Fluid Pudding

The people across the street from us are moving. All I know about them is that the man of the house is often shirtless, and I was told (by a different neighbor) that they’re downsizing because all of the kids moved out, yet there is definitely a kid living there. In other words, what I think I know about them is probably not true (except for that whole shirtless thing).

Wait. Here is an actual photograph that I took this morning of the man of the house. (Let’s keep the publication of this between us, because he hasn’t signed a model release form, and I definitely can’t afford a lawsuit right now, as moving is very expensive. Like, putting a cap on a sewer costs $269 and this I know is true because I wrote a check to a sewer place less than six hours ago for a cap that’s apparently made of crushed up Fabergé eggs.)

Anyway, two moving trucks pulled onto the street this morning and the moving guys jumped out and immediately started packing the trucks with stuff from Cranky NoShirt’s garage. They packed and they packed and they were total horses and at around 1:00 or so, I heard yelling. I decided to stay where I was because we live in a house of windows and I didn’t want to be seen. BUT, yelling. Lots of yelling.

When I left the house at 2:00ish to pick Meredith up from school, I noticed that two fairly large pieces of furniture are broken and lying on their sides in Cranky NoShirt’s front yard. Sad Dresser’s drawers are hanging out, and Dismal Bookshelf doesn’t have the strength for any more arguments (or Danielle Steel novels, if you know what I’m saying).

When Meredith and I returned from the school, NoShirt was in his garage yelling at someone I couldn’t see. All of this to say: When the new neighbors move in, I believe I will present them with a loaf of pumpkin bread and a sprig of sage with instructions for smudging.

(Did I tell you that we smudged sage before we moved into our house? We did. And, I won’t tell you WHY, although I WILL casually look up to the right and mutter something about differences in where we get our news…)

EDITED TO ADD:
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I meant to write yesterday. I really did. BUT, I spent most of the morning hauling trash to the street (TONS of it, and that’s only a slight exaggeration) and then I spent most of the evening hauling trash to the street and then we went out for burritos (as we do) and then I drove home in wind and rain and all I really wanted to do at 9:00 was this:

So that’s exactly what I did.
This morning we spent a little more time at the house cleaning out the garage and shack, and tomorrow we’ll do the floors and on Monday we’ll sign our closing papers. Done.

Every time I crack an egg, I crush the shell before throwing it into the trash. AND, when I crush the shell, I say the following words to myself: Always crush your egg shells, because kitchen witches use them for boats. I remember kitchen witches being a thing when I was a kid, but no one else seems to remember them.

The temperature is twenty degrees cooler today than it was yesterday at this time. A friend of mine told me that all she wants to do is knit, and I couldn’t agree more. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I started writing in a journal when I was in the sixth grade. My sixth grade teacher presented everyone in the class with a Mead notebook and told us that she wanted us to write at least a half page every day. After the first few weeks, I was writing at least three pages each day, and every time I finished a notebook, my teacher would present me with a fresh one.

I wrote in my notebooks all through high school and all through college and I’m sure if I was able to stack them, they would hit me above the belt. (Sadly, many of them have been lost along the way and a few were damaged beyond repair in a flooded basement.)

Here’s the weird thing. For many years, I’ve been telling people (and when I say “I’ve been telling people” I’m not really sure that I’ve mentioned it to anyone other than myself) that I burned my college journal, mainly because I didn’t like who I was back then—not focused, not very bright, too worried about what everyone else thought about me, etc.

This morning I was clearing out some of the final boxes at the old house, and I came across the journal that I thought I had burned. (I actually have memories of burning it. What in the hell did I set on fire that night?!) I brought it home with me, and this evening I read over 100 pages of it. It’s horrible. HORRIBLE. I actually considered sharing some of it here with you, but there is honestly nothing to share. As I read I kept thinking, “Where is the funny part? Is there ever a funny part? Is there even a HAPPY part?” Every single page of that thing is filled with jealousy and insecurity and ugliness and self-pity and when I first saw it at the house this morning, I actually gasped and smiled and thought about how I’ll share it with the girls someday.

The girls will never see the inside of the journal. In fact, I’ve already put it aside to feed our first fire when the temperatures start to cool down. (I’ll remove the plastic reflector from the front cover first because I Love The Environment.)

