Undercover Blonde

holidays...with cocktails

2009-12-24T12:00:00.002-05:00

Perhaps you saw this? LUPEC's debut in the Style section of the Globe's "G"?

I'd recommend you try any of these drinks as you gear up for a weekend with the family and whatever that may bring this Christmas.

Silent Night Punch, my contribution and a beverage of which I am particularly fond, will cast a rosy glow over any party. Just don't drink too much, lest your night become fully cloaked in silence, as it might if one were to black out or something.

Cin cin!

waiting

2009-12-23T23:00:00.003-05:00

The Mathematician's mom Suzanne is a truck driver. This fact often elicits a blend of shock and awe from people. It's tough work but she's been at it for over 30 years, since before power steering and commonplace automatic transmissions in rigs, meaning she's nothing short of a badass.

I, on the other hand, hate driving. I dislike it so intensely, I've taken to telling people I don't know how to drive so they'll never expect me to take the wheel. Whenever I do happen to be stuck behind the wheel, as I was while running an errand for a PR client yesterday afternoon, I think of Suzanne. I think of her especially when I'm stuck in traffic and wonder, "How does she tolerate this? This endless waiting to get from point 'A' to point 'B'?"

Last night as I waited for my last table to finish their dinner, then finish their coffee, then put their credit cards in the check presenter, then sign their charge slips, I realized: waitressing is the exact same thing. Endlessly waiting for someone else to finish doing something else. All this waiting, something I've done since I've been old enough to work essentially, as I wait for my 'real career' to take off.

Perhaps I've finally figured out why they call it "waiting"?

100 Things Restaurant Staffers Should Never Do

2009-11-07T22:41:00.004-05:00

Hello, friends, it's been a while! I've missed you so, and happy to be back from my six month hiatus.

Anyone catch this post on a NYT blog about Small Businesses? I find it so irritating. First of all, there are many points in here that I consider "Waitressing 101" and total common sense. Any server worth their salt should know them and if you're interviewing potential staffers who don't, it's indicative of a problem with management. For example, pointers #1, 12, and 13:

#1. Do not let anyone enter the restaurant without a warm greeting.

#12. Do not touch the rim of a water glass. Or any other glass.

#13. Handle wine glasses by their stems and silverware by the handles.

Other rules seemed simply silly to me, such this #23:

#23. If someone likes a wine, steam the label off the bottle and give it to the guest with the bill. It has the year, the vintner, the importer, etc.

When they are kind and sweet and generous, I love to take care of guests in my restaurant. I really do. And I'd happily supply a label for you from a wine bottle if only I could figure out how to do it. But I've tried this mystical "steaming the wine label off the bottle technique" and been left with a fistful of soggy paper pulp, a ruined label, a disappointed guest, and typically in the weeds because I've wasted so much time. Why not print business cards with space to write wine information on the back, then dole those out to guests instead?

Other rules, such as #43 confused me:

#43. Never mention what your favorite dessert is. It’s irrelevant.

I mean, the question I am most frequently asked by my guests is "what do you recommend."

And many rules made me want to gouge my eyes out, such as #40 and #41:

#40. Never say, "Good choice,” implying that other choices are bad.

#41. Saying, 'No problem' is a problem. It has a tone of insincerity or sarcasm. “My pleasure” or “You’re welcome” will do."

Yech. I find it so interesting when owners/managers set guidelines for acceptable vocabulary in their establishments. No profanity is one thing, but saying "no problem"? Come on.

I'd rather eat at Toro any day.

in Spain...

2009-04-12T12:03:00.002-04:00

They sell tortilla at the convenience store.

I fit right in in such a place.

No more corn at Toro...

2009-04-02T11:36:00.002-04:00

...was an April Fool's joke.

Thanks for all who expressed concern for my plight!

No Corn for the Weary

2009-04-01T14:19:00.007-04:00

As we all know, it's cause for major, major crisis when we run out of the corn at Toro. You can read about my past painful experiences with this here and here.

In fact, while I was filling in as a manager at Toro, I had to make an emergency corn run to Stop & Shop at 8:30 p.m. on a Saturday night, just to avoid such a disaster. I called the Mathematician from South Bay Center to have him help calculate how much corn to buy. My shopping cart was half full of corn and nothing else, causing other shoppers to gawk and even talk about me loudly in Spanish in the check out line.

For Toro waitstaff, running out of corn is pretty much the worst thing ever. 4 out of 5 tables bitch about it, and some guests even get up and walk out, even after waiting half an hour for a table. And while I love and respect our chef and think he has done some amazing things for the restaurant since he came on board in November, I'm not so sure about his latest menu change:

"As of tomorrow, we're only going to be serving the corn seasonally at Toro, in a move to exclusively support local farmers," Jamie told us at pre-meal."

"But...but...but...people freak out if they can't have the corn!" Juan said.

"They can still have the corn," Jamie said, "just seasonally. In late July, August, and September. It's something I feel really strongly about, and Ken and I think it's going to be really great." He was visibly annoyed, so we all just nodded: yes, chef.

I don't know about the other servers, but I am mentally preparing for riots. Big, hunger-induced, angry riots.

Dreams...

2009-03-26T12:53:00.004-04:00

I awake with a start when the Mathematician comes back into the bedroom to get dressed after his shower:

"I just had the craziest dream," I tell him.

"I had weird dreams, too. I bet yours weren't as weird as mine."

"Mr.T was in it and I was really pissed at him," I say, rubbing my eyes as I sit up. "We got into a huge fight."

"A fight with Mr. T, huh? I bet I know who won that battle."

"No way, man," I say, "I was winning. I threw a pile of junk mail at his head. What was yours?"

"It was about the moral struggle I felt when I hired a hermaphrodite as an intern at work, and was then forced to fire...uh, them...because they weren't competent. I didn't want them to think it was because of...you know..."

"Hermaphrodite discrimination? Yeah, that's pretty weird. That all you got?" I say.

"No. That happened, then I introduced George [the owner of Giorgiana's] to my dad and they started wrestling. Playfully."

I'm still not sure who won.

hate + love: a waitress's tale

2009-02-19T14:12:00.004-05:00

PART I: HATE

"Ma'am? Excuse me. Uh, ma'am?"

Surely the mid- to late-thirtysomethings at Table 52 aren't beckoning ME. I look over my shoulder - perhaps there's an older woman standing behind me with whom they'd like to speak? The guy with salt-n-pepper hair gives a little wave. Oh. They DID mean me.

"Um, yeah?" I say.

"Is it okay if we write on this menu?"

No! I think, It is clearly NOT okay if you write on the menu. Do you see little check marks next to each tapas item? Did I supply you with a pen and pencil? Would you walk into No. 9 Park or even the Butcher Shop and start scribbling all over their menu? What kind of animal are you?

"Sure," I say instead, since he has already started sullying it up with red ink. "Of course. Go right ahead."

I head to the service bar to collect their mojitos.

"Dude, Table 52 called me ma'am," I lament to the barback.

"They didn't mean it, Kitty. They didn't mean it," he consoles me.

"I don't care. I now hate them."

PART II: LOVE

"Here are your mojitos," I say, careful to conceal my contempt as I hand them their drinks. "Did you have any questions? Are you ready to order?"

"Hey," the salt-n-pepper guy says, "You look just like that woman in Vicky Cristina Barcelona. Know who I'm talking about?" he says. His companions, two men with accents and a pretty brunette woman, nod and murmur "Yes...she does...mmm-hmmm."

"You mean the blonde chick?" I say. "Scarlett Johannson?"

"Yes! Scarlett Johannson," he says.

"That's a pretty hefty compliment," I say, "She's pretty hot. She's also one of my favorite actresses."

"Yup, you look just like her," he says. Then, to his friends: "You know, she's the most beautiful woman in the world according to this magazine I just read." They nod and murmur "Yes...Scarlett Johannson is the most beautiful woman in the world and our waitress looks exactly like her...mmm-hmmm."

And just like that I love them.

Ring Redux

2009-02-18T12:16:00.003-05:00

I was pretty much beside myself with excitement when I finally got home last night after a long slow waitressing shift at Toro and found the check for my engagement ring in my mailbox. I almost tore it right open in the foyer.

I can't believe it, I thought as I climbed up the stairs towards my fourth floor walk-up. After holding on to that damn thing for 3+ years, I'm finally free of it - and richer for it! Whatever will I do with the money?

Then, as I rounded the corner between flights 2 and 3, a more rational voice inside my head reminded me: No matter how much they offer you for the ring, it will never feel like enough.

I shrugged off my coat and threw my bag and apron on the floor when I reached the top floor, bracing for the possibilities as I tore the envelope open. But no amount of practical reasoning could have prepared me for what I found:

A check made out to me in the amount of $120.44.

That's not even enough to pay my damn cell phone bill.

While I didn't expect to be magically rich from the sale of my engagement ring setting, I know the damn thing appraised for ten times as much when it given to me back in 2002. I have no idea how jewelry sales works, if these things tend to appreciate or depreciate in value. But I know I can't sell it for $120.44. I not that desperate for money. And I am definitely too proud.

Now I have to call Customer Service and ask them to send the damn thing back to me. And think of something else to do with this vestige of my former life.

Boo jewelry site.

Boo old engagement ring.

Boo trying to place monetary value on sentimental things.

The post office

2009-02-09T17:15:00.005-05:00

Significant things that happened at the post office today:

1. I mailed the check to activate my very first month of my very own individual, independent health insurance plan. It's f***ing expensive, but it's mine, I chose it all by myself (which was much more challenging than it sounds), and I love it.

2. I returned the contract to the publisher for my very first book project. No, it's not a book length version of Undercover Blonde, or the LUPEC book project, it's definitely not what I ever would have imagined my first book project to be, and I'm just a "researcher" on it. But it's my first one and for that reason, I love it too.

3. I sold my engagement ring setting. You know, this thing?

That has been lying around my apartment acting as a paperweight for all of my bills collecting dust? I FINALLY sent it in to this website which I read about in Daily Candy a really long time ago.

The post office woman looked at me like I was crazy when I told her I wanted to insure the humble looking box I used to send it. When the transaction was complete, she threw it into the bin of mail behind her as if it was just some piece of junk and walked away.

That's it? I thought. I stood on my tiptoes and peered over the counter at the box laying atop a mountain of small envelopes. For a second I considered waving someone over to ask for it back, but all of the post office personnel had mysteriously disappeared. Yup, that's it.

Then I burst into tears. I guess the sudden meaninglessness of a piece of jewelry that had once been so significant just got to me. Or perhaps it's because tossing that old thing in the mail symbolized that I am finally, truly moving on from the relationship that defined my 20s. And the end of an era is always a little bit sad. I cried the entire way home.

Then, when I got home, I popped open a bottle of cava to celebrate because I really love my life right now, and I'm twice the woman I used to be.

So I raised a glass to myself, without whom none of this would be possible.

Pink Lady

2009-02-07T13:48:00.004-05:00

I made my small screen debut this week, demoing my signature LUPEC cocktail! Check it out here:

There's also a short bio of me here:

Note how, when pressed, I reluctantly admit to having once swilled cosmos like it was my job. I can't believe I said that - what will all the cocktail nerds of the world think?

Cin cin!

Ask the management

2009-01-25T13:56:00.003-05:00

As we all know, I work part-time as a waitress. In a few short days, I'll also be filling in as a manager.

"Oh, really? Moving into management, huh? Good for you!" people keep telling me, encouragingly.

"No, no, no," I rush to explain. "I'm just filling in for the real managers while they are away in Spain for a week, doing research and development. They're my friends, I'm really just doing this as a favor."

Fact is, moving into management is the last thing I want to do. I don't mind filling in, especially because the managers at Toro work so hard, do such an amazing job, and totally deserve this working vacation. But managing sucks.

First of all, there are all of these little things that you have to take care of starting before service begins at 4 p.m.-ish and continuing well after all of the customers have gone home at midnight or 1 a.m., like making sure the bar has the bank and the IPod by 4:30, dimming the un-labeled lights to the right level lest the restauarant look like an operating room ("Is that the back bar I'm dimming? Or the back hallway? Who knows?"), and making sure the hosts have enough menus and that they all contain the correct, spell-checked, properly priced information. I could write press releases and marketing copy for days, but somehow formatting those menus is beyond me.

Fortunately, all of these rote happen-every-day-type tasks can be easily accounted for - I'm making a list for myself. Plus, if the manager forgets to handle any of these items, the staff is pretty swift to remind you, and it usually sounds something like this:

"Kitty, where are my menus??? It's 5:05! They're still not done yet?" or,
"Hey, manager! Do you have a bank for me tonight? Or am I just going to give the drinks away?"

Then, in addition to handling all of these hateful little tasks, there is all of this other stuff that someone in a management position has to deal with, the problems that come up during service, the seemingly unsolvable things that you have to somehow find a way to fix. Everyone comes to you with them since you are in charge - kitchen, bar, back-waiters, servers. It sounds something like this:

"Kitty, we only have 25 napkins left for the rest of the night and I don't have enough roll-ups to set the dining room," or
"Kitty, we're almost out of bread" at 9 o'clock p.m. when the restaurant is full.

And I haven't even crossed the angry customer bridge yet, where I have to smooth over some awful situation with a pissed-off guest.

"I'm scared," I told one of the managers. "I hope that doesn't happen to me while you're away."

"Oh, it will," she said. "Trust me. And get ready for what people will say to you. I heard someone refer to the general manager as 'that little girl' once."

"No way! I mean, she's short, but that's so...rude. Ugh, I can only imagine what people will say to me. People already treat me like I'm a stupid blonde as a waitress."

