Archive for the 'My Wicked Ways' Category

Published by PaintingChef on 12 Mar 2008

And all without one single shred of photographic evidence.

Hello friends. Ah… Vegas. There are so many potential ways to break this down to you. Let’s explore a few, shall we?

The Good: This afternoon. The spa. Facial, massage, manicure, pedicure, oh my. Las Vegas spas are… not cheap. Make no mistake about it, for what I spent today I should have been able to make my Manolos AND my Jimmy Choos each a little less lonely. But son of a bitch do I ever glow.

The Bad: You mean other than Patrick’s face when he realizes what I’ve spent and that I have (in his opinion) not ONE. TANGIBLE. THING. To show for it? Probably the fact that it is Wednesday afternoon and not once has my camera been unpacked. I am ashamed. And embarrassed. And all those appropriate things. But in lieu of pretty pictures, can I tell you how lovely I look?

The Ugly: One word… blackjack. Hey, here’s a good piece of advice. If you ever see me and my husband walking up to your blackjack table allow me to make a few suggestions. You could run. Far away. And if you don’t want to do that then just go ahead and wrap a nice pretty red bow around all your chips and hand them to the dealer. Or set them on fire. Maybe you could swallow them? As a pair, we are a pariah and a pox on gamblers and there is probably a long list of people I should apologize to but unless they wrote their names at the bottom of my vodka tonics? I didn’t get them…

The Good: Cirque du Soleil. Holy cats people. There are seriously no words. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life.

The Bad: The very close call I had with a wardrobe malfunction. Yes, I wore the dress that created scandalous cleavage to the MGM Grand. But somehow I got twisted just right in my seat when I sat down and things got… precarious. But I was on an AISLE! And these warrior people with their tattoo bodysuits and their bows and arrows kept running past me. I wasn’t about to get in their way. Thank goodness for my fear of a cool evening. Never has a wrap ever been so damn useful.

The Ugly: After the incredible amazingness that was Cirque du Soleil with all the swinging and the jumping and the very bendy people, what was Patrick the most impressed with and interested in? The hydraulics that ran the stage. Damn engineers. Why does that irritate me so much?

The Good: Oh so much food and alcohol. Am constantly stuffed and slightly drunk.

The Bad: See above.

The Ugly: See above, add gambling, mix well and serve on the rocks.

And on Friday? I shall hunt down Bobby Flay.

Published by PaintingChef on 21 Jun 2007

The Real World, Vacation Bible School, and a few drug references to round things out… must be Thursday.

I’m sort of a “hold on a just a minute” kind of girl. I am not, nor have I EVER been, the kind of person who can just jump from one thing to another without a bit of preparation. There is nowhere this is more evident in my daily life than when I am either going to sleep or getting up in the morning.

In the evenings I require a bit of a “wind down” even if all I’m winding down from is curling up with Patrick on the couch or maybe whipping his ass mercilessly in a game of skill or chance. In my past life, this winding down consisted of a little pot and reruns of “The Real World” but I now find myself maybe too old for either of those so I’ve had to replace them. (Although just a side note… have you seen this? The Real World Las Vegas: Reunited? Is anyone else troubled that those kids all look EXACTLY the same? Nobody has aged.)

Before the cathartic duo of pot and Puck I used to read myself to sleep every night. But because of my odd reading position, this doesn’t lend itself to the marital bed as Patrick has no desire to shoehorn himself into one corner of our king sized bed while I stretch out on my stomach diagonally across the bed propped up on all our pillows (yes… I know… your back is hurting just thinking about it… I’m 5’11” and sit perfectly straight and 6 inches from the steering wheel when I drive too… wanna make something of it?)

However it is the mornings where this whole “preparing to transition” thing can get me in trouble. The phrase “rise and shine” only reminds me of my hatred of vacation bible school and reaffirms my promise to my fruitless womb to never subject any future offspring to that horror. The closest I ever came to “rise and shine” was during the aforementioned marijuana years when we would “wake and bake”.