I always say (not always, but sometimes) that my high school years were my worst years (I rarely left the house and spent most of my free time practicing for piano competitions) and my college years were my best years (I rarely stayed in my room and spent most of my free time dipping French fries in ice cream and going on adventures with my best friend). The college journal is not about ice cream and shenanigans. The college journal is a story about a girl who desperately craves attention that she honestly doesn’t feel she deserves.

I’m not sure what else to say other than: I’m glad the Fluid Pudding thing happened. I still puke ugly into a notebook when I need to release steam, but I mainly collect the good stuff for you. I’m bummed that I didn’t collect the good stuff from 1988-1993. There really was a lot of good stuff from back then, and it sucks that my memories are fading as the years speed by.

I *did* write a poem (as one does) titled The ABCs of Angie back in 1990. I can’t share all of it (because I NAME NAMES), but here are some highlights:
A is for Angelic. I should be a nun.
B is for Boys. But why? I have none!
…
G is for God. He thinks I am neat.
H is for Ho-Hos. My favorite treat!
I is for Immaculate. Pure beyond compare.
J is for Jolly. Happy everywhere?
…
Q is for Quality, and mine is okay.
R is for Reality. It gets in the way.
…
U is for Understanding, whether happy or battered.
V is for Vomiting on the way home from Shattered.
W is for Wanting, and it never pays.
X is for Xerox. Don’t copy my ways.
Y is for Yes. Something I want to say.
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Meredith’s glasses broke in half last night, which forced Jeff and I to explore the 4,392,594 moving boxes that remain unopened in order to locate her glasses from last year. (Jeff was the winner who found the glasses. He’s perfect in so many ways.) The breaking of the glasses occurred approximately 37 minutes after we met another neighbor during our evening walk to the library. (In terms of FitBit success, the walk to the library from our house will score you approximately 1,000 steps. Yep. We live THAT close to the library. What’s that you were saying about a wonderful world, Louis Armstrong?)

We’ve met around a dozen neighbors so far, including Barefoot Mom and Son Who Don’t Like Pine Nuts and Lady Whose Husband Wants Her to Retire but She’s Not Ready. The woman we met last night is the person who I think will be our Gladys Kravitz.

Gladys Kravitz: Welcome to the neighborhood!

Us: Thanks!

Gladys Kravitz: I’m Gladys and I live down the street in the blue house. The people who used to live in your house had one of those pod things in their front yard and then the people across the street had their pod put in, and pretty soon it seemed like a race to see who could fill their pod the fastest!

Me (because I always get nervous and say goofy things): IT WAS A POD-OFF!

Gladys: So, are those dogs I hear barking in your yard during the day?

Me (regretting “pod-off”): Yep! Two dogs.

Gladys: Well, if you’re out walking, I would think that you would bring your dogs along with you! My daughter works with dogs and blah, blah, blah, blah…

Me (unmedicated): They run around in the yard all day and ALSO, just so you know, they are RESCUE DOGS! Both of them! Supporting the local rescue organizations is very important to us and we’re not walking the dogs only because we’re going to the LIBRARY and NO DOGS ALLOWED! We love animals!!!

Gladys: Hrm. Well, welcome to the neighborhood!

So, today I feel guilty for not taking our crazy unsocialized dogs out for walks. (Please know that there is a man in the neighborhood who walks two of his dogs without a leash. Because Scout and Henry are nuts, I really don’t want to even TRY walking them knowing that we might cross paths with No Leash Man.)

Do you think they look depressed?

This evening we’ll be attending a marching band event at the new school. The marching band event is also a food truck event and one of the food trucks will be selling tacos, so it’s almost like this event was designed to welcome our family to the district.

Edited to Add: Thank you to my friend Janet for kindly correcting my Bewitched reference!

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(Pssst! If you’re hanging out here for the first time, please know that despite what you think I think, animal welfare is VERY important to me. When we do buy meat for the kids, it’s never from Tyson. Ever. Also, I’ll never wear Nike shoes. Don’t even get me started.)

((You know I love you, right?)) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Oh, Labor Day.

