Fluid Pudding : Page 98 of 122 : It's the old small talk!

Who could ever love a girl named Beezus? Jesus?

A few years back I watched “Parallel Worlds, Parallel Lives” mainly because I like Mark Everett. (If I remember correctly, I posted the link here shortly after I watched it. Didn’t I? Do I tend to repeat myself often? Anyway, if you’re interested, you can catch it over here. It’s worth the time. I promise.) Anyway, long story short: Everett’s dad was the first to propose the Many Worlds Interpretation of quantum physics and no! Don’t start yawning! (Actually, I believe I would be 38% more intelligent if more documentaries somehow included music/musicians that I enjoy. Learn the ins and outs of the metric system with Metric! Let’s study eye anatomy (or manic depression!) with The Weepies! Global warming with Sleigh Bells! I could go on for days. This is my best idea yet, if you don’t count adding green peppers to that pasta salad I made last summer.)

All of this to say: Although many of you swear that this summer has flown by (and I sort of agree with you), I’m here to tell you that last week was one of my longest weeks. Lots of self-imposed deadlines (some related to knitting, some not so much), a crazy amount of reflection on relationships and bitten tongues, looking ahead to creative endeavors, and so forth. I’ll spare you the details, because this isn’t that kind of website. Funny how every single week has 168 hours regardless of how you choose to spend it, no? Morris Day and The Time!

Yesterday afternoon the girls and I saw Ramona and Beezus, and although both girls loved it, they did NOT love the fact that it didn’t really seem to be based on the book. “Ramona was only FOUR in the book! Not NINE! And nothing happened to Picky Picky!” Meredith listed at least twenty differences between the book and the movie, including the fact that the book has pages and the movie was on film. (That was my favorite comparison.) Personally? I couldn’t quite get past how much Ramona looks like Lolita.

This is Ramona, also known as Joey King.

This is Lolita, also known as Sue Lyon.

And when you’re trying to be Beverly Clearyesque, but you can’t help toying with Nabokov, thoughts tend to get more twisted than a soggy kneecap. Thank God for Swedish Fish.

EDITED TO ADD: The bloody guy in the photo of Ramona? I’m assuming he’s an actor from another film that also featured Joey King. I can assure you that no blood was shed in Ramona and Beezus, although there was QUITE an accident involving peanut butter.

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I’m going to have a Laughing Cow in my side bar for six months, and you know what that means. I’m giving money away! Come over here, tell me a funny workout story, and you could win $150! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

He was indeed a hunk, a hunk of burning love.

So, you know I went to Graceland last week. What I neglected to tell you is that I freaked out with all of the “Do Not Bring Blah, Blah, Blah into the Park” signs and left my camera in the car.

Luckily, my mom had more sense than I did, and she allowed me to use her camera.

I am about to give you a mini-tour of Graceland.

“Hello there! I’m Big Noggin Angela with the nostrils that might eat you! I’m wearing headphones that have been sprayed with Lysol! I’m your purple dressed tour guide who can’t figure out how to get the date to NOT appear on the photos! You look pretty today!”

When you enter the Graceland Mansion and look to the right, you see this room. This is where guests would sit and wait for Elvis to walk down the stairs. I’m thinking about having one of those peacocks tattooed up the entire left side of my body so that it looks as if I’m being pecked on the ear. Welcome to my mid-life crisis!

This is the kitchen, and I loved it because it looks like my parents’ kitchen in the 70s. It also looks like YOUR parents’ kitchen in the 70s. We are the world!

This is the lounge where Elvis played the piano on the morning of his death. According to the Lysol scented voices in my head, he loved to gather friends in this room to sing gospel tunes. It’s 07/10/2010!

This is Lisa Marie’s swing set, and I love knowing that she probably burned her butt going down her slide just like I burned my butt going down my slide. Once again, we’re all more alike than we are different, don’t you think?

This is not a great photograph, but I had to add it, because it’s right around the corner from Elvis’s grave, and when I first saw it I thought it said, “Thank you for not smiling.” and I immediately smiled because it’s sort of like “Don’t picture a pink elephant in your head.” isn’t it?

My mom saw this and wondered why the album at position (2,2) is crooked.

Similarly, Mom wondered why the left side of this vest is a bit shorter than the right. Mom has quite an eye for detail. I have quite an eye for tear duct infections. But, with a few drops of antibiotics, it cleared right up! See how I’m tying this post together with the post from last week? By the way: I need glasses!

