Archive for the 'Real Life Friends' Category

Published by PaintingChef on 06 Dec 2012

I’m like Oprah with her favorite things. And I want to GIVE THEM TO YOU!!

There are two things that I really love. Well. Okay. Not true. There are many, many things that I truly love. Shoes, obviously. That look Dylan McKay gets when he’s thinking about his pretend-dead daddy. A good book on a rainy day. An overly full glass of red wine. Spending all day making soup on cold Sundays in the winter. Well placed profanity and making Patrick just a little crazy.

But the two loves I want to talk about today are baking and DIY Home projects.

And how I’ve teamed up with my friend Jacque and her adorable husband Matt at The DIY Village to give you a kick ass chance to win something adorable and some delicious goodies to gorge yourself on while you admire your cute new wall art.

Intrigued? YOU SHOULD BE. Check out these pictures…




So that’s a 12×12 Pottery Barn inspired Santa Wall Art handmade by Matt and Jacque, Six Chocolate Chip Sandwich Cookies and a full pound of Salted Caramel, Pretzel and Reese’s Bark from the Bad Kitty Bakery. And entering is CRAZY easy!!

(There are links all over this post but they are almost the same color as the rest of my text and I’m not tech savvy enough to know how to change that… so you have to look around…sorry!)

1. Go to Facebook and like both Bad Kitty Bakery AND The DIY Village.
2. Go to the DIY Village and scroll to the bottom of the post to enter. The widget thingy takes a second to load but it is AWESOME…

And that’s it! The giveaway runs from 12/6 through 12/12 and is open to people in the continental United State only (shipping is way complicated… sorry Canada… can we still be friends?)

While I have your attention… I want to ALSO direct your attention to the Bad Kitty Bakery Holiday Gift Box. Seriously… You need to send these to your relatives. And your clients. And your neighbors. They are magical. I know because I put unicorn dust on them myself. These things are in them…

Wouldn’t you like to know what those are? You know what? You should go learn about them. You know… after you enter the giveaway.

Giveaway! NOW! GO!!

** Also? Patrick and I are about to refinish our kitchen cabinets. We will probably kill each other. With stains and wood strippers and random orbit sanders. We also do a lot of standing around in the basement and waiting and have taken up playing darts. I am predictably awful.**

Published by PaintingChef on 14 Mar 2011

Although I’m not sure that’s what they would write in the Wine Journal review…

While cleaning up the kitchen after having some wonderful friends and their adorable little girl over for dinner on Saturday night…

“What was that Shiraz they brought that we were drinking? I really liked it.”

“Me too, it was magically delicious and felt like little baby unicorns dancing on my tongue. It was called Ass Kisser.”

“I kind of love that our friends know that it’s alright to bring Ass Kisser wine to our house.”

“Patrick. If at any point in time, we were to ever have a friend who DOESN’T know that bringing wine called Ass Kisser to our house is not only okay but it is damn well encouraged… well, all I can say is that I’ve failed somewhere as a human being and at life in general.”

“Don’t worry sweetie. I’m pretty sure that comes across loud and clear as soon as you walk in a room.”

Published by PaintingChef on 29 Sep 2007

On joining a girl gang.

It never fails. Just as we are winding down our lives in Augusta I find a girl gang to join. (Come again?)

One thing that I’ve never been very good at is keeping a group of constant girlfriends. I always managed to drift around a bit. Or piss someone off. (More often than not that was the case). I thought I’d finally solved things by being all grown up and mature and married but then people started moving away. And my group of girlfriends eventually shrunk from ten down to three.

But last night I played “New Girl” to a group of girlfriends who get together once a month or so on a Friday for drinks. Beautiful, jewel-colored drinks. LOTS of drinks. Along with an appropriate amount of Hollywood gossip. And a voodoo doll. Which is, apparently, the perfect gift for a new divorcee. It was wonderful.

And I tried something new. I told people I’d just met about this website. (Yes. This website I’ve become completely neglectful of because really internet… how much do you want to hear about oh woe is me… the moving. And the newly fixed and declawed Lilly who hasn’t been slowed down one bit and left an eight inch gash on my arm with her back claws when I had the balls to try and give her pain medication) Because let’s face it. We do this blawwwwg thing because we have a little bit of exhibitionist in us. And while there are people who get it; there are definitely more who don’t.

But I had a wonderful time. We gossiped and drank and munched and all shared little slices of our lives. And now I’m moving. Fucking figures.

