Ring Redux

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

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.

Thanks, and Happy New Year!

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!

expert advice

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".

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

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.

who makes better tips? Blondes or brunettes?

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.

are you a jackie or a marilyn?

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 in NOLA

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?

badass blonde

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.

summer reading

Yes, just a little light beach reading.

Our girl appears to be reading Ulysses.

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

calling card

A guest left me his phone number tonight. At least I think that's what happened. Again, on the theme of me not getting what people want at all, here's the scenario:

Attractive dark haired guy comes in for dinner with three hot girls, 2 blondes who I think are twins and 1 brunette. I have a lovely rapport with the table but end up ignoring them mostly when we get slammed 20 minutes after they come in.

The Dude is the kind of guy who cracks a joke every time I come to the table; I can already picture him as an old man. I laugh; I am obligated to. I don't just feel obligated to laugh because I am their waitress, but moreover because I'm a nice person. This is a role I often play in my life. Besides, everyone likes to feel funny, a part of something, as though they get the inside joke. So what harm can an innocuous giggle do?

The table finishes up, settles up, and leaves. When I close out their check, I find that the Dude has left his business card behind. Apparently by day he is a property manager. I'm confused. Maybe he wants me to rent me a place? I think. Or...oh...

Maybe he wants to manage my property.

I don't know if I should feel flattered or pathetic. I'm happy and in love with the Mathematician, but it's still nice to feel like a hot ticket every once in a while. No harm in that, right? On the other hand, this attractive guy is out on the town with three hot girls -- why would he ever be hitting on me? Does he think I'm desperate or would be an easy lay or something because I'm just some dumb waitress? Or maybe it was because I laughed at his jokes? Moreover, was our rapport even passably flirting? I really thought we were just talking here. Did something I said make him think I was into him?

Regardless, for fun, I imagine what would happen if this was another life and I was single and I actually called the Dude. I bet he'd be surprised. I imagine what a date with him would be like, the lame jokes that I'd have to laugh at, the posturing, the "wow, that's so smart/funny/interesting" that would naturally ensue.

And suddenly I understand why he's single. And feel so happy to be in my own life, not this potential alternate universe, on a date with well-meaning hokey joke Dude.

Old friends

The first time I ever hung out with Mary we were fourteen years old. She had just moved to Amherst, NH and she hated me because she thought I was "too nice."

Then we decided to hang out one night. We got stoned (my first time), watched Dirty Dancing, and ate raw cookie dough out of the Pillsbury tube. Thereafter we were inseparable.

Mary is visiting me from Portland, OR this week. Tonight we decided to chase that feeling.

Incidentally, when I caught up with Mary for the first time in half a decade about a year ago and told her about my Undercover Blonde project, she just laughed: "I don't get it, Kir. To me, you were always blonde."

ghosts of relationships past

Yesterday afternoon the Ex called me to ask if I could hold a table at Toro that evening for an old friend of his who was coming to town. The Ex knows Toro does not take reservations and on weekends it's nearly impossible to get in...unless you know someone.

"Of course," I said. I'd do that for any of his friends. The friend in question also happens to be the guitarist of Maroon 5, making the reservation that much more interesting in a celeb-starved town like Boston.

The band arrived right on time for their reservation, dined, and had an excellent meal (or so I was told; I wasn't there.) Other guests at neighboring tables were appropriately star-struck. Sweethearts that they are, the band offered us all tickets to this evening's show -- I'm pretty sure they had a blast.

I passed on the show tickets because I had to work tonight, though there was a time when I'd have found a way to go to the concert, come hell or high water. Back then it would have been at the Agganis Arena, not the Tweeter Center. And before that, they'd have played at the Paradise, or even Harper's Ferry. In fact, I first met the Ex's friend back when the band had a record deal but were still relatively unknown on the East Coast, nomads living on a modest stipend and per-diem (though we all knew those days would be short-lived.) Their tour bus was a bit more humble then. I can only imagine what their digs look like now.

As my relationship with the Ex declined, the band's star just rose and rose.

My Ex called me after the reservation was finalized to say thanks. "It's no trouble," I told him, "I love those guys, and I love all of your friends. In fact, now that James is coming through town I've officially seen all of your old friends in the past two weeks." His best friend was in town last week avec girlfriend, as well as another old friend, also a total figment of our previous life as a couple. They all even stayed with the Mathematician and I at the apartment we share...a very real embodiment of our present (and future) life as a couple.

