Two Mormons Walk into a Catholic Church

The punchline is: And they had no idea what to do there.

In Santa Fe a lot of the tourist attractions are old Churches and Cathedrals. One we went to was called the St. Francis Cathedral Basilica. It has a HUGE history here in New Mexico. We wanted to tour the local sites and this church was at the top of most lists that we could find online for local attractions.

Here's the thing. I've only been inside a Catholic church once in my entire life. It was for a baby baptism, I was twenty minutes late and I had no idea what was going on the entire time.

I haven't been a Latter Day Saint my entire life. I was exposed to many different religions and churches growing up. My paternal Grandmother always took me to her Baptist church any weekend that I would spend with her. During my teen years, my aunt Debbie was baptised as a reborn Christian and attended a Nazarene Church. I even once dated a guy who went to a Pentecostal church. I've seen and researched many a religions. And I just happen to like mine.

But I've never before had the chance to really walk around a Catholic church and take a good look. Until our vacation. I found a few things odd, or well, different I guess is the right word (so not as to offend - I'm sure a lot of things in my religion are odd to plenty of folk.)

Inside the Cathedral everything was filled with color. Huge ceilings, gold paint, stained glass windows, crosses, angels, banners, paintings of Jesus, Mary and more Saints than I could honestly name. Many people were tourists like us, others had come there to pray, light candles, and there was even a group of children practicing a musical number in a corner of the building. Despite other tourists taking pictures, it felt a little odd to me, so I only got one.

Matt and I tried to remain as quiet as possible. Though we're not Catholic, we try to remain respectful to other religions. A few things confused me though. Now, I'd like to think that if any of my readers or friends had questions about my faith, they would have no problem coming to me and asking openly. I would have no problem answering.

So I have a few questions for some of my Catholic readers (if there are any) - and please, try not to take offense:

- Do you expect everyone to use the holy water and cross themselves when they come in? Cause we didn't know if it was disrespectful not to.
- If priests live their lives for the Church, how come there are only certain hours available for confession? Isn't that like a good majority of what they do?
- Do you pay tithing? If so, what does that money go to? Because at the place where people light the candles, there was a sign that said you had to buy the candles first. I would just assume that if a Church has tithing, that the money would go to something like that. So I'm curious.
- Lastly, one thing actually made me a little uncomfortable... Inside the building, just outside the main doors of the Cathedral, there was a gift shop. It felt I don't know, sacrilegious to see money being exchanged inside a place meant for worship - and it reminded me of Jesus throwing out the money changers in the temple. Is this like a typical thing, or do you think it's mostly because the Cathedral was a tourist attraction?

I'd appreciate any answers to my questions, just for knowledge sake.

Though we were unable to see any of the other Churches (we had planned on checking out several others but ran out of time), we did get to see the prayer garden outside of the Cathedral where they show the stations of the cross. I took a few pictures.

Love, Yourself - January Update

I fell so behind this month. I was totally supposed to write this update like the first week of January, but sickness and being out of town will totally take over your life apparently and make you forget like . . . everything you're supposed to be doing. Whatever. I'm cool with it.

For those just tuning in, last year I wrote letters to myself that will automatically post on my blog each month throughout the year. It's my way of keeping up with progress and showing myself the difference an entire year can really make. Instead of obsessing on the little things, I'm looking at the big picture.

The first week of this month, my first letter posted to the blog. And here is the difference that one year can make.

A year ago you were so stressed out. Walking the three minutes it took to get to work was painful because you were so out of shape. By the end of the day you would walk home in tears because your feet and legs hurt so bad.

This month Matt and I went on vacation to Santa Fe where we walked several miles over the course of four days. We barely used the car to get around the city, and instead walked everywhere. We both felt great walking long distances.

This month you weighed 250 pounds and it was hard to breathe going up and down the stairs. Please don't ever weigh 250 pounds again.

As of this week, I currently weigh 243 pounds. I have lost 7 pounds since beginning my new health journey. I go up and down the stairs of our apartment complex several times a day to take Willow for walks. While the stairs can sometimes be a little painful on my bad knee, I no longer have trouble breathing.

January 2010 - January 2011

The Trouble With Maxim

Me: I'm going to bed

Matt: Okay

Me: Come with?

