It’s safe to say it’s driven me a little batty that all y’all know about it.

PLUS. Oh here’s the plus. The stupid, stupid plus.

It was 90 degrees on Sunday.

It was 53 degrees today.

You are so stupid Indiana.

So utterly stupid.

I’m so mad at you.

You’re stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Stupid.

Even though I have the blessed curse of obtaining the big “O” on the treadmill and a few other various and assorted pieces of equipment I still don’t really enjoy working out. If I’m going to be satisfied I’d rather it be somewhere where I can take a nap right after.

I watched a man scream a scream of horror and manliness today at the gym as he dead lifted. We’re talking screaming. Like “Oh my gah is he being stabbed slowly with the blunt end of a spatula?” screaming. By his fourth rep the entire population of Marion County was staring in his direction.

He then proceeded to dry heave into a garbage can.

Ah, the Y.

After I finished my sentence on the stairs that appear as if from nowhere I went to suffer through enjoy a nice round of free weights. That is until I realized the only place left to be in that area was near Mr. Dry Heave’s trashcan o’ hurl.

Really?

I do enjoy feeling healthy, strong and not having to worry about muffins pouring out of my jeans. But it’s not worth it to take it to the extent of vomit, colonics, screaming and dry heaving.

Even though apparently all the cool kids are doing it.

Yep, we were on ESPN tonight due to the fact that we were close enough to the field to hear the cheerleaders sneeze.

Did you see us? Did you? My dad did. Did you?

And close enough to check out the camera guys.

Is that a spare lens in your bag or, oh well, you know the rest.

See here’s the ESPN guys right here.

It’s a good thing Utah fans travel in groups, because we were severely outnumbered.

Oh. And then there was one little thing, we totally won.

Which means the players came over to thank their adoring fans.

Don’t forget those sneezing cheerleaders.

I love this game.

Welcome to Casey. I’m the mayor, Casey. Meet my co-counsel the moosh. We’ve gone and started our own little community where doughnuts are calorie free, cellulite is non existent, jumping on the bed is encouraged and morning breath smells like sweet mint. Want to move here? The only requirements are that you don’t suck.

The only pressure you’ll feel in my town is from the tower.

Where I’ll keep your money and spend it too.

So if I were a celebrity no one would like me. All these people say such nice things about me and I take my sweet, sweet time to return the love. At least I don’t compare their blogs with a whiny French puppy that needs to be housebroken. (I’m looking at you Johnny Depp. And not in a dirty way.)

Mrs. Mustard over at Cheez Whiz and Mustard along with the lovely Candace over at Not that I don’t love my kids… and then the hotness of hot Canadians Sam over at Temporarily Me thought that I was a nice person and gave me a nice matters award.

Two months to accept my award? Apparently nice doesn’t matter so much to me.

Heh.

JJ over at Gaining Balance gave me a “You make me smile award.” Actually she wasn’t sure if she gave it to the moosh or to me. It is quite a toss up to pick a favorite, Cody hasn’t even picked one yet. Her header has granny panties on a clothesline. Now THAT makes me smile.

Elizabeth over at Table4Five figured I was a good schmoozer. Again, she posted this photo of me. Publicly. On Flickr. And she’s proud of it. She’s lucky I still acknowledge her presence.

Really, I’m painfully grateful that any of you notice what I do. This all started as the laziest way in the world for the moosh’s biologically abandoned family to keep tabs on her. (By the way, are any of you still out there? Dad? Gramma Fruit Snack? Auntie K? Charis? Hello? Is this thing on? This is all for you, you know. Well, all the stuff that doesn’t involve talk of orgasms and queefs that is.)

I’m passing on the love in the form of some of my favorite posts EVER. You see, I’m headed into the very bellybutton of the Midwest tomorrow morning and I’m not even sure if they have electricity there yet. So sit back, enjoy and pee before you read the following.

Frolicking wood over at metalias. I haven’t ever not laughed at this girl. If I were as funny as her I’d be, well, funny. Really funny.

Andi’s firing her belly. Only without Trump’s bad hair. Again, blog love this girl so much it hurts so good.

Heather just started Yoga, what I wouldn’t give to be in her class. We’d Namaste that teacher right out of there.

And Bossy. I suggest you start with her Tampax review. And then this and this and this and oh my gah what is this. And I’m not just saying this because I was next to her when she literally died laughing. See? Bossy laughing. And Bossy dead.

And last but not least, an oldie but a goodie. Drunk teddy bears are not to be trusted in Jennifer’s house.

So there you go. See you when the natives release me.

When I met Cody I didn’t have my own set of beliefs like he did. He had experience and reasons for loving who and what he loved.

I had never had an opinion on what to believe in and who to follow.

So I followed along with the crowd and adopted Cody’s beliefs as my own.

But over the last year things have changed since moving to Indiana. When we moved here a miraculous set of events set into motion to let me know that I was meant to go my own way. I finally have a reason to believe. Someone to follow.

This does not sit well with Cody.

And tomorrow, Sunday, September 30th will be a monumental day in our marriage.

Who’s beliefs will reign supreme?

Will I regret standing on my own two feet and following who I know is best?

Cody is a Denver fan.

I am a Colts fan.

Pray for us both. (Well, pray for Cody, he’s going to need it.)

**UPDATE**

Thanks Jim, my quarterback totally can out endorse his quarterback.

Cutler who?

Did your son come home the other night without these on his feet?

Did he tell you how he lost them?

No?

Well, allow me.

Your kid was breaking into our car a couple of nights ago and my husband (we’ll call him Captain Awesome for the time being) drove up as your son was IN. OUR. CAR. (For those of you who are regular readers here this is a different break in than this one. I know, such a classy life I lead.)

Captain Awesome, being the bad ass vigilante that he is, jumped out of his car and chased your little juvenile delinquent son. That’s right, a 28 year old man took down your 15 year old twit. Lucky for your son Captain Awesome busted up his shoulder last week and couldn’t tackle your son properly without risking his arm. And my man needs his arm.

But he did get his shoes.

And I dare bet your son messed his pants.

We haven’t decided what to do with your son’s shoes yet, but we’re not giving them back.

Keep your mitts off our stuff you stupid, stupid people.

Any delicious suggestions for what to do with the shoes?

May I recommend removing all canines from the immediate area?

Thank you.
the moosh has been sick and can currently hit notes only four legged animals can hear.

(Again, as a disclaimer. This viddy-oh is really only meant to entertain those who are morally or genetically obligated to think the moosh is funny. So if you don’t want to watch it don’t feel bad. We don’t expect you to.)