Archive for September, 2007

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 25 Sep 2007

Memory-induced insomnia

It never fails that as I’m lying in bed trying to go to sleep my mind starts racing. Who cares that I’ve upped my melatonin and Ty!enol PM cocktail and even started taking it earlier to facilitate immediate unconsciousness when my head hits the pillow. The quick descent to la-la-land has never been something I was blessed with.

But what strikes me as most bizarre are the things that pop into my head. Are they worries over current concerns? How are we going to get the house ready to sell? Is anyone going to buy it or are we going to go bankrupt trying to make two mortgage payments? Or even worse to avoid said bankruptcy are we going to have to live with our parents for a few months until our house does sell. (Oh… yes… that was a clue.) What in the hell is wrong with Patrick’s truck this week and can it last until the end of the year so we can sell it and he can have a nice and shiny brand new company vehicle that was just purchased for him last week? (Surprise honey…)

Good lord no. Instead I wonder why I’ve made some of the silly choices that I’ve made over the past 30 (gulp) years. Hey… remember that time in fifth grade when I wrote “Kaley is a slut” on the bathroom wall because she kissed the boy I liked? I shouldn’t have done that. Or what about that time I decided to be in as much denial as he was and try and date a flaming homosexual? Why did I do that? Why didn’t I just adopt him as my shopping buddy immediately? I missed MANY good sales because of denial. That is so very sad. My dating history is something that runs through my head like a bad movie when I’m trying to go to sleep. So much of the “WHAT was I thinking?” Which is ridiculous. Because I am who I am, I’ve done what I’ve done and things worked out just fine. I have a fabulous husband. Am lucky girl.

And then there are the very dark thoughts. What if my mother never forgives me for the horrible things I said and did when I was 16? Sure, I’ve apologized a thousand times over but what if she has a heart as black as mine and just can’t. get. over. it. (Obviously her heart is NOT as black as mine because if you will notice I am still a living and breathing person. Plus she’s just generally kind of sweet and funny. Kindergarten teachers have that way about them.) What if we never become parents? What if we decide that adoption is the way to go and the adoption police dig a little into my wild-child past and just laugh at us? And I’m driven to do something truly awful like snatch a baby. And then my fifteen minutes of fame are spent as the star of some grainy surveillance video splashed across “Good Morning America” every 5 minutes? (Note to everyone on the internet: Would NEVER snatch baby. Please do not feel the need to hide your children from me as I only want to sniff their heads.)

This all bothers me because everything that parades through my head as I’m trying to sleep is so ridiculous. I’m grown. I’m an adult. I’m 30. I eat broccoli voluntarily. And everyone’s lifetime of memories is flooded with silly mistakes. We all screw up. So why can’t my head get over it? Why do they only occur to me when I’m just trying to sleep already? And does this happen to anyone else? What goes through your head when you’re trying to sleep?

Published by PaintingChef on 19 Sep 2007

The attention span of a doorknob. On crack.

Are you oh-so-tired of hearing about moving? And how I haven’t told you where I’m going? Are you begging me to talk about anything other than moving? My god, it’s been months since there has even been whisper of Brenda Walsh, no?

Would you like to hear that it took me and Patrick over an hour to pick out two colors of beige pant for the upstairs bedrooms and bathrooms? Because I pitched a fit in “Large Home Improvement Store of the Blue Variety (as opposed to the orange variety)” screaming about how the boringness made my eyeballs bleed and instead spent the time picking out new bright paint colors for our un-purchased and even un-located new house? (I am planning a very green dining room but I just can’t think of a kitchen color I love more than my bright blue. Any suggestions?)

Or perhaps how one of my best friends just had a baby who is wee and adorable and thanks to “Life Outlook 2.0” didn’t even make me feel like a barren waste of reproductive plumbing when I held him and sniffed his head? (That was nice, by the way).

I know! I can curse the Soap Network for the schedule change but also confess that I’ve developed an addiction to “The O.C.”. No, that is far too embarrassing. Nevermind. (Julie Cooper is the new Brenda Walsh but in a non-age appropriate mom sleeping with a high school boy sort of way). And how I maybe feel a little bad for calling the show the “Bastard Imitation of 90210 Which I Will Never Watch Not Even Under Punishment of Death”. Or that maybe I said the same thing about “Dawson’s Creek” and then may or may not have had a living room full of people crying while watching the last episode of that show?

None of the above?

That’s alright. I forget where I was going with this anyway.

Published by PaintingChef on 18 Sep 2007

Don’t mind me, I’m just figuring stuff out.

I think the hard part of moving has begun. I have had to start to detach from the things I’m involved in and it leaves me with so much guilt. Because this move is happening so much sooner than we had initially thought, I have to back out of a few commitments I had made to the arts groups I work with in Augusta. I’m having such a hard time feeling like I’m letting people down.

It’s a tricky situation, feeling like I’m in this limbo between where we are and where we’re going. We are spinning our wheels in place but with so much to get done before we leave. Just getting the house ready to sell is overwhelming. I look at Patrick and I see the stress in his eyes and his shoulders and I just want to make it all better. And I wonder if maybe we are putting ourselves in this situation needlessly but when I consider the opportunity we have been given I know that the temporary difficulties are worth it.

We are taking a huge step that will give us a secure future. I will be able to see my husband smile when he comes home from work. This, alone, is worth everything we are dealing with right now because I haven’t seen that in years.

But until then, I have to detach myself. I have to let people down. And it’s killing me because I’ve finally found something that I love to do and to be involved with. I feel like I’m making a difference here and I’m nervous about starting all over again.

Published by PaintingChef on 14 Sep 2007

Kleenex Wishes and Sudafed Dreams

Marriage is all about sharing. And giving. Which is why my husband is awesome. Because for my thirtieth birthday, to mark this huge milestone in my life (shut up… it’s a BIG. DEAL. TO. ME. When I turned 20 it was a safe bet that I wouldn’t make it to 30) … he gave me his cold. His nasty, festering, disgusting cold. And he gave it to me. His wife. The woman who has woken up crying “OLD! OLD! I feel OLD!” for the past three days. So far… thirty is NOT fabulous. Thirty is full of mucus and scratchy throats and excessive amounts of Kleenex. Thirty has been spent in a haze of cold medicine. Thanks sweetie. Hey don’t look too closely in your next beer… I may be giving a little of this mucus back.

I tease because I love.

But enough about mucus…

(Shut up you fool. Show us purses! And kittens!)

I’m here for you… although threats of being turned into a matching wallet if one single claw or tooth found its way onto this piece of gorgeous buttery leather may or may not have been made to a certain kitten. I shall neither confirm nor deny…

Birthday wonderfullness

Pictures of the new short-ish blonde hairdo (which was also a birthday present) will appear as soon as my entire head is no longer swollen like a Macy’s Thanksgiving balloon and I rid myself of the constantly red and runny nose. Because right now? NOT. PRETTY.

What I will do is slink home to my couch and cocoon myself inside a blanket after a healthy dose of Thera-flu. Send brownies.

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