Fluid Pudding : Page 115 of 122 : It's the old small talk!

Brace yourselves. I’ve been purchasing études.

So, last weekend got completely crazy and we ended up NOT getting Scruffy. We DID, however, get runny noses, a fever, and a cough that still isn’t completely gone, so we have that going for us. (Scruffy is still there. I still check on her every day. The only problem is that she is classified as Medium-Haired, which means I would either have to go back on the Zyrtec (or the booze) if we welcomed her into our home. Believe me, we’re weighing options and making pro/con lists and I actually got my Xanax prescription refilled today for the first time in 18 months, and that’s sort of a monkey of a different color, but I’m coming completely clean with you right now. And I don’t think I necessarily need Xanax, because going through 24 pills in 18 months doesn’t really classify me as needy, but it’s nice to have them around. Like a funny cousin you get to see only once or twice a year. Or a special cake you eat only at funerals or something.)

I’ve been really REEEEEEEALLY irritable over the past week or so, too. And for the first time in a LONG time, I’m going to sort of censor myself, because the folks with whom I’m irritated actually know about Fluid Pudding. (Have I ever told you that no one in my extended family knows about this site? Why is that? Why do I feel like Fluid Pudding has to be a private thing? It’s not like I really get all puhrivate over here, do I? No. I really don’t. I don’t think my secrets would interest you in the least.) Anyway, I’m in one of those moods where I sort of want to jump in the car and drive east or west (or north or south) for a few hours, check into a cute (or not so cute, really) place with a blanketed bed and knit, read, jot silly things into a big fat notebook, and sleep my weekend away. I will leave my dwellings for yarn stores and pecan pie hunts. I might even wear sneakers. I will definitely wear a hat in lieu of hygiene. Sounds dreamy, no?

Good News: Next week I’ll have a finished sweater for you. It’s my Delphine! AND, I actually know enough about knitting now that I was able to spot an error in the pattern. And this excited me in the same way that I get excited when I find a misspelling in a novel. (And, yes. I submitted the error and the author is sending it on to a tech editor, and I’m now only three degrees of separation away from H.L. Mencken.)

When I was in high school, I set a goal of learning to play all 27 Chopin études. To date, I can (just barely) play two of them. Last night I broke down and purchased the études on iTunes. It felt like I was closing a chapter, and as a result I’m feeling a bit mopish.

Who’s up for a retreat? ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

What time is it? It’s cat adding time!

Yesterday afternoon you probably felt a slight shift in the universal barometric pressure. I apologize for that. It’s just that I finally came to grips with the idea that we’re going to adopt another cat soon, and the cat I’m feeling some sisterhood with is Scruffy.

Sadly, I have to work today, and I doubt Scruffy will still be available tomorrow. Nevertheless, it’s kitten time.

On a surprisingly related note, I recently received a Swiffer in the mail. And if you follow this link, you’ll see one of my closet skeletons. (Not really a closet skeleton. More like a dusty nightmare. Tomato, tomahto.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Do you have five minutes?

I really hate when people use the word Whirlwind to describe how their week has gone. With that said, the past week has been mighty sprightful. Today is Meredith’s kindergarten Valentine’s Day party, and because I’m still suffering from that whole No One Will Call Me Back thing, Jeff is having to take time off of work to help me with the party. (Big sarcastic and passive-aggressive Thank You shout out to all of those moms who filled out the forms saying they would love to attend all parties and provide party favors and “Just call me! I’ll be there!” and whatnot.) I could go on and on about courtesy and whatever, but I’m afraid I would once again start puking tired phrases like “dying art” and yikes. I’m really trying to be better than that.

Because I’m feeling overly ambitious, today’s party will include a banana split bar. I used to work at Baskin-Robbins, you see, and one of my greatest talents is The Ability to Cut a Banana Without Actually Touching the Edible Part. Someday I’ll make a video for you, and I’ll even dress up for that video, because when I’m slicing and dividing bananas, I feel like one of those tuxedoed and amazing card dealers on Super Poker Blowout. (That’s not an actual show. But you get the idea.) I hope to stun and mesmerize-to-the-point-of-temporary-debilitation the kindergarteners with my banana-slicing talent. Keep your fingers crossed.

You would not believe how quickly I’m typing right now. It’s just that I feel like I haven’t talked to you in ages, and pretty soon I have to leave to pick up Harper, and how are you? I’ve missed you.

