7 Quick Takes Friday!

Guess what? Quick takes is being hosted by the darling Betty Beguiles this week! So head over there to read the rest of the Quick Takes, link up yourself, and while you’re there spend some time clicking around Betty’s blog. She’s got some great things to say, and you’ll get from her what you’ll never, ever get from me…posts on fashion!

My Wonderful, Wonderful Friend

I’m not actually friends with Courtney Cox, but my friend kind of looks like Courtney Cox, so I’m using this picture. I debated lifting a facebook picture of my friend and putting it here but then decided that maybe she’d rather me not do that.

K is a hairstylist. A fabulous one, actually, and she works in this chic little salon in the District, right by our apartment. I asked her if she would mind trimming my bangs for me and she said sure, she could give them a quick trim. Then I asked how much it would cost and she said she’d do it for free.

I know, right? She’s awesome. But it gets so much better.

So this morning I headed up to her salon about an hour before I needed to pick up Sienna from school. We talked a little bit about my bangs and I asked her if she could thicken them up a bit, since I have this weird cowlick in the front of my hair that makes my bangs do funky things. I was hoping that if they were a little thicker they’d lay down like normal hair.

Are you ready for what she did? You’re totally not, but I’m gonna tell you anyway. She shampooed my hair, thickened up the bangs, trimmed and shaped the front, blew it dry and styled it for me. And still refused to let me pay.

I don’t deserve such an awesome friend, but I’m gonna keep her anyway.

She Didn’t Just Style My Hair, Either

It’s not quite this curly, and definitely not this long, and also I have bangs and look nothing like Shakira, nor can my hips do anything interesting except expand to allow babies to pass through them. But that’s just splitting hairs.

she curled it. Curled it.

My hair, it bounces. I never knew hair could bounce. I’ve seen it happen to other people, but I always assumed it was some sort of an illusion. Or a gangload of hair products coupled with some intense hot rollers.

Nope. Just ten minutes with a big-barreled curling iron and some pins, and you, too, could have bouncy hair.

But not as bouncy as mine.

After My Surprise Hair Makeover

I ran next door to Whole Foods to get rhubarb for the Ogre’s all-time favorite dessert, rhubarb pie. Rhubarb is really annoying to shop for, for those of you who’ve never tried. While it’s sometimes carried in mainstream grocery stores like Vons, (Vons is Safeway and Tom Thumb, for you Californians and Texans. I don’t know what it’s called on the East Coast.) the quality is dicey. Usually rhubarb, like asparagus, is allowed to mature way past it’s prime before it’s cut and shipped, resulting in tough stalks and stringy pies. So I always bite the bullet and get it from a store like Whole Foods or Central Market.

The rhubarb today was gorgeous, and I got all jittery with excitement as I approached it. It shone with just the perfect pinkish/red hue, the stalks were slender, there was no bruising. It looked beautiful.

Have you ever seen anything so gorgeous?

But then…I picked up a stalk and it was bendy. Really bendy, like Gumby. Rhubarb should be closer to celery in texture. Annoyed, I spent almost twenty minutes digging through the rhubarb bin before I managed to come up with enough suitable stalks for at least one decent pie. I’m still not happy about the stalks that I got, though. They’re definitely not crisp enough. I wish I could sue the stupid rhubarb for false advertising.

I may look pretty, but I’m really a big fat liar! Muahahahahaha! I have the texture of undercooked linguine! Sucker!

For The Ogre’s Birthday Dinner Tomorrow Night

I’m making Julia Child’s flaming chicken. (Poulet au Porto, for those of you who have the cookbook.)

It’s a very stressful dish to make, but according to the Ogre and our friends, it’s also one of the most delicious things they’ve ever eaten. I thought it was horrible, but I was six months pregnant at the time and had been on my feet in the kitchen for about six hours, so I can’t be trusted to make a rational judgment. I’m looking forward to trying it again, though.

Last time I made it, I insisted that the Ogre do the actual lighting of the chicken. He insisted that since he’s a man and therefore inflammable, he could just use a regular sized match to light the cognac-covered chicken on fire.

He managed to successfully light the chicken. He also caught his copious amounts of arm hair on fire, thus proving that men are not inflammable.

I laughed (after he put the fire on his arm out). It was the high point of the evening for me, but this time around I’m getting long matches.

The Ogre

just informed me that, in fact, I’m not allowed to buy long matches. He maintains, in spite of factual evidence to the contrary, that he is, in fact, inflammable.

He’s Chosen This Picture