Fluid Pudding : Page 111 of 121 : It's the old small talk!

I believe we’re going to see Up today.

Last night I had a dream in which I knitted an amazing turquoise lacy scarf for Ellen DeGeneres. When Portia de Rossi got wind of it, she threw a fit and told Ellen that the scarf did not suit her. I quickly ran to my knitting bag where I retrieved an old scrap yarn scarf. I knew I needed to weave the ends in, but I had no darning needle. Once I finally located a needle, the scarf had been stolen, and everyone in the room was eating roast beef and baked potatoes.

I have been completely meat free (except for that silly VFW Hall fish sandwich and a few odd shrimp here and there) for over 100 days, and I cry every time Ellen gives something away on her show.

A few nights back I tossed cheese tortellini in with chopped tomatoes, fresh basil, olive oil, and balsamic vinegar. I threw a fistful of feta over the top (feta festoonery!), and it quickly became the happiest dinner we’ve had in months.

(By the way, I really am working on a topaz Ishbel. But it’s not for Ellen. It’s for me. Unless Ellen contacts me directly and asks me for it. Then I’ll give it up faster than you can say “I cry every time Ellen gives something away on her show.”)

So, what’s new with you? ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Welcome to Summer Break!

First up? Making paper clip chains.
Next? God only knows.

Actually, one of my plans is to embark on a thirty day fitness adventure.
If you’re interested in more details, follow me over here. (Full disclosure: It’s a review thing! And it will eventually contain video footage of me working out!)

((We can’t go on together with suspicious minds.))

Most importantly, thanks for all of your kind words regarding the photograph of Harper in the fountain. I’m still learning the ins and outs of the camera. So far so good.

Thirty Days to a Firmer Pudding! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Rehearsing for the Summer

I always feel a bit of anxiety as the school year comes to a close. Meredith and Harper are already asking about play dates and what are we going to do this summer and can we have sleepovers and if Sidney dies can we get a dog? (Sidney is our “elderly” cat. She’s 100% healthy, and is quite insulted by the girls’ prayers for her demise.)

Today I took Harper to the Missouri Botanical Garden and over the weekend the girls and I went on a snow cone adventure.

Baby steps.

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It smells like an endometrium under my arms!

Because I’m nothing if not a scientist, I’ve been experimenting with deodorant lately.

Hypothesis: Anti perspirants make me itch.
Experiment: Apply Mitchum anti perspirant under arms.
Results: Ow! Ow! Itchy! Hand me the Golden Grahams! I’m going to kill someone!
Analyze Results: Itchy? Yes. The hypothesis is true.
Report Results: Hey, you guys? Anti perspirant makes me itch.

I’ve found that the only deodorant that doesn’t make me itch is Tom’s. A few days back I ran out of the lavender scent, so I headed to the store. They, too, had run out of lavender, so I settled for Calendula. When I got home, Harper demanded that I let her smell the Calendula.

Harper: What is this?

Me: It’s Caligula. No! Wait. Calendula.

Harper: Meredith, smell this. It’s Mommy’s uvula.

Me: Calendula! HA HA HA HA!

Me (six hours later, telling Jeff the whole story, because that’s what I do): And then, and then, and then Harper told Meredith to come over and smell my uterus! HA HA HA HA HA!!!!!

Jeff: I don’t get it.

Me: Wait! Uvula.

Jeff: Huh?

Me: Yeah. Anyway. Um, Ramona sneezed today. And on a lighter note, I folded towels. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Monroe or Manson. Take your pick.

As you know, I got a new camera. And just like anyone who finds a new friend, I’ve been spending quite a bit of time getting to know her. The camera has been attached to me for the past seven days, and has clicked through quite a few car rides, cat jumps, bees on flowers, donuts dipped in chocolate, etc.

This morning was my annual gynecological visit. (Wait. You’re suddenly nervous about that camera paragraph, aren’t you?) Because I’m absolutely terrible when it comes to anticipating morning traffic, I left my house an hour early and ended up being 38 minutes early for the appointment. I considered treating myself to a coffee and I toyed with the thought of indulging in a fast food egg biscuit, but ultimately I decided to sit in the parking lot with a half-knitted scarf and my camera.

