Fluid Pudding : Page 91 of 123 : It's the old small talk!

I swam across, I jumped across for you. Oh, what a thing to do.

Every time the outside temperature goes up (or down) by forty degrees or so, I start feeling the urge to buy new threads. And that’s sort of funny, because Fluid Pudding New Threads can be summed up as follows: Every spring/summer I purchase five short sleeved t-shirts to wear with my skirts, and every fall/winter I purchase five long sleeved t-shirts to wear with my sweaters and jeans and corduroy pants. I replace my staples as necessary. (For example, I’m currently down to one pair of jeans, and they’re all frayed at the bottom. I’ll probably wait on this until the fall, unless I can catch a good Gap sale between now and then. (I have a gift card.))

Last week the outside temperature hit seventy degrees, and because I now have friends who use the metric system, I’m proud to say that: Last week the outside temperature hit twenty one degrees! Anyway, I somehow fell into a website called ModCloth (you probably know them because you’re so good at this sort of thing), and I fell in love with this bright yellow jacket. (OUCH! I paid a LOT more for that jacket than $23.99! What the la la la la laaaaaaah! I’mGoingToPretendIDidn’tSeeThatPrice!!!) Anyway. (I CAN’T pretend I didn’t see that price! The jacket was $55 when I bought it! And that was a HUGE splurge for me! HUGE. My heart is beating in my eyeballs right now. Hhhhhhhh. No one got hurt. No one got hurt. No one got hurt.)

Anyway. The next time you see me strolling around town, I’m going to look a little something like this.

When I started this post, I was all, “Hey! Look! I’ve gone three years without a real jacket, and now I have a real jacket! It’s yellow!” But instead, now I feel sort of, “Hey. Look what I just spent entirely too much money on. And because of it, I’m ending my sentences with prepositions and not even exploring alternatives. Time to eat some Crisco and stop washing my hair. I’ll be crying in the shower if you need me.”

I also grabbed this dress. When it comes back in stock, it will probably sell for five dollars. Don’t look at me.

UPDATE!!! UPDATE!!! I felt so gross about this that I actually called ModCloth and said, “I need to ask a really bold question. I ordered a jacket one week ago today, and I just noticed that the jacket is now selling for less than half of what I paid and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah…” Anyway. They are giving me a store credit for the price difference. And that’s incredible. Because I now have my eye on this dress. And how cute is this?! And now I’m happy again! (It really doesn’t take much.) SO, next week I’m going to tell you about how I lost my mucous plug when I was pregnant with Meredith, and I’m coupling the story with a book giveaway! Stay tuned!
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Did you know that I’m giving away light bulbs? Because I am. And I would love for you to win one. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

From Thursday to Today.

It has been a busy few days at the Pudding Ranch. Last Thursday we had Parent/Teacher Conferences at school, and those went pretty well. It appears that Meredith takes after me in the Disorganization department, but what she lacks in order she makes up for in creative writing. Harper rarely eats her lunch (as evidenced by the nearly full box she returns home with each afternoon), but she’s rocking the math problems. All is well.

On Friday, I took Harper to have her hearing checked. I’ve reached a point where I no longer think it’s cute when she misinterprets what I’m saying. (Roast = Toast. Miss Debbie = Miss Daddy. Haircut = Bear Cub. (Why in the hell would I ever say that I’m in desperate need of a bear cub?)) According to the audiologist, her hearing is phenomenal, although she does have quite a bit of negative pressure in her eustachian tubes. (Airhead jokes are not welcome here.) Eventually, this might lead to the removal of tonsils/adenoids, but until she begins to complain about pain or starts experiencing chronic sinus infections, we’re just going to pretend that everything is A-ok!

On Saturday, Meredith woke up with an explosive cough. We took her to the doctor, where she was diagnosed with parainfluenza, or The Croup. She was given a cough suppressant, a pain killer, and a steroid. The steroid, which makes her act nuts, has been classified as one of the top five worst tasting medicines of all time, but our pediatrician has learned that if you chase the medicine with a green lollipop, the taste immediately goes away. Red lollipops will not work. For reasons completely unknown to everyone, the lollipop has to be green. I learned Saturday afternoon that when one is looking for green lollipops, the most difficult thing in the world to find is green lollipops. BUT, find them I did, and yes. Crappy medicine + green lollipop = Tolerable. Excellent. (She took her last dose today, and we have one lollipop to spare.)

