NaBloPoMo Archives : Page 3 of 13 : Fluid Pudding

The weighting is the hardest part, Tom Petty.

Every year I allow myself to gain ten pounds during November and December. THEN, every year I drop the ten before sweater weather ends.

2013 was different.

I put on the ten in November and December of 2012 (snickerdoodles! goofy balls made out of Oreos and white chocolate! pumpkin everything! have I mentioned the goofy balls?!), and when it was time to drop the ten? I couldn’t drop it.

I know things happen when you start dancing around in your 40s. I also know that Matthew McConaughey is my age and he can gain and drop weight for movie roles like it’s his job. (Because IT’S HIS JOB.) And another thing: Matthew McConaughey has a last name that is VERY difficult to spell, making cutting and pasting an absolute necessity for me. And, yes. Matthew McConaughey is a man with resources. He probably has an athletic trainer and/or a nutrition coach and/or a trusty supplier of marijuana. I have none of those things. Then again, I don’t NEED any of those things. (It’s fun to make drug references at Fluid Pudding. Do you remember the other day when I talked about LSD? I loved that.)

You know about my weirdo relationship with food and body image (and wool and alone time). I won’t go into details. Just know that it REALLY bothered me that I wasn’t able to drop the ten. When summer hit and my summer clothes wouldn’t fit? It did me in. I actually went out and purchased a $12 Sleeveless Dress of Shame in an attempt to “force” myself into DROPPING THE TEN. I ran a few times. I did yoga a few times. I sat on the couch (more than) a few times. (Alone. With wool.)

HHHhhhhhhhhhh.

On September 17th, I went into a place that reduces the number of degrees of separation between Jennifer Hudson and anyone who goes into that place. (I’ve talked about the place before.) I sadly stood on a scale and was told that I had actually gained not ten, but thirteen pounds in the past year.

Lady With The Scale (LWTS): What are your goals?

Me: Easy. I want my jeans to fit because I can’t stomach shopping for jeans. I have too much stomach for my jeans. My stomach! My jeans! PLEASE STOP ME BEFORE I CRY!

I decided to give myself five weeks to drop the 13. (And that’s sort of funny, because I had been trying to lose it for 37 weeks. Some people can cook up an entire BABY in 37 weeks!)

As of this morning I hit my goal with absolutely zero exercise. (Let me know if you ever want to talk about clean eating. Clean eating is what worked. 100%.) Hilarious coincidence: It’s November. Time to start eating like a jerk again! GOOFY BALLS!

Actually, because I’m old and I don’t really have anything in common with Matthew McConaughey, I’m going to try to NOT gain ten pounds during the holiday season. To help keep me motivated, I’m looking into a Fitbit Force. In order to actually get off of the couch, I feel like I need numbers and clicks and bells and whistles and graphs and apps and a social network made up of OTHER clowns who have Fitbits. (I also feel like I need a therapist, but I’m convinced that wool/alone time provides the same benefits as getting dressed and talking to a stranger (who is merely a friend I haven’t met yet, I suppose).)

Unrelated?: I’m following a new local donut shop on Facebook, and I’m in the beginning stages of planning a visit. If I park a block over, perhaps I can register 200 steps on the Fitbit, which should unlock my “Permission: Donut” achievement. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Mother approved and kid friendly. Like fruit leather.

About twenty years ago, I found myself in an apartment that was being rented by a guy named Spyder. Spyder had tattooed a few of my friends, and it was my turn. I chose to have Georgia O’Keeffe’s hands put on my ankle, because my art appreciation instructor once mentioned that Alfred Stieglitz had taken stacks of photos of Georgia but didn’t feel that he captured her artistry until he focused on her hands. (I was a piano performance major for a while in college, and was very much into hands. (I’m still very much into hands.))

I’ve had a love/hate relationship with my ankle tattoo, but if I boil my thoughts for a bit, what remains is my love of art and hands and there you go. On my ankle.

Last month I mentioned that I was considering having a word tattooed onto my arm. My friend Shana stepped up and volunteered to write it for me, I absolutely loved what she created, a few days back I took her work to a tattoo place, and are you ready? Because here we go.

I had originally envisioned the tattoo as brown and tiny and going from side to side where the veins in my wrist poke back into my arm. However, the artist explained that brown will require touch-ups and maintenance, and there is a chance that the letters will close up if you go too small. I’m the first to admit that I’m not an expert at anything, so I went with her suggestion—black and vertical. She took a few minutes to redraw the word a bit bigger with more open letters and I loved it. She stenciled it onto my arm and I loved it even more.

The tattoo artist’s name is Anna and she is spritely and talented and owns a really enviable beaded yellow cardigan.

Anna: Are you nervous?

Me: Yes. But I’m also BRAVE.

Anna: Brave is good.

It’s still bumpy and healing and I may need a bit of a touch up at the top of the C, but so far? So good. (I chose the word for many different reasons, but mainly as a directive.)

