Fluid Pudding : Page 72 of 123 : It's the old small talk!

One?! If even?!

Jeff was in North Carolina all week, so I did what I always do when he is out of town. I went pretend dress shopping at ModCloth. This is how it works: I put the kids to bed, I jump on the computer, and I spend (probably too much) time browsing the styles I like. I then put all of my favorites into a shopping cart to see how much it would cost to have everything. I then take every single dress OUT of the shopping cart and go to bed. No one gets hurt.

Ah, but Wednesday evening was a bit different. I had spent the better part of the afternoon working on a freelance project, so I decided to actually order a dress. I turned to Facebook, where several of my most fashionable friends hang out, and I presented them with three options: This, this, or this (which is NOT from ModCloth, but is still very cute). At the end of the evening, I went with the Craft Festival Dress. (It was the last one in stock. Victory!)

This afternoon, the girls and I found ourselves at a mall choosing a Father’s Day gift for Jeff. While there, I noticed that two teenaged boys were quietly (but not quietly enough) rating women as they walked by. My gut reaction was to quickly change directions and find a different route to our destination. (Believe me, I also considered confronting the boys, but deep down I knew it would have done more harm than good—especially since my voice shakes and it sounds like I’m about to cry whenever I confront anyone. “Stop judging women! I’m not crying about this despite my quivering tone!”) Because I’m a sucker for the whole “shortest distance between two points” thing, we soldiered on. The woman in front of me, who was probably in her mid 30’s, was wearing a pair of tight jeans and a shiny tank top. Her hair was up in a sloppy ponytail, and she was pushing a stroller. She scored a five. I decided that although I was wearing a brown cotton dress that sort of resembles a cleaning uniform, I could possibly outscore Ponytail Mom if I put a confident smile on my face and perhaps a bit of a bounce in my step. With the girls at my side (they had no idea what was going on, and I wasn’t about to tell them, because I DO know how disgusting it is), I did my runway walk.

Boy #1: One.

Boy #2: If even.

How deflating! I know I’m no Cindy Crawford mom, but a One?! And an If Even?! (I’m so self-conscious of my neck lately. I wonder if my neck had anything to do with my low score. Also, my posture is terrible if I’m not actively thinking about it!)

When I returned home from the mall, I received an e-mail from ModCloth. Apparently, there had been a mix-up with the dress I ordered and it ended up NOT being available after all. They refunded my money and offered a coupon that included free shipping toward the purchase of a new dress.

This was a sign from the universe. (I’m pretending that) I couldn’t care less about those boys and their shoddy rating system. However, perhaps at 42 I really SHOULD try a bit harder to _______ ______ _______. (Try a bit harder to what? I have no idea. I’ve been sitting here for three minutes trying to complete that sentence. Try a bit harder to showcase my inner Amelie? Try a bit harder to not give a crap? Hrm. So many directions.)

Anyway, I once again turned to Facebook. (Because that’s what I do.) This (which I really love, and I can see myself wearing all year round with a black cardigan and leggings—so Amelie-esque!) or this (which will force me to look like I give a crap!)? My friends had definite opinions about both dresses. (One person was brave enough to say that those who voted for the Dressing Room Dress are not my real friends.) Although I definitely wanted to walk away with both dresses, I eventually chose the winner and checked out. I will be bedecking myself with the victor in the next 7-10 business days and will probably need your shoe opinions at that time.

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Puppies and Celine Dion rage! Also, DSM-IV 300.23 with a side of epistaxis!

I need writing prompts! I need to step away from Instagram and Facebook and hang out over here some more! Last week I tried to write every day, and it looks like I crapped out after Monday and Tuesday. Summer is so difficult for me, what with the eating like an idiot and entertaining the kids and reading books and freelancing and whatnot…

Last week we signed up to participate in this morning’s Whiskers and Tales event at the library. The local Love on a Leash chapter was there with eight adorable dogs, and each child got to choose a dog and read to that dog for twenty minutes. Meredith read during the first round, Harper read during the second round, and because so many kids cleared out after round two, Meredith and Harper stuck around to read again during rounds three and four.

