Care to relive our weekend?

Meredith had her first soccer game on Saturday.

Goal Tenderrrrrr! (Sung to the theme of Goldfinger, obviously)

Afterward, the team celebrated their loss with amazing amounts of sugar. (Not pictured, but definitely devoured: A massive doughnut.)

Patron Saint of Sugar

On Saturday afternoon, we went to The LOT, where the girls met Fredbird and I admired Courtney’s TwIsTeD creations.

fredbird

Also, Harper was inked by the St. Louis Symphony.

tattoo

Finally, we went to the Arch. (I’m convinced that it’s impossible to take an interesting photograph of the Arch, as it’s already been photographed (and photographed, etc.) from every possible angle.)

Arch

There was also a graduation party that contained the best corn bread corn casserole thing I’ve ever tasted. Also, I made turkey burgers flavored with crushed spicy pretzels. Best of all? We experienced sweater weather, and I drank a chai outside. Things are getting good.

(TCOB: Last call for t-shirts. If you didn’t receive an e-mail from me, I’m not aware of your t-shirt urges. If you received an e-mail from me and you didn’t respond, I’ll assume you’ve changed your mind. Either way, I drank a chai outside this weekend. And that, coupled with the tattoo and the goal tending and whatnot, is really all that matters.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Shiny things! Babies! Diversions!

Many of you have requested this video, and I figured today would be the perfect day to put it back up.

It moves the FAFPBPA shirt down a bit! It shows a kid with great (sweaty bedhead) hair! I’m sort of singing!

Anyway. Enjoy.

(I removed the related videos which all featured actual snakes biting actual babies. You can thank me later.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Your neighbors will be green, I tell you!

So, when Melissa designed the shirt for FAFPBPA, a few people stepped up and said something to the effect of, “I will not prep my bowels with you, but I WILL sport the T.”

And then Melissa stepped up AGAIN and said that she can make it happen for twenty bucks a shirt. (And then I squealed, jumped off of my chair, and high-fived everyone in the room.) ((It doesn’t take much.))

In other words, Yes! You really CAN buy a t-shirt that celebrates the clearing of my bowels! This is the opportunity of a lifetime, people!

fafpbpa

If you’re interested, shoot an e-mail titled “BOWELS” to angela at fluidpudding dot com.

I’ll get back in touch about sizes and payment details.

I guarantee you this: No one else in your world has a bowel prep t-shirt. This will put you One Step Above.

(I’m buying one for my gastroenterologist.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Stock up on the Northern! It’s FAFPBPA time!!!

Do you remember back in March when I threw my fist to the sky and invited you to participate in the First Annual Fluid Pudding BreadPuddingAlong (also known as FAFPBPA, which is pronounced FafPuhBuhPah)?

Six months have passed, and I think it’s time we have ANOTHER FafPuhBuhPah! But this time? Let’s shake it up a lot more than a little, shall we?!

It seems that Wednesday, September 9th will find me knocked out (and rolled over) as I undergo both an upper endoscopy (to rule out ulcers) AND a colonoscopy (to rule out Crohn’s). Wheee! I’m not particularly rattled about these procedures, because the people driving the tubes around my insides do this stuff every single day. (Except maybe Christmas and/or their own birthday.) (I wonder how many times a tube-driving doctor has jokingly muttered “I shoulda taken that left turn at Albuquerque” while performing a colonoscopy. Because that is very (very) funny. To me.)

What I *am* a bit puckered up about are the events that have to take place the day prior to the procedures. Let’s call a duck a duck, shall we? I am dreading the idea of “bowel prep.”

This is where you come in. Wait! Get back here!!!

It’s the First Annual Fluid Pudding BowelPrepAlong (also known as FAFPBPA, which is pronounced FafPuhBuhPah)!!! On the morning of Tuesday, September 8th, which is Two Weeks from Today So Mark Your Calendars, we shall not partake of any solids. It’s a clear liquid day! AND, at four o’clock in the afternoon, the shivaree shall commence with the swallowing of four Dulcolax! One! Two! Three! Four Dulcolax!!!

Thirty minutes later? We shall drink a half bottle of Miralax mixed into a 32-ounce jug of Gatorade! At 8:00 in the evening? Yes! ANOTHER half bottle of Miralax mixed into a 32-ounce jug of Gatorade! According to my calculations which are nearly always incorrect, it looks like we’ll be ingesting three weeks worth of laxatives in four hours time! We are living the bulimic dream! It’s FAFPBPA!