"I know. It sucks. But hey, maybe you'll get some good material out of it for your blog!"

Yes, maybe I will. Hopefully it's nothing too good.

Baby names

2009-01-17T10:57:00.003-05:00

My mother called me on Thursday afternoon while I was finishing up some office work and about to run out the door to go to Toro. I was too busy to talk, so I screened the call. I know it's terrible to screen your parents but I felt it had to be done. I picked up her message after leaving Toro at midnight:

"Hi honey, it's mom. Just wanted to give you a call. Umm...give me a call when you get this, okay? I'm going to be on my way to work soon, but will be around tomorrow if I miss you. By, dear."

A nonchalant message to the casual listener, but I was slightly alarmed. Let me translate: my mother has it in her head that I am the busiest person in the world, and always humbly assumes that I am far too busy and important to actually call my parents back. She never actually requests that I "give her a call" unless something is up or wrong, like when our dog Happy died, or when she had that little breast cancer problem. Ordinarily, mom just says, "Just thinking of you, hope you're doing well, talk to you soon." Because I'm so busy and important (ha.)

Since mom's tone was decidedly even and calm, I thought it was probably okay to give her a ring at the end of my busy Friday afternoon.

"Hi Kirsten, how are you dear? Are you busy? Did you have a busy week?" my mom asked.

"Yes mom, it was a busy week. I'm sorry I missed you the other night, but I have a minute to talk now. What's up?"

"Well, I just wanted to call, and give you the news...your cousin delivered the baby on Wednesday." This is my younger cousin, who I found out was pregnant until last month. I'm just six years older than her, but since we mostly only ever saw each other when I was a teenager, said cousin is fixed in my mind as an 8 - 12 year old girl. In light of this, I was surprised to learn that she with child...and even more surprised when my mom said she was practically due.

"Oh, that's great! Boy or girl, mom?"

"Girl. And guess what she named the baby?"

"Um....I don't know, mom. Mary (after Grandma)? Liz (after her mom, my aunt)? I'll never guess. Just tell me."

"She named her...Kirsten Elizabeth."

"But...really? But...that's my name. Does she know that's my name, too?"

"I'm pretty sure she does, honey. People keep asking me if I think you'll mind. You don't mind, dear, do you?"

"Mind? No, not at all, of course I don't mind. I'm ridiculously flattered!"

And it's true: this news, which I felt certain would be bad news, has turned out to be some of the most flattering news I've ever received.

And a strong reminder to reconnect with this side of my family.

6 Questions with Sascha de Gersdorff of Boston Magazine

2009-01-07T13:21:00.011-05:00

When I told the lovely and talented Sascha de Gersdorff of Boston Magazine about my Undercover Blonde project, she instantly got it. Sascha has also traversed both sides of the color wheel in the name of research while editing the magazine's much-beloved "Best of Boston" issue.

Here's a little glimpse into Sascha's take on blonde- vs brunette-ness:

Kitty: Are you a natural blonde? If not, how long have you been dying your hair blonde?

Sascha: Yes. Well, natural enough. I was very light blonde as a kid, right up through my teen years. I started getting highlights in college, not because I really needed them but because it was the thing to do—and a nice escape from the class-bar-class-bar routine. I probably got a partial twice a year (shout-out to Joseph’s at the Carriage House in Syracuse!). As a “grown-up,” I get highlights three or four times a year.

Kitty: A few years ago you conducted an experiment for Boston magazine that required you to dye your blonde hair brown, then back to blonde. What was it like to be a brunette all of a sudden? Did you like the experience? How long did it last?

Sascha: I loved it. Alas, I was the only one.

I had my hair dyed very dark brown in November; it lasted through March (albeit somewhat faded). Being brunette was great. Almost immediately, people took me more seriously, especially new acquaintances. I’m aware of all the stereotypes, but it was amazing how much people played to cliché. It was like I had a sudden anonymity—no cat calls on the street, no lewd stares—which, again, was surprising in the fact it seemed so scripted. I wavered between missing the attention and reveling in looking “brainy.” Of course, it was also somewhat annoying as the great majority of blondes I know are smart, intuitive people, and blonde is a hair color choice, not an intellectual status meter.

The biggest (and only) compliments I got were about my skin and eyes. Most people told me both looked much smoother/striking surrounded by brown hair. But just about everyone I talked to said he/she preferred me as a blonde. Period. Now, when I mention going brunette again, I’m met by a host of sighs, eye rolls, and quick dismissals.

Kitty: Did the color changes affect how you saw or felt about yourself? Or was it mostly an external thing?

Sascha: No. Ok, maybe a little. It’d be hard to measure but I’ll say I might have been slightly less outgoing as a brunette. (Another huge-but-unfortunately-somewhat-true stereotype: Blondes will be forgiven anything.)

Kitty: Having experience both ends of the color spectrum, what did you like and dislike most about being blonde or brunette?

Sascha: Blonde: I feel/look like myself.

Brunette: It was nice to step outside my physical comfort zone for a while, switch it up. I thought I looked like a totally different person, which was fun while it lasted. The worst part for me was the constant re-dying. Because I have a naturally light base, the brown would fade after my first hair wash. Going to the salon every three weeks proved way to high-maintenance (and expensive) for me. Also, I had to wear double the amount of makeup I typically do to keep from looking washed-out.

Kitty: Your best friend is about to dye her hair blonde for the very first time. What’s the one thing you think she NEEDS to know about how her life will be different before she reaches for bleach?

Sascha: People will stare. Or, at least, stare more than she’s used to. I won’t guess at the sociology behind it here but, in my experience, there’s something about blonde hair that draws the eye. If you’re not comfortable with attention, don’t go for superblonde hair. My advice would be to take it slowly and make sure your skin tone can handle the change.

Kitty: Who are your picks for best color & corrective color (going brown to blonde again) in Boston? Anyone you’d refer a girl to in a heartbeat?

Sascha: The best colorist in Boston, in my opinion, is Jeffrey Lyle at Emerge on Newbury. No one does natural blonde like he does. I’m not sure Emerge does color correction, though. When I wanted to strip out all my brown I went to Umi; they did a great job.

Sascha de Gersdorff is Executive Editor of Boston Home and Boston Weddings and editor of New England Travel, as well as travel editor for Boston.

Thanks, and Happy New Year!

2009-01-01T16:18:00.004-05:00

Thanks to everyone who stopped by and commented on my rather melancholy last post.

I spent the first half of my New Year's Eve at an amazing yoga workshop last night. I did a bunch of soul-searching while there, as you do when you spend four hours om-ing and chanting on a yoga mat. In the midst of all this New Age-y-ness, I rediscovered my energy for this project. I'm inspired to recommit to it in '09, and to you, all of my supportive readers.

I spent the second half of the evening guzzling champagne, so for now it's back to the couch, with plans to start fresh in 2009 tomorrow.

Happy New Year to all!

Another year

2008-12-27T23:07:00.004-05:00

Another blonde year is slipping away, and it has me feeling oh-so pensive.

The fact is, 2008 has been nothing like I'd expected. The Undercover Blonde book proposal was shipped out the door in January/early February and a few short months later, a LUPEC Boston book proposal was also in the works. Both were ultimately rejected by the most likely buyer.

I kept my chin up as the book publishing industry tailspinned (tailspun?) into crisis. Then capitalism tailspinned into crisis. Now it's a Depression. Or almost. Whatever it is, the economy is bad. A few weeks ago my agent dropped my book projects, a sensible move as nothing was really happening with either. But it certainly didn't seem to bode well for my humble little book projects. Or my confidence.

It's not the lack of interest in the book version of Undercover Blonde that has me down -- I work in publishing and understand entirely how that game works. What is more troubling is the fact that I'm not really sure what to do with this project anymore. I'm so goal-oriented, so planning-obsessed, you change my agenda or my end goal and I'm like a ship at sail without a captain. It's left me feeling ambivalent and worried and kind of depressed. All I want to do is listen to Studs Terkel interviews with Great Depression-survivors and contemplate exactly how little money I'll be able to live on when everything grinds to an economic halt. All fantastic excuses to not be ambitious.

Then the other day it hit me: perhaps my lack of direction stems from the fact that this project is kinda done? Undercover Blonde was born out of an identity crisis rooted in a bad break-up with my then-fiancee and deep disatisfaction with my job. Both the job and the Ex are now long gone (though vestiges of both occasionally surface, which is always fun) and I no longer feel quite as confused about who I am as I did back then. I also feel very well situated and satisfied with my current hair color, and confidently steeped in my chosen blondeness.

Is it possible that I've attained the goals I set out to achieve when I started this blog? And if that's the case, whatever shall I continue to write about?

I guess we'll always have my waitress rants. As the economy continues to suck, I am as dependent upon my waitress pennies as ever.

I suppose we'll always have Toro.

BLONDE DISPATCHES: Phantom Blonde

2008-12-20T14:31:00.005-05:00

One thing I’ve noticed is that when women want to really “shred” you, they attack your being blonde first.

I recently got a nasty-gram from a woman who got in a dither about one of my columns. She, along with a diatribe about my lack of intelligence and education, had to throw in something about my “bleached blonde tresses” in the first three sentences.

“Bleach blonde” apparently is supposed to be an insult among women. As if coloring one’s hair blonde is somehow shameful. I’ve never heard anyone accuse a brunette of being a “brunette-out-of-the-bottle bitch” or a “fake red-head”. Nope. The slam is always anti-blonde.

I’ve also had my share of men asking if I’m really blonde. And we all know what THAT’S about. (Oh please…I wish men would grow up!)

I went brunette once. Once. It didn’t look good or natural. And I learned that my eyebrows are actually MUCH lighter than they appeared against my blondeness.

I’m not a “bleached blonde.” I like to think of it as “enhanced” blonde. I’m naturally blonde, although I’m darker than I used to be.

Honestly, Kitty, I’m tired of being portrayed as stupid (I’m not. I have a M.A. in Journalism and I teach college part-time). I’m tired of being portrayed as blonde-therefore-slut. And I’m damned tired of blonde jokes.

I think all the vitriol is lobbed at us because, secretly, being blonde equates with some kind of mystery and power that those with low self-esteem just can’t handle.

Phantom Blonde is a writer based in Central Texas. Check out her ruminations on life and blondeness at phantomblonde.blogspot.com.

in these times of economic downturn, will you sacrifice your looks?

2008-12-13T13:42:00.003-05:00

Dubyabejay from A View of The C dropped me a note about this recent post on blondes going darker in this time of economic downturn.

I had a similar conversation with my stylist while in the chair last week. He agreed with the stylist they quote in this piece, who says that people who were "just highlighting for fun" cut color out of their haircare budget altogether. But according to Jason, the blondes still come in and they always will. In his words,

"You're here, aren't you? Are you going to stop coming? Please."

He's right.

Vanity: 1
Kitty: 0

Don't let this happen to you!

2008-12-08T10:39:00.001-05:00

Wendy is a colleague of my own dear stylist Jason at Escape. This is her dramatic re-enactment of what could potentially happen to you if you forget to book in advance this holiday season.

Don't let this happen to you!

Red

2008-11-28T00:03:00.001-05:00

Sweet Jesus, you all want me to dye my hair RED. I really, truly didn't expect that. There are still a few more days left to "vote" in my sidebar "poll", but I'm pretty sure that if I listen to my readers, I'll be a copper top in a few weeks, too.

Truly, I'm nervous about this. Jason always said he'd never dye me that color, since red is a bitch to get out should I ever want to go blonde again. Anybody got any advice on this before I get too far in over my head?

I check out for a few days...

2008-11-24T21:06:00.002-05:00

Snd look what happens! One of my lovely Blonde Correspondents becomes a Copper Top!

Think we can entreat her to be my very first Rouge Correspondent? I hope so...

expert advice

2008-11-19T23:47:00.002-05:00

Two separate friends approached me this week for advice and consultation about hair stylists.

Friend #1 is looking for the perfect '40 inspired 'do to accompany her perfect outfit for the LUPEC BOSTON "USO SHOW" this Friday. The situation with Friend #2 is a little more complex: she was looking to break up with her current stylist, who refused to use bleach on her hair and was never available.

I've united friend #2 with Melanie, a stylist at Shag in South Boston. She is overjoyed with her new cut & color. We'll see how I fair for friend #1, who I'm sending to Wendy or Megan at Escape. After three + years as an Undercover Blonde, dare I say I've positioned myself as a "hair style-color expert".

The LUPEC Boston "USO SHOW"

2008-11-18T10:41:00.000-05:00

All of my time lately has been spent planning this. Hope you'll forgive the shameless plug here. And can make it!

: Marilyn Monroe performing for troops in Korea

The LUPEC Boston “USO SHOW”

Friday, November 21, 7-11 p.m.

at the Jorge Hernandez Cultural Center

On November 21 the Boston chapter of LUPEC (Ladies United for the Preservation of Endangered Cocktails) will transform the Jorge Hernandez Cultural Center into a swinging 1940's-themed cocktail party featuring retro-libations, live entertainment, dancing, delicious canapés, a prize raffle, and a USO-style variety show. It's a coed event, and all are welcome. This is our second annual large-scale fundraising event and was created to benefit women at The New England Shelter for Homeless Veterans (NESHV). Tickets are $35 in advance/ $45 at the door, and can be purchased at Toro and Tremont 647 in the South End, Grand in Somerville, or online at grandthestore.com.