We spent most of today getting House #1 ready for its new residents. Rooms are cleared and most baseboards and floors are cleaned and dust is removed and branches are stacked. (We vacuumed the concrete basement floor for the first time ever, and I kept reminding myself that some people actually have to clear houses of dead bodies and their associated fluids, so all of this vacuuming really isn’t so dreadful.) The only thing that remains is The Clearing of the Garage and The Taking Out of Lots of Trash. The timing is working out. We have ten days, which includes one weekend and one trash day. It can/will be done, and in 11 days, I’ll be the girl in the bathtub who still doesn’t have a completely functional kitchen sink, but who feels about 34% less stressed out than she does at this particular moment in time. (This particular moment in time is not a good moment to be around me. The good news? I recognize that I’m not easy to be around right now, and I’m very good at Maintaining Distance.)

Because I love stopping by Fluid Pudding and because I’ve been so CRAPPY at it lately, I’m considering turning this month into a NaBloPoMo. I feel like I’ve been nothing short of Uninteresting lately with all of my moving crap, and I need to bust the cycle.

(I’m reading Fangirl and loving it. It’s fun having an 11-year-old lover of books in the house, because I get to dive into young adult fiction for “appropriate theme screening.”)

When we moved into the house, we were greeted with a chalkboard wall, and we sort of loved it.

After trying to clean the chalk off of the wall yesterday, I’m finding that I sort of HATE it. I’ve tried water. I’ve tried soapy water. I’ve tried the Mr. Clean Magic Erasers. NOTHING CLEARS IT. Do any of you have a chalkboard wall? How in the world do you clean it?! (Don’t say Chalkboard Eraser. Seriously. Don’t say that.)

Yesterday afternoon I had the pleasure of meeting the parents of Harper’s new friend. When the mom told me that they had spent a good part of Saturday dealing with what happens when one puts too much shredded beef down the garbage disposal, I immediately knew that we could be friends. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

1. Within 24 hours of moving into the house, the kitchen sink backed up and leaked water into the cabinets and onto the floor. Because the sellers of our house purchased a home warranty for us, the warranty company had to schedule an “approved” plumber. He arrived this morning, used the words “retarded” and “illegal” more than once to describe our plumbing (I’m okay with illegal.), told us that what’s normally covered under the warranty isn’t covered today because it’s less than 30 days from the purchase of the warranty, and then mentioned that the work we need to have done isn’t actually covered under the warranty. Ever. He then charged us $100 for our warranty deductible. (I know. I KNOW.)

Plumber: I can fix your problem today for $380.

Me: But it’s not covered under the warranty?

Plumber: Nothing is covered under the warranty for 30 days. And, this would be considered a pre-existing condition.

Me: How long do you guarantee your work?

Plumber: 30 days.

Me: So, you walked into the house and told me that our entire plumbing system was not up to code, and now you’re saying you can fix it for $380, but you can guarantee your work for only 30 days?

Plumber: You’re not going to find it cheaper anywhere else.

I’m going to try to find it cheaper somewhere else. I can’t hand money over to someone who uses the word retarded. I just can’t. Also, his company has received bad reviews online because they take advantage of older people. So, here we sit in a kitchen with no sink in a house that has 1.5 inch pipes where there should be 2 inch pipes, and 90-degree joints where there should be two 45-degree joints.

2. I fell down at the old house this weekend and sprained my ankle. My potato ankle is now barely an avocado ankle, so I’m definitely on the mend. But still. Urgent care and x-rays and limping and hassles. (And, no. I didn’t do it on purpose to avoid moving. I saw The Tin Drum, but I’m no Oskar.)

3. Henry tried to attack the neighbor’s sweet old dog through the fence this morning. It was fine and no one got hurt, but we definitely haven’t made a good impression on that particular neighbor.

But, there are good things, too:

1. Meredith read The Fault In Our Stars on Friday and absolutely adored it, and I love seeing the girls feeling jazzed about books. Harper is currently reading The Hunger Games, and is VERY excited about the reaping. (I generally don’t let the girls see movies until they’ve read the books, so she has no idea what is about to happen.)

2. I’m less than 50 rows away from finishing a cardigan, and the timing couldn’t be more perfect as the temperatures are going to hit 97F/36C this afternoon.

