NaBloPoMo Archives : Page 11 of 13 : Fluid Pudding

My sleeves are rolled up, and I’m ready to help!

Okay. I know you’re all knee-deep in turkey guts and cranberry goo.

I also know that you might not be too keen on pumpkin pie.

SO, once again, I would like to share my father’s famous caramel pie recipe!

(Mandajuice made it last year with chocolate chips, and she loved it. If that doesn’t kick you right over the edge, I’m not sure what will. Actually, I DO know what will. A photo of her pie!)

Father Pudding’s Famous Caramel Pie
1 can Eagle Brand sweetened condensed milk (no substitutes, must be Eagle Brand)
1 prepared graham cracker pie crust
2-3 bananas (not overly ripe)
Cool Whip (small size)
5-6 maraschino cherries
handful of pecan pieces
Large size Hershey Chocolate bar

Preparation (Allow 4 hours on the night before you need the pie. In other words, time is running out.)
The evening before you need the pie, remove the wrapper from the Eagle Brand milk and put the can in a pot of SLOWLY boiling water. (The can should not be opened or punctured in any way.) Be sure to keep the can covered with water and SLOWLY boil it for 4 hours. After 4 hours, remove the can and let it cool overnight to room temperature.

Assembly (Allow 10-15 minutes.)
Place ¼ inch thick slices of bananas over the bottom of the pie shell, covering the entire bottom with one layer (do not layer up the sides of the shell). Open the can of Eagle milk. You’ll find it has turned a nice caramel color and has thickened to the point where you’ll have to use a spoon to get it out of the can. Cover the bananas with the caramelized milk (spread the entire can evenly). Cover the caramel with Cool Whip (be generous and use lots of Cool Whip). Cut the Maraschino cherries into pieces and sprinkle the pieces around the Cool Whip. Sprinkle the pecan pieces around the Cool Whip. Finally, using a vegetable peeler, shave strips off the edge of the Hershey bar and sprinkle the shavings around the Cool Whip. Refrigerate until serving time.

(Disclaimer, because I’m careful like that: All data and information provided on this site is for informational purposes only. Fluidpudding.com makes no representations as to accuracy, completeness, currentness, suitability, or validity of any information on this site and will not be liable for any errors, omissions, or delays in this information or any losses, injuries, or damages arising from its display or use. All information is provided on an as is basis.)

Happy Thanksgiving to each and every one of you! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Perhaps the sun reflected off of my sparkling mouth and blinded the guy in the truck.

This morning, while wearing my brand new sparkling lip gloss, I witnessed a car accident. And because I was running late for volunteering at Meredith’s school, I kept driving—feeling really crappy for not stopping. Because, seriously? These twinkling (and supposedly pouting) lips need to speak out! Especially in situations where insurance companies and police officers are involved!

As I helped a few of my kindergarten friends learn the difference between 12 and 15 (those numbers are especially tricky, and probably should have been named twoteen and fiveteen), I shimmered and set the plan of calling the police the minute I got home to tell them (using my glimmering mouth) that I saw the accident, and it was totally the guy in the white truck’s fault, and I’m sorry I left the scene, and I am now ready for my community service assignment. (My new glossy lips will really pop when I match them up with an orange jumpsuit.)

After the final kindergartener was able to identify the numbers with no mistakes, I drove to Walgreens to purchase a new set of tweezers. (When your lips are like diamonds, your brows beg for a proper taming. Girl, you know it’s true.) While in the parking lot I saw that a tow truck, holding one of the cars involved in the accident, was across the street at the gas station.

I crossed the street and let my flickering lips lead the way to the tow truck guy.

Me (sparkle, sparkle): Everyone from the accident is alright, right?

Tow Truck Guy (TTG): I’m not really supposed to discuss it.

Me (with lips like shining stars): I know. BUT, I saw the whole thing. And I want to make sure that everyone knows that the guy in the white truck was 100% at fault.

TTG (sort of hypnotized by my glowing yap): Yeah. The guy in the truck knows it was his fault. He’ll be responsible for the whole deal.

Me: Ohmygoshyouwanttokissmethisiscrazy.

TTG: Ma’am?

Me: YoucancallmeSheila. Nothing. Okay then.

So, justice is often served, men who drive white trucks might be all Greased Lightning but at least they’re also sometimes honest, I’m going to write President Obama about my twoteen and fiveteen recommendation, and my lips are luminous with no sticky or tacky feeling. Enjoy your day. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

The Thoughts I Had While Watching “The Secret Life of Bees” With My Mother

We’re kicking it off with a four-year-old girl shooting her mother, and I can hear vampires in the next theater. Clearly, I am lost.

