It's amazing what a new haircut can do

I've been feeling kinda schlubby the past few months. What with the holidays, and the move, and trying to get a job, and blah blah blah, I've had more important things to do than get a sorely-needed haircut, and deal with my dry skin, and maybe put on lipstick once in a while. You know. Now that there's a steady income stream, I'm starting to deal with all those things that fell by the wayside.

Step 1: deal with dry skin. My face has been weirdly dry for a while--like, peeling--and I went by Sephora and got a new high-powered moisturizer and foundation. And stopped using powder. And got a couple new lipsticks. Also, I'm going to start drinking a gallon of water a day. So, now my face looks much better and healthier.

Step 2: get some new bras. Self-explanatory.

Step 3: get a haircut. While I'm at it, color it. Like all natural blondes, my hair has gotten darker in the last couple of years. That, unfortunately, has made the gray all too apparent. It's also gotten frizzier--I can't shampoo it without it turning into a ball of frizz for at least a couple of days. Yesterday I got a cut (dead ends gone, some better layers), a color (honey-colored lowlights), and a curl cream that should help with the frizziness. So now my hair looks better, too.

Step 4: general maintenance. Floss more, lotion more, attend to dry cuticles, get a massage. Or three.

After all that, I'll tackle my wardrobe. Working in the restaurant industry means I don't need a lot of clothes (blacks for work, jeans for everything else), but the ones I have are starting to look kind of shabby. Ditto DH's clothes--we haven't bothered getting anything new for a couple of years. Again, we won't need a lot, but a few summer things each (and rotating out the old stained stuff) will help a lot. I'll start at the Goodwill and progress to Target.

Hopefully soon I'll look like an actual person, not just a frizzy un-make-upped tired slob all the time.

I've discovered the joy of iced coffee

My relationship with coffee has always been a complicated one. I used to drink a lot of it--really strong, really black, usually on an empty stomach first thing in the morning.

Then, of course, that blew out the inside of my stomach. I started having intense gastrointestinal problems. Someone suggested that I quit drinking coffee and see if that helped. Regretfully, I stopped. And the problems disappeared. So I resigned myself to a lifetime of tea drinking.

After several years, I started making limited forays back into the world of coffee. (This time, with a little cream, and never on an empty stomach.) Usually it was before a long shift at work--as an additional last-minute caffeine boost. And usually it was a doctored-up shot of espresso, since I didn't want to drink an entire cup of regular coffee. Also because both places I work only have an espresso machine, not a regular drip coffee system.

Slowly, I've gotten to the point where I usually have an espresso (with cream) every day that I work. Every once in a while I'll have half a cup of regular coffee at home. I can't drink bad coffee, but I've also never liked coffee drinks--frappacinos and the like. They taste like bitter coffee-flavored whipped cream to me. Or they taste like a glass full of liquid pumpkin pie, or apple fritters, or whatever chemical nonsense has been added into them. They never taste like a fine-restaurant-quality shot of espresso, which is what I've gotten used to drinking.

Yesterday I got to work early, to make my customary espresso with cream. I needed it desperately, as I worked a double yesterday and was exhausted. I'd already had two espressos at my other job, so I knew a third wasn't going to help much.

Then I saw a coworker making an iced coffee.

Glass full of ice, third of a glass of milk, two healthy hits of simple syrup, with a piping hot shot of espresso poured on top. Stir and drink.

It was warm and sunny yesterday, and all of a sudden my brain said, "Yes. Want."

So I made one. And drank it. And it was exactly what I needed to get through the night.

I don't think I'll be buying many iced coffees, as I won't be able to control the sweetness or the quality of the coffee that goes into them. But I do think I'll be making myself many more of them.

Most people won't have a professional-grade espresso machine at home, and that's fine. The secret to a good iced coffee is the quality of the ingredients. Use the very best coffee you can afford, with whole milk or half-and-half, and simple syrup (which absorbs into the drink better than regular sugar). Avoid the temptation to add additional fripperies like whipped cream or chocolate or flavorings--that's not an iced coffee, that's dessert in a glass, and for the same calories I'd rather have a big piece of cake.

What a week

It's been an emotional roller coaster of a week. Everyone I know in Boston is safe, but the apartment I shared in December with my friend Lauren is right on the Watertown border.

I also officially finished training at my restaurant (finally), and am now officially working full sections five nights a week. I'm working two days a week at the bar down the street, with the promise of more days, which means doubles at least twice a week. Which is fine--all that work equals money. (But it also equals tired feet.) Between all this work and DH's new freelance gig, maybe we can finally get back on some sort of stable financial ground.

My sister and I have been talking around the idea of meeting up in Alaska at some point in late May/June. I'm not sure if we'll be able to make it happen, but I've got visions of a great Alaskan road trip dancing in my head.

Boston

"You can leave Boston, but Boston never leaves you."

I heard that the other day, after the bombings. I've been watching CNN for two days now, like everyone else, trying to get a grip on the Boston Marathon attacks.

