Category: Daily

We left our windows open last night and the air was cold and amazing and I’m in a really great mood today because my favorite time of year is almost here. Crunchy leaves and handknit socks and comfy clogs and marching bands and spicy tea and cardigans and new glasses. (I tend to visit my eye doctor when the air is cool, and the visit is one of my favorite days of the year for two reasons: 1. I always learn something new., and 2. I leave with a prescription in hand for new glasses!)

Wait. Although this post is very much NOT officially sponsored, I’m about to talk to you about Rivet & Sway again. (Before I start singing, let me tell you that I RARELY do sponsored posts. A well-known oil company once asked me to write about traveling in a car vs. traveling on a plane/train/bus/etc., and I wrote a story about the time I took a Greyhound bus to Atlanta and ended up accepting unmarked motion sickness pills from a woman who claimed to be a nurse and then I mentioned that I had to throw away my headphones because a stranger demanded to borrow my Walkman for most of the trip and he was not clean, and anyway: the oil company told me to take out the stuff about the pills and the headphones and I refused and they took back their offer and I retained my dignity, Helen Reddy.)

Back to glasses. I love my glasses. I LOVE my glasses.

You helped me choose them last year, and you definitely made the right choice. Because I was so excited about the Home Try-On kit and because so many of you ALSO seemed excited, Rivet & Sway offered a coupon code to help you save $25 off of your first order. And you used it. Last month, Rivet & Sway asked if I wanted to partner up. If I promote their glasses in any way I want, they’ll provide the coupon code again (ANGELASWAYS) and kick some of their earnings my way. I mentioned them on Facebook in August, and four people used the code. All of this to say: People want good looking frames, and people want to save money, and I’m here to help you.

If you visit Rivet & Sway, choose three frames to try on at home (The Home Try-On kit is totally free and you’re under no obligation to purchase anything!), and then order using ANGELASWAYS as your coupon code, you’ll save $25. If you checked out the frames last year but didn’t see any that caught your eye, please know that they’ve added more designs! Let’s get glasses together! Again!!!

I’m currently thinking about Layer Cake.

And Checkpoint.

And Punchline.

Please be sure to tell me which frames you choose and I’ll tell you just how cute you’re going to look! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Today is the twelfth anniversary of Fluid Pudding, and that feels sort of crazy because more “milestone” events have happened in the past twelve years than during any other span of dozen in my life. (That was an awkward sentence. Are you still with me?)

When I started writing at Fluid Pudding (it was over at Blogspot back then) I wasn’t yet married, I had no kids, I had no dogs, I didn’t know how to knit, and I lived in Nashville. Also, I had braces (on my teeth), I weighed about twenty pounds less than I do right now, and although I was a vegetarian, I had never eaten squash or plantains! (I had my first bite of plantains last Friday evening. I can’t stop thinking about them. Bonus Fact: I had squash for lunch a few minutes ago. Butternut squash! Pre-cubed for my convenience!)

Wait. Look. Less than 12 hours after eating plantains, I had a blue opal shoved into the side of my nose. It’s my favorite nose decoration so far.

Despite all of the life-changing stuff (getting married, moving to St. Louis, buying a house, having kids, adopting more pets, getting a hole punched in my nose, purchasing a spinning wheel, cake balls…), nothing much has changed at Fluid Pudding. Actually, I take that back. The two things that are different now are the two things I struggle with nearly every day: Comments and Ads. I used to do neither. I now do both. (When I say that I struggle with Comments and Ads nearly every day, I’m exaggerating. It’s probably more like nearly every 17 days.)

I want to thank each and every one of you for stopping by here, even if you were simply searching out something dirty and are feeling slightly disappointed right now. (Please know that I’ve NEVER made pudding from a body fluid.) The Fluid Pudding Community (Please know that I know that sounds silly. Please know that I NEVER use the word readership or community or fanbase or anything like that when I talk about this website. Instead, I use words like hobby and lucky and smiley.) has made bread pudding together. We talked about doing a bowel prep together! (I think I was the only one who actually DID it!) Best of all? Last year we banded together and raised $500 so my favorite Walgreens employee could have a nice Christmas.

