Fluid Pudding : Page 69 of 122 : It's the old small talk!

Less than 108 words…

I spent today running (27 minutes without stopping! Bonus: I returned to my car with no evidence of a black-out homicide, although I have reason to believe that I accidentally willed a child to wreck his bike!), figuring out PTO money stuff, ironing out some freelance, shopping for dinner, and grabbing the supplies for cake balls.

Check it out.

What you see here in my weirdo wrinkled hand is a test tube full of bone sprinkles.

The rescue agency who allowed us to adopt Scout is having a bake sale this weekend.

I’m bringing cake balls. With bone sprinkles. (If you’re in St. Louis, the sale goes from 11-3.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

No lines, no ride. My body is a closed down amusement park.

I love that several of you read yesterday’s post and questioned whether I should continue running.

No one suggested that I turn myself in for a potential black-out killing. (A special tip of the hat to Sir, who eased my mind a bit with the whole “you can’t be convicted” comment.)

Here’s the thing. Yes. Running is difficult for me. It’s the first thing I’ve done in quite some time that REALLY challenges me both mentally and physically. (This is where I would insert a Fifty Shades of Grey joke, but I have no idea what you are talking about.) Nine months ago I couldn’t run for more than two minutes without wanting to die. (Because my leg was broken. Because I was heel striking. Because I don’t read history books, so I’m destined to make the same mistakes as Napoleon.) Now I can run for about five minutes without wanting to die, and then I can KEEP running for 21 more minutes! I’m not quitting now.

Actually, after I reach the point where running comes easy, I’m going to start Kobe Bryanting myself over moving cars.

This morning was not a good one at our house. The girls were crabby and we’re out of Aleve and the dress I’m wearing to this weekend’s wedding is NOT looking good.

Harper: Are you sick?

Me: No, but my arm is acting like it wants to be somewhere else.

Harper: Are you angry?

Me: No. Here’s the deal. I don’t like referring to myself as Mommy, but I’m about to make an exception. I’m going to say this one time only, and I’m not going to offer any sort of explanation. Are you ready?

Harper: I’m ready.

Me: Mommy needs Spanx.

Harper: What?

Me: Grab your backpack. Let’s go.

Thirty minutes later, I found myself in a dressing room trying to sausage myself into at least 11 different styles of shape wear. (This is what you’re missing on Instagram.) It was absolutely terrible. I couldn’t even pull one of the styles up past my knees, so I challenged myself to find the size that I COULD actually pull up. XXL. I almost bought the XXL (it was black and shiny), but then it occurred to me that this isn’t how it’s supposed to work. (Side story: I currently have my running application set to believe that I weigh 380 pounds, because it feels good when my display says that I’ve worked off over 500 calories. The reality isn’t nearly as rewarding.)

I went with this. (Do NOT watch the video on that page. If you’re anything like me, it will make you want to put your fist through a wall—which is something I’ve never actually done. I definitely disagree with the woman who announces that the model has a slight muffin top. Don’t even get me started on this.)

After putting my pants back on and paying for my goods, I stopped by the drugstore to pick up some Nutter Butters. (They are vegan.) Don’t look at me. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I get by with a little help from Henry David Thoreau

So, yesterday morning I dropped the kids off at school and drove straight out to my favorite running spot to embark on my very first outdoor 26 minute (without stopping) run. With a water bottle strapped to my hand and Mumford & Sons singing in my ears, I took off into the woods. (“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately.”)

Just so you’re with me, this is what I saw:

This is what I heard:

I walked for five minutes, and then I ran. Sluggardly. (I averaged about 7:44 per kilometer.) When I thought I had been running for more than ten minutes, I looked at my phone and saw that I still had 23 minutes to go. In other words, three minutes was feeling like 10 minutes. This 26 minute adventure was going to FEEL like an 85 minute adventure. (Quick side note: While I’m running, I can’t do simple math. Similarly, I sometimes see a herron and call it a herring. My brains liquify and run out of my nose and I have no idea how to breathe. Running is physically and cerebrally taxing. I have no idea why I do it.)