This photo was taken during the second round. As Harper read to Lola, Meredith hugged, scratched, and petted Lola. (We loved Lola.)

Speaking of Harper, she is now wearing glasses.

She has always been jealous of Meredith’s glasses, and she often tries on my glasses and wears them around the house. Sadly, her vision is perfect, and she has no need for a prescription. Ah, but last week she had ten dollars and we found ourselves strolling around a store that sold plastic lenses for nine dollars, and finally! (She has received many compliments on her glasses. She is quite pleased with her purchase.)

This morning I spent nearly twenty minutes watching Celine Dion videos. A friend on Facebook posted a video of Ms. Dion singing an Adele song and it made me so angry and I wanted to find some footage from the Oprah episode that featured Celine Dion because that woman drives me crazy (Clarification: Celine drives me crazy. Oprah? I can’t relate to her, but I don’t necessarily want to beat her up in my front yard.) and I wanted to be able to show people WHY she drives me crazy, and the more time I spent watching Celine Dion videos the more angry and sickened I became, and finally I found myself hurling frozen chicken breasts at the computer screen because, yes! Here are some highlights from that Oprah show. (If you can’t watch it without feeling rage, we should get together and do the tapas thing sometime because I think we could share tidings of great joy as well as a plate of fig marmalade on fancy bread.)

Yesterday I went “running” for the fourth time since May 31. (I’m trying to stick at least 48 hours between “runs” so that my left leg doesn’t crack.) Anyway, I’m finding that when I get to the track, more often than not, someone is already there. I then take off walking in the same direction as that person so that I never find myself face-to-face with them. Have I ever mentioned my weird social anxiety? I have? Well, take that anxiety and multiply it by 34 when I’m “running” toward someone and feeling the need to make eye contact. Okay. Yesterday I got to the track and quickly learned that it was going to be a counter-clockwise day. Fine by me. When I was about halfway through my program, an older woman showed up at the track and started walking clockwise! Argh! Are you kidding me? I “ran” past her and gave her a half-smile. I “ran” past her again and noticed that she was looking at me, so I gave her the same half-smile. (Please know that I just spent about 20 minutes trying to take a photo of myself giving a half-smile. Failure.) After about four awkward and hating it half-smiles, I ripped my ear buds out (it was my final cool down lap which means Then She Appeared was playing), gave the woman a full-on crazy smile, and yelled/sputtered, “IT’S SO HOT OUT HERE!” (I lack creative openers when my heart and knees are on the verge of blowing up.) Anyway, as soon as I passed her, she CHANGED DIRECTIONS so that we didn’t have to face each other again. Half of me celebrated a tiny OCD victory, because finally! Everyone was moving in the same direction! The other half felt a little MORE self-conscious (is it even possible?!) because I really do feel like my awkward and loud “IT’S SO HOT OUT HERE!” freaked the lady out.

As soon as I got to my car, I looked in the mirror and noticed that my nose ring was bleeding, and I had a dime-sized spot of dried blood on the side of my face.

The woman changed directions because I was an unpredictable semi-fast-moving hypertensive psycho and she couldn’t help me or fight me if things moved closer to the edge! (My philosophy: If you cannot (or are unwilling to try to) help someone, you should be willing/able to fight them. I’m looking at you, Celine Dion. You too, Naomi Judd.)

A big part of me loves that I scared that woman. Another big part of me wants to bake something and keep it in my car in case I ever run into her again. I feel like I owe her an Apology Pecan Pie. It won’t freak her out at all if she sees me “running” toward her with a steaming hot pie plate, right?

Let’s meet up here more often, shall we? I miss you. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Tuesday!

Because Jeff has authors in town and authors in town sometimes means dinner away from home, the girls and I decided to declare this evening Pizza Night.

