Fluid Pudding

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’>

Wear your Nikes or don’t wear your Nikes and set them ON FIRE (or donate them to the homeless) or go buy more pairs.

Be OUTRAGED by the NYT Op-Ed or be giddy about it or maybe familiarize yourself with the 25th Amendment.

(My Petra sweater is coming along nicely.)

I haven’t worn Nikes since the whole Michael Vick thing went down in 2011. (Actually, I haven’t worn Nikes since something like 1987, but I’ll take every opportunity I can to sound like an activist. Let’s just say I INTENTIONALLY haven’t worn Nikes since the whole Michael Vick thing went down.) Two days ago I wore a pair of Meredith’s Nikes to the grocery store. Nobody noticed because NOBODY CARED. It’s so easy to sit behind a computer and type really loudly on Facebook, but when you leave your house to go to the store? Wear whatever the hell you want, but keep your cart moving and be polite if you need to squeeze by someone in the baking aisle. SO many chocolate cake mixes. It’s never easy.

I read the op-ed last night and this morning I read up on the 25th Amendment and I HAVE OPINIONS but what matters is that I loaded my cart down at Trader Joe’s about an hour ago, and I wasn’t a dick to the guy behind me who had only two items in his hands. I let him go in front of me EVEN THOUGH HE WAS BUYING CRAP SUSHI AND KOMBUCHA. Also, he was NOT wearing Nikes and I have no idea who he voted for in 2016. He had a canvas wallet, if that means anything, and it probably doesn’t, because I have a canvas wallet, too. (And lots of commas.) People are people, Depeche Mode.

(The park near our house is coming along nicely.)

Last Friday I volunteered for the 1-5am shift at the marching band lock-in, and I think I was MADE for volunteering for the 1-5am shift at the marching band lock-in. Kids dancing and kids singing and kids sleeping and suddenly I was flipping pancakes and driving tired kids home and then the sun came up and I took a nap and then I ate salted caramels from Kakao.

Finally, my mom and I had breakfast last week and she took this photo of me using her magic phone camera and I love it because it makes my neck look young.

(My sentiments are coming along nicely.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

The high school marching band is hosting a used book sale along with their craft fair on December 1. To help build inventory for the book sale, several of us have been heading to other book sales around town to gather free book donations. Last night I headed to a book sale for their NFPO box-and-take hours, and as soon as my wristband was applied I turned into a horn-rimmed grandiloquent and giddy literature snob. As a result, the marching band book sale will hold several John Irving selections, a handful of Jonathan Franzens (Because a handful is about all I can take of him. I could eat a quick taco with Mr. F., but burrito and beer is out of the question. That attitude!), The Heart is a Lonely Hunter, an Amy Krouse Rosenthal, several books by African American authors, The White Hotel, a few books about religion (Not religious books. Books about religion. Those are two very different things.), and a Danny and the Dinosaur because it was one of my favorites when I was a kid. I checked out the medical selections before I left, and that’s where I saw several books that were edited by people I know in real life.

I spend so much time wondering what it was that I was supposed to be doing with my life. As I flipped through several of the medical textbooks it occurred to me that I help make some of the books that build the brains of doctors, nurses, vet techs, dental hygienists, gardeners, and homeschoolers. Not a bad gig, really.

This morning I went back to the doctor for my jaw, and now I’m taking a heavy dose of steroids. Locals: If you see someone pulling a truck with her teeth down Highway 94, it’s probably me. (I’ll be wearing Birkenstocks.) If you want to help, pull over and offer to give me a lift for bread pudding at the all-night bakery. All I need is for you to be my patient friend, make sure my underwear isn’t showing, and take me out for bread pudding.

Side story: Back in 1998, I found myself in a stadium parking lot drinking a few beers and taking a few antibiotics before a university football game. (The antibiotics were NOT taken recreationally. They NEVER are.) Anyway, it was super hot and I had two beers and sometimes alcohol interacts with medication and causes problems with dizziness and fainting and when I woke up lying on the ground in the crime scene pose, Jeff’s friend’s girlfriend bent down and said, “Your underwear was showing, so I pulled your dress down.” Nice!