Speaking of Harper, yesterday she ate a heart-shaped sucker, and I melted all over her, and after I resolidified I took a photograph and then I did that annoying thing where I pretend to be an artist just because I shelled out the yearly Picnik fee on Flickr last summer.

Let’s see. What else? Last week my family was presented with something that I would normally refer to as An Embarrassment of Riches, but man! I’m really trying to become original in 2009. Anyway, we are now the proud owners of Guitar Hero World Tour. In other words, this is my final blog entry, as I am now dropping everything to crystallize my dream of becoming the world’s greatest pretend drummer. Oh! What’s that? Pretend writer is more respectable than pretend drummer? I hear you, but I have no idea what you’re saying. Please know that when it comes to drumming along with 311 tunes, I’m completely insufferable. However, by the end of the tune, my face hurts from smiling so much. This is a good thing.

My knitting group is meeting for dinner before knitting tonight, and I can’t even tell you how excited I am.

Tomorrow is the eighth anniversary of Jeff’s proposal. And I know you don’t care, but it’s honestly one of my favorite days of the year. (My archives are out. Please know that the evening of the proposal included a dishonest death-defiance, me angrily hurling couscous down the sink, a down-on-the-knee thing over tiramisu, and a woman sending us a sort of crappy (but much appreciated) bottle of wine.)

I hope you’re doing well out there. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Ooh la la! Delphine!

I think you all know me pretty well by now. So, you know that I sort of wish I was a dainty French girl, right? I love Amélie, I eat at least one biscotti per week, one of my favorite meals is champagne and French toast (I just made that up, although I did have it once and really enjoyed it), and I’m very happy to report that Gérard Depardieu is still alive. (Gérard Depardieu, Eddie Rabbitt, Kenny Loggins, Louie Anderson. All of these people are dead to me for some reason. In fact, I couldn’t point out the actual dead ones if I tried.)

Anyway, I’m going to approach knitting a bit differently in 2009. In an attempt to stomp out my capricious knitterly ways, I’m making myself finish something before I can start something else. A few days back, I purchased French Girl Knits, and holy crap how I fell in love with Delphine. In fact, I fell So Hard for Delphine that I stayed up late on Monday night to finish my Versatility—a project that has been going on and on (and on) for nearly three months. Here I am, smelling like French Vogue in my Versatility:

Here I am, showing you how much I look like a Wii character in my Versatility:

Meredith has told me that I’m not allowed to wear my Versatility to school. Apparently, she hates bobbles and cannot appreciate the fact that I am sometimes Juliette Binoche.

Tonight I shall choose my yarn for Delphine. It’s a stinking CORSET, people. And because it’s a corset, I have once again kicked off the Weight Watchers Core Plan. (I’m down three pounds in three days, and I’m the crabbiest girl this side of the Mississippi. I’m snacking on apples, and that is NOT how I like to live.)

It’s all for you, my sweet Delphine. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Facebook has zapped me.

Me: So, it appears that I have sort of let Fluid Pudding go these past few weeks.

Jeff: Huh.

Me: I got a new phone. Does anyone want to hear about it?

Jeff: It’s The Facebook Effect.

Me: I have no idea what you’re saying.

Jeff: You told your Facebook friends that you got a new phone. You went on for two sentences or so, and then you ran out of characters.

Me: Yikes. I’m running out of character and losing my ability to elaborate. Rattlesnakes are eating their way through my saucy shoes!

As soon as I hit the Publish button over there to my right, I’m going to high five myself and go Facebook-free for a week. It’s like my own little social experiment! Focus shifting and prioritization and sparking and let’s see what happens! LET’S SEE IF I GET POKED!

Oh. I finished a few knitting projects and am starting a new one on Thursday. Do you want to hear about it, or should I save it for Facebook? I have knitting goals, people! And that sounds really crazy to 43.9% of you.

I’m almost forty years old. (Technically, I’m almost almost forty.) I don’t think I have enough cheese to feed Fluid Pudding, Twitter, and Facebook. Are any of you worn out? Are you knitting? What sort of cheese do you prefer? Is anyone else robbing Peter to pay Paul?!?! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

“Staring at the Candle, Part II” by Meredith Pudding

I’m going to stare at the candle all night long.

Look! Did the candle blow out? No. It’s still lit. And, there’s another one lit! Uh-oh! We don’t have any more candles after that second one is lit. We’re going to have to light a match.

I HOPE THERE’S NOT A MONSTER IN OUR HOME!

