Daily Archives : Page 99 of 109 : Fluid Pudding

It’s like buying a brand new notebook and spiffy pen!

I suppose it’s a bit silly how I Am Woman, Hear Me Roar-ish I get after completing a seemingly piece of cake act like updating software. Suddenly, I’m wearing new underpants, and I feel like sitting here and writing all day. ($40 says I could have you sleeping by noon.)

After spending entirely too much money in Chicago (On YARN! My sister thinks I’m batty!), I took on a few reviews this week. SO, you’ll see those in the next week or so if you’re interested. (I was able to shoot a video of my kids eating spinach, and my house now smells autumnal and fresh. So there you go.)

What? You want to know what I’ll be knitting in the next several months? Let’s start with This Exact Shawl. It was hanging up in the very first booth we entered last weekend, and it didn’t really appeal to me until I was asked to try it on. (I’m still not sure how that happened. I was sort of drunk on silk at the time, and would have probably done just about anything asked of me. Luckily, I kept my skirt on.) Anyway, I tried on the shawl, and the angels started singing and I cried for three hours to release all of my toxins and ugliness and then I sang love songs to everyone in the convention center (Neil Diamond has nothing on me!), and right before I asked if I could go on a hugging spree, the woman removed the shawl and placed the pattern and yarn into a bag.

I’m currently this far in the game:

And that’s really not far at all, being that I have visions of curling up in this thing on Christmas morning as I sip coffee, listen to Christmas Card from a Hooker in Minneapolis, and wait for everyone to wake up. (It’s a personal tradition, give or take the hooker.)

I also bought the kit to make a sweater that is not a sweater. (Once again with the treachery of images!) It’s not a Sweater, it’s a stinking work of art. And I’m not going to link to it here, because you’ll look at the photograph and say, “Hhhmmmm. Time to put on a quilted Americana vest and stuff yourself with a big stupid piece of pie, Pudding!” I am going to keep you in suspense. (Only five people are still reading at this point. Does the knitting talk bore you?) Here’s a bone (I really hate that phrase, by the way): I just corresponded with the woman who is sending the kit to me. She told me the yarn has been back-ordered from Italy, and I firmly believe that adds to the allure. Because now the sweater is like a work of ITALIAN art, meaning Michelangelo and I could probably make out for awhile over coffee and tiramisu. (Tempe? Back me up. The sweater sort of resembles the Sistine Chapel ceiling, no?)

Abrupt change of topic! Tonight is our neighborhood party. More often than not, the party ends early for me when Harper either falls down, or simply decides she would rather sit on a couch in our family room and watch the party through the window than participate in it. (How do you raise your kids to be social creatures when you are most definitely NOT a social creature? Xanax and pumpkin beer? I try my best, and then I go to bed and blame it all on my DNA.)

A few of you have e-mailed to ask what I’m doing to combat the IBS madness. Currently? I’m drinking coffee sprinkled with Benefiber, because I’m your mother. (And to the few who sent e-mails asking me to take down my colon photos? I’m not taking down my colon photos. My colon is my loveable serpentine baby that will (hopefully) always remain inside of me. He deserves his time in the sun, where Sun=Fluid Pudding Front Page.)

This entry was brought to you by WordPress Version 2.8.4! And that sentence will not appear at the end of every entry! Five more minutes of healthy horn tooting, if you please.

Most importantly, enjoy your weekend. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I’m eating my hair. I’m eating my hair!

So, I’m about to update my website software to the latest version, and I’m shaking in my boots. My hair is curling, my flesh is crawling, my blood is running cold, et cetera.

Confession: I am scared to death of driving around in a big city. I’m no good at it. I make lots of mistakes. (You can ask my Chicago companions how many times we were almost killed last week simply because I insisted on driving. I’m ridiculous!) Anyway, this Updating of the Software thing? Let’s just say I would rather be dropped in the middle of Atlanta rush hour traffic in a smoking crap Gran Torino than deal with this. (Ask Mr. Deal. He’s totally aware of my ignorance. We actually talked on the phone once, and I’m still feeling stupid about how stupid I can be!)

If something terrible happens, please know that I love each and every one of you for reasons only I will ever know. Blackbird? I know we’ll meet some day. This is just another bump in that road. Finslippy? You always ALWAYS make me laugh and laugh. Emily? We WILL have coffee. Amy? I finished your socks this afternoon, and they’re currently soaking in a lavender bath! I should join them! (Don’t worry. I won’t join them.)

