Charlie Sheen started this party but a Madame finished it.

Oooh lawd.  Imagineering your own fake tv show is hard work especially after a weekend of partying hard Chattavegas style.  (That just means I ate some tacos and went to the bookstore, btw).  And then I had a real party TO CELEBRATE THE KITCHEN!  What, WHAAAAAT!!!

I just came home from an afternoon of fabulosity and my friends had done this!

This ain't no Rue or Martha Stewart party.  It's real people,  yo.


We had to celebrate because in addition to this project being 157 years in the making there was definitely some craziness surrounding it. The initial demo seemed to stir up some ancient spirits of ugly ass kitchens and opened up a hellgate to the bad place.  Huge storms knocked down a tree the first day and crazy accidents happened the rest of the week before finally settling down.  The day of the final inspection the tornadoes came.  I mean, DAMN!  It's just a kitchen, Universe, you don't have to bookend it with tragedies!  So we needed some serious positive energy up in the hizouse to close the hellgate and restore the balance of power towards fabulosity.  And by positive energy I mean mayonnaise-based dips of course.

And a magic spell.   

Fuck you bar carts! This is how we throw down at the Ranch!

Seriously - I don't care what you believe in there was some bad juju up in this place and you have to fight fire with fire.  And chicken heads.  Kidding!  But I figured we would have to make some kind of stew made from eyelash of drag queen, cock ring of bear daddy (so generously offered by friends hailing straight from the motherland of San Francisco), glitternaise and cat hair that we would rub on the cabinets while chanting Lady Gaga lyrics in leotards and capes.

But sadly enough that's not how real magic works even though I pulled it straight from an episode of True Blood.  Real life friend of the Sauce, Slade (not porn name), just happens to be magically delicious and the Dr. Phil of woo woo shit (it's on his business cards) so he was in charge of the hellgate closing ceremony.  Like the Olympics but without all the Josh Groban songs.

Thanks for my garden, J!  Also thank you for apparently styling my window ledge.

Step one: smudge the fuck out of my house.  DONE.  

Step two: sprinkle salt that has been exposed to the light of the full moon (I'm not shittin you) at the corners of my property to create new zone of amazing awesomeness.  Or something like that.  Charlemagne was also enlisted to use her spidey senses to alert me of future bad juju with the zone of amazing awesomeness.  She seemed nonplussed.  DONE.  

Step three: guests have to carve happy thoughts and positive wishes into a yummy-scented candle for me to burn.  My friends didn't roll their eyes (in front of me) and nicely carved things like peace, BACON, something in French and something about sex (this is NOT where you tell me what you're doing later on, perverts!).  Somebody got creative and drew a picture of what appears to be either a tree, a stalk of broccoli or a dick and hairy balls.  Are we playing Pictionary and you're trying to wish me "growth" of some kind?  It's sweet, really.  Either way - DONE.  

This picture almost completely encapsulates my life: boxed wine, smudge stick and puff pastry fresh from the oven in the background.

So after business was concluded we got down to the REAL business.  The party business.  In addition to Slade (not porn name) we had another celebrity present!  Nick - of ModSauce Ranch kitchen fame - traveled to Chattavegas to witness our love child in person and to celebrate the closing of the hellgate.   He seemed to approve and there was much skipping and laughing and twirling.  

He also brought fireworks!  


Which we didn't use because outside felt like the ass crack of a whore in church: hot and sticky.

Yep.  Folding tables.  They're not even mine.   Keepin it real!

We couldn't even go outside at all because it was so miserably hot.  Those candles actually lit themselves.

Really though this was all just an excuse to wear my new shoes:

Which I totally did!!  For a few hours until my feet hurt.  

But you know what didn't have to come off?!  Motherfuckin JEGGINGS!

Some people throw fancy parties with cupcake towers and giant themed tables which is awesome I guess and I'll totally try and do that before I turn 40 but for now I'm exceedingly happy with boxes of booze and pants with elastic waistbands and magical spells and fireworks and martinis.  Lots and lots of martinis.

Ok but next time I swear I'll have outdoor furniture.  

Maybe...  

Depends if there are shoe sales in the near future.