Alicia Keyes might be pretty and blah, blah, blah, but she certainly cannot act. Then again, I cannot act. Why do I insist on judging Alicia Keyes? I always judge the pianists, and that’s ridiculous.

I wonder how things would be different had Meredith shot me when she was four.

Okay. This is going to be a busy week. Play date tomorrow, volunteering and work on Tuesday, Harper’s assessment on Wednesday, Thanksgiving dinner Thursday and again on Saturday, church and book club on Sunday along with Twilight.

Wait. Is everyone’s voice muffled, or am I starting to have a panic attack?

(Me: Can you understand what anyone is saying?
Mom: I’m having a bit of trouble. The sound is sort of garbled.)

Whew. Okay then.

Sweet potatoes, marshmallows, butter, sugar, milk, crushed pineapple, peanuts, Cool Whip, cider vinegar, and green apples.

Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy, Joshua, Judges, Ruth. Lyle Lovett married Julia Roberts who was part of Charlotte’s Web with Dakota Fanning who is starring in The Secret Life of Bees. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Shorts.

While working at the yarn store, I often find myself yelling, “Oh, fun!” whenever someone talks about the project she is working on. My Oh Funs are annoying, brainless, and as unpredictable as an explosive sneeze.

Random knitter: And when I’m done with the scarf, I think I’ll use the leftover yarn for a hat.

Me: Oh, fun!

Today, after my 83rd “Oh, fun!” I wondered how people would respond if I substituted another F word for the Fun.

Random knitter: I’m determined to learn how to knit two socks at a time on circular needles.

Me: Oh, f**k!

Meredith, while in the tub this evening, told Jeff that she has some good news and some bad news.

MC: The good news? We’ll be landing in a few minutes. The bad news? It’s going to be a crash landing.

Me: Oh, fun! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

You can eat it with your fingers, and it leaves no residue.

My grandmother used to have a very annoying habit of saying things like, “Oh! If only you knew what I know about Blashenblash! But I can’t tell you. I promised not to tell ANYONE! But you would DIE if you knew!” On a similar note, I can’t help but become annoyed when people shout out something like, “I have a Major Announcement to make, but you will have to wait until next week to hear it.”

If you can’t tell me something, don’t tell me how you can’t tell me something. Seriously. You’re wasting words. And words are not meant to be wasted.

And now I am guilty: I received some Big Happy News yesterday, and I spent a good part of today reading legal documents and signing away some rights. And I’m not allowed to tell you any specifics. But I CAN tell you this: If it is determined that I meet all eligibility requirements, I will be accepting a major prize valued at $1,000. And this prize has absolutely nothing to do with a Wii Fit and everything to do with me spending 30 minutes in my yard taking photographs of food and then freaking out in church about the fact that a peace sign and a Mercedes logo look oddly similar and then rushing home to redo the photo shoot in order to eliminate any potential shout-out to the kind folks at Mercedes, and that’s about all I can say.

I suppose the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it, Grandma?

I will say this, with the slight fear of releasing a rattlesnake: A picture is worth a thousand words. And when my prize arrives (if it is determined that I meet all eligibility requirements), I will post a picture.

And now I shall change the subject somewhat drastically. A few days back, Mercy Buttercup, using a popular social media program, announced that she had found The Most Comfortable Nightgown Ever. I took her recommendation to heart (because we own the same Wiggles guitar), and as I type this entry I am wearing The Most Comfortable Nightgown Ever. And now I shall showcase it for you, using my signature America’s Next Top Model pose.

A huge thank you to Mercy Buttercup. Because I’m never taking this thing off. In fact, Jeff just gave me the go-ahead to wear it to Thanksgiving dinner next week. Aces.

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The cherry blossoms are driving me mad. But the end is in sight.

With less than 100 rows to go, I really can’t sit down at the computer tonight. (I’m itching to bang out at least 20 rows each day so I can be wearing this guy before the end of next week.)

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I chose a tiny bag.

I just took this evening’s muscle lallygagger, so I’ll keep this entry brief for fear that fifteen minutes from now will find me drooling and sputtering nasty tales. (And believe me…)

Anyway. Here are the facts.

I work part time at a yarn store.

