Archive for the 'drunk blogging.' Category

Published by PaintingChef on 14 Mar 2008

Sometimes the wisest choices come from the strangest places.

I’m sitting in my hotel room. It is exactly 12:04 am in Las Vegas. Patrick handed me a one hundred dollar bill and told me that it was my call. But since I had spilled red wine on my FABULOUS white blouse at dinner I insisted on first coming upstairs and changing into what I told him was a “gambling outfit.”

Let’s just say that at this moment in time I’m in my hotel room in my underwear and I’ve just googled “blackjack strategies.”

Have I mentioned the return of drunk blogging?

And by now I’m trying to talk myself out of just putting on my pajamas, washing my face and climbing into bed. I’m tired. I’m slightly drunk. And I kind of suck at gambling. So I really and truly do want to just climb under the covers. The truth is that the only way to win is to not play in the first place. But the atmosphere down there… it’s so fun and festive! And for some unknown reason I imagine that I could still be good at it. This is ridiculous, I know. I have lost almost $400 this week. And Patrick still has no clue about the Bellagio Spa bill. That one will only be remedied with sexual favors.


So I think I may have talked myself out of it. Sleep sounds so much better. But just so we can all be clear about something… I’m not making this choice out of maturity or intelligence.

I’m just too damn lazy to put a bra back on.

Published by PaintingChef on 07 Mar 2008

Oh please. No cutsie title. Am drunk. This shit is all over the place. Who wants cake? You know… before you notice me bringing up politics….

Hello friends. Tis’ drunk me (moi). I am hanging out at the dining room table while Patrick watches “The 300” on HBO. Or maybe Cinemax. I get the two confused now that we get them both. But I’ve never known anything about Cinemax other than to call it “Skinemax”. And that’s the truth yo. I’ve accidentally watched p-rn on more than one occasion. But seriously… that is a VIOLENT movie. I did kind of want Showtime because I totally wanted to watch “Weeds” and “The Tudors” because Jonathan Ryhs-Myers… LOVE!!! But no. Just Cinemax. With the p-rn and the re-run movies. Yawn.

Anyway…. drrrruuuuunk with all the drinky drinky wine and the work functions. Which… yes. Means I was drunk with daddy. I love you internets… there are no secrets among us. And while we are being honest, I am so very sad about the lack of CAKE in this house. There was CAKE yesterday. But today? Sadly? There is only the Starbucks cookie that I forced Patrick to stop on the way home to buy me.

But honestly? I only begged (which is what I type when I say I really should say “made” or “used force to get”) him to stop so that I could show him that the dirty hippie water he bought me ages ago was a MISTAKE and that if he were to only say VENTI! SHAKEN! PASSION! TEA! SWEETENED! that things would turn out loverly.

But I digress. From a non-existent point. (Seriously. if you even knew the backspaces involved in this entry you would give me a medal because if I weren’t paying attention it would be all srrriousslkky… ig yooor eben knew…) and I would expect you to know what I meant.

Did anyone ever pass you that note in middle school that just used the first and last letters of a word and somehow? You knew what it was saying? And you were all… Wow! I’m SMART! I should be all in the FBI and shit!

Because when we are that age, we think that we will be the ones who make it. We are still untouched enough to think that we will be the next president or whatever. We think that in this day and age, people won’t go all the way back to that boy we let go “up our shirt” in eighth grade or that those 4 “demerits” we got in one terrible, horrible, no good day won’t make a difference.

But let’s be honest. If Barack Obama had broken some girl’s heart between English and Social Studies or if Hillary Clinton (seriously… the backspaces… I’ve hit enough keys to make this three times as long as it is) had let that one boy in study hall look down her shirt… we would TOTALLY know about it (and we won’t mention John McCain as he already had his AARP card when those two were sliding down the birth canal). Because that shit gets. out. We hear about it. You have to know from like the third grade… when we are all still pure. You have to know that you are headed for something great.

Although… I don’t know. Wouldn’t we rather have someone in charge who has “Been There”? Wouldn’t we like a commander in chief who is both trustworthy on the international stage but who also? You feel like might get it when you are all like… HE. DIDN’T. CALL. Maybe that’s just me. But I think I want the real person. The one who is just meant to be there. Regardless of what they’ve done or haven’t done. (Oh fuck… how did this become about politics… I figure if you let me ramble enough it will either get back to politics or 90210 or both is a twisted sort of way… although I DO wonder whether the candidates are Kelly Taylor or Brenda Walsh people and I won’t lie… that matters… because HELLO! I AM SHALLOW! AND RELATE EVERYTHING TO 90210! IT IS MY GREATEST GIFT! end caps here….)

Whatever. Love Obama. Am sleepy. Hugs and kisses my pets.

(And SERIOUSLY… “The 300” is a FUCKED. UP. MOVIE. I’m a little worried about the nightmares ya’ll)

Send cake.

