From the Archives: What’s Dewey Decimal for Naked?

Originally posted August 9, 2007


Our main library is temporarily housed in a scary old government building that gives one the feeling that they are going to have their soul sucked out by Dementors around every corner. Shelves are stacked in every nook, cranny and in every possible old scary room that was accessible. While on a hunt for a “Teach yourself HTML and CSS” bible I found myself in a very dark, very dead end, very quiet part of the library that housed law books.

Snooze fest! Who on EARTH would want to read “Indiana State Court Rulings of 1984?”


The thought then entered my head that this would be an excellent place to do a little public bow chicka bow bow (you know, if you were into that type of thing), and if it were a good place for public nookie it would probably also be a good place to fix my underskirt that was hiking up my crotch because I didn’t fix it properly after using the hobbit sized bathrooms on level one.

So that’s what I did.

I hiked up my skirt and fixed it. Undies exposed. Very unladylike.

It was then that I heard a page turn and a voice clear. Dude on the other side of “Indiana State Court Rulings of 1984? just got the most front row seat possible to my skirt hitching and fixing possible. What a gentleman, he waited UNTIL I WAS DONE, to let me know he was there.

Nothing like flashing young, up and coming attorneys in the library to bring back my carnal need to blog.

From the Archives: A Clockwork moosh.

Originally posted July 31, 2007


I promise when this happened I wasn’t reading any sort of bloggish thing online.*
Mascara IV
*this is a total lie.
Mascara IIIMascara IIMascara IA Clockwork Moosh
I was cured all right. -Alex de Large

From the Archives: mooshnipulation.

Originally published February 15, 2007


That whole excitement of the new bed, you know, the one that always ends up with her face down and fast asleep?


It has been replaced with the moosh staying wide awake for hours kicking the walls.


Just because she can.

Thankfully (knock on wood) she hasn’t figured out how the doorknob works. That will be a sad, sad day. I re-entered the room twice during the nap attempt, the first time to make sure that the giant thud I heard wasn’t the moosh employing WWE techniques from the top of her dresser onto Mickey Mouse. The second time was a last desperate attempt at convincing her that if she didn’t nap Dora and her precious little backpack would be snatched by Swiper and thrown in Sneezing Snake Lake never to be heard from again.

Whole lot of good that did me, it’s as if she knew I was lying.

I left her to think about Dora’s fate while I went down to catch the last few minutes of “Drunk Co-Eds Caught on Camera” on Dr. Phil. Instead of screaming, squawking or even better yet, sleeping, the moosh decided to yell.


Who could keep that much love locked up in a bedroom to do something so trivial as sleep?

Not I.

Then there’s the whole time out thing.

She gets time outs. Not very often, but often enough to know where they take place, how she ends up there and for how long. In the beginning it was a whole lot of bawling. Then it tapered down to whimpering, just pitiful enough that if I were less of a tyrant I could easily give in. Time outs don’t happen much anymore, but warnings are still rampant. She’s at a stage in life when she’s trying to figure out when, who and how hard she can hit before it turns unacceptable. What she doesn’t get is that the answers are:
and not at all.

Yet she tests the waters, especially on me.

The other day she asked if she could practice knife swallowing with my 11 inch bread knife and I said no. She decided to test her slapping boundaries. She hit my knee and yelled “NO!” She got the mom look, a serious “NO HITTING.” back and a warning. She pondered this for a moment. Then she hit me again, no yelling this time, just a sturdy smack on my thigh. Before the first twitches of movement even traveled through my body to send her to the bottom stair she turned and bolted, right to the bottom stair. She sat herself down, announced “TWO MINUTES!” and started apologizing in the sweetest little voice you can imagine.

“sorry mom, sorry pretty mom, I sorry mom, I love you mom sorry. Sorry mommy, sorry. Sorry? I’m sorry. Pretty mom, so sorry.”


I had to sit stone faced and ignore this little chubby kid because in all reality she was in time out and I did have to carry it out or I may been seen as weak, and for any of you who have been in possession of a toddler know that when they see a weakness they attack that weakness like flies on poo.

Outside, stone faced disciplinarian. Inside, poopy piles of weakness.


I can’t stand it when people rub their vacations in your face.

We leave for Disneyworld in about 17 hours.

This is our first real family vacation ever.

So I’m going to do a little rubbing.

It’s such a big deal I’m making tiny grandma, grandpa poopsie and my sissy go with us.

None of us have ever been to Disneyworld.

We’re set up in a condo and I’m not quite sure about the internet, but I do know about priorities.