The employees at the yarn store are allowed to keep a Hold Bag containing merchandise they will eventually purchase. Up until tonight, I did not allow myself to start a hold bag. Why? Fiber dipsomania, my friend. It starts with one skein. And it’s so easy to put that one skein into your hold bag, isn’t it? Three weeks later, you’ve shoved 3,482 skeins into your hold bag and in no time you’ve stashed away something like $80,000 worth of yarn. And then you have to decide what to return to the shelves. But you love all of it too much. And suddenly you can’t afford to have electricity in your home. And the kids are starting to look like they’re getting scurvy. And you are forced to make chili out of your cat.

Did you catch that whole “up until tonight” thing up there? Yep. Tonight I started my hold bag. Because I fell in love with this. And I’ll be making it out of this. (And, wow. That photo really hurts my eyes for some reason. Bright flash! Overexposure!) So, anyway. Let the madness begin.

Muscles? Relaxed. Time for vampires. Enjoy your night. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Could you also prescribe some laceweight silk yarn?

This morning I visited my headache specialist to figure out how to eliminate this ridiculous everlasting headache. After we briefly discussed my terrible posture and the fact that I get zero exercise each day (I really am a complete disaster), we had the following conversation.

Headache Specialist: Do you, by any chance, have a Wii?

Me (wanting to cry because No. No, I do not have a Wii!): No. No, I do not have a Wii!

Headache Specialist: The only reason I ask is because the Wii Fit has a good yoga routine, and a lot of my patients have found that it helps with their tension headaches.

Me: Prescribe one for me. Seriously. Will my insurance cover it? Let’s do this.

HS: If you already had a Wii, I’d probably suggest you get a Wii Fit. BUT, I can’t ask you to spend that kind of money on the entire system.

Me: Prescribe it. Do it. Let’s make this happen. I dare you.

HS: I think I’ll give you a muscle relaxer and ask you to get a basic yoga DVD.

Okay. I’ll probably take the muscle relaxers a few times. However, I know myself well enough to know that the DVD will get exactly six days of use. (I tend to lose motivation with exercise DVDs after six attempts. See, I really AM a complete disaster.)

Anyway. Starting tonight? Muscle relaxers and a second attempt at Rodney Yee, who wants to kiss me. (At least that’s what I pretend as he poses himself wearing nothing but leggings.)

(This is the headache talking. I don’t normally beg.) Oh, Nintendo. If I had a Wii Fit, my headaches might be cured! Seriously: You could heal a girl in St. Louis with the mailing of one complimentary game system! Is it time for you to Pay it Forward, Nintendo? Is it? Um, please? How’s this for an incentive: If you send me a Wii/Wii Fit combo, I’ll make a video of myself working out wearing nothing but leggings. (If that’s not an incentive, well, let’s just forget I ever typed that sentence.)

EDITED TO ADD: Jeff just called to express his concern about the muscle relaxers. “Wouldn’t it be weird if it went straight to your bowels? Like, you’re still feeling a bit stiff-necked, and then All of a Sudden! Whoops! What the…?!” So, yeah. Now I’m afraid to leave the house. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Banner, Schmanner. David, Schwimmer.

It’s sort of funny.

After putting up the Fluid Pudding Hippo Banner, I quickly received six e-mails saying, “I’m really hating that hippo banner.”

One of my six unsolicited banner judges even said, “I don’t think I can come back here as long as you have that hippo banner.”

Yesterday I woke up and said, “You know what, Hippo Haters? I’m not really liking the hippo, either.”

So, I put up a photo of my hand getting ready to make out with a zombie. And that banner sort of sucked, too.

Please be patient with me as I learn to work with banners. Better yet, go visit Secret Agent Josephine. While you’re there, go ahead and nominate me for her free monthly web graphic drawing. Look at me over here. I’m all naked, severely unperky, and in desperate need of something adorable to cover my top.

Because it’s Sunday, I’m about to leave you with some words of wisdom. Last night, Meredith called me into her room and said the following: “Mommy, you can’t just keep getting a new cat and then letting it die and then naming your next cat after the dead cat so you always remember the dead cat. The best thing to do is make a picture book with a million pages to help you remember your dead cats. Fill out a page every time a cat dies, and then you can name your new cat whatever you want.”

(Meredith did not hear us joking about cat chili yesterday. I honestly have no idea where the million-paged dead cat notebook idea came from. But I DO think that everyone needs a million-paged dead cat notebook. Wait! I have just unstumped you on the holiday shopping for the Person Who Already Has Everything, haven’t I? You’re welcome.)

Quick! Get thee to Secret Agent Josephine! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>