Published by PaintingChef on 23 Dec 2007

Oh holy hell. I’m drunk blogging again… (Also? Merry Christmas if I don’t manage to make it back here before then…)

Here’s a question… at what point do you realize you are a grow-up? Is it when your mother asks you opinion on an outfit? Or a social situation? (and actually takes interest in how you respond?) Or is it when you spend all day with your mom? Preparing for a party. At the house you grew up in. That you could maybe sneak out of without a second thought but aren’t sure where the best place is to put coats because when YOUR friends were all over for “dinner” the most important detail was that they all had seats for when the bong made it’s rounds? And you know that there will people there ranging from your high school best friend and your college drug buddy who you somehow figured out was actually a really awesome person AND mother to the single longest lasting friendship in your life to your cousin and your mom’s best friend? Oh. Yeah. That’s where I fall. I spent all day with my mom and my sister cooking 1,247 gallons of chicken chili and had no clue that by then end of the night I would be the one upstairs in my pajamas before midnight.

Hi. That’s me. You know. The one talking about changes for the last month but until this exact moment she was unable to express just what they meant?

Oh good. We’ve all met…

(For the record and in the true spirit of honesty and full disclosure… here is me and the aforementioned mother… isn’t she a hottie? And me a nottie? But two thumbs up for Kohl’s and the twelve dollar sweater…)

I’m just wondering. Because I’ve asked not too long ago and hardly anybody answered. (You know. Because I’m far too navel gazing and uninteresting lately.) What is it, EXACTLY, that makes you an adult? I’ve wondered this more than once…

Is it a specific moment? That certain spot in time where you decide that this in MY life (not to get too Billy Joel on you) and that someone else’s rules be damned? Or is it maybe a brief second of your life? A split second when you accidentally realize that your decisions are your own? Where suddenly it occurs to you that you are responsible for your own shit? That maybe there isn’t anyone to bail you out, call in sick for you or hold your hair back? Because they are all sitting happily outside a fire finishing that last bottle wine? The one you would be happily involved in had you not decided that maybe you would rather not be a ghost in the morning? Or maybe because you knew that your husband had been fighting off a cold all week and perhaps his infirmity is an AWESOME excuse to pack it in before midnight? Because THAT?

THAT is the definition of grown-up in my book…

And besides… chocolate brownies TOTALLY taste better when you eat them in bed.

So I will, once again, ask the VERY few of you who are still out there… when did you realize you were an adult?

(Because that is my drunken question. And once again… am DRUNK. BLOGGING.) Really. You would have thought that the internet, in it’s infinite wisdom, would have figured out a way to keep me from commandeering the wine AND the keyboard simultaneously…

(Also… unemployed and homeless? Did I mention that one?)

Published by PaintingChef on 08 Dec 2007

ATTENTION: This blog momentarily overtaken by my consumption of alcohol. And spellcheck… thank god.

Hello internet. It’s sort of that awkward, “I haven’t returned your phone calls in a while because I love caller ID” sort of feeling, isn’t it? (And can I just say that it took me like four minutes to type that? Welcome to drunk blgging 101… who leaves the ‘o’ out of blogging?)


Loooooooove drinking. Am one with the alcohol. Can very nearly focus on the screen of the laptop as I type this and am CERTAINLY not doing this to prevent massive onslaught of nausea that I know will follow. Also? Loooooooove spell check. And did NOT just type ‘spell’ and ‘slepp’. Oops.

Internet. I love you. And I haven’t been sure what to tell you recently. I even have an unfinished post about “quality versus quantity” that I just kind of looked at and said “bullshit… you’re just looking for an excuse to not post so much”.

But whatever. Moving on. (Should I tell you that I have this blown up to 150% in Microsoft word so that I can focus on it?)

I was thinking that I was going to tell you about the difference in being young and dumb and being… well… 30. Because other than my birthday, this is the first time I’ve been drunk in my 30s and suddenly… things are different.

I came home and washed my face. No, I couldn’t focus on the washcloth. But details… I washed my motherfucking face. And my teeth. Teeth are clean too. And I am talking to you instead of lying in bed and getting sick. Hi. Let’s catch up. (okay… let’s be honest… I took off my “work party” eye makeup. I didn’t really wash my face. I just took of the layer of eyeliner that is normally not there…)

And my teeth. I even brushed my teeth. Because I am realizing that Arm & Hammer toothpaste doesn’t exactly taste good.


Whatever. For a second that made me feel grown up. Until I realized that I’m a tool. I’ve been at my work Christmas party. Am drunk. (no, really? SHOCKER.)

(Here… if you are an art person, watch this. It’s a little unsettling. I haven’t watched the whole thing because it kind of made me a little… you know… that drunken blurriness.)

Okay. Am drunk. Drunk, drunk, drunk. House inspector will probably be here at 9am tomorrow morning. Hopefully I will be upright at that time. Can’t be in bed. Did I mention that I snore? No. Seriously. REALLY, REALLY snore.

Maybe there is something good on TV? Good night internet. I love you. Also, I think I was going to ask you something… Maybe… what is it that makes you realize you are grown up? For me it is washing my face and brushing my teeth in a drunken state that would normally render me in the fetal position on my bed or perhaps a bathroom floor somewhere. But now? Not so much. Am clean of face and tooth and doing my level best not to hurl.


Are you grown up? Prove it….