Nah, not really. I’ll probably go shower after I finish writing this.

So riddle me this. Technically you’re not supposed to wash your hair everyday. Especially if it’s color treated. So I don’t. But come day two most of the time I feel greasy. I don’t look greasy, I just feel greasy. And I feel like I smell greasy. Yet no one has ever said “WASH YOUR HAIR MUCH DISGUSTO GIRL?” Needless to say three days without a shower? No part of me is hot right now.

So how often do you wash your hair? Do you feel not so hair commercial wonderful the next day but just ignore it because you’re “supposed” to wash your hair every other day? C’mon, how many of you have roots that are feeling not so squeaky clean most of the time (maybe at this very moment) but have the rest of us fooled?

I now feel like a dirty dishrag. A shower has just become an absolute.

Discuss.

The second time was the same model, just not a convertible. the moosh was pissed. But we did have satellite radio. (Which simply means two hundred extra stations of crap.)

Today however we hit the motherlode.

A minivan.

Cheerios ground into the carped and everything.

It even smells like a minivan. A little sour milk with hints of Goldfish cracker highlighted with notes of “New Car Smell” air freshener tree.

I can only think of Bill Engvall calling the un-tinted driver’s side window of a minivan “the goober viewing hole.”

the moosh digs the minivan. She even volunteered to sit all the way in the very back. So far back in fact she kind of forgot to talk my ear off. And then there was the air vents. She didn’t trust the overhead air vents, kept giving them the stink eye the whole way home.

As if I didn’t feel goober enough driving a smelly minivan with only one child, the moosh requested SONGS! Without my iPod the only station we were able to compromise on was “Light Adult Contemporary.”

Light Adult Contemporary=John Tesh, Kenny G. and Aaron Neville

It’s really hard to maintain any sense of hot 26 year old pride when you’re behind the wheel of a rented minivan singing along (SINGING! ALONG!) to “Everybody Plays the Fool.”

To make matters worse? If a door is open and the minivan isn’t turned on? The left turn signal blinks. It’s as if it’s mocking my embarrassment by winking at anyone walking by.

“SEE THIS LADY? SEE HER! SEE HER DRIVING THE MINIVAN? YOU! LOOK OVER HERE! DID YOU SEE HER DRIVING ME? YEAH! ME! WITH THE TWITCHY LEFT BLINKER!” twitch blink! twitch blink!  twitch blink!

Turn on Christina Aguilera’s “Candyman” and watch my flubber fly. Go ahead, listen to it, see if you don’t do a little sit dance yourself.

So tell me. What is your sit dance song? I’m always looking for more to add to the “Hot Sit Dance Party” playlist on my iPod.

And if you want to see a bunch of ladies bust loose to Britney Spears (including me. *sigh*) Go here.

I looked around tonight for my journals. I started one in 1994 when I had my first crush on Greg Shumway. I’ve kept one ever since. Uh, well, I kept one until I got a blog. So uh, welcome to my journal! My current crush is Cody, I think he’s sooooo cute. We share a bedroom together. The other day he said he thought I was funny. I think he’s going to ask me out. Gosh, he’s soooo cute.

Ahem. Anyway. As expected my journals are locked up tight in a Tupperware bin in the back of the closet of cluttery mysteries. And rightfully so. There are secrets and stories in those journals that can take hold of me like poison and drag me down before I can scream uncle. Cody has read them. I decided to reread them a while back and wondered why Cody was still coming home everyday after reading what was written in those pages. I was my own worst enemy. I hated myself. I destroyed myself. I was a hot mess.

One journal has an obituary I wrote out for myself, complete with picture.

Another has a piece of sandpaper I used to rub my wrists down to the bone with.

Many pages are filled with scathing letters to my family, mostly my mom. (HI! SORRY MOM! LOVE YOU! Whew! I was a stinker huh?)

One sentence reads “I was feeling ugly today so I called Chris (fake name) to make out (ahem) to feel better about myself.”

Many entries were written drunk.

Many pages are tear stained.

Some include pictures of old boyfriends, phone numbers written on matchbox covers and poems written to me by some boy trying to woo me out of my drawers.

I look back at what I allowed myself and others to do to my body. I felt sad and angry that my body, which should have only been given to my husband, had been through so much.

But supposedly your skin renews itself every three years and your skeleton renews itself every seven years. Which means that finally, after seven years of marriage, my body is my own again. Cody’s the only one who has ever been with this renewed physical body. And now that my body feels healed, my mind is having a much easier time recovering also.