I’m trying to decide if I should liveblog the event. I mean, seriously. If people can liveblog the Grammy Awards, why can’t I liveblog the clearing of my colon?

Okay. Who wants to design the shirts?

(CROSSING MY Ts, IN ALL CAPS, NO LESS: YOU EXPRESSLY UNDERSTAND AND AGREE THAT YOUR USE OF THE FLUID PUDDING WEB SITE AND THE INFORMATION THEREON IS ENTIRELY AT YOUR SOLE RISK. ANGELA PUDDING AND HER AFFILIATES AND LICENSORS WILL NOT BE RESPONSIBLE TO YOU OR TO ANY THIRD PARTIES FOR ANY DIRECT OR INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, SPECIAL, OR PUNITIVE DAMAGES OR LOSSES YOU MAY INCUR IN CONNECTION WITH THE FLUID PUDDING WEBSITE, YOUR USE THEREOF OR ANY OF THE INFORMATION, DATA OR OTHER MATERIAL TRANSMITTED THROUGH OR RESIDING ON THE WEBSITE, REGARDLESS OF THE TYPE OF CLAIM OR THE NATURE OF THE CAUSE OF ACTION, EVEN IF WE HAVE BEEN ADVISED OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGE OR LOSS. TO THE MAXIMUM EXTENT PERMITTED BY LAW, YOU HEREBY RELEASE AND FOREVER WAIVE ANY AND ALL CLAIMS YOU MAY HAVE AGAINST ANGELA PUDDING, HER AFFILIATES AND LICENSORS FROM LOSSES OR DAMAGES YOU SUSTAIN IN CONNECTION WITH YOUR USE OF THE INFORMATION CONTAINED HEREIN.)

Edited to Add: Who wants to design the shirts? Melissa wants to design the shirts! So she did! (This is EXACTLY why I love Fluid Pudding Readers!)
fafpbpa ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Letters and Sodas

Shoes!

Thanks to you, Internet friends, I can now search out the chili and swill a chai and read Infinite Jest outdoors and pick apples and attend a marching band competition and devour a funnel cake and make up dances to Andrew Bird songs and stomp on some crunchy leaves and throw on a sloppy cardigan and attend an Apple Butter Festival. And I can do these things with amicable kicks.

I’ve named them Jem and Scout.

They just giggled and whispered, “You’re the prettiest lady.”

(And when I went on my first solo drive with them, this song was the first to play. It doesn’t get much better, does it? I’ll answer that: Nope.)

(For those who asked about the tattoo? It’s Georgia O’Keeffe’s hands—based on a photograph taken by Alfred Stieglitz. A friend of mine designed it, and it was inked on nearly twenty years ago at the home of a man named Spyder.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I’ll drive all night just to buy you some shoes.

This morning I decided to be in the market for athletic shoes. (Would it look like I’m trying too hard if I said something like “This was no small feat!”?! I like to think that I’m cooler than that. Let’s shift focus a bit, shall we? It was one year ago tonight when Jeff and I found ourselves invited to attend a Bruce Springsteen sound check, and as if that wasn’t enough (We were the only “civilians” in the stadium! Seriously!), we got a personal tour of the backstage area, AND we went home that night with the handwritten set list. I’ve met some pretty amazing people through the Internet, Internet. I’ve been thinking about that show all day. Ah, Mr. Springsteen.)

Anyway, my main goal for the athletic shoe thing was to get something user-friendly and perhaps brown. These were pretty much exactly what I wanted. To me, those shoes say, “I’m a climber of mountains. I could run if I need to, but really, I’m just strolling down the road looking for a chai and some chili.” Perfection.

As I drove to the shoe store, I set Sparky up to play the overture from Selmasongs. It’s sort of my own personal Rocky theme, and it never fails to stir up my much needed Invincibility Vibe. Drama! French horns! I am Flo Jo! (It was one of the songs that played as our wedding guests entered the church. (I absolutely LOVE the build up to 2:24. It makes my lip quiver every time.)) When I entered the store, I headed straight for the New Balance display. Sadly, the perfect brown shoes were not available in my size, and a wicked step sister I am not.