It's all had me in a very weird head space lately, but feeling thankful and happy that those pleasant relationships I spent years forming alongside with Ex don't have to shrivel up and blow away, just because the Ex and I are no longer. I'm sure the band would have had no trouble getting a table anywhere in the city, but the Ex still called me to broker the deal. It warms my heart that he did; it would have been weird if he hadn't.

Then again, this is Toro we're talking about. On Saturday no less. I may very well have been their only hope.

picture worth a 1000 words

What is actually happening: I am enjoying a lovely, pleasant evening talking to Evan (left) and seven other unpictured guests at the World Cocktail Day celebration at Green Street. The photographer seems to have captured a different story altogether.

Your creative writing assignment: Write a caption that explains what's happening in the story/scene below. I invite you to post them in the comments section, the more creative the better.

Here are a few that came immediately to mind:

THE BLONDE: Oh dear, how long did Cleve threaten to lecture us on the history and origins of Chartreuse?

OR

THE BLONDE: This young man is awfully cute, but I wish he'd stop talking to me about his truck...

a new haircut...

...is like a new friend.

You like said friend a lot at first, otherwise you never would have pursued a friendship with them in the first place. Sometimes, you think it may even be love. But for the most part, the first few weeks are spent testing each other out; trying each other on for size, seeing what fits & what works.

Today, we tried a roller set. Like an old lady, I exited the shower and put my locks directly into rollers.

Behold the fruits of my labor:
What do we think? Do we like it?

I think so...

blonde thoughts...

For the first time in a while, I can't think of my own. Here are a few I found through the magic of the Internets...

"If you can't change your surroundings, change your hair color."
- Brittany Murphy

"Just standing around looking beautiful is so boring, really boring, so boring."
- Michelle Pfeiffer

"Its great being blonde, with such low expectations its easy to impress."
- Pamela Anderson

what also happened yesterday...

I flipped the coin, and this is what I got: short and blonde.

Jason made me cut it myself, actually. "If we're taking that much off, you're starting it," he said. Then he made me put it into pigtails, handed me his super sharp stylist scissors, and said: "Okay, go." I slide the shears around the thick bands of hair and chopped them off, left side first, then right. It was really satisfying, actually, like cutting through two thick, yellow ropes.

I'm still getting used to it. I'm surprised every time I look in the mirror. I love it and I can't believe I stalked this haircut for a year before actually going for it. Every few hours I feel a pang of sadness and loss for my long blonde hair. But there's something incredibly liberating about this new look.

An exciting new phase for the Undercover Blonde. How will I fare with short blonde hair? I'm pretty sure it will be different. Check back for updates!

Despite your enthusiastic suggestions, I did not wear yoga pants

The Stuff@Night issue featuring a back page piece on me pubbed today. It was a tough call, but I did not, in the end, wear yoga pants for this photo. Instead I wore this pretty dress.

You can read it here, too.

I don't want to make money, I just want to be wonderful

A little over a month and a half ago, LUPEC published a cocktail book/pamphlet thing, The Little Black Book of Cocktails, featuring namesakes & favorites by LUPEC Boston. An entire page is devoted to yours truly with a gorgeous photo, my signature cocktail recipe (the Pink Lady) and two other recipes of my choice (chosen after iconic blondes: the Jean Harlow and the Mae West.) I got to pick a quote to accompany my photo too, and I chose this one, from my favorite blonde of all time:

I don't want to make money, I just want to be wonderful.
- Marilyn Monroe

Copies cost $15 and proceeds benefit the Friend's Boutique at Dana Farber. You can pick up a copy at Toro.

As the book is on sale at Toro, my Toro colleagues have perused it. After reading my page, my coworkers Luis and Juan were thrilled: they took my quote to mean that from now on I'd be donating the tips I'd earned each evening to them.

"You don't need money, right Kitty?" Luis said. "You just want to be wonderful?"

I'm thinking that something got lost in the translation from my native English to their native Spanish.

In any case, they still haven't let me live this down.

the brunette as the usual type of villain

"Fiction and fancy have always pictured the brunette as the usual type of villain, both on and off the stage. [Surgeon United States Army] Major Woodruff now shows, and he exhibits figures backing up what he says, that the blondes, in this section of the country at least, are just as bad, if not worse, from a criminal standpoint, as are the brunette types."

-- New York Times article circa September 13, 1908, Headline: The Dominant Criminal in America is Blonde

Well, there you have it.

(Thanks to the Google's search records for "blonde for summer" and the New York Times online archive for making this blog entry possible.)