Category: Daily

I started Panda planning on October 1. I REALLY want you to think that our family is adopting a panda. Alas, it’s just another bullet journal type of planning tool that is supposed to make me more productive while feeling thankful, focused, and affirmed.

With the Panda Planner (Oh, wait. This post isn’t endorsed. Do I need to say that? Honestly, no one wants me to endorse their stuff. (No lie: I once sent an e-mail to Birkenstock and told them I would have their logo tattooed onto my foot or backside if they would send me a lifetime supply of Birkenstocks. A lifetime supply of Birkenstocks is only, like, three pairs. It has been many years, and I’m still waiting for their response.)), you set monthly, weekly, and daily goals. You evaluate every day to talk about wins and potential improvements.

The worst part about the Panda Planner is that it believes I want to exercise. Every single day it asks me what sort of exercise I’m planning to do, and every single day my eyes roll into the back of my head and I pretend to not understand what Panda Planner is getting at. Panda Planner is making the assumption that I have legs and energy. Panda Planner doesn’t know me. (Disclaimer: I do have legs and energy, but still.)

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This morning I was able to dress like a real person and go to a real agency to talk business with creative professionals, and: Good Stuff. (I was trying to show you my outfit by standing on the couch and catching my reflection in the mirror. It didn’t work out the way I planned. So I ran to a man who said he can understand… Long black shirt. Dark jeans. Silver Birkenstocks. Jewelry.)

It looks like I might try to stop by here every day in October. Let’s see what happens. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Not Good: At noon, I met a friend for lunch. When we arrived at the restaurant (one of my favorites), we learned that the location was closed. Permanently.

Good: We drove about a mile down the road to a different restaurant, and then walked to an artsy consignment shop and a cookie store.

Not Good: Here is a metaphor. I’m sitting on a splintery chair and it should have four legs but it has only three and part of me is like, “This is fine. Everything will be fine.” Ah, but my legs are starting to cramp and I need to flag down a maker of chair legs, but it appears that I don’t have hands (or a flag) in this rodeo. (None of this is anything you need to worry about.)

Good: I ran away from home a few hours ago to treat myself to a manicure and a pedicure. (This is not a common treat.) Anyway, while sitting in the chair, a girl rushed into the salon because she needed an “emergency manicure.” That’s right: An emergency manicure. THEN, she requested a color called “I’m a Princess.”

Manicurist (holding up a bottle of nail polish): This one?

Princess: No. I’m a princess!

Oh, life is bigger. It’s bigger than you and you are not me. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I could be pregnant in this shirt. OR, I could sit on a bale of hay and pose with a pumpkin on my lap (and a baby in my uterus?) in this shirt. I could stretch out on a taupe blanket in the grass and drink wine (sans baby, OBVIOUSLY) and eat apple slices and cheese on a crisp fall day in this shirt with maybe a copy of The Night Circus at my side and the leaves are orange and yellow and red and maybe Andrew Bird shows up with a guitar and a slide whistle and he asks me to sing Left Handed Kisses with him, and of course I will. Of course I will.

What bothers me just slightly is that I could sell paper towels for truly tough messes in this shirt.

I’m on the fence (as they say) with this shirt, but the fact that it matches our back porch and has pockets is making me lean toward the pile of Keep It. My phone fits in one of those pockets. My keys fit in the other.

Do you remember this poncho? It’s coming along very nicely, and B is for Buckethead.

My website was hacked, hacked again, and then hacked again. (Do people still use the word Hacked?) At one point I said, “You know, maybe I’m just done with Fluid Pudding.” I then realized that Fluid Pudding turned 17 on September 19 and I’ve never done anything for 17 years, so I may as well carry on. Right? Right. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

When I arrived at Picasso’s on Wednesday morning, I chose to sit at one of the little pumpkin’d tables. I know half of The People Out There are like, “Oooh! Pumpkin EVERYTHING! Wahoooo!!!” and half of The People Out There are like, “Go to HELL, Pumpkin Spicers! You can just go to hell right now!!!” and the third half can take it or leave it because they have better things to do (like WORLD PEACE or CURING CANCER) and I’m over here in the corner like, “So, I dig a pumpkin muffin every once in a while. I also like Christmas movies all year round, summer gives me migraines, yarn and pens and bread pudding make me insanely happy, and I refuse to kill flies. What of it?”

Flies: We had something like 2,402 flies in our house a few weekends ago. I’m not sure where they came from or why our house became a destination for them, but I’m happy to report that I opened windows and danced around the house until every one of them (mostly) had been “helped” back outside. Zero kills. Does that make me 20% Buddhist? I believe it does.

Thursday morning after I dropped the girls off at school, my car filled with the stench of salami. A few weeks ago, as I drove past the hospital where I thought she had died, my car filled with the scent of my grandma. (My mom assures me that Grandma died at a different hospital. Still. Weird.)

