Do you remember a few days back when I was lamenting about how a typical family of four cannot afford to see a show (specifically, Beauty and the Beast) at the Fox Theatre? Jasmin left a comment encouraging me to call the box office and ask if they sell rush tickets. I did, and yes! They do! BUT, they can’t guarantee that there will be any tickets left for Beauty and the Beast. BUT, the (very kind) woman I spoke with told me that I could go to the box office (thereby eliminating the ticket service charge) and say that I get The Pasta House Discount, which will take $10 off the price of each ticket. (In other words, the total price for four tickets will be about $80 cheaper if purchased at the box office instead of from the internet.) Victory!
Jeff was home sick today. (Flying from St. Louis to California to St. Louis to North Carolina and back to St. Louis in a span of 72 hours will do that to you.) I took advantage of his presence by making him ride to the Fox Theatre with me. (Driving into the city tends to make me nervous unless someone is in the passenger seat telling me what to do.) We went to the box office, where we quickly learned that the matinee shows didn’t have any decent seats left. Although I swore I wouldn’t do an evening show (because my kids tend to be in bed at 8:00 each night, and the evening Fox shows don’t start until 7:30), we decided that in order to get seats that Meredith could enjoy, an evening show was our only choice. When we selected our seats, I cleared my throat and said something to the effect of “Psst! Pasta House Discount! Whitey Herzog!”
Box Office Lady: That discount isn’t valid for these seats.
Me: Oh. Um. Oh. Are there any other discounts or coupons?
Box Office Lady: There is a Schnucks discount!
Me: Psst! Schnucks Discount! REO Speedwagon!
Box Office Lady: That discount isn’t valid for these seats, either.
Oh, internet. I did what I didn’t think I could do. I banged my fist on the table, smiled the smile of an insecure high school cheerleader, and sang, “I’ll take the tickets ANYWAY! HERE IS MY CHARGE CARD! RUN IT QUICKLY BEFORE I CHANGE MY MIND!!!”
We haven’t yet told the girls. I sort of want to get them dressed up, take them out for a nice dinner, and then spring the show on them.
On Friday, I sent Meredith to a birthday party wearing only a shirt and tights. (I didn’t realize her legwear wasn’t leggings until she sat down for dinner and I noticed that her “leggings” had a really strong seam up the back side, and that I could see her skin through them.) Party like a rock star, Meredith. Someday I’ll help pay for your therapy.
Speaking of which, I started physical therapy this morning. My current goal is to do a five minute walk with zero swelling. After that? A ten minute walk. When I work up to a thirty minute walk, I’m good to start running a bit. (This could take months.) In the meantime? Exercises! Some of which involve big yellow rubberbands and writing the alphabet in the air with my feet!
In other words, it’s time to stick a Ding Dong on a martini glass and roll around in some 1994.
As you know, I started running on September 7th. I used a Couch to 5K program, and as much as I hated it, I also sort of loved it. (Honesty: I loved when the little voice in my iPod told me that the workout was over. That felt good.)
On Monday, September 19th, also known as Week Three, Day One, I took a tiny stumble. It was just a blip. No pain. I kept on running. Later that night I found that my ankle was all swollen and sore.
Tomorrow marks the eight week anniversary of that stumble, and believe it or not: My ankle STILL feels too weak to run. It still swells up at night. It still wakes me up when I roll over onto my left side.
All of this to say, Heather is a stud, and I’m starting physical therapy tomorrow morning at 9:00. My goal is to be running again before the start of the new year.
Yesterday at this time, Jeff was in California. He’s now in North Carolina.
(He was in St. Louis from midnight until seven in the morning—just long enough to let the dogs out for their middle of the night thing and hang out with Meredith and I as she dealt with one of her stomach aches on top of her current runny nose/cough thing.)
The girls and I have been trifling for most of the day. We bought more special food for Henry. We picked up a fresh pizza from Papa Murphy’s. I put in three and a half hours toward my freelance job. The girls played the piano and read books and watched a bit of Harry Potter Weekend on ABC Family. I need to do some laundry. (I always need to do some laundry.)
My church book club meets tomorrow, and I suppose I should just refer to it as my book club, because it seems that my other book club has disbanded. We’ll be discussing The Elegance of the Hedgehog—a book I read with my disbanded book club over a year ago. I finished The Marriage Plot at three o’clock in the morning, and I loved it right up until the final page. (I sometimes wonder if there’s a page count issue when novels don’t end as strongly as they began.) Tonight I’ll be starting The Psychopath Test as well as a pair of fingerless mitts for Meredith’s teacher. Christmas is coming.