We left the house at 5:15 to pick up our produce bag from the co-op.

If you’re interested in the contents, here is the photo:

Lettuce and sweet potatoes and garlic and apples and peaches and bananas and strawberries and peppers and tomatoes and green beans and corn and grapes and artichokes. I predict zero waste this time around. Artichokes!

On the way home we stopped by Little Caesars. (Little Caesars is not particularly GOOD, but a cheese pizza is $5 and it’s definitely edible.) The boy working the drive-thru window was very smiley, and probably high.

Meredith: Mom, I think that guy likes you.

Me: Why would you say that?

Meredith: He can’t stop smiling at you.

Me: Meredith, that has nothing to do with me. I think it’s just his demeanor.

Meredith: Are you talking about his privates?!

Me: Yes. I’m talking about his privates. Do you want Crazy Bread?

Meredith: Yes, please. WHAT IS DEMEANOR?!

I hope this summer never ends. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

Monday!

A week has passed, and what do I have to show for it?

A friend and I signed on for the library’s adult summer reading program. They’re pushing science fiction this summer, but I know myself better than they do, and I know that science fiction will slow me down even more than I’m already slowed. I *am* pleased to report that I have finished one book since signing on last Tuesday. (If I remember correctly, I’m supposed to finish ten books before mid-August. I lack the energy to check the pamphlet because deep down I know that if I’m required to read 12 or 15 books, I’m going to walk the pamphlet over to the recycle bin, call my friend, and change our plan from life-transformation through books to social transformation through a weekly drink on the town.)

What did I read? I read Good Stuff by Jennifer Grant, and I always hesitate to say awful things about books, so I’ll just say this: Despite the book, I still love Cary Grant. Because of the book, I do believe that perhaps *I* could write a book! Bonus: Unlike Jennifer Grant’s book, *MY* book would not contain anything about anyone being “all that plus a bag of chips.” I’m currently halfway through both Some Assembly Required and Let’s Pretend This Never Happened, and I have five more books waiting for me at the library. (Not a smart move. As soon as I stack those five books on my shelf and remind myself that they’re all due back in two weeks, there’s a really good chance that I’ll grab them all and immediately drive them back to the library so someone else can have a chance. Have I mentioned that Jeff and I have also been baking a lot of cookies and that I currently have seven games of Draw Something going on? It’s all so time consuming.)

These are so good. If you can ignore the part about the chocolate, it appears that they’re good FOR you, too!

AND, speaking of good for you, I was the pissiest you’ve ever seen me last Thursday, so I decided to take my anger to the streets! I didn’t have the proper equipment to blow up a car, so I ran around a track instead. (By “ran around a track”, please know that there was more walking than running. Also, lots of huffing (oxygen, not paint fumes—but remind me to tell you about the time when my mom and I were eating at a Popeye’s and some guy came wobbling out of the bathroom with a brown paper bag in his hand and spray paint all over his mouth.)) All of this to say: I’m currently two days into the first week of my third attempt to get through Ease Into 5K. I find that I run really well when my phone shuffles into Pass the Mic, and I tend to twirl and sashay when I’m given Reflecting Light. I’m definitely developing my own “running” style.

This morning while I was “running” (I’ll remove those quotation marks when it’s deserved, and not a minute before), I was joined by a class of 20 high school summer school students. Four of them were walking around the track with coffee. It made me so happy.

Okay, so with the Draw Something and the cookies and the running and the reading, I’ve been busy. (Did I mention that I’m now on Instagram? Funny how my new phone is making me more social and less social at the same time. (I believe my user name is fluidpudding, but I can never really remember who gets to see my real name and who doesn’t. Someday I’ll admit that my last name isn’t really Pudding.))

