Fluid Pudding

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Tomorrow is the marching band competition at our high school. Because it’s at our school, our band parents and kids are expected to volunteer to work in the concession stands or maybe help with equipment or parking. Sell food. Control crowds. You get the idea.

I’ll be working in the Air Gram booth, which means you hand me some cash, and then you can write a message to your band kid and that message will be read over the loudspeaker as your kid’s band gets ready to perform. It’s goofy and sweet and everyone seems to get into it. At the last competition I attended, some kids used Air Grams to ask each other to homecoming. Adorable, right?

In the spirit of Amy Krouse Rosenthal, I’ve toyed with the idea of purchasing Air Grams to be read to random kids from random bands. It doesn’t take much effort to figure out the most popular names from 2001 to 2004. Every band will have a Madison. A Jacob. A Matthew. An Emily. Why not toss some joy into the universe?

Okay. You know someone on the field is going to smile if this Air Gram is read over the loudspeaker.

While we’re at it, my random Air Grams could also be used to make people think!

Bands could be sabotaged with my random Air Grams! (Of course, I would never do that. Never. Stop looking at me like that. I am an ADULT.)

Ah, but most importantly? This competition is an event that will bring people together to perform their amazing shows (while hopefully raising a lot of money for our band program). Also, there is nothing wrong with a little bit of subtle advertising.

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I bought these damned shoes on 11/11/2016 and they still aren’t broken in properly. I bruise and bleed every time I wear them. When I asked the Doc Martens guy if there is a better way, he shook his head and said, “Badassery is pain.” Could badassery also be “paying someone to wear your shoes for a few months until they bend and soften”? I’ve read that some people take a hammer to them. Some set them on fire. Dear God with these shoes already.

Yesterday I learned that the sight of someone eating an ice cream cone in a nail salon really bugs me. Add another layer of distress when the cone eater is waddling around with foam toe separators.

When you are in need of new glasses, a coffee place may be throwing a Patio Party, but you see it advertised as a Polio Party, and why would anyone do that? Charity event? An actual meet and greet for people who have polio? It turns out that it’s actually a night for everyone to drink wine and hear music. On the patio. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I started Panda planning on October 1. I REALLY want you to think that our family is adopting a panda. Alas, it’s just another bullet journal type of planning tool that is supposed to make me more productive while feeling thankful, focused, and affirmed.

With the Panda Planner (Oh, wait. This post isn’t endorsed. Do I need to say that? Honestly, no one wants me to endorse their stuff. (No lie: I once sent an e-mail to Birkenstock and told them I would have their logo tattooed onto my foot or backside if they would send me a lifetime supply of Birkenstocks. A lifetime supply of Birkenstocks is only, like, three pairs. It has been many years, and I’m still waiting for their response.)), you set monthly, weekly, and daily goals. You evaluate every day to talk about wins and potential improvements.

The worst part about the Panda Planner is that it believes I want to exercise. Every single day it asks me what sort of exercise I’m planning to do, and every single day my eyes roll into the back of my head and I pretend to not understand what Panda Planner is getting at. Panda Planner is making the assumption that I have legs and energy. Panda Planner doesn’t know me. (Disclaimer: I do have legs and energy, but still.)

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This morning I was able to dress like a real person and go to a real agency to talk business with creative professionals, and: Good Stuff. (I was trying to show you my outfit by standing on the couch and catching my reflection in the mirror. It didn’t work out the way I planned. So I ran to a man who said he can understand… Long black shirt. Dark jeans. Silver Birkenstocks. Jewelry.)

It looks like I might try to stop by here every day in October. Let’s see what happens. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Not Good: At noon, I met a friend for lunch. When we arrived at the restaurant (one of my favorites), we learned that the location was closed. Permanently.

Good: We drove about a mile down the road to a different restaurant, and then walked to an artsy consignment shop and a cookie store.

Not Good: Here is a metaphor. I’m sitting on a splintery chair and it should have four legs but it has only three and part of me is like, “This is fine. Everything will be fine.” Ah, but my legs are starting to cramp and I need to flag down a maker of chair legs, but it appears that I don’t have hands (or a flag) in this rodeo. (None of this is anything you need to worry about.)

Good: I ran away from home a few hours ago to treat myself to a manicure and a pedicure. (This is not a common treat.) Anyway, while sitting in the chair, a girl rushed into the salon because she needed an “emergency manicure.” That’s right: An emergency manicure. THEN, she requested a color called “I’m a Princess.”

Manicurist (holding up a bottle of nail polish): This one?

Princess: No. I’m a princess!

