Daily Archives : Page 93 of 110 : Fluid Pudding

This is where I am.

When bloggers write about blogging, it sort of makes my skin crawl. With that said, it seems like every year at this time I get the e-mail notification that my renewal fee is due, and suddenly I start spinning around in a big goofy skirt and asking myself if I’m still having a good time at Fluid Pudding.

Here I am having a good time with a baby donkey. Anyway, The State of Blogging (I know. I’m wincing, too.) has changed So Much since I kicked off Fluid Pudding nearly nine years ago. Back then, I wrote to no one and I loved it, and I honestly felt a creative spark every time I began a post. When people started dropping by and commenting? It felt like Christmas. (Or, perhaps more like Thanksgiving. Or my birthday!) It was fun. With a big F, even. And I used the word Shit sometimes. And nobody expressed disappointment. And I poked fun at my neighbors. And nobody accused me of being hateful. And nobody was categorized. And e-mails were mostly kind! And trolls were found only in Norwegian fairy tales! Blue skies!

Sometimes I think baby cows are cuter than baby humans! (Don’t tell the baby humans!) So, yesterday I got the renewal notification, and Jeff and I had the following conversation.

Me: You know, I’ve quit the Fluid Pudding thing a few times, but quitting is sort of stupid for me, because it never sticks.

Jeff: Are you thinking about quitting?

Me: I’m not sure what I’m thinking. I’m thinking I had more fun before I installed the filter that keeps friends and family from hearing me say words like Shit. I’m tired of not really wanting to admit that I voted for Obama simply because most of the people I know and love did NOT and NEVER WOULD HOLY CRAP NO WAY vote for Obama.

This bunny can’t quite get over my use of the word Shit, and is shocked to hear that I voted for Obama. In fact, she honestly thinks less of me as a person because of it! How can a bunny be so ridiculous yet so precious at the same time?!

Jeff: I think you should pay the renewal fee and take back Fluid Pudding.

Me: I’m going to be 40! My life is more than halfway over! I once had a dog who died after biting his tongue, and I haven’t learned a thing from him!

Sometimes chickens spend their Saturday mornings in a cage. Sometimes they walk around in Birkenstocks and shawls! HA HA HA HA HA!!! So, anyway. When I first started this website nine years ago (the archives are in Salt Lake City!), I named it Fluid Pudding because I once read an article on modernism in which the author quoted someone as saying that the state of the world has become not unlike fluid pudding—no one is firm and consistent! And when I read that quote, I felt like the author (Dostoevsky, perhaps?) had insight into my SOUL. Hence, Fluid Pudding was born.

Llamas are Llovely. And I’m not saying that taking back Fluid Pudding will involve me wrinkling my nose and being all “You feed your kid Lunchables?! You should go to HELL!!!” because I honestly believe that 94% of us are doing the best we can out there, and I know it’s not my job to call people names or sing songs about where they will spend eternity. It’s still Fluid Pudding, Dostoevsky.

This is a camel. AND, when I put this photo up on Flickr, Mrs. Kennedy mentioned that she would name it Humpy. And that brings me to this: Fussy is one of the very first blogs I read, and I believe I was reading it before the word blog actually annoyed me as much as it currently does, and four years ago she wrote a genius post where she mixed photographs with a bit of her own State of the Website words, and I loved it so much. That was four years ago, and it still inspires me.

American Goat. So, anyway. Sorry for scraping my brain and puking on your shoes.

Speaking of which, I’m participating in a brownie bake-off this weekend, and would appreciate any advice you can offer. As always, I have no idea what I’m doing, but for some reason the word Curry is making my eyebrows bend. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

My milkshake brings all the milk men to the yard.

So, last Thursday I was doing the freelance thing when someone started knocking on my door. I jumped up, opened the door, and was greeted by a guy who looked quite a bit like my best friend from college’s brother. But it wasn’t.

Me: Hi.

Guy: Hello there! My name is Lou, and I want to be your milk man.

Please know that his name isn’t really Lou (it’s Scott). I’m just using Lou to maintain anonymity (you know, for Scott), and I chose Lou because it sounds like a milk man’s name. And that reminds me: Do you remember these guys? Because I do. (They also did a tune titled “Watching Scotty Die” which I believe was playing on the Bobby Goldsboro tune titled “Watching Scotty Grow” and that song never fails to make me tear up. And while we’re crying, how about this one? Holy crap. Where was I?)

