in which I celebrate Pat, Mad Housewife wine, and roses

This afternoon I teased Pat Padley because he was excited to appear in a blog post today. I told him that he appeared in my blog months ago, and nary a peep from him. Here’s the picture:

I asked these goobers to pose for me, and this is what I got

He claims that I called him a goober and that doesn’t count, so here’s another one — one of my favorites from the CNMC MMX. Pat and Steve were having too much fun:

So there, Pat. Now you just have to find someone else to post your mug, and you’ll have a hat trick 🙂

In other news, I picked up a bottle of Mad Housewife Cabernet Sauvignon the other day. I totally did it because of the name and a timely visit by my mother-in-law. It was supposed to be funny…ok. Whatever.

Anyway, a sudden storm and frankly, a lack of interest in anything other than fooling around on Twitter led me to popping the cork. Oh! It’s actually pretty good. I paid about $9 for this bottle, and it’s just fine, thankyouverymuch.

too hilarious
the cork says "dishes can wait! dinner be damned!"

So the wine is pretty good, for a cheap wine (defined by Rachel Balducci as anything under 10 bucks, but not quite the 2-buck-chuck that seemed to appall the distinguished Sarah Vabulas). CatholicDrinkie should take notice: it’s not a bad little table wine.

So here’s to the ladies and gentlemen (and Jerry) who drink virtually with me on Twitter. A toast to getting together in real life and clinking the glasses!


And finally, the rose explosion continues in the back yard — there are tons of little buds celebrating their own little porch party this fall, and so I’ll take advantage of the title of the post and present this to another Pat, who often makes me smile, kind of like the rose explosion.

sipping chardonnay out of a juice glass

And making the gourmet beenie weenies. By gourmet, I mean that I sauteed some onions and hotdogs, added some garlic salt, and dumped a can of baked pork and beans in the pan.


Lest you believe that economic hard times have befallen the Johnsons, fear not. There’s a significant difference between being broke and being poor. I am in a perpetural state of broke-ness, but have not been reduced to hotdoggies as a regular feature of the dinner table. Rather, my suggestions for more conventional dinnerfare were met with shrugs and choruses of “whatever”.

So “whatever” it is, and I get to retire early to some grading and reruns of Smallville.