Wait. Why is everything fading? Hhhmmmm. I believe I’ll start walking toward that light in the distance…

Seriously, all. Wish me luck. IhatethisIhatethisIhatethisIhatethisetc.

EDITED TO ADD: Okay. You can all relax. I think I did it. I think. And the funny (?) thing is, I just looked to my right and noticed a big smear of blood on the wall. I have no idea where THAT came from. (Really. I have no idea. Blood on the wall!) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Colon Firth—The Final Innard Entry

I come to you this day to report that my colon is clear and healthy, and I may now sit safely under the large (and slightly itchy) IBS quilt.

Wait. Did you just say you wanted to see a photograph of my colon? Well, here you go!

(That is not a hot dog, René Magritte!)

As you can see, what my colon lacks in personality, he makes up for in shininess! Pizazz, even!

When he gets spruced up a bit, he turns into an angry (and sweaty) chemistry teacher!

“Astatine!!! Einsteinium!!! Damnit!!!”

(Thanks to everyone for the comments and e-mails. I’m now off to Chicago for my annual Fiber and Sushi Hajj.)

Nothing to see here…

I’m sort of updating this as I go, until I end up doing an inadvertent impression of Glenn Close crying in the shower.

Breakfast: One cup of Earl Grey with (perfectly legal) honey, one half cup of cherry gelatin, one half cup of beef broth, one iced coffee with Splenda.

Mid-morning snack: One cup of apple juice, and one apple Jolly Rancher. Yeah. Seriously.

Lunch: One watermelon Jolly Rancher. More beef broth. Whee! I’m shaky!

Mid-afternoon snack: Chicken broth, because I like to Shake It Up. Two watermelon Jolly Ranchers. Iced coffee. Water. Cherry Jolly Rancher. Blue raspberry Jolly Rancher. Viva la Jolly Ranchers!

4:00 CST: Time for the purging of the innards. La la la la laaaaaaaah! Ouch.

Dinner: Beef broth. No more Jolly Ranchers. Two 32 oz. bottles of Gatorade, each spiked with half a bottle of Miralax.

9:12 CST: Hating it. The end.

Mood: Irritable. Don’t look at me. No. I mean it.

Frown upside down/scar into star/etc.: The tooth fairy had to make an emergency trip to Walgreens last night.

Also, we went bowling yesterday. Meredith tends to throw the ball and then twist her body around in an attempt to alter the atmospheric pressure just enough to attract the ball to the pins.

Harper handles the ball like a hot potato and follows every throw with a victory dance.
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I’ve eliminated friends who have broken my spines.

I’m in love with having signed copies of books. Seeing an author’s handwriting makes me feel closer to the actual writing process, and that jazzes me to no end. I keep all of my signed books on the top shelf of my bookshelf, and they are the only books that receive a semi-regular dusting. (Okay. I made that up. None of my books receive even a semi-regular dusting. Gesundheit!)

My copy of Remembering Denny is the first book I had signed, and is one of my most treasured possessions.

After listening to me drone on about the Mrs. Bridget character in Tom Jones’s “Henry Fielding,” Helen Fielding told me I was brilliant. (I don’t think she really meant it. I think we both know I was being embarrassingly pretentious and her “brilliant” was code for “Okay then, Spooky. Moving right along!”)

Jeff gave this to me a few months before he moved to Nashville. I have very distinct memories of sitting on a washing machine at my apartment complex and studying the pen dents left by William Gass.

Shortly after discovering I was pregnant with Meredith, I had Salman Rushdie sign my copy of The Ground Beneath Her Feet. I will not let anyone borrow this book. You know, because of the fatwa and all.

Jenny Boully dyes amazing yarn and spins amazing words.

SueBob gave this to me at BlogHer in San Francisco last year, and every time I open it, I think of her.

My friend Jen sent this to me for my birthday. It was one of my favorite gifts.

This is one of my recent acquisitions. Bill Keaggy is one of the most creative locals I sort of know. He celebrates National Sandwich Month every year! He collects grocery lists! He takes photos of Sad Chairs!