Oh, life is bigger. It’s bigger than you and you are not me. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I could be pregnant in this shirt. OR, I could sit on a bale of hay and pose with a pumpkin on my lap (and a baby in my uterus?) in this shirt. I could stretch out on a taupe blanket in the grass and drink wine (sans baby, OBVIOUSLY) and eat apple slices and cheese on a crisp fall day in this shirt with maybe a copy of The Night Circus at my side and the leaves are orange and yellow and red and maybe Andrew Bird shows up with a guitar and a slide whistle and he asks me to sing Left Handed Kisses with him, and of course I will. Of course I will.

What bothers me just slightly is that I could sell paper towels for truly tough messes in this shirt.

I’m on the fence (as they say) with this shirt, but the fact that it matches our back porch and has pockets is making me lean toward the pile of Keep It. My phone fits in one of those pockets. My keys fit in the other.

Do you remember this poncho? It’s coming along very nicely, and B is for Buckethead.

My website was hacked, hacked again, and then hacked again. (Do people still use the word Hacked?) At one point I said, “You know, maybe I’m just done with Fluid Pudding.” I then realized that Fluid Pudding turned 17 on September 19 and I’ve never done anything for 17 years, so I may as well carry on. Right? Right. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

When I arrived at Picasso’s on Wednesday morning, I chose to sit at one of the little pumpkin’d tables. I know half of The People Out There are like, “Oooh! Pumpkin EVERYTHING! Wahoooo!!!” and half of The People Out There are like, “Go to HELL, Pumpkin Spicers! You can just go to hell right now!!!” and the third half can take it or leave it because they have better things to do (like WORLD PEACE or CURING CANCER) and I’m over here in the corner like, “So, I dig a pumpkin muffin every once in a while. I also like Christmas movies all year round, summer gives me migraines, yarn and pens and bread pudding make me insanely happy, and I refuse to kill flies. What of it?”

Flies: We had something like 2,402 flies in our house a few weekends ago. I’m not sure where they came from or why our house became a destination for them, but I’m happy to report that I opened windows and danced around the house until every one of them (mostly) had been “helped” back outside. Zero kills. Does that make me 20% Buddhist? I believe it does.

Thursday morning after I dropped the girls off at school, my car filled with the stench of salami. A few weeks ago, as I drove past the hospital where I thought she had died, my car filled with the scent of my grandma. (My mom assures me that Grandma died at a different hospital. Still. Weird.)

Fall is here. Shawls and scarfs. Scarves? Scarfs. Mufflers and cowls. Cardigans. Clogs and fingerless mitts and hot tea and marching bands and orange and brown and a few nights ago I enjoyed a gummy bear margarita and it was weird but good. Yesterday I couldn’t breathe out of my nose and I was saying things like, “Ed leased id cabe doday add nod esdherday.”

I did a shot of tequila once. ONCE. I chased it down with a fistful of shredded iceberg lettuce because there was nothing else nearby. Oh, college.

Chocolate Chip Cookie and Graham Cracker enjoy watching Bondi Vet because it reminds them of the semester they spent in vet school.

I colored my hair this morning. Half of me is like, “Why in the hell can’t you just AGE like a normal person? YOUR HAIR IS 20% GREY! Hide it under a bushel? NO!” The other half is like, “Eh, I wear lots of black. Why can’t my hair match my shoes?!” (The third half can take it or leave it because I have better things to do, like scoring the very last available funnel cake at a marching band competition and hanging bird art on our wall.)

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UPDATE: I believe we’re back in business. Let’s see what happens.

Would you like to buy some sportswear? Someone has hacked my site in order to help you. Don’t speak English? No worries! We’ve got you covered. Want to learn a NEW language? Full immersion sportswear marketing pieces (plus a bit of mumbo and jumbo) below! Go get it!

Yep. I’ve been compromised. I’ve reached out to my people. Let’s see what happens.

Meanwhile, please enjoy this photo of the inside of my head. There’s a g in there! Some sinuses! My brain resembles the butt of a baby!

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John Waters said, “Remember: You must participate in the creative world you want to become part of.”

Similarly, if you surround yourself with toxic people, their toxicity seeps into you regardless of your fabric content. Don’t hang with the lady bullies when the world is in need of joy finders.

Similarly, dogs eventually start looking like their owners and vice versa. (Do you remember when I accidentally injected Scout’s plasma into my own blood stream? I’ve been sniffing hard lately. Scratching my head with my foot. Running 85 mph in circles around the couch for absolutely no reason.)

John Waters also said, “I’m rich! I don’t mean money-wise. I mean that I have figured out how to never be around assholes at any time in my personal and professional life. That’s rich.”

Tom Robbins said, “If God didn’t prefer for us to drink at night, He wouldn’t have made neon!”

E.B. White said, “Be obscure clearly.”

The Beastie Boys said, “I am the king of boggle. There is none higher. I get 11 points off the word ‘quagmire’.” ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>