Follicular miracles.

How do you decide when to get your hair cut? Or colored? I personally find that one day I look in the mirror, see nothing overly redeeming about my hair except for the fact that it is growing and that it is growing out of my head. Much like it was on this day:


I then make an appointment about a week away, so I can think about my decision and wear my hair up in a ponytail all week so I can show it who’s boss. Problem this time around was I decided to style it on Sunday before I got it cut off on Tuesday. Big mistake.

My hair always behaves itself when it knows it’s going to be cut off. Kind of like how a three year old behaves when she knows there’s ice cream involved. But I know it was just a show, and it went back into ponytails for the next 48 hours.

Then there’s the dreaded “so what are we doing with your hair today?” question. I dread it. “Cut it off! NO! Long, but not frizzy, but I need body! But I don’t want short. I want to do it curly, but straight too. I spend a lot of time outside so I want something that can be pulled up, but funky you know? I don’t want to look like a calico cat but I don’t want to leave here looking like a normal haired person. But I don’t like cool hued colors, I need warm, but not orange! I like a lot of colors, colors that remind me of food. I need to go dramatic or I’ll regret it after I leave! WAIT! Not too dramatic! I am a mom you know…” Blah blah same thing every time. Some of you may remember the last time I cut off my hair. Gah. Nightmare. I was told by four different people I looked like my mom. Which isn’t bad but when one of those four people is your husband, well. Then things get a little iffy. I wanted to go to Whoorl but when I read in the New York Times she had 150 people in queue for hair Thursday, I figured I’d better start praying.

Thankfully I was referred to a genius of hair and from her nimble hands I am now caramel, copper and ruby with the ability to fluff, curl, straighten, pull back and funk up in a hundred different ways. I wanted to wait until I had all! sorts! of! styles! to show you, but I’m too excited.

So without further ado, the new moi.

I’ll keep you updated on any new follicular discoveries around these parts.

Poppity Pop and Away We Go.

Let’s talk popcorn. Popcorn WINNERS.

First I used one of those random number pickers. This one to be exact.

First it came up with this comment by Beth.

Hmmm, there seems to be a lot of popcorn fans out there!

I love me some Orville popcorn. When the bag just comes out of the microwave I pour it in a plastic bowl and then throw in a handful of regular M&M’s. The chocolate melts a bit and is a perfect combination of sweet and salt. It is the cheap mans version of Peterbrooke’s (local chocolatier) chocolate covered popcorn.

I also love, love, love chocolate chip cookies. When they are warm from the oven put a few in a bowl and then put a scoop of vanilla ice cream over them and hear them sizzle and ooze. Yummy!

…and now for the part where I kiss up. Your blog is seriously the first one that I check each morning. LOVE IT!”

Promise I didn’t pick it on my own from all the gratuitous comment blog love. Promise.

Our second winner is Nicole.

I can’t tell you how long I’ve been counting down the weeeeeeks until So You Think You Can Dance came back on! It’s BY FAR the best show out there….especially in summer.

On to my snacks… our family loves ice cream. We’re totally ice cream people. But I will not allow an ice cream with a hardened chocolate in it in my house (ie: It’s gotta be Oreo and not chocolate chip)…cookie dough is the one exception to the rule.

You have to try my popcorn, though. A bag of popcorn (even butterless would work if you’re being healthy) sprinkled with fresh lime juice and….wait for it…hot sauce. YUMMY!”

And thanks to all of you who commented, made me undeniably hungry and made my grocery store trip today $30 more than usual. (The whole ham wrapped pickle with cream cheese was by far the most popular suggestion. Closely followed by hot popcorn tossed with M&M’s.) *drool*

Then there was the urban legend popcorns. A few of you mentioned Orville Redenbacher’s Corn on the Cob flavor, one of you thought it was a Canadian specialty. Another one of you wept because you were sure that Orville had stopped making it. Guess what?

Urban Legend no more.

Another one of you didn’t believe that Orville’s Buttery Garlic truly existed. I say NAY!

My second favorite. First if we're counting mini bags.

And then bunches of you agreed with my suggestion that Old Fashioned Butter is WHERE IT’S AT.

Old Fashioned Butter, my favorite.

And then there’s the “Go big butter or go home” people. They balanced out the air/stove popped only crowd.

Note this, no one said they DISLIKED popcorn. Seriously. We all like it in different ways and combinations. But we pretty much all like it.

Remember the whole egg/syrup debate of spring 2008? Not only do some people not like eggs and syrup to touch, some people don’t even like eggs, or syrup. I’m pretty sure there was at least a dozen people who don’t even like breakfast.