So, Lou went on and on about the milk thing and he sang songs about hormones and free-range and “no delivery fee for six months!” And “I’ll waive your cooler deposit!” And “I’ll bring you some milk and coffee samples!” And, disturbingly, “You’re the nicest person I’ve talked to all day!” (Admittedly, I am very nice. Mostly.)

I told him I would check with Jeff (because, you know, he is the Bread Winner and I never skip the chance to mention My Husband) and call him back the next day.

And I checked with Jeff. And I called Lou back the next day.

Lou: Hello?

Me: Hi. My name is Angela Pudding (that’s not really my last name) and you came by here yesterday, and…

Lou (totally interrupting me, like we’re buddies or something): Angela! That’s right! Hey! I’m in traffic so I’ll need to call you back in ten minutes.

And he called me back, and I told him that I wanted to start off with a standing order of two half-gallons of 2% and a dozen eggs. And our connection was sort of clicky and weird, and suddenly Lou yelled, “I’m not speaking to my wife right now, and she keeps clicking in!”

Oh, Lou. Please don’t make this uncomfortable.

Me: Okay then. Anyway, the milk and the eggs? Are we good to go?

On Saturday, he delivered milk and coffee samples.

Today he delivered the two half-gallons of milk, the eggs, and the cooler. And instead of just leaving them on the front porch like he said he would (perhaps he was confused because we don’t really have a porch. It’s more of a sidewalk, really.), he knocked.

Me: Hi, Lou.

Lou: My boss was going to bring these by, but he got called out of town, so I thought I would take over for him!

Me: Excellent.

Lou: Free-range eggs and two half-gallons of 2% and your cooler!

(Awkward silence.)

Me: YouCannotComeIntoMyHouseLou.

Lou: What?

Me: See you next week. If I don’t answer, feel free to just leave everything in the cooler! The cooler is awesome! I can’t wait to see how it works!

So, now we have a milk man. AND, hopefully he’ll provide me with material, because I’m really starting to stretch, and I don’t want to get all “Ask me anything!” because I don’t think anyone would ask me anything. Do you remember my Cadillac of a dishwasher? It’s broken! Do you want to hear about it? Because I’m conducting a plastic spoon experiment over here! Anyway.

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I’m drinking lots of juice and diving into the Tropicana Juicy Rewards Program. (AND giving away a $50 Visa gift card!) You can follow along by following this link! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Despite the hiccups, we fluttered.

This morning Harper and I put on our glad rags and headed to the Butterfly House where we took about fifty photographs of butterflies eating rotten bananas, landing on top of each other, doing what butterflies do, etc.

When we got home, my computer decided it would no longer communicate with the camera, and the memory card within the camera decided it would only retain seventeen of the photos we had taken.

Toni at Creve Coeur Camera saved the day by recovering those seventeen photos (and one video!) onto a CD for us. (We then reformatted the memory card, and all is well. I’m boring you so much right now. Do you want to hear about my new eyebrow gel? I bought it with Blackbird in mind, and now my brows look much less anemic. Sleep tight, my friends. I’m eating Ritz crackers.)

Anyway, here is my favorite photo of the day.

I’m wearing a penguin necklace! Harper is wearing one, too! AND, according to Harper, when we both wear our penguin necklaces, we’re BFFs!

The video is worth the cost of file recovery. (Which was five dollars, if you’re keeping track of my expenses.)

Aren’t you glad I went with Paganini instead of Butterfly Kisses?

I need to tell you a weird story about my milk man. (I now have a milk man.) Meet me here next week?
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I’m drinking lots of juice and diving into the Tropicana Juicy Rewards Program. (AND giving away a $50 Visa gift card!) You can follow along right here! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

It happens every year! Like a national holiday!

So, I’m making a shrimp thing this evening. (I purchased the Hungry Girl 1-2-3 cookbook a few weeks back, and I love it.) Anyway, this particular recipe calls for one pound of raw deveined tailless shrimp. I went to the grocery store and studied the fresh seafood, and there was no uncooked deveined shrimp to be found. Because I cannot stand the thought of touching raw fish, much less ripping out veins (and poop!), I knew I needed some serious help.

