Not a Weeaboo: On hair envy and learning Mongolian

We don't keep notepads to write on at the restaurant. Instead, we use notes made from scrap paper. I love writing orders on the back of failed resumes. It makes me feel like I'm writing on the hides of my vanquished enemies.

I took Project Forced Friendship one step further with Grumpy Mongol Bata by asking him to teach me some Mongolian. He may or may not have been asking me to teach him some Swedish back, but he talks really fast but quietly and doesn't articulate very well, so I can't always make out everything he says in Japanese properly. Anyways, I now know how to say hi, and he seemed happy about it, looking a lot less grumpy and a lot more smiley. I think I've found the way to weasel my way a step closer to being his friend, and if I learn enough Mongolian, I might even be able to talk to the people who do the dishes before long as an added bonus.

Also, I finally managed to get my hands on anime boy Yohei's grilled chicken wings by stealing a few of them before work (after Shan made sure I'd noticed they were there and shoved a take-away box in my hands), and they were just as delicious as I figured they would be. Yesterday was crazy busy at work, like Wednesdays tend to be. The slow bus girl, who's been supposed to come help me out for the past two weeks had once again failed to grace us with her presence, and I just wonder what the hell is up with that. I can do it alone with Shan, sure, but it's hectic, and I'd appreciate if she'd actually show up when they tell me she will.

I saw a girl with beautiful lilac hair on the subway last night on my way home from work and was instantly saddened and jealous. I miss my awesome hair. There have been a whole lot of 20-somethings with awesomely dyed hair around lately. Sand says she's seen a whole lot of them around Porto too. She says I'm cooled than them for doing all of that shit way before they did, and while it feels good to be a hipster sometimes, it doesn't stop me from missing hair dyes and bleach so much I can barely breathe sometimes. Even though I'm told a lot that my hair looks nice, I just can't really seem to come to terms with how brown it is. I just know that Karate Husband would fire the shit out of me if I decided to stop conforming to the work uniform standards though. And besides, lilac wouldn't look good with my bright red uniform jacket.