Are we inside a cave? Or are we at home? OR ARE WE AT HOME AND THERE’S A BEAR IN OUR HOUSE? Tough question, you know. Are there bears in here, because they might pop out and catch us. RUN! IT’S A BEAR! We have to drive at the highest speed mark.

Is the bear behind us? Or is it in the trunk? THERE’S A BEAR IN THE TRUNK! HELP! Could someone call Animal Control? “I don’t have a phone,” said Daddy. “Neither do I,” said Mommy. Harper said, “I do.” So she handed the phone to Mommy and she quickly dialed.

Finally, Animal Control came. They took the bear out of the trunk and Mommy, Daddy, Meredith, and Harper jumped out of the car. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

If you don’t love the Snow Puffs, I’ll shave my head and post questionable photos. (And that is not a promise!)

When I was in the eighth grade, I had a terrible day at school. (I actually had several terrible days, but one really stands out.) Without going into too much detail, let me just say this: I had to wear a raincoat throughout the day because I was dealing with teenage girl issues and didn’t have much backup and now you know exactly what I’m talking about, and it was hot outside, so I was all sweaty and smelly in my raincoat and people kept asking why I was wearing a raincoat when it had stopped raining three hours ago and “The sun is out! It’s too hot for a jacket! We’re running laps in PE, and you’re still wearing a raincoat?! What’s that smell? Why are you crying?!”

When I got home from school that day, I remember changing clothes and going into the kitchen to find something to eat. My mom had been to the store earlier that day, and she had bought those Star Crunch cookie things. I sat on the floor and ate four of them, and my world was suddenly bright again. (You know, until the next day when so-and-so didn’t look at me the right way (or not at all) and I missed a word on my spelling test or whatever. Ugh, eighth grade.)

Shortly after I met Jeff he told me that his mom used to stock the house with Oatmeal Pies, and that he would often come home from school and eat a number of them just to forget about the day.

(We are soul mates.)

Anyway, Little Debbie has now come out with a line of one hundred calorie snacks and they sent some to me a few weeks back, because they saw me exercising through the window and wanted to provide some healthy snacks as I attack Project Pudding Pounddown 2009.

Because I love you and today is day worthy of a huge celebration that includes free cake (even if you’re terribly self-conscious and wearing a raincoat), I’m giving out a big box of the Little Debbie 100 Calorie Snacks to three lucky people. In this box, you’ll receive the following (listed in my order of preference) Snow Puffs, Nutty Bars, Marshmallow Treats, Whole Wheat Wafer Nutty Bars, Yellow Cakes, Chocolate Cakes, Triple Fudge Brownies, and Gingerbread Cookies. (Descriptions and photos are here.)

Just leave a comment below and tell me your favorite Little Debbie memory. OR, tell me about your most horrific day in the eighth grade. Or, tell me nothing. I’ll still put your name in the drawing, because I’m cool like that.

Names will be drawn on Friday morning after I wake up and enjoy an egg or two.

EDITED TO ADD: Thanks SO much to everyone for the stories! I wish I could send Little Debbies to each and every one of you! All winners have been notified. If any of them change their mind, I’ll draw more names! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I’m ripping off my privy pants to tell you The Starbucks Secret.

So, I finished a freelance project early last week, and immediately took on another. And I’ll spare you all of the details except for this one: I now know more about anal sacs than you do. Specifically, canine anal sacs. And the things I have learned have absolutely nothing to do with the actual freelance work. I learned all of my anal sac info in my spare time, when I should have been cleaning the house or reading Revolutionary Road.

I’m hosting this weekend’s book club, you see, and I still haven’t finished the book. The idea of finishing it before Sunday afternoon seems quite doable, but it won’t be doable if I continue to spend my free time reading about Feline Panleukopenia and Tail Paralysis. (Confession: If I had the time to Do It All Over Again, I would probably jump into Healthcare. Also, if I had the time to Do It All Over Again, I would NOT have returned to Starbucks this morning after last week’s incident. Wait. Did I tell you that I wanted to pinch (or punch, depending on your imaginary violence tolerance level) a barista last week when he lectured me on the high prices of apple juice as he handed me my thirty-eight thousand dollar tall non-fat London Fog tea latte? (I know. So many stinking adjectives.) The register guy asked the barista to make a sample of the apple chai for me, and the barista told me that he would NOT make a sample for me because apple juice is terribly expensive. He then came down on the register guy (who knows I like chai, but had never tried the apple version) for even suggesting such a thing. “Apple juice is TOO EXPENSIVE TO GIVE AWAY!!!” And I wanted to look over to the register guy and whisper, “Let’s get him!” before jumping over the counter and clobbering the barista, but I was simply too embarrassed to say or do anything, because the register guy looked to be more than a bit distressed by the whole thing. This is What I Think I Know: The apple juice at Starbucks is not really apple juice. It is juice squeezed from the heads of endangered Chinese River Dolphins. And the Starbucks employees don’t want you to know this, but now you do. It makes perfect sense now, doesn’t it?)

