the big bang theory

It has been a bustling few weeks over here at al dente headquarters. In between dealing with the endless demands of my new bob, I’ve been eating pasta, girls-tripping, leaving out vital birthday cake ingredients, flying first class (up in the sky), and turning 28!

I flew home from DC on the precipice of what many reputable sources referred to as a bomb cyclone. This was a phrase that supplied endless belly laughs as my friends and I frantically tried to rebook our flights home in the most us way possible — deep in the trenches of an Aritzia fitting room. I can’t move on from this until I add that I am firm in my belief that the Aritzia fitting room employees at the Georgetown location are our country’s most powerful assets. The way they command the sheer frenzy that is an Aritzia fitting room should be studied by all nations and replicated across many facets of life. Those are the girls you want running major conglomerates, representing you in court, or stranded on a deserted island with. They even convinced me to order a top they didn’t have in my size, which I have never done before.

Despite the various calamities that ensued when all our flights got cancelled, there is not a bomb cyclone in the world that could put a damper on our weekend together. We celebrated Grace’s birthday, indoctrinated Noel in Southern Charm 101, ordered every dessert on the menu, and lost our voices from talking so much. They gave the most thoughtful gifts ever, in a way that would challenge anyone’s grasp on love languages. So next time you see me writing in my hand-embroidered journal while sipping champagne in my chic new glassware and lighting a candle with my custom engraved Zippo lighter with our collective initials (bang), just know I feel seen.

On my flight home, I somehow got upgraded to first class for the first time ever, which was a real change of pace from my usual 33B and a knack for getting seated next to babies. My flight was the only north-bound route that wasn’t cancelled that evening, so I was kind of shitting myself. Just one episode of Love Island later, I made it home to Boston in the nick of time, a few hours before the storm began. Nelly greeted me with body wiggles that suggested she had come to terms with the fact that I was never coming back.

Prior to meeting up with bang, I celebrated my birthday! I wanted to have a very chill day, but not without a few non-negotiables. One was having Jack sit down with me and watch Hall of Fame RHONY episodes with a star-pupil level of attention. He came to know the starpower of Dorinda Medley through the episode where they had lunch in the Bronx, or was it hell? “CLIP! CLIP! CLIP! …You fool.” As well as the Halloween episode, where she’s dressed in Lady Gaga’s plastic bubble onesie, and the alcohol gets the better of her. He watched Luann fall into a bush with a level of concentration usually reserved for a World Cup final.

We had dinner at the elusive Tonino (described by many as Boston’s best Italian restaurant), which is only a ten-minute walk from our house. For anyone who lives in or is visiting Boston, it is one of the only restaurants here that I highly recommend. It’s very difficult to get a reservation, so do your research in advance and book 30 days out. The taleggio cappelletti is what dreams are made of, and the teeny tiny interior creates a really special ambience. I wore probably my most-worn outfit ever, a white t-shirt, blue jeans, vintage Armani blazer, and loafers. I spiced it up with a long silk scarf, not for warmth, but for birthday pizazz. This sparked a new trend obsession, which I’ve been calling non-functional scarves. On my never-ending quest to find ways of spicing up very simple outfits, I am now on the hunt for one with fringe. I also debuted some waterline eyeliner that is now becoming my new going-out staple, triggering an alter ego in me that might not ever actually stay out past midnight, but looks like she certainly could.

I continued my annual tradition of baking a new cake recipe for my birthday, this year setting my sights on a pistachio cake with white chocolate frosting, despite not once trying a pistachio in my life or liking white chocolate. This cake defied all odds after its baker forgot to add milk (a rather significant ingredient) into the batter, and somehow still turned out okay. The baby’s breath from my Valentine’s bouquet really saved the cake’s presentation, as halfway through decorating, I could not move away from the realization that the crushed-up pistachios looked like weed.

As far as other things taking note in my life right now, Summer House is back and has a grip on me I haven’t felt since Scandoval. I’ve been navigating the numerous ramifications of chopping my hair, and I wear a pinky ring now, so yes, I have been feeling rather glamorous.

I was at Goodwill the other day and found four bowls that match the exact one I thrifted last year, but in a larger and more practical size. These are not just any bowls — they’re Japanese ceramic, and they’re PINK! Our table/glassware has really stepped up its game over the past few months. Perhaps I’d throw a dinner party if we had more than two dining chairs.

After our girls’ trip, Bronte sent us all a link to an entire town for sale in Maine (as girlfriends do), so I’ll leave you with this:

From Bangtown with love,

- Ally