Honestly I am seriously considering selling these two to Disney...
The Chef & I are no angels. Our wings were severed off a long time ago and there is definitely not a halo floating over our virgin white skin. The only innocence that we have is that of our children. And last week after my dirty thirty, we decided to take steps (baby steps mind you) to protect that innocence. We pulled out the team card and decided that for the sake of Catcher & Louisiana we need to get our shit together. As in our health. For the past two years we have put ourselves out there for our restaurant. We have given it our life, our time, our sanity. And now we have realized that we are also giving it our health. These past two years have brought up some of our old vices, mainly the fags and the hooch. For those not familiar, cigarettes and alcohol. America's favorite diet.
The Chef quit smoking on my birthday, June 8th. I quit on the 6th anniversary of my grandma's death, June 11th. We both cheated on June 13th at the Wolfgang Puck after party at Lola. Symon's a hard guy not to bum smokes from. And considering the Chef left my ass while he gallivanted off with Jonathan Waxman and Joey Campanaro I had no other choice but to smoke cigs in the back with the Iron Chef.
Neither of us have touched a smokey smoke since then and we are both ok. Sort of. I may be a teensy eensey bit bitchy (according to the Chef that is). We also decided that we would curb the booze. Not so much a WE as the Chef. I currently drink on average once a month, if that. And now that I have quit the smokes, frankly I am a bit nervous to pick up a drink. But the Chef's job requires the drinking and I am totally cool with that. What I am not cool with is the fact that he probably drinks every day. Definitely more than A drink. Definitely more than 2. So there's that. I am not really sure how that's coming along for him but I trust that he is making somewhat of an effort. Lord knows I will have his ass if he's not.
The long of the short of it is that I really want to live as long as I possibly can with my babes. I dont't want them to have to watch one of us die of the cancer at age 40. Or 50. Or 60. I want them to have to take care of my crazy blue haired ass until I'm 104 and can be on Willard Scott's Birthday wishes. If that goes down I will die a happy gal. I also want the Chef & I to move in with Catcher & talk about the good 'ol days and make him eat dinner at 4pm. That's the future I dream of.
Or maybe I'll move 'em to Texas and make Louisiana become one of those freaky little beauty queens.