The LUPEC BOSTON USO SHOW is one component of our annual fall fundraising program, which raised over $10,000 for Jane Doe Inc. last year. Starting November 1, LUPEC Boston will partner with local bars and restaurants to offer a month-long “THIS ONE’S FOR THE LADIES” drink promotion, where participants donate proceeds from one LUPEC Boston-approved beverage to women at NESHV. Restaurant partners include Toro, Tremont 647, La Verdad, Eastern Standard, Rendezvous, Highland Kitchen, Flora, The Milky Way, and more. (For a full list, click here.) Proceeds from sales our recently reprinted cocktail book, THE LITTLE BLACK BOOK OF COCKTAILS, will also benefit the NESHV this fall.

The New England Shelter for Homeless Veterans is a private, non-profit organization with a mission to extend a helping hand to homeless men and women veterans who are addressing the

: Bob Hope entertains the troops

challenges of addiction, trauma, severe and persistent mental illness, and/or unemployment, and who will commit themselves to sobriety, non-violence, and working for personal change. They are recognized as one of the most effective private veteran's transition programs in the country. Learn more at www.neshv.org.

The LUPEC BOSTON USO SHOW will pay tribute to the 1940’s theme with of-the-era cocktails, a complimentary swing dance lesson, and a USO-style variety show emceed by Cathleen Carr and Daiva Deupree of the critically acclaimed New York-based sketch comedy burlesque Two Girls for Five Bucks. The show will feature acts by Thru the Keyhole Burlesque, Boston-based actor, improviser and stand-up comedian Harry Gordon as Bob Hope, and DJ Brother Cleve, a Boston institution, will spin ‘40s-era swing music throughout the evening. Vintage dress and creative cocktail attire is encouraged.
This event will take place at the Jorge Hernandez Cultural Center [85 W. Newton St., South End, Boston], with generous support from sponsors St-Germain, Hendricks, Cruzan, Milagro, Sazerac, Chartreuse, Mathilde Liqueurs, Harpoon, and SmartWater.

DETAILS:

The LUPEC BOSTON USO SHOW will begin at 7 p.m. on Friday, November 21. Tickets are one sale now. Ticket price is $35 in advance/ $45 at the door and will include cocktail party fare, a variety show, dancing, and four drink tickets, with additional beverages available for purchase.

Light cocktail party fare will be provided for the evening by Toro, Tremont 647, and Lionette's Market, Island Creek Oysters will be on hand shucking their acclaimed “Duxbury Pearls”, and The Boston Derby Dames will skate around with sweets provided by Taza Chocolates.

The USO-style variety show will be emceed by Cathleen Carr and Daiva Deupree of Two Girls for Five Bucks and feature Boston-based actor, improviser and stand-up comedian Harry Gordon, and Thru the Keyhole Burlesque. DJ Brother Cleve will spin ‘40s-era swing music between live acts. Vintage dress and creative cocktail attire is encouraged.

A prize raffle will feature gift certificates donated from Toro, Tremont 647, Myers + Chang, La Verdad, East Coast Grill, Taza Chocolates, Polka Dog Bakery, Vee Vee, Flour Bakery + Cafe, ZipCar, Hollywood Express, A Brix Six Gift Pack from Brix Wine Shop, tickets to the Improv Asylum and Swing City a St-Germain gift basket, a one-year subscription to Imbibe magazine and more.

All proceeds from the LUPEC BOSTON USO SHOW will benefit women at The New England Shelter for Homeless Veterans.

Ticket price is $35 in advance/ $45 at the door including cocktail party fare and four drink tickets, with additional beverages available for purchase.
Tickets are on sale now and can be purchased at:
- Toro, 1704 Washington St., Boston, MA
- Tremont 647, 647 Tremont St. Boston, MA
- Grand, 374 Somerville Ave., Somerville, MA
- Online at grandthestore.com [service charges will apply]

About NESHV

The New England Shelter for Homeless Veterans is a private, non-profit organization with a mission to extend a helping hand to homeless men and women veterans who are addressing the challenges of addiction, trauma, severe and persistent mental illness, and/or unemployment, and who will commit themselves to sobriety, non-violence, and working for personal change. They are recognized as one of the most effective private veteran's transition programs in the country. Learn more at www.neshv.org.

Best Cupcakes Ever...

2008-11-16T23:48:00.001-05:00

Recipe is below, as promised.

Recipe THE COMPLETE BAKING COOKBOOK by George Geary(Robert Rose, Inc.; Ocotber 2007;$24.95/paperback).

CARROT CAKE

Serves 10-12 * (as a cake; I modified the recipe and poured it into two cupcake trays, one of 12-normal sized cupcakes, one of 24 nano-cupcakes. Then I tried to see how many I could fit into my mouth at once.)

Preheat oven to 375 degrees
Two 9-inch round cake pans, sprayed with non-stick spray (or the aforementioned cupcake trays, lined with paper liners)

1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour
1 1/4 tsp baking soda
1/4 tsp salt
1/4 tsp ground cinnamon
1/8 tsp freshly grated nutmeg
1 1/4 cups granulated sugar
2 eggs
1/3 cup vegetable oil
1 tsp vanilla extract
2/3 cup crushed pineapple, drained (I muddled cubed pineapple with a bar muddling stick and strained excess liquid out using a bar strainer: that is how I roll)
1/4 cup flaked sweetened coconut
1/4 cup chopped pecans
1 cup shredded carrots

1. In a bowl, whisk together flour, baking soda, salt, cinnamon & nutmeg. Set aside.

2. In a mixer bowl fitted with a paddle attachment, combine sugar, eggs, oil, and vanilla until well blended, for 2 minutes. Add pineapple, coconut, and pecans and mix for 1 minute. Using a wooden spoon, gradually stir in flour mixture just until incorporated. Stir in carrots.

3. Divide batter evenly between prepared pans. Bake in preheated oven until a toothpick inserted into center comes out clean, 28 - 32 minutes (check them sooner for cupcakes! I took mine out after 20 mins.) Let cool in pan on wire rack for 10 minutes before transferring to rack to cool completely.

4. For best results for decorating, wrap cake layers in plastic wrap and freeze for 1 to 2 days. (We were eating them almost immediately, so I did not do this.)

George suggests several different icing options for these puppies (all recipes can be found in the book), including Buttercream, Cream Cheese Icing, French Buttercream Frosting, Island Frosting, Seven-Minute Frosting, and Whipped Cream Cheese Frosting. I chose Island: it's recommended for "when the flavor of a cake calls for cream cheese with tropical-island flair. And how! The recipe is below:

ISLAND FROSTING

Makes about 2 cups

1 package (8 oz) cream cheese, softened
1/4 cup unsalted butter, softened
2 cups confectioner's sugar, sifted (oops! Forgot that step; guess I got there after Applejack Manhattan No. 2)
1 tsp vanilla extract
1/2 cup chopped pecans, toasted
1/2 cup sweetened flaked coconut, toasted

1. In a mixer bowl fitted with paddle attachment, beat cream cheese and butter until smooth, for 3 minutes. Gradually add confectioner's sugar, mixing on low speed until it gathers, about 2 minutes. Increase speed to high and whip until fluffy, about 3 minutes. Fold in vanilla, pecans, and coconut by hand. (I also let the frosting whip for a little too long, and for this I blame Manhattan 2.5. I simply finished the recipe and stuck it in the fridge for a bit to firm up while the cupcakes cooled.)

Et voila!

YUM!

Birthday Dinner: The Epilogue

2008-11-15T18:18:00.003-05:00

So, I repeated Step #11 (a) one and a half more times, meaning that I was actually a little tipsy by the time the Mathematician came home. I didn't think I was , of course. It's perfectly normal to dance around your house while listening to Sweet Talkin' Woman by ELO at max volume on your studio quality stereo sound system, right?

We finally ate dinner at 9:30 and I still feel way too full today. But it was fun. The sauce was amazing. In Italy they take the meats out & slice them, then serve the pasta + sauce as a primi and the meats on their own as secondi. Since the Mathematician asked for meat sauce, I opted for the cookbook's second suggestion: take the meats out, shred them, add them back to the sauce and enjoy. The end result was like if pot roast and roasted pork shoulder and tomato sauce had a baby.

And YES, the carrot cupcakes were awesome! I took a bunch of them to Toro for our monthly staff meeting, and someone ate the rest while I was out for the day. Below: a picture of all that remains.

Since you asked, MamaKrista, I'll be posting the recipe tomorrow.

Now I'm running out the door to see Smashing Pumpkins.

Birthday Dinner: Step 11 (a)

2008-11-14T19:11:00.002-05:00

This should seriously have been step 3 or 4. What was I thinking?

Birthday Dinner: Step 10-11

2008-11-14T19:04:00.005-05:00

Watching the babies rise. Hit by a nostalgia gesyer when "The Boxer" comes on by Simon & Garfunkel. I suddenly miss being a misunderstood 15 year old with pink hair.

Do the nano cupcakes look burnt?

Birthday Dinner: Step 9

2008-11-14T19:03:00.000-05:00

I'm trying my hand at carrot cupcakes from another client's book, The
Complete Baking Cookbook. Here is what was left of the batter after I
"tasted" it.

Birthday Dinner: Step 5, 6, 7, 8

2008-11-14T19:01:00.000-05:00

Meats, meet sauce. Slowly, cup by cup for like 3 hours.

Birthday Dinner: Step 4

2008-11-14T16:11:00.001-05:00

Dueling pots.

Birthday Dinner: Step 3

2008-11-14T15:27:00.001-05:00

Look how pretty with the carrots, celery & parsley!

1 minute 'til I add wine...

Birthday Meal: step 1

2008-11-14T14:58:00.001-05:00

I still have 20 minutes before I can add the meats (left) to the
onions (right). And I'm already kinda bored.

Birthday Dinner: Getting started

2008-11-14T14:17:00.000-05:00

In about 6 hours this will be a delicious meal.

This is what love looks like.

Birthday meal

2008-11-13T22:42:00.000-05:00

Today is the Mathematician's birthday! But we spent it on a plane, so
tomorrow we celebrate.

I'm making Ragu Napoletano from a book I represented last year called
CUCINA DEL SOLE by Nancy Harmon Jenkins. Paraphrasing Jeanne Caroli
Francesconi, the author cautions this dish is "not a simple sauce;
rather 'It is a ritual celebrated weekly in every Neapolitan family
worthy of the name.'"

Neapolitan namesake, here I come.

Afternoon#2 in Portland

2008-11-11T16:45:00.001-05:00

A quiet, rainy day at home.

Starting the afternoon off right...

2008-11-10T13:21:00.000-05:00

Tamarind Whiskey Sour & Apple Gin Rickey at Pok Pok in Portland. We had these with some chicken wings that Food & Wine deemed one of the "Best Dishes of 2007". They are totally right.

Portland, baby

2008-11-09T23:49:00.003-05:00

We just arrived in Portland, OR! I've been looking forward to this relatively short 4-day trip for months. And while I usually use this blog to talk about all things blonde & waitress-y, I hope you'll indulge me as I spend the next few posts tapping into my other alter-ego, Pink Lady of LUPEC Boston.

Ever since I took on a more active role managing the LUPEC Boston blog a few months ago I've been intrigued by Portland's storied cocktail scene. It seemed that every time I opened an issue of Imbibe or checked a new cocktail blog, there was some mention of great cocktails to be had here. I've been dying to check it out ever since.

Plus, one of my best friends from high school lives here, and since we recently reconnected we haven't been able to get enough of each other. Now I jump at the opportunity to come visit, and fortunately the opportunities arise often, as the Mathematician travels here a lot for work.

So, here I am. And for the next four days, you can expect this blog to be all wet.

Cin-cin!

ooops...

2008-11-08T16:37:00.002-05:00

I missed a day. Sorry, NaBloPoMo, I've let you down!

Ah well, as they say in my yoga classes, every time you come to your practice, it's a new beginning. So, today, I begin again.

Is anyone else a little freaked by the fact that it's pitch dark out at 4:45?

Happy Saturday!

books

2008-11-06T23:51:00.001-05:00

I am standing behind the bread table. Some industry friends introduce me to their friend, who it turns out is also a an artist.

GUY: "So, you're a writer, really? Who is your favorite playwright?"

ME: "Playwright.....? Ummm..."

GUY: "Okay, who do you read?"

ME: "Who do I read? Hmm..."

The reality is, working two jobs and using what little time I have in between to write and pursue a myriad of unpaid passion projects means that I don't really read books anymore. Most of what I read is Jezebel, Twitter, and Facebook.

It makes me sad.

interesting mail

2008-11-05T23:51:00.007-05:00

Yesterday, I received a direct mail postcard advertising the grand opening of a new Boylston Street studio that offers "Exotic & Pole Dancing Lessons"?

I assume this dance studio bought a mailing list somewhere and that's how they found me. Is it because I have a Victoria's Secret card? Or did someone tell them that the PR company I work for has recently signed on to represent romance novels and hookers?

I have to know...

President Obama

2008-11-04T23:35:00.000-05:00

Really? Did that just happen?

What a feeling to have your dreams come true.

"ridiculously perky"

2008-11-03T23:15:00.005-05:00

Last night one of my tables referred to me as "ridiculously perky" behind my back to one of my managers. In a disparaging, condescending sort of way.

Thing is, I was trying to be super friendly to this table because they appeared to be a miserable couple having a miserable time not enjoying each other's miserable company. I mean, I can show you curt/rude/or catty if that's what you're looking for in a waitress. Just ask my co-workers. In fact, I should have. Instead I wasted my time/energy trying to romance two people who just wanted to be left alone to their own lame devices.

I knew there was something about them that I didn't like. Guess it was the fact that they didn't like me.