Grandpa poopsie hasn’t seen the moosh in over two years.

It’s been over a year for tiny grandma.

Cody hasn’t been with the moosh for an entire week since she was born.

tiny grandma, the moosh and grandpa poopsie have a lunch date set with all the princesses.

We’ll all be attending Mickey’s Halloween Party (the moosh will be Tinkerbell.)

I have my phone set up to twitter any Cinderella sightings. (Are you following me?)

I also have my phone set up to post pictures in my sidebar.

I’ll be setting up a few archives to post while I’m gone.

I’m on vacation with my family.

Email and everything else can wait.

Hope you all have a lovely week. If anything especially lovely happens please leave it in a comment. I’d love to come home to an inbox full of your lovelies.


Eu falo Brazilian. (I speak Brazilian.)

  • Does it hurt?

Yes. Having hundreds of hairs ripped out by their roots all at once with hot wax? Yes. It hurts. But there is a reason I have done this twice. It hurts, but it is worth the pain. The pain is quick! and temporary (assuming your waxer knows what she’s doing.) The results are long lasting and (insert any choice of inappropriate innuendo type adjective here.)

  • Rate your pain in relation to childbirth.

No where near childbirth because you don’t leave stitched up and swollen with a side of hemorrhoids. You leave slightly tender with a spring in your step. I’m not kidding when I say your clothes fit better. But do try to avoid doing it the week before your period, it actually does hurt more then. (P.S. I actually enjoyed giving birth if that says anything. If they sold epidurals on the street I would buy one for all of my friends.)

  • What about when it grows back?

Did you ever shave your mono-brow in Jr. High like I did? Remember when it grew back in two days later thicker than your dad’s whiskers and then someone took pity enough on you to teach you how to tweeze? (Thanks sissy.) They take a really long time to grow back, and when they do they’re lighter and not as course because that little hair follicle had to start from the very beginning in order to pop back between your eyes. Same goes for curlies. When you have the little buggers yanked out by the root all at once those little follicles have to start all over again. Instead of blunt cutting your hair like a razor does (read, itch), waxing starts the process of hair growing all over again, therefore, no itch. (for me at least, maybe you’re an itchier person than I am.)

  • How long does it last?

Long enough that you forget what it’s like to have a bushel full of hair. Since hair grows in cycles, after your first wax it’s suggested you go back after 4-6 weeks to have the second string of hairs submit to the mercy of the wax. After your second time around you can go eight weeks without fearing a bathing suit. (Also, hair grows slower in the winter.) The Naked Monkey will tell you “do it twice and you’ll be sold.”

  • If you had the means to maintain it constantly, would you?

Yes. And I’d pay for all of my friends to maintain it constantly too. It just feels cleaner, your clothes fit better and um, yes, the whole making out part is quite lovely, on both accounts. Hooray for monogamy!

  • Isn’t a hairless (or nearly hairless) monkey kind of like admitting you want to have s@% with a prepubescent girl?

Valid question. But not so much in my opinion. No part an average woman’s body resembles that of a prepubescent girl. We have hips, we have curves, we have boobs. Last time I checked most every woman I know could out curve a prepubescent girl without any effort.

  • How much does your husband love it?

He’d love to answer you but he’s too busy blushing.

  • How many times do you get “ripped” before it’s over?

There’s probably about five big mama rips that will cause you to gasp and make a “WHOO HOO HOO” type sound. The whole process takes about 20-30 minutes with maybe only a minute consisting of actual ripping. I actually think that the tweezing of the strays hurts more (BTW, they tweeze the strays.)

  • Do they apply and “after waxing” cream/gel to cool things down?

Before I forget, wear loose pants to your appointment. Loose undies too, maybe borrow your husband’s boxers. Just sayin’. Yes, they’ll clean you of stray bits of wax, close your pores with a cooling spray and slather you up with an ingrown hair treatment. (The Naked Monkey uses Oprah’s obsession, Prince Reigns. (which I think is a really dumb name) Apparently for those prone to ingrowns it is a miracle. Tend Skin is another popular after wax goo.) If you are prone to ingrowns spend the extra money on an ingrown treatment, because zitty red whiteheady ingrowns down there? You looked better hairy.

  • Do you get all gussied up prior to the wax? Like cleaning before the cleaning lady comes over, so she doesn’t think you’re a slob?

