Sunday, January 22, 2006

Ta-daaaa!!! Blonde Pretty!

Well, I did it. I went to a salon in West Hollywood, sat in the stylist's chair and, three hours later, I'm a blonde!
I was just going to leave my hair be, but the more I looked at it, the more I realized that carrot orange was just not my hue.
It definitely cost more than I expected, but I like it.
I can't wait to see what it's going to look like in a few days, when my natural wave kicks in.
Thus ends (or begins, depending on up-keep) the saga of my hair.
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Friday, January 20, 2006

What the...?

As you can see, my hair does not match the color on the box. It's not even close. The box even says "designed for dark hair". It also says "Rich color with no unwanted brassiness or unnatural tones". It goes on to say "100% Gray coverage". Well, dear readers, I put this stuff all over my hair, and I still have one gray hair showing. So it's only 99.9% gray coverage, approximately.

Oh yeah, I am totally showing the brand name.

The instructions told me to leave it on my hair for 25 minutes. And I did. Clairol sucks major butt.

While this color doesn't look that bad on me, it's not what I wanted. I am so going to the salon... at some point. We'll see how it looks, tomorrow.

Bye bye, Brunette Pretty.

Oh yeah, who should be a model?

Seriously, though, I am in need of some concealer or something. I look like I've been awake for two days in a row.

Anyway, I decided to change my hair color. I'm bored, and I'm in the process of going through a big change. Interestingly (or not), when women go through a big change, one of the first things many of us do is change our hair. It's symbolic, and it's something I'm totally cool with doing. I don't know how long this will last. It probably all depends on how good it looks. Or if I get bored, again.

I'll post another photo when I'm done.

P.S. My hair looks really good in this picture. It never looks this good in real life. I'd just brushed it.

Monday, January 16, 2006

Horoscope for today for me

Daily extended (by
For the next few weeks, you're going to shock and amaze the masses -- not to mention the folks you see on a regular basis. You might also end up looking in the mirror and wondering who that is. Don't fight it. Everybody gets to try on a different personality for a while every now and then. It's your turn. You're going to be struck with a heady dose of fire. Put it to good use.

Sunday, January 15, 2006

Hi, my name is Pretty, and I will be your lousy server, today.

I have been behaving quite reckless at work, lately. I think it's a combination of relief and frustration, if that's possible. The optimist in me would like to say that this is a sudden surge in confidence, but this is just not me.
Earlier this week I had a table, well, let me set this up. It was the lunch shift that would not end. The kitchen was slower that normal, and I had two tables that asked for something at the same time. One wanted more butter, and the other was expecting two first courses and also requested more butter. Well, I multi-tasked and put the two first courses and two butters on one tray.
I had a choice to make: who gets served first? Do I give the first courses to the two guys and the lady on 17? Or do I just give the butter to the old couple on 16? I actually thought about this as I was taking the tray out, because I knew that my choice would have consequences.

"But, Pretty," You say, "It's just butter. Who cares about butter?"
To you, I say, "You do not know the Scottish Place, or the restaurant business. I may even go so far as to say you do not know people."
You see, whoever I serve first is a matter of pride and ego to these people. It's not just butter I'm serving. The person I don't serve first is receiving the message that they are not as important as the person who is getting the butter, now.
"Oh, come on, Pretty." You insist. "People aren't that shallow."
All right, I'll give you a suppose:
Suppose you're sitting at a table in a restaurant, and someone-- let's say you-- ordered a steak, well done. There's a table next to you with two people at it, and they ordered an entree salad and a bowl of soup ten minutes after you ordered your food. Now, the other table's food comes out, first. Your food comes out immediately after. Are you mad?
"No, but--"
But, what?
"I'd be a little insulted. I sat down first."
But you ordered steak, well done. That takes forever to do.

Okay, enough arguing with someone who isn't actually there. Point being that I knew, I knew that if I put the old couple's butter down first, the lady on 17 would say something. But I still chose to put the old couple's butter down first, anyway. It was just butter, after all. Then I took one first course in each hand and put them down on table 17. Immediately, the lady looked at me.
"You know," She said, smuggly. "You forgot the butter."
This was the same butter that was still sitting on the tray, waiting for me to grab it. I knew she'd say something. I knew it.
"I'm sorry," I started, I just couldn't contain myself. "I left my third arm at home, today."
I saw the stunned look on their faces for a second, and then turned around and grabbed their butter. The happy ending of this, is they laughed hysterically, loved me and tipped me $20 on a $70 check.

Now it's time for a bad story that happened tonight. I had a party of fifteen and five of them wanted Hot Fudge Sundaes. Let me explain why this is a bad thing. We recently changed the way we do our HFSs. Now we have this huge, gorgeous dish that we place one huge scoop of ice cream. We grab a pitcher of hot fudge and two silver bowls. One is filled with whipped cream and one is filled with chopped almonds. Then we take out all of this on a tray and prepare the sundae tableside.
"Would you like whipped cream?" We ask the person.
"Yes, please." They say. So we pour a little bit of hot fudge onto the ice cream and put one teaspoon of whipped cream on top. Ideally, it's supposed to sit on top, perfectly.
"Would you like nuts?" We then ask the person.
"Yes, please." They say. So we scoop three teaspoons of nuts onto the sundae. Finally, we pour a little hot fudge on top and place the sundae and remaining pitcher of hot fudge in front of the person. We then take the bowls of whipped cream and nuts back into the kitchen.
"What happens when the person asks for more whipped cream or nuts?" I asked at the meeting where we were trained to make the sundaes.
"They won't." My manager said.
"Yes they will." Another server said.
"The portions you dish out will be enough." She said. And so ended the meeting. I don't think people took her very seriously, but I did. Maybe I just interpreted what she said wrond. There are many ways to interpret something, if it's vague enough.
So I took the five HFS set-ups and two other desserts on a tray out to my table. It was all extremely heavy. As I picked up the tray each time and set it in front of each person to do their sundae presentation, everything went of without a snag. Right up until I finished and was about to take everything away.
"Can I get anybody anything else?" I asked, insinuating coffee.
"Yeah, can I have some more nuts?" A guy asked. This was the first time anyone had asked me that question.
"No, I'm sorry." I said, apologetically. And I started to pick up the tray and walk away.
"Wait, seriously?" One of the women asked.
"No," I shrugged. "I'm sorry." And I walked away.
No, wait. Here's the stupid part. I went into the kitchen and related this story to my manager. She asked me why I did this, and I said it's because that's what we were trained to do. She firmly denied it, and then some people from my table complained to her.
I'm not in trouble, yet, but I know it's comming. In one way or another. I mean, wouldn't it be? Rule number one of the Scottish Place is you do not tell the guest "no" (unless we're out of something, or it's a major holiday). And I said no, twice.
I know I only have twenty-eight more days of work at the Scottish Place, at the most. But what's going to happen when I try to become a waitress once I move in with my parents? First, am I even going to be able to land a job when other places call the Scottish Place? Then, am I going to act rashly at the new place, too? Or is this just the waitressing equivalent of senioritis?
Either way, I've got to stop this behavior. People don't like a waitress who's unpredictable, not matter how much more interesting it makes the job.
At some point, though, I really need to find a new day job. Waitressing is aging me. Of course, so is poverty. Oh, well.