Shake, Freak Out and Roll.

In Utah they like to talk about “the big one.” Referring to an earthquake. Considering I lived most of my life right on the most gigantic fault in the entire valley I was prepared to kiss it all goodbye in a few shaky seconds. As a kid I would practice running from the couch to the nearest door jamb. In school we were subject to regular earthquake drills.

And yet in all my twenty four years living there I never felt an earthquake.

Blizzards with ten foot high snow drifts? Yes.

Earthquake? No.

So here I am in the Midwest where if it snows ten centimeters life shuts down.

Completely.

And there’s these things called tornadoes. Maybe you’ve heard of them. If not think Wizard of Oz without the gingham dress.

The tornado sirens have gone off four times since we’ve lived here and every time I’m sent scurrying like a burrowing rodent to gather the necessary supplies just in case we’re blown off to Oz. Or Ohio. Whatever.

What I’m trying to say is that every part of the country has it’s own little freaky weather patterns and geological quirks that scare a newcomer to death. (me + my first tornado siren = me crying in the Wal-Mart parking lot.)

I figured since Indiana is the flattest place I’ve been since, well ever, earthquakes weren’t of much concern.

Until one SHOOK ME AWAKE at 5:30 this morning. (The only way I have to reference how hard it shook is my boobs. Yes, my boobs shook me awake. Do with that what you will.) It shook Cody awake too, or maybe it was the shaking boob radar that all men seem to have. Regardless he very groggily said “Was that an earthquake or a tornado?” got up to pee and then fell back into death sleep moments later.

Meanwhile being the big girl that I am freaked out in a completely classic girlish freak out kind of way. I started remembering all I had learned from elementary about earthquakes. THE BIRDS! The birds weren’t chirping while it happened but they started chirping immediately after it was over! THE BIRDS KNEW! Animals know when there’s funny geological stuff going on!

So now not only am I afraid of being swallowed whole by a fissure, any sudden loss of birds chirping or odd acting animal is going to set off my Spidey earthquake senses.

Hope you have your 72 hour kits, because Earth seems to be going a wee bit crazy lately.

Customer assistance in sporting goods to the stairs, please?

I know I’m not the only one who leaves town for two weeks and comes home to this.

Right?

Customer assistance in Sporting Goods to the Stairs Please?

Customer assistance in Sporting Goods to the Stairs Please?

“OH! But it’s just an exercise bike and a weight bench!” you say.

Yes, it is an exercise bike and weight bench.

Hanging.

From.

My.

Ceiling. (and walls.)

Customer assistance in Sporting Goods to the Stairs Please?

Customer assistance in Sporting Goods to the Stairs Please?

And in case your worried about coming to my house and having an exercise bike fall from the sky and render you unconscious, don’t worry, it’s being held in by SIX BOLTS AND A CHAIN.

Customer assistance in Sporting Goods to the Stairs Please?

After seven years I’ve come to expect nothing less.

Customer assistance in Sporting Goods to the Stairs Please?

I’m so in love with someone so unbelievably odd.

********

I guess I should explain the stuff hanging on the walls…it kind of explains why I’m not peeved about it.

Whilst I was gone he found a big cherry wood desk on CraigsList for $100. (a $1500 desk mind you.)

The desk is so huge it took over where the fancy “home gym” used to reside. It also left six enormous holes in my walls and knocked out a door jamb. *sigh*

He got it so that he could come home at night and have a place to be with his “girls” when he studies.

So instead of him being at school from 6am to midnight I get to have him home a few extra hours and in exchange I get to have sporting goods on my wall. Both of which he can reach quite easily (my baby is all kinds of strong) and uses regularly. And yes, this really was the last (not necessarily logical) place to put the stuff.

Did I mention I married a packrat? Because I totally did, despite trying to beat it out of him for the last seven years the pack rat has clung on tight and refuses to die.

Goodbye.

Goodbye 24 hour Mexican food.

Goodbye 24 Hour Mexican Food

Goodbye soccer star.

Goodbye Soccer Star

Goodbye birthday girl.

Goodbye Birthday Girl

Goodbye Barbara and Johnny.

Goodbye Barbara and Johnny

Goodbye perfectly blue sky.

Goodbye Perfectly Blue Sky

Goodbye Aunt Cheryl.

Goodbye Aunt Cheryl

Goodbye Katie.

Goodbye Katie

Goodbye duck pond.

Goodbye Duck Pond

Goodbye beautiful friends.

Goodbye Beautiful Friends

Goodbye GiGi.

Goodbye GiGi

Goodbye Mickey pancakes.

