Fluid Pudding

Tempe and Kristine are knitting these socks and wearing them on election day. AND, because I once purchased macarons at Whole Foods after participating in a wine tasting with Tempe and Kristine, I am knitting the socks (and wearing them on election day), too.

From the pattern site:

“If something needs fixing, lace up your shoes and do some organizing.” That’s what President Obama said, and that’s what we’re doing here at Little Skein.

We believe in kindness, lending a helping hand, and equality for all. If you believe as we do, please join us.

I partnered with designer Megan Williams to bring to life a sock design that could become an emblem of this idea: To stand up and be visible, and to encourage everyone who shares these positive values to vote left in the mid-term elections.

These beautiful Swing Left socks are the result.

These socks are for everyone who shares the vision of a more perfect union. Soothe your worries by knitting some socks and take action by Swinging Left in the upcoming election.

Look. It’s no secret that I’m one of those damned liberals. I have an Elizabeth Warren for President t-shirt (but I don’t like to wear it because the font is crap and I’ve moved on). My 2020 dream team would consist of Kamala Harris and Cory Booker. I am currently soft on patriotism. (I’m sorry, but it’s true.)

I am not an asshole. In fact, I’m probably one of the most harmonious people you’ll ever meet, because drama makes my life shorter and I’m already more than halfway done. You go vote however you want. Do your thing and maybe roll your eyes at people like me if it makes you feel good. Do this while knowing that: If I had a package of Oreos? I would offer one to you. EVEN IF I WORKED SO MUCH HARDER FOR THOSE OREOS THAN YOU EVER WILL.

Bop ba doop bop doop. Vote. Knit.

(If you haven’t registered to vote, hit that link over there on the right that says “Register to vote online.” What on earth are you waiting for? For what on earth are you waiting?) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

1. A few months back, I accidentally squirted this into my daughter’s eye, and then I laughed so hard that I doubled over and did the loud wheezy thing I tend to do when something kills me figuratively.

2. I own glitter pants, and I’ve never been to law school.

3. I once took the ACT for someone after being bribed with an amazing week in New York. Because I scored noticeably higher than her previous attempts, she was kicked out of the university and I stress-drank a stout while underage.

4. I made out with Harry S. Truman while I was on my honeymoon.

5. I’m not always Angela. Sometimes I’m Zach the Bearded Dorito-Breathed Paranoid Poet.

 

6. I looked at the sun during the eclipse.

7. I love Jesus and I dig his birthday, but I toyed with the idea of making this our Christmas card last year.

8. I can’t control myself during meetings, and it may be because my anxiety meds need an adjustment. Notice how I said anxiety MEDS. That’s right. Plural.

9. I gave my daughter these socks.

10. So many skeletons in my closet. And I’m not afraid to make out with them.

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What you can’t tell by looking at this photo: Yesterday’s marching band prelim competition was rain delayed for a few hours and eventually became a park-and-blow in the gym. It sounded incredible.

The bands who chose to stay participated in the finals competition outside. Once again? Incredible. In fact, Incredible + Ribboned Potatoes. Long day, but I believe everyone went home happy, and the girls’ former school won first place.

What you can’t tell by looking at this photo: Jeff went for a walk this morning and this pup was wandering around the subdivision looking dirty and scared. Because I know what it’s like to wander around the subdivision looking dirty and scared (long story), I knew we had to save her.

“Atticus told me to delete the adjectives and I’d have the facts.”

We leashed the dog and took her to a clinic. She was scanned, but we couldn’t obtain her current information. I posted photos online and an angel stepped up with semi-current information. Meanwhile, the dog’s adoptive mother sent a message saying the dog had escaped during the storm. I delivered the dog to her home, and holy crap that felt good.

So, I drove home and hung lights on the ficus tree. (We now have two ficus trees in the house, and both are lit. I may never leave my house again.)

I’ll be back tomorrow to tell you why I should not be eligible for Supreme Court justicehood. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

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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’>