Iceland has food (but Toro does not)

2008-11-02T23:19:00.003-05:00

Disaster struck at Toro tonight. The corn was 86'd (among other items.) All hell nearly broke loose.

"So, you mean to tell me you're out of Brussels sprouts, bacalao, AND the corn??? You're killing me here!!!" I overheard one guest remark to his waitress.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait," the man at Table 31 said to me in proper, slightly accented English after I rattled off the list of 86's. "You just listed about seven items. Is there anything you DO have on the menu???" If you've ever been to Toro, or any tapas restaurant for that matter, you know -- the menu is comprised of at least like 30 dishes. "Yes, yes, there are some things we DO still have on the menu," I said.

I found Table 31's reaction dramatic, but I tried to remain patient and diplomatic. Running out of a dish is a disappointment that just can't be fixed for a guest, even if you are a super waitress. Culturally, we've been facing a lot of disappointment lately, and I can relate.

Running out of food tonight also reminded me of a podcast I listened to today detailing the economic crisis that currently has Iceland under seige, and the rather dramatic (misconceived) notion that Iceland is actually running out of food. "Tonight, Toro is like Iceland," I told my manager.

Table 31 managed to navigate the menu and had a satisfying dinner. They were very nice in the end, and despite their initial shock, remained patient and polite throughout all the disappointments of their dinner. Later, as I was sliding their table's credit card to cash them out, I realized: the accent, the name on the card, the bank...these people were from Iceland.

I know how bad it feels to be living through the American economic downturn, and all I've heard about the Icelandic crisis is that it's far, far worse.

I wish I could have saved them at least one order of the corn.

NaBloPoMo!

2008-11-01T22:18:00.004-04:00

Well, I officially fell off the Blog 365 wagon in June, but I couldn't help myself when November rolled around again and I was faced afresh with the challenge of blogging every day. I so enjoyed NaBloPoMo last year that I've decided to jump on the bandwagon yet again. Maybe it will become an annual tradition for me?

Who's with me? Click here if you're up to the challenge, too.

older man candy

2008-10-31T13:03:00.003-04:00

"Hands!" the sous chef Mike says as he drops a dish into the window. This is how the kitchen staff informs us they've got a hot plate of food ready.

"Table?" I say.

"Table 13, Bar. Thanks, Kitty."

I squeeze between guests who are packed two-deep at the bar. It's difficult to discern bar seat numbers when it's busy like this, so I count each bar patron's head until I reach the number 13, two older gentleman in suits, talking intently over glasses of red wine.

"Skirt steak?" I say, hesitantly, hoping I've made it to the right spot. The dark haired gentleman on the right gives a slight nod, but I'm not certain he's nodding at me, so I repeat myself as I begin to lower the dish onto the bar between them. "This is the skirt steak, medium rare?"

"Yes," the dark-haired man says gruffly as though I am a bother. Then he turns around, we lock eyes, and he smiles. "Yes, thank you very much."

"You're very welcome," I say, and turn to leave. He stares at me as I walk away.

Yeesh, I think, that guy is totally old enough to be my father. But then, this is a trend I've noticed since I cut my hair short and started curling it 1950's style with rollers. This hair-do is like older man candy.

Maybe it's because the hair-do reminds these gents of the girls they chased in their youth? Or of the way their first wives looked when they fell in love? In any event, for any of you girls out there looking to snag an older man, I'd highly recommend copying my current 'do, designed to imitate this inimitable lady right here.

there I am...

2008-10-30T14:49:00.002-04:00

...in the changing photo box, right after the pic of Tom Hanks!

Click here for the full story. Waitstaff everywhere, raise a glass!

"Hi ladies, how are you tonight?"

2008-10-30T12:00:00.000-04:00

"Hi ladies, how are you this evening," I say as I approach table 46 on a VERY busy Thursday evening. The guest with their back to me turns around to face me and, OOPS! It's a dude.

"Umm...hi...there," I mumble. I'm mortified, but I press on with my speech, as though nothing happened. "Can I bring you a drink to get started?" It's pretty loud in here tonight, maybe they didn't hear me?

In my own defense, the dude's hair is longer than mine. And he is wearing a headband.

the dumbest blonde in the spotlight these days...

2008-10-23T00:06:00.003-04:00

...is actually a brunette.

Here she is, wearing the other team's colors at an event in Reno, NV on Tuesday.

I have to wonder: how would America respond if Sarah Palin really were blonde, like her running mate's wife? Would it be tolerated? Or would she take even more flack for being totally vapid?

At Fenway: The Epilogue

2008-10-17T09:32:00.001-04:00

Some of the young, drunk chodes' brethren stop by their seats while we are still 0-7 in the 7th. They leave.

Then we come back. The old chodes shut up.

And we win!

A happy Fenway ending.

At Fenway

2008-10-16T22:24:00.000-04:00

The Sox are losing. And I'm surrounded by chodes. Beside us, two very
special guys who spilled beer on the Mathematician.

Behind us, two old timers extolling the virtues of Mitt Romney as
truly the best Presidential candidate. "Everything he touched turned
to gold."

Chodes of all ages.

Barbie

2008-10-14T16:41:00.000-04:00

I'm closing tonight. Closing totally blows. Within minutes all of my fellow waitrons punch out, pack up all their things, and leave me here to waste away as the last two tables of the night linger on into Toro oblivion.

Table 45 just sat down and has been too busy making googley eyes at each other to notice me. Guess I should stop pouting at least try to take their order. When I approach the table, the girl has excused herself; the guy is sitting alone.

"I can come back in a minute if you like," I say.

"No, bring us two shots of Patron. With Rose's," he says.

Blech. That sounds so gross. I'm so preoccupied by the thought that I walk away without confirming whether he wants those chilled. He must...I think. The only thing more terrible-sounding than a shot of Patron with Rose's is a WARM shot of Patron with Rose's. But the bartender will be pissed at me if I'm wrong and she has to make the foul concoctions twice, so I return to the table to confirm.

"You want those shots chilled, right?" I say.

"No. Not chilled. Just Patron and Rose's lime juice. Not chilled."

Ewwww. When I approach the service bar to pick up the shots my bartender informs me that we do not, in fact, carry Rose's. Duh. I head back to Table 45 to let him know these will be coming with fresh lime & simple syrup instead.

"That's fine, he says," waving a dismissive hand in the air. "Patron, lime & whatever. Not chilled."

"Okay," I say.

"Thanks, Brb..." he says, mumbling something under his breath - did he just call me Barbie? I'm still too preoccupied by the disgustingness of his drink order to know for sure what has transpired.

I deliver the shots. By now the girl is back at the table.

"Thanks, Barbie," he says when I drop them off. Again. He mumbled it AGAIN, and I swear he just called me Barbie. I decide to ignore it.

I approach the table a few minutes later to see if they're ready to order food yet. They 'haven't even looked!' but are ready for cocktails:

"Hennessy and Diet Coke, please," the guy says. "Wait, do you guys have Hennessy? If not, Remy will do."

Hennessy of Remy? With DIET? Really? "Sure," I say, looking at him suspiciously. Who is this guy? I wonder, What planet is he from? Where is it okay to order Hennessy with ANYTHING, much less Diet COKE? "No problem."

"Thanks, Barbie," he says. This time I heard it -- I definitely heard it. He called me Barbie. I can't tell if he's laughing at me or with me and I have no idea how to respond.

By the time Table 45 is ready to order, I have decided that this guy is a total chode and I am in no mood to deal with it. He keeps ordering MTV drinks (maybe next he'll ask for Alize or Hypnotique?) and surreptitiously calling me Barbie. The aggressive shot-ordering indicates to me that he's desperate to get this girl in the sack; we'll see about that.

His date asks me what dishes I recommend, and I extol the virtues of the messiest, most garlicky items we have: I launch into a litany about the the pan con tomate, toasted bread rubbed with raw garlic and tomato, extol the virtues of the gambas al ajillo, the garlic shrimp, and tell how they haven't lived 'til they've tried the maiz asado con alioli y queso cotija, known to most as simply "the corn."

"What else is really good?" the guy asks. I repeat myself. In the end, they order every single garlicky, alioli drenched, cheese-and-corn-kernels-up-by-your-eyebrows dish.

"Thanks, Barbie," he says.

"My pleasure," I say with a smile. Garlic breath = Barbie's revenge.

BLONDE DISPATCHES: The Anti-Marilyn and the Pitfalls of Being Blonde

2008-10-10T12:59:00.006-04:00

by TommyGirl

Sometimes I forget that I have blonde hair. That's because I've spent most of my pre-adult and adult life trying to make others ignore that fact. I've always been aware that people pre-judge me based on how I look. And every time I meet a new person I know I have to overcome their unfair expectations. No, I'm not high maintenance; I live in jeans and Chucks. No, I don't work out all the time and eat celery and rice cakes; in fact I hate the gym and eat lots of meat. No, I never cheered for sports other than when I watch my favorite football team. No thank you, I don't want a cocktail, I want a beer (and I don't want a glass for it).

I had college professors who were guilty of assigning me some societal role based on how I look. One told me that he was sure I had been a cheerleader in high school. Another said to me that I "looked like the girl who dates the quarterback." Who were they to say these things to me without knowing anything but my name and student ID number? Should I have said to them, "you look like the guy who jacks off to pre-teen internet porn every night?" Or, "you look like someone who used to be thin and now your self-loathing causes you to be unfair to the pretty girls in your class?"

The fact is, I went to a super nerdy high school that didn't even have a football team. I had an appropriate level of angst, loved rock music, played sports, and generally didn't pay much attention to my hair. Unfortunately, when I got to college I discovered I was woefully unprepared to navigate the complex social hierarchy. The girls were so unfriendly to me and I had no idea why. My mom's words echoed in my head, "They're just jealous." But I couldn't believe that they would be jealous of me. I had no style. I was clumsy, loud, and socially retarded. Truly, big boobs and blonde hair will make girls come to some stupid conclusions.

As I've gotten older, I have come to embrace my blonde hair. I don't fight it anymore. When girls meet me now, I am aware the wheels in their heads are already turning. I greet them with a big smile and a loud hello. And I burp and cuss and let my Tommy Boy sense of humor show through until they know I am not just a bubbly babe masking a cruel penchant for gossip. I think Cameron Diaz kind of saved me. When she burst onto the movie scene and became a sex symbol for embodying the anti-Marilyn, I knew I was going to be OK. I love Marilyn. I'm just so not her. Cameron briefly abandoned me for a brunette phase. I'm so thankful she came back.

Living in a society that values blondes as sex symbols and not much else forced me to rebel against the stereotype. I'm glad I have blonde hair. I think it's made me develop my personality and figure out who I am. And it has most definitely gotten me into a few concerts and out of a few speeding tickets.

TommyGirl lives, works, and defies blonde stereotypes by drinking beer and cussing in the Northeast.

A Different Kind of Undercover Blonde: An Interview with Double Agent Shallon Lester

2008-10-07T18:16:00.007-04:00

To the casual reader of this blog, it might appear that I am a hater of the opposite sex. This couldn't be further from the truth. I love boys, I just hate it when they act like total choads.

Thankfully, there are other like-minded women out there who have set their sites on making a difference, like Shallon, a correspondent for the dude-centric website, DoubleAgent.com. In real life, Shallon is a gossip reporter for the New York Daily News, and an author. As an undercover agent, Shallon offers advice to guys on everything from dating to dressing to how not to act like a total gorilla all the time and maybe get a date with an awesome girl through frequent posts to her DoubleAgent.com vlog. And she's hilarious. I caught up with this undercover blonde recently and asked her a few questions about her blondeness.

KITTY: What do you think it means to be a natural blonde? Are you one?

SHALLON: Any blonde worth her peroxide will INSIST that yes of course she's au natural. Which I am. Of course. Scientists say that men subconsciously view blondes as more attractive because they are more rare, and thus more valuable. So ladies, since we don't have to worry about "brunette issues" like plucking our unibrow and mustache, remember to use your seductive powers for good, not evil.

KITTY: Double Agent isn't your first undercover mission – you also recently went undercover as a Swedish bikini waxer who loves yorkies and auditioned to be Paris Hilton's best friend. Did you use blondeness to your advantage for either "assignment"? How about in your role as a gossip columnist for the New York Daily News?

SHALLON: No one can resist a blonde, not even a fellow blondie like Paris Hilton. When I'm interviewing celebrities I can get away with more playing the ditz and acting like I had no clue my question might be inflammatory or offensive. But I'll just use my hair as bait, then when they least expect it, I strike! They call me the Blonde Viper. Ok fine not really. But I really wish people would.

KITTY: Have you ever dyed your hair brown, or any other color? What was that experience like for you? If you haven't, would you?

SHALLON: I am ashamed to say once dyed my hair dark brown when I lived in Italy, so I could "blend in." Pfft! What a mistake. I looked tired and washed out and...ordinary. But I did noticed that I got fewer looks from guys but the ones who did hit on me did so with more intensity. Quality versus quantity, I guess. But I went back to golden tones because I'm in to acquisition--I collect boys as some collect Fabrege eggs.

KITTY: A study published last fall suggests that men act stupider around blonde women, subconsciously mimicking what they believe to be the lesser intelligence of a blonde woman in order to "get along with her"? Has this happened to you?

SHALLON: This study is wrong. Clearly men act dumber around us because they're so beguiled by our beauty, our wholesome Nordic looks, that they can't string together a sentence. Poor things. Who can blame them? We turn even the toughest guy into babbling little butterballs. Military interrogators would be so much more effective with some strategically placed highlights.

KITTY: Your best friend is about to dye her hair blonde for the very first time. What's the one thing you think she NEEDS to know about how her life will be different before she reaches for bleach?

