Category: Daily

*I was driving and I saw a hawk flying with a mouse in his beak, so I asked Siri to take a note.
Siri: What do you want it to say?
Me: Hawk. Flying. With. A. Mouse. In. His. Beak.
Siri: Okay. I have created your note. It is titled Hope Crying With A Mouth In His Feet.
Me: Even better.

Seven years ago I dressed like a different author for each day in November. On November 8, 2017, I was Vladimir Nabokov.

This is one of my favorite Nabokovisms: “Mind you, sometimes the angels smoke, hiding it with their sleeves, and when the archangel comes, they throw the cigarettes away: that’s when you get shooting stars.”

(If you’ve considered reading some Nabokov, you may want to do it soon—before his books potentially become more difficult to find.)

(Also, please listen to the hat.)

43 monkeys escaped from a research facility in South Carolina. They are all female, and they all weigh 6-7 pounds. They’re described as bold, extremely curious, and highly adaptable to coexisting with humans. The police are telling nearby residents to lock their doors and windows, but if I lived in South Carolina, my doors and windows would be wide open and I’d be standing in the front yard juggling apples—which, according to the specialists, is the monkeys’ favorite food. (You’ve probably stopped reading at this point so you can stare up and to the right and wonder if I can really juggle. Wonder no more, because: I can! The only problem with juggling is that I tend to toss objects a little too far in front of me, so I end up juggling and running at the same time. The only problem with running is that my legs tend to break when I do it. (The last time I ran, I suffered a stress fracture in my heel and three in my tibia. (“Oh, tibia stress fracture!” is almost as good as “I just ate Mediterranean food and now I falafel!”) So, juggling? Yes. But my bird bones will keep me from proving it to you.))

I love this so much: Fugitive monkeys. Long may they run.

This morning I met a friend for potatoes and toast, and it was exactly what I needed.

It is impossible to be unhappy after meeting a friend for potatoes and toast.
Try it.

I’ve spent the evening searching for joys to distract myself from the election. The following two screenshots from a few years back make me insanely happy, because I like to think that I have a neighbor who would like to speak to some chickens, and maybe to a dog who has seizures.

Another joy? The pasta salad I made for dinner.

National Fountain Pen Day was on November 1, and I scored a great deal on a Monteverde Ritma. It arrived today, and it’s beautifully simple and clean.

This is one of my very favorite photos. Harper and Meredith went to Lollapalooza separately, but met up on the final night for the Zeds Dead show. I love that they’re so close. May they never need urgent medical care that their doctors delay or deny due to fear of prosecution.

Today I bought some cleaning supplies, ate a bag of gas station pickles, drove 100 miles, and let myself into an empty apartment where I wiped down a toilet and some sinks (and a bathtub) before vacuuming and sweeping and wet-jetting the floors (and dusting baseboards). I then took Meredith and her very favorite person out for lunch before driving home in stupid heavy rain.

And I did all of this while dressed like Kurt Cobain.

Because I’ve been mostly absent from Fluid Pudding for the past couple of years, there are so many things I’ve neglected to share with you. None of these things are particularly significant or soul-stirring, so maybe it’s best to just squirt out a few photos and let you create connections in places where no connections exist. (The word squirt in the previous sentence didn’t really work. I was trying for some alliteration but then it got creepy. Let’s leave it in.)

Oh! Hey! What? WHAT?! Someone with a hypodermic sat in my car and injected red stuff into their leg and I let it happen because: Things Are Different Now.

(My favorite part of the Olympics was pretending the divers were naked when their names popped up. (I guess when you take a photo of the television screen, things get out of hand and hands get out of things.))

I didn’t buy these jeans.

But I bought this shirt.

And this shirt.

And this shirt.

And this shirt.

And this shirt.

And like I said: Things Are Different Now!

(Things really aren’t so different.)

We carried things down the stairs. We carried things up the stairs.

Meredith now has a fireplace with a lovely front cover, which is the perfect way to begin a new chapter.

The building’s art made me feel a little uncomfortable.

The restaurant’s bathroom door made me feel very uncomfortable. (It’s clearly a directive so I did what I was told, but I’m not sure why I needed to be fully naked just to wash my hands before dinner. The men’s bathroom door said UNZIP, which would have been so much easier. When the sun rises, it rises for everyone!)

The tempura avocado taco made up for everything and more, meaning the next seven times I’m starting to feel uncomfortable, tempura avocado memories will step in and suddenly the discomfort will become a delicious warm green crunchy thing.

