Archive for April, 2008

Published by PaintingChef on 27 Apr 2008

What should I expect from a boy who uses Pert Plus?

“So what I’m looking for is something for like parched hair. Or ‘so dry it might be a fire hazard hair.’”

“I’m not seeing anything like that.”

“Well not down THERE you aren’t. That’s the cheap shampoo and conditioner. You need to come up here and stand by me with the good stuff. It’s better because it costs more. And has a funnier name.”

“I cannot tell you how many things I find disturbing about that statement.”

“Look. You agreed to come grocery shopping with me. So buck up and help. I only wash my hair like twice a week so I don’t feel guilty spending thirty bucks on shampoo and conditioner. You came to terms with that a long time ago. Are you going to help me find some or not?”

“How exactly did I come to terms with that?”

“By not saying anything about it.”

“I never knew!”

So not my fault…”

“I’m leaving. I have a sudden need to stand by the beer. And maybe the charcoal.”

“Wait!! Smell this one before you go? Do you think it smells pretty?”

“That’s it woman! We are going to Home Depot next.”

“Oh good… can we look at flowers?”

Published by PaintingChef on 21 Apr 2008

Not to mention you can strap a bunch of them together and sweep off the driveway…

As we all know, I have no kids.

(Yes, thank you Susannah, for that keen grasp of the obvious, may I please return to my daytime television now?)

NO! You most certainly may not! Because this is an open letter to all the mothers out there who feel it necessary to take their pack-o-boys to the grocery store. I understand that you are oh so proud of your wee little boys. I get that your last seventeen babysitters have run screaming from your home after being duct taped to the basketball goal in some sort of strange initiation ritual. So other than sticking the bastards in the deep freeze for an hour or so, you are out of options. And I realize that when you take them all to the grocery store with you that you can essentially park your happy ass at the Starbucks and send them a-running for everything on your list while you inhale your third cheese danish. Fine. Child labor. I get it; it’s why people have kids in the first place. I, personally, cannot wait to teach my two year old to mix the perfect Bloody Mary. It will free up so much more time for shoe shopping. And what are five year olds for if NOT for laundry and vacuuming? Dammit, this is AMERICA! If my child isn’t born asking me “Red or White?” I’m sending her back.

But here’s a thought… the next time you send your ten year old of in search of your 18 pack of Natural Light? (Ice.) How about you refrain from first dressing him in those tennis shoes with the skate wheels. Because I shit you not, if he runs over my foot AGAIN? I’m taking him out. And while he may be more of a punk ass than I am, I assure you… I am bigger, meaner, and much more lethal with the elbow usage. And do you see this package of frozen chicken? Why don’t you ask my husband how dangerous I can be with that particular item?

The sight of your little angel in baggy jeans and a t-shirt hanging past his knees careening past me hauling a very large box of beer you should be ashamed of drinking kind of makes me stabby. And I’m sorry, was that a RAT TAIL that I almost reached out and grabbed him by? While I applaud your industrious use of the child labor that the baby jesus gifted you and your uterus with, could you maybe please take your grocery shopping to Wal-Mart with the rest of your… people? I hear they have a little gang of beer-hefting, skate shoe-wearing rat-tailed children on aisle 735. Just take a hard left once you pass the airplane parts and you should see them right between old toilet planters and NASCAR driver-specific fabric.

*Fine. I’m an asshole. But I have made a conscious decision to do my grocery shopping somewhere that gives me access to a four dollar latte, lamb chops and a wide range of imported cheeses. Skate shoes and rat-tails just aren’t part of the equation. And I wasn’t the ONLY PERSON GIVING YOU DIRTY LOOKS!*

Published by PaintingChef on 21 Apr 2008

And the winner is…

As determined by

Comment number 3! Suzanne! To whom I cannot link because she has no blog!

More later in the terms of a post with actual content. But certainly nothing about the emergency surgery performed on Veronica this weekend as she found herself in great peril. Because I am definitely not the one person in the world who cannot keep a peace lily in decent shape. Good heavens. Nothing about that.

Published by PaintingChef on 16 Apr 2008

And today, for a change, it’s all about YOU!