SHALLON: Buy stock in condoms. :)

who makes better tips? Blondes or brunettes?

2008-09-29T23:04:00.005-04:00

I was out of town and out of a service area this weekend, but when I returned to civilization and my IPhone refreshed, I found this query in my email inbox:

I would really appreciate your advice.
I've been looking on-line and haven't really found an answer yet, but maybe your experience can help. Do blonde's get tipped better than brunettes in a waitress position?

Well, curious reader, that's an interesting question with a complicated answer. I'm posting my thoughts here in the hopes that any other blonde waitresses (undercover or otherwise) who might happen by can chime in with theirs.

Yes, I do get bigger tips as a blonde. I think that has more to do with how I am me as a blonde than anything else. As a blonde waitress I tend to be more obsequious, affect a more bubbly demeanor, and more flirty. I can't explain why, beyond that I feel this is what is expected of me by the people who sit in my section. In the mirror of their eyes, this is how I am as a blonde.

As a brunette, I did not act as bubbly or overly friendly or super-duper-nice. When I said, "Hello, how are you this evening?" my voice came out of my throat at a lower decibel, my tone more business-like. I approached my tables with confidence and poise, and assumed a more subdued demeanor with guests. I also didn't feel compelled to smile excessively or laugh at their stupid jokes so heartily. Good, attentive service seemed enough.

Occasionally, this distanced brunette demeanor did not go over well. I've only had a table complain to a manager that I provided bad service once in the past several years; that happened while I was a brunette. What can I say? I remained polite to the high maintenance bitch, but refused to kiss her ass: as a brunette, I didn't need to. Guess she didn't like it. When I served her a few months later as a blonde, she didn't seem to remember me...and the interaction was perfectly cordial.

Then there's the whole guy thing. Undesirable characters are MUCH more likely to sexualize the customer-waitress interaction when my hair is blonde. Men of all ages, from guys who are still in college to dudes old enough to be my dad; men of all walks of life, from rugged manual-laborer types to filthy rich guys who pay with a black AmEx; men of all stripes, from quietly classy to full-blown, downright, sexual harrassers. Do they tip me better? Maybe; unless I waited on them as a brunette, I have no way to compare. Is it worth a few extra bucks to feel totally objectified and mildly embarrassed every time I have to offer someone a drink or take away a plate? Not really. Then there are times when a guy at a table will have a few too many, make a total ass out of himself, and really humiliate me with his behavior, only to tip a paltry 15% or less. That's totally degrading, one of the shittiest feelings I've had to sustain in this line of work.

I distinctly remember approaching my first table of the night within a few days of dying my hair back to blonde. I looked up, saw two rugged, manly-looking man-men who were totally out of place in the high end South End establishment where I am employed (they asked for Michelob Light), and sighed. Shit, I thought. I have to go flirt with those guys right now and I really am just not in the mood. Then I realized what I'd just said to myself: Oh my God, did I really just think that???

So, in short, I do feel like I get bigger tips as a blonde. But are they better tips? Not so much.

Marilyn by LUSH Product review: Part I

2008-09-24T23:35:00.001-04:00

As I mentioned a few weeks ago, I'm testing Marilyn by LUSH this month for it's blondaliciousness. Here's what the website has to say about the stuff:

Marilyn Hair Treatment Hair Moisturizer
Moisturizing treatment to soften and brighten blonde hair

Chamomile, lemon and saffron brighten blonde hair. Use it regularly and get fairer hair. Linseed mucilage results in softer tresses and fresh, organic lemon juice adds a ton of shine. If you always wanted to be a "natural" blonde, here's how to go about it.

7.9 oz costs $18.55.

You can literally smell the LUSH shop before you see it as you walk down Newbury Street. Inside the store, the air is thickly perfumed by the candy flavored products that line the shelves. The LUSH sales-staff tend to be bubbly and outgoing and usually intent on working a sales pitch for at least one or two "featured" products as they say hello/check you out. I tend to find the entire experience of shopping there overwhelming, and try to duck in and out as quickly as possible to avoid olfactory overload. The products are worth every venture, which is why I keep coming shopping there, and when I discovered the Marilyn, I felt intrigued by its promise.

The sales girl who checked me out extolled the virtues of the product, which surprised me because she was a dark brunette. She gave me a quick run-down of how to use the stuff, instructing me to:

Leave it in my hair for at least 20 minutes, preferably longer.
Try slathering it on and sleeping with it in, to maximize effectiveness, or
To apply it then blow-dry the hair, thereby activating the color-enhancing properties even more.

The notes on the website further instructed me to use a ton of the product per use -- "literally soaking the hair". They recommend that women with shorter cuts use 1/4 to 1/2 of the tub each use, and women with longer hair use 1/2 - an entire tub. And the stuff ain't cheap; I so I opt to use a quarter container.

The Marilyn has a gloopy consistency and smells like honey, lavender, chamomile, and, is also vaguely reminiscent of paste -- in a good way. I slather it on, throw a shower cap on my head, and tuck into bed. Nighty-night!

When I wake up in the morning and washed it Marilyn out, my hair feels soft, silky, and totally conditioned. I style it as usual (wrap it in rollers and let it dry for like a zillion years) and at the end of the entire, long process, my hair is bouncy, curly, and super vibrant. I can't say for sure that I think my hair looks any blonder, but the texture is luscious.

Perhaps the blonde-enhancing aspect of the cream is an aggregate thing? Like, maybe if I use it more frequently, it will be more effective? I will report back more once I've tried it again.

Stay tuned for Part II, where I test out the blow-dry method and determine, for once and for all, if the Marilyn makes it into the cadre of expensive products upon which I utterly depend.

stoner Sunday

2008-09-22T19:04:00.003-04:00

Table 60 is acting funny. They kept giggling while I was trying to take their drink order. Or maybe it's me. It's hard to tell. I was pretty exuberant when I initially approached the table to greet them, but there's no one else in my section and I'm bored! I have nothing else to do but dote on them. So dote I will.

I return to the table with their sangria and as I pour it into two glasses, ask: "Do you guys have any questions about the menu?"

"No," the girl says. "I don't think so." Across the table, the guy is snickering under his breath. She glares at him. Then she giggles, too.

"Cool! Are you guys ready to order, then?"

"No," the guy says. Now the girl is giggling under her breath. He just looks at her blankly, then looks up at me and says: "I need to tell you something. We're really stoned right now."

"Fabulous," I say. "What better way to spend a Sunday."

are you a jackie or a marilyn?

2008-09-20T10:28:00.008-04:00

This question has been on my mind ever since this episode of Mad Men ran a few weeks ago (click through and watch the clip and know why this show is so amazing.)

The part of the clip that keeps running through my mind is Don's pitch, when he says, "Jacqueline Kennedy, Marilyn Monroe. Women have feelings about these women because men do. Because we want both, they want to be both. It's about how they want to be seen by us: their husbands, their boyfriends, their friends' husbands."

As a women going about the business of her life in this postmodern, post-Women's Movement era, I bristle at that statement: "I'm sorry, I dress, primp, and coif for me, not for men."

Or do I? My most recent hair color & style choice is decidedly in imitation of you know who. And I completely identified with Blonde Correspondent Tolly M.'s mixed feelings about being oversexualized as a blonde, and undersexualized (but taken seriously) as a brunette. And this makes me feel feminist guilt.

Amy Klein said it well in her recent "Modern Love" piece for the New York Times magazine, describing her slight disappointment when, after several years of harassment, her cyberstalker finally left her alone:

"When you are young and pretty, nothing outrages you more than unwanted, persistent attention. You want to be taken seriously. But as you get older, and people start to ignore your looks and actually do begin to take you seriously as a professional, you feel like yesterday's news."

Then again, I'm the kind of girl who always wants what I haven't got.

BLONDE DISPATCHES: Undercover Brunette

2008-09-16T01:21:00.003-04:00

by Tolly Moseley

Ever since I was sixteen, I've been an artificial blonde. I blame Loreal Frost and Design. The pretty girl on the box of Champagne H85. The easy pull-through cap with a new time-saving formula. The tools, the potion you get to mix up, the erotic thrill of reversing your hair color destiny via the magic of science. What girl wouldn't fall for this stuff?

The first time I highlighted my hair, I remember my mom shaking the bleach powder into the plastic tub, releasing chemical-laded ammonia fumes. I felt so ballsy. I was about to do something unapologetically fake to my body. Sure, it was a far cry from a tattoo or even a piercing - but it still gave me a rush. The Sunday before, I had gone to church, where we probably talked about our bodies being temples. Now my virgin, mousy hair awaited a thick layer of 100% non-God given bleach. I had never been so excited about giving this temple a renovation.

The first time I bleached my hair, I lied about it. A girl on dance team asked me if I had gotten highlights, and I told her: "I was in the sun all day last weekend - you know, my hair just does this sometimes!" It was an out-and-out untruth. I don't think she believed me.

The gazillionth time I bleached my hair, my boyfriend, now husband, asked: "Are you a natural blonde?" I laughed and said, "this is not nature, my friend - this is art." And that's exactly how I, and I imagine many women, feel: like an artist of one's own appearance.

So it's with great pleasure that I go about day-to-day, wearing my blondeness. Hello, traffic light! Hello, Fran in sales! For whatever reason, being a blonde usually makes me feel perky. I am quite certain this has its roots in culturally stereotypical and decidedly unfeminist lines of thinking. But I also know that I look a lot better as a blonde, and that shot of self-confidence I got at sixteen as a newly-minted towhead still hasn't worn off.

For all of the reasons above, friends and family were quite surprised when I decided to go brunette. Promptly after my wedding.

"But you make such a good blonde?"

"Are you mourning your single life?"

"Does your husband secretly prefer brunettes?"

The truth was, I had been blonde for about a decade - not counting one inconsequential encounter with a box of hot pink dye I picked up at Sally Beauty Supply in college - and thought it was time to challenge myself. Why "challenge?" That's a good question. I guess I operated under the assumption that anyone could go blonde...but not everyone could do dark. It seemed like an adventure.

When my stylist unwrapped the towel from my fresh, inky tresses, I knew I had made a mistake.

"Um...I love it!" I stammered. This was a disaster.

The first thing I wanted to do when I got dark hair - a rich, chocolate brown with red highlights, a beautiful combination whose only problem was the un-beautiful girl it graced - was slap on as much eye makeup as I could. So I came home, rubbed charcoal shadow on my lids and penciled black liner on my eyes, with nude lips for effect. My husband and I went on a date that night. I think he was scared.

The second thing I wanted to do was go get a tan. This too was an impulse I can't explain. As a blonde, it seemed that the only people I ever ran into at the tanning place were…other blondes. I guess I thought that brunettes had either a) naturally olive skin that looked sort of tan no matter what they did, or b) porcelain complexions kept delicate and snowy so as to heighten the drama with their contrasting locks. But I was, unfortunately, no Dita Von Teese. I marched my brunette self straight into a spray-on booth, and emerged Eva Mendes. A shorter, more-awkward looking Eva Mendes.

Here's something I didn't expect: brunette hair made me feel like I had a huge head. As a blonde, if one's hair is mussy and not quite “fixed," which would have been me every single day prior to de-blonding, it’s easy to get away with. But as a brunette, all of those out-of-place hairs stand out in stark contrast against the rest of the world. So although it was completely not my personality, I felt compelled during those first few brunette weeks to make a daily ‘do out of my raven locks, which styling tools and expensive products I had to ration my grocery shopping money on. Why? I couldn't very well walk around with this huge head full of crazy brown hair, could I?

Another thing: I learned that one's "blonde wardrobe" doesn't immediately transition to a "brunette wardrobe." At least, it didn't for me. I virtually buried my pink items, which all struck me as horribly Elle Woods, and bought several jewel-toned tops that looked at once grown-up and sophisticated. Was brunette hair aging me? I couldn't tell.

Eventually, with practice and purple blouses and inexplicably large sunglasses, I started embracing the brunette thing. I felt like a spy on my own life. I'd go to the gym, and people wouldn't recognize me. I visited my in-laws, and they stuttered a little. It was all so very strange, this dark hair! I have never been one to intimidate, and all of a sudden, I did. Are blondes more approachable? Are blonde jokes still echoing in our cultural consciousness? This was in the height of Jessica Simpson madness, and everywhere I looked, I saw her blonde hair, her huge heels, her whole Texas (specifically, Dallas) package grinning at me from the cover of an Us Weekly. I've always had a soft spot for Jess, but I also congratulated myself for temporarily excusing myself from the blonde ranks until her flaxen domination blew over.

I have one confession from this time period. It's true that as a brunette, I didn't get checked out as much. I hated it, then I loved it. How lovely not to be sexualized. How freeing and bold I felt, not using my feminine wiles as a crutch for almost every male/female interaction. Not to say that the world isn't delirious with sexy brunettes (Penelope Cruz, we are looking in your direction). And not to say, also, that I was even entirely conscious of all the giggling, the blondie silliness, before. "Man, could I act like a blonde sometimes!" I'd think, catching myself in a moment of flirty blondeness, which felt forced and weird now. 'Brunette' was a second skin I didn't quite own, and further, something about it made me hyper-aware of how many more people took me seriously, which was sad but also interesting. So I didn't try to impress the would-be flirters.

When I heard the siren song of blondness some six months later, I didn't resist: On my 26th birthday, I skipped back to my blonde "roots." I did it myself, with a humble Loreal Frost and Design pull-through cap kit. I remember meeting my parents for dinner that night, and my mom telling me, "honey, it's good to see you again!"

