Peeking out from behind the curtain...
I know I was all, "Hey, come September 19th, I'm going to fly like an eagle and let my spirit carry me" and whatever.
But I'm here to tell you that Jeff just gave me these shoes:
When I wear these things, I suddenly want to feed the babies and shoe the children and house the people, Steve Miller!
I also wanted to tell you that this week (because my friend Robin (the birthday girl!) is full of good ideas) I'm opening up an Etsy store, where I will be selling knitted stuff. I'll keep you updated.
This month has been a busy one. And
the new Fluid Pudding site will be kicking off next month! And holy
crap! I believe I'm off to kick some ass with those new boots of mine!
Watch out, Jim Talent!
UPDATE: My Etsy shop
is now open. Obviously, it's a slow start up. Right now I have three
vases listed. Next up? Felted bowls! And more vases! And baby hats! The
possibilities are excitingly endless!
ANOTHER UPDATE: Well, it seems
that my felted vases are actually lead balloons! This is a lie, but
I've had 429 people send e-mails to me telling me how much they want to
purchase the vases, but they're not quite yet ready to commit to a
relationship with Etsy. If you want to work around making up yet
another username and password, send an e-mail to me. We can dance under
The Man!
Frank Bango is Cool.
As you may or may not know, Jeff and I are music lovers. We've tried our best in the past few months to expose the baby to a wide variety of music. We accomplish this task by sticking a pillow speaker into the elastic waistband of my boxer shorts at night and blasting our favorite CD selections into my uterus. If all goes as planned, the baby will bust loose with an appreciation of Mozart, David Mead, Ron Sexsmith, and Frank Bango.
Last month I received an e-mail from Frank Bango. He fell upon the Fluid Pudding site, and noticed that I had listed Fugitive Girls as good uterus music. Three days ago we received a package in the mail addressed to Pudding Pop. It is an advance copy of the latest Frank Bango CD titled The Unstudied Sea, and it's brilliant.
The CD will be released on June 17th. Mark your calendar! Until then, get yourself a copy of Fugitive Girls. After all, you deserve to hear smart pop music while our president scares the living shit out of the Iraqi people by playing Shock and Awe.
Because sometimes my life is silly:
We had to postpone closing on the house until early next week due to the snow in Wyoming. Yes, we live in St. Louis where the daffodils are blooming and today's temperature will top out at 68 degrees. However, we are relying on the kind and capable folks who work in a tiny bank in Cheyenne.
Because of this slight snag, we had to put off the movers until next Thursday. Of course, according to my doctor, I can actually give birth next Wednesday. It's a close race, folks. And because bed rest is forcing me to perform the role of a reluctant Cleopatra, both sets of parents are coming over today to help pack our things. This makes me a bit nervous for several reasons:
1. Something about too many cooks spoiling the stew or something
2. They will see that I don't dust quite as often as I should, and will probably make comments such as "No wonder you can't breathe at night. With all of this effing dust in the apartment, it's a wonder the cats haven't suffocated!"
3. Although I know they know I'm pregnant and how I entered the state of pregnancy, I still feel the frantic need to hide any and all remnants of birth control and/or lacy underthings.
In which I use Chandra Levy as a verb!
I believe someone has broken into my neighbors apartment, Chandra Levy'd my neighbor, and is celebrating the crime by having a raucous party.
This is what I know:
- My neighbor has great taste in music. I often hear Belle and Sebastian. I often hear Son Volt. Tonight I hear Foreigner. Specifically, Juke Box Hero. Also, Cold as Ice and Hot Blooded. Currently, Waiting for a Girl Like You. Very strange.
- My neighbor is normally quiet. His friends are of the dark and artsy persuasion, typically wearing clompy shoes and clothing with no labels. Tonight, as I peered through my window (not unlike Gladys Kravitz) I saw Ocean Pacific tank tops. I also saw a Rush 2112 and an Eminem t-shirt. Strange, indeed.