It’s NaBloPoMo. Let’s get it on. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Ripened Fruit that Falls Tomorrow

You guys, I planned on doing something HUGE for the end of NaBloPoMo. BUT, here I sit at 5:24, and I just took what I tend to call my Monster Migraine Pill, and I have a meeting to go to in a little over an hour, and although the roast in the crock pot will feed my family, it’s not going to feed me, so I need to find a can of soup or something because I’m fancy like that. (I just talked to Jeff on the phone, and I think I’m slurring my words. BUT, I haven’t had a headache like this in MONTHS, so I’m not going to get too bummed out about it. Bedtime is in less than five hours!)

Have I thanked you lately for sticking with me? I remember the first time I opened comments on my website. It was something like two years in, and I thought, “Eh, let’s see if anyone’s out there.” (It was terrifying.) BUT, two people were out there! And now there’s more than two, and I actually e-mail back and forth with several of you, and holy smokes: Carroll, you commented nearly every single day this month!

I love all but one of my Fluid Pudding readers. And there’s a really good chance you’re not that one.

Thank you for hanging out with me this month. I’m going to try to extend the daily posting thing for awhile, but now that I’ve typed that out loud, we all know I’ll probably lay an egg. (Thank God I’m free range.)

This song shuffled as I drove home this morning, and it made me very happy.

‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

The Things for Which I Hanker

Today I purchased a pair of these in tortoise. I drove to four (FOUR!) large chain eyeglass shops and wrote down exactly what I liked, and was then able to doink around online and find the frames for about three gajillion dollars less than what I would have paid in the store. I win.

Check out these button rings. They’re made by my dear friend’s niece, and I love them.

Speaking of love, I love everything in Isabella’s store. (As you know, I’m especially fond of the flatpacks. I ordered two of them as teacher gifts, and I’m REALLY itching to keep them for myself.)

Beautiful roving. Oh, how I need to devote more time to spinning.

I know I don’t need one of these, but I need one of these.

Speaking of which, this seems like a good idea, too.

Vic Firth salt and pepper grinder. Who knew?

I think my kids need a moon in their room.

I’ve tried several, and I loved them all. Especially these.

This is one of my very favorite movies.

I can see myself in this. With leggings.

I’m just so happy that this exists.

Are there things for which you hanker? Share them with me! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Close your eyes, and I’ll fish you.

I carry a notebook with me everywhere I go. I have six or seven of them, they’re small enough to fit into my bag, and I rely on them to help me remember grocery lists and books I should read and funny quotes and how to take care of a puppy and exercises my ankle needs to perfect before I can FloJo myself around the track again.

This morning I took one of my notebooks to my eye doctor appointment.

While there, I took the following notes:

November 28th
topical steroid for Henry to remove cataract risk
Costco mussels for $12 on weekends
flaxseed / flaxseed oil DHA/EPA
Royal Chinese BBQ—seafood chow mein
Dim Sum past RCBBQ on right—Won Ton King

Only one of the five notes I took has anything to do with my eyes. This is why I love going to the eye doctor.

When he told me that I should consider taking fish oil capsules in the winter months, I asked if I had any other options.

Doctor: Do you eat fish?

Me: I’m a vegetarian. BUT, I sometimes tell myself that fish don’t have souls. And that’s when I go out for sushi.

Doctor: It’s interesting that you would say that. Yesterday I opened up the Wall Street Journal and saw a full page ad that featured Paul McCartney at his current age, in his current stage of life, and at the bottom of the ad was a blurb about him going fishing and how when he looked the fish in the eye, he realized that he and the fish both consider their lives to be important, and that killing the fish for pleasure seemed wrong. The ad was for vegetarianism.

Me: You just ruined fish for me.

Doctor: I think you could get away with eating trout or shrimp. Maybe you should just stay away from the big guys.

Me: No dolphins?

Doctor: No dolphins.

Here is the ad. I know some of you will look at it and roll your eyes into the back of your head. (If they freeze that way, let me know. I have a great eye doctor for you!) I’ll just say this: I may have just removed fish from my If All Else Fails list. (It fell between Eggplant Stackers and Fries with BBQ Sauce!) ((I don’t really have a list.))

My greatest quote from the eye doctor appointment: “It all depends on how much you love your gerbil.”

Twenty Eight Down, Two To Go. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

How lovely are my branches…

My big announcement for today: I have boxed up two freelance projects to be returned to their primary editors tomorrow morning. Two (mostly) down, and one to go, and then I can attack Christmas. Relief tastes like a handful of roasted peanuts chased down by another handful of milk chocolate chips mixed with the slight hankering for something carbonated and pomegranate-esque.

We’ve been talking a lot about Christmas trees over here, and I think I need to ask you a question.

Our Christmas tree is a fifteen year old VERY unstable artificial tree that my parents bought for me when I was living in an apartment in the city. (It’s held together with tape!) If you’re into the Major Life Event sort of timeline, this tree has seen me move to Nashville, marry Jeff, and push out two kids! (I didn’t really push the kids out.)

What?! Hey!

As much as I would love to go out to the garage right now and start putting the tree together, this year I have to consider our new roommates.

