Fluid Pudding

IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT: Because you guys were so helpful in your comments, and because so many of you expressed an interest in Rivet & Sway, the company has given me a $25 coupon code to share with you! Just enter ANGELASWAYS during the prescription checkout process. (Don’t enter it while ordering your Home Try-On kit. The kit is always free!) Let’s get glasses together!!! How fun is this?! (The code is good through 4/8/13.)

Do you remember way back in November of 2010 when my eye doctor told me that I needed glasses?

I did what anyone would do. I came home, I took a cruddy photo of myself, and I started the process of trying on different frames. Virtually.

It started out innocently enough.

But, you know me. I get overwhelmed so easily, and that’s when I start acting squirrelly.

It didn’t take long to realize that I would never have luck with the online thing. I grabbed my keys and drove to an actual store where I chose some frames and was then talked into a bunch of weird extras that I didn’t completely understand. I walked out feeling sort of bummed because the sign on the door told me that All Frames Are $99!, yet I had just written a check for over $300. (Yes. I still write checks. Sometimes I’m cute like it’s 1983.)

Fast forward to December 29th, 2012. I told you about my teapot. I told you about my yarn and my spinning class and I casually mentioned that I was excited about being able to choose some new frames (the kind you wear on your face) in 2013.

Because Fluid Pudding is my vision board (By the way, don’t get me started on vision boards.), two days later I received a message from Rivet & Sway—an eyewear boutique designed exclusively for women. Full Disclosure: They told me they would comp a pair of glasses to me if I share the Rivet & Sway process with the folks who stop by Fluid Pudding. In other words, an amazing place is offering an amazing deal, and I’m under no obligation to say nice things. (The good news? I have nothing BUT nice things to say.)

Here’s how Rivet & Sway works.

1. You go to the website.

2. You take a look at the frames.

3. You narrow down your choices depending on the shape of your face and the size and color of frames you might want.

4. If you get stuck and need some advice, you contact the personal stylist, who is SO nice and SO smart. (I told her that my face is oval, and I sent her this photo so she could see my current frames and my skin tone and my hair color and my silk scarf. (I really need to wear that scarf more often.))

5. Less than 24 hours later, the stylist will send an e-mail recommending styles that she feels will look great, and she then suggests that you add the styles to a Home Try-On kit. (She recommended four styles for me. I chose my favorite three out of the four and added them to my Home Try-On kit. The Home Try-On thing was vital for me. After messing around with the virtual try-on process at several other online stores (See the mustard shot above. Really. I cannot be trusted to do these things correctly.), I knew I couldn’t handle trying on pretend frames. BUT, I’m scared to walk into an actual store knowing that I can pretty much be talked into anything.) For Rivet & Sway’s Home Try-On, you order up to three frames, they arrive in a few days, and you then have three days to try them on and feel their weight and wear them in public and ask your family and friends to tell you what looks best. Genius.

6. On Day Three, you box the frames back up, attach the pre-paid and pre-addressed label to the box, and you send them back to Rivet & Sway. It’s so easy. You are under NO obligation to order, but if you DO order? Your new glasses will cost $199. That includes the frames and the prescription lenses and coatings. (The advice from the personal stylist, the Home Try-On, and the shipping is always free.)

My Home Try-On frames arrived on Friday, and although I’m about 94.5% sure of the ones I’ll order, I would also like to ask for your opinion.

This is me in the Street Smart frames. Picture me wearing these frames to the library to check out the latest John Irving book. I’ll then come home, put in some freelance time, and prepare my boring treasurer reports for the PTO meeting—all while looking very stylish and smart. (I have no idea how to smile for photos, so I tend to smirk or wince. With that said, I AM happy with my hair in this shot. (I’m trying so hard to balance my negatives with a positive. I had three cookies for lunch. And then I ate hummus. See?))

This is me in the Faster Pussycat frames. I see myself eating doughnuts in these glasses. Also, sushi. Actually, as soon as I tried these on, I felt a swirly and warm spark. I wanted to throw on a skirt. I wanted to seek out an unlikely gathering of trombone players. I wanted to knit a beret and hand it to someone who is clearly in need of a beret!

