MII: Welcome to Moosh in Indy Talks Food.

Today’s guest is Oreo Cheesecake.

Oreo Cheesecake, say hello to everyone.

MII:Everyone, say hello to Oreo Cheesecake.

 

MII:Why don’t you tell us a little about yourself Oreo Cheesecake?

OC: Well, my mom made cheese in Philly and my dad is an egg farmer from central Utah. I’m about 12 hours old, but I’ve done a lot of traveling in that time. So far I’ve been to Kitchen-aid, Mixer; Kenmore, Oven and Frigidaire, Refrigerator. And now I’m here, Kitchen, Counter. It’s so great to be here.

 

MII: Well we’re really hungryhappy you’re here. Now there’s a bit of controversy about your origins? Some say box, some say divine creation. Which do you believe?

OC: Oh, I definitely believe in Creation. My creator is a beautiful loving woman, looks much like yourself actually. She took a dash from here and cup from there and made me in six minutes, she rested the seventh minute because she had been playing volleyball earlier. But I know she’s out there and I know she’s the only one who could make me what I am today.

 

MII: That’s some pretty strong knowledge to have for someone so delicious young. Do the other baked goods give you a hard time?

OC: Yeah, the boxed cakes and brownies are a rough bunch. They swear they’re every bit as good as me, that I just get more credit because someone like me doesn’t come along all that often. But I know my creator makes all baked goods with equal amounts of love and care, and I know we’ll all end up in the same place, despite our origins.

 

MII: Well, Oreo Cheesecake. You know what happens next on this show. “Share a piece of you with the moosh!”

(WILD APPLAUSE)

OC: Oh, yeah, that. That’s why I’m here right? Well, let’s get to it I guess.

 

MII: Well, what do you think the moosh?

 

 

 MII: The moosh confirms it, Oreo Cheesecake is one of the best guests we’ve ever had on the show! Thank you for being with us Oreo Cheesecake.

OC: Uh, thanks, uh, what’s that big knife for? No! Wait! I haven’t seen Living, Room or CHEVROLET, TRUCK YET! No! NO! Noooooo!

 

MII: Well ladies and gentlemen, that’s it for Oreo Cheesecake. *burp* Thank you for being here and don’t forget to join us next week for “Angel Food: truly a saint or grossly misunderstood?” And we’ll uncover the conspiracy behind Hank & Willie’s Slander of the Best Damn Brownies Ever.

If you or someone you know should be eaten on a guest on Moosh in Indy Eats Talks Food. Please email us at mooshinindy at gmail dot com. Transcripts available by hitting “print”.

Let’s travel back to a time when I was pregnant.

I wanted ice cream.

There was a line at the ice cream store.

I.

lost.

it.

For the first time in my barftastic pregnant career I wanted ice cream. I wanted it now. And I wanted it to be quick. I stormed back to the car.

Then Cody DARED! to turn the A/C on when I was at a comfortable temperature.

Cody noticed I was angry. When we got home I HUFFED! and STOMPED! upstairs and he decided it was best to leave his hormone bag of a pregnant wife alone.

This decision is now known as one of the worst he’s ever made.

I waited for him to come up and hug my estrogen infested body.

I waited.

and waited.

and waited.

He never came.

I’m a stubborn little toad so I decided to brush my teeth and go to bed.

While fuming and brushing and seething and brushing I was conspiring ways of vengeance.

“He HATES! anything to do with the toilet, especially things touching it.” I thought.

His toothbrush was right there.

I threw it in, finished brushing and went to sleep.

Vengeance served. (Well, I threw all his pillows on the floor and kicked him when he tried to get into the bed, then revenge was mine.)

NOPE! NEVERMIND!

I woke up and I was still mad as a wet hen.

I was out to get him where it hurt.

Now this is where I take a break in the story and tell you that I used to be a really good wife, I used to buy my husband a calendar each Christmas featuring someone he was particularly fond of. The 2001 calandar starred Shania Twain  the 2002 calendar was teeming with Denver Bronco cheerleaders. Neither of the calendars went away in 2003.

They stayed on the wall, much like they would in a frat house or teenage boys bedroom.

They also didn’t go away in 2004, the year I happened to be pregnant.

I tore those little taut bellied tarts of the wall and started to rip. I tore them into shreds so small not even a pom pom was recognizable.

I felt gooood. Now, sweet sweet revenge was mine.

I left for work, satisfied with a job well done.

Cody called me at work a few hours later, and aksed “What did my toothbrush ever do to you?”

He still mourns the loss of his beloved calendars. They will never be replaced as long as he has any intention of ever getting me pregnant again.

Too much of a liability.

I am not an ungrateful person.
(Although I didn’t win any of the prizes for NaBloPoMo. Phooey.)
Rather I am a somewhat scatterbrained and, dare I say, lazy person.
Which is why when some of you bestow me with awards and tag me for memes I come down with this sickness called “antimemeblogblingitis.” It’s dibilitating. Symptoms are technorati hits, guilt, lack of creativity and brain farts.
I love getting recognition and awards, problem is, well,  I’ve got problems.
Maybe some of you out there have the same illness?

Am I not alone?

Please tell me I’m not alone.

So here I go, I’m going to try and accept the awards that have been given to me recently and hope that no one ever sends me one ever again.

Well, maybe not ever again. Just don’t be hurt if you tag me and I never do it. Okay? It’s not because I think your meme is dumb. Or that you’re dumb. I’m just not a meme kind of girl. I’m more of a CodyCody kind of girl.

 Mmm, Cody.