I loved this suit so much that I’m now thinking of designing a white knitted shawl with cascading blue and silver beads. And I know I’ll never get to it, but it does seem like a lovely idea.

These are Elvis’s shoes as seen on Elvis’s plane. When I saw these shoes, I just knew that Elvis and I could have been great friends.

Ah, yes. There’s one (or sixteen) in every crowd, no?

Enjoy your day. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Don’t go chasing waterfalls.

This afternoon at 1:00, I will be seeing an ophthalmologist for the first time. Oddly enough, despite everything we’ve been through with Meredith’s eyes, the word ophthalmologist is still very difficult for me to spell. Because it’s 194 degrees outside and I’m choosing to live simply this morning, I shall from here on out refer to my o-p-h-t-h-a-l-m-o-l-o-g-i-s-t as an Eye Doctor.

I’ve noticed some twitching in my right eye over the past few weeks, and I’ve decided to not complain about it because 1) Complaining isn’t an attractive verb; and, 2) My sister’s eye has been twitching for a few YEARS, and she may have to see a specialist in a different town from where she lives to investigate her twitching. So, really, why in the hell would I bellyache about an infrequent twitch?! (I’m using twitch entirely too much. Time to pull out a grab bag of synonyms: Tic, Spasm, Vellication, Quiver, Paroxysm, Convulsion! I choose Vellication!)

Yesterday, along with the vellication, I discovered that my right eye was crying. Every time I tipped my head, actual tears poured out and ran down my face. I was a little tea pot, short and stout! This actually came in handy when I took my car to the service station. As the mechanic and I reviewed his invoice, a huge tear jumped out of my eye, rolled down my nose, and dripped onto the paper.

Mechanic: …so, there might be wattage issues, but it’s nothing we’re concerned about.

My eye: (Drip, roll, drop, SPLASH!)

Mechanic: Dude. Is everything okay?

Me: I’m good. I might have wattage issues, but it’s nothing I’m concerned about.

Mechanic: There’s no charge for today’s visit.

My right eye cried all through Harper’s karate class last night. It cried as I made my friend Mitzi’s cucumber salad. It cried as I went deeper into The Girl Who Played with Fire. I have to wonder if perhaps the right side of my body is feeling sort of sad for reasons beyond my understanding. (Perhaps yesterday was a special anniversary for my appendix, and Right Side is mourning her loss. Of course, that doesn’t explain the vellicative behavior. Vellicative! Say it out loud and notice how it gives your tongue a workout! I love that!)

This morning, Old Rightie is no longer weeping and she hasn’t yet vellicated, meaning the Eye Doctor is probably going to stamp my file with the words Wooden Nickel as I leave his office. (Grab Bag: Two-Dollar Bill, Charlatan, Bunyip!)

I miss my appendix. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Today’s heat index is 115.

I have returned home from Memphis. Actually, I returned three days ago, and have been spending the past 72 hours in an Elvis haze. I’ll just say this: If Elvis was still around and I wasn’t married with children, I would consider being his girlfriend if he would have me. Even with the 35 year age difference. As long as he stayed away from booze and junk. (I think we can all agree that a narcotized/sauced 75-year-old guy does not earn many kisses.)

Anyway. While in Memphis, we did that thing where you watch ducks walk from an elevator to a fountain.

We ate cupcakes.

(Twice.)

We went to a bad yarn store and a good yarn store.

We ate at a restaurant where the employees throw rolls at the customers.

Best of all, I am now the proud owner of a Graceland spoon rest.

ETA: Psst! CrazyMomTats!
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My lip is still quivering.

So, I’m about 16 hours out from the Memphis trip, and the only thing I’ve done to get ready is swallow a bunch of migraine pills. Because I’m a menstrual migraineur. And that’s all you need to know. Anyway, I was going to let myself get all stressed out about it, and then I went over to The BHJ and saw this. Suddenly, nothing seems more important to me than rallying behind the man who wants to run 5K after 5K to honor a little boy whose muscles are giving out. I’ve placed a widget thinger dinger in my sidebar (under the VIB head) and another one right below this post so you can donate if you feel inclined. If you can’t donate, please keep The BHJ in your thoughts on August 6th, and please keep Tanner’s family in your thoughts today and always.

Enjoy your weekend.