(The Fluid Pudding Community also had my back about eight years ago when every fast food employee in the United States dropped by and threatened to slam Harper’s infant head in a trailer door because I had the audacity to joke about sloppy eating. Do you remember that? Death threats! That was one of the worst days of my life. If I was running ads back then, I would have a nicer car right now! If I wasn’t running COMMENTS back then, I wouldn’t have learned an important lesson and that lesson is: Know Who You Might Offend When You Write About Pretending to Eat Like a Shark In a Fast Food Restaurant.)

I’ve made a few people angry with my website. (Most of them leave crazy irrational comments, and most of the time I just delete those comments and go on with life because this is my house.) I’ve made a few people think I’m writing about them when I’m really NOT writing about them and CONFUSION and clouds in my coffee Clouds In My Coffee! On the flip side, I’ve made SO many friends from Fluid Pudding. Real people I see in real life and real people I’ve never actually met, and once again: Lucky. Smiley.

As I move forward with Fluid Pudding (because I really have no plan to stop anytime soon) the only two questions I ask myself are:

1. Am I still having fun? Yes. Always. Even when I’m complaining, deep down I know that Fluid Pudding is here for entertainment (mine and hopefully yours). Example: I have a UTI right now (I’m on my second round of antibiotics!) and it really sucks, but come on. My life is still pretty sparkly.

2. Am I an asshole? No. I’m not. And I know you don’t like it when I use words like Asshole. (I stopped using the F word YEARS ago! At least here. In real life? Guilty in certain circles.) Anyway, as long as I can sit down at the computer and log in and share silly things without being a dickhead about it, we’re good, right? (Wheee! Three people are feeling VERY uncomfortable with my language in this paragraph. To those three people? I’m sorry.)

This is one of my favorite entries.

This is what led a bunch of you over here:

And this is what made you stay. (Actually, this is what drove many people away. But, we didn’t really need them, did we?)

(Don’t try that at home.)

Happy Anniversary to You. And thank you. So much. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I went out to my car last week and found the largest grasshopper I’d ever seen hanging out on the hood.

Me: Hey there! If you need a lift, I can take you over to school. BUT, I need to stop by Walgreens first if that works for you.

The grasshopper faced forward and let the breeze blow into his compound eyes all the way to Walgreens. (This post is not sponsored by Walgreens, although I’ve now mentioned them three times.) Anyway, when I parked the car, the grasshopper was still holding on.

Me: I’m just grabbing a vitamin water. You can wait right here if you want.

He waited. When I started the car to head off to school, he faced forward again.

Five minutes later when I pulled into the pick-up line and turned off the car, the grasshopper paced the hood for a bit and then jumped onto the parking lot and into the flower bed. I have to admit, I got a little misty because it felt like I was sending a child off to college. (I guess it didn’t REALLY feel like that, but I *did* get a little emotionally attached to the grasshopper. He was so charming!)

The funny thing? For the next few days, anything my heart desired came to me.

(I know Jiminy was a cricket and this guy is a grasshopper. I know crickets and grasshoppers are different (Crickets hear with their legs. Grasshoppers hear with their abdomens. Crickets? Nocturnal. Grasshoppers? Diurnal!), but they all belong to the order Orthoptera, which means they share a common ancestor and WHY CAN’T WE ALL JUST GET ALONG?! Seriously, humans. I’ve about had it with some of you and your lack of compassion and your inability to care for anyone who isn’t just like you and oh! Suddenly, I’m no longer talking about grasshoppers.)

My cardigan is coming along nicely. Before the end of the weekend, I should be done with the back. Then it will be on to the sides, the sleeves, the cuffs, the collar, and seaming. The goal? Thanksgiving, but I’ll take Valentine’s Day.

This afternoon I’ll be meeting up with a friend to have our jewelry traded out at the tattoo place downtown. It’s starting to feel a bit like fall, which means I probably need to have a black opal in my nose and a soy chai in my hand. (Anything your heart desires (within reason) and so on? Manifestable!) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

When we last spoke, I was getting ready to dive into the world of Daily Medication. My headache doctor prescribed Effexor as a migraine preventative, and BONUS: Effexor also serves as an anti-anxiety medication! It almost feels like it was invented JUST FOR ME!

