Category: Daily

Personified Candy Canes: Erratic or Erotic?

Last night, nine of us journeyed out to a local light display, where we boarded a train and marveled at millions of lights.

PLEASE NOTE: This light display is in St. Louis, Missouri. Although it may share a name with a truly fantastic display across the ocean, I can firmly say that the two events are not related. (I just spent thirty minutes looking at the photos of the other display, and suddenly I want to board a plane and go. Absolutely lovely.)

ONE MORE NOTE: This entry is not intended to disrespect the local display. We loved it, and were merely “in a mood” while riding the train. Our kids are still talking about how much fun they had. We will most definitely be returning.

Most of our journey looked a lot like this:
Lights

And this:
lights2

And that’s sort of what you expect when you go on a “millions of lights” adventure, right?

However, we also saw a little bit of this:
marshmallowman

My 12-year-old Nephew (M12YON): For some reason, that makes me feel a little uncomfortable.

Me: Is it because he looks like he’s been poked in the privates by a big toasted marshmallow skewer?

M12YON: Is this journey Rated R?

We continued to ride.

candyrumps

My Sister: Whoa! Hey there!

Jeff: Someone’s hanging low!

That’s all it took for the seven of us (the girls retained their delightful innocence) to see past the magic (and tune in to our inner Porky’s).

We were now taking a ride on the Lickerish Express.

(Please know that all inappropriatisms (and that is NOT a real word) were kept under our breath. The Puddings are very considerate of others when they spew dirt.)

candycaneballs

M12YON: What is that down by his leg?

Me: You know how candy canes roll. As soon as the lights go out, they get all junkie.

M12YON: I don’t like the look on his face.

Meredith: His arm is going the wrong way! Wheeee!

Regardless of (and perhaps because of) the Candy Porn, The Puddings are now fully dipped in the Christmas Spirit.

We’re in. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

NaBloPoMo Freak Out!

This morning I was drinking coffee and checking e-mail and WHOOSH! our internet connection quit. No lights were blinking. Frogs began falling from the sky. Veiled horsemen began circling outside the house. People (mostly me) were flipping out.

(Actually, Jeff detected my sweat and sent me off to the shower so he could fix it in peace. I shaved my legs for the first time in ages! Also, I used really excellent shower gel. If you talk to me today, don’t be concerned if I take a lot of breaks to smell myself. MmmmmmVanilla.)

All of this to say: Because we don’t know if the connection will blow again, I am literally puking out my NaBloPoMo entry. I’mtypingasfastasIcanBarbaraGordon!

Tonight we’re going here. We’ll be riding a shuttle bus dressed up as a train, and we’ll be feeling The Christmas Spirit, and I’m planning on taking the video camera, but chances are I’ll be crying entirely too hard to actually take it out of the case. (The Christmas Spirit gets me Every Single Time. Don’t even get me started on Amy Grant’s Christmas album. The one with Tennessee Christmas? I can’t even drive while listening to it—much more dangerous than texting.)

I hope all is well with you and that you can’t really detect my Frantic. You know, I’ve heard at least 849 people say that God never gives you more than you can handle. Clearly, if losing an internet connection affects me like this, I can’t handle much. This explains why I tend to swim in gravy. Calm water gravy. Not money gravy. So many different gravies out there.

Tomorrow is another day! A day flavored with pumpkin! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Meredith is a carnivore.

Prey
She read it to us this morning as “I am thankful for the Thanksgiving turkey, because I love the prayer.”

However, I do enjoy picturing Meredith hunting and seizing a wild turkey for our Thanksgiving dinner. It’s all about the prey, you know.

(The first part is about her grandparents’ dog—an animal Meredith will never attack and eat. Hopefully.)

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I have toothpaste in my hair.

This afternoon I had a dental appointment.

Once again, we discussed my sensitivity. (Oral. Not emotional.)

Once again, I sang the praises of my night guard.

Once again, the hygienist had to numb my mouth before cleaning my teeth (I tend to kick my legs and howl like a (very unsexy) werewolf when she touches my sensitive spots).

As she finished the polishing, the hygienist accidentally let her instrument (seriously, I tried to come up with a better word, but I’m sort of in a hurry over here) slip, and it buzzed over my face and bonked me on the back of my head, where it left a pea-sized dollop of orange-flavored polish. (I always choose the orange. I’m a real sucker for anything that smells or tastes like citrus. With that said, please know that I’m entirely unable to eat citrus fruits (or tomatoes, for that matter) because of the way my face responds.)

I’m burning a lemon-scented candle as I share all of this information with you. (Shout out to Tempe for the lemon-scented candle!)

Finally, we’re now in the home stretch of NaBloPoMo. And I know I’ve sort of sucked—what with the puking up of photographs and videos and whatnot. For that, I halfheartedly apologize and hang my head at a roughly thirty degree angle.

In semi-related news, today I received this:

Maizey, Chilling with the Bananas

It’s a phone and it’s made of corn and it’s the first phone I’ve ever had that holds a QWERTY keyboard.

In other words, I’ll now be a lot more active on Twitter—if you care about that sort of thing.

Specifically, I’ll be Momspotting. (This has absolutely nothing to do with blood, so you can turn off the wince.)

