6. FIRST EXAM

Tonight was our first exam. I didn't expect it to be easy since so far not too much has been, and it wasn't. If I hadn't studied as much as I did and memorized my flashcards, (a trick I learned when I made my children suffer through Sylvan's Learning Center so that they could learn studying techniques since this was not taught in the schools), I wouldn't have done so well. To sound like one of those brats that everyone has had in their class at one time or another-you know the type, if they get less than 100% they're ready to slit their wrists-I was pissed that I missed one question that I actually did study (but didn't pay too much attention to), and one that I never looked at because I focused so much on the biology (and those hard to pronounce Latin words) instead of learning about the different kinds of conditioners and their therapeutic use for different hair conditions. As it is I got 2 questions wrong out of 50, which gave me a 96%, and if you completed the workbook for the chapter that the test was on, it gave you another 10% of your grade, bringing my grade to over 100% (100% is the max though that you can earn).

When I use the word "workbook" I picture a book where you do puzzles and color in the lines and draw arrows from a word bank to a picture. This isn't the case. The workbook makes you work your ass off. It breaks down the chapter into little bitty pieces that requires you to read the chapter in minute detail and fill in the different sections in detail as well. A chapter in the workbook can take a good hour or two.

We had Mr. Sanchez today. To grade the exams, he handed our tests out so that we were to mark each other's tests. Fate being what it is, guess who got mine. Spit sucking Stephanie. Who was unusually quiet today, I must say. My trust in her is nil, so when Mr. Sanchez came around later in the evening to give us our final grade, I double-checked that I only got penalized for the 2 questions that I knew I got wrong.

Today we worked on our mannequin named Amanda (did I forget to mention that they all have names?). Amanda has brown hair, and get this, it's flecked with grey. She must have little mannequin children who brought on this premature loss of pigment, or a bastard of a mannequin husband. Or maybe she's dating my ex...

Anyway, we did a long-layered cut. For someone who is so dexterous, I felt like a spaz. When I finally got the gist of the technique, it went pretty smoothly. Until Mr. Sanchez used this analogy: "Just think of hair cutting as 3-dimensional geometry since you are using points, angles, and degrees." Now my mind has gone numb and my body is starting to shudder as we now have entered the "Twilight Zone" of math. Math to me is like asking me to speak Chinese. When I was in college, I passed my math course by wearing really short skirts and seductively asking my extremely nerdy professor questions about the questions on the exam, and in his nervousness he would give me the answer. I passed with an A. If you asked me a question about the math the day after the exam, I wouldn't have had a clue. It is one of those topics that I just blank on. But what doesn't make any sense is that I loved the math I did in chemistry, and love the math that I do when I need to design something that requires precise measurements that incorporate allowances in the patterns. I can spend hours working on these calculations.

Sometimes I can't even figure myself out. It's a miracle that my husband can. He thinks my quirkiness is a riot-he says that it keeps him young (like he's some ancient old fart).

So the four hours of classtime flew, and tomorrow we are trimming all four of our female mannequin's hair before we learn another cut. I'll update you on all their names. Eventually I'll take photos so that you will be able to identify who (what) I'm referring to.

Ms. Pauly told us on our first night that we should talk to our mannequins as if they were clients. When I start to do that you have my permission to shoot me.