Sunday. After church we worked on the house and Jeff’s parents came over for dinner. I made rice bowls with tomatoes and corn and beans and WHEE! EVERYONE LOVES THAT I’M A VEGETARIAN!!! NO ONE IS STRESSED ABOUT IT AT ALL!!! (Eight months and going strong. Did I mention that we now have Baby Back Rib Chips in the house? Crazy.)

Yesterday morning found Meredith and Jeff at the orthodontist at 8:00. At 10:00, my mom came up and she and the girls and I went to see Never Say Never. And then I went home and got all crabby on my Facebook page because: In a world of Justin Bieber haters, I do NOT hate Justin Bieber. I know! (I’m forty, meaning I’m old enough to be his mother’s older sister.) You know, I’m tired of people hating someone just because it’s fun/popular/whatever. (It would be easy for me to hate Glenn Beck. VERY easy. But I don’t! Life? Short!)

Today? Today I’ve been volunteering at the school and working on the house. It seems that Meredith is having a friend over this weekend, and we haven’t really done that in a few years, so it’s time to clean bathroom floors and put away laundry and all of the other crap that I tend to hate doing.

Did you know that I’m giving away light bulbs? Because I am. And I would love for you to win one. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Oh my Goth!

I throw in my sponge! (My make-up sponge.) My inconsolable soul able to weep these tears no more. No more!

I hereby draw the line. (Around my eye!) ((With a felt-tipped applicator that gives me ultimate control.))

Oh! My mumpish existence. If you blur your perception, a fish appears to be consuming my bulbus oculi. Eye? Ideally, I’ll be able to recreate his brother on my other side.

(I’m now ready for tomorrow’s Parent Teacher Conferences.)

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The Puddings are saving energy and giving away two $50 GE energy smart LED light bulbs! Come on over for a chance to win! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Typical Night at The Puddings

So, a few days back we celebrated the ten year anniversary of Jeff’s proposal.

That night, Jeff and I found ourselves in bed together (it was time!), and we began talking.

Me: Well, it looks like our ten year anniversary is coming up, and according to the website I’ve pulled up on my iPod, you are to present me with diamonds or tin.

Jeff: Is beer still available in tin cans?

Me: Stop it. This website suggests you buy a copy of the movie Tin Cup for me. Don’t do that.

Jeff: Yikes. I won’t.

Me: It also thinks we should get a German Shepherd. You know, named Rin Tin Tin.

Jeff: No.

Me: Don’t get me a Neil Diamond CD.

Jeff: I’m starting to fall asleep.

Me: The tenth anniversary flower is the daffodil. I wonder who came up with that?

Jeff: MensaPizzaWagon.

Me: How about a trip to a South African diamond mine?

Jeff: . . .

Me: I’ve never really wanted a tennis bracelet, but I sort of feel like I SHOULD want one. But what I REALLY want is a Fabergé egg. I want the world. I want the WHOLE world! I want to lock it all UP in my pocket! It’s MY bar of chocolate!

Jeff: ZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzz…

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The Puddings are saving energy and giving away two $50 GE energy smart LED light bulbs! Come on over for a chance to win! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Psst! I’m ready for skirt season!

Do you guys know Isabella Golightly? She lives in Australia and despite the fact that she has never had a proper fish taco, she’s absolutely delightful. A few weeks back, I visited her Etsy shop and ordered a flatpack for schlepping around my keys and phone and cash card when I go to the gym. (HA HA HA HA!!! I don’t go to the gym! When I say Gym, I mean grocery store, school, or Gokul.) ((By the way, Gokul is opening their Loop location on Thursday if any of my lunch people want to hook up for lunch in the coming weeks!))

Anyway. My flatpack arrived in the mail yesterday, and I didn’t even realize it was there because I’m afraid to get my mail. (Not because of this. Currently, our driveway is a solid sheet of ice. In fact, if my milkman is reading this right now, he’s yelling, “Yeah! And I almost cracked my butt on that ice yesterday morning carrying your half gallons up to the house! I rock a mic like a vandal, light up a stage and wax a chump like a candle!”) This morning the lovely Isabella asked if I had received the pouch, so Jeff risked his life by sliding down the hill to the mailbox, and yes.

