Tag Archives: Puddin’

Sometimes You Wanna Go Where Everybody Knows Your Name

I’ve introduced Kiefer Sutherland; I’ve introduced Boo and Radley; I’ve introduced some of the blogs I read (see left), but I haven’t introduced some of the friends I’ve been mentioning in my blog.

I don’t want newcomers to my blog to think, “This girl is crazy! She thinks she is dating Kiefer Sutherland, and all of her friends have weird names. If I read her blog, her insanity may rub off on me. Stay away!”

Hence a new Who’s Who page for explanations.

I’m truly grateful for these friends (and all of my other friends not mentioned and all of you bloggers who have sent encouraging emails and left great comments).



Pat yourself on the back. Pretend it’s me patting you on the back. Over the years these wonderful women have taken my panicked phone calls and emails, answered my many questions, helped me with anything I’ve asked of them, and most importantly, kept me laughing through all of it.

Ladies, you’re the best.

She’s Got the Crazy Eyes!

From now on, I may be living in terror and constant fear. 

Boo called me last night. From Kiefer’s ex’s cell. Boo and Radley want me to help decorate Kiefer’s house for his return from Africa, and then Boo and Radley can surprise Kiefer by being home already as well.

Aww…Boo and Radley love me. 

Awkward…Kiefer’s ex has my phone number. 

Aww…but it’s for a cute reason. 

Awkward…Kiefer’s ex has my phone number. 

Crazy Eyes From HIMYM

I hate that exs exist. Even mine. Did I tell you about Kiefer’s ex’s subtle (yet not-so-subtle) dig at me during one of our first meetings. (I’ll blog about it later, but trust me, she was mean.) 

The Problem: They want help when I’ll be on my way to the airport to pick up their Dad. 

Boo gets upset, which tugs at my heart. Don’t cry, Boo! If you cry, I’ll cry. 

My Solution: I say, “Can your mom or babysitter meet me somewhere? Then you and Radley can come with me to the airport.” 

I am a genius. (Unless Kiefer is so exhausted that he just wants to chillax child-free. Crap.) 

But the ex has my phone number. She now has the power to call and be mean. Noooooo!

Panicking, I call Puddin’.

Me: I did something stupid.

Puddin’: Oh my god, you’re calling me from New York because you ran off with that band!

Me: ::I pause to reflect and actually consider this awesome idea!::

I explain the situation (while hyperventilating), and Puddin’, in her infinite wisdom, says: 

Look at it from the point of view that those boys love you, and they want to be with you and include you. You’re finally slowly stepping into the stepmother role. And if Kiefer isn’t excited by that, he’s an idiot. And then we’re running off to Hawaii where Taylor Lautner will be our Cabana boy.

I paraphrased. Because she actually said a ton of awesome stuff that made me tear up. 

This whole situation has made me think. I can do stuff like coordinate with his ex to bring his children to the airport, but getting some type of committment from Kiefer? Out of the question. 

That man better drop down to one knee when I show up with Boo and Radley at the airport. Because I rock. 

And if he doesn’t, I’m running off to NY to rock with Eytan and the Embassy. Or to Hawaii.

Lesson in Awesomeness #1: Bouncing

The wonderful thing about Tiggers is Tiggers are wonderful things. Their tops are made out of rubber, their bottoms are made out of springs.

Tigger is the Man. He’s had it right all along. Bouncing is awesome. Things that bounce are awesome. You can be awesome, too, if you have any of the things listed below.

Exhibit A: Trampoline

As a child (and even as an adult), I wanted a trampoline. You know you want one, too. My parents denied me a trampoline because we couldn’t afford trampoline insurance. I’ll believe anything. What’s that you say? Gullible begins with a “Gh.” No way. Really?

Exhibit B: Pogo Ball

Remember these? A ball of awesome surrounded by a ring of awesome to stand on. It’s like your own little bouncing planet. Once I bounced on it for 12 hours straight. True story.

Exhibit C: The Moon Bounce

Similar to the trampoline, but you can’t bounce quite as high. And you don’t have to worry about bouncing off because it is a little house of bounce. On our first date (a beer festival), Kiefer Sutherland and I tossed a bunch of little kids out on their bony behinds so we could bounce and not squash them.

Ok, not really. It was raining and we just wanted to stay dry. We had no interest in bouncing, and that’s why we tossed the kids out.

That’s not true either. It was a beer festival, so there weren’t many kids, and the moon bounce was empty.

Exhibit D: The Oversized Ball

Similar to the Pogo Ball. It’s so lazy children can bounce and have fun, too. Sometimes people sit on them at their desks at work. They claim it helps their posture, but we all know they bounce when no one’s looking.

Exhibit E: The Tiny Bouncing Ball

These come out of the tiny 25-cent machines at the grocery store. Puddin’ and I used to get them and bounce them as we walked around the mall. I bet they’re 50 cents now. Stupid inflation.