Matt: No

Me: But... Love?

Matt: I love you too, but no.

Me: But I made you dinner

Matt: I know

Me: And brought you yogurt

Matt: I know

Me: And I converted shows for you.

Matt: I know

Me: And I got you that show with Olivia Munn

Matt: Do you even like that show?

Me: No

Matt: Then why'd you get it?

Me: Cause you like her

Matt: Eh.

Me: And you think she's pretty

Matt: Not prettier than you

Me: But she was in Maxim


Matt: So were you. The Maxim in my head. I keep it there all the time.

Me: Kinda like the issue of Maxim you bought of Kristen Bell.

Matt: Yes.

Me: The one that got you all hot and bothered?

Matt: No it didn't.

Me: Is that because she has a wonky eye?

Matt: ... Yes.


I know it seems totally inappropriate for my husband to even own an issue of Maxim (or so his brother has told him), but for one, he's never brought pornography into our house. Seriously. No Penthouse. No Playboy. This red head is enough for him. And two, that Maxim we totally bought together. Cause Kristen Bell was Veronica Mars. And we got it to read the articles.

Seriously.

But in the article she mentioned she had a wonky eye and we've never been able to look at her the same since. Kind of like how Melissa Joan Hart has a wonky eye, only this wonky eye still has a career.

Self Esteem Saturday: I Am a Work in Progress

Featuring Anastasia from Sweet Butter Bliss

I have low self esteem.

Actually a lot of the time I feel completely worthless. It's not so much about bad body image, although that does factor in. It's more like me as a person isn't good enough. My personality, my sense of humor, my work, my parenting, anything that defines me.

It's not everyday. I also have days where I think I am incredibly kick ass. I had an epiphany of sorts, I read that there are two basic psychological "types." One is that everything is every one else's fault. The other internalizes and thinks everything is their fault. That is exactly me. I always feel like I did something wrong. That they were rude to me because of how I look or something I said. Not because they are just asshats.

I get in dark moods where I can't understand why anyone would love me. It is incredibly frustrating for my husband because he is very loving and supportive and tells me constantly how awesome and beautiful I am but it's hard for me to hear when I'm in that place. With his help they come less and less. But when I do get there I feel defeated. I round my shoulders in and look in the mirror and hate myself. I berate myself for being stupid and I cry a lot.

My husband is allowed to get mad at things sometimes and usually I get mad back or we talk and joke about it. But on these days if he says so much as "What did the baby eat today?" I will immediately feel like he is accusing me of being a bad parent and that I haven't fed her at all. And I am always on the verge of tears. I am sure I am the worst parent of all time. I worry that my children don't like me and that I am not raising them "right." Worthless is the exact word. Who the !@#$ would want me? Sometimes I feel like my family might be better without me. (For clarifications sake, not in a suicidal kind of way, so please don't stage an intervention or anything)

My mother chose drugs and alcohol over me. My father got custody because she od'ed and she rarely took up her visitation. She would promise me things like Disney World and big beautiful Christmas's. I knew in my little heart that it was all lies, but part of me couldn't help believe it a little bit and get excited, only to be left staring out the window all day at our empty drive way.

My step dad molested me. Repeatedly. And when I finally told my dad and step mom, no one believed me. I think they still think I made it up. My mom actually called to tell me how disappointed her and my step dad were and that he was sitting right next to her. She chose him over me. This was in elementary school.

When my step mom and Dad got a divorce. She told me not to cry, because it wasn't about me.

My Dad and I use to have a great relationship until recently. He called me a slut and told me I need to go to church more. My dad doesn't go to church. Ever.

I, like every girl with low self esteem, have had a string of boyfriends who had conditions for their love and usually ended up choosing some one or something over me.

I get that all these people were adults and had there own lives and problems to deal with. And when I think rationally I know that it wasn't my fault. I just lost on the lottery of good adults in my life and got a bunch of asshats. But self esteem and self worth don't always listen to rational thoughts. Or the thoughts of my fantastic husband who firmly believes I'm amazing and has made it his mission to make me agree with him. Every day not just some days.