Goodbye Mickey Pancakes

Goodbye sidewalk chalk.

Goodbye Sidewalk Chalk

Goodbye Delaney.

My sister's first and oldest dog, Delaney.

Goodbye adorable strangers.

Goodbye Adorable Strangers

Goodbye Sissy.

My sissy.

Goodbye Utah.
Goodbye Utah

We really don’t want to go.

We're sad to go.

FLDS vs. LDS

That whole hot mess in Texas? Completely different religion than mine. I’d like to tell you the whole history of the FLDS church but I’m not sure where to go for reliable information. I do know that my church put out a press release explaining the difference and I’d encourage you to read it since I could never explain it so eloquently without sheer plagiarism.

This is where I lose some readers after scathing emails about the horrible church that I belong to. (It happens every time I post about religion.) And that’s just fine. You’re all entitled to your own opinion. But I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your mean comments to yourself, save yourself the time spent writing the email and just hit “unsubscribe”. Thanks.

Anyway, the temple they keep showing in Texas and the temples that members of our church attend are completely different. While I won’t go into the sacred details of my temple worship I will tell you that there is no cyanide, no “wedding beds” and modesty is honored. The following quote is from lds.org:

When individuals go to the temple, they should wear their best clothing, as they do when they attend church. When they are inside the temple, they exchange their clothing for the white clothing of the temple. This change of clothing takes place in a dressing room, where each person uses a locker and a private dressing space. In the temple, modesty is carefully maintained.

As individuals put their clothing in the locker, they can leave all their worldly distractions behind. Dressed in white, they can feel a oneness and a sense of equality with others in the temple, for everyone around them is similarly dressed.

To explain it as easily as possible, nothing happens inside our temples that would offend even the most sensitive of elderly grandma. And truth be told I am sickened about the goings on in Texas.

Just as there are less than savory members of my church I’m sure there are some magnificent people who belong to the FLDS church. I’m willing to give them the benefit of the doubt just as I ask you to give me the benefit of the doubt that I am a good person trying to do good in this world, regardless of if you agree with my beliefs or not.

So there you go, your friendly neighborhood Mormon standing up for herself. Now be nice. And go enjoy the sunshine.

Wherein I flaunt my tween celebrity status.

Kevin Bacon is married to Kyra Sedgwick.

Kyra Sedgewick was in Phenomenon with John Travolta.

John Travolta was in Hairspray with Zac Efron.

Zac Efron was in High School Musical with Tyler.

Tyler, my neigbor and geek in HSM.

Recognize him? He’s on the geek squad with Taylor.

Tyler is my dad’s neighbor. We used to play together all the time.

And this is how we play six degrees of Kevin Bacon ending with (starting with?) me.

That, and High School Musical was filmed at my high school.

Front of EHS

In Salt Lake, not in Albuquerque.

Not Albuquerque, Hollywood. Sheesh.

One more reason Hollywood is to never be believed. Anyway.

If you have a child in the house you’ve most likely seen this movie and if you’ve seen this movie chances are you’ve seen it more than once. It’s addictive like that. It just so happens I had an errand to run at my old Alma Mater and I took my trusty camera along to show you how Hollywood can turn a place that was a nightmare to me into a dream for the tween set.

The entryway, where everyone found out about Troy and Gabriella getting a callback.

Entryway

Sharpay’s locker, I wish they would have kept it pink.

Sharpay's Locker

The commons. Better known as the place where everyone busts a groove and dances on the tables in perfect synchronization completely out of the blue. Just like when I went to East. I do love musicals.

EHS Commons

EHS Commons

This hallway was only in the movie for a second. But it needs to be shown for I believe it to be a form of teenage torture.

Ugh, longest hallway EVER.

I’m not even taking this from the end of the hallway, this is about 3/4 of the way down. The school is four levels and three of the four hallways are this long. And as fate would have it I would somehow end up with classes on the second and fourth floors at opposite ends of the school every other period. Have I mentioned that high school was not my most glorious of years?

So there you go. You can tell your kids you know a lady who WENT! to EHS. A real live WILDCAT! (P.S. Hollywood, we were the Leopards, Wildcat is kinda lame.) And I’m even willing to sell my last honest to goodness EHS shirt to the highest bidder. That, or you could go into the Disney Store and buy a brand spanking new replica. Needless to say I don’t rock my EHS shirt in Indiana, I look too much like a Troy groupie.

Did I ever tell you I wanted to be a ballerina when I grew up?