I’m the luckiest: I had to fast for the doctor appointment because of labs and the drawing of blood. When I walked out of the office, I was growly and shaky (I wanted to go with growley and shakey, but WordPress assures me both of those spellings are incorrect.). I refuse to use the elevator because of the ghost of Elisa Lam, so every bit of my energy was spent crawling down three flights of stairs. When I got to the main floor? BAKE SALE! Better yet: Bake sale to benefit a hospice organization!!! I paid five bucks for a bag of puppy chow and maybe my meditation leader is right. Maybe I DO have angels and spirit guides. How else can you explain puppy chow at the bottom of a staircase?

Okay. So, this is my scene right now.

It’s breezy and cool outside, which feels like a gift.

I just wanted to check in with you. Wednesday. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

The man who sold a Hershey bar to me was wearing a name tag that said “Al, Pinch Hitter.” Because I need new glasses, I read it as “Al Pinch Hitler.” which then became “I’ll Pinch Hitler.”

I started this sweater.

Its top-down and stripes are starting to happen and I’ll Pinch Giuliani.

Nobody wants to know that every night I dream about trying to walk down a crowded elementary school hallway, and my legs keep cramping up and I have to stop and stretch multiple times and I’m just so embarrassed that I can’t walk down a hallway without struggling, and then I can’t find my car so I have to do my best to just keep walking. Forever.

I woke up Monday with a bum jaw and The Right Ear of Throbbing and a sensitivity that branched into my face and neck.

Nurse Practitioner: I’m not getting a good view of what’s going on in your ear, but I can tell you have an infection.

Me (in my head): It’s a baby bird. Maybe a cluster of spiders. My other black sock has been missing for days.

Suddenly, I was leaning back and holding a bowl under my ear and a medical assistant was squirting warm water and peroxide into my ear and STOP STOP STOP STOP because THE PAIN!

Nurse Practitioner: I’m going to send you to the ENT walk-in clinic.

The doctor at the walk-in clinic told me that no one should ever squirt water or peroxide into an ear. (I paid a $50 fee to have the water and peroxide squirted into my ear. That $50 could have purchased this shirt with enough left over for cheesecake. I don’t think I’ve ever been this angry before.)

Doctor at walk-in clinic: You’ve got all kinds of stuff going on in there. I’m going to vacuum it out a bit so I can see how bad the infection is.

Ear vacuum. Again with the crazy pain, but add in the irrational fear that my temporal lobe might be extracted accidentally. Question: Would a temporal lobe suck-out help with social anxiety? Answer: Damage to the right temporal lobe may cause a loss of inhibition with talking. Question: Would I rather be super comfy in public with a tendency to reveal every (potentially unpleasant) thought that bounces around in my head, or would I rather be panicky and self-contained? Luckily, my brain was not poked or sucked, so I shall remain jittery yet unresponsive. The Earth continues to spin, but I’m now realizing that I’ve met quite a few people in the past year who can be casually diagnosed with right temporal lobe damage. (I have a degree in psychology and semi-thick glasses, which means I’m credible.)

That was a long paragraph. Please enjoy this photo.

Since having my ear squirted and sucked, I’ve been on high ear alert. That grasshopper is hungry for the workout lady’s temporal lobe.

Denouement: My right ear is on steroids and has been making bad decisions stemming from feelings of invincibility. If she asks you for money, please don’t give it to her. She’s up to no good. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Although I have voted in every single election at the same polling place since we moved into the house in 2014, today they couldn’t find my name in the system. Could it be because I told them I want a democratic ballot? Probably not. Could it be because we are flying a HRC flag at our house, where HRC stands for Human Rights Campaign and not Hillary Rodham Clinton? Probably not. Could it be because I’m already in a shitty mood so the universe was like, “What’s one MORE thing I could hurl at her?! Wheeeee!!!” Maybe. (Probably not.)

I filled out an affidavit and a new voter registration form. I voted. All is well.

My mom, Tempe, and I left for Chicago at 500 in the morning on Friday for our tenth annual Stitches Midwest adventure.

Less than five minutes in, I was trying on shawls and poking out eyeballs.

(I purchased the kit to make the shawl, except mine will be in shades of blue and a brown and an ivory.)

Check out the scarf on the little concrete lady.

I’ll be making it with a rainbow gradient and a deep grey, and I’ll be connecting the ends so it is a cowl instead of a scarf.

What else?

I tried on the cowl in the photo below and I fell in love with it, so I grabbed some yarn. Bam!