Yesterday morning I was recruited to work in the church kitchen to prepare for the congregational lunch. Within the first five minutes, one woman told me (snidely!) that I looked lost. Another told me (smart-assedly!) that it looked like I was the one who NEEDED help. I got pissed and walked off the job. Ten minutes later, when those women had left the kitchen and were sitting down in the pews where they belonged, I returned to the kitchen and had a wonderful time sticking spoons into potato salads and “accepting” the delivery of something like 100 chickens who had been killed, dismembered, and fried to “perfection.” (Two of us worked the kitchen yesterday morning. Both of us are vegetarians with vegan tendencies. The chicken delivery man seemed a bit disappointed that he wasn’t greeted with adoration. “All six of these vats are filled with chicken parts? Okay, then. I’ll put them in the oven and try to forgive myself for feeding dead birds to people I actually like. Carry on to your next destination, Chicken Man.” (All of these things were said in my head. I’m very kind to chicken delivery men when I’m in God’s house. I’m kind to chicken delivery men when I’m NOT in God’s house, too. Everyone is doing their best.)) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

So Far, So Good

I am pleased to report that we have reached the first weekend of our summer break.

Meredith has read over 500 pages this week, and has decided to devote her summer to reading the Mark Twain 2012-2013 Final Nominees.

Harper has been focusing her energy on the Newsboys Strike of 1899. We’ve heard a rumor that William Randolph Hearst is a distant relative, and Harper is all fired up. (Like me, she now has the entire Newsies soundtrack memorized. This makes our car rides 94% more entertaining.)

Last week I won a bottle of barbecue sauce from the produce co-op. This morning I won some tea from Teavana. I made some vegan cookies, I’ve been to Gokul twice in the past week, and my basil is ready to be cut and placed upon a plate with mozzarella and tomatoes. (I measure my successes culinarily.)

I’m currently reading Ten Thousand Saints.

A pair of green tights arrived in the mail this afternoon.

My Acer Cardigan has reached the halfway point.

I do believe I have another stress fracture in my leg. (I’ve been walking in the mornings.) BUT, let’s not talk about that. (I’m registered for a 5K in August. Sink or swim.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

She’s Come Undone

Today is the last day of school. I’ve always preferred the first day of school to the last day. Something about the smell of pencils and the feeling of potential jazzes me much more than the smell of sweat and the possibility of chaos.

This morning, instead of going through the circle drive to drop off the girls, I parked my car and walked them in. (I had a hat to deliver to one of the teachers. A baby hat. A baby newsie hat. A gray baby newsie hat. Details. (Does anyone ever say “the devil is in the details”, or has it gone the way of 23 Skidoo? Let’s bring back 23 Skidoo!))

Anyway, I delivered the hat and then I walked down to Meredith’s classroom, and the entire time I was walking I was also stopping to talk to teachers and I’ve never really socialized in the halls before, so I was feeling all Welcome Back Kotter with a hint of Mary Tyler Moore and I was wearing a dress that’s slightly too tight on top (foreshadowing!) and I talked to Meredith’s teacher for a bit and then I walked down the hall again and spoke to a few reading teachers as well as the ELL teacher and then I stopped off in the office and spoke to the school secretary and she complimented the dress so I did what I do and went into the whole story of how I GOT the dress (I’m exhausting.) and then I signed out and exited the building and walked to my car.

And as I was walking, I felt a breeze.

A bosom breeze.

And I looked down and saw that my dress was unbuttoned down to my waist.

In other words, the first time I toyed with social butterflyism, I did so while J-Lo-ing to the professionals who are educating my children.

It’s good that today is the last day.

I now have three months to recover. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

There’s a hole in my sniffer!

So, I talked about it back in January.

AND, I talked about it again in April.

Today I had a root beer and pickle chip lunch with a friend. One thing led to another and suddenly I found myself sitting on a table in a tattoo and piercing shop.

Sometimes you just have to stop talking long enough for a professional to shove a rod through your nose.
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42 Spanking Heads Baked in a Pie

As you know, I turned 42 over the weekend. 42 has always been one of my very favorite numbers, so I have it in my head that it’s only a matter of minutes before my bucket starts filling up with more glitter, peach pie, and fancy (yet sensible) shoes.