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Waffling! Constantly waffling! Itchy!

Anyone who knows me at all will find it hard to believe that I have spent the past five days attending outdoor gatherings like Barbecues and Lunches and Celebrations and Events During Which Fireworks Explode. When I woke up this morning with about 754 (give or take 742) fresh bug bites, I rolled over, raised my right hand, and vowed to never leave my house again. Sadly, I will be breaking this vow in about twenty minutes when the girls and I comb the area for cracked wheat and millet. You see, the very first thing I ate in Jackson Hole, Wyoming was an OSM waffle at The Bunnery. That waffle has been on my mind for 24 days, which happens to be the gestation period of a pheasant. I was able to find the recipe last weekend, and yesterday I found a waffle iron for seven dollars, meaning OSM Waffles are Meant to Be. (I’m not quite sure what millet is, but keep your fingers crossed that it stops the bug bites from itching, because right now my synapses are firing simple messages of “Waffles!” and “Itchy!”, and it’s becoming impossible to steer my waves toward things like “Laundry!” and “Take care of the children!”)

In about six hours, Harper will be testing for her yellow belt, which means in about six hours I will be crying at a martial arts center. (Perhaps I’ll bring an onion to chop so I don’t appear to be quite so emotionally unstable. I should have brought an onion to Toy Story 3. I’ll be bringing lots of onions to Harper first day of kindergarten…)

In less than 48 hours, I will be on the road to Memphis, where my road trip buddies and I will be touring Graceland, eating at a hotel that boasts of parading ducks, visiting a few yarn stores, and drinking sweet tea. Any other suggestions would be appreciated! Obviously, with less than 48 hours in Memphis, time is a consideration. (Time, time, time. See what’s become of me while I looked around for my possibilities?!) Waffles. Itchy. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

The Pursuit of Sparkling Happiness

Enjoy your weekend, whether it contains a holiday or not. I’ll be sitting over here in the kitchen assembling one of those cold vegetable pizza things with spinach dip and tiny biscuits. Also, please know that The Puddings are in possession of punks, glow worms, and smoke bombs. (J to the Ollification, Mr. Hancock.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Blowing through the jasmine in my mind…

For whatever reason, it seems that I’ve been cleaning the house. So far, I’ve washed and organized 94% of the kitchen, I’ve scrubbed bathroom sinks and showers, I’ve organized 17% of the family room, and I’ve purchased a small vapor cleaner thing that will supposedly shoot all of that black gunk out of the shower in the master bathroom.

My goal is to get the house in shape this summer so that when the girls start school in August, I can apply my faux pearl necklace and sing things like, “Oh! It’s Tuesday! Time to vacuum the floors before I hit my freelance.” If I can break the work down into daily manageable tasks, my life will surely be sunnier and my hair will shine, and perhaps I’ll lose the final few pounds that simply must go before my happy pants fit again.

Anyway, later this afternoon I’ll be attacking my bookshelf, and that’s sort of exciting because during Bookshelf Cleaning Day, all books get to line up on the floor and grapple for potential positioning on the top shelf. Current top shelf selections include To Kill a Mockingbird, Letters of E.B. White, The Franchiser, A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, and Remembering Denny. Currently competing for a top shelf position are the Shirley Jackson books recently gifted to me by Tempe, The Importance of Being Earnest, and The Elegance of the Hedgehog. (My book club is meeting over sushi on Thursday to discuss The Elegance of the Hedgehog, and I’m currently within five pages of finishing.)

By the way, yes! I’ve decided to go vegetarian again on July 1. This means I currently have three more days in which to eat meat. Last night I had Trader Joe’s Mandarin Orange Chicken, which is my absolute favorite chicken meal. Tonight we’ll be having a pesto pizza, and that’s insane because Only Three More Days To Go and I’m eating a meatless dinner?! I can’t even begin to think about tomorrow’s dinner because I’m getting my very first facial at 6:45 in the evening, and oddly enough, it will involve removing my shirt. This was a gift for my birthday, and it couldn’t be more perfect because Eleanor Roosevelt once said, “Every day do something that frightens you.” SO, not only will this gift exfoliate, moisturize, and fortify my skin—it will also make me a bit more Rooseveltian. (Important Clarification: I will not become a Republican, although I have eaten with many of them, and some are quite delightful.)

