Archive for July, 2011

Published by PaintingChef on 22 Jul 2011

How a television sent me to Lowe’s at 9:00 at night after my husband almost (understandably) killed me. And other bedtime stories.

The television needed dusting. We were in the middle of the Great Technology Migration of 2011 as our circa 1998 bedroom television was finally giving up and so we were moving the 2003 model from the living room into the bedroom and we FINALLY bought a nice, new, big, shiny LCD model for the living room. Never mind that said nice, new, shiny, flat model was roughly 6 inches (okay, fine, 8 inches) wider than the actual opening in our gorgeous built-in entertainment center. Patrick SWEARS he can fix it and as my sister reassured me, “It’s Patrick. He’ll do a good job. Chill the fuck out and just go get a pedicure or something while he’s cutting and sawing and painting and shoehorning… it’ll be better for EVERYONE if you aren’t there.” My sister is a rocket scientist and that’s pretty damn close to a doctor so I’m going to get a doctor-ordered pedicure.

The end.

Not really.

Also there was need for some sort of technical gobbeldy gook that I didn’t understand or care about but Patrick was all HD! GOOD PICTURE! BIG SCREEN! FOOTBALL SEASON! and I was all DYLAN MCKAY IN HI-DEF OKAY FINE I’M IN! and so we had to do a little moving around of things and switching TVs and other such mess that was just heavy and really, really dusty and I was a little afraid of losing a cat behind the bedroom entertainment center forever plus I also had to move my shoes so I was kind of annoyed.

And breathe.

The stone-age television was in the “purple room” which is what we call the third bedroom in our house as it has purple walls and also many, many chairs and also some boxes and is where things go to age for a year or so before we finally get around to throwing them away. (And the boxes we haven’t unpacked since we moved in. In 2008. But I refuse to throw them away because somewhere in one of those boxes is a really cute pink summery purse and I miss that purse but not enough to go digging for it. Also now that I think about I’m also missing a really cute black handmade purse from an antique shop) The second television was in our bedroom waiting to have all twelve thousand pounds of it hoisted into the bedroom entertainment center when Patrick decided it needed to be dusted first. (The giant ass new and shiny and pretty and secretly purple (I WIN! I WIN!) television was still in a box as it is too fragile to be breathed on by human mouths.)

And then shit went very, very, very horribly wrong.

“Where’s the pledge? I need to dust this television”

“Under the sink where it always is.”

“Hey Susannah? Have you noticed that there is a puddle of water under the sink?”

“Um… no? That’s where the cleaning stuff lives and I don’t clean, remember?”

“Yeah. Right. How could I forget? Well there is a puddle of water under here and something is leaking and this is very bad and I’m pretty sure that our sink is about to fall through the countertop because the underneath of the countertop is waterlogged from whatever is leaking.”

“Huh. Bet that wouldn’t happen to a granite countertop, would it?”

“Laser eye death stare and various offensive and very deserved hand gestures”

“So… what now?”

“Now I turn off the water to the sink and we fix this mess.”

“So… no water? For how long? Do we get a new sink? I don’t want another white one, they suck. Are we going to replace the countertops? I’d really like granite. Or quartz. We get a new faucet with the new sink, right? I can get rid of that pointless soap dispenser? Hey… do you think we can just make that whole section of the countertop bigger? You know we’re having people over for dinner on Sunday, right? SO this is going to need to be done by then, right?”

“If you don’t shut up right now, I’m probably going to perform the most justifiable homicide that ever was and ever will be.”

“Hey… don’t forget that this TV is sitting in the middle of the bedroom.”

I did not get a new sink. I did not get a new countertop. Patrick is quite certain that he can fix this and it will be fine until we can actually purchase new countertops. I did, however, get a new faucet as apparently the old one was what caused all the damage in the first place. The new faucet is in a box on the dining room table and there is still no water in the kitchen. Patrick has, however, refrained from killing me and he totally sprang for Zaxby’s for dinner once we walked out of Lowe’s at 9:30 last night.

He has also vowed to never dust again. The television is no longer in the middle of the bedroom floor and all the cats are accounted for.

Published by PaintingChef on 18 Jul 2011

Six Months.

I knew I felt different. Better. You’ve heard about it, I’ve told you. But what I think I hadn’t realized was this…

This is really happening to me. It’s a big deal for me to put this up here. We hide ourselves a lot, even online. No matter how much we say “total honesty” and “nothing is sacred” or whatever. The fact was, I was kind of hiding the fat from you. The full extent of it. Because I’d been hiding it from myself. But there it is. And it isn’t me anymore. I’m not there yet, there is still a long way to go. But this is what has happened to me in six months.

My life and my body are mine again.