Popcorn on Earth and goodwill to men. Congrats to the winners.


And in a completely random baking side note.

Hello new best baking invention since cubed Crisco

These are the best baking invention since individually wrapped sticks of Crisco. Seriously, little chunks of caramel that melt evenly, that don’t have to be unwrapped, go perfectly on ice cream and can be shoveled in your mouth handfuls at a time. Or, erm, uh. AND! No high fructose corn syrup!


How many of the rest of you hung out with Jesus clowns this weekend?

Jesus Loves you Clowns

No? Nobody? Well I did.

I also hung out with Slash, his busty girlfriend, Florence Henderson and Cheer Bear

Rock Star Girlfriend all right.

500 fesival balloon



Oh, where was I? That’s right.

500 Festival Balloon

That’s right, the 500 Festival parade, you know, the whole Indy 500 thing that happened on Sunday?

See, here’s Danica Patrick. She’s totally fierce.

Danica Patrick

Speaking of fierce, HOLY WINNER OF ANTM!

ANTM Cycle 10 winner, Whitney

Not so fierce…these dresses.

There were DOZENS of these.

Also not fierce. This job.

Ever feel like this is your job.

But alas, he was getting paid for this. I do it for free.

Speaking of free, here’s Uncle Sam.

Uncle Sam

He got a little tripped up just past Monument Circle. I was hoping he’d bust free but they got the balloon under control. Darn.

300,000 people go to this parade. I pretty much had the sweetest seat in the house.

Parade self portrait.

Unfortunately the first parade the moosh ever went to was the Parade of Dreams at Disneyland. She pretty much thought this parade was a snooze fest. Bummer.

A Snackish Contest.

Given that I’m about to bask in the glow of So You Think You Can Dance for the next two hours (OH HAPPY FLIPPING DAY) it’s a given that I am going to need a snack. Maybe several.

Now if I had my choice I’d me shoving Air Heads, Cheetos and Oreos down my gullet and breakneck speed.

But then I’d be kinda big. And unhealthy. And probably kinda sick. Not to mention I’d most likely poop funny colors.

So I have to choose wisely. Way more wisely than Air Heads, Cheetos and Oreos.

Which leads me to my list of of favorite snackish type things (and the moosh’s, gah I hate to share sometimes.).

  • Avocado, cut into chunks with a wee bit of salsa and a sprinkle of garlic salt. Dip what you wish. Or just eat it straight out of the bowl. Whatever.
  • Fritos (scoops) dipped into (4% large curd) cottage cheese. Did you snarl your nose? Dude, if you only knew.
  • Cold pineapple(fresh only), a bit of milk (2%), some ice and a splash of vanilla. Blend the daylights out of it and OH BABY.
  • Edamame (soybeans, I prefer shelled). Steamed, brought to room temperature and lightly salted.
  • Ham (deli sliced) wrapped (Vlasic please) dill pickles. Okay, so sodium overload. But it’s only occasional.
  • Artichokes. Steamed. With a little mayo to dip. My sister and I used to battle over the heart.
  • Finally, popcorn and orange juice. But not just any popcorn. Only Orville Redenbacher’s popcorn is allowed in my house and I prefer it to be either Old Fashioned Butter or their new Buttery Garlic stuff (loooove). And yes, orange juice. Like peas and carrots. My dad and sister subscribe to the popcorn orange juice school of thought also.

After a very stressful day on the popcorn aisle when I was unable to find Old Fashioned Butter, (seriously, when they stop making something you so dearly love and are impassioned to? STRESSFUL.) I swore to never love again.

Turns out I was just at the wrong store. Old Fashioned Butter is alive and well. And on sale at Marsh. *phew*

Orville heard of my loyalty and offered up a couple of sweet gift packs of popcorn for me to give away. Want one? You know you do. I got one, well, I already ate it all, but I got one.

So here goes. Leave a comment, tell me you’re favorite snack or what popcorn you are loyal to. Let’s just say if it’s not Orville Redenbacher’s Old Fashioned Butter you don’t know what you’re talking about. (However I should give credit to the Buttery Garlic stuff, it comes in mini bags, Old Fashioned doesn’t.) I can’t sit on the couch for longer than an hour without popcorn. Seriously. Love.

Okay, contest. comment, tell me your favorite snack, your family’s favorite snack. A snack that holds a special place in your heart. I’ll pick two comments at random on Monday May 26th. Which means you have until Sunday May 25th at midnight EST to enter. And which also means you need to leave me a valid email address (no one else will see it but me.).

