Hail to the King, Baby

It'll be no surprise to you readers that the idea of myself coming into contact with a celebrity is a concoction for disaster, inappropriateness, and embarrassment. In the past I've been party to accidentally stalking Robert Englund, and once when I was fifteen I had Weird Al Yankovic autograph my bra strap in the back alley behind an auditorium.

But neither of those episodes were ever photographed or caught on tape.

My most embarrassing encounter with a celebrity . . . . is another story.

It was 2002 and Bruce Campbell had just published his autobiography, 'If Chins Could Kill'. Matt found out that Bruce would be coming to Albuquerque on his book tour, and we were of course going to be present. See Matt loves Bruce Campbell. Loves him because of Evil Dead and Army of Darkness. Loves him so much that using the reason, "Bruce Campbell is in it," it his go to answer in hopes of persuading me to watching almost anything.


It never works, by the way.

But I had reason to go as well. My own personal, girly, reason.

We walked into the book store and purchased our own copies of the autobiography and began waiting around this circled off area of the store near a large podium and waited for Bruce to arrive. Matt and his friend Joe wore Evil Dead t-shirts. Everyone surrounding us brought in toys, action figures, art work, and most wore merchandise that said, "This is my boomstick." There were even a few around the edges sporting items from Brisco County Jr.

And among them all, there I stood, wearing nothing to make me stand out - aside from a chakram necklace. See, Bruce Campbell was a recurring character on Xena: Warrior Princess, and I was a great big nerdy girl back in the day (alright . . . I still am.)

As excited as Matt and Joe were about meeting Ash from Army of Darkness fame, I was going to stand face to face with Autolycus, the King of Thieves. And I was giddy and stupid about it to begin with.

So Bruce came out and did a short Q and A, and soon after we all stood in line awaiting our turn to meet the famous B movie actor. As we waited, a book store employee came and asked us our names and how to spell them. Then, he wrote them down and stuck the post-it on the inside cover of the book. That way Bruce wouldn't have to bother asking how to spell your name when he personalized your book by signing it directly to you.

This apparently sparked a game that Mr. Campbell started playing with himself at the beginning of his book tour months earlier. He would take the book in his hand (without opening it), look at your and guess your name. Thus far he had been unsuccessful. Matt and Joe each took their turn, sitting down beside the celebrity, who insisted we call him Bruce. They asked their questions regarding the possibility of a new Evil Dead sequel, and the new Army of Darkness videogame coming out later the next year. Bruce guessed each of their names.

He looked at Matt and said, "Barnaby."

(Matt doesn't actually remember the guess, but it was something really goofy like that.)

He looked at Joe and said, "Miguel."

(Which was a little racist cause Joe is Mexican.)

 

Bruce finishing signing Joe's book

Then came my turn. I grinned and handed him my book, at which point he set aside and asked me to sit down and talk with him. I grinned like a goofy idiot and he immediately noticed my necklace and smiled, grateful I assume for a chance of pace. I asked him what it was like to work with Lucy Lawless and to kiss Renee O'Connor, to which he replied with a grin, "What do you think?"

Then came time to sign my book. He turned, looked me dead in the eyes and said, "Jessica."

I widened my stare. "Yes."

He laughed. "No, really kid, what's your name?"

"Jessica," I replied, my face turning a deeper shade of red.

He opened the book, not believing me, but there it was in print. "Jessica."

This was where I should have blacked out.

Bruce immediately jumped to his feet and crawled on top of the desk where he started shouting. "Attention everyone! I have been guessing the names of everyone I sign books for. And in all these months I have not guessed a single one correctly. UNTIL NOW! Everyone here must know that the name Jessica...." 

And he then pointed to me . . . and I stopped hearing anything because the blood pooling in my face was now leaking into my ears. He eventually signed the book and handed it over, taking my hand and thanking me for breaking his curse. I thanked him and ran away as quickly as my shaking legs could carry me.

A few years later, at the release of his second book, we went to meet him again. This time I brought pictures for him to see. Pictures that he signed and said, "Did you know that this store only lets me sign the books now? They don't let me sign anything else, but obviously I'm going to sign this!"

Cause I was special.

Or something.



Thanks to MamaKat for the writing prompt.