Mom's right, I'm more "me" as a blonde. But inside, there's a brooding brunette who realizes she is a sociocultural archetype, a "bad girl" invented by Hollywood tropes, rubbing her hands together fiendishly and waiting for our next adventure. She's telling me to go red this fall. In a couple of months, I shall be a fiery vixen a la Joan Holloway on "Mad Men." The inner brunette/redhead can be quite convincing, when she wants to be.

Tolly Moseley is a book publicist and writer based in Austin, TX. To read more about the trouble she's causing deep in the heart of Texas, visit www.thataustingirl.blogspot.com.

entering my last year of my twenties

2008-09-14T09:30:00.002-04:00

I spent the week really looking forward to my birthday (yesterday.) The Mathematician and I were planning to go to Newport, the site of our first date, and sort of recreate it by going to all the places we went that day. Then his gout flared up, so we made a back-up plan to get facials, massage, a pedicure and later dinner at Uni. When I woke up the weather was beautiful, a perfect day to celebrate a birthday. Maybe I'd find time to buy myself a little birthday treat while we were on Newbury Street for our spa day.

I awoke at 9 a.m. and scurried off to yoga. I was feeling a little off, but assumed this was owing to the fact that I got bombed at Eastern Standard the day before while researching our assignment for the Weekly Dig's upcoming 5-Drink Minimum issue. Not so. About 5 minutes into class with my favorite teacher I started to feel weird and out of sorts, and the first time we transitioned from forward bend to tadasana I really almost fainted. I spent the entire half the class in child's pose or lying on my back on the floor. When I got home the Mathematician felt my forehead and I burning up with a fever. [NOTE: Hot yoga and fever do not mix.]

I napped for a few hours and still went to the spa, which was fabulous. We canceled dinner and spent the evening watching Entourage and eating pizza and cupcakes and lots of Advil.

Some people say that every two hours of your birthday represent how the subsequent months of your year will be spent. If that's true, I'll be spending months 1 - 5 sleeping off a hangover, month 6 feeling like I'm about to pass out in yoga, month 7 alternating between sleep and eating saltines in bed, month 8-9 getting pampered, months 10-12 watching HBO shows on the couch and eating pizza and cupcakes, with a few mini naps here and there.

A very unceremonious start to the last year of my twenties. But I still had a really nice time with the Mathematician.

BLONDE DISPATCHES: Are You a True Blonde?

2008-09-08T22:55:00.006-04:00

by Leese Elder

If I got a dime each time someone asked me that question, I think I would be rich by now. This irritating question came in many forms but, I think the one that bothered me the most is when someone asked, “do the curtains match the drapes?” Can you get any more intrusive? I mean who cares anyway? You never hear someone going around asking “are you a natural brunette?”

I have been a blonde since birth. God seemed to bless me with a head full of platinum white curls that attracted much unwanted attention growing up. In elementary it seemed like a curse, more than a blessing. I was so blonde that a kid actually had the nerve to point and, say, “she’s an albino!” Needless to say, I was pretty self conscious about it. But, my mother would always say, “Do you know how much women spend on their hair to be that color?” I would say, “How much?” “I would be glad to take the cash!”

Throughout junior high and, high school, my hair took over my image. I was the blonde bombshell with a chest to match. Everyone insisted that I bleached my hair. I still didn’t like the unwanted attention; I was shy to say the least. But, I started to notice that I turned heads that I did not necessarily want to turn. “Proxy Locks and, electric hips,” is what one of my boyfriend’s moms nicknamed me. I even went to some great lengths at the salon to foil some brown into my hair. I didn’t turn out like I thought it would. I looked like I had a grey wig on!

Being blonde throughout my adolescence was a heavy burden for me to carry. But, now that I have embraced it, I wouldn’t have it any other way. So, when people ask me that redundant question, “Are you a true blonde or not?” I reluctantly turn and say, “The curtains match the drapes.”

By, Leese Elder

To read more about Leese's blonde adventures, check out ablondespointofview.blogspot.com.

Introducing...Blonde Correspondents

2008-09-08T22:55:00.005-04:00

Lately I've been scheming up ways to make UNDERCOVER BLONDE more interactive, and I'm thrilled to be launching a new feature today, BLONDE DISPATCHES.

BLONDE DISPATCHES will be guest posts written by other women on blondeness, tackling this tenet of the American female beauty myth from various angles. (In other words, writers wanted! And you don't need to be blonde. I'm interested in hearing thoughts on the topic from all sides.) I'm excited to be engaging new voices in this project and hope it will trigger dialogue (albeit cyber) about beauty ideals, self-image, stereotyping, and, in broader strokes, what its like to be a woman in America today.

What follows is a the premiere post from our very first blonde correspondent, Leese.

traveling is great because...

2008-09-06T23:42:00.006-04:00

...sometimes you end up meeting really interesting people when you least expect it. Like today, when I sat next to an almost famous Christian rock musician on the airplane who is 32 years old and has never had a cocktail.

Need I say this is about as far out of the box as it gets for me?

When I told my new friend about my deep personal relationship with cocktails, specifically endangered ones, he politely asked my advice on what he should try as, you know, his first cocktail ever. I have been delightedly puzzling over the answer since.

I can only imagine how strange our conversation must have sounded to the surrounding passengers: me going on and on about my book projects, one on blondeness and the other about cocktails; he telling me about life on the road as a Christian rock musician and his new baby. And both of us extolling the virtues of sustainable agriculture and locavore eating. I have to say, it was pretty rad.

What did you do this Saturday?

My as yet non-reactive biological clock

2008-09-06T11:09:00.000-04:00

A child several seats away won't stop sqwaking. And screeching. It's
really irritating. The parents don't seem to notice. I guess it's
probably a little different when it's your own.

For now, it's an effective reminder that it's time to take my birth
control pill.

the search for the BEST blonde products: MARILYN by Lush

2008-09-02T15:04:00.003-04:00

Happy September, everybody!

I have a few new features in store for you all this month, in honor of the new season. Today I'd like to introduce the first: my quest for the BEST blonde products on the market. (Blonde product publicists, take note!)

I'm way too chicken to attempt coloring my hair on my own without Jason's expert hands, so unless I can find a blonde correspondent to brave the home hair care aisle and report back, you won't find data on home coloring products here.

You will find data on my experiences with products that claim they will make your blondeness blonder, such as Marilyn hair treatment, by LUSH, which my fellow LUPEC member, Fancy Brandy turned me on to. I'll use it for the month and report back periodically with results.

Here's what the LUSH company website says about the product:

Marilyn Hair Treatment Hair Moisturizer
Moisturizing treatment to soften and brighten blonde hair

Chamomile, lemon and saffron brighten blonde hair. Use it regularly and get fairer hair. Linseed mucilage results in softer tresses and fresh, organic lemon juice adds a ton of shine. If you always wanted to be a "natural" blonde, here's how to go about it.

7.9 oz costs $18.55.

Alright, LUSH. I can tell you right now that I am highly skeptical that this little hair mask thing will actually make me a "natural blonde." Only a proper genetic pairing can do that. That said, if Marilyn can keep my hair nice and bright blonde, and can keep that weird brassiness that starts to set in after a few weeks at bay, I'm game. Clever marketing technique, by the way. I'll buy anything labeled Marilyn, hair product, dress, purse, what have you.

Check back for updates! And if anyone out there in blog land has actually tried the stuff, please leave a comment about your experiences below.

on waiting on children in restaurants

2008-09-01T08:52:00.002-04:00

Saturday night, 8 p.m. My section has as many children in it as it does adults and it has since we opened. What ever happened to date night? A window into what I'm dealing with:

Upon approaching table 47 to take their drink order:

"I'll have a Nantucket Mule," says the khaki-clad Father figure. "She'll have a sangria," he gestures to his wife, "and they'll have...uh...do you have milk?"
"CHOCOLATE milk?" his son blurts out before I can answer. He and his sister stare up at me expectantly, as though there are only chocolate cows where they come from and the thought of a night without chocolate milk with dinner is just irritating.
"No, we don't," I answer. "I mean, we have this spicy chocolate sauce that we use on the churros, which I could add to some cold milk. But its pretty spicy..." I warn. Table 52 demanded to have all spicy things obviated from their kids' food; I assume 47 will feel the same.
"No, that's okay..." the father says.
"I WANT to TRY IT!" the little boy screams.
Well, now we know who's in charge.

When I deliver their drink, the Dad asks, "Do you have anything KID-friendly?"

I direct him to the kobe beef burgers. "They're perfect for little kids."

At table 48:

Taking a drink order is difficult since the little five year old asshole won't stop screaming and hitting his mother as she navigates the menu. They order all of their meats cooked well done and flag me down to hold me to task when their burgers take while.

"Um...do you know where the kobe burgers are? It's taking a long time," the mom says. She's a total MILF and she and her guest are both dressed to the nines. Their "child" (I suspect he may be some obnoxious terrorist robot in the guise of a five year old boy) is swatting at her face and hair with his filthy, sauce covered fingers. Their outfits will be ruined by the end of dinner.
"I'll check on them for you. It usually takes a little while longer to cook the meat well done," I say.
"Thanks. It's just that he's getting tired..." she says, gesturing to her child. Her sense of urgency is palpable.
The burgers arrive not a minute too soon. And within minutes the MILF is flagging me over.
"He needs ketchup," she says.
Yes, of course, the ultimate garnish.

Kobe beef is the new baby food which should DEFINITELY try with ketchup, bedtime is the new last call, and Toro is the new romper room on Saturday night.

scenes from the SA-lon

2008-08-27T13:35:00.006-04:00

SA-lon. Remember those Vidal Sassoon commercials from the '80s, where they would talk about SA-lon quality hair and SA-lon quality products. I always thought they were so silly. Now look at me! A total SA-lon addict.

Got my roots done at Escape yesterday. Here are some scenes from the crime...

Pre-blonding. My roots were pretty bad...

The fabulous Jason mixing up the stuff he uses to make me blonde. Here he's saying, "Kitty, let me enlighten you."

Look at all those foils; sweet jesus is this time consuming. It takes Jason about an hour to paint bleach on my roots and wrap it up into little tiny foil wrappers. Then I have to "cook" for 20 minutes or more.

Jason explained to me yesterday that he's very conservative with the color, which is why it takes so long. He uses the least amount of bleach he could possibly need to get my hair nice n' light, then lets the magic happen slowly. A lesser stylist might paint on some really crazy high-potency shit and leave it on for a shorter amount of time. His method keeps my hair healthier in the long run. As healthy as one's hair can be after bleaching it, dying it black, and bleaching it again.

Et voila! Roots are gone, looking good as new!

A Musical Interlude

2008-08-18T08:00:00.002-04:00

Happy Monday!

I went to the beach this weekend...

2008-08-15T22:05:00.003-04:00

It was exactly like this!

Restaurant week Day #3

2008-08-12T20:02:00.000-04:00

Our amazing manager strapped on an apron and is waiting tables.
Several overbooked parties didn't show. All my customers are nice &
sweet. I totally love restaurant week.

Restaurant Week Day#3: Part II

2008-08-12T17:14:00.001-04:00

We discover half way through set up that, thanks to a schedule
miscalculation, we have just 2 severs here to wait on 4 sections full
of diners. And we may be overbooked.

The weather forecast called for rain, meaning we should have been
spared the patio section, however at the present moment the sun is
shining brightly. It's totally mocking us, that sun.

This night is going to be awesome.

Restaurant Week Day #3

2008-08-12T16:33:00.001-04:00

I arrive tired and cranky. I couldn't sleep last night and had to get
up early to make a noon deadline.

"Como esta, kitty?" Asks Monica when she arrives.

"Bien," I say anyway. It's the only response I know.

Restaurant Week Day 2: Part V

2008-08-11T23:07:00.003-04:00

I am going through some of my charge slips at the end of the night, looking closely at the number of people in each party and at total cost of each bill. Most parties of 2 hover somewhere around $75 - 90 per check, not unlike our usual check average, and several of my parties of 4 are well over the $200 mark. And all of this is before tip.

Wait a minute...this is exactly like a normal night at Toro. And for even bigger parties, the checks seem to be way, WAY bigger than usual. Instead of ordering one pitcher of sangria and 8 orders of corn for 8 people (which would total $70), all members of these parties are forced spend $33.08 each (totaling $264.64 pre-tax, without any drinks included.)

Looks like RW isn't a deal after all at Toro: many people spend more under the illusion that they are spending less.

And I will laugh all the way to the bank. : )

Restaurant Week Day 2: Part IV

2008-08-11T21:00:00.002-04:00

"SIX OF THESE TICKETS ARE ON THE FLY AND I HAVE TO MAKE CHURROS!" I hear one of the cooks scream from the garde marger station. The printer keeps spitting and spitting out ticket after ticket as though mocking the fact that the entire kitchen is in the weeds.

Hmm...guess we ran out of the only dessert we have on offer tonight. Not sure how that happened, since we knew almost precisely how many people to expect because we're actually taking reservations this week.

All desserts are taking like 25 minutes, as well as any other food coming off the garde marger station, all cold food that usually takes just a few minutes to prepare. The older ladies at Table 51 (my second Table 51 of the night) are growing impatient. They've only had water to drink all night and are completely uninterested in a digestivo or a coffee as they wait for dessert. I'm dying to check in with the chef, just to make sure their food is coming, but I'm pretty sure he'll stab me or shoot me if I get in his way right now. So, I simply pace, back and forth between the cold line and Table 51, feeling simultaneously anxious and totally bored.

Man, I hate Restaurant Week.