Take this fine morning for example…

After forcing myself to turn off “Ready to Wear” a few minutes past 11 last night I proceeded to cough and hack and teeter on the edge of overdosing on cough syrup for another hour before finally falling asleep. So I’m sure you can imagine that when the alarm went off this morning at 6:45 there were no pleasant words crossing my lips. (I function much better on a full 12 hours of sleep but that leaves no time for Brandon Walsh. Or cake.)

A full three snoozes and two dreams that I was already up out of bed and getting ready for work (I should have been suspicious when Diane Sawyer was reporting the news dressed as The Cat in the Hat) I finally hauled myself out of bed, got ready, left the house, and managed to cover my lateness by offering to bring breakfast… (which is a great trick, you should totally try it).

The point is (point? when do I EVER have a point…) I don’t understand these “morning people”. Are you a morning person? What is WRONG with you? Why are you like that?

Published by PaintingChef on 19 Apr 2007

A rambling mess that will surely piss off someone. Also? How to clean the top of your fridge.

While I have no qualms writing about my own parents I generally refrain from mentioning my in-laws. This is for a few reasons. One being that while he doesn’t read it with any regularity, Patrick DOES read this website and those are his parents I am talking about. It’s no secret between he and I that the relationship is strained at best and that we rarely see eye to eye on… anything. But that’s no reason he needs to read about it on the internet. Another reason would be that while I don’t expect his parents to stumble across this website, it could happen. I stand firm in that if I won’t say it to your face, you won’t read it here but the shock of finding yourself mentioned on your son’s wife’s website could prompt what I imagine would be an uncomfortable phone conversation. Much as would her fondness for the word “fuck” and all its various uses…

But I am breaking that rule because this has been on my mind all week.

In what will probably become one of the biggest mistakes of my life, my mother-in-law and I had a rather frank discussion about religion (and life in general) this past weekend prompted by her asking me why we had not yet found a church. I’m quite certain alcohol had to be involved otherwise I would have NEVER stepped a single foot onto this minefield with her. My in-laws are the people who go to church every Sunday morning, sit, stand, pray, sing and then go home. Fine. Whatever helps you sleep at night. I attempted to very rationally explain to her my frustration with the religious “environment” in our area and how sad the general attitude makes me but from our conversation I was left with the distinct impression that I am somehow viewed as… less… because I have no interest in just going through the motions like I think they do.

I have no doubt that I am a good person although when held next to Patrick’s, my halo is somewhat tarnished and crooked. I maintain that this gives it character. But this conversation was re-visited later while we were out running around and my mother-in-law expressed her distaste for this small magnet I have on my car…


We once again ventured into the area of the general attitude of the churches we’ve visited in this area and why you couldn’t pay me enough to raise my child(ren) around that kind of hypocrisy. Bearing in mind, we live in Augusta, GA and so far, it’s been my experience that I don’t care what word they slap on the sign it’s one big giant Baptist church. She questioned how in the world I could put a Muslim symbol on my car after what “they” had done to our country. But my feeling is this. Those extremists are no more accurately representing the god they claim to worship than “Christians” who bomb abortion clinics and kill the doctors who perform the procedures all the while believing they are serving their god and that theirs is the only way.

I, on the other hand, want to teach my children to learn about everything and everyone. To find their own truth and to make an educated decision based on their own heart. And for my part in this I will do everyhting I can to raise them to be good and kind people. To accept every idea and to hunger for knowledge. But the decision will be theirs and it will come from their experiences and beliefs, not mine.

This, naturally, led to an uncomfortable silence until I said “Look! Shoes!” and bought some adorable four inch platform wedges with embroidery all down the sides. I was quite excited to wear them yesterday until I busted my ass while brushing my teeth. I ended up wearing flats instead. The shoes did have one huge benefit though. When I was standing in front of the fridge that morning I was able to see just how much dust accumulates on the top. Thanks new shoes.

Other things my mother-in-law and I disagreed on? That I will feel old in 6 months when I turn 30 (she thinks that is ridiculous) and antique stores are creepy because they are full of dead people’s furniture (a principle on which I stand firmly.)

So. To recap. No to church in the south. Yes to cleaning the house in 4 inch heels. No to sleeping in a hundred year old bed.