Personal message to Diana Ellis: I have your old phone number. In fact, within minutes of setting up my new phone’s voicemail, I received three messages for you. The first two calls were not pleasant. (I won’t go into specifics other than: One of my Christmas wishes is for you to get your credit back on track. And Heaven and Nature sing.) The third? Well, it’s past time for you to schedule your eye doctor appointment! (I don’t mind taking your messages, but I’m not going  to set up your appointments, Diana. Call the eye doctor. You look pretty today. You’re welcome!) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

The Fluid Pudding Family Caramel Apple Salad Recipe

Oh, people. You’re making this NaBloPoMo thing easy when you ask for things like recipes.

And, please know that I fought the urge to say Recipe: Throw 12 apples into a large bowl. Add 64 Brach’s caramels (wrapped or unwrapped). Happy Thanksgiving.

Since you asked, here is the recipe Grandma used.

Ingredients:

  • 1 tablespoon flour
  • 1/2 cup sugar
  • 1 can (8 oz.) crushed pineapple
  • 1 egg, beaten
  • 1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar
  • 1 carton (8 oz.) Cool Whip
  • 4 cups diced Granny Smith apples
  • 1 cup chopped salted dry roasted peanuts, divided

In a heavy saucepan, combine flour, sugar, pineapple with juice, egg, and vinegar. Bring to a slow boil, stirring constantly; cook on medium until thickened. Refrigerate until cold. In a large mixing bowl, fold cooled pineapple mixture into Cool Whip, then fold in apples and 1/2 cup peanuts. Pour into a serving dish and garnish with remaining peanuts.

So, yeah. Absolutely no caramel included, but it TASTES like caramel is included. And I suppose that’s what matters.

Enjoy your Friday. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

This is what I know.

Mitchum Huntzberger as Russell Fabray is, in my opinion, a brilliant idea. (Yes. I’m a fan of Glee, but please know that I’ll never refer to myself as a Gleek.)

I am not going to see New Moon tonight, and I may not have a chance to see it before it leaves the theaters. With that said, if I was forced to choose a team, I would make sweet love to the vampire.

I bought some jeans last week, and I found myself to be between sizes. Obviously, I purchased the smaller size because I tend to wipe my eyes and set lofty goals when I’m standing in my underpants looking into a department store mirror. Today I have placed myself inside of the jeans, and I’m finding that I’m experiencing that dreaded phenomenon known as Muffin Top. It’s appalling, really. I now need to either punch myself for not getting the larger size, or speed up the progress in the Firm That Pudding category.

This year I am once again contributing Caramel Apple Salad and Mashed Sweet Potatoes to the Thanksgiving meal. My grandmother, may she continue to rest in peace, was always in charge of the apple salad and the sweet potatoes, and when she died I was more than happy to take her baton. This is my twelfth year of Apple/Potato duty, and every year I feel like I’m just not getting it right. One week from right now I’ll be making the decision to either retire from Apple/Potato duty or to sign on for another dozen years.

In a few days I’ll be receiving a phone made of corn, and this excites me for a number of reasons, not entirely limited to this:
pattinson ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I just like saying “Debussy.”

While in high school, I played the piano.

I scored a piano scholarship to the University of Missouri, and after a semester I decided that I wasn’t really talented/dedicated enough to be a capital M Musician.

I haven’t really played much since then.

We had our piano tuned a few days ago.

I’m very sloppy, but after nearly two decades spent NOT practicing, I’m once again practicing.

The Sloppy Doctor Gradus from Angela D. on Vimeo.

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The Story of the Cake Fall

Fact: When I was a kid, my mom took my sister and I to school every morning and picked us up every afternoon.

Fact: Every year in the fall (no foreshadowing pun intended), our elementary school would hold a Family Fun Night. And that Family Fun Night included a cake walk.

Fact: My mom used to be quite a cake maker. She has been known to create wedding cakes. No joke.

One afternoon when I was nine and in the fourth grade, I ran down the hill from the elementary school to my mom’s car and found that the front seat on the passenger side was covered with towels surrounding and protecting a lovely white-iced three-layer cake. My mom told me that the cake was for Family Fun Night, and she had been waiting for me to get down to the car so we could carry it up the hill to the gymnasium.

Because nine year old kids tend to be a bit over-confident, I begged my mom to let me carry the cake up to the gym by myself.

My mom then made the worst decision of her life, which is a huge deal when you consider the fact that she once purchased and wore a blue polyester jumpsuit with red and yellow stalks of wheat painted at hip level.

“Well, okay. But be careful.”

I got out of the car and Mom reluctantly handed me the aluminum foil wrapped piece of cardboard with the three layer cake balanced on top.

I slowly took off toward the gym, concentrating on the cake with every step I took.

Right foot.

Left foot.

Right foot.

You get the idea.

So, then this happened: The barometric pressure suddenly changed and I fell down. And when I fell down, I dropped the cake. And it stayed on the cardboard platter thing, but the top two layers shifted quite a bit. I quickly looked down to my mom’s car and noticed that she was talking to another mom and hadn’t seen my fall. SO, with tiny rocks embedded in my hands, I pushed those cake layers back so they were lined up, wiped the icing from my hands onto my pants, and delivered the cake to the gym.

The mother’s club volunteer took one look at the cake, looked down at my hands and pants, and asked what happened.

Get this. I told her that my mom isn’t a very safe driver, and that the cake fell off of the seat onto the floor of the car.

“Mom says it’s fine for the cake walk.”

I then turned around and headed straight to the bathroom to clean myself up before returning to the car.

Thirty years later, payback arrived when I hurled last week’s brownies across the school parking lot and had  no one to blame for my gracelessness. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>