While I was in Boston (okay, the Boston area), I mostly hated it. Hated the cold New England weather and the weird road system, hated the traffic, hated the high taxes and no happy hour, hated the fact that the restaurant/theater/nightlife scenes were vastly inferior to New York's (and that Bostonians took a perverse pride in that). Now, of course, I can't stop thinking about Boston and my time there.

Granted, all the good things about my time there were centered around my former workplace, Craigie on Main. I'd love to work there again someday, and see my friends again; I would not love to live in Boston again (see above reasons). But a tragedy tends to blur out the bad memories of a place. It makes you remember the good things.

Fortunately, everyone I know is okay (if having 9/11 flashbacks). I'm thinking of you, Boston, and everyone I know there. I'm remembering that despite the snow, and the traffic, and the poorly-designed interstates, people live there for a reason--that Bostonians have an inner core of strength and resilience that makes them laugh in the face of blizzards and rush hour on I-95. That I worked with some really awesome people. That I had some good times there. That New York pulled together in an amazing way after 9/11, and that Boston will pull together in an amazing way after this.

Big hugs, guys. You're wicked awesome.

When it rains, it pours

After weeks and weeks of being half-employed, I suddenly found myself with three full-time job offers.

I'm finally (almost) up to full-time status at the place I really wanted to work. I've also started working days at a new bar down the street. It's just two days a week right now (with nights dedicated to my current job), but that will open up into more days as outdoor/upstairs seating opens up.

Then, just as I got two jobs squared away, with what looked like some actual money coming in finally, two things happened.

One: I got offered a management position at yet a third restaurant.

Two: Hubs did not get the job he interviewed for here.

Long story short, I didn't take the management job. I couldn't in good conscience quit two perfectly good jobs to start a third (making less money) if there's any possibility I'd have to move somewhere any time soon. And let's be honest; since his job search is renewed, and nationwide at that, there is a real possibility we'd have to move somewhere sometime soon. Maybe not a big possibility, but still, it's higher than zero.

The good news is that it looks like he may be picking up a freelance writing gig, and I'm working two jobs. So fingers crossed, we won't have to dip into savings to live or pay rent anymore.

And who knows; maybe we'll live here for years and years. Maybe we'll move to Florida next month. Maybe North Korea will nuke us and we'll start that family compound in the mountains posthaste. I've given up trying to predict anything.

Speaking of mountains, I'm hoping to arrange a mini-vacation to Alaska in June. My sister and her husband will be there, and it would be awesome to join them for a few days and see the sights. Alaska is the only state I haven't been to.

The Rhuby Boomershine

I've invented a cocktail for work.

And look! It's on the menu!

It's 1 oz each of Rhuby (now renamed Rhubarb Tea) and the rhubarb shrub I wrote about a couple of weeks ago--which is equal parts chopped rhubarb, brown sugar, and vinegar, left to sit for a few days. Pour over ice, top with Dry Rhubarb soda, and mix well.

It's light and refreshing, like rhubarb lemonade without the lemons. It makes you want to sit in the sun and drink three of them.

And it's paired with a bite of foie gras wrapped in pastry. What could be more awesome?

Olympic National Park, WA

Another day, another national park.

We've had a string of spectacular days in Seattle--cloudless, sunny, almost 70 degrees. One of those days is pretty rare; to have 2 or 3 of them in a row is a first for me. On Saturday, we got up early and went to Discovery Park. We hiked out to the point to see the fantastic views.

Yesterday (Easter Sunday), we got up even earlier. We took the ferry across, to my stepson's delight, and spent the day in Olympic National Park. It's not really a driving park; most of it is wilderness, and it's big, and there's no road that goes across it. However, we saw the highlights in three vastly different ecosystems: Hurricane Ridge at the top of the mountains, where we got to see 12-foot snowbanks and glaciers; Rialto Beach, a rocky, surf-torn Pacific Beach covered with massive logs of driftwood; and Hoh rainforest, North America's only rainforest, with massive moss-covered trees and ferns everywhere.

(My Southern California-raised stepson on the rain forest: "There's something wrong with this stream! I can see all the way to the bottom of it! The water is perfectly clear! It's not supposed to be like that!")

We ended the day at Kalaloch Lodge with burgers and beers, overlooking the ocean. Why? Because my stepson has finally discovered his appetite. I packed what I thought would be a day's worth of food for three people, lunch and dinner: six sandwiches, several bottles of water, plus a totebag full of apples, bananas, dried fruit, a gallon Ziploc bag of popcorn, some protein bars, some cookies, etc.

All that food was gone by 3 pm.

I got one sandwich and an apple for lunch. My stepson ate everything else. Then he ate a burger and fries at the Lodge, and had the last sandwich for dessert.

I'm not complaining. Yesterday he ate more food than I've ever seen him eat, cumulatively. And he didn't pick at the sandwiches, and leave the crusts, and take the nuts out of the cookies, or eat only half the apples, or otherwise pretend to eat like I've seen him do so often. He ate everything. Even the crusts.

I was so proud.

So it was a good day. A lot of driving, and a long day overall, but the weather was perfect, the scenery was amazing, and there was very little traffic. I really like spending a beautiful day like that on the road, seeing new things, out away from the crowds.

And next time, I'll pack more sandwiches.