Do a courtesy trim if you’re worried. But you will need about two weeks worth of hair growth for it to come out well. Shower as close to your appointment as possible and carry around a personal wipe if you’re really worried (You will generally be provided with one.) You don’t have to do any of this stuff, but I’m guessing it’s appreciated by the waxer, and if it calms your fears, wash away. I’d like to think the waxer takes the amount of hair you have as a personal challenge. Or not. Whatever.

  • Someone was telling me that using hard wax instead of using regular wax+strips is way less painful. Which do you use?

I don’t use either, I pay for someone else to use them on me. Heh. I’ve only had the wax and strips on the outer areas and the hard wax in the crannies. I prefer the hard because it doesn’t stick to your skin, just your hair. I think the strips are kind of stingy personally.

  • What’s the difference between a bikini and a Brazilian?

If I called you to go to the beach with me right now a bikini would be the maintenance you would do in order to wear your bathing suit without fear of escapees. Basically your inner thighs and outside pelvic area. A Brazilian is butt bare naked in and out, front and back. You can also leave a “landing strip” if you’d like, a little patch of hair just to remind you what used to be there.

  • How awkward is it?

Repeat after me, “The person who is about to do this to me does this for a living. If she thought the idea of waxing stranger’s lady parts was disgusting and offensive she would find a different line of work. She sees dozens of these a week.” Okay? But yes. WAAY awkward. You will be given a towel for your own benefit but it won’t be on you hardly at all. But they are just doing their job. So chat it up about movies, local restaurants, celebrity gossip. Because I can promise you it will be way more weird with silence. Thankfully there is also a code of ethics if you will amongst waxers, they will not discuss you, your parts or what you’ve had done to anyone. Not even your best friend. If you never tell anyone what you had done, you can be assured no one will ever know. The first waxer I had said she never even mentioned the fact that she did Brazilians because people are so ignorant about it. Amen.

  • What’s the healing time on that? Follicular torture and salt water? Not so much with the happy happy.

It will be strictly look only for 24 hours. And it will look bad. You’ll wonder why the heck you did that to yourself. There may even be blood. After 24 hours it will still be tender, but don’t neglect the exfoliation, otherwise you’ll have a whole new problem on your hands. Keep it clean, keep your drawers loose and BRING IT ON after about 48-72 hours. Not a worry until your next appointment (as long as you keep up with the exfoliation.) You’ll find yourself sitting in positions in your bathing suit you never thought possible.

  • Do they really wax your butt crack?

Yes. If you want them to. At The Naked Monkey they call it your “baboon.” (har!) I say go for it. You’ve made it this far, why go home with hair? You’ll either be asked to hold your leg up by your head or told to flip around on all fours. One yank and your baboon is done.


So there you go. How many of you are calling to make your appointment now? You should be. The main reason for doing doesn’t even have to be se*ual (take that google search.) It can be as simple as you spend your summer by the pool or are going on a week long tropical vacation and don’t want to be bothered with upkeep and itch. It can also be done simply because you don’t like the stuff down there. Dr. Oz said the main reason to have hair down there is to serve as a nest for your pheromones. Pardon me but that’s kind of icky, personally.

Learning to love Indianapolis, one cupcake eating monkey at a time.

Does anybody else love places that specialize in one thing? I DO! I DO! I love knowing you’re going into a place where they do one thing because they do that one thing well. Think In-N-Out burger in California. You can have a hamburger or a cheeseburger. The end. Not a hamburger or maybe a breakfast sandwich with syrup touching your eggs with a side of fish, a salad and a choice of thirty seven beverages and eighteen prepackaged desserts that taste like cardboard to choose from. Mmmm.

I know I’ve told you about my favorite cupcake restaurant here in Indy. The Flying Cupcake. Remember? So cute. So many calories. So worth it.

Next is the bookstore right next door to The Flying Cupcake. It’s a children’s bookstore. It is a dream come true. You know the Shop Around the Corner in You’ve Got Mail? Kid’s Ink bookstore on 56th & Illinois. Down to every last detail.

Longs Bakery in Indianapolis. Banbury Cross in Salt Lake. Doughnuts. OH MY HOLEY DOUGHNUTS. When at Banbury Cross get the white cake doughnut with white icing and rainbow sprinkles. They have to be rainbow. This is the only thing I ever craved to the point of hysterics while pregnant if that says anything. Longs Bakery? Carmel Iced cream filled. You Westerners are missing out on our Midwestern cream filling. I’d consider staying just for the cream filling if that says anything.

Shade clothing. Every shirt is long. So long that your muffin won’t hang out. Ever. Heaven bless you Shade.

Five Guys Burgers and Fries. See In-N-Out, only for the rest of the United States.