I tried on over thirty pairs of shoes this morning, and in the end, feeling weary and very vincible, I settled for something that ended up being over twenty dollars cheaper than The Perfect Shoes.

nike

I suppose you could say that they’re silver, but deep down we all know that they’re white (actually, they’re >>>WHITE<<< and partly pink, even), and not at all chummy. In fact, they’re very standoffish, and after wearing them all day? My feet feel as if I’ve jumped into a vat of chattering teeth. As I type these words to you, the shoes are sitting in the corner quoting Kafka (in German, of course. Jackasses.) and tossing lit matches at the cats. Earlier this afternoon I found them spitting and whispering nasty things about my butt.

I believe I’m meant to sit barefoot on the couch eating sweet potato pancakes for the rest of my existence. Would you care to join me? ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Vanilla Long John Love with a Side of Fiona Apple

This morning I dropped Meredith off at school, returned home with Harper, made coffee, started a load of laundry, plopped down onto the couch, and remembered that I haven’t pulled up Fluid Pudding in over a week.

Whiny Paragraph: I barely made it through the evening of Meet the Teacher last week. Argh. I’m not sure if it’s my general lack of adult interaction or the fact that I’ve always been socially awkward, but any time I spoke to someone that evening, my lip got all quivery and my eyes twitched and I’m sure I looked palsy bound. I have no idea why I get so rattled. Is this why people take Xanax? Is this why people drink wine throughout the day? Is this why some people (namely, Angela Pudding) should choose to stay home and watch crap television instead of attempting to exchange a simple round of small talk? I really thought throwing on a cute skirt would give me at least an hour of sparkling confidence. The spooky trees failed me.

In Which I Attempt to Turn my Frown Upside Down (And, I Fail!): But enough about that! School is now in session! Meredith adores first grade! Harper is in love with Pre-K! I had sushi for lunch yesterday and Gokul for dinner! On a semi-related note, I’m back on Weight Watchers and am six pounds into my fourteen pound goal. (As much as I complain about Weight Watchers, it really does work for me. You know, when I actually do it instead of simply talking about it.) Jeff’s class reunion is coming up in a few months, and I already know that the room will be filled to the brim with Lovelies, and I also already know that there’s not nearly enough time for me to get the adequate amount of therapy that will allow me to be a social butterfly that evening. SO, at least I can try to fit into one of my favorite “sit in a corner and eat toasted ravioli” dresses. Also, spunky shoes might help. Yes, I said Spunky.

Something happened last Friday that has never happened before. As a woman from the lab took a bunch of blood out of my arm, she told me that I have super cute feet. And because I generally am not a foot person and always feel awkward in sandals (Wait. I truly AM a disaster, aren’t I?!), I decided to ramble a bit too much about how the color I’m wearing is OPI’s “Over the Taupe” and that Alison Sweeney wears it on Days of Our Lives and the more I talked The More I Talked. So, yeah. Over the Taupe. I love it in the same way that I love buying a new pen and a new notebook. It’s that GOOD kind of love. Vanilla Long John Love. (Although, I tend to prefer mine unfilled.)

(I bought fresh ginger yesterday! And the kind folks on Facebook taught me how to prepare it! Balance! Can you tell that I’m scowling more than usual today?! Meredith kicked the cat last night, and I’m still not really over it. Also, Seasonique? Yeah. It failed me this week. I will not elaborate. Ginger in my bok choy tonight!)

In about three weeks I’ll be making my annual trip to Chicago to buy yarn. My goal is to buy a silk/wool blend to make a black one of these and perhaps something neutral with a lot of drape to make one of these. I’m also keeping my eyes open for something black and shiny to make another one of these. Also, there will be grits. And two nights in a hotel. The possibility of a martini. And because it’s a road trip? Nutter Butters and coffee—the perfect road trip snack.

Two hours have passed since I first sat down at the computer. I just dropped Harper off at school, meaning I now have 2.5 hours to myself before I pick everyone up.

I love this song, and am now on a quest to find an audio file and some decaf Earl Grey. Enjoy your afternoon.

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Are you hinting my apples are not what they ought to be?!

Getting ready to bend it!
Did you hear the rumbling noise yesterday morning at approximately 11:30 CST? That, my friend, was me becoming a soccer mom. I’m not quite sure what the new job entails, other than hauling the kids around three or four times each week for practices and games.