This is me wearing the Je Ne Sais Quoi frames. Picture me wearing them while steeping up a tumbler of hot tea and perhaps heading out for a Pilates class. (Pilates. I know! I’m clearly in a state of metamorphosis, which brings to mind the phrase, “Pupa?! Supa DUPA!” Get this: I’ll be heading to the J five times this week to try out various fitness classes. My synapses are firing completely differently than they were last year at this time.)

I know it probably sounds silly, but what a fun diversion it was to get frames in the mail and play with them over the weekend! (I played responsibly, of course.) If you’re needing new glasses, please give Rivet & Sway a shot! (Even if you’re not NEEDING new glasses, but want to shake up your style and attitude, go to their website! Seriously—I’m suddenly seeking out trombone concerts and hanging out at libraries and gyms!) I’ve been singing songs about Rivet & Sway all weekend. (I also really like The Character Study and The Punchline!)

(Let me know if you order a Home Try-On kit! I can’t wait to hear what you think!) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

It’s snowing.

I would show you a photo of the snow, but it seems that you’ve seen so many of those lately. The snow on my street is no different than the snow three streets over, and our current snow is actually pretty ridiculous when compared to our 2011 snow.

So here we are. New Year’s Eve. Again. New Year’s Eve used to be bananas—fourteen people on the roof of our house ripping apart a (cooked) turkey with their bare hands and singing Tom Petty tunes at the stroke of midnight. This evening we’ll be splitting our time between a friend’s house and Wii/Pajama/Hot Chocolate Night in our own family room. We will have macaroni and cheese. We will bust out the marshmallows. We will watch Ryan Seacrest, but we will be thinking about Dick Clark. Fondly.

As far as resolutions go, well, I tend to not make them.

With that said, my list from 2008 was pretty good.

This was my list of plans from last year, and I think I did everything except for 5, 10, and 12. Also, I still haven’t held a baby monkey.

In 2013, I’d like to get started on this sweater, and I’d like to knit it with this yarn.

I’d like to write one letter each month.

I’d like to avoid taking the low road when I don’t completely understand something. I will try to not puke up political sludge onto my wall unless I’ve tried to understand both sides of the WHOLE story, as well as my own intentions. (At this very moment in time, three Facebook friends of mine have posted links that essentially cover the same story. Two of the friends posted articles from a conservative publication. The other posted an article from a liberal publication. Same story. Wildly different take. AND, I can’t figure out why these people are posting these articles. Is it to educate? Probably not. Is it just another ploy to stretch out the Us vs. Them thing? I think so. To me, Us vs. Them for the sake of Us vs. Them lacks creativity. Using “funny” to mask hatred lacks creativity. Drinking Red Bull lacks creativity. (Unless you’re in London at an Aimee Mann show and you’re really feeling the time difference between here and there and Red Bull is your only hope to make it to the encore.))

We all know where I stand. I don’t eat meat, but I don’t mind if you do. I voted for Obama, yet some of my favorite people in this world did not, and I understand why. I will never carry a gun, nor will I ever send my kids to a school where teachers are encouraged to carry guns, and I’m trying really hard to understand both sides of this debate, because I know that Never is a big word.

This is what I believe.

I believe we should all take care of one another.

I believe we should focus less on why we don’t LIKE one another, and focus on why we LOVE one another.

I believe we should devote more time to pleasant surprises.

Less processed food.

More music and candlelight.

Less time looking at screens.

More time watching snow.

Happy New Year from The Puddings. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Sometimes it’s easier to write every day than to skip a week and try to catch up. I feel ridiculous admitting this, but I’ve been sitting here for nearly ten minutes trying to figure out how to give you a rundown of the past week without either boring you to tears or drowning you in cheese.

Christmas was good. Very good. Every year we have five Christmas gatherings—one for my dad’s side of the family, one for my mom’s side, both sets of grandparents come over here on Christmas day, we go to Jeff’s parents’ house a few days later, and we finish up the run at my folks’ house when my sister and her family come to town.

Let’s see. Harper and Meredith are now sufficiently Furbified, Jeff has enough books to carry him to 2014, and I’ll be sitting over here in the corner trying to spin sock weight yarn with my fast flyer while steeping the Lavender Dreams tea that Harper gave me in the new cast iron teapot that I received from Meredith.

