Bad Hair Day

I went to get a haircut today. Getting a haircut can be a traumatic experience for me for a couple of reasons.

1. My hair is halfway between curly and straight so if it is not cut properly it gets frizzy and I look like a mushroom head.

2. I really dislike making small talk with stylists. When they (inevitably) ask me what I do, they respond in one of two ways. Either utter discomfort at having no idea what a physicist actually does or asking completely arcane metaphysical questions because they have no idea what a physicist actually does.

The only person I've met in Florida who knows exactly how to cut my hair is Allie who is all the way in St. Petersburg, about an hour from my apartment. I simply haven't had the time to go all the way over there for a haircut, so the past two times I have experimented with different salons.

The last time I got my hair cut I went to a salon that I had visited shortly after moving down here. It wasn't fantastic, but I had had worse so I decided to give it another shot. In the three years since I had visited, the clientele had changed dramatically. Living in the South I have gotten used to situations in which I am in the racial minority. But I truly think that a salon has so much cultural association that some gaps just cannot be bridged. Quite bluntly, a nerdy White girl just shouldn't get her hair cut in a Black salon. Wanda was very nice and professional but she just didn't really know what to do with me.

Today I tried something new yet again. Thinking I had to be safe going to Regis, a chain that was still a step up from Great Clips, I made an appointment there. The woman who was assigned to cut my hair barely said hi to me. I took this as a sign that maybe she wasn't into smalltalk, which is more than okay with me. She completely abused my head. Scalding hot water, tugging at my curls, scraping my scalp with her needlelike comb. That wasn't the worst of it. Besides completely annihiliating any length I tried to grow over the last six months, she apparently also didn't hear me when I requested some texturing and shaping. When I was about ask her exactly why she seemed to hate people so much, she asked me a question.

"Are you humphphmph?"

"Um, sorry?"

"Are you a student?" She was extremely quiet and mumbled horribly.

"Oh. Um, yeah. I'm actually a grad student."

"Whamphhumphphph?"

"Physics." I totally guessed at that one. It was the only logical follow up.

"Oh! Do you humphphph mumphphph?" I had no clue.

"Uhhhh, yeah."

"Really?!" Uh oh. "I don't know how you can even do that. I hated it in high school when they made us cut up frogs. They were so slimy and gross."

Oh my God. Did she really ask me if I cut up frogs at my job? I don't know anything about frogs. Cutting them up or otherwise and I'd probably vomit if I had to do it.

"Oh, it's really not that bad," I lied.

"I mean, why didn't they make us cut up chickens? At least I know how to cut up a chicken. And they're not as slimy as frogs. Cutting up frogs is just gross."

This bizarre conversation continued despite my agony until all my hair was cut way too short. I've been asked some weird questions about my work, but this takes the cake.

I'm thinking the hour drive to go see Allie is worth it.

Steak 'n' Shake

Dean and I have gotten in the habit of eating out on Thursday nights instead of Friday nights. It's a nice treat to not have to cook on Thursdays, and I am more relaxed to take my time and enjoy cooking a nice meal on Fridays.

Since it was Dean's turn to choose, we went to Steak 'n' Shake. After enjoying a low key meal, I got up to pay the bill. Why, you may ask, should I pay the bill when it was Dean's choice to go to Steak 'n' Shake? This is a very well-thought out clever plan. I generously insisted on treating Dean to dinner (~$15) and then when go to a nicer restaurant on Saturday (Carrabba's or Lai Thai) he will feel obligated to pay.

I got up to the register and that's when I saw him, working the grill flipping burgers. A student I had in the Physics II Lab course I taught last spring. A student I had to fail and I didn't even feel all that bad about it. He seemed bright enough, just not motivated. He had a couple unexcused absences, frequently turned in incomplete data sets and never turned in any homework. I recall him vaguely asking about extra credit. On the day it was due. Despite my reputation as an easy-going and at times lenient instructor, I had to draw the line somewhere. So he failed.

And on the way home Dean and I speculated on exactly what may have been in our food if he saw me sitting at the table.

100 Juicy Details

It's my 100th post! Most of you have done something similar to this. I thought this would be a perfect time for me to do one as well. So I offer you 100 Juicy Details...
Enjoy!