Fish Lady: Do you need some help?

Me: Well, I need one pound of raw deveined tailless shrimp.

Fish Lady: You’ll have to get that in the frozen food. Aisle 15. And, let me warn you: It’s really expensive. If that bag has more in it than you need bring it back to me, and we’ll talk.

Me (really confused at this point about what we need to talk about): Aisle 15.

Harper and I carted on over to Aisle 15 where we found a two-pound bag of raw deveined tailless shrimp, and it was selling for $19.99. I took the bag back to the fish lady and said, “It has one pound more than what we need.”

Fish Lady: Go ahead and give me that bag and I’ll open it up and split it for you so you don’t have to pay twenty dollars. AND, if you want, I’ll flash it really quickly so it’s thawed out for you.

Me: You would do that for me?

Fish Lady: Yes, Ma’am, I would.

She took the bag, divided up the shrimp, flashed it (I have no idea what that means, but her shirt remained tucked), and repackaged it. $9.99. I then did that thing that I do where I started thanking her over and over again and had you passed us, you would have thought that she had just saved my kid’s life—not simply repackaged some shrimp.

As I walked away from her, I was actually fighting back tears. (Seriously! I know!) Human kindness, People! Sometimes all it takes is a kindhearted fish lady!

And because I do this every year, let me just puke it out right now: I haven’t yet been able to put together a workable New York BlogHer plan, and I’m feeling sorry for myself because the party invites are starting to arrive. Waaaaaaahhhhhhhh! I know. I went in 2006 and 2008. I was going to drive to Chicago last year, but my innards were all messed up. Anyway. That’s all I’m going to say, because if I allowed myself to continue, I’m afraid your eyes would get stuck in the back of your head, and that’s not a smart look for spring. (With that said, I’m hearing that yellow shoes are still a good thing.)

(I learned something last week: I was always under the impression that season names required capitalization. They don’t, unless the season name is the first word of the sentence! Also, I’ve been making chocolate cherry smoothies, and they’re delicious! Once again, it’s Hungry Girl!)

Today for lunch I had a veggie burger cheese scramble thing. I cooked it in a coffee cup in the microwave, and then dropped ketchup onto the top. Hungry Girl!

(That’s my LeahPeah cup, by the way. She gave it to me at BlogHer 2006. That was the year I had to make a $3,492 cab run to Walgreens to buy a breast pump and Swedish Fish. Argh! Titanic! Here I go again! You should be SO happy that you’re not in my house right now. With Ellen on the television, it’s only a matter of minutes before I’m crying. Here’s hoping Eva Longoria doesn’t mention the word Shrimp.)
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I concocted a Pop-Tarts recipe, and now I’m giving away a $100 Visa gift card! Follow this link if you’re interested!

I’m drinking lots of juice and diving into the Tropicana Juicy Rewards Program. (AND giving away a $50 Visa gift card!) You can follow along right here! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Orange is the new orange.

As you know, I’ve posted videos of me stuffing marshmallows into my face, writing Happy Easter across my face (video removed until next year due to copyright mumbo jumbo), eating yogurt, welcoming you into a day in the life, etc.
I was not the least bit self-conscious about any of those things.
Why am I squirming right now at the thought of sharing a photo of my feet?

Here:

Okay, now, stop looking at them.

I went with this color, and finished the look with this shade on my hands.
And I almost kicked my nail professional in the head when she thought it would be cute to tickle my feet.
(As if I wasn’t feeling all weirded out to begin with. Yeesh.)

Last night while the girls were singing, I finished this:

I started this shawl on the Sunday before Easter when it occurred to me that I needed a shawl to wear with my Easter dress.
I busted my knitter’s butt on that thing until just a few days before Easter when I realized that I had returned my Easter dress to the store several weeks ago.
(I blame all synapse misfires on my children.)
Anyway, after taking a break long enough to snort some ginkgo biloba and figure out what I was going to wear on Easter, I decided to finish the shawl—because the last thing I need around here is another unfinished project.

I need to figure out why the characters from Glee make me cry.
You wouldn’t think that a happy interview on Oprah would destroy me.
But it did. The kids and the singing and the hard work and the hope and my lip quivers and engages my tear ducts and suddenly I’m a disaster.