Abbott’s Frozen Custard (mostly a western New York thing.) I can only hope that all the faucets in Heaven pour out Abbott’s Frozen Custard. Indy has Ritter’s Custard and Salt Lake has Nielsen’s, but Abbott’s? Worth the trip to upstate New York. Seriously. Click the link, I DARE YOU NOT TO SALIVATE. (And for those of you who had never had custard? Please, come stay at my house. There’s two custard joints within a few miles.)

Huh, anyone noticing the trend of junk food loves I have? Anyone know of a place that makes really rockin’ carrot sticks?

Lucky Baby Slings. Did you know I was a fanatical sling mom? I am. I have two from Lucky Baby and have been known to borrow babies on a regular basis just to carry around a little squishy baby like a marsupial.

This brings me to my latest discovery. The Naked Monkey. They do wax. I’m going to Florida this weekend with my family and Florida means bathing suits. October means low maintence on many areas of bodily hair (How I love thee fall.) I needed to find somewhere to make myself a little more welcome in Florida. Maybe you kids in big cities have a dedicated waxing salon. But I’ll bet you don’t have one called The Naked Monkey (I’m really learning to love you Indianapolis.) When I had my first waxing experience last year in Utah, I googled what to expect. I was sorely misled (I’m looking at you With the limited knowledge I got from the internets I still had no idea how much goes into waxing. Did you know that a good waxing salon will have different kinds of wax for different textures of hair? Or medication that you’re on? Or skin type you have? The Naked Monkey had 20 (20!) different kinds of wax, and those ladies knew how to spread ’em all. They’ve done over 1,000 Brazilians in 2008. It’s only October, you do the math.

Florida, here I come.

I apparently have (had) ethnic hair (I’m looking at you Great Great Great Grandpa Greek. Thanks for the nose too.) and my ethnic hair takes very well to waxing. (Meaning the hairs come from the root in one yanktastic tug resulting in pin pricks of blood, yet longer lasting results.)

While it’s hard to stay focused with hundreds of hairs moments away from being out of your body by bright blue wax, I tried to pay attention to the wealth of knowledge the owner, Jeniffer had for me. And to the wealth of sensation that is getting a Brazilian wax. (Oh, did I mention that I was talking about Brazilian waxes? Because I am.)

Anything you want to know about the procedure? Burning questions? I’m here to answer them, Casey of the TMI (too much information, fyi.) If you don’t ask I’ll just have to answer the questions I come up with.

For those of you ready to run to The Naked Monkey, here’s a little secret, before you can book with them they have to know who you heard about them from, guess what? You can say you know me. I’ve never been able to have my named “dropped” before. Awesome. Oh and hello? If you have a quick appointment YOU CAN BRING YOUR KIDS. I KNOW. But I wouldn’t reccomend bringing your kids to a bikini wax. Ever.)

Ask away! My pain? YOUR GAIN! (And if you have any reccomendations of specialty stores, especially around the Midwest, do tell.)

Nobody likes me everybody hates me. HA!

I wrote this guest post for Angella over at Dutch Blitz back in February. Love her.

I think it’s this post comes up for air yet again on this cozy fall day in October.


Angella is generally around on Google Chat when trolls come knocking at my door and she does a lovely job of talking me down from my troll induced frenzy.

But I shall frenzy no longer because I have accepted that not everyone is going to like me. Or everything that I do.


Same goes for you. Not everyone likes you. Sorry.

If you decide to write about religion you’ll be told you go to the wrong church. Or believe in the wrong God. But if you don’t write about religion you will be chastised for not involving religion in the raising of your child.

If you write about your child you will be told you’re doing it all wrong. If you don’t write about your child people will let you know that you are selfish and self centered.

If you don’t use paragraphs you’ll be sent links on proper grammar. If you do use paragraphs you’ll be called “stuffy, boring and wordy.”

If you write about depression you’ll be called a lazy human being who has no right to parent a child.

If you write about your attorney husband you’ll be called a spoiled and kept woman.

If you write how to make homemade cinnamon rolls you’ll be called indulgent and told you have too much free time. But if you write about your dirty love for polishing off a Cinnabon with extra frosting all by yourself in the corner of the mall food court you’ll be told that you are the reason society is fat.

If you dare mention that you had a bad day and that you’re two steps away from selling your offspring on eBay, you’ll get all sorts of snarky comments about your status as an ungrateful and unfit mother. But if you don’t write about the honest truth that kids tend to drive one batty every once in a while and only post sparkly rainbow unicorn kisses, people will question your authenticity. (And throw up in their mouths a little bit when reading about your so called constant state of glitter and sunshine of a life.)