Speaking of spinning, I’m pleased to report that I finished spinning and plying another skein of yarn last week.

It’s my very first 3-ply, and I’m pretty proud of it. With that said, I was shooting for at least 300 yards of a 3-ply sock weight, but what I achieved is 196 yards of 3-ply DK. (This will bore 83% of you: I’m hoping that the fast flyer will enable me to spin finer yarn, because I’m starting to get tired of shooting for sock and hitting DK.) Anyway, this is Chocolate Cherry Merino-Sparkle Blend by Frabjous Fibers, and it was gifted to my mom, whose birthday is today.

Speaking of spinning once again, I have a shocking announcement! Do you remember a few weeks back when I went to a Pilates class? Get this: Two days ago, my sister drove up, and we attended a SPINNING class.

It was absolutely terrible and I hated it, but I’m going back next Tuesday for more. (I hated it because I had no idea what I was doing, and when the instructor yelled for us to stand up, I was taken by surprise, because Stand Up?! (Apparently, in order to stand up, one needs to adjust one’s tension so that one’s knees don’t buckle. I, for one, didn’t know this. Luckily, I eventually figured it out after realizing that I was the only person who was wobbling around. Something had to change. Tension. Yes.)) Anyway, it was 60 minutes of spinning which included 20 minutes of climbing with no warm up and no cool down and the instructor yelled, “YOU’RE NOT GOING TO GET THIS ANYWHERE ELSE!!!” and everyone in the class yelled, “YOU’RE THE BEST, KELLY!!!”

I think I was the only person in that room who didn’t love it, so I’m telling myself that I am WRONG, and that I need to try it at least once more before making a final decision. (There are very few things that I’ve refused to try more than once. In fact, if I had to make a list titled Things I’ve Refused to Try More Than Once, it would contain only the following items: Whiskey, Folding Sheets Too Soon After Reading a Paperback Book (It’s a texture thing. I can’t talk about it.), and Anti-depressants. Also, Unscented Deodorant. Vaginal Delivery.)

Two years ago, I found my eye doctor by calling a random number when my right eye started crying. A few months later, I saw him again after I freaked out at a stoplight. Last year I went back for my annual exam and left with a list of restaurant recommendations and a desire to permanently remove fish from my diet (which I have). This year he dilated my eyes and talked me into feeling enthusiastic about Pilates and spinning. Expect the unexpected, Heraclitus!

Bonus: I get to pick out new glasses after the first of the year. I’ve already been browsing at eco and Lookmatic, but would love to hear your recommendations, too! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

The last time we spoke, Meredith was throwing up and I was going all floopy about my nose ring. So much of not very much at all has happened since then! On Monday, I kept Meredith home from school to keep with the “24 Hours Free of Fever” rule. We watched television, we bought craft supplies, and we ate Mexican food. On Tuesday morning at approximately 5:00, all hell broke loose, meaning I came down with the flu or the grippe or whatever the pacesetting kids are calling it these days. I spent all of Tuesday in bed, and got up on Wednesday only after Jeff challenged me to eat a veggie sandwich. I ate it, and I suffered. (Clarification: Jeff is not a jerk. No one around here forces anyone to eat anything, as evidenced by the fact that my seven year old eats NOTHING. (Figuratively. Please don’t call the authorities. (We don’t spank.)))

I felt better yesterday, so I made myself some weird nachos for dinner, and I suffered. (I know! Who would’ve thought?!)

I was back and forth this morning, so Jeff and I raised our Trial by Fire flag, and went out for our annual Last Day Before Christmas Break lunch (vegan burgers!), and I suffered. In fact, I suffered to the extent that although I made it to school in time to see Meredith and Harper play the piano at the holiday assembly this afternoon, I had to dash back home before the holiday parties started. No more vegan burgers or ridiculous nachos or mustard laced sandwiches for me until I’m able to jump around a bit without fear of internal combustion.

(I love my hot water bottle the way some people out there love their guns. Perhaps I should start a campaign where people can actually trade their guns in for hot water bottles. I do believe the world would be a much more comfortable place if we all carried hot water bottles. (And White Ayurvedic Chai. And Tissues.))