Anyway, I ran and I ran (and I ran) and I looked at my phone more than 30 times during the run to see when the hell it was going to end. When the little man told me that I had five minutes to go, I noticed that my left eye wasn’t seeing correctly. I wondered how I would handle having a stroke in the woods, and I considered stopping. (“I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary.”) I continued to run. When I had less than a minute to go, I noticed a svelte running lady about 25 yards ahead of me. I decided to run like a cheetah (but on two legs) to pass her before my little man gave me permission to cool down with a five minute walk. (Less than five seconds after I stopped running, Svelte Lady flew by me as I snorted and panted and tried to squirt water into my face.)

Here’s the weird part. When my cool-down walk was over, I made my way back to the car. I climbed into the car, I chugged a bunch of water, I turned on the radio, started the car, put my hands onto the steering wheel, AND NOTICED THAT I HAD BLOOD ALL OVER MY HANDS. (Clarification: They weren’t COVERED in blood, but there was more than just a trace amount, and it was dried and on both palms.)

Apparently, after having my stroke in the woods, I blacked out and killed a fellow runner with my bare hands before regaining consciousness and continuing with my run. (“I have never found a companion that was so companionable as solitude.”) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

I’m in the mood for this October!

If you care to know what I’m doing today, it can easily be summed up by what’s written on the calendar. GOTR! Deposit! Call Pumpkin Run! Post Cards for New Families! Library! Harper piano 4:30! CSIP 6:00 Heights! MC piano 6:30! Target Cards x 3! Queen’s Birthday (Australia – WA)! (I’m also going to squeeze in a run and a shower.)

So, my Fight Club thing has found me at a two and a half pound standstill. I wanted to be down ten by Halloween. I don’t believe I have time for the final 7.5, so I’m going to call on my mean buddy Jillian Michaels to smack me around for a bit. What does this mean? I have removed the shrink wrap from my 30 Day Shred DVD.

I’ve been working on some tulip mittens.

The school’s fall festival is over, September is gone, Amy Winehouse is still dead, and here we go!

(November is looking a little rough, so I might try to give NaBloPoMo a whirl one month early. We’ll see what happens.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Year of the Consulship of Tubero and Maximus

I just realized that last week marked the eleventh anniversary of Fluid Pudding. Eleven years. According to this article, eleven years is the average lifespan of an online empire.

Sound the trumpets! And, farewell.

(I considered hitting the Publish button just now, but come on. We all know I’m not going anywhere. (I paid for two years of hosting in May. You don’t buy a year long gym membership and then go only once. (Unless you’re me. In 1996. Really.)) Honestly, I hope I don’t throw a big whiny parade for myself when I decide to leave Fluid Pudding for good. I’m just a tiny tiny room in a house that’s entirely too large, and I have no idea where I’m going with this paragraph. I’ve had a migraine off and on for 14 days now. 14 days! It’s hardly debilitating, but I’m finding that I’m spending more time than I would like rubbing my temples and throwing my head from right to left and saying Powder when I mean Dishwasher and pressing metal balls into my neck. Lots of heat on the pillow and cold on the forehead. One of my very favorite people has recommended acupuncture, and I’m about three days away from making a few calls. Are we still inside a parenthetical thought? Yes. Here. Let’s close it.)

The only time I get a little itchy about The State of Fluid Pudding is when I take note of the people who are talking about their brand and their audience and their advertisers. Don’t get me wrong—I love the idea of creating an actual empire by sitting at the dining room table while writing about fingernail polish, but it’s something I’ve never been able to Get. I’m constantly receiving e-mails that say things like, “Are you a food blogger? Then we may have an opportunity for you!” Are you a crafty blogger? Are you a fashion blogger? Are you an educational blogger? Are you a political blogger? Are you a mommy blogger whose kids are between the ages of 4 and 7? Are you a baby mommy blogger? Do you eat hamburgers? Do you drink wine?

I’m none of those things and less. I’ve done some decent things here and I’ve messed up some things here. (Remind me to tell you the story of May 2011 and how I screwed up a relationship that was very important to me. I’m still kicking myself, and I bruise easily.) Full Disclosure: The ads over to your right throw me enough cash to cover my host fees and my domain renewal. I have no idea what that means, other than I’m coming out even.

I’m a little disappointed in the latest Ben Folds Five album, and I’ve been listening to a LOT of Jellyfish.

This morning during my run, I was stopped by two deer, I was entertained by a guy playing bagpipes, and I was yelled at by a goose. Here’s to eleven more. (Years. Not angry geese.)