Hey! Tomorrow I’m going to talk about running! (I know!)
Twenty years ago at this time I was most likely applying eye liner and curling my hair.
(Shout out to Carroll, who is currently brushing her teeth.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
The thing about the dogs is that although they’re ready for bed at 10:00 (and so am I), they tend to want to take a break from their crates sometime between 2:00 and 4:00 in the morning to go outside and do their business. More often than not, they will then return to their crates and sleep until it’s time for the rest of us to get up.
If I get up for their middle of the night bathroom break, I cannot get back to sleep. Jeff has slightly better luck with this.
Here is the current problem: Jeff is out of town.
Last night the dogs and I went to bed at 10:00. At 4:32, they asked if I would take them outside for a quick breath of fresh air. I obliged.
The minute Henry stepped into the back yard, he went batty and started barking like a 25 pound puppy with a man dog voice. Because that’s what he is. I’m horrified at the thought of the dogs waking the neighbors, so I did what anyone in my position would do. I stepped outside and began “scream whispering.”
Me (in pajamas, which is really just a t-shirt and sweats): HENry. HENry. Bananas! Bananas! Puppy treats! Stop! Stop! HENry!
The barking continued. I ran back into the house, grabbed a bag of puppy bones (the treats he isn’t allowed to have because of the food trial), ran BACK out to the yard, and frantically started shaking my bag of bones (literally and figuratively) as I danced around trying to avoid the fresh piles of dog crap.
It seemed like we were outside for at least twenty minutes. When the dogs came in and went back to their crates, I looked at the clock. 4:38.
I’ve been up since 4:38. I’m now within 15 pages of finishing The Marriage Plot, and I’m hesitating to finish it because I don’t want it to end. I have a definite picture in my mind of each of the characters, and I actually CARE about at least two of them, which doesn’t happen very often for me.
Question: How on earth does a family of four afford to see Beauty and the Beast at the Fox Theater? It occurred to me a few months back that my kids would love going to the Fox. When I saw that Beauty and the Beast would be there around Christmas, it seemed like the obvious time to go. Sure, I could go for the $25 tickets that actually cost $29, meaning I would pay roughly $120 for us to go. BUT, Meredith wouldn’t be able to see very well from those seats. For Meredith to actually see what was happening, we would probably need to go with the $52 or $66 seats, which actually cost $60 and $76. (It’s cute how the service charge goes up along with the ticket prices.) During the holiday season (or any other season, if I’m totally honest with you), I don’t have $240 or $304 to spend on an afternoon at the theater. AND, I know that I could go with a local community theater and get the same show for something like 1/10th of the cost, but I want my kids to see a show at The Fox. (Some people want their kids to have at least one hot meal every day. Please know that I know how ridiculous I’m being right now.)
I just ate a pint of blackberries. My second huge cup of coffee is in the microwave. I’m going to take some time today to think about everyone I know who falls into the category of Veteran. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
This morning Meredith presented me with a class selection sheet from which she was supposed to choose three classes she is interested in taking during the second half of the school year.
Here is the description of her first choice:
It’s Your Thing: Are you more artist or engineer? – poet or scientist? – writer or naturalist? Maybe you’re a Renaissance person like Leonardo da Vinci, and you can do it all! Find out and have fun exercising both sides of your brain just like da Vinci did as you fill your own journal / sketchbook with insights, questions, sketches, and things you wonder about while you investigate all kinds of topics from Rube Goldberg machines and juggling to music making and water painting. Select projects that pique your interest because… it’s your thing.
If they offered this class to adults, I would be there. Wearing an owl skirt, perhaps.
(Her second choice involves building robots using an RCX unit and LEGOs. Third choice? Chemistry! Fourth: Greek and Roman Studies. Fifth: Native Americans.)
((By the way, I love that the Native American class is titled They Were Here First. Because, you know, they were.))
This is completely unrelated, but you know how I am: I went down to get the mail today, and there I found the Ben Folds and WASO: Live from Perth DVD. As you read this shoddy update, please know that I’m probably sitting on the couch with a big smile on my face. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
It’s 5:11 in the evening, and it just occurred to me that I haven’t stopped by today.
Let’s see.
I’ve been working on a freelance gig and juggling dogs all afternoon, and it’s surprisingly hard to clock hours when you’re constantly having to break up fights and remove objects from mouths.