Anyway, last Tuesday I took my first Effexor. Within an hour, I was experiencing what I believe was my very first panic attack! (Pull out the baby book, Mom!) My heart was racing. I couldn’t settle down. I was sweaty and nervous and I couldn’t sleep and my stomach was in knots and I kept trying to use meditation to settle myself but it wasn’t working and I couldn’t catch my breath and I was crying in the middle of the night and desperately trying to slow down my head and on Wednesday I was unable to drive. Hazy. So hazy. It was horrible.

I haven’t yet called my doctor because I’m afraid she will say, “Yeah. It gets better.” If she says that, I just might need to switch doctors, and that would feel like a really sad high school break up, because I once made a shawl for her.

Along with taking my first (and final) Effexor last week, I also took my first yoga class! It’s a beginning class and the average age in the room is probably somewhere in the 60s and I LOVE it, although I sort of wonder if it’s really yoga. I have an idea in my head of what yoga should be and I know I’m horribly inflexible so what yoga should be is Challenging (I think), but this class isn’t particularly challenging. Hrm. (I went back today, and I was slightly more challenged because I’m unable to touch my heels to the floor during Downward Dog, and should the palms of my hands and wrists be hurting as I do Downward Dog? Because throughout the entire class, my wrists and palms hurt more than anything else.)

At the end of yoga class, we relax. Some people actually cover themselves with blankets. Today I heard snoring.

As I left the studio, I was approached by a 382 year old man.

Mr. 382: What were you guys doing in there?

Me: It’s yoga!

Mr. 382: YOGURT?! HA HA HA!!!

Me: I WISH it was yogurt!

Mr. 382: Honey, if you want yogurt, I’ll take you out for some right now.

And then I grabbed the back of his head and Frenched him because it was the very first time a random guy at the gym hit on me.

Any beginning yoga feedback would be appreciated. Also, a big bowl of butter beans. Lightly peppered. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Lately, I’ve had the feeling that I need to smell more like Patchouli, and I know it’s said that one either loves Patchouli or HATES Patchouli, but I’m here to tell you: That’s just not true. A few years ago I hated Patchouli. A few months ago I smelled some fresh Patchouli in an herb garden, and it’s been on my mind ever since. Did you know that Patchouli has been proven to prevent female moths from adhering to male moths?! I have no idea what that means for me!

Anyway, a little over a week ago, I decided to jump on Etsy and search out Patchouli. After spending nearly an hour searching for scents, I came across Modern Ritual. Holistic Products for Modern Hippies. Perfection.

Three days later, Sexy Hippie arrived in my mailbox.

It is amazing and I smell like I should be at Burning Man, and I really SHOULD be at Burning Man this week, so the timing couldn’t be more perfect. (AND, just so you know, the scents Social Butterfly and Optimism are on the way to my house right now. The timing of THIS arrival is sort of crazy because less than four hours ago I met with my migraine doctor, and she put me on a new headache preventative which doubles as an anti-anxiety drug. (Don’t even get me started on how much I hate the idea of taking a daily pill. I’m not a daily pill taker. Um, until tonight. When I take my first daily pill.) ANYWAY, when this pill officially kicks in, I may or may not lose the sharp edge that tends to make me flinchy in social situations, and if I DO lose the edge, I will have no idea if it’s the pill working or the Social Butterfly perfume. Please Be My Friend: If I suddenly start posting that I’m hugging people enthusiastically and/or considering hooking up with a burlesque troupe, please talk me down. (Or don’t. Perhaps it’s time to stop going gentle into that good night. Maybe I’ve been going gentle for entirely too long. Social Butterfly to the rescue!)

Anyway, I smell good. Really good. Maybe even TOO good because I’m not sure how much is too much of a good thing.

Speaking of which, I ate an entire package of these on Saturday.

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Before we get started with anything, please know that Fluid Pudding Dot Com is a safe place. I will NOT be talking about Miley Cyrus here. (I WILL be talking about my gynecological issues in a few minutes, and that’s SORT of related, but I see no purpose in trying to link my stuff to the stuff of a twenty year old girl. We all do weird things. Once, when I was twenty, my best friend and I took a midnight stroll from a friend’s house back to my dormitory. It was a super hot night, so we used the heat as an opportunity to be FEMINISTS and why can BOYS walk around without shirts but WE CAN’T?! Suddenly (SUDDENLY!), we each took off our shirts and walked down that back road wearing nothing but our bras and shorts (and shoes, as feet freak me out and feet on streets? stop it.). Because crazy things always happened to us, even though it was the middle of the night, a car pulled up beside us, and the car held two or three of our friends, and they sat there and talked to us for a few minutes as if nothing was out of the ordinary—as if they didn’t even notice that our shirts were wadded up and tucked into our shorts. Anyway, we didn’t have cameras on our phones back then. And thank God for that.