So there you have it.

I am a Mormon mommy blogger who writes how I think, rarely uses proper punctuation, is dealing with depression, gets frustrated easily, hates that her husband is gone all the time and enjoys the occasional Cinnabon.

But I am also a Mormon mommy blogger who is trying to be a decent human being, loves my husband, my daughter, my family, the Lord and my friends more than anything in this life. I am grateful for all that I have and to be where I’m at. And I can make a wicked chocolate cake.

How’s that for sunshiney rainbow kisses?

Mormon underwear.

Jesus jammies, freaky panties, garmies, magic underwear, secret undies.

Believe me, I’ve heard them all. (If you want to go straight to the doctrine rich meaty explanation of garments please see this article written by formal  Salt Lake Temple president and former Seventy member Elder Carlos E. Asay. If you want my Layman’s definition, please keep going…)

Truth is, adult members of my church (The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, or “Mormons”) who have gone through the temple do wear a garment in place of traditional underwear. And yes, women still wear bras, regular old bras. Any kind. Nothing at all special about our bras (well, there is something special about mine, given that it holds the girls at attention, but that’s Victoria’s Secret, not the church’s secret.)

Garments are not secret. They are sacred to those who wear them.

Children do not wear the garment.

Men and women wear different styles of the garment.

We all have multiple pairs. No, we’re not wearing the same underwear everyday. (Eww.)

The garment comes in a variety of different fabrics and styles for men and women, including one and two piece styles. All garments are white except for military issue garments which are brown.

Just because someone is LDS does not mean they wear the garment.

Members who wear the garment have gone through the temple and have made special covenants with the Lord and have made a commitment to wear the garment throughout their lives both day and night. The garment serves as a protection to us, and as a constant reminder of the covenants we have made with God. It also encourages modesty as the garment covers us from our knees to our shoulders.

So yes, sleeveless tops are out, short shorts and short skirts are also out. Baring our midriff? Not an option.

There are the four S’s however when it comes to removing the garment. Swimming, showering, sports (ones that cannot be performed reasonably with the garment on) and well, you should have already guessed the other S. Bow chicka.

In all cases the garment is to be restored as soon as possible and no excuses should be made about wearing the garment. “I don’t want to” or “I don’t feel like it” are not acceptable. Wearing the garment is a sacred privilege to those who wear the garment. It is a commandment, just like don’t covet thy neighbor’s ass. And we take our commandments seriously.

“The principles of modesty and keeping the body appropriately covered are implicit in the covenant and should govern the nature of all clothing worn. Endowed members of the Church wear the garment as a reminder of the sacred covenants they have made with the Lord and also as a protection against temptation and evil. How it is worn is an outward expression of an inward commitment to follow the Savior.” –From  this article on

How one chooses to wear the garment is an outward expression of an inward commitment to God. Our clergy do not wear robes or any sort of distinct clothing to set them apart from other members of the church. Our prophet wears a suit just like our bishop wears a suit just like Cody wears a suit. But for those of us who have been to the temple, we all have the same thing closest to our bodies, underneath our worldly clothing we are all wearing the same commitment to our faith and our Savior.

So there you go. Nothing special or magical or secret or freaky. Just our personal faith and commitment to our main man Jesus. I personally love wearing mine. Of course I didn’t love it at first because trying to find modest clothing can sometimes be like trying to find a lost Binky in Disney World. But I’m glad I never have to worry about what’s hanging out or what may be showing yet not shaved. I love that through my wearing of the garment I am able to show Heavenly Father that I love Him and respect Him. Also that I love and respect myself enough not to succumb to immodesty just because it may be the cool “sexy” thing for women to do these days. (No, I’m not talking about you over there in the tank top…I’m talking about the girls in bikinis, lingerie and micro mini skirts that make us all feel bad about ourselves as they bare their airbrushed flesh on the covers of smutty magazines. Okay?)

Besides, we now kind of have our own cult following of fashion. Shabby Apple? Shade clothing? Layers clothing? Down East? All started to help those of us who don’t want our stuff showing but still want to look cute. Further proof that modesty is hottesty.

P.S. No, there’s really no way to see them unless you marry a Mormon who wears them, are a doctor and have an LDS patient or choose to join our church becuase it’s so completely awesome. It’s not that they’re secret, they’re just sacred, you know? They just look like boxer briefs and a t-shirt. Nothin’ fancy, Promise.