The Gray Hair Social Experiment

The gray hair social experiment

I have two gray hairs.

Actually, I have more than two. I often find them while sorting through the depths of my hair, in an attempt to please society (i.e. straightening my hair (aka torturing the shit out of it)). But these two in particular are on the top of my head, right where my bangs switch to normal hair. This means that I have two gray hairs that stick up right in the line of sight for most grown human beings.

I do not find this upsetting or concerning, I haven’t run screaming to a salon, I haven’t purchased anti-aging cream and I have not burst into tears (at least not about this…..). It’s really not surprising considering I found my first gray hair in the eighth grade.

Actually, I didn’t find it. My mom took my sister and me to what I recall as our first salon experience (meaning not Great Clips or something of the sort). She picked this lady out for us specially because she had curly hair and “specialized” in curly hair (goodness knows Lauren and I needed all the curly hair advice we could get). The hair lady was treating me to my first aforementioned torture session when she exclaimed,

“You have a gray hair!” and plucked it out.

This was by no means the first time I was disgusted with society, but it was the first time I was introduced with the expectations society holds for adults. Which leads me to my current experiment-

Like I mentioned, my two gray hairs are extremely obvious. This means that people notice them. So people decide to comment, some people stare and others are unobservant (blind and/or self-absorbed I’m assuming, because yes, the world does revolve around my gray hairs). Monitoring people’s reactions to my gray hairs has become a sort of social experiment for me that I’ve found fascinating. Everyone reacts in their own special way, but usually fairly similarly at the same time.

When some dear family member pointed them out in front of the rest of my family, I got treated to the fact that both my dad and his sister had two rogue hairs as young adults as well. I found this comforting. I constantly insist to people that I’m not the only 22 year old with gray hairs, and I think the fact that I’m not a genetic mutation that belongs with Professor X and the rest of the gang is another step to prove this.

The most common reaction I receive is:
Oh my god! Brigitte! Did you know you have gray hairs??

My nonchalant reply:

Yeah. They’ve been there for a while.

Them shocked, abashed and taken back (Option #1):
Well do you want me to get rid of them for you?

Them shocked, abashed and taken back (Option #2):

Don’t pluck it!! If you pluck it, 3 will grow back in its place!!!

This has led me to the following conclusion: I really don’t care. I have very dark brown hair (no, it’s not black…) that will make even blonde hairs look gray. I can’t really hide the fact that gray is lighter than dark brown, like some lighter haired folk have the grace to do. Just like everything in my life right now, gray hairs are another part of growing up. Getting older is something that happens to everyone. What’s the point in fighting something that is clearly genetic and represents nothing about me personally? I refuse to get rid of something that society tells me I should fear. I refuse to give into these pointless norms and expectations.

Plus they make me look distinguished.

And wise.

And they may have names…..

A Changing Christmas Story

Oh, life is like that. Sometimes, at the height of our revelries, when our joy is at it's zenith, when all is most right with the world, the most unthinkable disasters decend upon us.






As a military child I have spent many a holiday not in my home.Often we stay at a grandparent's house in San Francisco or in Spokane. There was the Christmas break that we were moving, so my mom plugged a little Christmas tree into the cigarette lighter in the van, so we at least had a tree some where. Apparently a moving van showed up on Christmas eve one year. There was the year that Skeeter the cat was dying and held on long enough to make it through Christmas day.
Moral of the story, I'm used to Christmas being different every year. We have our traditions, and my mom has done fantastically well EVERY YEAR keeping the family together and happy. This year just feels like the weirdest yet....


1. My grandpa died this year. While it's really not that strange that he died (he hadn't been doing well for a while, and he was really quite old). It was just strange not having him around at our Christmas gathering. I think the weirder thing was leaving my Grandma's place. She was just there, alone, she gave us a little wave...and we left...I can't imagine what that would be like. Just alone. Sure, we'll see her again tomorrow, but she doesn't have anyone to wake up with and start the festivities off right away.


2. We're staying in a hotel this Christmas. Sure it's been done before, but it just feels especially wrong to be staying in a hotel, at Christmas, and in Spokane.


3. I didn't get Christmas PJs this year. Not that I really need them, but it's just one more example of how I'm growing up. I just feel awkward wearing old PJs tonight.


4. Lauren's not here. I saw her tonight, and I'll even be opening presents with her tomorrow morning. But we didn't decorate Christmas cookies together, we didn't hang ornaments on the tree and I won't be waking her up tomorrow so we can walk down the stairs in order for our mom to take our picture while we are "surprised" by the presents Santa brought.


