Ooh la la! Delphine!

I think you all know me pretty well by now. So, you know that I sort of wish I was a dainty French girl, right? I love Amélie, I eat at least one biscotti per week, one of my favorite meals is champagne and French toast (I just made that up, although I did have it once and really enjoyed it), and I’m very happy to report that Gérard Depardieu is still alive. (Gérard Depardieu, Eddie Rabbitt, Kenny Loggins, Louie Anderson. All of these people are dead to me for some reason. In fact, I couldn’t point out the actual dead ones if I tried.)

Anyway, I’m going to approach knitting a bit differently in 2009. In an attempt to stomp out my capricious knitterly ways, I’m making myself finish something before I can start something else. A few days back, I purchased French Girl Knits, and holy crap how I fell in love with Delphine. In fact, I fell So Hard for Delphine that I stayed up late on Monday night to finish my Versatility—a project that has been going on and on (and on) for nearly three months. Here I am, smelling like French Vogue in my Versatility:
Spaghetti and Meatballs

Here I am, showing you how much I look like a Wii character in my Versatility:
My Brain is on the Outside of My Head

Meredith has told me that I’m not allowed to wear my Versatility to school. Apparently, she hates bobbles and cannot appreciate the fact that I am sometimes Juliette Binoche.

Tonight I shall choose my yarn for Delphine. It’s a stinking CORSET, people. And because it’s a corset, I have once again kicked off the Weight Watchers Core Plan. (I’m down three pounds in three days, and I’m the crabbiest girl this side of the Mississippi. I’m snacking on apples, and that is NOT how I like to live.)

It’s all for you, my sweet Delphine. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Facebook has zapped me.

Me: So, it appears that I have sort of let Fluid Pudding go these past few weeks.

Jeff: Huh.

Me: I got a new phone. Does anyone want to hear about it?

Jeff: It’s The Facebook Effect.

Me: I have no idea what you’re saying.

Jeff: You told your Facebook friends that you got a new phone. You went on for two sentences or so, and then you ran out of characters.

Me: Yikes. I’m running out of character and losing my ability to elaborate. Rattlesnakes are eating their way through my saucy shoes!

As soon as I hit the Publish button over there to my right, I’m going to high five myself and go Facebook-free for a week. It’s like my own little social experiment! Focus shifting and prioritization and sparking and let’s see what happens! LET’S SEE IF I GET POKED!

Oh. I finished a few knitting projects and am starting a new one on Thursday. Do you want to hear about it, or should I save it for Facebook? I have knitting goals, people! And that sounds really crazy to 43.9% of you.

I’m almost forty years old. (Technically, I’m almost almost forty.) I don’t think I have enough cheese to feed Fluid Pudding, Twitter, and Facebook. Are any of you worn out? Are you knitting? What sort of cheese do you prefer? Is anyone else robbing Peter to pay Paul?!?! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I’m also wearing my witty underpants.

In less than an hour I will be jumping into the old Nissan and driving thirty miles south to have dinner and drinks with some friends I haven’t seen in over twenty years.

Dear Facebook,
You are crazy.
Love, Angela Pudding

I always accept these invitations with a fist to the sky and a big bucket of “Hell, Yeah!”

THEN, as time goes by, I begin to waver and my brain kicks into Sniffling Excuse Mode.

“Hmm. My eye sure has been twitching lately. Perhaps this whole dinner/drink thing isn’t the best idea!”

“Wait. Was that a cramp? Is it a good idea to drink a margarita while ovulating? I better put my robe back on! Pass the lentil soup.”

And so on.

Thirty minutes ago I stepped out of my mind and into my cocksure shoes.
Confidence Shoes

I know. Your cocksure shoes probably have a spikier heel. Please remember that my Stumble and Fall Incident List is a bit longer than yours.

Wish me luck and salty guacamole. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

If you don’t love the Snow Puffs, I’ll shave my head and post questionable photos. (And that is not a promise!)

