Painting Chef – Cheaper Than Therapy

I know. I know. I KNOW!

Look how pretty…

My brain is still there… Just give me till Monday. I’ll be de-rummed by then, I swear it. Make some damn zucchini bread. Seriously. It’s good. And if you’re like me and came home to a 10 pound, 27-inch long zucchini (that sounds very dirty… and it was! It had actual dirt on it!) then you’ll need something to do with that shit. I’ll be making pickles because cucumbers are trying to take over my house. I swear it. One entire side of my sink is full of cucumbers. Anyone have any good pickle recipes?

Fuck, I’m pathetic. Maybe I’ll start a band. Band names anyone? Dirty Zucchini? Fornicating Dragonflies? There was something about kittens yesterday that I was yelling at Patrick but I’ve already forgotten it. Dastardly Kittens? I don’t remember.

That drink was called a Sugar Reef and it was dark rum, pineapple juice, orange juice and grenadine and I want it in my mouth hole right now. The Sugar Reef and I were BFFs by about Wednesday. Then there was something purple that tasted like grape kool-aid and I loved it very much but then randomly I would have one with a shot of Jagarmeister in it and all hell would break loose. It was like playing alcoholic roulette. Usually I won but sometimes I lost and hot damn it was ugly. I kid. I held my shit together. Go me.

Tell me a story.

I don’t know why writing here has become so difficult for me. I’m not sure why, every time I open up a blank Word document I find myself staring, typing and deleting over and over. There is not a lack of things “going on”. I’m full of stories.

We got a new boat. A wonderful, beautiful boat. It was as close to an impulse buy as something that you have to go to the bank and take out a loan to purchase can possibly be. One day we were wading in the pool wishing we were out on the lake but because I didn’t like the boat we had (yes, I’m THAT spoiled) I didn’t like to go out on the lake and the next day we were driving to Norris to look at a new boat.

Hello new boat.

Guess who won’t be able to enjoy the new boat?

This sweet angel…

Why, you ask? Well. She tore her ACL last week. And has to have surgery. Followed by rehabilitation. Which apparently does NOT involve taking flying leaps off of boats into the lake. (Sadly… this is the only thing she knows how to do on a boat.)

So yes, our dog is having surgery. Which some people may think is crazy but guess what? I’m a crazy animal lady with no kids and a Punk Ass Uterus.

Speaking of said uterus (isn’t this fun? The way it just rambles and rambles as though I’m trying to make a point or talk about something and then it doesn’t ever happen? Kind of like watching “The English Patient” in that you know something COULD happen, it just never does and you really have to pee and honestly? Would you miss all that much if you just snuck out to use the bathroom and maybe get some Milk Duds?) it is still decidedly VACANT.

And from there, I really don’t even know what to tell you. Perhaps we should investigate my recent and odd craving for all things cheese ravioli related?

I didn’t want to get up this morning. Not that that made this morning any different than every other morning where light and sound have the cojones to intrude upon my personal space before 10:00… but nevertheless… I didn’t want to get up. So I’m sure you can imagine my delight to remember, at 7:30 (the time I am technically supposed to be at work) while I was laying in bed bitching about the general condition of it being morning to my VERY unsympathetic husband, that I had a dentist appointment this morning at 9 thus allowing me ample time to roll around in bed, cuddle puppies and moan about having to get up in the very near future.

(The dentist is a non-issue. I love the feeling of recently polished teeth and I am 31 years old with never a single cavity so I do not dread the dentist. The sentiment would have been different had it been, perhaps, a morning date with the gynecologist.)

Regardless of the extra time allowed to me, I still lazed around in bed for too long and had to jump up in a hurry to get ready and out the door with no makeup (as usual). I scurried out the door feeling like about a 3 on a scale of 1-10. (Mascara and lipstick made it a solid 3.5.)

After the dentist I did a little running around, nothing of great importance, but on the way back to work I ducked into the grocery store because I also had nothing for lunch today. As I was standing at the check-out looking down at my black cotton swing dress and wondering if any of the menagerie of animals at my house could possibly have any fur left given the considerable amount stuck to my clothing, my entire morning changed.

A woman I’d never seen before in my life came up to me and told me I was beautiful and carried myself with sexy confidence.

“But wait!” I wanted to yell. “Do you not see the thousand things wrong with me? My hair is unwashed, my dress is slightly faded (despite my best efforts with Woolite Dark) and covered in animal fur. I haven’t reapplied my lipstick since being at the dentist (actually, I hadn’t even looked to make sure it wasn’t currently hanging out on my left cheek or my right eyelid), I haven’t shaved my legs since Sunday and my shoes are scuffed! Not to mention I could easily stand to lose a good 50 pounds and my nail polish is chipped! I’m tired, I’m waiting to see if I’m pregnant and I have a sneaking suspicion that my underwear is on inside out. How can you not see what a complete and utter train wreck I am?”

Instead, somehow I managed to blush and stammer “thank you” to this gorgeous woman who looked like she just stepped off the pages of a magazine. She was dressed in casual jewel tones that accented her flawless black skin, her accessories was magnificent and she was rocking a hat that I could only wear in my wildest dreams.