In less than two weeks, I’ll be traveling to Memphis for a weekend of debauchery. (Although my definition of that word has relaxed considerably in the past 20 years, current usage does include a trip to Graceland, some yarn store browsing, and a search for vegetarian barbecue. (I will, of course, settle for sweet tea and a baked sweet potato. I will not be one of those vegetarians who ruin it for everyone else.))

I shall now leave the house to buy muffins. Enjoy your day. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I’m making big decisions without internet access!

My phone went dead yesterday afternoon. AND, when the phone goes dead, the DSL goes dead, and suddenly I’m faced with an army of chirping crickets and all I want to do is check my e-mail or read websites or research eyelash growth, and twenty years ago I had no idea what the internet was, and now I’m really wondering what I did with my time back then. (Wait! I remember! I actually hung out with real people and went to real restaurants/bars and read books. Also, because I was in college at the time, I’m assuming I studied a bit. And, oh how I wish I could revisit those years and perhaps try a bit harder in my classes. Have I ever told you that I changed my major seven times in five years? Question: How do you go from Piano Performance to Psychology/Religion in five steps? I’ll tell you how: English, Communications, Elementary Education, Occupational Therapy, Nursing!)

Where was I? Yes. Without the internet. So, I walked out of the house at six in the evening to get the mail, and a red truck came zooming (zooming!) up the hill with the horn honking and the driver waving. He pulled up into our driveway and yelled, “Is Jeff home?!” Jeff was not home. The driver introduced himself as our back yard side neighbor, and told me that he has been cutting the overgrowth of trees that now fall on his and our property from the other back yard side neighbor’s yard. (This is so boring.) Anyway, he asked if he could back his truck up to our yard today and haul away the branches and Oh! He noticed that we have a sassafras tree growing in our side yard, and can he make tea?! (Yes. Yes, he can.)

I told him when I saw him zooming up the hill, I thought he was going to ask if we had a working phone. Because we don’t. He laughed and claimed to not know anything about that.

This morning Jeff walked out into the back yard to check out the overgrowth, and he found that the Back Yard Side Guy had cut our phone wire. And I know it had to have been an accident, because the guy’s super nice but Argh.

An hour ago the girls and I drove thirty miles south so I could check my e-mail and tell you this story. And what a great story it is, no? I’d appreciate a few bucks for gas.

Also, my OB/GYN has been trying to get me off of the birth control pills for three years now, because the hormones mess with me and I’m 40 and I’m a bit irresponsible when it comes to taking them. SO, I’m thinking about letting her insert tiny coils into my fallopian tubes, which will fool the fallopians into forming scar tissue around the coils, thereby making it nearly impossible for me to produce unplanned Pudding Pops. (Please know that I didn’t come up with this coil idea on my own, although I sort of wish I had. Once again, intelligence is power.)

The only thing that sort of makes me stare at the sky and put my index finger to the side of my head is the fact that I sometimes think I have one more kid waiting to be made. If I do the scar tissue thing, that kid will never show his or her face.

I’m not sure why I told you the tree trimming story first, when it’s fairly clear that permanent birth control is the more compelling topic.

Finally, I’m going to go vegetarian again on July 1. SO, if you were going to invite me out for a steak dinner, your best bet would be to send that invitation out in the next few days.

And now I shall return to my house, where I’ll be without the internet for another 24 hours. At least. Inhale. Exhale slowly.
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The Puddings are Camping Out! Come over here to admire our tent and earn a chance to win a $50 Visa gift card from BlogHer! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I ate a waffle on a mountain.

I don’t want to bore you with long windy stories about our vacation.

Instead, I’ll show you some of my favorite photos.

The view from our hotel room:

From the top of Rendezvous Mountain:

Totally loving the mountain thing:

I ate a waffle (and drank a Fat Tire) on the top of Rendezvous Mountain:

The girls rode a horse at the Diamond Cross Ranch:

We hiked at Grand Teton National Park:

(The entire set may be seen here.)

Other notable events: I had my first OSM waffle at The Bunnery and am now obsessed with finding a recipe. I ate a soft pretzel at Old Faithful because it seemed like the right thing to do. I accidentally exposed my underpants to the photographer at the Alpine Slide, and will now try my best to either sit like a lady while riding a ski lift, or leave the skirts at home. (Seeing my splayed legs and pink underpants showcased on the computer screen as we were asked if we wanted to purchase a souvenir was a bit horrifying.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>