1. I hate carrots.


2. I am an introvert.


3. I have a tattoo of a lotus on my back.


4. I have had three black cats.


5. I have dated three men with the same first name.


6. I have a phobia of driving on the freeway.


7. I am a huge Prince fan.


8. I've been known to drunk dial my own parents.


9. I'm an NPR junkie.


10. I must read magazines cover to cover.


11. I'm against the death penalty.


12. I've never had an ear infection.


13. I have a mean Chapstick addiction.


14. I wish I liked Virginia Woolf, but I don't.


15. I spend too much money on my hair.


16. I'm a little freaked out by monkeys.


17. I collect antique tea cups.


18. I've watched Ghostbusters over forty times.


19. I will do anything Dr. Phil tells me to do.


20. I like cats more than people.


21. I used to play piano competitively.


22. I've never read a Harry Potter book.


23. I consider blogging to be free therapy.


24. I'm agnostic.


25. I always feel chilly.


26. I hate confronting people.


27. I'm a diehard Twins fan.


28. I walk 2.5 miles (almost) each morning.


29. I tell people that I am 5'6", when really I'm 5'5 1/2".


30. I snore.


31. I get very cranky when I'm hungry.


32. I have a bladder the size of an acorn.


33. I can sleep for twelve hours at a stretch.


34. I hold grudges.


35. I dislike it when people reverse into parking spaces.


36. I have freckles.


37. I think anyone wearing a Yankees "got rings?" t-shirt should be shot.


38. I got a C in high school calculus.


39. I took one ballet class when I was three.


40. I refused to go back because they made me take my shoes off.


41. I'm okay with taking my shoes off now, but I still can't do ballet.


42. I press down really hard when I write.


43. I'm a damn good cook.


44. I am quiet which people often mistake for being shy.


45. I used to sell software to pig farmers.


46. I have two Honda Del Sols.


47. I've never traveled overseas.


48. I have horrible vision.


49. I drink my recommended eight glasses of water a day.


50. I like dipping McDonald's french fries in a chocolate shake.


51. I'm known as "Queen Bee" in the lab.


52. I have nightmares about my teeth falling out.


53. I got a 29 on my ACTs.


54. I'm from Minnesota.


55. I've never been fishing.


56. I didn't even try ice skating until I was 21.


57. I always make Dean order the pizza.


58. I installed my own car speakers.


59. I'm a homebody.


60. I worry too much.


61. I can't sing worth a damn.


62. I don't like surprises.


63. I tend to leave long rambling messages on people's voicemail.


64. I could eat Indian food for every meal the rest of my life.


65. I feed stray cats.


66. I love new notebooks, pens, mechanical pencils, etc.


67. I have an herb garden on my balcony.


68. I'm a hypochondriac.


69. I wear Chanel No. 5.


70. I kissed Dean at midnight on New Year's Eve six and a half years ago.


71. I will have to stop plucking gray hairs soon and start coloring them.


72. I am bad at letting go of work when I get home.


73. I miss my family.


74. I don't miss the cold weather.


75. I'm a packrat.


76. I don't like heart-shaped jewelry.


77. I like grilled cheese sandwiches with Velveeta.


78. I hate the post office.


79. I love taking scalding hot baths.


80. I don't eat seafood.


81. I don't believe in the designated hitter.


82. I'm German, Irish and Polish.


83. I'm not very competitive (hence I stopped doing #21).


84. I'm a thoughtful gift giver.


85. I'm uncomfortbale making decisions.


86. I know how to pick out wine.


87. I've been to New York City and New Orleans twice each.


88. I can't roll my tongue.


89. I don't correct people when they mispronounce my last name.


90. I'm a compulsive book buyer.


91. I love sitting on my balconey during thunderstorms.


92. I'm not good at playing sports, just watching.


93. I think I have a great rack.


94. I sometimes bite my nails.


95. I don't want to graduate and get a real job.


96. I'm a drama queen when I'm sick.


97. I prefer to have few close friends than many superficial ones.


98. I ask "What would Einstein do?" whenever I'm confused.


99. I can't wait to be a mom someday.


100. I wouldn't change anything about myself.

Whore