And that? Feels good.

Andrea from Mommy’s Martini is the winner of the Mooshwhoorly hair contest.

She’s over at Hair Thursday waiting for you to vote on how much hair she should lose.

So go! Make Andrea HOT!

***comments off, you’re supposed to be making Andrea hot***

For three hours.

Yep. Every single week.

Three hours. 180 minutes.

Our first meeting is Sacrament, were we partake of bread and water in remembrance of the Savior. In this meeting we are all together. We sing a little, listen to talks and get any other important news about our congregation. For the second and third meeting, kids 18 months- 3 years go to a nursery class and children 3-12 attend a primary class. The second meeting for adults 18+ is Sunday school where we learn about and read scriptures. The third meeting is either Relief Society (for women) Priesthood (for men). Boys and girls 12+ each have their own Sunday school classes divided by age and their own meeting of either Young Women or Young Men. Each class is led by members “called” to the position for a small amount of time. (For example, I teach the 12 and 13 year old Sunday School Class, Cody teaches once a month in his Priesthood class.)

That’s roughly 156 hours of church a year (give or take some due to various and assorted church wide conferences.)

Considering there’s 8,760 hours in a year, that’s a very tiny portion of it spent at church.

We also dress up. Sunday best. Every week. This is also a hot topic of discussion.

The way I look at it, if I were Deity and I had done a whole lot to bless the lives of the people who have faith in me, died for them even, I’d appreciate it if for the three hours a week they came together to learn about me and sing songs about me, it would be nice if they’d get out of their jammies and comb their hair.

Right?

We also don’t (well avoid, sometimes it’s inevitable) shop or eat out on Sundays, we stay close with our families resting and relaxing, because dude? That’s totally what the God I believe in did on the seventh day. This makes Utah either the most awesome state in the Union or the lamest state in the Union come Sunday, depending on what you want to do.

As usual, I’m not asking you to agree with what I choose to do with my Sundays. If religion to you is weeding your tomato plants on a Sunday then get on down with your bad ol’ weeding self. I’m just putting a little more reliable information out into the internets about us (not so crazy) Mormons. So keep the meanness to yourself and take it out on those dandelions overtaking your lawn over there.

Ingredients:

12 oz. Fettuccine (I actually prefer long egg noodles if you can find them, TRADER JOE’S!)

1 tablespoon butter

1 large shallot, finely chopped (this is a shallot)

1/4 c. heavy cream

about 2 cups of frozen peas (depending on how much you love the peas.)

8 slices of proscuitto (4 oz./1 cup) thinly sliced

1 large lemon which will turn into:

1 T. lemon zest

1 T. lemon juice

fresh parmasean

Saute the shallot in the tablespoon of butter (in a hot pan) until softened (about 4 minutes) meanwhile boil your pasta (in hot water.)

Add the cream, peas, and proscuitto and cook until peas are warmed through (hot).

Add lemon zest and lemon juice, stir. Stir together with cooked (hot), drained noodles.

Scoop it up, smother it with cheese and eat it, hot of course.

From Martha Stewart’s Everyday Food: Great Food Fast Cookbook. (Damn you Martha and your pretty cookbooks.)

The theme for August? Hot.

So in honor of Hot and NaBlaPoMo, I’m going to shove my feed down your throat.

 Subscribe in a reader

Why? Because there’s a flame! And flames are HOT!

So click that cute little picture up there, subscribe if you’re not and sit back and let the HOT moosh in indy action fill your reader.

HOT. HOT. HOT.

So here we go kids.

Everyday.

For a month.

Anything HOT you want to know about us here at moosh in indy?

Heaven knows I’ll be a HOT mess trying to come up with HOT topics to blog about in the HOT month of August.

Now’s the HOT time to ask.

Hottie.

Rawr.

Slouching Mom, me and Mocha

Andi, Hedder, Kim, moi, Redneck

Aimee and moi representin’ the Savvy Source (She’s the Denver chick. Iz the Indy chick.)

Bossy, Me, Jess and Liz for Fling it Girl.

Andi, Hedder, Kim, moi, Redneck

$1700 COWgirl boots. EmPHAsis on the COW.

the moosh learned about the trots about an hour into the party.

the moosh had to leave her panties behind in a garbage can.

We had to leave early.

Mommyblog haters hate it when mommybloggers write about poop.

Hate away haters, I’ll have Chuck E. dig out those Cinderella panties and send ‘em to you.

That’s all I have to say about my day.

You?