The Human Male in Their Natural Habitat

I went on an expedition yesterday. 

I observed two human males in their natural habitat. I took notes of this adventure, documenting my research, and even tried to communicate with the creatures.

This is not the first time amongst the creatures. Once I was able to get exclusive video coverage of the human males expressing themselves through music. While their coordination seems to rival that of the female species when it comes to hand held objects, their language is still confusing.

Yesterday was no exception.

These are my notes (Tweets):

12:46pm - Matt and Josh are arguing over the "math" in regards to a videogame on the DS. I'm tempted to transcribe their conversation in twitter.


12:48pm - It's amazing how vulgar the conversation goes when videogame frustration sets in.


12:49pm - They're playing pokemon . . . by the way.

I tried to communicate to the dominant Alpha male...

Me: Are you guys still playing Pokemon?
Matt: Shut up, Jessica! 

I have broken their concentration.

12:53pm - The physics of medieval sex toys? Apparently a completely normal side conversation. 


12:55pm - I could be naked right now and neither would notice. It's like highschool all over again. Except now we're all fat.

They attempted to communicate with me...

Josh: Don't get between a man and his pokemon. 
Matt: Yeah, go click your stupid clicky!

After some translation, I've discovered he meant my computer. I'm taking down notes to remind myself that when under stress and frustration, the male of the species loses much of his verbal communication. But he is still ever watchful...

Matt: Are you blogging this!?!?

1:01pm - My cover has been blown! Luckily, my subjects are easily distracted by moving pixels. 


1:21pm - The human males have not accepted me into their herd. I clearly do not speak their language. My failure to understand has frustrated them.

I tried to make physical contact. That was when they turned on me.

1:56pm - Warning: If you stick a pen in your husbands butt crack when he bends over, he will try to write "This is what happens" on your neck with said pen.

 

Having a Close Bond With Your Mother

It's no secret that I lost my mother when I was very young, but what I don't often talk about is the women who raised me after she died. My aunts. They became my mothers. The one on the left raised me until I was ten years old when the one on the right was tagged and it was her turn to take the reigns.

I have a close bond with the both of them, and it's taken many years and trials to get us to this place in our relationship. Trials, tragedy and humor bring my family close together. I like to think that I brought all three to these poor women in my life who were forced by God (and the legal system) to raise me.

So here are a few things I've learned on keeping a close bond with my "mothers"...

• Never be afraid to call her stupid. Like when she's over 60 years old and landscaping her yard by herself when she could easily call you cause you only live three blocks away.
• When it's a real possibility that you might get spanked for letting your hamsters loose in the house, it's perfectly fine to bring up your real mothers death in hopes of getting off the hook through guilt and pity.
• If she constantly bring up the one time you burned a hole in their carpet when you were fifteen, you should immediately remind her about the one time she tried to shampoo the same carpet with bleach and ammonia and nearly killed you.
• Listen (sometimes for hours) about her latest news regarding her shi-tzus.
• Be a little better than the one daughter who always talks back.
• Be a little worse than the one daughter who is absolutely perfect.
• If she has hip surgery and you go to take care of her, hide her walker and the toilet paper when she's in the bathroom. Laugh a lot.
• Never let her win at card games.
• Be the child that says, "Shit" when she's only 5. Then learn to run really fast. It'll keep her on her toes.
• Record yourself singing songs you make up when you're 13. In ten years, the confiscated tape will provide the old women much amusement. Until they forget where they are.
• Constantly tease her because she can't pronounce "sopapillas". 
• After your married, reveal ALL of the horrible things you did in secret as a teenager.

Along the same lines, here are a few things I've learned on keeping a close bond with my mother-in-law...

• If you can't offer grandchildren, at least offer to share in her obsession with Twilight.
• Don't make fun of her crush on Robert Patinson.
• Remind her that your food contains veal before she eats it and gives you dirty looks.
• Never make chili better than she does. Father-in-law (who will eat 7 bowls and leave her none) will not help you in your cause to build a relationship with her.
• Love her for her innocence.
• Don't joke about the house exploding.
• Occasionally embarrass yourself in front of her.
• Do NOT allow your husband to reveal to her your secret tattoo. If he does, it's fine to tell her about HIS secret tattoo.
• Do allow her to tell the "hilarious" story about how she once caught you climbing out of her sons bedroom window when you were only fifteen.
• Keep a straight face when she traps you in a car ride at age sixteen and gives you "the talk".