I’ve been wanting to talk to you about endometrial ablation for over a week now. Every time I sit at the computer, I think, “I really want to draw a picture of my uterus being ablated.” And then I grab some paper and draw a tube (my uterus) with something that looks like a curling iron stuck inside of it (the ABLATOR) and something’s not quite right, so I sit back down on the rocking chair and think about life and dinner and how this cardigan is absolutely perfect.

It occurred to me that I’ve ALREADY drawn pictures of my insides, and despite what I’ve been reading from The Bloggers Who Know How to Blog (I hate the word Blog. HATE it.), not every idea needs an accompanying image. I like to think that you are all smart and creative and can see things in your heads with absolutely no Sharpie prompts from me! Anyway. No drawings. Just a lot of words.

(The following few paragraphs are related to the monthly adventures of my insides in regard to the tossing of eggs and the stripping of linings. Proceed gently.)

When I was 18 (here I go again with the stories!), I was in the university marching band. I loved it more than I loved just about anything—not because of the actual MARCHING (I was pretty terrible at marching) but because of my fellow marchers. (I’m in touch with very few people from my university days. All of those people were in the band with me.) Anyway! My uterus! One afternoon I was in a friend’s dorm room after rehearsal, and I was complaining about how miserable I was feeling.

Friend, who was a male, so let’s call him Jason, because that’s his name: What on earth is wrong with you?!

Me: I can’t find it in me to march. I can’t run. Can you please turn down that music?!

Jason: Talk about your troubles.

Me: I don’t want to talk about it. Let me just say that it’s the hottest week of the year and I’m on Day 12 of my monthly lady thing and I’m cramping and…

Jason: YOU’RE ON DAY 12?! Isn’t that supposed to last for just a day or two?

Me: Mine sometimes lasts for more than two weeks. I want ice cream for dinner.

Jason then jumped up, ran to the bathroom, and came back with a lovely toilet paper pageant sash on which he had written Queen of Day 12. And I wore it to dinner, but never told anyone what it meant.

Let’s jump forward 15 years. I’m now 33 and I’m pregnant with Meredith and as much as I didn’t love that pregnancy (I had to have my appendix out at the end of my first trimester, and that really sucked.), I DID love not having my extended monthly adventures. When Meredith was born, I nursed her (which made my periods much lighter because of SCIENCE), and when I stopped nursing her we decided to have a Harper and then Harper was born and she nursed FOREVER, and suddenly I had experienced five years with little to no cramps/migraines/et cetera. I’m now at 773 words. Are you still with me?

Anyway, now that I’m 43 and it’s time to put on some yoga pants and Chaka Khan my way through the rest of my days, I really don’t feel the need to be “forced” into staying at home two days out of the month because of heaviness and cramping and CRAMPING and HEAVINESS. Also, if I still had the banner, I could have worn it earlier this week if you know what I’m saying. And you do. Because you’re smart!

Last week I visited my gynecologist and she said the following words: “I’ve been wanting to do an ablation on you for a long time.” Who am I to stomp on her dreams?! (Although I wasn’t really expecting it, she also asked me to remove my pants. After examining my color, streak, hardness, cleavage, specific gravity, and crystal form like a thorough geologist would, she said, “Your endometriosis is back. I can feel it up in your cul-de-sac. We can take care of that during the ablation.”)

The ablation will take place during the holiday season. And that’s pretty great because although I know it’s a quick and easy outpatient procedure, I’m now picturing myself like Deborah Kerr on Christmas Eve in An Affair to Remember. I’m in a red robe (I already have one!) on the couch (I have one of those, too!) and Cary Grant lets himself in and I do not move from the couch and suddenly Mr. Grant realizes that I’ve been ablated and THAT’S what has prevented me from meeting him on the top of a building somewhere and we embrace and I say something like, “If you can paint, I can walk; anything can happen, don’t you think?”