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Let’s pretend you’re coming over to my house.

A few days ago, I attended my very first Pampered Chef party. On the morning of the party, I asked Facebook what I should purchase. The response was overwhelming. Batter bowls! Mini-Whipper! Pastry cutter! Coated tongs! Stoneware bar pans! Garlic crusher! Spatula! Chopper! Peanut butter measuring thingy!

Right before I left the house, I told Jeff that I had three goals: 1. I will not spend a silly amount of money on stuff we don’t need, 2. I will not sign up to host a party at our house, 3. I will return home with no new stains on my clothes.

1. I cannot remember the exact amount of money I spent at the party, but I *do* know that I purchased an apple wedger (It’s SweeTango season!!!), a potato masher, and two batter bowls.

3. (There are no rules about order over here.) I did spill a tiny bit of chocolate sauce on my jeans at the party. It washed out. No stains!

2. You know me. I don’t invite anyone over to our house. I don’t have parties. I don’t maintain eye contact for more than three seconds at a time. Ah, but listen! When I mentioned the fact that I consulted Facebook before making my order, the Pampered Chef consultant mentioned that she was going to receive training the very next day on how to host a Pampered Chef Facebook Party!

So, yep. I signed on to be her very first Pampered Chef Facebook Party Hostess! (I’m a hostess, yet no one is coming over! It’s an introverted dream come true!!!)

All of this to say, if you want to place a Pampered Chef order, I can hook you up with my hostess site. (If you don’t live in St. Louis, anything you order can be shipped to you if you’re a US resident. I would now like to apologize to those of you who don’t live in the US.) ((I would now like to high five those of you who don’t live in the US. Have you heard about our presidential candidates?! Welcome to Crazy Town!)) If you order $60 in Pampered Chef product, we’ll throw in an apple wedger for free. (Did I mention how much I love SweeTango apples?! They arrived at our grocery store 48 hours ago, and I’ve eaten six so far. I deserve an apple wedger. And so do you. And you.)

Anyway, shoot me a comment or an e-mail if you need anything! (I need a potato chip maker. Imagine potato chips with chocolate drizzled over the top. Imagine sweet potato chips with cinnamon and sugar. Imagine the big goofy smile that’s currently on my face just thinking about the chip options. I know.)

(Disclaimer: This entry is not intended to make you feel pressure to buy anything. I hate pressure even more than YOU hate pressure. I’m just providing an opportunity. But only if you’re interested. We will always be friends no matter what happens. I’m pretend hugging you right now. (Not really.)) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

And I ran. I ran so far away. I just ran. I ran all night and day. Couldn’t get away.

Hello there.

It looks like I’ve been away for nine days, hasn’t it?

Using what I’ve written in my calendar as a guide, I shall now fill you in on what you missed during the past nine days.

I printed some reports for a meeting. I then made copies of those reports and took them to the meeting, where I was once again elected into an officer position. I wore orange and did not have a drink after the meeting.

I attended a different meeting at church. At that meeting, I volunteered to drive to a train station and take a photograph of a sign. I drove to that station, but didn’t see the sign. (I often don’t see the signs.) Luckily, I *did* find a place to purchase a coffee. In other words, the trip was not a wasted one. (Warning: The pumpkin spice latte at Starbucks is NOT vegan—even if ordered with soy milk. The pumpkin syrup has condensed nonfat milk in it. You’re welcome.) ((And another thing: Meredith has now been mostly dairy-free for nearly a month. As a result, she has weaned herself off of Prilosec and is having no stomach issues. She had been on Prilosec since she was six months old. This is huge.))

I had lunch with a friend at a place where the owner knows exactly how I like my veggie kebobs. (I have trouble with skewers (and onions). Apparently, the kitchen term for Skewerless is Kaboob!)

I went to Target to purchase running shorts for Meredith, who has joined Girls On The Run and will be running her first 5K in November.

We had dinner with friends we haven’t seen in over a decade. (White Castle parking lots don’t count.) Our party of four is now a party of seven, taco night is always a good idea, and although Mizzou lost the game, we still had a splendid time catching up.

Harper had a friend over for seven hours on Sunday. It went down as one of her best days ever, despite the fact that her friend had no interest in watching Newsies.