I’m hoping to be back here before Christmas. If I’m not, I hope yours is the happiest. (Don’t tell the others. They’ll be so jealous.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

As you may or may not know, last week about 25 of us banded together and raised $500 for a woman who was having trouble giving her kids a nice Christmas. We raised that money in 24 hours, and I can’t remember the last time I felt quite so giggly and amazed. Thank you again so much. (I delivered the money in a card on Friday. I didn’t stick around to watch her open it, because I didn’t feel like it was necessary. BUT, I have a funny feeling that she was happy for the help.)

On Friday, I went to Pilates.

Proof:

(It’s a long story. We’ll save it for next week.)

A few days back, I had a great discussion with a friend of mine about Ego. As a result, I’ve been severely aware of my own inflated ego lately. With that said, I’m about to put my big horse blinders on and go whole hog ego/vanity on you. Do you remember back in May when I got my nose pierced? (Take a second. Click the link. Learn the history. (Or not.)) Anyway, I absolutely LOVED the nose ring for the first few months. THEN, we went to Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, where everyone and their brother’s girlfriend’s waitress had their nose pierced. It made me feel old. (I’m 42, which sort of qualifies me as old. If not old, Ripened.) After that trip, I became hyper-aware of everyone else who had their nose pierced. A LOT of people have their noses pierced, and that doesn’t mean that I *shouldn’t*, but I’m starting to feel like I either need to amp it up or back down, and being that I tend to find myself in bed wearing a retainer at 10:00 each night, amping it up is not completely realistic.

I was at the grocery store yesterday, and the woman in front of me was very mean. She had her nose pierced. Earlier this evening, I found myself purchasing laundry baskets. The girl in front of me in line had her nose pierced. The woman at the register had her nose pierced. I have my nose pierced. We were the hat trick of snout studs, and it felt so silly. When I look in the mirror, it’s not the same as it was in May. (I dig Quirky. It no longer feels quirky.)

I asked a few people to vote. The only person who was a straight up “Keep It” was Jeff.

I took this photo four days ago as I sat in my driveway drinking tea and listening to Elvis Costello. I filtered the hell out of it so you can’t see that I’m 42.

Me, me, me, me, me. Ugh. Jeff is watching CNN right now, and I’m refusing to listen. Meredith, who is supposed to be Mary at the Christmas show at church tomorrow morning, threw up earlier this evening. And here I sit asking for your nose ring opinion. Ego.

Although I’ve been fast forwarding through Ben Folds a lot lately, this song shuffled this morning and I played it twice.

‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I JUST KEEP EDITING THIS POST! Here’s an announcement! We just hit the $500!!! Thank you so much to all who donated! Can you tell how excited I am right now? I KEEP USING EXCLAMATION POINTS AND ALL CAPS!!!

I’ve been helping to arrange a holiday gift drive at the girls’ school. Every student was asked to bring in an item (favorite game, pair of socks, grocery store gift card, etc.) and depending on how many items come in, we will assemble baskets for some of our more needy families in the district. This morning I went through all of the items that have been donated so far. We have lots of hot chocolate, candy, a few fuzzy blankets, a few games, some bath lotion shower gel thinger dingers, a few books, some toys, and a few kitchen odds and ends. (The oddest contribution? A Larry the Cable Guy Christmas CD.)

Anyway, on Friday a few of us will be getting together to assemble the baskets and make them “specific” to certain families. Do you ever get the feeling that you’re doing exactly what you need to be doing? That’s where I am when I’m thinking about these families.

Last week I went to Walgreens. (I go to Walgreens at least three times each week. It’s a two minute drive from my house, and I’m always out of tape.) My favorite checker in the afternoon is one of those people who could be either 60 or 20. It’s impossible to guess her age. Anyway, when I asked her if she’s ready for the holidays, she told me that sometimes she wishes she wouldn’t have had kids so early because she’s only 26 (not 60!) and although she puts in a ton of hours (she does!), it’s becoming really difficult to give them the Christmas they deserve. She went on to say that if she could do it all over again, she would have gone to college and waited to have the kids.