Right here is where I would add a photograph of Eden Kennedy‘s signature in my copy of Things I Learned About My Dad, but it is currently sitting on a shelf in Springfield, Missouri. I took the book to San Francisco last year with the goal of having it signed by each of the contributors. Sadly, because I’m Angela R. Pudding, I didn’t have the guts to approach anyone but Eden.

Thanks to Angella, I just received a copy of the new Danny Evans book. And I have a huge grin on my face because of this:

Those words will keep me smiling for approximately 17.2 days. (And the words printed within will keep the smile going, I’m sure.)

Tell me your author stories. It’s fifty degrees outside, and I’ve busted out the jeans. (Figuratively. Shut up.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Your neighbors will be green, I tell you!

So, when Melissa designed the shirt for FAFPBPA, a few people stepped up and said something to the effect of, “I will not prep my bowels with you, but I WILL sport the T.”

And then Melissa stepped up AGAIN and said that she can make it happen for twenty bucks a shirt. (And then I squealed, jumped off of my chair, and high-fived everyone in the room.) ((It doesn’t take much.))

In other words, Yes! You really CAN buy a t-shirt that celebrates the clearing of my bowels! This is the opportunity of a lifetime, people!

If you’re interested, shoot an e-mail titled “BOWELS” to angela at fluidpudding dot com.

I’ll get back in touch about sizes and payment details.

I guarantee you this: No one else in your world has a bowel prep t-shirt. This will put you One Step Above.

(I’m buying one for my gastroenterologist.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Letters and Sodas

Thanks to you, Internet friends, I can now search out the chili and swill a chai and read Infinite Jest outdoors and pick apples and attend a marching band competition and devour a funnel cake and make up dances to Andrew Bird songs and stomp on some crunchy leaves and throw on a sloppy cardigan and attend an Apple Butter Festival. And I can do these things with amicable kicks.

I’ve named them Jem and Scout.

They just giggled and whispered, “You’re the prettiest lady.”

(And when I went on my first solo drive with them, this song was the first to play. It doesn’t get much better, does it? I’ll answer that: Nope.)

(For those who asked about the tattoo? It’s Georgia O’Keeffe’s hands—based on a photograph taken by Alfred Stieglitz. A friend of mine designed it, and it was inked on nearly twenty years ago at the home of a man named Spyder.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I’ll drive all night just to buy you some shoes.

This morning I decided to be in the market for athletic shoes. (Would it look like I’m trying too hard if I said something like “This was no small feat!”?! I like to think that I’m cooler than that. Let’s shift focus a bit, shall we? It was one year ago tonight when Jeff and I found ourselves invited to attend a Bruce Springsteen sound check, and as if that wasn’t enough (We were the only “civilians” in the stadium! Seriously!), we got a personal tour of the backstage area, AND we went home that night with the handwritten set list. I’ve met some pretty amazing people through the Internet, Internet. I’ve been thinking about that show all day. Ah, Mr. Springsteen.)

Anyway, my main goal for the athletic shoe thing was to get something user-friendly and perhaps brown. These were pretty much exactly what I wanted. To me, those shoes say, “I’m a climber of mountains. I could run if I need to, but really, I’m just strolling down the road looking for a chai and some chili.” Perfection.

As I drove to the shoe store, I set Sparky up to play the overture from Selmasongs. It’s sort of my own personal Rocky theme, and it never fails to stir up my much needed Invincibility Vibe. Drama! French horns! I am Flo Jo! (It was one of the songs that played as our wedding guests entered the church. (I absolutely LOVE the build up to 2:24. It makes my lip quiver every time.)) When I entered the store, I headed straight for the New Balance display. Sadly, the perfect brown shoes were not available in my size, and a wicked step sister I am not.

I tried on over thirty pairs of shoes this morning, and in the end, feeling weary and very vincible, I settled for something that ended up being over twenty dollars cheaper than The Perfect Shoes.

I suppose you could say that they’re silver, but deep down we all know that they’re white (actually, they’re >>>WHITE<<< and partly pink, even), and not at all chummy. In fact, they’re very standoffish, and after wearing them all day? My feet feel as if I’ve jumped into a vat of chattering teeth. As I type these words to you, the shoes are sitting in the corner quoting Kafka (in German, of course. Jackasses.) and tossing lit matches at the cats. Earlier this afternoon I found them spitting and whispering nasty things about my butt.