When I was in the eighth grade, I had a terrible day at school. (I actually had several terrible days, but one really stands out.) Without going into too much detail, let me just say this: I had to wear a raincoat throughout the day because I was dealing with teenage girl issues and didn’t have much backup and now you know exactly what I’m talking about, and it was hot outside, so I was all sweaty and smelly in my raincoat and people kept asking why I was wearing a raincoat when it had stopped raining three hours ago and “The sun is out! It’s too hot for a jacket! We’re running laps in PE, and you’re still wearing a raincoat?! What’s that smell? Why are you crying?!”

When I got home from school that day, I remember changing clothes and going into the kitchen to find something to eat. My mom had been to the store earlier that day, and she had bought those Star Crunch cookie things. I sat on the floor and ate four of them, and my world was suddenly bright again. (You know, until the next day when so-and-so didn’t look at me the right way (or not at all) and I missed a word on my spelling test or whatever. Ugh, eighth grade.)

Shortly after I met Jeff he told me that his mom used to stock the house with Oatmeal Pies, and that he would often come home from school and eat a number of them just to forget about the day.

(We are soul mates.)

Anyway, Little Debbie has now come out with a line of one hundred calorie snacks and they sent some to me a few weeks back, because they saw me exercising through the window and wanted to provide some healthy snacks as I attack Project Pudding Pounddown 2009.

Because I love you and today is day worthy of a huge celebration that includes free cake (even if you’re terribly self-conscious and wearing a raincoat), I’m giving out a big box of the Little Debbie 100 Calorie Snacks to three lucky people. In this box, you’ll receive the following (listed in my order of preference) Snow Puffs, Nutty Bars, Marshmallow Treats, Whole Wheat Wafer Nutty Bars, Yellow Cakes, Chocolate Cakes, Triple Fudge Brownies, and Gingerbread Cookies. (Descriptions and photos are here.)

Just leave a comment below and tell me your favorite Little Debbie memory. OR, tell me about your most horrific day in the eighth grade. Or, tell me nothing. I’ll still put your name in the drawing, because I’m cool like that.

Names will be drawn on Friday morning after I wake up and enjoy an egg or two.

EDITED TO ADD: Thanks SO much to everyone for the stories! I wish I could send Little Debbies to each and every one of you! All winners have been notified. If any of them change their mind, I’ll draw more names! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I’m ripping off my privy pants to tell you The Starbucks Secret.

So, I finished a freelance project early last week, and immediately took on another. And I’ll spare you all of the details except for this one: I now know more about anal sacs than you do. Specifically, canine anal sacs. And the things I have learned have absolutely nothing to do with the actual freelance work. I learned all of my anal sac info in my spare time, when I should have been cleaning the house or reading Revolutionary Road.

I’m hosting this weekend’s book club, you see, and I still haven’t finished the book. The idea of finishing it before Sunday afternoon seems quite doable, but it won’t be doable if I continue to spend my free time reading about Feline Panleukopenia and Tail Paralysis. (Confession: If I had the time to Do It All Over Again, I would probably jump into Healthcare. Also, if I had the time to Do It All Over Again, I would NOT have returned to Starbucks this morning after last week’s incident. Wait. Did I tell you that I wanted to pinch (or punch, depending on your imaginary violence tolerance level) a barista last week when he lectured me on the high prices of apple juice as he handed me my thirty-eight thousand dollar tall non-fat London Fog tea latte? (I know. So many stinking adjectives.) The register guy asked the barista to make a sample of the apple chai for me, and the barista told me that he would NOT make a sample for me because apple juice is terribly expensive. He then came down on the register guy (who knows I like chai, but had never tried the apple version) for even suggesting such a thing. “Apple juice is TOO EXPENSIVE TO GIVE AWAY!!!” And I wanted to look over to the register guy and whisper, “Let’s get him!” before jumping over the counter and clobbering the barista, but I was simply too embarrassed to say or do anything, because the register guy looked to be more than a bit distressed by the whole thing. This is What I Think I Know: The apple juice at Starbucks is not really apple juice. It is juice squeezed from the heads of endangered Chinese River Dolphins. And the Starbucks employees don’t want you to know this, but now you do. It makes perfect sense now, doesn’t it?)