Good luck. I’m going to go pop some popcorn, I told myself I couldn’t have any until after I wrote this post.

Oops, forgot to hit publish. Heh.

If I believed in reincarnation, I would come back as this.

If I believed in reincarnation, I would come back as this store.
If I believed in reincarnation, I would come back as this store.
If I believed in reincarnation, I would come back asthis store.
If I believed in reincarnation, I would come back as this store.
If I believed in reincarnation, I would come back as this store.
IMG_5457If I believed in reincarnation, I would come back as this store.
If I believed in reincarnation, I would come back as this store.
If I believed in reincarnation, I would come back as this store.
The Flying Cupcake Bakery
5617 N. Illinois Street, Indianapolis.
(In Broad Ripple)

Lahyer speek.

Whenever Cody starts spouting off law school blah blah my eyes glaze over and I nod catatonically. I really want to care. Really I do. But a lot of it just doesn’t compute. It’s safe to say he keeps talk of federal jurisdiction out of our conversations and I don’t bore him with the finer points of why you must slowly sweat your vegetables before adding them to the soup.

Fast forward to Friday night.

I received an email with an attached contract that I needed to sign for a new gig I’m about to begin (SQUEE! shh.). I started to read it over and wouldn’t you know it, my eyes glazed over and my brain started to shut down. So I called Cody in from the other room.

“Hey dude, wanna read a contract?”

Boy did he. He read that thing like I read Perez Hilton. Focused. Intent. Interested.

And when he was done he let me know that according to this contract I was under obligation to do something I didn’t want to be doing and that there was no way out and no way of changing it once I signed it.

Really? It said that? Because all I saw was “blah blah money blah blah”.

Anyway. He said that I should write what I wanted added into the contract and send it back to be added in.

Me? Write what? But I don’t even…I but I, how do I?

Cody flippantly said “I’ll write it.”

I thought “Ha ha sure he will, like he’ll really write a clause into a contract for me so I can protect myself.” And then it dawned on me. “HE CAN WRITE A CLAUSE INTO MY CONTRACT SO I CAN PROTECT MYSELF!” In that one moment it dawned on me that all this time my husband hasn’t been with me he’s been learning how to write legal garbage to protect people like me who don’t get legal garbage.


You see, Cody’s school brain has been growing and getting infinitely smarter. I just don’t see his school brain much. But I do see his home brain a lot and sorry to say it hasn’t gotten quite as smart as his school brain has, so it’s easy to forget just how book smart he is.

My mom is a computer programmer. It’s easy for me to forget that my mom is a class A computer geek until I see her surrounded by some of the supreme uber dorks she works with typing seven hundred words a minute in insane computer languages.

Then there’s my dad. He could tell you the ins and outs of any piece of furniture he sees. How well it’s made, where the wood came from, how it was put together. He could even reproduce it down to the exact detail if you gave him enough time.

My sister knows every dog and cat breed ever to be ever, and the pros and cons of every single one.

I have another friend who eats breathes and sleeps music. The other day at lunch I asked her why everyone sucks at singing happy birthday and she went into stuff about octave jumps, seventh notes and funny pitches. Who knew?

And then there’s me. Any one of you who know me in real life probably know better than to ever ask me a baking question again because chances are I GAVE YOU AN EARFUL and you could have cared less about half the stuff that poured out of my mouth. I am fluent in bake speak. And I speak it liberally.

So what about you? What language are you fluent it? What question could I ask you that would set off your “speak”? What are you dorky at? An expert at? Even if it’s something as small as knitting tea cozies, tell me. Tell the world.

You know, just in case someone needs a perfect tea cozy. Or whatever.

Can’t complain about free, but I can make fun of it.

Cody and I were going to get a new car. We looked at new cars. We test drove, we compared, we fell in love, we decided (Toyota Camry Hybrid, black with leather moonroof smart key heated seats and ooh uhmm mmm). And then we ran into all the crap that deals with loans and law school and limits and blah blah have I mentioned graduate school blows?


Instead we’re going to be practical *snort* and fix his 1998 junker in hopes it will last ten more years long enough to drive it dead. (We’ve already put twice as much into fixing it in the last year than we bought it for. gag gag gag.)

The junker.

So it’s in the shop with a two thousand dollar quote. BUT! When repairs total over $250 at this particular shop you get a loaner car while they fix your busted up car. Sweet right?

Sooo, you’ve got a young mom with a camera, a car seat and a Cheerio wielding toddler in your office, what kind of car do you pick for her? (You get to choose from the Chrysler, Jeep, Dodge line.)