Fall is here. Shawls and scarfs. Scarves? Scarfs. Mufflers and cowls. Cardigans. Clogs and fingerless mitts and hot tea and marching bands and orange and brown and a few nights ago I enjoyed a gummy bear margarita and it was weird but good. Yesterday I couldn’t breathe out of my nose and I was saying things like, “Ed leased id cabe doday add nod esdherday.”

I did a shot of tequila once. ONCE. I chased it down with a fistful of shredded iceberg lettuce because there was nothing else nearby. Oh, college.

Chocolate Chip Cookie and Graham Cracker enjoy watching Bondi Vet because it reminds them of the semester they spent in vet school.

I colored my hair this morning. Half of me is like, “Why in the hell can’t you just AGE like a normal person? YOUR HAIR IS 20% GREY! Hide it under a bushel? NO!” The other half is like, “Eh, I wear lots of black. Why can’t my hair match my shoes?!” (The third half can take it or leave it because I have better things to do, like scoring the very last available funnel cake at a marching band competition and hanging bird art on our wall.)

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UPDATE: I believe we’re back in business. Let’s see what happens.

Would you like to buy some sportswear? Someone has hacked my site in order to help you. Don’t speak English? No worries! We’ve got you covered. Want to learn a NEW language? Full immersion sportswear marketing pieces (plus a bit of mumbo and jumbo) below! Go get it!

Yep. I’ve been compromised. I’ve reached out to my people. Let’s see what happens.

Meanwhile, please enjoy this photo of the inside of my head. There’s a g in there! Some sinuses! My brain resembles the butt of a baby!

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John Waters said, “Remember: You must participate in the creative world you want to become part of.”

Similarly, if you surround yourself with toxic people, their toxicity seeps into you regardless of your fabric content. Don’t hang with the lady bullies when the world is in need of joy finders.

Similarly, dogs eventually start looking like their owners and vice versa. (Do you remember when I accidentally injected Scout’s plasma into my own blood stream? I’ve been sniffing hard lately. Scratching my head with my foot. Running 85 mph in circles around the couch for absolutely no reason.)

John Waters also said, “I’m rich! I don’t mean money-wise. I mean that I have figured out how to never be around assholes at any time in my personal and professional life. That’s rich.”

Tom Robbins said, “If God didn’t prefer for us to drink at night, He wouldn’t have made neon!”

E.B. White said, “Be obscure clearly.”

The Beastie Boys said, “I am the king of boggle. There is none higher. I get 11 points off the word ‘quagmire’.” ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Wear your Nikes or don’t wear your Nikes and set them ON FIRE (or donate them to the homeless) or go buy more pairs.

Be OUTRAGED by the NYT Op-Ed or be giddy about it or maybe familiarize yourself with the 25th Amendment.

(My Petra sweater is coming along nicely.)

I haven’t worn Nikes since the whole Michael Vick thing went down in 2011. (Actually, I haven’t worn Nikes since something like 1987, but I’ll take every opportunity I can to sound like an activist. Let’s just say I INTENTIONALLY haven’t worn Nikes since the whole Michael Vick thing went down.) Two days ago I wore a pair of Meredith’s Nikes to the grocery store. Nobody noticed because NOBODY CARED. It’s so easy to sit behind a computer and type really loudly on Facebook, but when you leave your house to go to the store? Wear whatever the hell you want, but keep your cart moving and be polite if you need to squeeze by someone in the baking aisle. SO many chocolate cake mixes. It’s never easy.

I read the op-ed last night and this morning I read up on the 25th Amendment and I HAVE OPINIONS but what matters is that I loaded my cart down at Trader Joe’s about an hour ago, and I wasn’t a dick to the guy behind me who had only two items in his hands. I let him go in front of me EVEN THOUGH HE WAS BUYING CRAP SUSHI AND KOMBUCHA. Also, he was NOT wearing Nikes and I have no idea who he voted for in 2016. He had a canvas wallet, if that means anything, and it probably doesn’t, because I have a canvas wallet, too. (And lots of commas.) People are people, Depeche Mode.

(The park near our house is coming along nicely.)

Last Friday I volunteered for the 1-5am shift at the marching band lock-in, and I think I was MADE for volunteering for the 1-5am shift at the marching band lock-in. Kids dancing and kids singing and kids sleeping and suddenly I was flipping pancakes and driving tired kids home and then the sun came up and I took a nap and then I ate salted caramels from Kakao.

Finally, my mom and I had breakfast last week and she took this photo of me using her magic phone camera and I love it because it makes my neck look young.

(My sentiments are coming along nicely.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

The high school marching band is hosting a used book sale along with their craft fair on December 1. To help build inventory for the book sale, several of us have been heading to other book sales around town to gather free book donations. Last night I headed to a book sale for their NFPO box-and-take hours, and as soon as my wristband was applied I turned into a horn-rimmed grandiloquent and giddy literature snob. As a result, the marching band book sale will hold several John Irving selections, a handful of Jonathan Franzens (Because a handful is about all I can take of him. I could eat a quick taco with Mr. F., but burrito and beer is out of the question. That attitude!), The Heart is a Lonely Hunter, an Amy Krouse Rosenthal, several books by African American authors, The White Hotel, a few books about religion (Not religious books. Books about religion. Those are two very different things.), and a Danny and the Dinosaur because it was one of my favorites when I was a kid. I checked out the medical selections before I left, and that’s where I saw several books that were edited by people I know in real life.