Most importantly, love them and never forget important things like birthdays and mother's day . . . until of course they get old enough when they forget how old they are. Like 46. True story.

Thanks to MamaKat's Writer's Workshop Prompt.

Making My House a Home

I've been working very hard these past few months on myself. My physical, emotional and mental health for the most part. Now that my kidney stone (or fibroid) is gone, I've received a small bit of freedom back. Freedom to go to bed at night. Freedom to sleep a little less during the day. Freedom to make little changes around the house in order to really get my life back in order.

My house as of recently has been an absolute disaster. Boxes everywhere, giant plastic storage bins in each room holding everything from 6 month old bills and random useless wires, to garbage and mismatched socks. Clutter was eating us alive. Dirt was eating us alive. And I was beyond overwhelmed.

Then a wonderful, miraculous thing happened . . .

My Visiting Teacher called yesterday and insisted that she would be coming over and helping me.

In The Church, Visiting and Home Teachers (along with the Relief Society Presidency, Elders Quorum and Bishopric) always say, "Is there anything we can do for you?" And this is a question that is so difficult for me to answer. Because I know the general answer they are looking for. If there is something needed, it's usually something like a priesthood blessing, meals when you're sick, help with finances or employment, etc.

My answer is always, "Not that I can think of."

And that's because I don't know what they can do for me. I really don't. How do you express complete and utter helplessness and hope that perhaps someone else will understand what you need, when you don't?

But my Visiting Teacher (and one of my closest friends) figured it out.

"Having compassion on those who are hurting for whatever reason and then translating the response of the heart into the needed act is truly ministering as God would have us do. We must recognize that life is a precious gift, that trust and tenderness are fragile, that we must love and serve one another, must encourage one another, forgive one another – all this not once, but over and over again. Then perhaps we shall be remembered among those on the right hand of the Lord when he shall come in his glory."

I am so lucky to have a Visiting Teacher that embodies this quote.

She came over this morning (after I did some pre-cleaning, haha), and we immediately went to work. We cleared off my porch, vacuumed the living room, did two loads of dishes, swept, mopped, cleared out a whole closet, and she personally carried down AT LEAST 5 large bins of boxes and garbage, including perhaps 2 or 3 garbage bags.

And even after she left, I kept going because she took some of the weight off my shoulders. My house is company clean, and now, I can even start Spring Cleaning, digging in deep and getting into all the corners of my home. I can start de-cluttering.

Most importantly, I can start making my house a home. I can start adding accents, being creative again, and when people walk into our house, they can easily tell who lives here.

My house is a place where God can be now.

The idea to the left was something I got from another craft blog (that I can't seem to find right now.. Grr! - Update: Pretty sure it was from Keeping it Simple.) Those aren't frames. They are boxes that have been nailed to the wall, and then I decorate the top part of the box and put the top back on. It makes it easy so if I want to change the look, I can just change the top of the box!

To the right is a picture of our wedding at the Salt Lake Temple and The Family: A Proclamation to the World, with 'Nothing Else Matters' vinyl wall letters from Inspire Your Walls. "Nothing Else Matters" by Metallica is one of our songs and it's been one of our family mottos since we've been married.

Nothing else matters. 

Our family and God.

So today, I am grateful for a clean home, beautiful moments in life, the fact that my seedlings for my container garden are sprouting, a sweet and wonderful husband, and of course . . .  for visiting teachers and friends.


Featured @: Anti-Procrastination Tuesdays, GratiTuesdays, Motivate Me Monday, Company Girl Coffee, Frugal Friday

Throw Your Hands in the Air (The Derriere Shakes by Default)

Over at the Flab to Fab Contest, we had a little challenge this last week. And when it came up, most of us were all, "Wow, they should do little stuff like this on The Biggest Loser and maybe they wouldn't be so whiny." We were chock full of ego and pride.

And pride cometh before the fall . . . . .

Here are the results of that challenge in a humorous little video that Charlie put together. Spoiler Alert: I totally don't win. And most of my commentary on the video was edited out because:

1. I had a cartoon about farting playing in the background.
2. I whined a lot.
3. Matt heckled me the whole time and we stood there cursing at one another.