5. I just don't feel like I saw enough Christmas movies this year. I need my Rudolph and Charlie Brown. I only have Ralphie, Buddy and Jack to comfort me this year.


6. My mom has cancer. It doesn't really change the Christmas spirit (minus the fact that she's EXTRA mushy this year). It's just weird seeing her frail. It's a state I'm hardly used to seeing in my grandparents, it's just weird dealing with it with my MOM. The idea of playing caretaker is haunting me. I'm so used to her taking care of me, it's difficult to remember that now she needs the support. Not to mention the fact that she absolutely hates having to get help for things that she would normally do herself.




Once again my whining ranting results in the theme of: I'm getting older, and I don't know how to cope with that fact. It just makes me feel awkward all over.






Also, what's up with the name Scut Farkus?

This took a different direction than I expected

It’s weird to think that a year ago I was in Bordeaux. Actually, in about a week I’d be leaving for Portugal. It’s crazy. My life is obviously much different than it was when I was living in France, but I think it goes beyond just how my physical life has changed.

As I get closer to graduating I think part of me is becoming more serious. After realizing I will never be a public accountant, I guess a girl kind of has to.

That being said, I’m scared shitless of growing up. I have even less of a clue to what I’m going to do with my life when I graduate, so I also refuse to talk to my serious side. She can live under a rock for all I care. She has no place here anymore.

I guess I have to keep reminding myself the only good thing about public accounting was the fact I would have had a job. That and I have enough credits to sit for the CPA. But really the good outweighs those little facts. I now won’t be forced into a career path that I never could really see myself in. I won’t necessarily have to introduce myself as an accountant to people, and then go into excruciating detail as to why not all accountants are evil or even do the same thing. I also can now work for a company that I truly like and won’t feel guilty working for. I can also work for a company where I can grow into a roll that I actually want to do.

The struggle now lies solely in decisions. I have to find and apply for something. Anything. I don’t know where to begin. Now I totally understand people who go back to school. In school there is comfort. I know what school is. I know all the possible rejections involved with school. But I really don’t want to study anymore!! I also really don’t want to move back to Walla Walla. But I may have to. If I do though, so help me I will become a professional in the world of wine. I’m not even kidding.

Arguing with one's self is the first sign of sanity

My parents are in love. They have been married for 26 years. Their relationship has always been unquestionable to me. It’s never been something I admired, or dreamed about. It was just normal. The relationship is so perfect it goes unnoticed. Sure they fight. Sure they annoy each other. But there has never been a doubt in my mind that they were not going to be married to each other forever.

I guess that’s a good feeling. Security. But like I said before. I never really notice it, think about it, take time to be grateful. Occasionally I think about the anomaly of my family. We all get along great. I never was concerned with my parents getting divorced as a child.

I recently just watched my best friend’s parents go through one of the ugliest divorces. THAT made me stop and think. How lucky I am. How lucky my parents are. How likely it will be that I manage to find a relationship equal to theirs. How unlikely it will be that my best friend finds a relationship equal to theirs.

It may sound cynical, but growing up with such a positive relationship as guidance, I think gives me a better chance at finding a similar situation.

That being said, I think I put extreme pressure on every relationship I’m in, to try and make it measure up to my parents. That combined with my freakish obsession with Disney movies has given me some very unrealistic expectations when it comes to relationships.

 My mom says that her friendship with my dad is what kept them together all these years. She says that romance, chemistry and butterflies come in and out of relationships, but a strong friendship will always stay. So I guess that’s the first thing I want.

Friendship.

I want someone who I can talk to. About everything. Although, I feel like everything may be an excessive goal. I want someone who is actually interested in the things I say. Someone who understands the things I say. Someone who I don’t mind listening to and who I can understand. At the end of the day, when something happens to me, I want to want to tell that person.

Oh Champs Élysées

Last night we were fortunate enough to watch Miss France in the hotel room. The boys actually picked out the winner before she won. Very impressive. Then I passed out from the exhaustion of the day.

After a lovely sleep we gathered to take the metro to Paris.

Paris is much different in the winter time. There are way fewer tourists, and of course everything is dressed up for Christmas.

We went up the Arc de Triomphe and just did a bit of shopping. After the intense day in Disneyland, we weren’t up for anything too aggressive. Actually, we went to Starbucks AND McDonald’s…so American…I’m almost ashamed, although I’d just like to say that the Canadian and Swede made me do it.