My life took a bit of a turn on Friday evening when my family gifted me with my very first smart phone. (I always upgrade my phone with whatever is free at Best Buy. As a result, my phones are always a bit simple-minded with a distinct lack of whistles and flares, and I’m okay with that. As long as I can call out when I need to call out, I’m good. Why have a zipper when hooks and eyes work just as well?!)

Anyway. (Cue the harpsichords and Baptist choirs!) I now own an iPhone. And it’s the kind that talks to you and helps you determine how many days are left until Christmas and how many miles you live from Jackson Hole and how to make hummus out of sweet potatoes. My only complaint is that I can’t quite figure out how to make it compliment and reassure me randomly throughout the day. (“You look especially fetching today, Angie Spanking Head.” “Your anger is justified, Angie Spanking Head.” “You don’t have to take this bullshit, Angie Spanking Head.” “If I wasn’t such a phone, I would invite you to a make-out party, Angie Spanking Head.”)

(My phone calls me Angie Spanking Head because Jon Scieszka and Lane Smith signed my copy of Squids Will Be Squids with an Angie Spanking Head shout-out from Aesop. This is one of Harper’s most favorite things EVER, so we decided to Make It Happen iPhonetically.)

This weekend was particularly good. It found us eating burritos and nachos and pie and making vegan chocolate chip cookies and taking naps and listening to episodes of Roderick on the Line, which is my new favorite non-knitting podcast.

The final day of school is one week from today. The idea of summer normally stresses me out. This year I’m just going to roll with it while baking a stupid amount of cupcakes and taking the girls to ice skating lessons and demanding that my phone sing Beastie Boy tunes for me. (And I think to myself, “What a wonderful world.”) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

It’s the heart afraid of breaking that never learns to dance!

Since we last spoke, I helped a bunch of adorable first graders make buttons (I helped only the adorable ones. I sent the not-so-adorable ones away.), I took a gaggle of girls out for pedicures and fondue, I talked about physical therapy vs. massage with my migraine doctor, I met up with a friend for dinner and the symphony (as a result, I now have a married girl crush on Stephen Hough), I dealt with the sparks of a migraine, I went to a school dinner, I deposited some PTO cash, I took the girls to the American Girl store so they could blast through some of their birthday gift cards, I celebrated Scout’s one year anniversary with us, I worked on freelance, and I shopped for retiring teacher gifts.

This afternoon I attended a Greek and Roman banquet at the middle school (I baked a cake this morning!), I volunteered for a bit at the elementary, and I nearly finished one of the front sides of my Acer. This evening is dinner with a friend. Tomorrow is the Australian barbecue at the middle school and This American Life Live with my mom. Friday is lunch and more volunteer time. On Saturday, I’ll be turning 42 and writing in my new tiny orange diary. Sometime between now and then I need to choose a pen. I have no complaints.

Final Hot Pants Update: I am still the exact same size as I was two weeks ago. It is now time to wash my Hot Pants and become a bit more realistic, mainly because a good friend whom I’ve never actually met just gave me an amazing deal on a few ModCloth dresses, and the dresses are a size smaller than what I normally wear. Such a challenge. (This same good friend is vegan, and she just shared some very valuable information with me: Nutter Butter Cookies are vegan. Yes! They are! I bought a package yesterday (I’ve been going vegan on Tuesdays), and every time I eat one I think about those dresses that are certainly not going to GROW in the wash.)

In 2010, my parents gave me a rose bush for my birthday. It was lovely and FILLED with roses. I replanted it, and because I probably did something incorrectly, last year it graced me with only one rose.

On Saturday, it looked like this.

It appears that one more rose may or may not pop up in the next few days. Perhaps I’ve been listening to too much Sarah McLachlan lately, but I’m still going to say it: I would rather have one beautiful rose than seven half-ass roses. (Didn’t Sarah McLachlan say that? Am I thinking of Enya again? REO Speedwagon?!)