So . . . I know my readers . . . . I know that they have sick little minds and they actually want to see me struggle with ten pounds of weight over my fat head, and they would love to hear an actual argument between the hubs and myself:

So here is the original video of Jia's 'Up in the Air' Challenge (you freaks):




Make sure you still hop over to watch the other video, because seriously, the girls that did better than me (especially the winner) deserve some serious credit!

I'm Broken and Yet Comforted

I know I've been terrible at updating, especially given that I receive several emails every week from readers inquiring about my life, my conditions and my progress in all struggles. Firstly, I wanted to thank you all for your prayers, thoughts, concerns, jokes and friendly gestures on my behalf.

To update everyone on the fibroids situation I have good news. It is very possible that I only had a kidney stone. I say the word "only" very lightly. Anyone who's ever had a kidney stone will understand why. I've never suffered that much pain in my entire life (that I can recall) and honestly, I'm very nearly looking forward to child birth after that experience! But for over a week now, the pain has been gone. And that burden feels lifted.

I still have many health concerns of course.

And I am still broken.

But for the first time, I think I'm okay with that.

I've spent the last week or so in contemplation about my life. In regards to all aspects of it. Physical, spiritual, mental, emotional, financial, social . . .

I've been broken for so long.

But broken is not destroyed. Broken is not dead. Broken still has a purpose.

Broken still has enough strength to reach an arm out for help . . .

And, behold, a woman, which was diseased with an issue of blood twelve years, came behind him, and touched the hem of his garment: 
For she said within herself, If I may but touch his garment, I shall be whole. 
But Jesus turned him about, and when he saw her, he said, 

Daughter, be of good comfort; 

thy faith hath made thee whole. And the woman was made whole from that hour. 

(Matthew 9:20-22)

Dear Gordon Ramsay

Over at MamaKat's Writers Workshop, we were prompted to write a letter to a reality tv star.

My first idea was to write a letter to Kate Gosselin, but I think breaking all ties with Kate immediately will help in the future should I ever get super powers.

I asked my husband who promptly said, "Adam Lambert!" And then began orating his own letter to the American Idol star, which would no doubt gain me some very angry fabulously dressed haters with great skin and decorating style.

His next suggestion was the one I took.

Matt: Gordon Ramsay.

Me: That would be a dirty letter.

Matt: So?

I take that as his permission to get dirty with Gordon Ramsay.

Note to self: Find a way to get Matt's permission to rub baby oil on WWE Wrestlers and gold paint on a naked Nathan Fillion.

----------

Dear Gordon Ramsay,

You had me at, "!@#$ off!"

After working in and around kitchens for ten years before becoming a housewife, I was glad to see that at least someone in the world was expressing the things we all wanted to say. I've on more than on occasion called a member of a kitchen crew a "donkey". Of course it was at a McDonalds in New Mexico, so I probably said, "burro."

I know you get a lot of people on your case about your language, but to be completely honest, my television programs would not be the same without a giant blur over your mouth and loud bleeps coming out of the speakers.

Thank you also for yelling at the idiot chefs on Hell's Kitchen. I don't care how mean you are to them. Once I see someone sweat into food, I give you my personal permission to stuff them into a tiny cage, bread them, serve them with marinara sauce and feed them to vegans!

Speaking of vegans. I've read that you have a distaste for the bacon-less species, almost as much as I do. Despite the fact that apparently Paul McCartney has attacked you (as well as most of the internet), I applaud your efforts to keep the old tradition of killing things and eating them alive. Not the animals alive. The traditions. Keeping the traditions alive and eating the dead animals. I like my steak rare, but not THAT rare.

Unless it's offered?

And lastly, I know that you're married, (which frankly makes fantasizing about you a little depressing) but I'd like to also thank you for taking your shirt off every now and then on Kitchen Nightmares. Really, it makes me happy. Did you know though that when you Google things like "shirtless Gordon Ramsay" the pictures aren't very flattering. Some aren't even of you.

So I had to come up with something for myself.

Yes it's John Cena's body.

Forgive me.