Also, I believe it means I need more skirts. Here is my most recent fabric choice:

spooky trees

In my breezy world, everyone needs a skirt with spooky trees. And the apples make it the perfect skirt for meeting the teacher on Wednesday evening, don’t you think? (School starts on Thursday. School starts on Thursday! And suddenly, it’s almost Christmas.)

This morning on the way to get flu shots, we passed by a pizza dump.

Me: Wait! Roll down your windows. Do you smell the pizza crust baking?!

Meredith: That’s not pizza. That’s my burning flesh.

Five minutes later, she asked if I have ever been arrested. When I told her I have not, she made it clear that she did not believe me.

I’ll miss Meredith when school starts. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Lack of Intestinal Fortitude, Chapter 43

While we were at Trout Lodge, something crazy happened that led me to call my doctor once again for the Mystery Abdominal Thing. Long story short? We scheduled a CT scan!

Lady at Scheduling: Your test will be on Thursday at 3:30, but we’ll need you to be here at 2:30 for registration. AND, you’ll need to stop eating and drinking at 11:30 so we can get an accurate result.

Me: Okay and okay!

So, last Thursday morning I stopped eating at 11:00 (Can you guess how many microwave s’mores I ate between 10:50 and 11:00? The answer is Three!), and I parked the Hyundai at 2:22. (I remember the time because I tend to make a wish when I look at the clock and it’s 11:11 or 2:22 or 4:44 or something similar. I’m four years old!)

Registration Lady: Go ahead and fill out these forms, and one of the nurses will bring you something to drink in just a minute.

Me: Excellent! I hope it’s root beer. (Did I mention that I’m four years old?)

RL: Heh.

This is starting to get boring, so take a deep breath and Here We Go!

It was not root beer. It was two gigantic cups of a barium cocktail that tasted like orange coconut poison and while I was drinking it, they called me back to start an IV, and I had no idea THAT was part of the deal, but I’m pretty flexible so whatever, and they started the IV in the crook of my right arm and I gulped the poison, and thirty minutes later they put me on the table and I had to scootch my skirt down to my knees because of the zipper, and when the nurse went to put the stuff into my IV, the IV didn’t work correctly and the stuff infiltrated and BURNING ARM! SO they went to start an IV in my left arm crook (I’m loving using the word crook, by the way), and my veins were rolling too much and YEESH! PAIN! They tried the top of my left forearm instead and still with the rolling and double the pain (maybe even triple) and YEEOWWW! So they called a nurse in from the main hospital who jabbed me on my right forearm (My skirt was still around my knees! Were you wondering about that?) and it worked, but as I was pumping my hand to give her some hefty vein action, my original IV site started secretly spurting and suddenly there was a fat puddle of blood all over my arm, and holy crap. Wooooozzzzzzzyyyyyyyy!

Nurse (pushing the stuff into my IV): I’m pushing this through, and you might feel a warm sensation that sort of feels like you’re peeing in your pants, but don’t worry. You’re not peeing.

Me: I think I’m peeing.

Nurse: You’re not peeing.

Me: This has been an incredible day.

Less than two minutes later, the entire procedure was finished. AND, I can’t really complain because The Pokers were all really nice people, and I suppose I can simply blame my ancestors for my weirdo veins, right? Right-o!

Arms!

So, anyway. A few of you have e-mailed to ask if I’ve had my gallbladder removed yet. I have not! Because, according to the tests, Governor Gallbladder is an upstanding member of the Angela Pudding Abdominal Organ Population.

Side story: When all of this abdominal stuff started up, I said something to Jeff like, “You know, watch this be a really embarrassing diagnosis that involves one of the following terms: rectum, anus, stool, sphincter, fissures, or yucky vagina.”

When the doctor called with my CT scan results, he actually used one of those terms coupled with the word “abnormal.” (It was not Abnormal Yucky Vagina.)

So, yeah. Here we are. It’s nothing serious, so please don’t bother to wish me well. Just know that I’ll be seeing a gastroenterologist a week from Friday! AND, according to my research, he’s also a pianist!

This has nothing to do with anything, but it’s in my mind: I would give just about anything for a few tablespoons of horseradish right about now. What good is a cheese sandwich without horseradish?! It’s a living hell, I tell you. (According to my calendar, today is the Green Corn Moon, so we’ve got that going for us, I suppose!) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>