Archive for August, 2007

Published by PaintingChef on 29 Aug 2007

Next address unknown.

Patrick and I moved to Augusta as newlyweds. We were just learning how to be married and what this whole “till death do us part” mess meant. Obviously, we have since learned that it means that I am always right and if you tell me I’m wrong I may throw a shoe. Or frozen poultry. But if you just wave a little chocolate cake and/or red wine in my general direction I usually calm right down. Its lessons like these that make that whole “parting at death” thing a lot less farther off. Patrick is very interested in long life. Until I make him watch the Saturday morning Aaron Spelling marathon.

But I think that as our leaving Augusta approaches I look back on the first 6 years of our marriage as our “newlywed” period. Childless, hours from all our family. Good god, we could eat chocolate ice cream in bed and do laundry without pants on because there was nobody to tell us it was wrong! I remember so clearly how, during those first few months of marriage, I would wander around our house after Patrick had left for work in the mornings (as I was oh so jobless and in general, a drain on an already precarious financial situation) looking at this place, this place we owned and feeling so very grown up. But also afraid that someone was going to figure me out for the child I really was.

Patrick and I are both very close with our families; we have always been able to turn to our parents for anything, without question. But for a newly married couple, that can sometimes be a hindrance. I don’t doubt that Patrick and I would have ended up married had he not been offered a job 5 hours away and I, in a little New Years scene fueled by my anger at NOT. BEING. PROPOSED. TO. on top of which I poured thirty-seven gallons of tequila, “calmly” and “politely” informed him that I would not be involved in a long distance relationship. I now imagine the scene sounded like a howler monkey. Shaving a cat. Underwater.

Against what I can only assume was his better judgment (and the dumbfounded look my father gave him when he asked for permission) he married me anyway. And that move away from the place we had lived for nearly 25 years became the best thing that ever happened to us. We learned to be a couple, to depend on each other for love, support, entertainment (please refer to job, Susannah not having one). We became each other’s sounding boards, we established our own routines and traditions and we became, for lack of a better word, a team.

From our first date, I knew that I was going to love this man for the rest of my life. But I never fathomed the admiration and respect that I would have for him. I never could have guessed that his adorability and big brown eyes would be secondary to the fact that I never want to go a day without hearing him tell me good morning or sweet dreams. He is my best friend and I have our life in Augusta to thank for that.

No, we aren’t going to be leaving here parents and unless I can suddenly knocked up and give birth in three short weeks, I’m not going to be a mother by the time I’m thirty. A few years ago those two things were unimaginable. Now I just kind of shrug my shoulders and laugh it off. Because as far as life goes, I’ve already won, the zip code seems irrelevant.

Published by PaintingChef on 28 Aug 2007

Maybe just letting the cat’s tail out of the bag.

It has recently been brought to my attention that our house is… cluttered. I’m not sure what it was, exactly, that suddenly made this so clear. It could have been the 2×4 propping up the bar in my closet, or maybe the two long shelves of sweaters crammed tighter than the stick up George Bu$h’s ass. Sweaters. In Augusta. Where it is frequently 70 degrees on Christmas Day. Or maybe, just MAYBE it was the domino effect of various beauty products tumbling to the floor which was set off by some damn cat jumping up on my dresser. Let us not even talk about the kitchen counters please as I will cry a little.

But that said, I have decided, for the first time in… well, EVER, that I will clean out my closet. REALLY clean out my closet. Realistically. By which I mean that all those size four shorts from that summer that I was a size four? Are gone. Because let’s be honest… my size four days are long gone. And even if they were just around the corner, do I really want to hang on to the white jean shorts that I wore in my senior picture? (Although that day should go down in history as my best. hair. day. ever.)

This de-cluttering is spreading like wildfire through out our entire house, which, in the coming months, will be on the market. There. I said it. At least part of it. We’re moving. Patrick and I are taking advantage of a really great opportunity that has been kind of gift wrapped and handed to us. And in the immortal words of Miss Courtney Shane in Jawbreaker… “I’m. Petrified.”

Published by PaintingChef on 24 Aug 2007

The further adventures of bad kitty. Or yet another reason why Patrick and I aren’t ready to be parents.

“I’m really alarmed that our sixty five pound dog is so scared of a four pound kitten. I mean Belle is just standing there letting Lilly eat her dinner.”

“First of all. Belle is scared of EVERYTHING and that little four pound kitten has CLAWS. Secondly… why do you think there is a spray bottle conveniently placed on the counter next to the dog-feeding area? Just blast that little shithead in the face and she’ll scamper off to dry herself and sulk before taking it out my FAVORITE ESPADRILLES*.”

“Hey Susannah?”

“Yes dear?”

“Do you think parenting human babies works the same way?”

“I’d like to think so. Besides… it’s only water. What’s the worst that could happen?”

——–

* Yes. This was yelled at Lilly as I may or may not have given that bottle an extra squirt or two. And no. I have not forgotten the tragic espadrille massacre of 2007. It’s too fresh. I can’t talk about it yet. Perhaps with some therapy. And distance. And wine. And chocolate. And new espadrilles. Obviously.

Published by PaintingChef on 21 Aug 2007

The return of pillow talk.

“Patrick, I need some help.”

“Finally. You know… admitting it is the first step.”

“Shut up. I’m serious. I’ve completely neglected the internet. Because of this huge thing and it’s all I want to talk about but I’m not ready yet.”

“It is rather all consuming. They probably think you’re pregnant. Have you told them you aren’t pregnant?”

“No. I’ve just assured them that you haven’t kicked me to the curb and that neither of us have bird flu.”

(Dear Internet… Hi! Not Pregnant!!)

“I’m sure they’re sleeping easier.”

“Patrick, I’m serious. I need some inspiration.”

“Well, I was that guy who fell of the treadmill at the gym yesterday.”

“Oh yeah, I totally forgot! That’s hysterical. Nothing like that ever happens to me at the gym because it’s completely empty when I’m there and I’m incapable of busting my ass in private.”

“I’m glad you weren’t there. Because you would have laughed at me and then probably busted your own happy ass on that scary elliptical contraption you seem to be so fond of.”

“Maybe we would have appeared to be the diversionary-causing members of a Hollywood Heist Movie team rather than two tubby thirty-somethings who can’t quite seem to keep it vertical on the cardio equipment.”

“Dream big honey.”

“Still. Perhaps I shall elaborate on that?”

“Can you make me look good in the end?”

“Patrick. You were ‘Busting His Ass On The Treadmill Guy.’ I can only do so much. Are we talking giving a kidney to the guy who untangles your broken shoe laces and helps you up or rescuing a kitten from a tree?”

“Look. I got up, recovered, and ran three more miles. I think that’s pretty fucking good.”

“Okay. You win. Good night.”

“Sweet dreams. You freak.”

Published by PaintingChef on 19 Aug 2007

Cutting ourselves off from the world for a minute…

Things to do when your husband accidentally cuts the cable that runs precariously close to the sprinkler system he is trying to fix because you may or may not have threatened to called the Department of Child and Family Services on him for murdering your precious flower garden but instead you all end up being rocketed back to the dark ages of no internet, television OR phone for an entire day and a half because SOMEONE had the money-saving foresight to switch over that whole internet-phone thingy…

Wait… what was I listing again?

Oh fuck it. Open another bottle of wine and shuffle the damn cards again.

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