Category: Daily

Miss Crazy in Prison with the Makeup

I stopped by the Crazy Lady Starbucks last night on my way to work. While there, I asked if they experienced any sort of customer disturbance on Saturday morning at 9:45ish. And they had! Apparently, the woman who yelled at me in the parking lot entered Starbucks and started acting all crazy and screaming out her drink order. The manager wanted to avoid a scene, so she escorted Miss Crazy (I know, that’s mean. But I refuse to keep calling her “the woman”. Wait. Let’s call her Beyoncé just to add some sparkle to the story.), I mean, the manager escorted Beyoncé to the head of the line where Beyoncé continued to yell out inappropriate things to the employees and the other customers.

After getting her coffee, Beyoncé sat in a corner and talked to herself for nearly an hour. And here’s the part of the story that haunts me: She didn’t bring her child into Starbucks with her. In other words, I really should have hung out a bit longer, because Beyoncé left her child in a car seat in a van in a parking lot (in St. Charles, in Missouri, in the United States, in North America, continue to pan out, etc.) for an hour while she sat inside muttering battys and whatnots. Hhhhhhhh.

Funniest Thing The Starbucks Guy Said to Me: Yeah, thanks for waiting four days to check in on us. If she had been swinging a knife, we would still be bleeding while you were “out there” doing your ugly hair thing!

Insert seamless segue right here, would you?

So, I’ve got this fresh thing under my arm (you WANT me to spare the details.), but I can’t go see my dermatologist BECAUSE HE IS IN PRISON. (So, I’m going to see my gynecologist instead. Monday morning. 8:15. Don’t worry.) By the way, did I mention that my dermatologist is in PRISON? I do hope they crown him Dermatologist Amongst the Prisoners, because he did cure the ugly batch of eczema on my hand (Remember when I had to wear the gloves? Yeesh.), and I’m a firm believer in requiring dermatologist prisoners to palliate the perplexing pustules of their prisoner peers. (I know. I’m making light. And the reason he is in prison is so completely horrible. Unforgivable, really.)

Another segue here! You’re getting good at this!

I’m giving away a hefty amount of Max Factor stuff over here. And even if you’re not into scoring makeup, you should at least jump over and witness the disaster that is me after applying 39 years worth of makeup in one sitting. (My mom doesn’t have any photographs of me playing with makeup as a child. Now she does. You know, minus that whole Child thing.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

For my next trick, I shall assemble a car.

Remember last month when you inspired me to reach into my closet and pull out my sewing machine?

Well, take a look at what happened earlier this week.

Harp

I made a dress.

ANTM

And Harper sort of likes it.

Harper

And when she bends over, it doesn’t rip, which means I can change the world, Eric Clapton.

(By the way, Jeff came up with Spool Samples as my sewing tag. That’s why I married him, you know.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I should have stuffed the jumbos. Instead, I embed.


Last year, to commemorate the anniversary of my birth, I stuffed quite a few marshmallows into my mouth to see if I could get past a dozen without choking. This year I fully intended to do the same thing, but really. How many marshmallow stuffing videos does the world need? (Plus, I’m wearing my new favorite scarf right now and I can’t risk the slobber. You know how it is.)

Enjoy your day, especially if you have either graham crackers or chocolate in your possession. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I love you and you and you and you (repeat and fade)…

Thanks so much for your kind words and e-mails regarding the Possibly Crazy with a Big C lady and the reflux stuff. Once again. You guys? The greatest. Hands down.

One more thing: If you’re interested in reading about Snapfish products and possibly winning a $50 Snapfish gift card for Father’s Day, step on over to my side room. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

The woman had bad roots, but I didn’t call her on it.

zombie
Yesterday morning I was a bit bummed out because Meredith has been having stomachaches that are a bit more like STOMACHACHES(!!!) and they hit her quickly and she immediately starts to cry and sometimes she throws up, and I would do just about anything to suffer through them for her. So anyway, she had a bad one yesterday morning and the doctor couldn’t get her in before 10:15, and I had to be at work at 10:00, so Jeff had to take her in, and well, I wanted to be there, but I couldn’t.

Since I was running about five minutes early to work, I stopped by Starbucks for a coffee. As I left the building with my drink and started walking to the car, a woman (who was unbuckling her child’s car seat) backed away from her car, looked at me, and yelled, “What an ugly haircut! What ARE you?!?!” Since I was the only other person in the parking lot and she was looking right at me, I couldn’t really pretend that she wasn’t talking to me. SO, I pretended that perhaps she thought she knew me and that she was being all jokey. I sort of smiled and continued to walk to the car.