Maybe you could make one up just for me that I never have to forward or pass on?

Like “Best Yoga Queefer”
or “Best Treadmill Orgasmer”
or “Most unique use of Bungee Cords”

Is that not how these awards work?

Poo.

Mrs. Dixie Chick gave me the Underblog award. Thanks fellow Hoosier!

I need to give this one to Clink over at Tabula Rasa. She’s out having a baby RIGHT NOW. But she’ll be back soon enough with stories of stiches, pitocin and the new mommy crazies. Read this post in the mean time. She does her dishes doggie style.

The fabulous  Fussypants handed over a Hot Chick award for my shoes.

The shoes everyone seemed to notice in this picture.

Well sit right back and let me tell YOU about my shoes.

They are $275 Cole Haan Air Livia slingbacks. (On sale for $189 with free shipping!)

Oprah’s favorite shoes.

They have Nike Air pads in the heel and the ball area of the shoe, they’re like walking on sex.

I bought them with my birthday money last year.

Only I got them on eBay.

Brand new.

$80.

How about an award for THAT?

NaBloPoMo is over.

I gave almost all I had to give.

You learned about my sordid past, how I met Cody, how I fell in love with Cody, how I became a Mormon, what a wicked awesome baker I am, how I got fat after marrying Cody, how I was an infertile science experiment, how I lost 60 pounds while pregnant, what a raging bitch I was when pregnant, how I overdosed when I was pregnant, how I almost threw my kid in a fire, that I dislike Utah, I have a best friend who takes lovely photos, I make out with pillows, I fake it for doctors AND I lock my kid in her room with bungee cords. Oh, and don’t forget all the Mormon pride I slung around like snowballs.

PHEW. That’s not even all of it.

So now’s your time to put out.

I want EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU (ALL OF YOU, YEAH, YOU) to delurk on this post. Even if you just say “yo”. But if you’re really feeling ambitious let me know what posts should be included in my “Best Of” collection. I want all of you accounted for, because you’re the only reason I didn’t give up on this madness when I was all hopped up on the Dramamine three nights ago.

So go, delurk, comment, NOW. See that little balloon right down there that says “Dazzlements”? Yeah? Okay click it, enter your name (you can even leave it blank and be known as anonymous), your email (it can even be a fake one if you’re that shy) and if you don’t have a URL leave that spot blank. Clicky “Submit Comment” and you’ll make me smile.

Haven’t I worked hard enough for it?

xoxo

To the outside childless observer the moosh can make hearts palpitate and fallopian tubes to twitch. Especially when she’s in one of her “moods”. You know the mood, she dances, she sings, she even tells a few jokes. She uses her manners. She poses. She hugs liberally.

 

It’s the kind of mood that lets me sit back, relax and revel in what a freaking fantastic job I’m doing at this mothering gig as everyone OOHS! and AHHS! over how extremely awesome my kid is.

One of these moods came out while a childless newlywed couple was around to witness it.

These moods are the equivalent to crack cocaine to a childless newlywed couple.

My friends were blindsided, they kept giving each other sideways glances as if to say “You and me, when we get home, we’re making ourselves one of these.”

 

HA! FOOLS! YOU FELL FOR IT?

See, the newlyweds weren’t around at 3:30 am when the delirious moosh took to roaming the halls turning on any light switch she could reach. Who knows how long she was up before SHE GOT A STOOL SO SHE COULD REACH THE SWITCH IN MY ROOM.

“OH NO YOU DON’T!” I screamed.

I figured I had struck enough fear in her to keep her in her room until it was light outside. (That’s our rule, if it’s dark, you’re not bugging me.)

Nope, 4:45 am rolled around and I was awakened to “MAMA, YOU WANT CEREAL WITH ME? THE YELLOW KIND?”

“BACK TO BED!” I shouted.

5:45 *tap tap* on my forehead. I open my eyes to her, THISCLOSETOMYFACE. “MAMA! YOU’RE AWAKE! YOU CAN PLAY WITH ME NOW!”

“BACK TO BED, IT’S. NOT. LIGHT. OUTSIDE.” I barked.

7:15 am “Um, mama? It’s light outside.”

Now 7:15 is still early. But it’s doable. Assuming the waker upper isn’t as chipper as my waker upper.

“MAMA! YOU’RE UP! I’M SO HAPPY! LET’S HAVE CEREAL! THE YELLOW KIND! YOU CAN SIT BY ME! CAN WE WATCH THE BAT POOP SHOW? MAMA! CAN YOU GET THE LITTLE TINY DOLLS OUT FOR ME? NO, NOT THE BIG ONES, THE LITTLE ONES, THE LITTLE TEENY TINY ONES. MAMA! LET’S HAVE JUICE! I LOVE JUICE, IT’S SO YUMMY IN MY TUMMY! MAMA? WHERE’S GRANDPA? GRANDMA WENT TO CLASS. MAMA? I LIVE IN INDIANA, DADDY’S AT CLASS. MAMA! IT’S LIGHT OUTSIDE! TIME TO WAKE UP! YAAAAAAYYYY!!!!”

Remember when my kid was a quiet two year old and it was my nephew that was driving me to drink? Well now I have one of my very own, that I don’t EVER have to give back.

*ahem*

And to you my dear newlyweds, I wish you all the babies in the world, TONS OF THEM. In all their loud early morning chipper glory. You had just better thank your lucky stars I didn’t text the crap out of that perdy little iPhone of yours at 4 am. BECAUSE I SERIOUSLY THOUGHT ABOUT IT.

As for the early morning renegade?

 

I’ve got it covered.