In less than an hour, we’ll be attending parent/teacher conferences. I’ve had no time to stress about what to wear, and that’s good. You get what you get: jeans, v-neck purple shirt, ivory scarf, orange socks, blue shoes.
I have an acorn squash in the oven. It will be ready in less than seven minutes. This excites and terrifies me, as I’ve never had an acorn squash before. If my stomach is growling during the conferences, you’ll know what happened. Butter and salt? Butter and salt. ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
When November rolls around, I know it’s time to make my eye appointment and my mammogram appointment. (May? Gynocologist! January/June? Dentist/Dentist!)
Last week I called Metro Imaging and set myself up for the mammogram. (Confession: I used to think that Metro Imaging was a Glamour Shots sort of place where you go for image enhancement and photographs taken with fancy pants filters. (Have I ever told you about the time when I worked at a photography studio and I helped the photographer build up his book by posing in a fur coat? What in the hell was going on back in 1992?!) Anyway, Metro Imaging has nothing to do with lipstick and attitude! (At least that’s not their main selling point.) It’s all about radioactivity and wellness!)
Some of you have been down the mammogram road. Some of you haven’t. Some of you probably NEED to, but are a little nervous about making the call. If that’s your case, then know that I am talking to you and you alone right now. Everyone else has left the room, and I’m sitting on your couch getting ready to clear my throat and have a heart to heart with you. Are you ready? (I’m wearing a cardigan.)
I absolutely despise the fact that television tells us that it’s funny to hate our in-laws and that mammograms are super painful. Neither of those things are true! First of all, hate is ugly and gives you premature lines around your eyes. Secondly, mammograms are weird, but in my experience, they aren’t painful. (Full disclosure: I’ve had three of them. I was all nervous and annoying during the first one, but the next two were breezy.)
When you show up for the mammogram appointment, you have to fill out a form that asks if you have implants, have ever felt a lump, have been experiencing a discharge, etc. In my mind, these forms are not used only to provide important information, they’re also used to break down your wall of nerves. Look at you. You are sitting on a couch and filling out a sheet that has cartoon boobs drawn on it, and that’s weird and not something you do every day, right? Take a deep breath.
When the paperwork is done, you’ll be led to a little room where you will remove everything that covers your chest. (Keep your pants on. IMPORTANT: Do not wear a jumpsuit to your mammogram. I’m about to tell you why.) After you’ve taken off your shirt and bra, you’ll put on this weird poncho thing. It has snaps, and I have no idea if they go in the front or the back. Similarly, every time I’ve put the poncho on, I do a punching action with my arms to try to find the sleeves. There are no sleeves. It’s just a big circle of fabric with a hole cut for your head (thank God, because otherwise you would look like a porno ghost), and when you put it on, it hits you right at the waistline. (This is why a jumpsuit would be a bad idea. Of course, modesty can be overrated, I suppose. Wear nice underpants. Just in case.)
The technician will come and get you, and if you’re lucky, he or she (usually she) will be really nice and aware of how vulnerable you might be feeling in that little poncho. (My poncho had flower pots on it, which is definitely not my style. Then again, as you know, I don’t really know my style right now. But wait. I do know that this is my style, but is sadly not in my budget right now. Owls on a skirt!)
Me: I never remember how to put this thing on.
Technician: That’s okay. We’re going to be lifting it up and moving it around, so just do whatever’s comfortable.
Let’s stop right here for a second. (This is where I tell you things that make me squirmy, but I feel like I should put everything out there because Mammograms Are So Important.) My chest isn’t the biggest chest. With that said, it’s also not the smallest chest. The last time I was measured for a bra, I came in at a 32D. In other words, I’ve got some stuff to smoosh. And we’re about to smoosh it.
Loosen up, because the technician is about to treat you like a mannequin. You will step forward, she will take your right (or left) breast and place it against a piece of thick glass. She’ll then press the button that will make another piece of thick glass come down and hold your breast in place. This can be a tight squeeze, and it can feel a little awkward and uncomfortable. BUT, I promise you: It lasts for only ten to fifteen seconds. In fact, there are only four “poses” she has to get before you’re all done. Here. I’ll show them to you. (I’m taking off my cardigan right now.)
This is pose one and two. Pretend my hands are the glass sheets. Your stuff is going to be smooshed from top to bottom for ten to fifteen seconds, and I suppose I should have done this topless with cookie sheets, but Fluid Pudding is not like that. (At least right now it isn’t.)
