moosh in indy.

So maybe you’ve heard by now that my bathtub crayon drawings all over my bathroom sink won me $1000.

No?

Well, the bathtub crayon drawings all over my sink won me $1000.

Proof that parking your kid in front of a movie for an hour, drawing all over your sink and taking pictures of it can be worthwhile.

The Caulk Judges even gave me a perfect 10. (Go ahead, take the L out of caulk and giggle furiously like Heather did when I told her.)

What does a $1000 mean in our house? So far it means golf clubs for Cody and the longest damn massage at the swankiest spa in San Francisco I can find.

I’d say it meant new clothes but since I won a $250 shopping spree at TJ Maxx last month, my wardrobe is pretty much taken care of.

What’s that? Sleeping Jellybeans? OH! Seething jealousy! Yes, I totally understand. I’m a little jealous of myself. Believe me, I’m just waiting for a piano to fall on my head or worms to start spurting out of my toes.

I’m sure blogher is all “Can one person BE so lucky?” And I say unto you-YEAH THEY CAN.

In an effort to pay it forward I will be having a little (okay, kinda huge) giveaway/contest of my own here by the end of the week. It will be sweet. You will totally want to enter.

Best news? I won’t be able to.

Ah, yes. Google “orgasm on treadmill” and guess who’s #1?

Hi. That would be me.

Apparently I’ve taught the world a lot about odd things that can occur when exercising.

I just never thought I’d teach my teacher (and entire class) about these odd things.

I continue to take a yoga class where my flexibility and bendy parts still service me well. As you may remember I’m quite good at the “plow” pose. It was while in the “plow” Monday morning that my teacher decided to make an example out of me.

“Can you bring your hips straight up and your legs out?”

Of course everyone in the class turns to look at me.

“Hi!”

I started to do it until I noticed the eerie silence in the room and the fact that all eyes were on me. When I move out of plow, I queef. Hardcore.

I dropped out of the pose quickly and mumbled “I’m always afraid I’ll queef when I do that.”

“Excuse me what?”

“Queef, you know, a, uh, a vaginal toot?”

This is when my yogini laughed hysterically and thanked me for giving a name to this COMPLETELY COMMON yoga freak of farting. And in fact if you DON’T queef chances are you’re not doing it right.

So queef with pride my sisters, it’s one fart that lets you know you’re doing something right.

I worked at a frozen yogurt shop around the corner from my house when I was 14. (14! Yes, fourteen, the owners didn’t seem the type into child labor laws, they paid me straight out of their personal checkbook.) Anyway, I was left alone in the shop a lot.

14 year old, surrounded by candy and frozen yogurt.

I’m not proud to say that I pretty much ate myself silly everyday. Especially with the Butterfinger. Oh the massive amounts of Butterfinger.

Every Christmas eve my family would eat crab and strawberry daiquiris by the fire.

I then worked at Marie Callendar’s pies at the age of 16. I was fueled on cornbread and potato cheese soup.

After I left home I worked at Spaghetti Factory. My free spaghetti meal was what kept me alive each day during that period of my life. I sometimes went into work to pick up shifts just so I could eat.

One of the best meals I ever had was grocery store Chinese take out with an orange cream soda. It was the best because I ate it on my very own bed in my very own apartment.

When I met Cody (at the mall) we ate Gyros almost every day that we worked together.

When I was pregnant the only food I never barfed up was Velveeta Shells & Cheese. I came close once, but kept it down out of principle.

I also craved Arby’s Beef & Cheddars. I did barf those up, but continued to eat them anyway.

My sister and I devour sushi whenever we are in each other’s presence.

I’m not officially at “home” in Utah until I’ve had a pork burrito.

When I think of my mom I think of her pineapple spareribs.

When I think of my dad I think of popcorn.

When I think of my step mom I think of spaghetti, chicken broccoli fettuccine, frog eye salad and turkey.

When I think of my step dad I think of huevos rancheros.

Golden Corral and Sizzler? Totally my in laws.

I fantasize about the day my child calls home from college and says “I MISS YOUR COOKING.” Or the day I’m able to welcome my grandkids in with a squishy grandma hug and a plate of warm cookies. (The best cookies they’ve ever had of course.)

I think it’s safe to say I have an insufferable emotional attachment to food.