Last night I went to the store to buy food for the dogs. The woman who checked me out mentioned that she is one paycheck away from being able to buy her dad some funny boxer shorts for Christmas. (She has been giving him funny boxer shorts every year since she was a kid.) One paycheck away. Those words are still ringing in my head.

If I had an extra few thousand dollars, I swear I would spend December handing hundred dollar bills to anyone who expressed a need or a frustration. And I know that money doesn’t really make anything better, but I also know that sometimes it helps.

I’ve been pretty good about the whole Paying It Forward thing, but I need to be better. Perhaps I’ll devote 2013 to kindness. And preparing the house for a move. And figuring out how to knit continentally. I’ll complain less. I’ll write letters instead of e-mails. I’ll figure out how to run without breaking my legs. Less time thinking, more time doing.

EDITED TO ADD: A few people have made comments and sent e-mails offering to help the people I mentioned above. Please know that setting up a donation system was not my intention when I posted at Fluid Pudding today. With that said, sometimes you put something out there and someone offers to help and how can you turn down the offer if it means that something great might happen? After thinking about this for the past few hours, I’ve decided to make a difference for the woman who wants her kids to have a better Christmas. My PayPal address is the same as my e-mail address: angela at fluidpudding dot com. If you would like to donate, please mark it as “Gift.” (It’s my understanding that fees are waived when it’s a gift. I could be wrong.) I’ve decided to cap it at $500, and will let you know if/when we start getting close. My plan is to stop taking donations this Sunday (December 16th), and I’ll deliver a money order early next week.

Wait a second.

Did you feel that?

I think it’s the Christmas Spirit!

(Thank you guys so much. SO much.)

ANOTHER EDIT! As of 4:00 CST on 12/12/12, we’re up to $445! You guys are amazing. AMAZING!

AND ANOTHER! $470 at 4:23 CST!!!

  ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

First off, I’m a little embarrassed about the post I put up a few days back. Secondly, I’m overwhelmed at the number of people who sent e-mails to check in on me! (I promise to respond to each and every one of them. I really do love you guys, and I don’t use the L word unless I mean it.)

I’ve probably told you this before, but way back in 1995, right after the bombing of the federal building in Oklahoma City, the company for which I fought traffic every morning decided to send a huge “greeting” card to Oklahoma City. Everyone was encouraged to sign. The woman in front of me drew a huge star on the card, and beneath the star she wrote “Turn your scars into STARS, Oklahoma City!” It was at that moment that my Cynical levels doubled. They may have even tripled. Turn your scars into stars. Turn your scars into stars?!

I didn’t sign the card. (I *did* donate blood, so there’s that. I’m not a monster.)

Anyway, whenever I get all Eeyored out over here, the universe tends to bonk me in the head to turn my scars into stars, Oklahoma City.

On Monday afternoon, I found out that I’m #62 on Babble’s Top 100 Mom Blogs of 2012. You can’t swing a dead cat without hitting a mom blogger, so this was a huge honor for me.

Meredith sings in her school’s performance choir, and this morning they held a mini concert at a nearby office building. You know how I am. If you fill my stomach with a pumpkin pie bagel and place a dozen kids in front of me who are singing Silent Night as cute tattooed office nerds buzz around eating pastries and cantaloupe cubes, I will cry. Every Single Time.

After the concert, I went to school and worked the PTO holiday shop for a bit. (Quick explanation: Tons of gifts, all priced from fifty cents to four dollars. Kids bring in money along with a list of people for whom they wish to shop.) While there, I teamed up with a fifth grade boy who was shopping for his mom, his dad, his grandmother, his aunt, his uncle, his cousin, and his best friend. He had twenty dollars to spend. First up? A coupon clip magnet for Grandma because she cuts coupons. The uncle got a fishing light because he sometimes takes the boy fishing. As we walked around filling his bag with gifts, he continued to tell me stories about his family. When it was time to choose a gift for the best friend, I thought he would head toward the sporty trinkets. Instead, he walked straight over to a jewelry box and said, “I think she’ll love this.” If I had any leftover fibrous tissue, this eleven-year-old boy magically transformed it into sparkling spheres of hydrogen and helium.

Finally, as I walked back out to my car, I received a text from Jeff. Someone from church “…wrote me last night to see if Meredith would be willing to play the part of Mary in the Xmas pageant. I told her I thought she would, but that I’d check with her today. I think she’ll be excited about the upgrade.”