Here is pose three and four. For me, this is the more awkward position, because I had to stick my arms up in the air (like I just didn’t care) so everything sat the right way between the glass sheets. (Fun Fact: I smiled for every shot. I know that’s ridiculous, but it’s also the closest thing I’ll ever get to posing topless, so I took advantage of the situation. Also, I was wearing sparkling lip gloss.)
If you go to Metro Imaging, a radiologist will read the images right away. After my fourth radiograph was taken, I was led back to my changing room and asked to wait there (in the poncho) until my images were studied. Less than five minutes later, I was handed a certificate that said, “Negative Exam.” I celebrated those two words with a chai latte and a promise to be better about the self-exam thing. (I’m *terrible* about the self-exam thing.)
Do you see how easy it is? No one judges. The pressure of the machinery lasts for less than a minute total. If your results are negative? Huge relief and you’re done for twelve months (or more, if you’re young!). If your results AREN’T negative, well, thank God you know so you can figure out the next step!
Go get a mammogram. For me. (Not really for me. More for YOU. And for me. Because I like you.)
(I just put my cardigan back on.) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
Despite the fact that I felt all self-conscious about my lack of dress-up clothes, Jeff and I left the house early yesterday evening to see Ben Folds play with the St. Louis Symphony Orchestra. In case you’re wondering what I wore, I dressed pretty much like this:
(Three differences: I was with Jeff—not the stiff umbrella man. Also, I wore boots. Finally, there was no need for umbrellas.) ((Have I mentioned lately how much I love Julie at Sungazing Photography?))
We left the house at 6:00 and decided to grab dinner before the show. We were a bit short on time, so we decided all we really needed was something quick and filling that wouldn’t make us feel gross afterward: Fast Food Sushi. (I know!) As we walked into the restaurant, I mentioned to Jeff that it feels like my jacket is a little too yellow for November.
Me: I feel like I’m trying to be that guy who hangs out with Curious George.
We ordered our food and I chose a table near the television so Jeff could watch the Rams game. The table next to ours held two girls crocheting scarves. Ahhhh. All is well. AND, then the radio started playing Upside Down by Jack Johnson. And it’s not a bad song, but it IS on the Curious George soundtrack. Sign from God to take off the jacket? I think so.
Fast forward. Dinner? It was okay. (Since when is a tempura roll not the least bit crunchy? Since last night, I suppose! BUT, I still ate the entire thing, so I can’t complain!) Parking at Powell Hall? Five bucks. How was the crowd? They were stunning. Seriously. The place was filled to the brim with Lovely. Evidence: The first person we saw after finding our seats was Kelli, who is SO smart and witty and lovely and with child! On the other side of my hump (architectural term for the barrier between our dress box and the adjoining dress box) was Carrie! (She’s a knitter and a writer and I’ve never actually met her before, but I’ve admired her for quite some time!) Also at the show? Lisa M., who you might recognize from her comments here. Because of Facebook, we’ve become fast friends, and she’s lovely and kind and is also a writer!
Before the show, I took my camera out of my bag and set it up so I could capture a few shots of Ben Folds. Almost immediately, a little maroon tuxedo-wearing man ran up and said, “I’m going to have to cut you off. There are no photos allowed of the orchestra.” SO, I sat there and bitched to Jeff for several minutes, because the place was FILLED with people taking photos with their smart phones. I almost felt like I was being discriminated against because my phone is below average. (Ah! But I learned my lesson. Surprisingly, very few people were taking photos after the show started. I need to keep reminding myself that seeing a show at Powell Hall is a lot different than chilling out at Lilith Fair. Sorry for my nasty thoughts, Tuxedo Man.)
Hhhhhh. We’re already at 520 words, and I haven’t even started talking about the show. I’ll just say this: It was amazing. Incredible. I’ve seen Ben Folds five or six times over the years, and this was by far my favorite performance. (Close second? Seeing Ben Folds Five at Mississippi Nights in 1997.)
Here’s my thing: I love going to the symphony. I don’t go very often. In fact, I haven’t been since I saw Jon Nakamatsu play with the Nashville Symphony back in late 1999. And that’s ridiculous. I don’t like watching sports on television. The only thing that helps me understand the excitement that so many people feel when they watch a football game is the excitement *I* feel when I watch an orchestra. Swelling dynamics, hidden sparks, musical conversations between strings and brass… I know you’re probably rolling your eyes right now. I get that. Anyway, it stirs me.
