing white shirts and ties every day back three years ago. But I do have to admit, bald doesn’t look that bad. Don’t worry, I’ll let you donate your mom’s clippings to Locks of Love. Taping on someone else’s hair is just…um…I don’t think I even need to fill in a predicate adjective here. :)

Katherine: Um… My camera is…broken? Rats. No, really, I’m in the process of uploading a video (I’ll blog about it when it’s done), so instead of mere photos you can get full-color video. ~shudder~ :)

As for the stories, well, let’s see. We’ll start with one: I was up in Chiang Mai in northern Thailand for a zone conference. The night before the conference, we visiting elders crashed in the air room of the elders who lived next to the church. There were around ten of us in the room, two on each bunk bed and elders everywhere else on the floor. I was on the ground between one bunk bed and the wall. Well, during the night I dreamt I was crawling underneath a log, and I finally came out and sat down on it, looking at a puddle in front of me. I kept thinking to myself, “I can’t go outside — I don’t have a companion!” So I sat there. And sat there. And sat there. After what must have been ten minutes, my eyes started to adjust to the light, and I looked up and saw a window. Just then I realized where I was. I also realized with horror that I’d scuttled all the way under the bunkbed in my sleep and had ended up on the other side, which meant I was sitting on the bed next to some elder (thank heavens he didn’t wake up!) and the “puddle” in front of me was another elder. I quickly relocated myself back to my sleeping pad and blanket. Sleepwalking is like a walking disaster of embarrassment waiting to explode. ~sigh~

“Speaking of which, I used to sleepwalk all the time. And sleeptalk. But those are stories for another time.”

No, no, I think now is definitely the time for those stories.

Oh, and if people are saying “nice haircut” sincerely then your hair probably doesn’t look that bad (even if it is not what you want…LOL

It’s been a while since people mistook my mother for my wife, but she’s still fairly young as they go. (And I don’t think I’m allowed to reveal her age on here. ;))

LOL. Ben I never knew guys were so vain. You should start a photo collection of Ben combovers where you stand in front of a girl with long hair and comb her hair over your bald head. Blonde Ben, Brunette Ben, Redhead Ben… it could be a ward activity.

My sister delivered twins early while on a trip to San Francisco. The hospital staff thought that her nearly bald husband was her father and wouldn’t let her husband in the delivery room because of it. Strange how the lack of hair causes hair raising experiences isn’t it?

Not to worry though. I know lots of women whose favorite guys are bald. Take Heather for instance, two of her favorite guys are bald. I could leave this comment at that, or perhaps I should tease you more and add that the guys are her grandpa, a dear 80 year old home teacher we had for several years.

Seriously though, I dated an awesome guy who was nearly bald by the time he was 27. His lack of hair really bothered him. I never really noticed it. I noticed his personality and his spirit. I considered his association a gift from God and he did wonders to heal my spirit. He had a favorite scripture something about how not one hair on your head will be missing in the resurrection. Sorry I don’t have the source.

Anyway, I think that you should be more concerned about what kind of mushrooms you had for dinner than your hair cut. Trippy eh?

Once I was out with my mom and someone thought she was my wife.

No worries, I can’t stand turtlenecks. And I’ve yet to find a pair of jeans that I like (i.e., that fits me). Not that I’ve really tried, but…

Random news: Last night around 2 or 3 a.m., I have a memory of climbing into a bed (thinking it was mine), reaching out for my glasses, and feeling a squarish cell phone instead. I realized in a moment of horror that everything was on the wrong side of the room, and just then I heard some sounds from the bathroom. Luckily I leapt over into my own bed before my roommate came back into the room.

I’m not sure if that’s apocryphal or not, since it may have just been part of a dream, but usually my dreams don’t take place in my bedroom; if the location is here, then it almost always means my eyes are half open. In fact, it’s regular for me to look at the pictures and posters on my wall and, in the twilight of two o’clock, have my mind reconfigure them into something else entirely, placing me in some distant setting. Very trippy.

Speaking of which, I used to sleepwalk all the time. And sleeptalk. But those are stories for another time.