En Pointe

Serious ballerina

the tutu moosh rear

Tippy toes

the tutu moosh

So does the moosh.

Ballet class starts April 18th.

I will not eat eggs and Mrs. Butterworth.

When Cody and I moved across the driveway of our first apartment into the one next door there was a morning where the food was in one apartment and the dishes were at the other. I was eight months pregnant and still vomiting quite regularly. I needed to eat within a half hour of waking up or my vomiting would get even worse.

Ah, pregnancy.

On this particular morning Cody woke me up and took me to IHOP immediately to feed me. I ordered some sort of pancake or french toast with no frills and Cody ordered some enormous plate of meat, cheese and eggs. My breakfast came with eggs also, but the very thought of eating an egg, even ordering an egg made me ill. Cody ordered for me and had my eggs poached so that he could eat them himself.

Fine.

Now if you’ve been to IHOP then you’re probably aware of the syrup caddy on the table, four different kinds of syrup for your enjoyment. When Cody got the poached eggs he picked up a syrup bottle, poured in ON THE EGGS and stirred them into a lumpy yolky syrup soup which he ate with a spoon.

A. Gross

B. When your wife is still violently ill eight months pregnant and dry heaves at the thought of cantaloupe, THIS IS EVEN MORE GROSS.

Thus began the great egg/syrup debate of the moosh family. I cannot, CANNOT, let syrup touch my eggs. Cody pours it on his eggs. My in laws don’t mind if eggs and syrup touch and I have a friend who won’t even eat them in the same meal.

So who’s the majority? Who’s the minority?

Eggs and syrup are one edible issue I have strong opinions on.

That and vegetables masquerading as dessert (I’m looking at you sweet potatoes.). But that’s an entirely different post.

Home sweet Home, Home, Home and Home.

 This post was inspired by a tag I got weeks ago from Not A Mean Girl.

Until I moved to Indiana I had lived in five different houses all within the same five mile radius. Crazy right? It’s not like Salt Lake is an itsy bitsy little city.

This is the house I grew up in. My dad did a lot of the work on it and I had four doors and two light switches in my bedroom, I always thought that was so strange. I miss this house, to see the disrepair it has fallen into breaks my heart. I would buy it and renovate it in a heartbeat if I had the chance.

The house I grew up in

Next is the house we moved into my sophomore year of high school. It was on this mountain.

The hill I lived on

I had to look at this everyday when I drove home.

I had to look at this everyday

Is anyone beginning to see why I’m having such a hard time with the Midwest? Okay, the house.

My old house on the hill

Not much to look at right? But wait until you see the view I had to look at every morning.

The view from the porch of my old house

This picture doesn’t even to  it justice.  When I left home in a fit of rage at 17 I ended up living at the seediest little apartment in the history of seedy apartments. My neighbors sold drugs, the ones below us had eight kids in two bedrooms and a couple of them even slept in their stolen U-Haul when the weather was nice. The other neighbors just ate a lot of “special” brownies and handed them out liberally to all the neighbors. Oh little brothel, so many memories.

My first brothel, I mean, apartment.

Mine was the upper left unit.  When my sentence at the brothel was complete I moved in with my sister and her three (boy) roommates.

The dating Cody apartment

I had to share a bathroom with two boys here. Eww. There was also an impressive collection of Playboy to the right of the couch. And several dogs, and a cat or two. Good times. This is the place I was living when Cody came into my life. Well, it’s the place I should have been living. Cody and I had an awful lot of sleepovers. (SORRY IN LAWS!)

Enter the newlywed shoebox apartment.

The newlywed apartment

This is the shoebox apartment I found out I was pregnant in, the one I overdosed in and the one we could never manage to keep clean. Since I was going to be staying home with the moosh after she was born we moved to a smaller and much cheaper apartment next door. Literally, next door.

The pregnant apartment

That is the apartment I went into labor in. It is also the one  where we shared a room with the moosh for the first six months of her life only because there was no where else to put her. I loved this apartment. All 400 sq. ft. of it. It was sunny and cozy and charming and where we started to feel like a family. Everything I could have ever wanted or anywhere I needed to go was within a ten minute walk of my front door. This was heaven sent for a new mom. I miss this about my old ‘hood.

And now I live in Indiana. Flat, flat Indiana.

But I have good news. I’m getting turned around in Utah. I find myself wanting to go to stores that are only in Indiana. I’ve forgotten about things that are in Utah. Is this good news? I don’t know. Maybe. I know I’m going to cry when I watch the mountains fade into the distance when we leave in a week, but maybe this time I won’t cry when we land in Indiana.