Sincerely,

Untypically Jia

PS: I'm forwarding an edited copy of this letter to Curtis Stone. I hope you don't mind, but he's not married. Which makes me feel a little better about including a bit more racy material and a possible request for any recipe in his repertoire that he's cooked naked.

The Ultimate Blog Party - I'll Be Over Here Leaning Against the Wall

When I was growing up, I was never the girl in the middle of the mix. I've never even attended a party of my own accord. I'm usually the one being dragged there by friends. I'll host parties no problem, but attending them is a totally different matter. It's the agoraphobe in me. Hell, it took me over an hour weighing the pros and cons of attending one of my best friends baby showers for crying out loud! (I did by the way.)

Blog parties are a little easier.

The social awkwardness goes away because people can't see how uncomfortable I appear in a massive public setting. I can lean against my wall and be contest. Especially since my wall is the very familiar - albeit strange smelling - corner of my living room. Seriously, where the frick is that smell coming from?

I attended the Ultimate Blog Party last year and I got to meet some new chicas, had some awesome people stop by my blog and hang out for a while and since then have become good friends. But oh how so much can change in a year.

So for the newly arrived guests, I'll give you the quick tour:

I'm Untypically Jia, and this is my blog. It was designed by this awesome chick who I threatened with cannibalism. I blog about strange conversations I have with my husband. Polygamist mammals are often brought up. I have many accents, but that's only because there's a few screws loose in my head. They jingle. I am an advocate for the proper use of the word "whore". I draw comics to save marriages. I'm a little offensive.

But I can also be serious sometimes. Especially when it comes to serious subjects. Like weight loss, infertility, anxiety disorders, and ultimately being yourself no matter what others think.

I am a bare foot blogger.  

(see previous link for a full understanding.)

As for the rest of you readers, followers and loyal little hooligans . . . be nice to the new folks . . . and only sexually harass them when people aren't watching.

This Week I Lost 8 Pounds of Sanity!

This week was a success in my weight loss journey. Mondays are our official weigh in days, and as of Monday afternoon I have lost a total of 8 pounds in one week. It's a good loss. Most of it is because I simply began eating more often and cutting back on the soda. I stopped drinking soda all together for the first 4 days and they were the most miserable days of my life. My addiction to caffeine is very obvious, and I will wean myself off of my drug of choice slowly this time, instead of punching myself in the face.

8 pounds lost. 

I was shocked.

8 pounds full of sleepless nights, hormones, lack of caffeine and pure sanity lost!

I'm slowly gaining back my sanity and I hope the pounds won't come back.

It's 3:30 in the morning right now and I'm awake because I took a five hour nap today because I'm in pain. I've mentioned before that the pain I've been having is about 95% certain to be caused by uterine fibroids. I didn't even know what they were until I researched enough of my symptoms. Even know it's hard to talk about. Anytime I'm in pain and Matt asks what's wrong I reply with, "The thing." and he seems to understand. Other people ask how I've been (and why I haven't been at Church recently) and it's hard to say aloud. It feels embarassing. I don't like talking about my organs. Especially since people don't generally know what I'm talking about and the need to explain is even more embarassing.

"Yes, I haven't been in public recently because I have uterine fibroids."

"Oh I'm so sorry, what exactly are those?"

"Oh they're these little bastards that wedge themselves inside and around my uterus, occasionally grinding my bladder into my pelvic bone, scraping up against my ovaries and pinching my kidneys and intestines."

Not a fun conversation.

I've created a diagram for those who don't get the full picture:

A normal, happy functioning body

My Body

You can't tell from this angle, but my organs are all screaming, "Rape!" at this point.

I'm pretty sure that fibroids don't have large sharp spikes all over them (or satanic beards) but it's easier to get my point across that way.

Right now nothing helps. The symptoms are often different. One a good day the least I'll need to do is take some ibuprofen and put a heating pad on my abdomen for a few hours. On bad days I pray to God and then take Advil PM and hope that when I wake, the pain will be gone.

Thankfully though, supposedly losing weight will help balance out my hormones and may shrink the fibroids.

So 8 pounds down.

YOU HEAR THAT BODY!?

I'm so not your bitch.

You're my bitch.

And if you keep talking crap to me, I will totally eff you up with some cardio tomorrow.