“No! Seriously!!! What ARE you?!?!”

She continued to scream out at me until I was feeling the adrenalin rushing behind my eyeballs. I jumped into my car, quickly locked the door behind me, started my car, and drove away as she stood and watched me with a crazy angry look on her face.

Who does that? Who singles a stranger out on a parking lot and starts screaming insults at 9:50 on a Saturday morning? Part of me is sort of proud that I didn’t say anything back to her. But, seriously, I know myself better than that. I would NEVER say anything back. (I talk a good “I Should’ve Said”, but I think we all know that I’m much more flight than fight.) Part of me is a bit disappointed that I DIDN’T respond in some way. But what would I have said without compromising a bit of dignity?

“Seriously!!! What ARE you?!?!” I think I’m still bothered by the whole thing not only because of my tendency to be a bit on the self-conscious side (I have looked at my hair several times today, and I do believe that it’s Just Fine), but because her child was sitting right there in the car seat watching the whole thing.

May I ask what you would have done?

Also, so I don’t leave you hanging, Meredith has been diagnosed with GERD. We dealt with it when she was a baby, and it seems that it’s back, and it’s stirring up all sorts of anxiety because she doesn’t want to get sick at school, and I can’t even tell you how happy I am that school’s almost out. Three more weeks. That’s it. Less than twenty days. But anyway. Today we had to leave church less than twenty minutes in because her stomach started hurting and she freaked out, and she has been crying on and off all day, and any reflux advice would be appreciated, too.

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When it’s a little too busy for words, just puke up a photo of the cats!

Sid & Ramona

Things are going quite well at the Pudding house. Fabric is being cut, no humans are ill, I’m rolling on the current book club selection, I’m hooking up with a friend this evening for dinner, and the cats are toying with the idea of becoming pals.

Thanks to each and every one of you for the comments and e-mails regarding my next camera purchase. I really do appreciate you and your thoughtful words. My Lumix DMC-ZS3 should be arriving in the mail on Friday, and I couldn’t be more pleased. It will fit in my pocket, it has a 12x zoom, and I’ll be able to take videos on the fly. (Please know that I’m never quite serious when I use phrases like “on the fly.” It all goes back to the days during which I wore opaque tights every day of the week. Analysis gap! Vertical integration! Future-proof! (Yes. I sort of miss those days.)) Anyway, the SLR will eventually cross my path. For now, I’ve got what I need, plus three pairs of opaque tights. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Look at me! I’m self-employed! I love to work at nothing all day.

So, every once in a while I like to sit back and give a State of the Union-esque sort of update to you so you know where I am with everything. Specifically, I’d like to update you on business, ask for your opinion on something, and then send you somewhere where your voice can be heard! (Figuratively!)

First of all, as you know, I’ve been doing reviews for BlogHer. I know this burns a few goats out there, so let me be totally up front on something. I will NEVER place a review on this main page. They will always be placed on a different page and listed over on the right-hand side under the Pages—Reviews header. There is absolutely no pressure to read the reviews. None. So, why do I do the reviews? To me, they’re fun. As you know, I get free stuff when I agree to do a review. Sometimes I get all generous and give that stuff to you guys. Also, I get paid. And that leads me to my next topic!

When my grandma died four years ago (there I go with the dead grandma thing again!), Jeff and I bought a Sony DSC-H1 digital camera. And the camera really has nothing to do with the grandma, but Timelines, People! It’s how my head works! Anyway, the camera has been a good friend, but she has also been failing lately, and I believe it’s time to replace her. For the past several months I’ve been saving my review checks and my yarn store checks with the intention of eventually purchasing a new digital camera. Many people have been singing the praises of the Canon Digital Rebel to me. A few say that Nikon is the way to go. Please know that I am NOT a professional photographer, nor do I aspire to be one. However, I would love to be able to take photos without having to dink around with them afterward. Having the option of video would be nice, but not completely necessary. Do you have any recommendations for me? Is your digital camera love a strong one? Sway me, Internet! Bend me and mold me and poke me around for a bit. Convince me. (Help me.)

Finally, do you remember last April when I posted some of the Dave letters? Well, I received a quick note from Dave a few days back telling me that he has a t-shirt design up at Threadless, and if his design receives enough votes, it will become an actual t-shirt. If you have a Threadless account, would you consider voting for his design? (You vote by clicking on one of the numbers at the right hand side. Preferably, the 5.) I told him that if I can get 100 people to vote from my site and if his t-shirt goes into production, I might just give one of the t-shirts away. I’ll keep you updated on our progress.