I believe I’m meant to sit barefoot on the couch eating sweet potato pancakes for the rest of my existence. Would you care to join me? ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Vanilla Long John Love with a Side of Fiona Apple

This morning I dropped Meredith off at school, returned home with Harper, made coffee, started a load of laundry, plopped down onto the couch, and remembered that I haven’t pulled up Fluid Pudding in over a week.

Whiny Paragraph: I barely made it through the evening of Meet the Teacher last week. Argh. I’m not sure if it’s my general lack of adult interaction or the fact that I’ve always been socially awkward, but any time I spoke to someone that evening, my lip got all quivery and my eyes twitched and I’m sure I looked palsy bound. I have no idea why I get so rattled. Is this why people take Xanax? Is this why people drink wine throughout the day? Is this why some people (namely, Angela Pudding) should choose to stay home and watch crap television instead of attempting to exchange a simple round of small talk? I really thought throwing on a cute skirt would give me at least an hour of sparkling confidence. The spooky trees failed me.

In Which I Attempt to Turn my Frown Upside Down (And, I Fail!): But enough about that! School is now in session! Meredith adores first grade! Harper is in love with Pre-K! I had sushi for lunch yesterday and Gokul for dinner! On a semi-related note, I’m back on Weight Watchers and am six pounds into my fourteen pound goal. (As much as I complain about Weight Watchers, it really does work for me. You know, when I actually do it instead of simply talking about it.) Jeff’s class reunion is coming up in a few months, and I already know that the room will be filled to the brim with Lovelies, and I also already know that there’s not nearly enough time for me to get the adequate amount of therapy that will allow me to be a social butterfly that evening. SO, at least I can try to fit into one of my favorite “sit in a corner and eat toasted ravioli” dresses. Also, spunky shoes might help. Yes, I said Spunky.

Something happened last Friday that has never happened before. As a woman from the lab took a bunch of blood out of my arm, she told me that I have super cute feet. And because I generally am not a foot person and always feel awkward in sandals (Wait. I truly AM a disaster, aren’t I?!), I decided to ramble a bit too much about how the color I’m wearing is OPI’s “Over the Taupe” and that Alison Sweeney wears it on Days of Our Lives and the more I talked The More I Talked. So, yeah. Over the Taupe. I love it in the same way that I love buying a new pen and a new notebook. It’s that GOOD kind of love. Vanilla Long John Love. (Although, I tend to prefer mine unfilled.)

(I bought fresh ginger yesterday! And the kind folks on Facebook taught me how to prepare it! Balance! Can you tell that I’m scowling more than usual today?! Meredith kicked the cat last night, and I’m still not really over it. Also, Seasonique? Yeah. It failed me this week. I will not elaborate. Ginger in my bok choy tonight!)

In about three weeks I’ll be making my annual trip to Chicago to buy yarn. My goal is to buy a silk/wool blend to make a black one of these and perhaps something neutral with a lot of drape to make one of these. I’m also keeping my eyes open for something black and shiny to make another one of these. Also, there will be grits. And two nights in a hotel. The possibility of a martini. And because it’s a road trip? Nutter Butters and coffee—the perfect road trip snack.

Two hours have passed since I first sat down at the computer. I just dropped Harper off at school, meaning I now have 2.5 hours to myself before I pick everyone up.

I love this song, and am now on a quest to find an audio file and some decaf Earl Grey. Enjoy your afternoon.

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Are you hinting my apples are not what they ought to be?!

Did you hear the rumbling noise yesterday morning at approximately 11:30 CST? That, my friend, was me becoming a soccer mom. I’m not quite sure what the new job entails, other than hauling the kids around three or four times each week for practices and games.

Also, I believe it means I need more skirts. Here is my most recent fabric choice:

In my breezy world, everyone needs a skirt with spooky trees. And the apples make it the perfect skirt for meeting the teacher on Wednesday evening, don’t you think? (School starts on Thursday. School starts on Thursday! And suddenly, it’s almost Christmas.)

This morning on the way to get flu shots, we passed by a pizza dump.

Me: Wait! Roll down your windows. Do you smell the pizza crust baking?!

Meredith: That’s not pizza. That’s my burning flesh.

Five minutes later, she asked if I have ever been arrested. When I told her I have not, she made it clear that she did not believe me.

I’ll miss Meredith when school starts. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>