Exhibit F: Moon Shoes

Radley has a pair of these. Moon Shoes are essentially lots of rubber bands. Secret: The weight limit is about 180 pounds, which I’m under, but I’m still afraid to try them out. If they broke, it would shatter my self esteem.

And if you try to do what this little girl is doing, you’ll most likely shatter your bones. You don’t catch that much air.

Now, run along and play with something bouncy. It’ll make you awesome. And be sure to invite me over if you get a moon bounce or trampoline.

That concludes today’s lesson, grasshopper.

Orange Cream Popples, I Mean Pop-Tarts

Popples were so cool. Popples, pop, pop, pop. Remember the song? But let’s move on to other words with “Pop” in them.

Pop-Tarts: The Breakfast of Champions…or you know, just me.

Every morning (except weekends) I have a Pop-Tart. Why?

  • Because I like to start the day off with lots of sugar.
  • Because I’m an indecisive person, and choosing a Pop-Tart flavor is a decision-making exercise for me. What if I choose wrong? My day would be ruined. Ruined, I tell you.
  • Because Pop-Tarts are tasty.
  • Because I want to.

My favorite flavors are Smores, Blueberry, Cherry, Blueberry Muffin, and Cookies and Cream. All of which are frosted. Unfrosted Pop-Tarts aren’t really Pop-Tarts.

And you know what else? The frosted Pop-Tarts actually have less calories than the unfrosted.  And less saturated fat, and less sodium, and only one more gram of sugar. At the least the blueberry ones do. I didn’t feel like comparing all of them.

Frosted Blueberry vs. Unfrosted Blueberry

Puddin’ and I were grocery shopping the other week and look what we found. A new flavor! I almost peed my pants I was so excited.

Now I’m forced with this decision: Pop-Tart or orange.

I think they both are part of the fruit family. I’ll eat both.

Hi, I’m a Cry Baby Overreacter and Overthinker. And Yourself?

Another title I considered was, “I’m an A$$,” but I like to avoid profanity, so I almost went with “I’m an Idiot.” Or insert “Jerk.”

On the phone last night Puddin’ and I were discussing the differences between men and women. Women–meaning Puddin’ and I–tend to overthink things, where men tend not to think at all. (Just kidding…please don’t write me nasty comments.)

Little did I know that when I hung up the phone, I would become a real-time, real-life example.

After breakfast on Sunday, I had breakfast with Kiefer Sutherland, Boo, and Radley, but then we went our separate ways with Kiefer Sutherland promising to call me later.

Here’s how my thoughts went later that day.

5:00 PM: I skipped lunch, and now I’m starving. Should I eat dinner or wait and eat with Kiefer and the boys?

5:12 PM: I’ll just have a small salad.

5:21 PM: I’ll just have a small bowl of soup, too.

5:26 PM: Screw it. Where’s the ice cream?

5:31-6:51 PM: Phone call with Puddin’.

6:52 PM: I call Kiefer, but he doesn’t answer. Grrrrr….

Explanation of Growl: I don’t expect Kiefer to answer the phone every time I call. Yes, I do. But Kiefer Sutherland is leaving for Africa the next day, and I want to see him before he leaves.

6:53 PM: I leave a slightly annoyed voice mail that goes something like this: “Hey, I was just calling to see what you were up to. I thought I was going to see you before you left, but the day is nearly over, so let me know what you’re up to or…I don’t know because yeah…I don’t know, yeah. Bye.”

Explanation of Voice Mail: I hate leaving voice mails. And the above message is exactly why I hate leaving messages. I ramble ,and my sentences are often incoherent.

Kiefer calls me back in 5 minutes, and when I ask him if I get to see him before he leaves, he says, “I think I can do lunch tomorrow.”

My Thoughts: Lunch? Lunch? I’ll shove lunch up your….

My Words:  “So I’m a little annoyed with you. Do you even want to see me before you leave?”

In turn, Kiefer gets annoyed with me, and then says, “I have a plan. Can I call you right back?” When we get off the phone, I start crying.

My Thoughts: A plan? What kind of a plan can be carried out in just a few minutes? Why doesn’t he want to see me? The only explanation is that he hates me. He’s going to Africa to get away from me; it’s not really a business trip at all. Oh my god, the world is ending!

That’s when all sense returns. Seriously? Crying? He hates me? What the heck is wrong with me?

This post is getting long. Short version, Kiefer gets a sitter for the boys, so we can have some time just me and him before he leaves. Hence, the I’m-a-Jerk in the running for the post title.

I tend to cry at little things. What’s with that? I wasn’t like that as a child. Even as a baby, I didn’t cry much. Am I going through the crying stage late in my life? Or maybe it’s premenopause.