And I Will Not Move From The Couch. (Christmas is less than four months away. In other words, less than four Queen of Day 12 banners to go!) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

This morning after I dropped the girls off at school, I headed straight over to the lake for my third run of this run of running. I parked where I park and I walked to the paved path while fidgeting with my arm thing that holds my iPod, my tissues (because my nose runs when I run), and my keys. Finally, the GPS was on and the START button was pressed, and off we go.

About fifty feet in front of me was an older man hunched over the trail. He was picking up rocks and putting them into a bucket, and he seemed to be concentrating pretty hard on the whole Picking Up Rocks And Putting Them Into a Bucket thing.

As I walked past him, he threw his arms up into the air.

Bucket Man (burning out his fuse out here alone): BOO!!! Ha!!! I scared you, didn’t I, Sweetie?!

Me (scared, and fidgeting with my wires to turn down the volume on You, Sailor, which is my current favorite walking tune): Yes! You did!

Bucket Man: That’s what I WANTED to do!!!

Me (speeding up because Guy With a Bucket of Rocks!): Success!

Bucket Man: Have a nice day!!! BE NICE TO GRANDPAS!!!

Me (slowing down because NICE Guy With a Bucket of Rocks!): YOU TOO AND I WILL!!!

I then clocked my fastest run in eight months, which means absolutely nothing because I’ve run only four times in the past eight months, and the one in January doesn’t count because my heel was broken.

One more thing. I promise that I’ll never be the type of lady who laughs like a maniac at a comedian who’s joking about menopause. Similarly, if a guy with a bucket of rocks ever tells me that I have to either eat an entire cow (cooked or uncooked) or sit through a 90-minute play devoted to funny lady menopause, I will ask him to take that bucket of rocks and call me Tessie Hutchinson, because I can’t make that decision. On a related note, I sort of want to talk about uterine ablation, but I’m not sure this is the time or the place. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I’ve been listening to a lot of Roderick on the Line. I can’t name more than four people in my life who would enjoy this podcast, but I (mostly) enjoy it a LOT. I’m currently listening to episode 77, and as I drove home from purchasing 272 popsicles at the store this afternoon, I heard John Roderick mention the scene from The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo during which Lisbeth Salander tattoos the sentence “I am a sadist pig and a rapist.” onto Nils Bjurman’s body to warn others of his crimes against her. Roderick goes on to explore the idea of Yelping and/or tattooing people to warn others of their shoddy driving skills and/or character flaws. I LOVE THIS IDEA. (Sort of. Obviously, history has proven that forced tattoos are never a good thing.)

Wouldn’t life be (sort of) easier if, at age 18 and every five to ten years thereafter, we could have descriptive words or phrases UV-tattooed onto our arms/legs/abdomen to allow others to see (if they are willing to haul around a blacklight) what they’re up against? The phrases, obviously, would be submitted by peers (or a public tribunal. I haven’t ironed out the details, because I don’t really believe anyone will make this happen. Please know that I’m willing to toss twenty bucks into a Kickstarter campaign…) and would serve as a warning and/or recommendation to possible employers and/or life partners and/or friends. Think of all the games we would no longer have to play!

In the past few years, I’ve met people who I’m SURE would have phrases such as “champion at lying” and “acts incompetent, but is actually just lazy” placed somewhere on their bodies. I’ve also met folks who should have “selfless” or “drops everything to bring you a pie” or “sacrifices vacations to bottle-feed orphaned puppies” as their character trait tattoo (or CTT, as I will refer to it if *I* start the Kickstarter campaign).

I’ve been thinking about my own CTTs for the past hour, and I’m afraid they’re not all good. (I wonder if we would live our lives differently if CTTs were a thing. I know for a fact that I wouldn’t have indulged in the Pluot PLU Scandal of 1999 if there was a chance that my crap dishonesty would have been documented forever on my abdomen.)

(In case it’s not clear, my CTTs: Isn’t the best driver, Keeps opinions to self to avoid fights, Pluot PLU scandal 1999, Once pried open a live clam and it probably died 1986, Unhealthy self-image, Gives money to charity, Took standardized test in exchange for money, Adopted sick orphan cat/is allergic to cats, Doesn’t always refrain from gossip, Curses a lot, Raised money for stranger 2012, Not the greatest friend 1989.)