Piano lessons, trips to the post office, trips to the bank, freelance deadlines, processing PTO stuff, dealing with a migraine which is now about 60% gone, mourning the fact that I’m no longer on Lysteda, taking notes to plead my ablation case, and celebrating the arrival of my 30 Day Shred DVD which is still sitting shrink wrapped on my bookshelf. (Kathy? I need you to come over, unwrap the DVD, and promise that you’ll have lunch with me if I manatee my way through it.)

I finished, blocked, and buttoned my Acer Cardigan.

I learned how tricky it is to be alone while feeling the need to take a photo of the BACK of a cardigan.

Finally, a few nights back, I found myself at the grocery store looking for SweeTango apples and vegan cheese.

Meredith: Did you find your apples?

Me: No, but I found vegan cheese! I went with Daiya.

Meredith: I hope it doesn’t give you Daiya-rhea!

Thank you and good night. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

This is your life and it’s ending one minute at a time.

Sometimes I’m really good at responding to comments at Fluid Pudding. Sometimes I’m just not. Please know that I’ll try to do better. Also, I love how so many people are with me on the “Hey. Let’s drop this extra weight.” gig.

How am I doing with that so far? This morning I weighed two pounds less than I did the last time I saw you. It’s probably part of the whole “two pound daily water weight fluctuation” thing that everyone talks about. I say this because I went to my parents’ house a few days back where I ate a half package of Double Stuf Oreos. (I really do hate that Nabisco leaves off the second f. Can anyone tell me why it’s not included? Is it so people like me will talk about it?) I definitely do not f-ing deserve to be two pounds down. Heh.

This morning I had a banana and coffee for breakfast before I went out for my run. I then returned home and found that one of my very favorite Facebook friends (who occasionally comments here, and I want to link to her so badly, but I’ll wait to gain her permission) had posted before and after shots that show how her body has changed shape since she started working out. It is incredible. Inspiring. It actually brought tears to my eyes. (I’m ovulating.)

So, yes. Fight Club. That’s what we’ll call it and that’s what we’ll do. After all, we’re fighting to escape the temptation umbrella that covers Double Stuf [sic] Oreos and all of Double Stuf Oreos’ friends! Also, if I see one of you on the street, I just might punch you in the face to keep in the spirit of the game. Project Mayhem!!! (I still love all but one of you.)

The first step I’m going to take is to create a better playlist for my runs. I’ve been a little bummed about the fact that I’m still unable to run five kilometers without stopping. I’m also a little bummed that I don’t seem to be running very quickly at all. As I ran this morning, this song came on:

I absolutely love that song, but here’s the thing. I can’t read and listen to music. I can’t knit and listen to music. I really can’t do anything that requires concentration if music is playing. Similarly, because of the marching band feather that I tend to wear in my cap, I cannot walk or run unless it’s with the beat of the music. If I try to ignore the beat and concentrate on my pace, I end up sort of tripping because a small part of me is trying to put three eighth notes with every beat to meet my goal of hitting a ten minute mile. It’s a disaster. So, yeah. No more ballads.

With that said, I also need to be careful, because if I try to step on Leftie with every beat of this song, I’m going to be running faster than the neighborhood rabbits, and that’s when my legs tend to break. Such fence-dancing!

Scout got a haircut, and my camera went fuzzy.

Let’s see. After losing her iPod Nano nearly a year ago, Meredith finally found it yesterday in a tiny pouch on top of her dresser! We have been rejoicing.

Hey. Follow this link and scroll down to #4 on my Things I Love The Most in Life on Friday, April Sixth. (I’ll wait right here.)

Now, let’s sing a song about vicissitudes! Come to find out, the person who was elected to replace me as PTO treasurer dropped out during the summer. Because of our bylaws, only three people were eligible to fill the slot. One of the three said she would do it. (She is not me.) BUT, after thinking about WHY I don’t want to be on the board and also thinking about how the person who said she would do it already has an overflowing plate, I decided to put on my cocksure shoes and step up. As a result, I’ve spent this afternoon searching my closet for a confidence shirt to wear to tomorrow night’s meeting. I believe I’ll go with this one, and I believe I’ll have a Xanax with my traveling big girl cup of water.