My small heart has grown three sizes this day. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

One of my very favorite people experienced the death of her father last week. In my world, no one should have to bury a parent. No one should have to bury a child. Or a grandparent. Or a sibling or friend or cousin or pet. (I realize my world might have a problem with overpopulation.)

The main character in the book I’m reading right now just said something about how grateful he is that he has never had to deal with anything that really matters. This observation struck me. I take the kids to school in the morning. I then sit at the computer and try to work through some freelance while letting the dogs in and out of the house and maybe I’ll do a load of laundry or clear out the dishwasher. I then grocery shop and run errands and pick the kids up from school and drive them to piano lessons or wherever they need to go. And none of it REALLY matters. And sometimes that’s the most infuriating thing. And sometimes it’s sort of a relief. (I could employ the Half Full Glass and say that it DOES matter because the kids end up where they need to be and they may (or may not) be wearing clean clothes and there’s food on the table, but I’m choosing the other glass right now.)

Sometimes I spend an hour cooking dinner and no one likes it. (This happens more often than it doesn’t, sadly.)

Sometimes I go through papers in a backpack and find that several of the forms inside required a signature and were due over a week ago. (This happens several times each month, proving to me that my timing is often horrible.)

Sometimes I ask the kids to pick up the stuff from their floor. And I ask them again the next day. And again on the next day. And when I finally “fix” the problem on Day 4 by taking everything from the floor and placing it into a trash bag, I’m met with tears and loud excuses.

Last night I tried to turn on our ceiling fan by pulling the chain, and the chain broke off into my hand, and now I can’t turn off the fan.

Henry’s been growling a lot more, and we’re not sure why.

The list of foods that Harper will eat is getting smaller and smaller. No pasta. No soup. No sandwiches. Last night I made a black bean and rice casserole, and it made her cry. (Tears over casserole made out of two of her favorite foods = Me in bed by 8:00 because I quit.)

This time of the year used to be my absolute favorite. It’s no longer my absolute favorite, and that sucks because September has always just been September. Nothing special. DECEMBER is now becoming September, and I used to have such high HOPES for December. December now feels like seeing Winona Ryder in an infomercial. You have to deal with it because it’s Winona Ryder, but you still feel the urge to wince and/or throw a broken fan chain against the wall and then you feel like crap because you LOVE Winona Ryder, even if she DID shoplift. (Please know that I’m all hormonal and cranky today, and I realize that’s such a hackneyed thing, but I’m still choosing it as my excuse for nothing other than a lack of creative spark.) Not only am I dealing with my normal load of Things That Don’t Matter, but I’m being approached by others who tend to add more Things That Don’t Matter to my list. (I just spent 15 minutes looking back through Fluid Pudding Decembers. I should chart my holiday moods. Maybe I would feel better if I could look at a graph titled, “Predictable December Funk.” It always starts with people asking me to create lists full of stuff that we definitely don’t need, and ends when I wash my face after returning home from The Final Holiday Party.)

This helps a little:

Back Seat Rudolph with Meredith and Harper (Rob Zombie) Rose from Angela D. on Vimeo.

‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Oh! That’s right! Fluid Pudding exists!

It appears that Thanksgiving has come and gone. I was all bitchy and sad on Thanksgiving day because the people with whom I’ve spent the past 42 Thanksgivings were in a cabin in Tennessee, and we didn’t join them. And I thought I would be okay with not going, but then Thanksgiving came. We spent the day with Jeff’s parents and his brother’s family and that was nothing but nice, but the fact remained that I was feeling on edge—as if something wasn’t quite right.

(Meanwhile, speaking of something being not quite right, out in Tennessee, someone tried to break into my parents’ cabin at three in the morning on their second night there, and someone actually DID break in on Saturday, and although the trespassers didn’t remove anything, they used the hot tub and plugged in the Christmas tree, and it definitely was NOT a housekeeping courtesy, so the family’s trip was cut short by a night due to the creepiness factor. Bummer. Even more of a bummer is the fact that the cabin rental place has not offered to reimburse them for the night that they lost. Maybe I’m expecting too much.)