As she flashed me a killer smile and went about her shopping, I realized that this woman has got it all figured out. This woman knows what life is about. She has a mission and she is making this world a better place one person at a time, whether she knows it or not.

Far too often, be it a gossip magazine, a fashion magazine or whatever random entertainment show happens to be on, we focus on flaws and tear each other down. We find the little things wrongs with each person and compare ourselves saying “Well at least I don’t have her hips, or those thighs. At least I’m not blind enough to wear those shoes with that dress.” We think it makes us feel better by comparison. And I’m just as guilty, if not more, than the next girl. I love a good snarky comment and chances are, that’s not going to disappear any time soon.

But there is no amount of criticism and judgment that I could make to another person that could ever make me feel as good as the five seconds that a stranger took out of her day to tell me something nice. She didn’t see all the flaws that I can’t see around when I look in the mirror. She doesn’t have the memory of a pair of size 4 wardrobe floating around in the back of her mind.

And so in appreciation of her, I challenge everyone to pay a compliment to a stranger today. Or every day if you want. Speak up. It may not seem like much but I promise you that you will change someone’s day. Maybe even your own…

Dear Santa,

As you know, I’ve never been one for practical gifts. Yes, I did say (famously at least in my family) that any sort of appliance ever given as a gift was grounds for immediate divorce and even at the tender age of 12, I tried to warn my father that hiding those diamond earrings he got mom for her birthday in an electric can opener wasn’t his most inspired plan.

So it should come as a great surprise that I’m asking you for something so practical and useful this year. However, just between you and me, I think it’s attention-getting properties and absolute bizarreness fully balance that out and I will argue ANYONE (I’m looking at YOU, Patrick) who tries to tell me that I am, in fact, asking for something not 100% frivolous.

Allergy season is rough. A girl needs to be constantly vigilant that repeated nose-blowing hasn’t left her with a bit of Kleenex, or even worse, a hanger around the rim. There is nothing worse. In addition to that, there is the social minefield of something stuck in your teeth. Oh sure, if you flat out ASK someone, they’ll tell you but it’s still one of those gray areas, you know? I mean… what’s your policy with the elves? Do they tell you if you have some spinach or a pork chop hiding in that beard?

Not to mention the whole chin-hair PCOS debacle. Yes, I currently have no less than 15 pairs of strategically placed tweezers and a regular waxing appointment to deal with that problem but there are errant hairs! They plague my existence and mock my otherwise smooth chin!

In looking at all of these problems, it suddenly became crystal clear to me that I was in dire need of a little help. (Of the non-psychiatric variety thank you very much.) So if you could find it in your heart to bring me an extra eyeball for my ring finger much like the one here

I sure would appreciate it. I feel like that little lady (who I would fondly call Norma) would have my back. There would be no awkwardness about spinach or pepper or boogers or hairs. Norma and I, we would have an understanding… one that clearly stated “YOU ALWAYS TELL.”

So thanks Santa. Norma is just what I need. But remember, if anyone asks… she also SPARKLES!!

Love and kittens,
P’Chef

** Eye Ring found at Craftastrophe.net **

As evidenced by my waistline, I’m not really a picky eater. I’m fairly brave and I’ll try just about anything as long as it isn’t in possession of a head when it hits my plate. Except for olives. I don’t know, maybe they are my kryptonite. Mainly the black ones but I stay away from the green ones too… just to be safe.

And pears. I hate pears. Oh. And turnips and beets.

But there is one area where I have a very strong opinion and that is that things should not take on the flavors of things to which they are not at all related. I know… how ambiguous, right? Well up until this morning this rule applied to one main thing. A “food” item that I have seen in two forms and being in its mere vicinity has never failed to send cold chills up my spine.

That item is the buttered popcorn flavored candy. Jelly beans? Good. Buttered Popcorn? Good. Buttered popcorn flavored jelly beans? Sweet jesus, no. The same goes for those dum-dum lollipops of the same nature. I’ve got no use for you and your identity-crisis-having non-sweet candy.

Then this morning I met a new enemy. But this one was is disguise because on the surface it snuck past me. Even though it was clearly a something masquerading as a something else and thus fit well within the parameters of the aforementioned qualification (that made me feel all lawyerly… did I mention that last night I dreamt I was a microbiologist… that doesn’t relate other than just me being something that I’m not…). It was the “Cinnamon Roll” flavored yogurt. Yogurt is sweet, right? As are cinnamon rolls. I figured it was going to be something along the lines of vanilla yogurt with one of those yummy swirls of cinnamon-y goo.

I was wrong. The evil demons at Yoplait attempted to make a pastry flavored yogurt base and it went very, very badly. And there wasn’t a stitch of cinnamon goo to be had ANYWHERE. So back to the original rule. Unless you are cake batter flavored ice cream from Coldstone Creamery you need to just stick to what nature intended you to be.

Am I alone on this one? Does anyone else have a food kryptonite or a rule like this? Or have you come across anything that fits the bill? Just me? Okay then…