Now with Even More Thrilling Updates!

In the past week I have worked MJN2 a total of four days (plus three more, starting today) cleaned out my classroom and office, carted all that shite to the appropriate place (garbage can, home office, and a division of spoils that rivaled the finest potlatch ever) and wrote a big, big paper for grad school. Oh yes, I also graded 147 final exams, including over 120 final essays, and calucated out the final grades for each of those little dears, plus I wrote two sets of reports on everybody--one set for the report card, one set (private comments) for the principal for next year's universiity reference letters. I also added a new member to the household menagerie, but he's in a cage and not any bother, so that's not really a major time committment. I also had my hair styled and colored and I loathe it, although it looks good, and I am longing for four weeks go pass so I can go back in to the stylist without him losing face and say blandly, "This cut is outgrown, let's try another style." (Yes, I am that nice.)

Hairstyles are not easy for me to deal with. My mother has yet to walk out of a beauty parlor without crying (although given the state of her hair, you'd think she'd be crying when she walked in.) It's a sensitive topic in our house--how often we cut, how much we pay, what style we chose. Basically, over here, if you find someone who can cut your Western hair without turning you into an eyesore, you stick with them forever. This person might be Chinese or Western, doesn't matter--but once they know you are hooked on them, forget what YOU want, you are now going to sport, forever, what they want you to have. I once used the most expensive foreign hairdresser/barber/hair stylist/whatever you call it in Beijing, who decided to make me blonde (yech) and at one point gave me a Florence Brady shag, flippy back piece and all. It was with great relief that I moved to the US for grad school so I didn't have to go back anymore, as he was the sort who would call and give reminders, as in "It's been three weeks since your last appointment, should I book you in for Saturday for a touch-up?" I did not leave him my number in the US.

I am not that fussy: I don't like to blow dry my hair at all, as it's really, really hot right now and I hate wasting time on shit like that. I find blow-drying is fine for a general dry-enough toss of the head, and that's it. Standing there wielding a hot, heavy machine while "flipping" my ends out is boring and I frankly don't have the time. I have what is known technically as a buttload of hair--tons of fine, straight hair--tons of it--which is best left alone. I like hair that's long enough to go into a chignon or something similar, without the use of horrible pins or clips, or hair short enough to stay out of my damn eyes and off my neck as I find both annoying in the extreme. In either words--- either a pixie cut or shoulder-length and tied up and back. So what did the new stylist give me? Hair too short to be pulled back, and yet long enough to annoy the hell out of me when I exercise, read, type, or wash dishes.

Since I don't want to be one of those women with the sad little ponytail of the terminally disappointed, I want a fresh new look, a cute crop which will be easy to manage and look more polished and professional. Now to convince the stylist that I am worthy of such a cut...evidently the 200 bucks I pay for coloring and cut, or the fact I can afford that much, is not enough. What do I have to do to force him to give me what I want---threaten his manhood, like I did the three-wheeled hunchback pedicab driver? Isn't the fact I am paying for a service ENOUGH to convince the stylist to give me what I am paying for? Well, over here, it's not. Sigh.