Anyway. I shall now change the subject, knowing that We Will Never Forget The Starbucks Secret. Saturday evening will find me participating in my first ever Trivia Night, and I’m not sure if I should be excited or terrified, because it took Jeff and I nearly two minutes to come up with the name Rock Hudson this morning.

Me: Wait. Who is the dead guy I’m thinking of? Old. Adorable. Witty. I have a crush on him, and I think he was gay?

Jeff: Oh! Yeah. Um, not Spencer Tracy.

Me: No. An Affair to Remember, maybe, but I don’t think so. That guy. Funny!

Jeff: Cary Grant?! Cary Grant!

Me: Yes! Ding ding ding! We just won Trivia Night!!!

Jeff: But wait. You don’t love Cary Grant. I think you love Rock Hudson.

Me: True. We just lost Trivia Night!!!

(Brad? Liz? Do you still want us at your table?)

On Sunday afternoon, I will be leading the book club discussion. And as everyone talks about Kate Winslet and Richard Yates and how the movie paralleled the book and “I’d like a pear gorgonzola pizza” and whatnot, I will be hiding behind my lemonade and muttering something about how Leonardo DiCaprio is long on looks, and cats with thickened bowel loops just might be in trouble. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

This Makeout Party with the Dead has been brought to you by Levaquin!

For the past three weeks or so, I’ve had this coughing thing. It has made me sweat, it has made me vomit (Cranberry salad! I thought I was puking blood! But it wasn’t blood, it was cranberries (and grapes)! Enjoy your lunch.), it has kept me up at night, it has made my family hate me, blah, blah, blah. Ten days ago, my doctor gave me another round of antibiotics, as the Zithromax she had originally prescribed didn’t do the trick. When she wrote the prescription for Levaquin, she told me that the only side effect she’s heard of is weird dreams. And the skies opened up, and the angels began to sing, “Pay-YO-teeeeeeeeee!!!”

The past ten nights have been amazing. (And please know that both Dreamed and Dreamt are acceptable as the past tense for Dream. I just looked it up!) Anyway, I dreamed that I belted out Seals and Crofts’ “Diamond Girl” as I chased after a bird with diamond wings in Africa. I dreamt (seriously—both are correct!) that Meredith was on probation at school because she couldn’t eat cake without stabbing it maniacally with a fork and screaming “I am the bride of Jesus!!!” I dreamed of eating toasted ravioli filled with sweet potatoes (and sprinkled with shimmering powdered sugar) while standing in line to ride a purple roller coaster.

I was sort of sad last night as I went to bed. I had taken my final Levaquin, and was getting ready to settle in for the final party in the Land of Nod. AND, that final pill did not disappoint. As Harper sat in a cabin and played with baby alligators (they were totally tame and toothless!), I made out with Heath Ledger (the Very Much Alive version). And holy smokes. That Heath Ledger certainly knows what he’s doing. Especially when it comes to Going Straight for the Neck.

Tonight, medication free, I’ll surely return to my old school dreams—me trying to attend a class that I never signed up for, me taking a shower (I dream it fairly often, and then I wake up sort of disappointed that I still need to take a shower), me accidentally driving a car off the edge of a bridge… Oh. I’m sorry. I believe I just put you to sleep with my simpleton dreams. Here. Let me cover you with a soft blanket and kiss your forehead.

I’ll miss you, sweet Levaquin. And, I heartily recommend you to anyone with a bacterial infection! (And wouldn’t it be great if I now yelled out something like, “And let’s have a giveaway! The fine folks at Levaquin would like to give out some free samples to any of you who are suffering from lung, sinus, skin, or urinary tract infections! Leave a comment below, and three lucky winners will score some dreamy pills!” Sadly, I am not allowed to offer drugs at Fluid Pudding Dot Com. But I AM allowed to offer Little Debbie snacks! And I’ll do that early next week.)

Heath Ledger! Whoosh! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Okay. I promise I’m not becoming one of Those Moms.