 As always, Paris is beautiful, busy, and Paris.

Disney Pogo

Today, or yesterday rather, we set out on a grand adventure. It started with a rather large group of international students meeting at a restaurant for a lovely meal. After dinner we split off into groups. Those of us with luggage, and those of us without luggage.

I was in the group with luggage. Why were we hauling luggage throughout Bordeaux? Because we were going to Disneyland!

The adventure started with everyone meeting up downtown at midnight to catch two charter buses that would take us to Disneyland! Of course the buses were late, and we were standing in the cold for a while, but that didn’t slow down my jolly spirit.

The fun things about long French bus rides, is that the bus driver unions mandate that we must stop every 3 hours in order to do what the French love (smoke and drink coffee). Another fun thing is that there are about six toll booths from Bordeaux to Paris. This means, that when you’re attempting to sleep so you are bright-eyed for Mickey, you’re woken up every hour or so.

After a quick (in French time) breakfast we finally drove up to Disneyland! Freaking out! WOO!

A group of international students started following me and we headed to the first ride of the day. At this point there were about 15 people in the group. WAY too big for Disney, but we had a grand time riding together, although the line set the very cold pace for the rest of the day.

We split off into smaller groups! Yay! My group was fantastic. No one had as much Disney experience as I did, so I got to be the boss. In fact, by the end of the day I had been labeled Disney Warrior Princess, because I was having us run all over the park (keeps the blood flowing) getting fast passes, and just generally dominating the park. I also had been labeled mom, because I kept snacks in my purse and always kept the troop’s spirits up.

In the end, we had fun. I would NEVER recommend going to Disneyland Paris in the winter time. We all finished the day with wet frozen feet, and could have been miserable if not for the awesomeness of Disneyland. Many people didn’t have fun…suckers….It was a beautiful, snowy, cold, magical day.

I miss my puffs

I have been ill for ages. It’s quite inconvenient. It has been quite educational about the French health care system and how different cultures feel about illnesses.

It all started with a sore throat. Followed by a night locked out of my apartment in the rain. This means I went from occasionally coughing to having no voice in one night. I still felt like it was ok. I felt fine, I just couldn’t really speak. This is about when my roommates started freaking out.

As it turns out, countries that have free health care use it! Countries that pay for health care don’t (until they’re dying on the side of the street of course) I keep the attitude of “I’m fine! Sure you can’t hear me attempting to speak and I have a 20 minutes coughing fit every 30 minutes, but I’m fine!” Sure I was taking some Nyquil that I brought with me, but nothing drastic.

Finally, I get sick of coughing so often, and my roommates harass me enough to go to the doctors. I attempt to try and find one, but fail. While wandering around I manage to find a pharmacist. We have a nice conversation and I get 3 different kinds of medications for 13 euros. Not bad! And it was so simple (minus the fact I couldn’t just go to a super market like I would in the states…..)

I try the drugs for a few days. My throat no longer hurts! How thrilling! Oh wait… as I later said “J’ai beaucoup de mucus” Time to visit the doctor’s office….

Finding doctor’s offices in France is quite challenging. They are just located in simple apartment just labeled with gold placards out front. But if you don’t know what you’re looking for it’s quite challenging. So I find the building, wait for it to open, press a button, that fails to open the door, press a new button get let in, sit in a waiting room for a bit only to realize that it’s in fact a dentist’s waiting room, cross the hall and sit completely silently with a few other people. They are slowly called into the room and never come out again…..it’s not looking promising.

I get called into the room. It’s just a normal office, I thought the lady was actually a secretary until I saw an examination table sitting there. She asked me if I had my card (no…I’m American…), student? (yes) BEM? (oh yeah, we’re all sick as dogs right now, I’m sure she’s seen a lot of us) she asked me a few questions, listened to me breath and cough (she didn’t wash her hands btw); she gave me three prescriptions, and note for class and sent me on my way. I paid 22 euros. That’s cheaper than many people’s co-pays! And I can get that money reimbursed! (Once I figure out how to fill out the paper work…)

Pop over to another pharmacy and get my harder core drugs. (I can get the cost of those reimbursed too!)

That being said, I’m STILL sick. Sure, it’s really easy to get drugs in France. REALLY easy. I hear that France is actually one of the most over medicated countries in the world. There are positive and negative sides to free health care. Sure, EVERYONE gets the help they need. Many people get more than they need. Some people aren’t properly diagnosed. I think I would be in the same place I am right now if I wasn’t taking medication…but I guess I’ll never know.