Can I get away with wearing my Liesl sweater over a checked dress?!

I think it works, but I’m not nearly as good at this as I used to be. (Remind me to tell you about the blind date I went on with a police officer who really wanted to show me his bulletproof vest. And by “bulletproof vest,” I mean bulletproof vest!) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>

This is what’s under my skirt.

When I was in college, I would spend the summer months working in St. Louis for a company that tries to prevent people from collecting unemployment benefits. (It’s a long story. It never really matched up with my core values, and because I hate to compromise when it comes to Values, I eventually transferred over to switchboard operating which might sound like a demotion, but it sure didn’t feel like one because I was fed many more cupcakes and catered lunches as an operator than I was as a claim investigator. PLUS, the pay was exactly the same! Now! Back to our story!)

Because my summer months were often spent trying to lose the weight I had gained the year before in college, my lunch as a switchboard operator (when I wasn’t enjoying catering or cupcakes) normally consisted of Slim-Fast and strawberries. A few people rolled their eyes at me, and looking back I can see why: I was probably weighing in at 120 and desperately trying to get back to 107 before school started in the fall. In other words, I probably didn’t need to drop any weight, but it was A Thing. So, there I sat with my little can of diet drink and my fresh fruit trying to make conversation with the (seemingly depressed, mostly crabby) throngs of people who sucked down Chinese leftovers and tubes of Pringles. (I worked with over 300 people. I can name all of the pleasant ones in the time it would take you to say “You take my life when you take the means whereby I live.” (Shakespeare was sort of a stud, wasn’t he?))

I exited that company for the last time more than a dozen years ago, and in that dozen years I’ve signed on for MANY types of weight loss whims. I drank nothing but soup for weeks at a time. I took weight loss pills. I ate a bunch of grapefruit. I didn’t eat anything.

I have a number of tragic flaws. My inability to accept what I see in the mirror is probably my worst.

When one of my favorite people called a few weeks back to report that Groupon was offering Hot Pants for next to nothing, I was all over it. Supposedly, you can wear these things for two weeks, and you just might drop two pants sizes. (Some people say you need to wear them during exercise. Others say they did next to nothing and still dropped the inches. One woman actually reported losing four inches from each thigh and all she did was light gardening and housework, and that’s why you can’t believe everything you read on the internet!)

I’ve been wearing skirts for the past week. Do you want to know why?

I decided to take the Two Week Hot Pants Challenge, and I decided to do it slothfully. (I still have the boot for two more weeks, meaning I really can’t move around very much. This is not a bad thing. I don’t like moving around very much. Hot Pants!) The two week challenge involves wearing the pants all day and all night. The only time I’ve taken them off is to shower, and then I quickly put them back on again. Surprisingly, they don’t stink. (Believe me. I’m highly paranoid of being stinky.)

This is what I know: The Hot Pants make me sweat like crazy. I’m now drinking 64 ounces of water every day (at least), and all 64 ounces are dripping off of my hips, legs, and butt. I’m totally okay with that, because it feels like something is happening. (I just hope the something has nothing to do with an unfortunate infection brought on by sitting in puddles of my own sweat. I know! It’s nastiness! Hot Pants!)

After one week of wearing the pants, here are my results:

My hips are exactly the same size as they were one week ago.

My thighs are exactly the same size as they were one week ago.

The texture of my skin is the same as it was one week ago.

And, yes. Deep down I sort of knew that this would be the case. There is no such thing as a pair of pants that will change your shape as you sit on the couch eating kale chips. (So many kale chips!) I’ll take my measurements again at the end of the challenge, but I have a funny feeling I won’t be seeing any changes. Because I take less than 1,000 steps per day! (I’m not proud of that. Don’t think I’m proud of that.)

So, anyway. One week down, and one to go.

Sing it with me! Hot Pants!

(Wait! Don’t hit my comment box and go all nutty on how ridiculous I am! I know myself even better than you know me! That is a fact!) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>