Last night Harper asked why Meredith’s video is on the computer but hers isn’t.

Me: Because you’re simply not cute enough.

Harper: But I’ve got that whole doe-eyed thing going on! I’m like the love child of freaking Bambi and Boo!

Me: Okay. Uncle.

So, anyway. Oh! And don’t say anything about the wires. I already know what you’re thinking, and I agree.

You Have Never Seen Me (the Angels We Have Heard on High remix) from Angela D. on Vimeo. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I couldn’t tell her what you really do with it, because I hate the word “insert.”

I tell you the following story with a great deal of hesitance, because it touches on Female Stuff and Whatnot. (Please know that I still have a hard time saying the word Bra out loud, so speaking of The Monthly Event is not something I do lightly. (No pun intended, if there’s one hiding out somewhere in there.))

Anyway.

When it’s That Time Of The Month, I tend to keep a tampon (unused) in the front pocket of my jeans when I’m at home. We don’t have cabinets in our bathrooms, so I find that the pocket method is the safest way to go if I’m in need of a gear switch.

I didn’t realize that Meredith was completely aware of my pocket protection. I also didn’t realize that a five year old could be so in tune with my monthly mood changes. (There are so many things in life for which I was (or am) unaware. For instance, I just learned that orange juice tastes crappy after you brush your teeth because of the sodium lauryl sulfate contained in most toothpastes. Boring, but there you have it.)

Last night I was a bit stressed out about laundry and back to school and freelance projects and Christmas trees and just about anything else you can imagine. During one of my Puking o’ the Uglies, Meredith walked out of the room and returned with a tampon (unused). She reluctantly held it out to me and whispered, “Mommy, I think it’s time for you to eat your medicine.”

A few hours later, Meredith wrote a song. Sort of. And because I love it so much (you know, because I’m her mother or something), I think she should come out with a series of life lessons put to music that the five year olds would dig.

An Apple A Day from Angela D. on Vimeo.

And now I jump onto a completely different horse. I’m doing another giveaway thinger dinger in a few days, and it’s food! And it’s good! So keep in touch! (And eat your medicine.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Resolution, Schmesolution.

So, it seems that every year I think about my goals for the following year, and then I immediately go all blah, blah, blah “I want to read more books and knit more socks for others and make falafel and scare myself a bit and so on! Bring it! Indian food!”

This year I’m keeping it simple. Three things.

I’m going to try my hardest to treat others the way I would like to be treated. I know. Golden Rule and mashed potatoes and all of that. We all know how thin-skinned I am, so this boils down to fluffy words like generosity and compassion.

I’m also going to try to treat myself the way I would like others to treat me. I’ve often been told that I’m entirely too hard on myself, which I find difficult to accept. Maybe I’m really NOT such a terrible mom/wife/friend/etc. (Also, this goal could be stretched and molded a bit to include the occasional purchase of silk yarn and/or custard pie. Because I would like others to purchase silk yarn and/or custard pie for me, and I now want to treat myself the way I would like others to treat me. See how that works? Easy! Silk and pie, my friends!)

Finally, and most importantly, my loftiest goal seems to be wearing a pair of This One is Simple pants, but those pants are mighty deceiving. I plan to Listen. Instead of losing my patience with my kids, I’m going to try to really Listen to them. Maybe there really IS a reason why Harper needs to get out of bed and eat a few Tostitos at 10:30 at night. Maybe Meredith really DOES need to count to 100 again and again (and again). Maybe Jeff has a need to sing The Hold Steady songs in the morning when I’m trying to put my day together. Listening! Kindness! All of that! Bring it!

In a nutshell: Brotherly Love, Soft Core Narcissism, and All Ears.

Have a Happy New Year. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

The pumpkin head is for the feast of Stephen, Sire!

If you know me at all, you know that the inside of my car is a disaster. I believe our entire CD collection is on the floor of the car, along with every gas station receipt and candy bar wrapper we’ve accumulated over the past two years. There are many tissues. Some are unused. Others are not. (I know!) I think there’s a wrench set in there somewhere. Also, several barrettes. (Just in case.) I’m missing a can of Lentil soup. I’m sure it’s in the car.