I’m in love with this flatpack, and I’m not quite sure how I got by without it. (I’m looking at you, Yesterday!) ((This month, all proceeds will benefit Queensland Flood Relief!)) (((I’m afraid this photo makes the pouch look HUGE. It’s actually quite small—the perfect size to hold my phone, my cash and insurance cards, my lip stuff, license, and iPod. Everything I Need.)))

On a semi-related note, on the way home from my book club meeting on Sunday, I had ten minutes to stop by a fabric sale before the store closed. It took about three minutes to get over the feeling of being completely overwhelmed, an additional two minutes to remember how much fabric I need to make the skirt that I tend to make, and five more minutes to find two fabrics that I love. When the sun comes out and the corduroy pants are thrown back into the top of the closet, I will be sporting a daisy skirt.

Unless, of course, I’m sporting a green pepper skirt.

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It’s about to get cat-eyed all up in this place!

Fluid Pudding first came into existence back in September of 2001. Since that time, I’ve been asked for a headshot something like six times. Maybe. AND, if we were to play the association game and you were to say Headshot!!!, I would come back with Distressing! or TheCraterousPoresOnMyCheeks!! or IrritableBowelSyndrome!!! Anyway, last week it came up again. SO, I flipped around through my Flickr set and found a photo my mom took of our family sitting on a couch during the holiday season.

Because it’s not a headshot unless it contains One Head, I cropped out my family and cloned my sweater over Meredith’s face to come up with this.

Heh. I know. I know! Jeff says it looks like I’m sort of sad and wrapped up in a blanket on a couch in an undisclosed location (enjoying a bowl of roz bi laban in Egypt with Anderson Cooper).

Anyway. I finally ate an amaretto-flavored sucker and contacted a friend and am getting the wheels in motion to have an actual photograph taken of my head in about a month. (I need a haircut, and the woman who cuts my hair lives five hours away, so I’m sort of on her schedule for these things. Have I ever mentioned that my life is sometimes decorated with quirky spoons and wrenches?) I’m thinking I would like a serious photo in case I ever decide to become complex and need a photo to represent the reflectiveness, plus a photo that’s a bit more whimsical? Maybe? Can one be whimsical at this age? Oh dear God, why am I crying? HEADSHOT!!!

The real reason I invited you over here today is to tell you that I ordered some liquid eyeliner last night, and it’s only a matter of time (about nine days, actually) before I start looking a little more like this.

How do you like me now, Anderson Cooper? ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Our groundhogs saw their shadows. I’m sorry, St. Louis.

Meredith: Mommy, do you know what Hypohogia is?

Me: I’ve never heard of it!

Meredith: Hypohogia is a rare made up condition where a groundhog throws up and coughs so hard that its teeth fall out. I saw it on the news. With this condition, groundhogs sneeze so hard that they fall to the ground. Seriously.

Harper: I’m making this up, but I saw on the news that a groundhog with Hypohogia once sneezed so hard that his house shook!

Meredith: And once? A groundhog threw up and coughed at the same time and actually caught hypoDOGia, which made the groundhog act like a dog for the rest of its life.

Harper: For real?

Meredith: Yes.

Harper: For real for real?!

Meredith: No. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Be prepared.

According to the local meteorologists, St. Louis is about to experience a crippling snow/ice storm. It just occurred to me that we lost power during the ice storm of 2006, and if this ice storm is going to be anything like THAT ice storm (and, according to everyone on the news, IT WILL BE), we will be unable to cook the food that I put on this week’s meal plan. SO, as I type this note to you, I’m making curried cauliflower with chick peas and tomatoes. When the girls go to bed, I’ll be making the thing where I put chili in the bottom of a 13 x 9 pan, and then bake corn bread on top of it! Genius! (For my Facebook friends, you can find the recipe in my photos section in the It Goes In My Face folder.) ((I make it with Boca crumbles, and you really can’t tell that it’s not a ground up cow under the corn bread!))

Jeff, our resident hero, spent the afternoon securing fire wood, shopping for groceries, and making sure we have the proper batteries for our flashlights. PLUS, he brought home pizza from the new Little Caesar’s location down the road, AND he assures me that he can get us to the Sheraton if all hell breaks loose. (I know. I’m the luckiest.)

