I’m never really embarrassed knowing that you know what you know about me.

And trust me, I should be embarrassed.

I recently had an article published in a real! live! magazine! where the journalist got the age of the moosh wrong but BOY HOWDY! did he get the orgasm on the treadmill part right. Oh well. (I did keep it from the tender judgemental eyes of my grandparents however.)

Shortly after my Brazilian experience the moosh announced to my step dad “HEY GUESS WHAT GRAMPA POOPSIE? ALL MY MOM’S HAIR FELL OUT OF HER BUM!”

Unfortunately I am not immune to real live embarrassment at the mercy of a three year old.

Another time the moosh asked my MIL about her panties (because panties are always a topic of discussion with the moosh around.) My MIL told her that she wore the same white panties as I do.

the moosh then proceeded to tell my MIL and FIL that “MY MOM HAS PINK POLKA DOT PANTIES WITH A WHITE PUPPY ON THEM. SHE WEARS THEM A LOT.”

OY.

I think while I’m here in Utah I’ll check in on the hospital where the moosh was born to see if my pride is in the lost and found.

Are people that don’t have dogs, yet hang out at dog beaches, as strange as the people who don’t have kids, yet hang out at playgrounds?

Some of these are by tiny grandma (the little tiny thing on the cliff). Some of these are by me (the slightly larger thing on the shore).

I figure we have the same camera and the same genes.

We can share the credit.

One thing I know for sure?

It totally doesn’t suck here.

Want to hear me blabber more about phtotography? Come on over to Photo Bliss over at Blissfully Domestic.

Blabber blabber blabber.

Nope.

Want to see the formal Church response to all this “stuff?” Go here.

Cody is well versed in the laws that are in question as far as the church being a not for profit organization, and a religion’s legal right to get involved in politics. Also an individual’s legal right to be involved in politics. And I’ll let him explain that at a later date if needs be.

As much as I want to scream and yell about this, I’m not going to because I know it’s gut reaction to all the hate that is floating out there in the news and on the internet. I can see both sides. Really, I can. I’m writing this from the dining room of my cousin who has been with his partner for over 10 years.

I have seen plenty of GLBT families who have their crap together WAY more than hetero married couples.  If I had it my way, no one, gay or straight would be allowed to get married unless they were going to take their vows seriously.

I realize a lot of my readers look to me as the token Mormon in situations like this.

Yes, members of my church were involved in the “Yes on 8″ campaign. So were the Catholics.

“The Catholic bishops ask that you offer your support for restoring the definition of marriage in California by volunteering your time for the campaign or by donating money to the campaign to pass Proposition 8.”-From California Catholic Conference

However, there have been Anthrax threats, mysterious envelopes with white powder sent to two LDS temples. Protests and attacks (not just at churches of my faith either.) There are letters to editors in multiple papers calling for the harm of members of the LDS/Mormon faith.

Had “No on 8″ been the winner, I’d like to think that hoards of Christians (especially people of my faith) wouldn’t be hanging out in West Hollywood, Hillcrest and Castro shouting mean and horrible things or sending letters with potentially deadly contents to places held near and dear to those of the GLBT community.

How would you feel if that situation were reversed?

We (the Mormons) are not the reason “Yes on 8″ went through. Some (members) did help with donations and volunteer efforts (on their own time with individual donations), but 52% of voters in California are not LDS. In fact, according one one site, less than 2% of Californians are LDS.

Did you know that “No on 8″ actually raised more money than “Yes on 8?” Of the $73 million raised, $55 million came from Californians, the remaining coming from out of state donations,

“About 30 percent,or $22 million, of the donations reported by supporters and opponents of Proposition 8 have come from outside the state, according to an analysis by The Associated Press.”

$3.6 million of that money came from Utah.

So despite the way the media wants you to see it, the state of Utah and Mormons didn’t exactly mortgage out their houses to support Prop 8.

I’m not saying either party is right.

I’m just saying it’s no one organization’s fault that “Yes on 8″ passed either.

I’m just asking that we stop pointing fingers and start getting along.

I know my cousin and his partner are embarrassed by the displays put on by SOME of the GLBT community and their supporters. Just as I have been embarrassed by SOME members of the Christain community when it comes to certain issues.

Just because many members of the LDS church chose to support “Yes on 8″ doesn’t mean that we want to throw all the gays into a volcano.

Just because one group of gays called “Jesus a Homo” doesn’t mean that all Gays hate Christians, or Jesus for that matter.

It’s the redneck philosophy.

The media is going to choose the most fanatical crazy people to show on TV because that’s what gets the ratings. They’re not going to show normal people like my cousin and myself.

Crazy sells.

I’m really not trying to say anyone is right.

But I am saying that all this hate is wrong.

From both sides.

(Including my comments section.)

Heather, Meghan and I all met up in Santa Barbara for the moosh’s first view of the ocean.

She even touched it.

She didn’t like it.

But she touched it.

I saw a hobo (insert inappropriate description of “self pleasure” here).

I also saw a “lady of the night.” Or as another trolly passenger put it “I’m pretty sure she’s a lady of any hour for the right price.”

Needless to say, the unfound small town Midwest Hoosier girl inside me came screaming to the surface.

Small town Midwest Hoosier Prude?

PRESENT!

Only my one cousin is way more awesome than a dozen of your cousins put together. Sorry.