Here’s another thing: I’m totally into Ben Folds. Sure, he’s quirked it up over the years and I can barely listen to his latest stuff with my kids in the room, but nevertheless: I think he’s WISE. And ridiculously clever. He sings, I smile. It’s that simple.
One more thing: I’m a sucker for piano-driven bands, and I’m a sucker for classical musicians. When you put these two things together, there I’ll be—beating my hands on my legs and displaying my big goofy grin. That’s a promise.
Instead of trying to explain how wonderful each and every song was, I’ll list what he played (In order! AND, I’ll embed a few because I’m awesome like that!) and link the others up to YouTube as best as I can. If you don’t know Ben Folds, let this act as a primer. If you’re a fan, just sit back and enjoy. If you don’t have time for this, please at least tune in for Narcolepsy. It was my very favorite arrangement of the evening, and I’ve found a video with the West Australian Symphony Orchestra that captures just how mind-blowing (to me) it was.
Here we go.
Zak and Sara (What a wonderful way to start the show. My eyes may or may not have welled up. (They welled up.))
Narcolepsy (Seriously. Watch this one. Tenor alert at 3:24! This one gave me chills.)
(Now it’s time for the orchestra to walk out so Ben Folds can play a few tunes on his own.)
Army Rock it, St. Louis (an impromptu (poor-quality video) response to the jackass who kept yelling “Rock This Bitch!”)
Johnny B. Goode (a little shout out to Chuck Berry, who was seen wearing sweat pants at the airport several years ago) Annie Waits
My only regret? I went to the show with a plan to buy a t-shirt. On the way out, I was so jazzed that I forgot the t-shirt. And now I can’t find them online. Is anyone out there going to a Ben Folds show anytime soon? Do you want to get a t-shirt for me? Adult! Medium or Large! I’ll either PayPal you or I’ll trade you something knitted!
Something to add to the life list: Coffee and doughnuts with Ben Folds. Can someone coach me on how to make this happen? If your advice is magical and I someday find myself with vanilla long john icing on my chin while sitting across a table from Mr. Folds, I’ll knit socks for you! Two pairs, even! Four pairs! (Two pairs.)
Go watch Narcolepsy again, and tomorrow I’ll tell you all about this morning’s mammogram.
(Spoiler Alert: It was negative!) ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
You know, when I’m in the mood that I’m in right now, I typically don’t log in and write at Fluid Pudding. BUT, here we are less than a week into NaBloPoMo, and I’m leaving the house in a few hours and won’t be back until super late, so now you get to see me cranky. Lucky.
The morning started with me losing a few double pointed needles. And that’s not really a big deal, except I need one of them to finish a project. (I bought a set of five. I’ve been able to find three. I need four.) And, again. This is not a big deal, but when you add the lost needles to the fact that I just wasted nearly TWO hours at a department store trying to find something (anything!) that would serve as self-confidence gear for the event I’m attending this evening, and I came up with nothing, well, it feels big. Honestly? I tried on something like fifteen sweaters and jackets and shirts, and NOTHING looked right. (I kept my pants on, and I’m glad. Otherwise, you would be getting a lot of typos right now because I tend to not be able to type through tears.)
Also, the store was playing Christmas music. I love Christmas music, but when you’re trying to find a jacket that DOES NOT HAVE A BELT and Mariah Carey is screaming at you, it makes for a really crappy three minutes. And another thing: I know parents often have to shop with their toddlers and that’s totally fine with me because I’ve been there, but: Please don’t act like I’m the audience in your little stand-up routine with your kid. If you egg your kid on to say something funny, I might give you a courtesy smile. But that’s it. Don’t keep going. Don’t keep getting louder.
Mom: Brendan, what did you just say?
Brendan: The lady in that picture is pretty.
Mom (looking at me to make sure I’m listening): You think JENNIFER LOPEZ is pretty? DO YOU THINK *I’LL* LOOK AS PRETTY AS HER IN THOSE CLOTHES?
Brendan: Yes.
Mom (still looking at me): BUT *I* DON’T WEIGH 80 POUNDS LIKE J. LO!!! HA HA! ISN’T THAT RIGHT, BRENDAN?!?!
Brendan: Ummmmm…
Me (in my head, obviously): HA HA HA HA! No, you don’t! RIGHT, BRENDAN?!?! NOT EVEN CLOSE!!! HA HA HA HA HA!!!
I couldn’t even find a shirt, although I tried on ten shirts. I shall now log off and say the F word. Twice.
Tomorrow will be happier! It will! ‘ ‘ ‘text/javascript’>