Published by PaintingChef on 23 Jul 2007

Like college… but more civilized what with the lack of funnels and beer pong.

Should I ever find myself temporarily insane and perhaps taking stupid for a moment and decide to go back to school, I will most likely use the lessons I’ve learned this past weekend to make the whole experience more… palatable.

Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?

On Friday night, one of Patrick’s oldest friends and his wife stayed with us. It was quite tame with some yummy food and I made a dessert that I’m still proud of what with the white and dark chocolate mousses and the raspberry puree and all the dishes it used. But we sat around and chatted and it was all so very civilized and lovely. And we went to bed at one o’clock in the morning after only one empty wine bottle because only Patrick and I were drinking and we would have totally gone through at least one more and maybe two but didn’t feel the need to look like drinky mcdrunkersteens. I was fine the next day and all was well.

Patrick worked on a paper and I bummed around and then went to the gym. It was a perfectly fine and enjoyable Saturday.

You know… until we went out with some friends for margaritas and cheese dip (a meal that is a staple of my diet.) And as we were leaving the restaurant I invited our friends over for some dessert. Because of all the aforementioned mousses and liquefied fruits that were temporarily taking up room in my refrigerator as a stop-off before setting up permanent residence on my ass.

My benevolence (read: if my ass is going to be big, so is yours) led to a second night of sitting around with the good times and the wonderful conversation (seriously… kick ass screened in porch? Best. Impromptu. Party. Venue. Ever.) but this time with more empty wine bottles. And beer bottles. We went to bed about the same time on Saturday night/Sunday morning but I noticed things were much more spinnier this time around. I am embarrassed to admit that I attempted to employ that trick of putting one foot on the ground. Unfortunately I failed to remember that I sleep in a big tall bed and even the leg hanging off my 5’11” self doesn’t reach the floor. I woke up (at noon) with a hangover and severe pins and needles throughout my entire right leg.

I spent Sunday on the couch watching Platinum Weddings while Patrick slaved away on a paper he’d procrastinated for weeks. I’ve fully recovered from my hangover and am thinking Patrick and I should renew our wedding vows. We will have a big party with an elephant, an ice sculpture martini luge and a traditional cigar roller. You know… for the kids.

And those lessons I mentioned? Always have the parties at your own house. And make sure your feet can reach the ground when you lay in bed with a spinny head while you gulp water and watch Cruel Intentions. Also? When you aren’t a fan of the second bottle of wine you open and so you just set it aside? And then when it is time to open the fifth bottle of wine and it sounds like a good idea to try the shitty wine again? You know, since it’s already open? And sitting on the table? And maybe it just needed to breathe a little? You will be wrong. And hungover.

Published by PaintingChef on 15 May 2007

She can also make a mean grilled cheese sandwich. I taught her that.

Many months ago, the news that one of my best friends from college was having a baby rocked me to my core. For some reason this particular baby news bulletin affected me far deeper than hearing the same news from anyone else. Crazy Amanda and I were friends and then roommates and then next door neighbors. We got into all kinds of trouble together. I was her stalking partner and she was my shoe shopping sidekick. And we did it all in a thick haze of pot smoke.

Eventually we both grew up a little, I got married and moved away and we fell in and out of touch on a somewhat regular basis. But I think the most recent time we’ve caught back up is a keeper…

Every time I talked to her while she was pregnant I could hear the fear in her voice. I could tell how nervous she was about being responsible for another human being when responsibility was something that had never really come naturally to her. I never commented on what I heard or asked her about it, it was obvious she was reluctant to talk about anything baby related and instead we gossiped and laughed and talked about her upcoming wedding and the people we’d lost touch with. We speculated on who was married, who had children, and who was in jail.

Last week her son was born and we’ve been playing phone tag ever since. But finally on Monday afternoon we caught up with each other and it was like talking to a different person. I could almost hear her glowing over the phone. She was calmer and quieter. Fear not, she was no less Crazy Amanda than she ever had been, that will never change and I love her for it. Everyone needs a Crazy Amanda in their lives (you just can’t have mine). But I was blown away by the ease with which she fed her son, changed his diaper and soothed him all the while carrying on a fully focused conversation with me.

That’s when it occurred to me that maybe I’ll be alright with this whole motherhood thing too. (You know… should the punk ass ovaries ever decide to grant me a take home baby). And that sometimes you learn the best lessons from the most unlikely places. During that phone conversation I also realized that there is a good chance one of her son’s first words is going to either be fuck or whore. And it warmed my heart a little. Because profanity-laced babies are fun for everyone.

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