- My neighbor has a very pretty (and quiet) non-smoking girlfriend. She normally keeps her shirt tucked into her pants, and her brunette bobbed hair tucked behind her ears. Tonight, Shakira is running up and down the stairs yelling something about needing to score cash for smokes. I believe she's cold as ice and willing to sacrifice...
If she tries to score cash for smokes in my apartment, I have decided to pay her $3.00 to fix the electrical outlet in the bathroom
Jeff, of course, is sleeping through the madness. He spent his afternoon at a Stock the Bar Bachelor Party, which is simply another excuse for a soon-to-be-married man and his friends to glug whiskey and stuff their guts with stupid amounts of meat. Jeff assured me there were no whores at the party. What I don't understand is why he came home smelling like lemons.
Wait a minute, Mr. Postman.
Last night I received an automated call from Cingular.
"...call us immediately to discuss your overdue bill."
Hhhhmmmm. They're right. I haven't paid them in a long time.
When I called the 800 number, Ms. Cingular and I figured out that I haven't paid them since I moved to the new apartment. We checked to make sure they have the correct address. Everything was correct, except for the last name. They had me listed as Angela R., and I'm now Angela D.
A few weeks ago our angry old postman
stopped Jeff and asked him if his wife is Angela R. or Angela D. Jeff
explained that both answers are correct, as Angela D. is a new development,
but before October, I was Angela R. The grumpy (dick of a) postman growled to
Jeff that we need to relabel the mailbox because he won't remember and
(insert various passive aggressive mumblings here)...
I didn't relabel the mailbox. I forgot about it, and frankly, I figured the (dick of a) postman would remember the conversation with Jeff. What are the chances of mail being addressed incorrectly to land at another mailbox for which the recipient is ALSO named Angela?!
While talking to Ms. Cingular, it occurred to me that I never received my W-2, as it was addressed to Angela R.
I never received my Cingular bills, and they were addressed to Angela R.
My mail from Nashville has not been forwarded correctly, as it was (you guessed it) addressed to Angela R.
Eureka!
"Oh my God!" I said to Ms. Cingular. "My postman is playing power games with me!" We talked about it for a bit, and she said, "I know this isn't my place, but I would watch out for that guy in case he wants you to be Angela Postman!"
Damned postman.
Oh. Also, Cingular can't change the last name on my bills over the phone, although I knew all of the "secret" information they asked. I have to drag a copy of our marriage license to a Cingular store location, where they "will be happy to assist" me.
Damned Cingular.
Fluid Pudding Favorites
So, yeah. I've started going through my archives to fix the missing punctuation.
One word to describe the process? Daunting.
Anyway, you asked for some links to
my favorite entries. (YOU might not have, but SHE did. (She's silly
like that, don't you think?))
I'll begin the list right here, and
will add to it as I go. In fact, I'll add at the top so you Never Have
to Scroll. Because I love you like that.
Fluid Pudding Favorites
Screw Me?! No! Screw U!
Meredith Claire: The Birth of a Pudding Pop
My Uterine Digs
With two cats in the yard, life used to be so hard...
Sometimes you feel like a Neti.
Just remove the cotton and stuff it!
A Message from Jeff
I guess you could say she was a sex queen.
Don't Mess with Texas, Pig.
The Honeymooners
I've never liked Brie. So there.
Legends of The Fall
The Original OCD Sandwich
I'm tugging my ear, Carol Burnett!
So here we are.
It’s not you, you know. It’s totally me.
I love you, but I’m not IN love with you.
You’re pretty. You’ll find someone else. Someone who will treat you the way you deserve to be treated.
The night before I moved to
As you know, this is the final
And I sort of miss this place already.
A few of you asked me to post some of my favorite entries
from
Most importantly, I’ll be posting notice when I have an idea
of a launch date for the new
And, now, because I’m feeling a bit melodramatic, I leave you with this. And for those of you who hate it, let me just say this: Give the guy a break. He’s dead.
Thank you for your time. Thank you for your kindness.
Thank you for sharing the past five years with
Sincerely,
-A