My camera has a self-portrait setting, so I decided to take some photos of myself in an effort to document what I look like before receiving (receiving? is that right?!) my annual pap smear. It turns out that I look not completely unlike this:

So, I’m sitting. I’m clicking photos. I’m wondering why the shadows on my face make it look like I’m wearing orange foundation. I’m posing with string cheese. I’m turning up the music and getting into this self-portrait thing. And unfortunately, I’m being watched. By my gynecologist. Yeah. She walked by and smiled as I was blasting Metric and getting goofy with my camera. So, that’s not really what I wanted to happen, but that’s what you get when you choose Gynecologist Parking Lot as a photo shoot location.

After about fifteen minutes, I entered the building feeling nervous and sheepish and self-conscious and all of the other things you tend to feel before participating in a pap smear. I had my blood pressure taken (it was returned shortly thereafter), I placed my pee in a cup, and I wrote my mailing address on a card that will be delivered to me next year on May 18th to remind me that it’s time for my annual pap smear. All ends nicely tied.

I was then led back to a room where I traded cotton and denim for paper and was given ten minutes to nervously sit in that paper while filling up on pap smear dread. (Am I the only one who gets worked up like this?)

My gynecologist (I really do love her) entered the room and asked what’s new.

Me: Nothing.

Dr. C: Nothing?

Me: Not really.

Dr. C: Well, I guess that’s a good thing.

We then discussed the weirdness under my arm and my Dermatologist Incarcerated (I get you, Amy Winehouse). We discussed my birth control pills and how I do believe I’ll stay on them forever. And then I put my feet up and all of the blood rushed out of my head.

Dr. C (pushing metal things into my own private Idaho): So, how old are your kids now?

Me: Four and six.

Dr. C (swabbing and swabbing): Four and six. That’s so hard to believe. Wait. I can’t remember your oldest daughter’s name.

Me: Marilyn.

Dr. C: Meredith?

Me: Yes. That’s correct. Wow.

Marilyn. God only knows where my head goes when I’m trying to escape from the moment.

As the doctor was getting ready to leave the room, I somehow found a way to bring up turkey basters.

Seriously. Don’t ask. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Miss Crazy in Prison with the Makeup

I stopped by the Crazy Lady Starbucks last night on my way to work. While there, I asked if they experienced any sort of customer disturbance on Saturday morning at 9:45ish. And they had! Apparently, the woman who yelled at me in the parking lot entered Starbucks and started acting all crazy and screaming out her drink order. The manager wanted to avoid a scene, so she escorted Miss Crazy (I know, that’s mean. But I refuse to keep calling her “the woman”. Wait. Let’s call her Beyoncé just to add some sparkle to the story.), I mean, the manager escorted Beyoncé to the head of the line where Beyoncé continued to yell out inappropriate things to the employees and the other customers.

After getting her coffee, Beyoncé sat in a corner and talked to herself for nearly an hour. And here’s the part of the story that haunts me: She didn’t bring her child into Starbucks with her. In other words, I really should have hung out a bit longer, because Beyoncé left her child in a car seat in a van in a parking lot (in St. Charles, in Missouri, in the United States, in North America, continue to pan out, etc.) for an hour while she sat inside muttering battys and whatnots. Hhhhhhhh.

Funniest Thing The Starbucks Guy Said to Me: Yeah, thanks for waiting four days to check in on us. If she had been swinging a knife, we would still be bleeding while you were “out there” doing your ugly hair thing!

Insert seamless segue right here, would you?

So, I’ve got this fresh thing under my arm (you WANT me to spare the details.), but I can’t go see my dermatologist BECAUSE HE IS IN PRISON. (So, I’m going to see my gynecologist instead. Monday morning. 8:15. Don’t worry.) By the way, did I mention that my dermatologist is in PRISON? I do hope they crown him Dermatologist Amongst the Prisoners, because he did cure the ugly batch of eczema on my hand (Remember when I had to wear the gloves? Yeesh.), and I’m a firm believer in requiring dermatologist prisoners to palliate the perplexing pustules of their prisoner peers. (I know. I’m making light. And the reason he is in prison is so completely horrible. Unforgivable, really.)