It’s 54 degrees out, and I’m wearing sandals.
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I concocted a Pop-Tarts recipe, and now I’m giving away a $100 Visa gift card! Follow this link if you’re interested!

I’m drinking lots of juice and diving into the Tropicana Juicy Rewards Program. (AND giving away a $50 Visa gift card!) You can follow along right here! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Young and loved and feel it in our bones…

It’s warm out. And while I typically enjoy Cold better than Not Cold, I’m sort of enjoying being able to throw on a skirt without the tights.

And now I have some very important questions for you.

It looks like I’ll be getting my first pedicure (of the season) tomorrow afternoon. (I know. I despise talking about feet. But again, I have pressing needs, and I love your opinions.) I’m typically drawn to my old favorite when it comes to color, but now I’m wondering if one should go brighter because spring has sprung or something. Also, my fingernails are so so so short. Does one get a manicure when one’s fingernails barely exist, or should one grow out those nails before engaging in manicurish behavior? Should the color of your hands match that of your feet, or are contrasting colors encouraged? Should I throw in something about health care just to make myself seem a bit more legit?

I have soup in the Crock Pot, I just accepted some freelance work, I can almost do the Ludacris part of the Justin Bieber song, and my book club is meeting Thursday to eat soul food and discuss The Help. All is well. Better than well, in fact. I hope you are the same.
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The girls ate ice cream and Pop-Tarts, and now I’m giving away a $100 Visa gift card! Follow this link if you’re interested!

I’m drinking lots of juice and diving into the Tropicana Juicy Rewards Program. (AND giving away a $50 Visa gift card!) You can follow along right here! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Happy Easter from The Puddings!

(Much better than last year, don’t you think?)
((Oh wait! I also love this one.))
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The girls ate ice cream and Pop-Tarts, and now I’m giving away a $100 Visa gift card! Follow this link if you’re interested!

I’m drinking lots of juice and diving into the Tropicana Juicy Rewards Program. (AND giving away a $50 Visa gift card!) You can follow along right here! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Love and Rocket

Since we last spoke, Meredith got sealants on her molars, we went to The Magic House, I had lunch with a friend at The Blue Owl, I met up with the high school gang for our Third Thursday gathering, I got my hair cut, I baked biscotti, I finished a freelance project, I ate some Indian food, and I had to say goodbye to an old friend.

I bought Rocket the Nissan in September of 1999 after my Honda Civic died on the streets of Nashville, Tennessee. Barely one year old, Rocket had one owner before me—someone who wore artificial fingernails. (She left one in the side pocket of the driver door. I found it when I was digging for a map. It had skin on it. I’m still cringing.) Anyway, that car made it through our wedding, the move back to St. Louis, the switch from apartment to house, and the birth (and progression of car seats) of MC and Harp.

I won’t bore you with the details, but: Rocket started showing signs of death a few months back. When her “Service Engine Soon” light came on, we were told that it would cost more to fix her than what she was worth. (Stinking Death Panels! Bah!)

Last night we packed the family into Rocket and I slowly drove her (with dignity) to the dealer, where we traded her in for a Sonata. And as we drove off the lot in BluLu (Harper’s name for the new ride), I looked back at Rocket and said, “I bet Rocket is yelling, ‘Hey! Wait! Family?! Where are you going?! Hey! Don’t leave me here!!! Family?’” And then Rocket really DID seem sad. And then my eyes started watering. Stupid allergy season.

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Would you please consider voting for SLLIS to receive an equipment grant that will go toward building a playground? (It’s as easy as clicking a button, and you can vote once each day until March 31.) I do love you for doing this. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Whatever happened to Buddy Hinton?

Jeff’s birthday was Monday, and although we didn’t get him exactly what he wanted, we did get him a few small useful things. (Like Skittles! And Garfield Minus Garfield!) When he returned home from work on his birthday, the girls sat him on the couch and instructed him to close his eyes and hold out his hands. Obviously, this gave Jeff the opportunity to act all deranged—with his eyes closed and his arms outstretched as far as they would go, he waited until the girls screamed, “No! That’s too big!” before he started swinging his arms around like he was swimming in a pool of monkeys. Because I’m not very graceful when it comes to giving gifts, I danced around and attempted to place an Applebee’s gift card into one of his flailing arms. (Please know that his eyes were still closed and the girls were screaming with delight. Chaos, I tell you.) As I jerked around and placed the card into his left hand, Jeff swung his right arm and punched me square in the jaw. Immediately, my eyes began to water and the scene quickly turned from knee-slapping birthday jollification to remorse for the ghastly accidental pounding.