Published by PaintingChef on 12 Apr 2007

Apparently I’m just a lush with a trademarking fetish.

Our Ridiculously Large and Out Of Control Deck Project ™ is on the verge of springing into stage eleventy seven hundred with the coming addition of a screened in porch. Now the walls of said porch are already built so presently we have a bit of a Stonehenge Situation ™ going on out back. But as I have pointed out to Patrick, a screened in porch really is a necessity in Augusta. For at least two reasons…

Reason the first? The mosquitoes here try to kill me with the West Nile Virus on a daily basis. Aside from which when I have seventy-four mosquito bites on my left leg, the mere act of shaving puts me at risk of needing a blood transfusion. And nobody needs that.

Reason the second? We live in Augusta. This means that between the months of June and September, I don’t go outside unless it’s to run from one air-conditioned place to another. Make no mistake, I do love being outside but when the weather channel tells me that it is 101 degrees with 90% humidity nothing short of a huge sign in my front yard shouting FREE DESIGNER SHOES! WITH WINE! AND CHOCOLATE! SERVED BY GEORGE CLOONEY! SHIRTLESS! would get me out there. But a screened in porch with a fan and shades and closer proximity to really cold tequila will go a long way towards making me a bit more of a summertime nature lover.

The last massive building push of the Ridiculously Large and Out Of Control Deck Project ™ involved a weekend wherein both my parents and Patrick’s parents came to our house at the same time and a love fest most assuredly did NOT ensue. I did, however, require massive amounts of grape-based sedation so that was kind of fun for everyone. And by everyone, of course, I mean me. And perhaps my dad who always laughs at drunk people as long as they keep their inner monologues in check. And my sister. Whom I would drunkenly call in the evening and she would laugh at me for being bone-headed enough to be in the situation to begin with.

It was unanimously agreed upon by all parties that this was a really bad idea and probably shouldn’t ever happen again. So Patrick and I have tried a new approach. A new approach that begins this evening. When his parents show up to help us put a roof on our Stonehenge Situation ™. At which point I will probably start drinking heavily. And did I mention the best part of this whole state of affairs? Patrick threw his back out yesterday. Loading shingles into his truck. So he can barely move.

For the record… this is a Stonehenge Situation ™.

A Stonehenge Situation (TM)

Published by PaintingChef on 30 Mar 2007

When good plans go bad.

I was in the shower this morning, having the conversation with myself that I normally do at that time of the day (when nothing remarkable or funny has happened the day before and Patrick hasn’t even told me how difficult and crazy I am) and wondering what in the holy hell I am going to write about today when a brilliant plan hit me! I’ll RECYCLE! It’s almost Masters and I have that one funny list about the Masters that is like 2 years old. Maybe I’ll even give it a funny title about how Al Gore would be so proud.

So I go about the rest of my morning with an extra little bounce in my step because the blog! She is covered! I am so thrilled I even put on my mascara before I leave the house. Such productivity is unprecedented. But as I sat down to track down that post from so long ago I was in for a rude awakening…

I’ve already done this. Less than a year ago. And I apparently blamed “Beach-Brain” (which was quite true, after reading about my beach-brain experience I do remember that drunken evening quite clearly. Or rather… I remember the next morning quite clearly…) So I guess if you would like to re-re-read why I detest Masters Week in Augusta, you may follow that link.

For the rest of you I have only this to say. I love you all. For your crazy is fabulous and has prompted me to share more crazy of my own with you. The crazy I held back. Although for the record, I found myself identifying with many of your crazies as well. The penny thing? Check. Knocking on wood? Check. Umbrellas? Check.

Also? I hold my breath and crack my window when crossing bridges that are over (troubled) water (and now you are humming Simon and Garfunkel… you are welcome).

Also the second? When I change lanes while driving, I find that if I drive over those little bumpy reflector thingies on the ground with one half of my tires I must hit them with the other half as well. If I do NOT then the next time I change lanes I must even the score and only drive over them with the side that I missed them with on the first pass. I have found that I really prefer driving on roads that don’t have reflector bumpy thingies on them.

Now go forth and embrace your crazy. The internet said so.

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