They’re adorable and I love them, but they will DESTROY my Christmas tree in the same way that they have destroyed our couch and our carpet. (And a few hairbrushes and a TV tray and a Frisbee and our elderly cat’s joy.)

A real tree is not an option, because I’ve seen how they chew on the real trees in our back yard.

What are we to do? If we leave the tree in the box this year, we could hang tinsel and lights around the family room and then decorate the tinsel with ornaments. The kids are willing to deal with that option, as long as the final product looks something like this.

Jeff has suggested that we quickly invent a tree that will spray a bitter dog deterrent every time a quadruped approaches. With less than a month to go before the big day, I really don’t think we have time.

Am I missing an obvious solution? (I tend to miss the obvious solutions.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Going to the Mattresses

This morning The Pudding Family met up with Doug from Laid-Off Dad and The W Family for brunch at Duff’s.

It was delightful and time moved entirely too quickly while we were there and when we left, I was filled with the urge to put more life into what I do. Revivification! (I really love that photo of us, but if you’re in need of something that involves more eye contact, then here you go.)

I also left thinking that I need to learn how to quilt. (The walls at Duff’s are currently bedecked with gangster movie themed quilts made by a local artist.) Can you imagine an entire series of quilts based on quiltworthy Ben Folds songs? There’s Always Someone Cooler Than You Quilt! Stumblin’ Home Winter Blues Quilt! Best of all? Sleazy Quilt! (Fun Fact: Sleazy has been in my head for over 48 hours now. Do me a favor and ask Jeff how awesome it is when I cover Ben Folds covering Ke$ha. He loves it. But not really. Not really at all.)

After returning home and studying my little notebook where I had jotted down “Scarf Ace” and “Plants vs. Zombies” during our encounter at Duff’s, I worked on some freelance and then headed out to the Rock ‘n’ Roll Craft Show with my mom and sister. I went with one goal in mind: To Purchase a Pillow that Looks Like a Log. Sadly, I believe all log pillows had sold out. (Luckily, the Squaresville pot holders were still available.)

After leaving the craft show, we headed straight to Jilly’s, where I ate the cupcake that won Food Network’s Cupcake Wars. Banana toffee cake stuffed with toffee dulce de leche and topped with caramel cream cheese swirl and chocolate astronaut ice cream. That’s right. Chocolate astronaut ice cream.

My mom, who I shall now refer to as Peter, Peter Pumpkin Eater, packed this in:

First you make a cupcake. Then you stuff it with a piece of pumpkin pie. Then you top it with cinnamon nutmeg buttercream and ANOTHER piece of pumpkin pie. It’s sort of like the cupcake form of turducken, minus the flesh and the slaughter, plus some cinnamon and deliciousness.

As I sit and type this out for you (only four more days of NaBloPoMo, you know), the girls are finishing up their one week anniversary lice treatment. We have now been completely bug free for over a week, but I will NOT accept victory without one final Phthirapterian sucker punch. It’s not personal, Sonny. It’s strictly business. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

In case you’re wondering, those are bullet holes. And that makes it even more perfect.

During our Thanksgiving celebration, I wandered downstairs into my aunt’s basement and found the most amazing parenting guide. Children in the Family—A Psychological Guide for Parents was written by Florence Powdermaker and Louise Ireland Grimes. It was published in 1940 by Farrar & Rinehart, Inc.

How many times have I walked around the room once or twice saying, “Loose, loose, loose” to all my muscles? Zero times! BUT, it’s not too late to start. Because if I shake or slap my kids, then we have a real fuss.

I’ve always wondered about sissy boys and masculine girls and what happened to make them that way.

I *still* don’t feel secure in my knowledge of how things really are and function. I wonder if I will EVER be ready for fairy tales (especially the classics)?!

Just this morning I sent the girls outside with some rope, a shovel, and rocks. Thank God for Urgent Care.

Suddenly, I know why I’m so screwed up. I went on entirely too many excursions when I was a child. What a preposterous stunt world I have seen! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I have some coupons and a half tank of gas.

Last year at this time, we were doing this:

This year at this time? Let’s just say that I’ve eaten my share of sweet potatoes and corn and cranberry salad and rolls and caramel pie, and am getting ready to head to the couch for a few hours before I hit the streets for Black Friday. That’s right. Black Friday.

Please know that I’m not one of Those People. Tempe and I head out mainly to drink coffee and watch people and maybe grab a gift or two. I’ll be back home shortly after the kids roll out of bed, and will spend tomorrow chilling out with a Harry Potter movie and some more sweet potatoes.

Remind me to tell you the story about this afternoon’s schizophrenia accusations and the unlikely bullet holes I found downstairs at my aunt’s house. (THIS is why I love Thanksgiving.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I finished a fingerless mitten…

Hopefully I’ll have a pair before the first week of December…

Physical therapy this morning followed by work, birthday shopping, more work, sushi with friends, and changing all of the sheets because I’ve become obsessive. Enjoy the rest of your Wednesday. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>