Any idea what your CTT would say? (If the tattooing consortium (or TC) would show up at my house right now, they would add “Throws stink eye to anyone blasting Bruno Mars songs in the elementary school pick-up line” to the left side of my neck, and balance it with “Helped lady who knocked shoestring display to the floor pick up ALL of the shoestrings” on the right.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

The following things happened in the period of time between the last time we spoke and right now.

Inspired by Karen (as always), I attended a henna party at my cousin’s house.

As a result, I now have a tree growing on my left arm.

I waved goodbye to my kids as they jumped out of the car to embark on the types of adventures that third and fifth graders tend to embark on. (You know, the types on which they tend to embark? On which! And Onward!)

After spending the summer not going to the lake and not running, this morning I went to the lake and ran.

I then went to the grocery store and purchased green onions, avocados, graham crackers, and chocolate icing. I have no photo to prove this to you, so please enjoy Meredith’s new shoes. It’s her final year in elementary school, and anything goes.

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Please be warned that I’ve once again been looking at myself from the inside out. Are you wearing a slicker? You might want to put on a slicker. (I’m not completely sure what a slicker is, but I know a few people who fit the description.)

My self-evaluation always happens in August when the summer is winding down and school activities are starting to pop up and I’m faced with having weekdays filled with silence that is broken only by dogs who have learned to knock on the door when they want in or out.

Do you remember when I was talking/fretting about getting a job outside of the house? After sitting down with a notebook and pen, I’ve finally ironed out a plan which is more of a non-plan than an actual plan. For now, I’m NOT going to work outside of the home. For now, I’m going to try my damndest to turn up the freelance so that I’m working at least four hours each day. I’m also going to try to volunteer a little at the girls’ school if anyone will have me. (Some teachers dig having volunteers and some don’t. Some people play soccer and some people run. Jeff doesn’t like tacos. I don’t like seeing dead armadillos on the side of the road. We all have our stuff, and that’s what makes the world what it is.)

Anyway. Yes. I will be working from home. Still. And the good thing? After making this decision, I scored two freelance jobs with the possibility of two more BIGGER jobs coming my way soon. I’m manifesting my dream board and building it so they will come.

Okay. That covers the career. What about the other stuff on my wheel of life? (Seven people just clicked away because I said Wheel of Life. Quitters.)

Friends and Family: The girls and my mom and I visited my sister and her family last weekend, and it was the best weekend I’ve had in quite some time. I have no complaints about my family. The girls are gems. I enjoy spending time with my parents. My sister is my hero. Friends? I’ve got them, and the good ones understand my quirks and still choose to hang out with me. I’m currently on the (seemingly neverending) path of eliminating drama and gossip and similarly toxic behaviors. Bonus: I used to have to do a toxic flush of friends every decade or so. Lately, the toxic people are flushing ME instead of me having to flush them. It’s a good feeling that I’m sure is akin to wearing purple when I am an old woman.

Health: I still have my headaches, and they pretty much suck. I won’t bore you. When the kids go back to school, I’m going back to the J for Pilates.

Finances: Well, that’s not really any of your business, is it? (I always Prefer Not to Answer when I’m filling out questionnaires, which isn’t often.) We’re fine.

Core Relationships: Jeff is the greatest person on this planet, so I’ll be keeping him for as long as he’ll have me, which I hope is DEATH.

Personal and Spiritual Growth: I’m not at 100% with living the life that I want to be living, but I’m working on it. My latest thing? Meditation. Mainly for health reasons at this point, but I also feel like it’s the start of something bigger. I’m hoping it will eventually force my ears to let go of my shoulders. Also, God and I are cool.

Fun, Recreation, and Creativity: I knit, I spin, I write in a journal with a fountain pen. I read, I see my friends fairly often, and I hug my dogs at least three times a day. I wish I had a creative project, but I can’t really put my finger on what I mean by that.

Physical Environment: While we were gone last weekend, Jeff painted the house yellow, and it makes me happy every time I pull up the driveway. Next week I’m going to start tackling little projects to get our house ready to sell. Our goal? Sell in three years. Having more than 1,000 days is a good thing, unless it’s a bad thing.

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