I spend so much time wondering what it was that I was supposed to be doing with my life. As I flipped through several of the medical textbooks it occurred to me that I help make some of the books that build the brains of doctors, nurses, vet techs, dental hygienists, gardeners, and homeschoolers. Not a bad gig, really.

This morning I went back to the doctor for my jaw, and now I’m taking a heavy dose of steroids. Locals: If you see someone pulling a truck with her teeth down Highway 94, it’s probably me. (I’ll be wearing Birkenstocks.) If you want to help, pull over and offer to give me a lift for bread pudding at the all-night bakery. All I need is for you to be my patient friend, make sure my underwear isn’t showing, and take me out for bread pudding.

Side story: Back in 1998, I found myself in a stadium parking lot drinking a few beers and taking a few antibiotics before a university football game. (The antibiotics were NOT taken recreationally. They NEVER are.) Anyway, it was super hot and I had two beers and sometimes alcohol interacts with medication and causes problems with dizziness and fainting and when I woke up lying on the ground in the crime scene pose, Jeff’s friend’s girlfriend bent down and said, “Your underwear was showing, so I pulled your dress down.” Nice!

I’m the luckiest: I had to fast for the doctor appointment because of labs and the drawing of blood. When I walked out of the office, I was growly and shaky (I wanted to go with growley and shakey, but WordPress assures me both of those spellings are incorrect.). I refuse to use the elevator because of the ghost of Elisa Lam, so every bit of my energy was spent crawling down three flights of stairs. When I got to the main floor? BAKE SALE! Better yet: Bake sale to benefit a hospice organization!!! I paid five bucks for a bag of puppy chow and maybe my meditation leader is right. Maybe I DO have angels and spirit guides. How else can you explain puppy chow at the bottom of a staircase?

Okay. So, this is my scene right now.

It’s breezy and cool outside, which feels like a gift.

I just wanted to check in with you. Wednesday. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

The man who sold a Hershey bar to me was wearing a name tag that said “Al, Pinch Hitter.” Because I need new glasses, I read it as “Al Pinch Hitler.” which then became “I’ll Pinch Hitler.”

I started this sweater.

Its top-down and stripes are starting to happen and I’ll Pinch Giuliani.

Nobody wants to know that every night I dream about trying to walk down a crowded elementary school hallway, and my legs keep cramping up and I have to stop and stretch multiple times and I’m just so embarrassed that I can’t walk down a hallway without struggling, and then I can’t find my car so I have to do my best to just keep walking. Forever.

I woke up Monday with a bum jaw and The Right Ear of Throbbing and a sensitivity that branched into my face and neck.

Nurse Practitioner: I’m not getting a good view of what’s going on in your ear, but I can tell you have an infection.

Me (in my head): It’s a baby bird. Maybe a cluster of spiders. My other black sock has been missing for days.

Suddenly, I was leaning back and holding a bowl under my ear and a medical assistant was squirting warm water and peroxide into my ear and STOP STOP STOP STOP because THE PAIN!

Nurse Practitioner: I’m going to send you to the ENT walk-in clinic.

The doctor at the walk-in clinic told me that no one should ever squirt water or peroxide into an ear. (I paid a $50 fee to have the water and peroxide squirted into my ear. That $50 could have purchased this shirt with enough left over for cheesecake. I don’t think I’ve ever been this angry before.)

Doctor at walk-in clinic: You’ve got all kinds of stuff going on in there. I’m going to vacuum it out a bit so I can see how bad the infection is.

Ear vacuum. Again with the crazy pain, but add in the irrational fear that my temporal lobe might be extracted accidentally. Question: Would a temporal lobe suck-out help with social anxiety? Answer: Damage to the right temporal lobe may cause a loss of inhibition with talking. Question: Would I rather be super comfy in public with a tendency to reveal every (potentially unpleasant) thought that bounces around in my head, or would I rather be panicky and self-contained? Luckily, my brain was not poked or sucked, so I shall remain jittery yet unresponsive. The Earth continues to spin, but I’m now realizing that I’ve met quite a few people in the past year who can be casually diagnosed with right temporal lobe damage. (I have a degree in psychology and semi-thick glasses, which means I’m credible.)

That was a long paragraph. Please enjoy this photo.

Since having my ear squirted and sucked, I’ve been on high ear alert. That grasshopper is hungry for the workout lady’s temporal lobe.

Denouement: My right ear is on steroids and has been making bad decisions stemming from feelings of invincibility. If she asks you for money, please don’t give it to her. She’s up to no good. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>