Anyway. I shall now change the subject, knowing that We Will Never Forget The Starbucks Secret. Saturday evening will find me participating in my first ever Trivia Night, and I’m not sure if I should be excited or terrified, because it took Jeff and I nearly two minutes to come up with the name Rock Hudson this morning.

Me: Wait. Who is the dead guy I’m thinking of? Old. Adorable. Witty. I have a crush on him, and I think he was gay?

Jeff: Oh! Yeah. Um, not Spencer Tracy.

Me: No. An Affair to Remember, maybe, but I don’t think so. That guy. Funny!

Jeff: Cary Grant?! Cary Grant!

Me: Yes! Ding ding ding! We just won Trivia Night!!!

Jeff: But wait. You don’t love Cary Grant. I think you love Rock Hudson.

Me: True. We just lost Trivia Night!!!

(Brad? Liz? Do you still want us at your table?)

On Sunday afternoon, I will be leading the book club discussion. And as everyone talks about Kate Winslet and Richard Yates and how the movie paralleled the book and “I’d like a pear gorgonzola pizza” and whatnot, I will be hiding behind my lemonade and muttering something about how Leonardo DiCaprio is long on looks, and cats with thickened bowel loops just might be in trouble. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

This Makeout Party with the Dead has been brought to you by Levaquin!

For the past three weeks or so, I’ve had this coughing thing. It has made me sweat, it has made me vomit (Cranberry salad! I thought I was puking blood! But it wasn’t blood, it was cranberries (and grapes)! Enjoy your lunch.), it has kept me up at night, it has made my family hate me, blah, blah, blah. Ten days ago, my doctor gave me another round of antibiotics, as the Zithromax she had originally prescribed didn’t do the trick. When she wrote the prescription for Levaquin, she told me that the only side effect she’s heard of is weird dreams. And the skies opened up, and the angels began to sing, “Pay-YO-teeeeeeeeee!!!”

The past ten nights have been amazing. (And please know that both Dreamed and Dreamt are acceptable as the past tense for Dream. I just looked it up!) Anyway, I dreamed that I belted out Seals and Crofts’ “Diamond Girl” as I chased after a bird with diamond wings in Africa. I dreamt (seriously—both are correct!) that Meredith was on probation at school because she couldn’t eat cake without stabbing it maniacally with a fork and screaming “I am the bride of Jesus!!!” I dreamed of eating toasted ravioli filled with sweet potatoes (and sprinkled with shimmering powdered sugar) while standing in line to ride a purple roller coaster.

I was sort of sad last night as I went to bed. I had taken my final Levaquin, and was getting ready to settle in for the final party in the Land of Nod. AND, that final pill did not disappoint. As Harper sat in a cabin and played with baby alligators (they were totally tame and toothless!), I made out with Heath Ledger (the Very Much Alive version). And holy smokes. That Heath Ledger certainly knows what he’s doing. Especially when it comes to Going Straight for the Neck.

Tonight, medication free, I’ll surely return to my old school dreams—me trying to attend a class that I never signed up for, me taking a shower (I dream it fairly often, and then I wake up sort of disappointed that I still need to take a shower), me accidentally driving a car off the edge of a bridge… Oh. I’m sorry. I believe I just put you to sleep with my simpleton dreams. Here. Let me cover you with a soft blanket and kiss your forehead.

I’ll miss you, sweet Levaquin. And, I heartily recommend you to anyone with a bacterial infection! (And wouldn’t it be great if I now yelled out something like, “And let’s have a giveaway! The fine folks at Levaquin would like to give out some free samples to any of you who are suffering from lung, sinus, skin, or urinary tract infections! Leave a comment below, and three lucky winners will score some dreamy pills!” Sadly, I am not allowed to offer drugs at Fluid Pudding Dot Com. But I AM allowed to offer Little Debbie snacks! And I’ll do that early next week.)

Heath Ledger! Whoosh! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>