Restaurant Week Day 2: Part III

2008-08-11T20:13:00.002-04:00

By now I have made amends with Table 51. I am delighted to note that we now seem to be friends again. They take about a zillion years to eat their tapas and leave me a crappy tip, but I'm still happy they managed to have a nice night, despite the oppressive structure of the menu.

Restaurant Week Day 2: Part II

2008-08-11T19:30:00.002-04:00

I have just taken the entire food order for Table 48. "Great, can I get any of you another drink at the moment? Or anything else?"

"No, but I do have a question," one of the guests says, "And I'm only asking this for her," she says pointing across the table at her friend. "How do you get your hair like that? Do you do something to it? Or is it just naturally curly?

I am tickled. "Heaven's, no! My hair has been bleached so much it has like negative curl. All of this and more can be yours with the right tools and a ton of product. I use a roller set," I say, and launch into a lengthy explanation of how I styled my hair this morning, curling it around the rollers, wrapping it in a scarf like an old lady, letting it set for hours while I write and work on my PR stufff. The women look on in rapt attention.

Apparently my hair-do is exactly what the shy friend wants her wedding hair to look like. She has gorgeous delicate bone structure and is going to look exactly like Grace Kelly all curled up like this, I can just tell.

These people are cool. Maybe Restaurant Week ain't so bad.

Restaurant Week Day 2

2008-08-11T18:21:00.004-04:00

Table 51 is fighting with me about the Restaurant Week menu.

At Toro, RW dinner for 2 people includes 1 pincho per person and 5 tapas per person. The amount of food scales per the size of the party. These ladies minsunderstood my explanation, however, and tried to order 10 tapas total. I explain to them that a normal meal at Toro is usually 2-3 tapas each, so this amount of food is pretty much on target. They then begin to argue with me about whether Restaurant Week is actually a deal, thinking they've been had.

I determine the best way to put this all into perspective is to show them the normal (more expensive) menu and offer to move them to the bar to order off the normal menu if they like. They ultimately decide to stay.

Then they tell me that they expect each portion to come out specifically sized for 2 people. "That's what you just told us," they said.

"No, actually, that's not what I told you," I explain. My tone is polite and soft but the minute the words are out of my mouth, one of the women looks like her eyes are going to pop out of her head. Oops, guess that was the wrong thing to say.

Sweet Jesus, do people hate to be told when they're wrong.

And I totally hate Restaurant Week.

Restaurant Week Day 1

2008-08-10T23:59:00.000-04:00

While grabbing a bottle of wine from high up on the shelf above the bar tonight, the bar back fell down. Five or six bottles of wine fell down on top of him from like ten feet up in the air, landing with a low, guttural thunk and shatter on the ground below.

The bar back was fine -- he was walking just a few minutes after it happened, went back to the office to chill out for a while. We sent him home and when he said goodbye, he had a few cuts here and there but said he was okay. I felt sick to my stomach for the next hour in any case, it was so freaking scary.

Everyone in the restaurant saw it happen, and several of my tables asked me, "Is he alright? Is he okay?" through their martini haze.

"Yes, yes," I assured them, pretending everything was as it should be, acting like nothing ever happened. I wasn't quite sure if that was true though, and it wasn't until I saw him clocking out that I was sure that he hadn't been pummeled to death by half a case of Mencia fallen from the sky.

It's kind of thing that just doesn't happen at an office job.

Incidentally, a similar debacle occured last time we did RW in March. A different bar back broke about 30 glasses over our already scant Sunday night supply of Iggy's bread. We had to throw it all away while cleaning up, just moments after 20 people sat down in the dining room, all passionate about sopping up their soggy tapas sauces with bread that we did not have.

Did someone put a hex on the opening night of Restaurant Week? Involving bar backs, glass, and utter inconvenience?

I totally hate Restaurant Week.

alone

2008-08-06T22:29:00.003-04:00

The other day I was chatting with a friend at work who recently realized that he is a serial monogamist. And during the conversation, I realized that I, too, am a serial monogamist.

It didn't start off this way. I dated a string of boys in high school and college but there was usually some space between each relationship. And there was a long-seeming dry spell between my break-up with this guy (now a famous actor) and the guy who later became the Ex.

The Ex and I were together for 5 years and engaged for 3 1/2 of them. Our relationship was so broken when we finally broke up I think I was the only one we knew who was surprised its demise. And I had my very first date with the Mathematician the day after I told the Ex, once and for all, "it's over."

All of this ads up to the simple fact that, for the last decade at least, I've had a significant other. Someone else to worry about, someone else to plan my life around...someone else to worry about me. And when I scale back and think about the question of solitude, owing the fact that I have a twin brother I realize: I've never really been alone.

Is this a good thing? Or a bad thing?

(borrowed) blonde wisdom

2008-08-05T12:27:00.003-04:00

It’s better to be unhappy alone than unhappy with someone.
- Marilyn Monroe

Caustic Blonde posted this little pic and quote on her blog last week, and it got me thinking about solitude and independence. I'll be ruminating on and writing about it this week. Check back for this blonde's thoughts on another blonde's wisdom.

No writing. And no pictures.

2008-08-01T17:07:00.004-04:00

I got kicked out of Whole Foods today. Why? For taking notes.

I've been working on a culinary research project for the last couple of weeks -- just a short freelance gig that kind of fell into my lap. It involves vetting local menus and checking out local grocery stores to identify current Boston eating trends. So far I've conducted research at Lionette's, Formaggio, Plum Produce, and the Copley Farmer's Market. All of these venues have been extremely welcoming, gracious, generous with their knowledge and helpful. Today it was time to tackle some bigger markets: Whole Foods, Shaw's, and Foodie's in the South End.

I started at Whole Foods. I walked in, armed with my little notepad and blue ink pen, and started walking up and down the aisles, searching for interesting food stuffs. It's a big chain so there weren't too many surprises in store for me but I plugged away, taking careful notes about anything that I thought I might need to write about later: macadamia nut butter, for example, or the multiple different brands of agave nectar they have on offer that I suspect may not have been on shelves a few years ago.

Then I rounded the corner to the fish aisle and a manager-seeming type guy came up to me:

"Can I help you, ma'am?"

Yech, he called me ma'am. "No, but thanks!" I smiled.

"I see you're writing something down there. What are you writing?"

"Oh," I said brightly, ever the eager student, "I'm actually doing research for a food trends study. It's about what kinds of flavors and ingredients are most popular in the Bostonian palate." I was just about to ask him what items seem to be selling well right now and if he had any thoughts to contribute to this type of study, when he very sternly interrupted me:

"You can't do that here. You can't write down notes. Or take pictures."

"Oh...um...okay," I said. "Well, I just...I can't write anything down?"

"Nope. No writing. And no pictures." His tone was firm, as though THIS CLOSE to bringing out the heavy if I even tried to argue.

"Okay." Shit. Now what do I do? What about my deadline? "Well, can I look around, then?"

"You can shop," he said, giving me a stern don't fuck with me smile.

"Oh. Okay."

So I bought a tube of lip balm and left. I felt mortified as I made my way through the check out line, and I definitely heard a woman standing behind me on a walkie talkie as I was texting a friend of mine about the situation in disbelief. I can't be sure she was monitoring my movements but...do you think she was monitoring my movements?

I have never shoplifted in my life. I've never been arrested. I never even got detention in high school. And here I was, indicted for the crime of taking notes in Whole Foods.

I tried to walk out of there with my head held high, but I felt totally shamed by the incident. And betrayed. I mean, Whole Foods positions itself as this earthy-crunchy pseudo-hippie bourgeois outpost where all the things that will make yours a greener, healthier, happier life can be found (at a slightly higher price point that your run of the mill grocery store.) Now I know that is mere posturing. In reality, Whole Foods is just a big, mean chain with a weird no-note-taking policy.

And it is strictly enforced.

goodbye, blog 365

2008-07-31T00:15:00.002-04:00

So, if it isn't obvious, I've completely fallen off the Blog 365 wagon.

Well, that's not exactly true. It's more like I jumped off the Blog 365 wagon. I first conceived of the notion a few weeks ago, while looking through some recent blog posts in search of some bit of wisdom I'd spewed out into the ether at everyone (or no one) out there in blogland. As I scrolled through entry after entry, with titles like Cookin' with Coolio and Hancock I realized: hardly any of the posts I've written as of late have anything to do with the topic of this blog.

I started this project as a way of exploring the boundaries of identity. And I will say this: when the project began, I was deep in the throes of an identity crisis. I was on the cusp of a break-up with my then fiance, my mother was undergoing treatment for breast cancer, and I was underemployed in a job that I hated. I was seeing a therapist and taking anti-depressants, and my life was pretty much as shitty as it had gotten to that point. I really didn't want to be me anymore. So I decided to become a different person, a new, blonde person, hoping that maybe then, my life would be different.

So, that all happened. And thankfully, life did change. But it occurred to me as I scrolled through those meaningless posts about coolio and hancock that a) I've left a good portion of that growth, reflection, and change out of this blog, for various valid reasons, but still, I'm wondering if I've kept whatever readers I do have from getting a chance to read the good stuff, and b) if I can't think of anything else to say besides "Coolio can get a book deal, why the hell can't I", should I really be saying anything at all? And then there is the fact that people seem to respond to this thing most when I write about waitressing -- does that mean I should be calling myself the undercover waitress? In a way, I've been having another mini-identity crisis as it relates to this blog.

So sorry Blog 365, you had to go. I determined that the pressure to write every day regardless of what I said or how I said it, in my opinion, has watered down my content. It's also led to some good fun material, so let's hope I can strike up a nice balance going forward. You just might not get it every day, okay?

Sometimes a blonde's gotta rest, too.

sticks and stones

2008-07-24T23:59:00.000-04:00

In middle school I was fat. I got teased a lot and it was terrible. But ultimately, being a fat kid made me a stronger, more empathetic person.

Or did it? I mean, the empathetic part is true: I remember very vividly how it felt to be called mean names and treated like I didn't matter, and now go out of my way to say positive things to people and make them feel important and at ease (perhaps this is the key to my success as a publicist?)

But I don't know if being fat as a kid has made me much stronger. For example, if mean Jimmy pushed me into a row of lockers and said, "Move it you fat cow," while walking past me in a crowded hallway, I'd pretty much just want to shrivel up and die. My faculties of reason and wit would completely desert me, and I'd just stand there, jaw open, ready to cry, like a STUPID, WIMPY fat cow.

between agreeing with mean Jimmy ("I am a fat cow and everybody knows it") and blaming myself ("why can't I just be thinner? tomorrow I'm going to try that new anorexia thing I've been hearing so much about") and imagining all of the amazing things I could have and should have said that would have put mean Jimmy in his place ("at least my mom's not my sister", "nice rat-tail, Then, I'd spend the remainder of the day obsessing over Jimmy's comment. I'd vascillatedouchebag", all manner of shameless, flagrant vulgarity.) Sometimes I'd practice saying those things in my head, imagining elaborate scenarios that ended with mean Jimmy in tears and a crowded hallway full of people applauding for me, doing their best to hoist my fat ass up in the air to parade me around the school on their shoulders as their hero.

I never mastered the art of the quick, snappy comeback, and no such thing happened.

Not to dwell on yesterday's news, but it occurred to me after I wrote of the Mystery Man that I felt the exactly same way after he called me a bad waitress as I did when getting picked on so many years ago. (And when the post got excerpted on Universal Hub and an "anonymous" commenter said means things about me, I felt the same way again. And so on...)

And I realized that I really use this blog as a way to get back at those people. It's a venue for all of the wonderful, unspoken rebuttals I have for the massive pricks out who keep on pushing me into lockers. Sure, I may stare at you blankly like a stupid fat cow in the moment, but my wrath will eventually be heard.

After all, isn't that what the Internet is for? To help those who were geeks and losers in high school to inherit the earth?

the worst waitress ever, starring Kitty

2008-07-23T23:59:00.000-04:00

SETTING: A dark, busy dining room in a nameless metropolis. The handsome-yet-haggard mystery man slips into his trench-coat, picks up his umbrella, and makes his way towards the door. He's had enough of this gin-joint for one night. He is brooding, some thought or revelation weighing upon his mind. Outside the air is humid, the streets wet, and the skies heavy...not unlike the man's soul. He turns his back towards the camera and walks away as if to exit, then changes his mind, turning suddenly back around.

MYSTERY MAN: (to the vapid blonde waitress) Excuse me...K-uhr-sten?

WAITRESS: Yes sir?

MYSTERY MAN: I just wanted to tell you...(dramatic pause)

WAITRESS: Yes? Sir, what is it?

MYSTERY MAN: You're the worst waitress I've ever had.

He turns, makes his way towards the door, and slips out into the evening, leaving the befuddled, but strangely intrigued waitress in his wake.

Perhaps that's how the man at Table 48 imagined the scenario tonight. I'm fairly confident that he was unhappy from the moment his party sat down. They were seated at a fairly small three-top -- in reality the table was fine, it's just that his sense of entitlement was too big. They looked awkward and uncomfortable from the moment I offered them drinks. Then later, when they waved me down to tell me they were ready to order, they seemed oblivious the the fact that I was holding six dirty glasses and a plate and would have no means with which to write down their stupid order -- hence my decision to say, "I'll be right with you folks." Presumably all of these things conspired against me to cast me in the role of "worst waitress ever."

Since the entitled man called me by name, it seemed only fair that I write down his and google him when I got home tonight. He's kept his image a secret so I can't be sure, but I'm fairly certain he spends his days ah-nalyzing fil-uhm as a professor (currently working towards his doctorate) from high up in one of Boston's ivory towers. Good for him, as his pink shirt, weird man sandals, and utter lack of charisma make him decidedly un-film-worthy. And as we all know, those who cannot do teach.