NaBloPoMo?
Don’t mind if I do! (That’s a directive, and you are my implied subject.)

Below the line is the final installment of my alphabetical journal.
Installment #1 (February 16, 1990 – March 28, 1990) is here.
Installment #2 (April 4, 1990 – August 9, 1990) is here.

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August 16, 1990 – March 17, 1991
After everybody showered, we went to a restaurant called Hooters where we had chicken wings. After Rally Night we walked to 210. Afterwards, we took him home and the rest of us went out to the field again and then back to 210. Afterwards, we went over to 210 for the Halloween party. Afterwards, we went to 210 for fried chicken. All these thoughts are going through my head. At around 11:00, they came from her party to give me my Christmas present—a rock from the art museum. At around 2:30 we went to Denny’s where we met a Saudi Arabian guy named Shaun and three of his Saudi Arabian friends. At around 8:30am, She’s Having a Baby came on, so we watched it.

The Rock

Damn. Does that mean something is going bad?

Either before Denny’s or after Back to the Future, we watched Birdy. Even as I write this, I’m on the verge of tears. Everything is not back to normal.

For the past two weeks I’ve been going overboard with diet pills and laxatives. Friday morning, we got up at around noon.

God, it’s so weird. Goodbye. Guess what else? Guess what?

Happy New Year. He calls and asks me out, I say no, he gets pissed, and then he calls again the next day and the whole process starts over again. He dropped acid last Friday night. He had been drinking, too. He had never seen the ocean before. He said that people were shooting dirty looks at him the whole time. He said that she is the most boring person in the world. He said it wouldn’t work because people would know. He wasn’t a big help.

I don’t know. I ended up going back to the party with them. I felt really bad for him because the paper kept ripping. I gave him my phone number. I had been doing gin shots and drinking beer, so I was semi-tipsy. I hate mentioning his name. I hate this. I hope I can remember it all. I just feel really ugly. I want to get some muscle relaxers. I was so nervous going to that party last night. I was so upset. I went downstairs and got my stuff and told her what was going on. I’ll tell you why. I’m the president of your fan club. I’m writing this as we drive back from Florida. I’ve been getting prank phone calls for the past three days from some guy who calls himself Charlie. If you need something, I’m there. If you sort of want something, I’m there. Instead of getting deeper, it got shallower. It was a Christmas tree drawn with crayons on a piece of notebook paper. It was the hayride. It’s getting dark now.

Last night there was a party at 210. Last night when she was out of his sight, she was flirting with the bouncers. Let the motherfucker burn.

210

Maybe I’m being stupid. Most of me hates her. My pillow is full of big black smears from my mascara. My stomach is growling as I write this.

Now I can’t because of the skank.

Okay. On Monday, we got some peppermint schnapps, made hot chocolate, got some blankets, and drove out to a field to look at the stars. On the way back to the apartment we stopped at the studio.

Plus, he writes poetry.

Saturday night, I went to a margarita party at 210. She gave the card to the bus driver. She had beer and we did shots of gin. She is disgusting both sober and drunk. She said I was too skinny. She said that it hurt and that she bled. She told him that she treats sex as recreation. So, I spent a major part of the night sitting outside in her car.

1991

That really wasn’t what I wanted to hear. The day after tomorrow I may be going to Florida. The girl has never gone to the gyno for fear that something is wrong with her. Then he went to sleep and I went back out to the party. Then we went to his car to do more shots. They went into the bathroom. They were sitting around on the sinks. They were watching The Princess Bride, so we stayed. Thursday morning at 6:30 I was awakened by the sound of someone tapping on my window. Tonight was the homecoming skit. Tuesday, he called and told me that he got the hint and that he won’t be bothering me anymore. Two of them went inside, two more got out, and I leaned over and puked out the side of the car. Two Wednesday nights ago we went to Galleria to see his band.

1991

We all decided to go to Sanibel Island to drink. We did a midnight run for milk and Oreos and then sat around talking. We just sat there and made small talk. We really need to talk. We went over to 210 to hang out so he could carve a pumpkin. We went to Club Vogue last night, and I got kicked out for drinking. We went to Katy Station and then we came back here to watch My Left Foot. We went to Mister Donut for donuts and coffee, and then we headed back to the complex. We were all on the couch again. Wednesday night, the US went to war against Iraq. When we got there, I went to the bathroom. When we got to the apartment, they were smoking a joint. Whore.

1991