I heard a rumor from one of my new favorite blogs that today was “Blog Reader Appreciation Day” and so in lieu of showing you pictures of my new kitchen appliances I thought I would pen this little love note to you, my dear internet friends.

When I first started this little project over three (YES! THREE!) years ago, I had no idea where it would go and naturally I assumed that much like three-fourths of the things in my life, it would fall off my radar unfinished. But somehow that didn’t happen and I think that is because of you. Finding out that there were people somewhere, even just a few, that were interested in what I was dealing with… struggles with infertility, learning every day how to be one half of a whole, allowing myself to come to terms with the life I used to lead and reconciling that with who I have become. Throughout my wholly self-indulgent naval-gazing you have encouraged me. Comforted me. Helped me see that being just who am I am perfectly fine.

And I love you so much for it. This little corner of the internet has become so precious to me, as have all of you. This is my outlet, my therapy, my escape. Its one of the places I feel free to be completely honest and I cannot begin to express how grateful I am to each of you for listening.

But I will try… in the form of a little giveaway. Tell me in the comments what your readers mean to you. Or what the blogosphere has given you. Or post a link to your own Blog Reader Appreciation Post. And then I will put everyone’s name into one of Patrick’s non-smelly hats and someone will win a matted and framed P-Chef original photo. Or maybe a painting. I’ll let the winner pick. As I am much too brain-weary to make decision. See? Something else you pretty, pretty people with lovely hair and very thin thighs have done for me… you allow me to be lazy. And I’m not throwing names in the hat until Friday… because that is when the hats are clean. Because we are all too good of friends to mess around with pretending there are non-smelly boy hats around here.

Rock on.

Taken entirely without permission from The Other Mother via Karl

Published by PaintingChef on 14 Apr 2008

My blast from the past.

Sometimes something so random and unexpected happens that the aftershocks can leave you reeling for days. Even as I sit down to write this, I have no idea where it its going or what I’m trying to say. I only know that I was tossing and turning trying to sleep last night, I knew that I would be writing about it this morning.

My past love life is something that doesn’t get much ink here. Mainly because, for the most part, they were all assholes and just flat out don’t matter. And why talk about all the crap when you end up with someone like Patrick? He is the answer to every prayer I ever uttered and washed away every doubt I ever had on all those nights when I would cry myself to sleep when I thought I was unworthy of love. In the immortal words of Metallica… Nothing else matters. I have everything I’ve ever wanted.

Recently I was contacted by one of those boys from my past; the only one, as luck would have it, to whom I bear no ill will (as I am a cold-hearted, grudge-bearing, mean and nasty bitch). The Irish boy was my first boyfriend. We first dated when I was only a sophomore in high school and he was a senior. Naturally, I thought I was the coolest thing since Shrinky-Dinks. I was, if you can even believe it, somewhat… innocent at the time. I hadn’t yet begun my downward spiral and my parents didn’t hate me any more than you would a normal 14 year old girl.

It was kind of an idyllic high school relationship. He (although he seems to not recall this) was kind, considerate and attentive. But as every person who has a self-destructive idiot hiding inside them does, I broke up with him that summer when something that I perceived as more exciting came along.

We went our own ways and made our own journeys to lead lives that, I have recently come to learn, had shocking similarities and I’m surprised to find that it took us so long to cross paths. But when I was 20 or 21, those paths did eventually cross and as hard as I try to remember how, the circumstances escape me. For a couple of weeks we tried again to date but we were both looking for things that the other couldn’t give and so we just… gave up and headed back to our individual paths of self-destruction and self-loathing.

I have recently found out that he is married and has a little girl. (Karma, as he now knows, is a bitch) And that after many years of being angry and searching desperately for something he couldn’t identify, he sounds… not yet happy but much closer. Like me, he found art to be an outlet for the things that made it too loud inside his head. Unlike me, he was more honest about where they were coming from.

But he wrote to me about his fight back from the brink with such honesty and rawness that I found myself shaking as I read it. He told me about what should have been the last week of his life; how fortunate he was to have his wife, who he credits with keeping him from falling over the edge. And I could tell that it was going to be alright. He was going to make it.

We both are.

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