I supposed the Mystery Man/Film Professor thought he was being the big man when he ceremoniously told me as he was leaving that I was "the worst waitress he'd ever had." But the line fell flat, his felt exit rapid and forced. He literally ran for the door before I could engage him in conversation about his comment, making the cutting and honest line sound whiny.

The supporting actresses in the scene weren't doing the Mystery Man/Film Professor any favors, either. They were moderately icy, forgettable brunettes who exuded about as much personality and intrigue as two pieces of cardboard.

Overall, I'd say the Mystery Man should stick to the role of film professor -- and leave dramatic scenes filled with witty dialogue to the pros. Like my gay friends.

Rating: Two Thumbs DOWN

parts

2008-07-22T08:11:00.001-04:00

As I was walking to the post office today, a man told me I had nice ankles. It made me laugh, it was so strange. Then he said, "Peace, peace, peace."

Then the guy in the car going by said I had a nice smile, which made me laugh even more, because here I was getting picked apart on the street by a bunch of strangers.

Everyone has an opinion, I guess.

blonde in NOLA

2008-07-21T15:54:00.004-04:00

I am back after a brief hiatus while in New Orleans for Tales of the Cocktail. Miraculously, my liver is intact. Boston showed up strong for the event and fun was had in spades.

I'll admit, it's been difficult to switch my focus from cocktail-obsessed to blonde-obsessed since I returned. I'll make best efforts, though, and share with you a story that relates to both.

While out after dinner on our very first night in New Orleans, a crew of ten New Englanders and I, including six LUPEC members, a few sig others, and our friend Jeff from New Hampshire, were enjoying PBR on the back patio of the Maple Leaf Bar. There was a seat open next to me, and it wasn't long before an absolutely hammered Orleanian sat down beside us and started blabbering. At first he seemed nice-drunk. He made an incomprehensible comment about something and when one of my compatriots, K, commented back with a light chuckle, he started going on and on about Hurricane Katrina.

"You think it's funny," he said hotly, "to have a hurricane come and destroy your entire city? Well, I don't know what's wrong with YOU because I don't find that funny. We'll see how you like it..." and on and on, agitated, drunk, and angry with us. I'm not quite sure why he started talking about Katrina in the first place.

In any event, the situation was getting very, VERY uncomfortable, when suddenly, Pink Gin of LUPEC jumped in and put a stop to it:

"Hey, you sat down with us," she said.

"Whaaa....?" he asked.

"I'm just pointing out," she explained rationally, "That YOU sat down and started talking to US. And now you're yelling at us. It's kinda rude."

"Oh...I'm sorry," he said. "Hey, it's cool, I'm not trying to be rude..." he blathered, apologetic now instead of drunk. And within minutes, Pink Gin's comments ushered him away, problem solved.

As we applauded Pink Gin's tact, a member of our group wondered exactly what it was about K's comment that made him so upset. "Well, it's Kitty's fault he came and sat down with
us in the first place," K said. "She's the blonde!"

I fail to see how being blonde has anything to do with our newfound friend, and speculate that K may have been looking to make another guest appearance here with such a comment? In any event, it was Pink Gin, also a blonde who saved the day, something that I found so impressive.

Blonde or not, all of my life I've been total crazy-person bait. My therapist used to say it was because I'm "too nice", too open, and an easy target. I wonder if I'll ever master the art of the polite dismiss as it was so perfectly modeled for all to see by Pink Gin?

wondering about the silence?

2008-07-15T11:59:00.000-04:00

It's because I'm in New Orleans for Tales of the Cocktail. I won't be posting much more than pictures here. Check here & here for more updates...

size queen

2008-07-13T23:05:00.000-04:00

In an effort to try a new look with my latest hairdo, I pinned it back a little bit today, hoping to emulate a more casual version of Betty Draper's 'do on Mad Men.

Halfway thru the night, I felt insecure about how it looked, so asked T, our host, for his opinion.

ME: Does my hair look cute like this? Or just kinda stupid?

T: I don't like it like that.

ME: You like it better big and poufy, don't you.

T: Yup. I'm a size queen, I like it big.

ME: I'm from Jersey. Me too.

badass blonde

2008-07-12T23:59:00.000-04:00

January Jones is my new favorite modern blonde. She is simply amazing as Betty Draper, a picture perfect pretty, vain, fragile, f***ed up housewife this close to losing it, on AMC's Mad Men. Do yourself a favor and check the show out, especially Episode 9, from which this pic was borrowed.

madonna blonde

2008-07-11T11:59:00.000-04:00

"Being blonde is definitely a different state of mind. I can't really put my finger on it, but the artifice of being blonde has some incredible sort of sexual connotation. Men really respond to it. I love blonde hair but it really does something different to you. I feel more grounded when I have dark hair, and I feel more ethereal when I have light hair. It's unexplainable. I also feel more Italian when my hair is dark."

- Madonna

summer reading

2008-07-10T18:04:00.005-04:00

Yes, just a little light beach reading.

Our girl appears to be reading Ulysses.

***Special thanks to PH for sending this pic my way!***

cookin' with coolio

2008-07-09T12:40:00.005-04:00

From Publisher's Lunch...

Cooking

Rap legend and soon-to-be reality show star Coolio's COOKIN' WITH COOLIO, offering 75 recipes built around comfort foods with a healthy twist, to Amy Tannenbaum at Atria, in a very nice deal*, at auction, by Marc Gerald of The Agency Group (World).

I loved Fantastic Voyage, too, but...Really?

This industry really is in crisis.

* "very nice deal" means they paid $50,000 - $99,000

high maintenance

2008-07-08T23:39:00.003-04:00

As I've gone deeper and deeper into the empirical study of hair color that beget this blog, my hair has become increasingly high maintenance. So much so, in fact, that it bears no resemblance to the hair that sprouts naturally from my head, which is light brown and naturally curly.

Repeated bleaching weakened the individual hair follicles. Dying it dark brown then bleaching it back to blonde made it porous as a yellow sponge. All of that processing left my hair completely devoid of elasticity, meaning it requires straightening to look normal, and re-curling with rollers or a curling iron if I want it to look interesting.

Or so I thought. I washed it tonight after yoga and since I had no plans to leave the house until tomorrow morning, left it to air dry with plans to re-wet, style, and set it tomorrow morning. The Mathematician and I made dinner and watched an episode of Mad Men, and when I walked passed a mirror several hours later I realized my hair was dry...and curly!

Could it be, I thought. Really? Is it actually exhibiting signs of the old natural curl? And it appears to be true. When we cut it short a few weeks ago we cut of the majority of the hair that had been to styling hell and back. What's left is 60% natural stuff with highlights. It's not the same curly mop as I had back when I was a color virgin, but still, my hair is exhibiting signs of a natural, organic life of it's own.

It looks different, a little wild, but kinda nice, like heirloom tomatoes from the Farmer's Market as opposed to hydroponic hybrids from the grocery store.

I was so convinced that I'd damaged my hair beyond repair, I didn't expect to see it looking so bouncy all on its own ever again. But I guess that's the thing about hair: it always grows back.

immigration

2008-07-07T23:59:00.002-04:00

We employ a large number of Colombians in all positions at Toro: servers, bar backs, back waiters, line cooks, dishwashers. Most of them happen to be from the same town in Colombia and share the same last name (Gomez.) All of these employees are awesome and I'd say that employing a large percentage of the Gomez family at Toro works in our favor.

Until the family has a big party, like a Quinceanera. Not a single Gomez could be found at Toro this Sunday. We were left with only one back waiter, T, who is awesome but usually works as a host and has never before worked in a restaurant. We thus spent the better part of the evening this close to going down in flames.

I invite those on the other side of the immigration debate to come to Toro on such a evening. When their food takes forever, they can't get a drink to save their lives, their water glasses have been empty for hours, and they can't find their waitress to ask her for some salt because she is elbow deep in a dirty-dish filled bus bucket in the kitchen, I would then like them to weigh in with their thoughts on immigration.

I'm just saying. One night sans la familia Gomez and we were screwed.

quinceanera

2008-07-06T23:59:00.000-04:00

A $300 cake with a fountain in the center. A Cinderella dress in hot pink. Mass quantities of Aquardiente (for the grown ups, of course) and comida de Colombia.

I totally loved the Quinceneara. Pictures will follow...

Hancock

2008-07-05T23:59:00.000-04:00

Don't be afraid to check it out, despite the mediocre critical reviews. The Mathematician and I did today and we both enjoyed it a lot. Then again, I love most things that the former Fresh Prince does.

We watched it right before I had to go to work at Toro this evening. All night long I kept wishing for Hancock to come help me:

"Hancock, I can't get this screw-top bottle of wine open because I'm a weekling, help!" or "Hancock, I can't push these two communal tables together because they're really heavy. Help!" or
"Hancock, a grown man at my table is pouting and about to throw a tantrum because we ran out of several items tonight since there were no orders yesterday because of the stupid holiday. Help!"

I wished for the good Hancock who says "good job" a lot, not the drunk, messy one.

I see enough of those people in my line of work as it is.

fireworks

2008-07-04T23:59:00.002-04:00

The lavish setting: a 500 square foot private roof deck overlooking the Charles River. Below us, Storrow Drive. Beyond that, the Esplanade flooded with people. Beyond that, the enormous fireworks barge, the City of Cambridge, and the vast, open sky.

It is a gourmet affair. The food is exquisite, the company (I am told) "important", and the wine delicious.

When the fireworks finally start popping overhead they are so close, the ones with trickling glittery tendrils seem to spill all the way over to where we stand, ready to rain bits of fire on our heads. The "Grande Finale" is so grand, it completely obscures the sky with smoke. It's just noise and black clouds, really, with a hint of pink or green poking through between the edges.

A gorgeous, glorious event, but there's something missing: the smell of grass. Growing up we watched fireworks from a blanket in a park in New Jersey, or the middle of Keye's Field in Milford, or some indeterminate pasture in Southern Vermont. I'd dig my hands into the grass beside the blanket, pull up tiny strands and twist them into knots.

I'm not exactly sure how I got here tonight, to this urbane place. It's exquisite and I feel lucky to visit. I also feel nostalgic for grass.

Photo from Boston.com, Globe Staff Photo/Yoon S. Byun

he thinks you're someone else...

2008-07-03T23:59:00.004-04:00

I am on the way to work, walking down Clarendon towards Tremont Street. There is the cutest little dog up about half a blog ahead of me, some terrier-looking little guy of indeterminate breed. Aw...I think.

He is pulling on his leash, trying to get his owner to go one way, while she tries to get him to go another. Then, suddenly he stops. He's looking at me intently as I approach, and soon starts scampering my way, pulling on his leash in my direction.

"Hey little guy," I say as I pass by. He is looking up at me with such hopeful, happy eyes I stop to say hello.

"He thinks you're somebody else," his owner says. "I mean, you're you, of course," she says quickly, apologetically, embarrassed that what she's just said sounded rude, "He just thinks you're somebody he knows, that's all."

I laugh and tell her he's awfully cute, then set off on my way back to work.

I wonder who he mistook me for? Some other tallish blonde lady with light eyes and short hair? Can dogs even recognize features like that? I thought they went by smell?

It was a case of mistaken identity.

wine and mccarthyism

2008-07-02T23:59:00.000-04:00

Three guys & one girl are sitting at Table 60, and two of them are drinking wine. I offer them another glass.

GUY: Sure, I'll take another glass of this "dry white".

ME: Okay, it's albarino, by the way. (To the girl) Would you like another glass of red?

GIRL: Yes, please.

GUY: Oh, didn't you say you wanted to switch to the "dry white"?

GIRL: No, I'll have more of this -- it's "fruity and red."

GUY: You know, there was a time when you may have gotten kicked out of this country for possessing those qualities.

ME: Yes, there was. Sadly, it was in the not so distant past.

Cheers to the clever guy at Table 60.

to "anonymous" who keeps accusing me of being a narcissist

2008-07-01T23:35:00.002-04:00

1. I find it interesting that you angrily accused ME of reducing my relationship with Dan to mundane & petty experience (hair-washing) when the event held in his memory at T647 included a live male auction and mass quantities of binge drinking. And you took issue with MY posts in his memoriam because you found them diminutive? Really?

2. I will never publish your comments, so stop coming by here and ruining my night by leaving them. I suspect the same person keeps doing this. I also suspect you are white, male, and affluent. Only a person coming from a place of extreme privilege could reduce my blogland quest to make sense of my experience as a modern woman tangled in the complex web of sexism, beauty myths, and all manner of intersections of race, class, and gender to simple "narcissism." You are the kind of trawly creep who makes the Internet bad. I wish only that you would sack up enough to leave a trackback website so I could publicly skewer you on it, as you so deserve. For now, I will settle for casting a hex on you.

3. Shame on you for taking a big, verbal shit right on my head as I mourn the death of a friend who was brutally murdered. Shame. Shame. Shame.

Apologies to my loyal readers, but that had to be said. Scheduled programming will now resume.

$75 to the blonde in the corner...

2008-06-30T23:42:00.003-04:00

There was a fund raiser tonight at T647 for Dan, in memoriam. I showed up late, missed all the solemn sober parts. But I did manage to arrive in time for the live male auction. I bid on one "item" (guy), and this is what they hollered when I did:

"$75 to the blonde in the corner..."

It was surreal, as most memorials are, and somehow, it seemed a fitting memoriam to a young, sweet boy who is no longer with us.

After six months without him, I still can't fathom it.