Me: So. Is this what 39 is going to be like?

Jeff: You KNOW I don’t like APPLEBEE’S!!!

(He didn’t really say that. Jeff recognizes the importance of eating good in the neighborhood.)

Internet, may I ask a favor of you? (I always feel weird doing this, and I try not to do it often.) Two friends of mine have kids who attend the St. Louis Language Immersion School (SLLIS). The school is currently in the running to receive an equipment grant that will go toward building a playground. (I absolutely hate the idea of kids not having a playground.) I will not ask you to donate cash, but would you please consider voting for SLLIS to receive one of these grants? (It’s as easy as clicking a button, and you can vote once each day until March 31.)

I offer you my deepest thanks, along with the promise that this act of kindness will not get you punched in the jaw. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Swinging dead cats and wishing for the perfect naan.

I once made the statement that you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting a gifted kid. After saying it, I sort of regretted saying it, as I tend to regret many of the things I say out loud. (“Quarter Pounder with cheese, mustard, pickle, and onion” is an excellent example of this. Also, the fact that I’m constantly chewing on my foot (figuratively!) is one of the many reasons why you’ll probably never see me in person! I like to stay in my (mostly soundproof) house! I sing songs to my cats! Anyway!)

I wasn’t going to share this with you, but I suddenly feel like I should: Meredith was recently accepted into the gifted program at school. After consulting with us, her teacher recommended her, she tested surprisingly well, and Wham! Every Thursday morning she now reports to the middle school where she has her own locker and she changes classes along with an entire hallway of first and second graders who are also in the program. And I’m being intentionally vague, because it’s such a thin fence between bragging on your kid and not bragging and I suppose it’s not wrong to brag about your kid, and gheez. It’s just sort of new to me, but I will say this: Meredith LOVES her Thursdays, and I like to think of it as her song to sing—not mine.

This might seem like I’m changing the subject, but I’m not: Meredith gets car sick, and because of that, she can’t/won’t ride the bus. This morning I had to take her to the middle school at 9:00, pick her up at 11:00 (it was an early dismissal day), drive her to the elementary school, return home and feed Harper lunch, take Harper to the elementary at 12:30, go back to the middle school for the parent/teacher conference at 1:20, and then back home where I currently sit typingtypingtyping until 3:06 when I make my way back to the elementary to pick them both up. AND, because Jeff is in California and I slept like a horse last night (mostly on my feet, lots of fidgeting and swinging my tail at imaginary bugs), I’m feeling a bit raw.

And now I’m going to change into an even more opaque hat: Something was brought up at today’s conference that should have been brought up at last week’s conference with her elementary classroom teacher, and I’m currently stuck between a rock and a hard place (Ah! Clichés! Rattlesnakes!) because I feel the need to confront someone, but I secretly know I can’t because there’s a 17% chance that it might affect a friendship, and because I am who I am, this is going to bother me for days, and hey! I’m really liking that sick mom from American Idol, aren’t you?

After actually feeling tempted to taste goat meat last weekend, I am now 100% committed to learn how to cook authentic Indian food of the vegetarian variety. (Live long and prosper, Goats!) It seems that whenever Jeff and I get the chance to hit a restaurant, we always go for Indian. I’ve asked for cookbook recommendations on Twitter, and I’ve now added a few to my Amazon wish list. (Whee! A list of wishes!) I’m now wondering if you have any words of wisdom. What I really want is to figure out exactly how the place down the street makes their Delhi’s Chaat. From there? Saag paneer. And on and on until my house smells like an Indian Palace. (Don’t worry. I’m not going to go all Julie and Julia: The Indian Version on you. I’m not nearly that perky.)

Look. I knitted a hat and some washcloths for Meredith’s kindergarten teacher. There I go again, getting all twirly and knitting gifts for teachers!