Another segue here! You’re getting good at this!

I’m giving away a hefty amount of Max Factor stuff over here. And even if you’re not into scoring makeup, you should at least jump over and witness the disaster that is me after applying 39 years worth of makeup in one sitting. (My mom doesn’t have any photographs of me playing with makeup as a child. Now she does. You know, minus that whole Child thing.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

For my next trick, I shall assemble a car.

Remember last month when you inspired me to reach into my closet and pull out my sewing machine?

Well, take a look at what happened earlier this week.

I made a dress.

And Harper sort of likes it.

And when she bends over, it doesn’t rip, which means I can change the world, Eric Clapton.

(By the way, Jeff came up with Spool Samples as my sewing tag. That’s why I married him, you know.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I should have stuffed the jumbos. Instead, I embed.

Last year, to commemorate the anniversary of my birth, I stuffed quite a few marshmallows into my mouth to see if I could get past a dozen without choking. This year I fully intended to do the same thing, but really. How many marshmallow stuffing videos does the world need? (Plus, I’m wearing my new favorite scarf right now and I can’t risk the slobber. You know how it is.)

Enjoy your day, especially if you have either graham crackers or chocolate in your possession. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I love you and you and you and you (repeat and fade)…

Thanks so much for your kind words and e-mails regarding the Possibly Crazy with a Big C lady and the reflux stuff. Once again. You guys? The greatest. Hands down.

One more thing: If you’re interested in reading about Snapfish products and possibly winning a $50 Snapfish gift card for Father’s Day, step on over to my side room. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

The woman had bad roots, but I didn’t call her on it.

Yesterday morning I was a bit bummed out because Meredith has been having stomachaches that are a bit more like STOMACHACHES(!!!) and they hit her quickly and she immediately starts to cry and sometimes she throws up, and I would do just about anything to suffer through them for her. So anyway, she had a bad one yesterday morning and the doctor couldn’t get her in before 10:15, and I had to be at work at 10:00, so Jeff had to take her in, and well, I wanted to be there, but I couldn’t.

Since I was running about five minutes early to work, I stopped by Starbucks for a coffee. As I left the building with my drink and started walking to the car, a woman (who was unbuckling her child’s car seat) backed away from her car, looked at me, and yelled, “What an ugly haircut! What ARE you?!?!” Since I was the only other person in the parking lot and she was looking right at me, I couldn’t really pretend that she wasn’t talking to me. SO, I pretended that perhaps she thought she knew me and that she was being all jokey. I sort of smiled and continued to walk to the car.

“No! Seriously!!! What ARE you?!?!”

She continued to scream out at me until I was feeling the adrenalin rushing behind my eyeballs. I jumped into my car, quickly locked the door behind me, started my car, and drove away as she stood and watched me with a crazy angry look on her face.

Who does that? Who singles a stranger out on a parking lot and starts screaming insults at 9:50 on a Saturday morning? Part of me is sort of proud that I didn’t say anything back to her. But, seriously, I know myself better than that. I would NEVER say anything back. (I talk a good “I Should’ve Said”, but I think we all know that I’m much more flight than fight.) Part of me is a bit disappointed that I DIDN’T respond in some way. But what would I have said without compromising a bit of dignity?

“Seriously!!! What ARE you?!?!” I think I’m still bothered by the whole thing not only because of my tendency to be a bit on the self-conscious side (I have looked at my hair several times today, and I do believe that it’s Just Fine), but because her child was sitting right there in the car seat watching the whole thing.

May I ask what you would have done?

Also, so I don’t leave you hanging, Meredith has been diagnosed with GERD. We dealt with it when she was a baby, and it seems that it’s back, and it’s stirring up all sorts of anxiety because she doesn’t want to get sick at school, and I can’t even tell you how happy I am that school’s almost out. Three more weeks. That’s it. Less than twenty days. But anyway. Today we had to leave church less than twenty minutes in because her stomach started hurting and she freaked out, and she has been crying on and off all day, and any reflux advice would be appreciated, too.

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