And now, because I enjoy feeling like I can embed things, I shall embed the badge for the We All Scream design. You can click on it! You know, because I understand the whole embedding thing!
We All Scream - Threadless T-shirts, Nude No More
Excellent. This concludes my Taking Care of The Business. Tomorrow (or soon thereafter)? Jeff makes an important decision regarding the possibility of me running away from home with one of my long-time crushes. (Hint: This has absolutely nothing to do with Zach Braff.)

EDITED TO ADD: If we get the shirt vote up to 415 votes and the shirt goes to production, I’ll give one away! And you NEED this shirt, because it’s orange and summery and ’tis the season and all of that.

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John Calvin was a French theologian, but this has nothing to do with that.

Yesterday I found myself at a bookstore stocking up on birthday gifts for Meredith (Henry Huggins! The Boxcar Children!), as she will be turning six on Wednesday. Before leaving, I decided to stop by the magazine rack and check out the latest Bust. (This may or may not be important: I was wearing a denim flared skirt which is probably no longer in style, a lime green (kind of tight because it’s been a rough winter) t-shirt, my fuschia shoes, and my Superhero necklace.)

A man approached, and I use the term Man sort of loosely, because he looked to be in his early thirties, and I still don’t really consider myself a Woman at almost forty. I typed this entire entry referring to him as Man, but I will now change Man to Calvin. Just because.

Calvin: So, is Vogue a French magazine?

Me: Well, I don’t believe this particular issue is written in French, because I can read it. And I don’t speak French. And it looks like the cover says British Vogue. My vote is Not From France.

Calvin: You’re right. It’s just that I was recently in France, and it quickly became clear to me that fashion really does begin in Paris. The people there are so beautiful. Walking muses.

Me: Interesting. I’ve never been. (Starting now, the words I stick in parentheses will consist of the stuff I was thinking, but didn’t say.)

Calvin: One of my very favorite writers writes for Vanity Fair magazine, and I believe he also contributes an occasional article to Vogue.

Me: Christopher Hitchens?

Calvin: Yes!

(At this point, I was 83% happy that I could scream out Christopher Hitchens’s name and be correct. That rarely happens! (15% of me just sort of wanted to grab the Bust (no pun intended) and run. 2% of me is pretty much always thinking about nothing but string cheese.))

Me: My husband is a big Hitchens fan. (Notice how I dropped the Husband thing just in case Calvin was flirting! You’re welcome, Jeff!)

Calvin (Not deterred in the least! Perhaps my brain was more appealing than my butt! That is not a bad thing!): Hitchens is a wonderful writer, and I love that he comes from a place where free speech isn’t encouraged! I mean, you’re paying your tithe to the queen and all! HA HA HA!!!

Me: Jeff (I’m now calling my husband by name, because we’re all friends here, Calvin!) recently read To a God Unknown.

Calvin: Do you mean God is Not Great?

Me: Yes. (Shit. Wrong answer. Oh well. At least I was able to bring Steinbeck into the mix, which means this Superhero necklace is really doing the job! Dostoevsky! Rachmaninoff! My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard!)

Calvin: As much as I like Hitchens, I was disappointed in that book. I much prefer The God Delusion. (He then held up a copy of The God Delusion. Seriously. I suddenly felt like our entire conversation had been scripted like some sort of unexpected infomercial that I hadn’t signed on to do. (I had string cheese in my purse, but I didn’t pull it out. Looking back, I probably should have.))

Me (not really wanting to go down the religion road with Calvin): I’m not familiar. Actually, my very favorite Hitchens book is The Missionary Position! (It’s the only one I’ve read!)

Calvin: Ah! Mother Teresa! Mine will always be Letters to a Young Contrarian.

Me: Actually, I loved that one, too. (I never read that one, but suddenly I’m pretending I have. I’m like that sometimes.) You know, one of my all-time favorite quotes came from an interview I saw with Hitchens several years ago. He mentioned that a good writer will always beat a cliché as if it were a rattlesnake.

Calvin: He definitely knows how to avoid the banalities!!!

Me: (Okay, Calvin. Uncle.) That he does. Well, enjoy your Vogue! (Strike a pose, there’s nothing to it.)

Calvin: Oh. Er, okay.

(Apparently, I’ve still got it, Ralph Malph.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>