The girls have been preparing for the storm in their own way. The DSi charger has been at work all afternoon, and all stuffed animals are lined up around the outer edges of the mattresses.

Harper: I have an idea.

Me: What is it?

Harper: Let’s charge the television. That way, if we lose power, we can still watch a movie. Oh. Let’s charge the DVD player, too.

Me: It’s a great idea, but I’m afraid you can’t charge the television or the DVD player.

Harper: That’s fine. BUT, we should probably charge the refrigerator.

Me: Again. Great idea. BUT, you can’t charge a refrigerator, either.

Harper: Okay. Is the car charged?

The car is charged. What I didn’t tell Harper is that I have no idea how to open the garage door during a power outage. Imagine how excited she’ll be when we, under the influence of cold cauliflower curry, rev up the engine and back through the garage door on our way to the Sheraton! The neighbors already adore us for keeping the rotten railroad ties in our front yard. Imagine how their hearts will swell as we become the Dukes of Hazzard.

Oh! Oh! Good News!!! After telling you my sad chicken broth story, I pulled up the Melting Pot menu. Although the server across the aisle told her customers that our chosen cooking style contains chicken broth, I noticed that the menu doesn’t mention it! In a fit of excitement, I called two different locations, and both assured me that unless we specifically ordered chicken broth, the coq au vin style consists of wine and herbs only. SO: I didn’t eat dead bird juice after all!!! (No offense to the swillers of dead bird juice. I still love you. In fact, I live with three of you. (Five, if you count the cats.)) Anyway, I am completely pleased to report this to you as I close down my seventh month with no meat. With that said, who knows what Wednesday will bring? We all remember what happened in the Andes. (By the way, what an awesome cabled sweater Josh Hamilton wears as he contemplates eating his friends!) Anyway, desperate times, desperate measures—and the Puddings with a drawer full of bacon… ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Harper’s not a chicken, but I am. Because you are what you eat. (Insert sobs here.)

This post has nothing to do with feminine protection! With that said, I feel the need to thank all of you who commented or sent e-mails regarding my tampon post. I have some very funny people stopping by Fluid Pudding. We should all have lunch sometime. Actually, let’s do it in Australia so I can kill all sorts of (figurative) birds with one stone. (Here’s a bird: My life list now holds the following item: Prepare fish tacos for Isabella Golightly in Australia, as they do not have chipotles in adobo sauce in Australia. Are you doing the life list thing? I want to learn how to make paper dolls, too.)

Three days ago, Harper told me that she wanted to get her ears pierced. I asked if she wanted a few weeks to think about it, or if she wanted to go after school on Monday. With Jeff in New Orleans and the girls and I constantly on the lookout for diversions (we almost bought a baby monkey over the weekend!), we went after school on Monday.

Long story short: She sat in the piercing chair and chose her starter earrings, they pierced the first ear, she cried and cried, I fought back the urge to vomit and gave her the option of doing the second ear later, she put on her Stalwart hat and decided to go through with the entire process in one sitting, and there you go. I now have a very brave five year old with blue daisy earrings.

There’s simply no way to tie this to that, so I’ll just tell you this: I went back to Weight Watchers last week. I first joined back in 2003 when I had something like 35 pounds to lose after giving birth to my ten pound Meredith. (I believe it took about six months to lose those 35 pounds.) I’ve joined and quit more times than I care to admit, but Jennifer Hudson! Singing Nina Simone! It’s a new dawn! A new day! A new life! Argh! I couldn’t NOT go back! Anyway, I went to an actual meeting this afternoon and I had lost 2.6 pounds, meaning I’m within two pounds of my goal weight, meaning my lifetime membership is back on track, meaning I don’t have to pay.

All of this to say: I’m liking the new program. I’m a vegetarian who tries to eat as many unprocessed foods as possible, and this plan seems to be very well-suited to that lifestyle. Yes, I can’t go to Gokul every day, but I *can* go once or twice a week if I feel a hankering. If you have any questions, feel free to ask them. If you have major criticism, please make sure you know what you’re talking about before you start talking. (I have a lot of pet peeves. One of them is the tiny splotch of yogurt that always seems to pop out onto my hand when I’m peeling off the foil lid. Another is when someone spins their uninformed head around and pukes out things like, “That damned Weight Watchers diet is cuhrazy bad for you!” without really knowing the first thing about it. First off? It’s not a diet. Secondly? I’m eating fruit and soup and oatmeal and Indian food and bean burritos and sushi. I’m very happy and not at all hungry.)