I have an important announcement to make. I went to Old Navy today (it’s 40% off day if you have an Old Navy card) and, all-caps please, I FOUND SOME JEANS THAT FIT AND I DON’T DESPISE THEM! According to the Old Navy classification system, I am not a Diva, nor am I a Rockstar or a Flirt. I am a Sweetheart. And I think that has something to do with the shape of my butt, but I really don’t want to think about it much more than I need to. Much more than to which I think I need? I am a SWEETHEART.

Because of my newfound status as Sweetheart coupled with the fact that I didn’t shed even one tear in the dressing room, I celebrated the 40% discount by piling my cart with TWO pairs of Sweetheart jeans—one skinny and one boot cut. (They were only $18 after the discount!) And then I added pajamas for the girls’ Christmas Eve. (I give them new pajamas each year on Christmas Eve so they aren’t wearing ripped t-shirts in the next morning’s Christmas photos. Look at me manipulating the situation to make us look like we’ve got it together!) I finished up by throwing in a few shirts for the girls and moseying over to the checkout line (which was already VERY long at 10:00) where it was discovered that despite what I believe, I don’t actually HAVE an Old Navy Card. So, I held up the line by applying for one and I apologized over and over (and over, because being annoyingly polite is both my best and worst habit), and then I got an EXTRA 10% off because of my New Cardholder (Sweetheart) status. When I threw my (Sweetheart) fist to the sky and demanded that the checkout girl have a great day, she mentioned that she kicked off the day with a Frappuccino from next door, and any day that starts with a Frappuccino is always a great day. I was completely jazzed about the fact that I didn’t cry in the dressing room and even MORE sparked that I scored such a good deal, so I did what any Sweetheart would do. I threw my bags into the car, walked to the coffee dump, and purchased a $5 gift card. I then walked that card back to Old Navy and gave it to my checkout girl. And she was thrilled, and I was thrilled, and this completely erased my experience from yesterday which involved me trying to shove my butt into a pair of Jennifer Lopez jeans while staring into the mirror and chanting, “Don’t be sad. Don’t be sad. Don’t be sad.”

‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Have I spent the past two days watching the Twilight movies to prepare for this afternoon’s Breaking Dawn 2 viewing at the Cinema Suites? Yes! I have. (I read only the first two books. I’m slowly coming to grips with the idea of not ALWAYS having to read the book before seeing the movie. Please know that last weekend I saw Fellowship of the Ring for the first time ever. I haven’t yet read the book. And that’s OKAY. I read To Kill a Mockingbird and Revolutionary Road before seeing the movies. I read all of the Harry Potter books, yet haven’t seen all of the movies, and it’s all okay. I’m still a fairly decent person who doesn’t bear false witness against her neighbor, although I do covet some of their stuff. (And that’s NOT okay. I’m working on it.))

Where were we?

What you see here are my quesadillas (which were delivered to my seat) and my water (which I drank while lounging on a leather recliner!)! AND, although my gut instinct is to say something lame like, “Weight Watcher points don’t count when you’re sitting in the dark!”, deep down I know it’s just not that funny, and this evening finds me literally busting out of my jeans.

These are the GAP jeans I’ve had for nearly seven years. They’re my absolute favorites, and now they’re broken. A very kind friend of mine told me that I shouldn’t fret, because the hole upgrades them to Cool. I quickly reminded her that I’m 42 and that wearing these seemingly cool jeans takes me back fourteen steps on my journey to look Polished. I need advice on jeans, my friends. I’ve been told by a VERY reliable source that those blingy jeans (I hate the word bling, by the way) with silver thread and baubles on the rear look absolutely ridiculous on anyone over the age of 30, so I don’t want to go in that direction, yet I’m also not quite ready to surrender myself to a pair of pants that shows the world that the back of my knees and my butt are becoming a bit closer with every trip around the sun. Suggestions are hereby solicited.

Last night was nearly perfect.

One of the local parks is getting ready to open their Christmas light display to cars and carriages, but they always reserve the first weekend for walkers. The four of us bundled up, walked through the park, and then visited the food trucks for hot chocolate and gooey butter cake. Consider the holiday season kicked off in style, despite the gap in my pants.

‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>