Pacifica?  Maybe.

Caravan? Sure!

300M? Totally.

Neon? Okay, if you have to.

But apparently Bruce figured me a sassy (albeit impractical) kind of gal. So he hooked the moosh and me up with a two door convertible. Uh huh, that’s right.

Hellooooo Rental!

(If you own this car I’m not making fun of you, it’s a lovely car. Just not so practical in Indiana for a mom. Just sayin’.)

See how the top is down and the sky is kind of gloomy? Like it’s about to rain? Yeah, that’s because it was gloomy and about to rain. And kind of cold. And yet we were the ones driving down the road with the top down because I was the one stupid enough to show the moosh that the damn roof came off in the first place.

But the moosh is in love, she believes this car to be the reincarnation of AWESOME.

she dubbed it the silly billy blue smiling car.

the moosh belives this car to be ten kinds of awesome.

And this is how I became the dork driving a bright blue car down the road in 58 degree weather with looming rain clouds, the roof open and a small curly headed banshee shrieking with joy in the backseat.


Did you know that meme rhymes with theme? So it should really be spelled meem instead of meme but whatever that’s not the point. I don’t do memes. Except when the person who tags me is her. Then I do them. Because hers is the first blog I ever fell in love with. She’s the one who taught me the meaning of meme. And she’s the one who wants to know six unusual things about me. So she gets what she wants.

1. Cody took me skydiving for my 23rd birthday. He stayed safely on the ground with the bitty moosh while I hurtled out of a plane strapped to a highly attractive South African instructor named Phish with a swoon worthy accent. He said I was the best American student he had ever had. I then seriously considered a career in skydiving, for about 48 hours.

2. I do not watch rated R movies. Haven’t for years. However, my three favorite movies are rated R. They became my favorites before R rated movies became obscenely offensive to me and have yet to be replaced. They are as follows-

When Harry Met Sally-“You made a woman meow?” by far the best movie ever made. Ever.

Snatch-“Yeh lek degs?” Brad Pitts best role. Ever.

Love Actually-“Whenever I get gloomy with the state of the world, I think about the arrivals gate at Heathrow Airport. General opinion’s starting to make out that we live in a world of hatred and greed, but I don’t see that. It seems to me that love is everywhere. Often it’s not particularly dignified or newsworthy, but it’s always there – fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, husbands and wives, boyfriends, girlfriends, old friends. When the planes hit the Twin Towers, as far as I know none of the phone calls from the people on board were messages of hate or revenge – they were all messages of love. If you look for it, I’ve got a sneaking suspicion love actually is all around. ”

I always cry at the airport over complete strangers for this very reason.

3. This one isn’t actually about me, but since we’re on the subject of movies and Cody likes to consider us one person (“WE need to clean the kitchen.” “WE need to get the oil changed.” “WE need to make dinner.”) even though WE means ME, I’m going to add this one. Cody loves movie soundtracks with the power of a thousand burning suns. Especially instrumental ones. If you only knew how much time WE‘ve (seriously, we) spent looking for soundtracks you’d be shocked. His favorites? Gladiator, Transformers, Braveheart, Last of the Mohicans, and Finding Neverland. Currently playing in the other room? Pirates of the Caribbean.

4. I cannot, CANNOT handle people brushing their teeth. In real life, on TV, even just thinking about it gives me heebie jeebies and a slight gag reflex. I however can brush my own teeth with no problem, unless I bite the bristles. *gag*

5. I know I’ve mentioned this one before but it deserves to be mentioned again. I have never ever set foot or toe or right index finger in a tanning bed. Never. Never have, never will. Pasty is awesome. Cancer sucks.

6. I am incredibly superstitious. While I won’t go into exact specifics on the history of these superstitions because it would be very long and possibly boring not to mention you’d think me a complete loon, I will tell you some of the things I do or don’t do in relation to my superstitions.

  • I will never let a pole come between a friend and me while we are walking, after seven years, Cody is even more aware of this one than I am. (My previous best friend and I are no longer friends because I broke this one, seriously.)
  • I never take steps with one shoe on and one shoe off.
  • I never look at a funeral procession as to avoid counting the number of cars in it.
  • I never waste salt.
  • Right sock always goes on first.
  • I always get out of bed on the right.
  • The mirror breaking, black cat and ladder ones are all observed.

And that’s all I’m going to tell you, there’s more, so many more. But just looking at this list makes me want to make fun of myself.

So that’s six. And I won’t be tagging anyone because long ago I dubbed my blog the place where memes and awards go to die and that still stands true to this day.