Last week I told Jeff that I believe it’s time for us to install a punching bag in the basement. I’m the most non-confrontational person you’ll ever meet, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to punch a bag.

I believe I’m still feeling a bit of anxiety over my inability to draw a proper picture of a chicken. Here. Let me just tell you: After being a strict vegetarian for seven months, I unknowingly cooked my vegetables and tofu in chicken broth last weekend at The Melting Pot, and I’m STILL bothered by it. I feel like I’ve gone backward—like I have to take my two hundred twenty something days of being meat free back to zero. Ugh. AND, I would blame our server who knew I was vegetarian and didn’t tell us that our chosen cooking method had a chicken broth base, but really. It’s not her responsibility to babysit my lifestyle. I should have asked more questions. So disappointing. AND, I was physically ill for nearly three days after eating, and I have no way of knowing if it was the chicken broth that made me sick, or if the whole episode was psychosomatic. I don’t want to talk about it. I miss Keith Olbermann.

Seriously. Let’s go to Australia together. I promise to not yammer. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Can I talk about feminine protection over here?

Let’s just get all of the nasty stuff out of the way, shall we? (Warning: This post contains paragraphs that might make boys uncomfortable. And perhaps some girls. And because I used the word Warning, I cannot guarantee where we’re going to end up when all of this is over, but at least I know I’m covered. Buckle up, Sporty.)

By the way, I’ve been meaning to put something up at Fluid Pudding for the past several days, but it seems that I’m unable to draw a suitable picture of me with chickens flying out of my stomach. Please know that I have a story to tell you, but it will have to wait until I can draw the chickens flying out of my stomach. I’ll accept submissions. (Please know that the face of a girl with chickens flying out of her stomach does not carry a smile. It’s a face that showcases the bowels of despair. And that pun really was sort of intended, but I’m not going to slap something up here that will cause BlogHer to be all, “Hello! No more pictures of bowels on your face. This is your first and final warning.”)

This morning I took a tampon out of the box (Whoa! Hey! I warned you!), and the side of the package said “Practice makes perfect.” You’re right. It does! With that said, I’ve been at this game since the summer after seventh grade. Lots of practice. Out of curiosity, I grabbed another out of the box. “Go for the goal.” (The goal seems obvious. No leakage?) The next one said, “Explore new forms of fearlessness.” (I can assure you that I do NOT want to explore new forms of fearlessness within the realm of tampon insertion. Good night.)

I remember a few months back when everyone was up in arms because Always was printing things like “Have a nice period.” on the inside of their sanitary napkin wrappers. Personally, I prefer that over “Go for the goal.” This particular box of tampons was on sale a few months back, and I purchased them despite the fact that they are marketed for active sporty girls. (I am most definitely NOT an active sporty girl, although I *did* attempt to do yoga a few nights back. When the instructor (on the DVD, because I rarely leave my home) said, “Nice work! Now we’re all warmed up and ready to begin!” I turned off the television and began to weep.) Are there active sporty girls out there who are exiting the bathroom feeling encouraged and all ready to play volleyball after reading the side of their tampon wrapper? I want to meet those active sporty girls! (Sort of.) ((Not really.))

I’ve come up with a few phrases I wouldn’t mind seeing on my future tampons.

“Let’s get this thing over with.”

“Please don’t forget me up there like you almost did that one time.”

“My job is worse than your job. Nothing you can say will make me feel differently.”

“Are you hungry? Because it’s okay if you want to eat an entire pan of brownies.”

I could go on and on, but I’m keeping the best ones to myself just in case the tampon people want to call me. (Call me, tampon people!)

It’s a snow day over here, so I’ll spare you the story of how I’m still (figuratively!) paying for the pedicures that I received over the summer, and how I will NEVER go to that particular nail salon again.

Have I made you wince? I think you’re so pretty. Let’s explore new levels of fearlessness. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>