A few weeks back, I found myself driving to the grocery store in desperate need of the ingredients for punch. (When you’re attending a late night yarn store party, it’s sort of silly to NOT fill a gigantic punch bowl with pineapple juice and frozen fruit and whatnot, right? You know it!) Anyway, I scored a front row spot, made my way into the store, grabbed my punch stuff, and carried my bags out to the car.

Please know that it was a windy day. Super windy. Blustery, even. (And I don’t throw “blustery” around very often, my friends.) When I opened up the back of the car, a (mostly empty) pumpkin head from Halloween got caught in the wind and flew out. And because my reflexes are spot on (seriously—throw a basketball at my head sometime and see how fast I duck!), I quickly brought my leg up with the lofty intention of kicking the head back into the car. (Because I’m doing it all for Slobo Ilijevski these days. And in my mind, I’m a lot more athletic than I am in your real world.)

As you probably guessed, the pumpkin head did not make its way back into the car. In fact, I kicked the goofy (now empty) thing UNDER the car, where it slowly rolled to a stop dead center—out of my reach from all angles. As I finished packing groceries into the car (and picking up the stale boxes of Milk Duds from the parking lot), I hoped that the wind would somehow catch the head and blow it out. No luck.

It was then that a really perfect thing happened. The Salvation Army Red Can Christmas Man showed up for his bell ringing shift. And as he set up his station and started singing (Yep. He’s one of THOSE Salvation Army Red Can Christmas Men.), I slowly closed down the back of the car and put my keys and iPod in the front seat.

“Good King Wenceslas looked out on the feast of Stephen! When the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even!”

(This is where I dropped to my knees on the driver side of my car.)

“Brightly shone the moon that night, though the frost was cruel, when a poor man came in sight, gathering winter fyoo-oo-el.”

(This is where I dropped my head down to the ground and began slithering snakelike under the car—slowly inching toward the pumpkin head and trying my hardest to not get my coat all dirty. Hey wait. You do remember that I’m parked in the front row, right? Yep. Right in front of the Salvation Army Red Can Christmas Man. As I’m typing this for you, he’s probably sitting around with his family telling his side of the story. “And all I could see were too legs sticking out from under that car! Woo hoo! Gold!”)

“Hither, page, and stand by me, if thou know’st it, telling, Yonder peasant, who is he? Where and what his dwelling?”

(Yeah. I’m still over here squirming around under the car in the style of the yonder peasant. I’m still five inches away from this damned pumpkin head! My cheek is rubbing against the parking lot, which is just as good as microderm abrasion, right? I’m crabby, yet I know that this entire scene is my own fault!)

“Sire, he lives a good league hence, underneath the mountain; Right against the forest fence, by Saint Agnes’ fountain.”

(Got it!!! I got the pumpkin head! And now I’m doing the backward army crawl on my elbows with my arms tightly wrapped around it! I will NEVER let my car get this cluttered again! Do you hear that, 2009?!)

“‘Bring me flesh, and bring me wine, bring me pine logs hither: Thou and I will see him dine, when we bear them thither.’ Page and monarch, forth they went, forth they went together; Through the rude wind’s wild lament and the bitter weather.”

(And, victory! I bounced up and lifted the pumpkin head over my head Stanley Cup style for the Salvation Army Red Can Christmas Man to see! And he looked a bit relieved, because he really HAD been watching my feet jerking around from under the car. And he kept singing, because when you know all of the stinkin’ words to Good King Wenceslas, you really DO keep on singing them, because that’s quite a thing, don’t you think? (Personally, I’m Wikipedia-ing the heck out of those lyrics right now!) Before jumping into my car and driving away, I yelled something ridiculous like, “I got it! This pumpkin head! Mine! A-HA!” (I don’t remember my exact words, because they were so cringe-worthy that my brain is helping me block them. Lingering humiliation and whatnot, you know…)

And I know you want to know if the pumpkin head is still in my car.

Of course it’s not.

(Yes. It is. I know.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>