3. Despite the fact that our plumbing is nuts and the ice maker quit and the dryer hose won’t attach to the dryer and none of the upstairs doors actually close or lock, we have a good bathtub. We haven’t used it yet, so I really have no idea if it works. BUT, if nothing else, I can fill it with warm scrambled eggs and take a nap in it.

This is the stuff that happens. None of it is going to ruin our lives. This is the stuff that happens. It just happens.

I finished a cowl out of my handspun.

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So much has happened, and not much has happened.

The girls started school and are liking it as much as you can like being a new kid in a big place where everyone else seems to know one another. They’re doing fine and they’ll do fine.

I went to Chicago for a day with Tempe and my mom for our annual yarn/fiber celebration. While there, we ate salads and cheesecake and we knit in front of a fireplace. I believe it was just what we needed.

I came home with yarn to make three shawls and fiber to create something that may eventually become a pair of socks. (It all depends on if I can spin it thin enough to score the proper yardage. I’m not as good as I wish I was.)

I also purchased a Lo-Lo Bar, and I encourage you to do the same.

We closed on the new house two days ago and scheduled our movers to be here yesterday morning. They arrived on time, estimated our job to be a four hour move, loaded the piano and two boxes into the truck, and then told us that two of the three movers had plans before 3:00 and that the rain was going to slow them down and may result in stained carpeting in both houses. They then unpacked the piano and two boxes and left. They’ll be back tomorrow. Hopefully. It felt like a big deal, but it’s really not a big deal. We’re still surfing.

As I drove home from the house last night, our car (known to us as Carlos) hit the 100,000 mile mark. I would show you the photo, but then you might yell at me for taking a photo while I was driving. (Please know that I set the camera up before starting the car and that I was in complete control. I don’t text while driving! Also, I turn on my headlights whenever it looks like rain.) Anyway, our beloved Rocket hit the 100,000 during the piano solo in Overblow Your Nest.

(The piano solo is at the 2:10 mark if you can’t stomach the entire song. By the way, if you can’t stomach the entire song, we need to evaluate our relationship. I can appreciate individual differences as well as the next guy, but: Come on.)

Anyway, knowing that I wanted Carlos to follow in the steps of Rocket (because I’m just a little bit weird like that), I hit the play button at 99,998. Before the piano solo ended, we saw 100,000. (Can you tell I don’t really have much to talk about? Look how many words I’ve wasted on Carlos and his mileage! Shakespeare’s plays contain only 884,421 total words. I really should be more careful.)

((We once lived upstairs from a guy who described the woman he loved by saying “None of her movements are wasted.” I will never forget that, mainly because I tend to not move very often (If you are my Fitbit friend, you KNOW this.), and when I do? Movements are definitely wasted.))

I won’t have an internet connection at the house for five days. I promise to use that time wisely. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

The girls have started at their new school and we move into the new house in nine days. Everything just keeps happening and happening.

Two survey guys came over this morning with sketch pads and chewing tobacco. According to the tiny pink flags in our yard, it looks like one of our neighbors has been cutting a patch of our grass as if it’s his own. Because I fully suspect that his wife will talk him into charging us for this unsolicited trim, I’ve decided to beat him to the punch by suing him for trespassing.

I’ll be leaving super early on Saturday morning (like, 4:30 in the morning early!) for the eighth annual yarn trip with Tempe and my mom. (I’ve discussed a few of our trips here and here and here.) Sadly, the electrician who will be visiting our house in a few weeks doesn’t seem to be the type of guy who would trade services for a cabled hat. Therefore, my yarn budget this year is a lot different than my yarn budget in past years. With that said, I fully intend to purchase the yarn required to make one of these, because if you have the opportunity to create something beautiful, you should jump on it.

Here is the best news of all: Ramona is definitely on the mend, and this morning she climbed into her basket for the first time in three weeks. (It was three weeks ago today that Sid died.) Anyway, we’re quite pleased and we definitely appreciate the positive thoughts that have been tossed our way. (I tend to like our animals more than I like most people, so when a four-legged is down we’re ALL down.)

Remind me to tell you about the anxiety attack I had during Meet the Teacher night at Harper’s school. (Imagine yourself roaming unfamiliar halls that are filled with hundreds of people who look exactly the same and are all chirping like birds. (That is exactly what happened. I suppose you don’t really need to remind me of anything at all.)) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>