I haven't posted about the dumpster kitties for awhile. No, I haven't stopped feeding them. It's been almost a year and the population has become embarrassingly large. What started as a mama kitty and four kittens (one who unfortunately has since passed on) is now somewhere around a dozen cats. I think originally there were two litters out there: the "gray patterned ones" are the original dumpster kittens and the "black ones" were the hypthesized second litter. (The "gray patterned ones" consisted of gray ones, two of which had black stripes, one is kindof light gray-frosted looking and my favorite is white with gray hooding with black swirls on the hooding. A few weeks after I started feeding the gray ones, I started seeing (I think) three black kittens. I say "I think" because they all looked alike, but the most I ever saw at one time was three.)

A couple of strays latched on to the food shortly after that and a few months ago that same mama had another litter of I think 6 kittens. They are sooooo cute. Three of them are tuxedo kittens, one is all black and two are torties that look a lot like Nellie. I know it was that same mama because one of the tuxedos is not black and white, but brown and white and the brown is more like a tortoiseshell. That's exactly what the mama looks like. One of the "little Nellies" runs at me crying every time I go back there. NONE of them let me touch them which is probably best for everyone involved, including my own three cats at home.

Anyway, as my mom and close friends know, I have very mixed feelings about the dumpster kitties. You may laugh and think I'm just another crazy cat lady, but us crazy cat ladies have extremely complex emotions. I know I won't live here forever and I hate to let them depend on getting food from me. At the same time, I don't feed them nearly enough to sustain them, so they must do just fine on their own. Indeed, I often see them dragging bones and scraps from the dumpster and sometimes I even see them carrying around mice and lizards. Part of me gets so angry that no one else seems to care about them. Then sometimes I see little dishes of catfood left by other people and I start feeling a little possessive. Sometimes I think I really care about them and will miss them when I leave. Other times, like when I see ducklings slowly disappear from our pond I hate them for their natural predatory instincts. Mostly, I feel a little overwhelmed because I know that as long as they stay healthy, they will experience an exponential increase in population. And I will be partly responsible.

I'm fairly certain that the only one having babies though is that same mama that's already had at least two litters. I say "at least" because the original dumpster kittens look eerily like Wrigley, who was also a stray in our complex. Sometimes I wonder about that, too.

The other night I had to pick up a friend from work at about nine. As I was leaving I realized I hadn't fed them yet so I took a plastic bag full of food and drove by the dumpster on the way home. I fed the cats and then got back in the car and shined my headlights on them to watch them eat for a couple minutes. They weren't as skittish when I wasn't standing right there so I got a good look at a couple of them. Then, right in front of my car waddled the mama kitty, her bulbous stomach swaying back and forth. Damn! She's pregnant again!

A couple of them I have secretly given names to. Nothing serious, just verbalizing how I recognize them. My favorite, with the swirls I call Swirley and one of the tuxedos that has white on its face except for a black dot on its nose I call Smudge. The mother of most of them I used to call Mama. Now I just call her Whore.

Temple

I know exactly what you are thinking.

Damn! MB looks sexy with that red dot on her forehead.

That's not what you were thinking? Oh. That red dot is a tilaka and it means I worshipped in a Hindu temple. I went with our post doc and his family and James and Cheesehead. The temple was beautiful and the priest was welcoming. He took our names and said Sanskrit prayers for us to Mahalakshmi, who is the goddess of wealth and wisdom. The priest then annointed us with coconut water and gave us fruit. It was the most enjoyable religious experience I think I've ever had.

I learned a lot about Hinduism that day and one thing I found striking is the way God is protrayed. He isn't a white guy with a long beard. He doesn't throw fire and brimstone when you mess up. He isn't even a he. God takes whatever form brings you peace and spiritual enlightenment.

Later we toured the outside of the temple where post doc insisted upon taking my picture next to this statue of Vishnu and his two extremely well-endowed wives.

Before we left we stopped by the canteen for an Indian treat. Post doc bought us these things that were like donuts drenched in maple syrup. I think it gave me a cavity. But it was worth it.