I tried on the sweater in the photo below and I fell in love with it, so I grabbed some yarn. Bam!

The sweater was in the Three Irish Girls booth, which has been my favorite booth for the past three years. Last year I fell in love with an orange Footloose and Fancy Free Poncho, and I kicked myself all year (LITERALLY) for not buying the yarn. (You absolutely must have a firm grip on your style before you can go all willy nilly with an orange poncho. I was a little too careful when I was 47. Ah, but now I’m 48, and it’s time to make up for the sobriety of my youth.)

I tried on the poncho in the photo below and I fell in love with it, so I grabbed some yarn. Bam!

Speaking of making up for the sobriety of my youth, every year we celebrate ourselves with cheesecake (and maybe or maybe not a martini). This year was no exception.

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My Veggetti. I’ve been noodling up some zucchini, sautéing in a bit of olive oil, sprinkling on some Penzeys Mural of Flavor, tossing on a handful of tomatoes, and: Dreamy Dinner from My Veggetti! (You are the only one with a mind in the gutter right now.)

Similarly, refried beans. I heat up an entire can and give it the tomato treatment. BAM!

Thrift store jeans. I took the girls to a thrift store on Sunday. While there, I bought two pairs of used jeans. Had I bought them new, my total would have been around $150. BUT, because I’m not afraid of lingering crotch bugs, I paid only $12. I brought them home (where “them” = jeans), washed them (out, out, damn crotch bugs!), and cut and frayed the cuffs. Style!

The sky over the park. A farming family sold their land to the county and it’s currently being built into a park that lies within walking distance to our house—right across from the library. I love that we’re getting a park, I love that they’re leaving the silo right where it is, and I love when the sun and the clouds are like, “Check it. This is where you live!”

Marching band season. I’m sharing driving duties with another mom, which means I sometimes have 2-3 marching band kids in my car either going to or coming from their all day practice. These kids are the funniest/most clever kids. The way they play off of each other makes me wish the ride was more than just 20 minutes long.

(Side Note: A few weeks ago Meredith asked, “Can I get my nose pierced?” to which I  replied, “Will you continue to go to school and grow up to be a good citizen?” Her answer was yes so my answer was yes. I know a lot of parents who are like, “No on the face hole.” I think it helps that MY face hole hasn’t yet forced me to do drugs or vote outside of my comfort zone. I feel confident that hers won’t, either.)

1. I ordered and received my calendar for 2018-2019 school year. I transcribed all school events, birthdays, and appointments into the new calendar with bright red ink from Japan. I messed up/scratched out more than 10 times, which led me to consider ordering a new calendar, but then I remembered that Only God Is Perfect. I forgave myself.

2. I went to the mall with no intention of buying Big Girl Makeup. I moseyed into the Bare Minerals store to see what was going on, and suddenly I found myself on a chair and Gabby was swirling and buffing and for the first time in a long time I felt like I looked good. SO, I bought the Big Girl Makeup (Big Girl Makeup = Any sort of makeup that cannot be purchased at a drug store).

3. I attended my second “wear a swimsuit” event of the summer without owning a swimsuit. I sat on the edge of the pool in jeans and tried to figure out when I last owned a swimsuit. Answer = Five years ago. I came home from the event and found this swimsuit on Amazon. I quickly lamented the fact that the only designs available in my size were horizontally striped. Ah! But I then said “fuck it” and hit the Buy It Now! button. (I tend to curse the worst of my curses when it’s swimsuit time.) (Bonus Info: The swimsuit actually fits, because somewhere in my youth or childhood I must have done something good.)

4. I learned that I also curse the worst of my curses while finding the balance between my age and my style. A few weeks back I got a haircut that removed half of the fake black color that I tend to apply monthly. I considered stopping on the way home to purchase yet another bottle of the fake black color, but it was hot outside and I had work to do, so I said “fuck it” and I’m now one of those salt and pepper people.

5. The girls let me accompany them to all of their summer medical and dental appointments and the only time they felt embarrassed was when I started making friends with the paper towel dispensers.

Paper Towel Dispenser: It’s killing me that I can’t ask you to dance.

Me: I would love to dance with you, but I’ll have to wait for the neurologist to leave the room. I’m not sure he would approve, and I don’t feel like having that conversation with him.

Paper Towel Dispenser: These are curious times, indeed. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>