I’ve lost my blue knitting notions bag. It’s full of tapestry needles and safety pins and a measuring tape and cable needles and stitch markers and several little pieces of yarn in various weights. If you see it, please let me know. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Results! Growling! Dropping two bags of sugar! Et cetera!

The first thing is typically first: All of my biopsy stuff came back completely normal. Let’s not talk about any of that again, okay? Okay!

The second thing most often follows: Although Meredith is home sick from school today, I got really angry this morning and loaded her into the car for a cookie field trip. (My Belief: If you’re home sick, you really shouldn’t have to deal with someone else’s rage. Instead, there should be cookies and naps and television and rotini. Thus it is, and so it goes.)

And the third? I’m once again in the position where I need to drop ten (or fourteen) pounds. (I know! I’ve been all over the place with my weight this year.) Who’s in? Let’s drop ten (or fourteen) pounds together. Don’t worry. I lack the energy to make buttons or graphs. BUT if you’re in, I’m in. Starting tomorrow, because Thursdays are a great day for ACTION, I’m going to eliminate processed foods and start exercising more regularly. (Yesterday morning I ran for the first time since my 5K a few weeks back, and it went fairly well. Very encouraging.) (Yesterday afternoon I finished off a pounder bag of chocolate chips. This is unacceptable.) My jeans always tend to shrink during the holiday season. Right now, my jeans think it’s Christmas Eve. Something has to be done, and it has to be done before Halloween. Thursday! You’re either with me, or you’re against me. (I know that’s not necessarily true.)

Who else wants to start a fight club?

By the way, Meredith said the funniest thing today as we were having A Special Talk. BUT, I refuse to type it out here for fear of embarrassing her. It’s happening. Fluid Pudding is setting fire to its Mommy Blog name tag. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Amanda Plan A Canal Pandamonium!

Me: Okay. The music is getting louder. It’s time for us to have a conversation.

My sister: What is it?

Me: If everyone around us starts to dance, are you going to join them?

My sister: No. I’m not.

Me: Good. Because me neither. Do you see that lady over there? Have you ever done that before and actually meant it?

My sister: You mean raising the roof?!

Me: Yes. Raising the roof.

My sister: No.

Me: Good. Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I danced with abandon.

My sister: Who is Amanda?

Me: I don’t know anyone named Amanda!

My sister: Is that why you can’t remember dancing with her?!

Me: I’ve never danced with Amanda! IT’S GETTING SO LOUD WE CAN’T EVEN HEAR EACH OTHER! WHAT IF WE GET SEPARATED?! SHOULD WE COME UP WITH A SAFE WORD?!

My sister: I AM NOT GOING TO TRY TO STICK ANYTHING INTO YOUR BUTT!!!

This morning I found myself at my annual gynecologist appointment. (I know! Nice segue with the butt thing, right? Kind of!) Because I let the cat out of the bag regarding the fact that I tend to cycle (heh) for two to three weeks at a time, she decided to take a uterine biopsy.

Me: Do I have to come back for that?

My doctor: Nope. It’s quick. I’ll just do it before I do your pap smear.

Me: Cool beans.

(My slang tends to reach back into the 80s when I’m at the gynecologist. (I spent a lot of time in stirrups back then, too.) Pants. Stirrup pants! HA HA HA!!! I also wore a lot of brooches and fake pearls, Molly Ringwald.)

My doctor, slightly opening the exam room door: Nancy? Can I get a little help in here?

Me: Wait. Why Nancy? Is this going to hurt?

My doctor: You’ll probably feel a little bit of “WHAT ARE YOU DOING DOWN THERE?” but by the time you get to THERE, I’ll be done.

Me: What the–

My doctor: When I count to three, I want you to give me a cough. One, two…

Me: COUGH COUGH COUGH WHATAREYOUDOINGDOWNTHERE COUGH COUGH COUGH!!!!!!

My doctor: All done. You’ll probably be cramping and bleeding for the rest of the day.

And I am, and I am.

Psst! My Acer now has an arm! I just might have a new sweater to wear to marching band competitions! (See how I left us on a happy note? Fluid Pudding is a roller coaster!)

(This is how it works: Pandemonium is spelled with an E. Amanda Plan A Canal is heavy on the A, so I went with Pandamonium. Do not look up the definition in Urban Dictionary. If you DO look it up, please know that all of my Bundt pans are being used in the way that they were originally intended. Yeesh.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>