I was at his house the other day when an email came in asking for a recent professional photo of me for a calendar. (Yes, that calendar, I technically ended up being #13 in votes but someone backed out and so I was asked to join in at the 11th hour. Available for preorder now!)

Anyway.

My skin hates California. My eyes hate the moosh waking up at 6 am everyday. My period? Let’s just not go there. I felt bloaty, I felt puffy, I felt unsalvageable.

Enter my cousin Jaush and his train cases.

Don’t you feel prettier just looking at them?

He swooped, he brushed, he laquered, he painted, he teased, he combed, he patted and he fluffed.

Twenty minutes later?

OH. Did I fail to mention the vintage black cocktail dress that just HAPPENED to be in his closet that just HAPPENED to be in my size?

I did?

WELL, he just happened to have a vintage black cocktail dress in my size hanging in his closet.

I KNOW.

I’m hoping the next time we hang out peep toe heels fall from the sky and rain gutters spew diamond earrings.

Because after an afternoon with Jaush? I’m beginning to think that’s totally possible.

I’m also the only girl under 50 in a 50 mile radius who is not wearing skinny jeans.

I am visiting my grandparents, my grandpa just turned 89 on Sunday and is the only man on his block to take care of his own yard. My grandma is 85 and volunteers twice a week at the Nixon library. They just finished a cruise to Scandinavia, earlier this year they cruised the tip on South America, last year they went to New Zealand and the year before they walked the Great Wall. I come from some fantastic genetics.

I have spent the last few days cornered by my grandpa telling me stories from WWII, he was sent to Pearl Harbor 3 weeks after the war started and was a forensic entomologist, meaning he was in charge of keeping the bugs that make people sick at bay. He has hundreds of photos from his service as Malaria control and one of his college professors was in charge of designing the Panama Canal. He still works as an entomologist for citrus groves all over Southern California. The man loooves bugs.

They have been married 62 years. They both served in WWII, lived through the Great Depression, segregation, the invention of television, the first man on the moon and now the first African American President.

the moosh is named after my grandma.

I apologize to any of you who were worried after my last post, a lot is going on in my life and it all became overwhelming right before I was about to leave for two months.

I broke down into hysterical sobs because my favorite sweater had fuzzballs on it.

Cody has law school finals and since this is his last year, and it’s kind of our tradition, the moosh and I took off on a migration to let Cody psychotically study for the next month and half and he’ll join us in Utah in December for Christmas.

I’ll be all over Southern California until November 18th. I’ll be spending a lot of my time with her. If you know her, email her, let’s party. If you don’t know her, you should really reconsider. After that time I’ll be in Utah.

the moosh has finished her muffin, her milk is gone, which means my time at Starbucks is spent.

Thank you to all of you who have stuck around, or who have just come here. This blog has been a lifeline for me when I have nothing left, nowhere to go to, or no one to talk to. It has also been my sounding board for things I love, things that bug me and for all the ridiculous little nuances of life.

I know you all have a hundred other things you could be or should be doing and I’m truly blessed and honored that you spend a little bit of your life in mine.

xoxo

I’m headed out today for California.

The only word that can describe my state of mind is heavy.

Heavy with worry.

Heavy with love.

Heavy with sorrow.

Heavy with anticipation.

I won’t be back in Indiana until January 6th and when I do come back everything will have changed.

I’m going to try and enjoy the upcoming days and moments.

Now go vote. I personally am writing in for Bruce Wayne.

Ha ha, you funny jokers you. I logged onto your att.com site today to tell you that I have no dial tone and that my phone isn’t working. Your first instructions to me were “call our 24/7 customer service line.” Of course in my head I think “CALL! Immediate results!” Then I remember what I would be calling about.

And that I can’t.

I know I could use my cell phone, but peak minutes spent on hold with those automated machine things?

“I’m sorry, but I didn’t understand what you said. Did you say you wanted a sandwich with bologna?”

“No. But if you don’t help me I’ll find some choice places to shove some bologna.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m having trouble understanding you. Did you say you wanted to buy a pony?”

GAH!

I also think it’s very admirable that you gave me step by step instructions on troubleshooting my phone issues. Of course it has to start with “Is your phone plugged into the wall?” because there are those people out there.

I’m even related to a couple of them.

What really got me is that you provided a tutorial for customers to self diagnose their phone line, which included bringing a corded phone and a screwdriver outside their home to the Network Interface Device. I’m flattered that you trust me enough to try and fix my own phone, or that you’re that ecologically (economically?) minded enough to have the customer do his or her own repairs. However I don’t think it’s the smartest thing.

Also, thanks for the warning not to perform the troubleshooting in an electrical storm, again, totally related to the reason you have to give that warning.

However, something went awry. There was a dude all up in my telephone buisiness yesterday morning as the moosh and I were eating cereal. Was he supposed to be there? Did you screw up? Because I know I didn’t ask him to be there. All I know is my phone doesn’t work.

And it should.

Can you hear me now?

xoxo-

Casey

I have yet to change a roll of toilet paper without thinking about him and his tp tarot.

So I put it forth to you.

If you are a back roller it means that you are controlling, unwilling to share and reserved.

If you are a front roller it means you are sharing, outgoing and giving.

Now he didn’t talk about this last one, but I feel it deserves to be mentioned.

If you’re tp roll looks like the following, you’re most likely married.

Just sayin’.

So which one are you…is my hairdressers philosophy true? I’m a back roller personally, I only do it so the kid won’t play hampster wheel with the roll.