I have three daughters. My goal as a mother is to make sure they never feel worthless. That they know that they are not just physically beauty, because beauty comes in all kinds, but they are beautiful inside. I make it a point to tell them I am proud of them, that they are beautiful, smart and funny everyday. So does my husband. I think it's important for them to hear it from their Daddy. I want them to have a better mother then I did. Which basically means not being passed out drunk when they come home. So the bar isn't set that high. I want them to know that they are their own self contained awesomeness. They don't need an outside source to tell them about it. They know. And if people don't agree with them then they shouldn't be in their lives. Period.

This was a little hard. Some of it came to me as I was writing it. Like little explosions of self realization. I've also never written about it before so it may sound a little raw or unpolished. I am a work in progress. I feel like I am better then before. And I want to thank Jia for doing this series, so I can get free therapy from her readers.

---

Parents have such a tremendous effect on the way our self esteem is built. And no matter how many times we are called wonderful, smart, beautiful by others around us, even one wrong word from a parent can leave a lasting, infected scar on our spirits. I know that pain personally.

And I know that it can be healed. Slowly. And not always permanently, but the healing can take place.

I want to thank Anastasia for talking about something so very raw and real, despite the hurt it may have caused her. THAT is true courage. For those who have had similar experiences, I would like to encourage you to speak out about your survival of abuse at Violence UnSilenced.

Be the voice of survival.

Each week we will use Self Esteem Saturdays to spread joy and love to one another.  Please show love for Anastasia in the comments below, for being brave and putting herself out there on display to the world. 

Note: Pass the word along about Self Esteem Saturday! We need more bloggers out there rebuilding low self esteems and spreading the word that healing is a progress that can be achieved! If you are interested in being featured on Self Esteem Saturdays, please send an email with the title  "Self Esteem Saturday" to untypicallyjia@gmail.com

I Finally Understand Julia Child

Despite the fact that we left the Santa Fe plaza without any antique coins or Chuck Jones art work, Matt and I returned to our room reasonably satisfied with what the city had to offer so far. We hit the hay as early as we could, flipping in between marathons of 1000 Ways to Die on Spike, and Unwrapped on The Food Network (we don't have cable anymore, so television is practically brand new to us again).

Waking up extra early, we drove out to the Santa Fe Farmers Market. While it wasn't the massive markets I've been to in the past (growing up in Utah the suckers are practically on every corner, in every parking lot and at every park early Saturday mornings), the Santa Fe farmers market was small and quaint. Local vendors sold handsoap made from goats milk and lavender, BBQ sauces made from raspberries and at least three different apple cider stations. One small station sold fresh brown eggs at nearly 5 dollars a carton! On his sign it read, "Hen - $20". Something tells me there's a bargain in there for someone who has the ability to house a hen.

Matt: We should just get a bunch of hens and a rooster and then they'd have sex all the time.
Me: . . . ?
Matt: That's how eggs works right?
Me: . . . . I'm not sure.

Buying eggs at the grocery is how eggs works to me. When I was a child I did naturally assume that chickens always laid eggs. Like non-stop. I didn't even find out that a rooster was a male chicken until I was at least ten years old, and even then I somehow couldn't connect the two despite knowing where human babies came from.

We didn't buy anything at the farmers market, and for good reason . . . our attention was taken up by the Flea market across the train tracks. Dubbed "The Flea", the Santa Fe Flea Market was exactly what I thought the farmers market was going to be. Except instead of selling fresh produce they sold weird paintings, cowboy hats, used boots, and homemade pocket knives. Somewhere in the middle of the market, a flamboyant gay man continuously proclaimed, "The party's over here!" from a small stand that sold scarves.

But we weren't there to buy any of those things. We were there for the honey.

A small stand just as you entered the door, held rows and rows of fresh jarred, local honey. Bee Chama Honey. The man running the stand was more than nice, and he really loved his product. Eagerly offering free samples, you could taste anything from mountain wild flower, to strawberry and even cactus honey! The best thing was the fact that the honey has not been tampered with. It comes straight from the beekeepers. Nothing is added to it, and yet, you can taste the different flavors!

Matt immediately purchased a jar of their melon honey, a strong sweet flavor. We continued to taste test and while carrot honey left a nasty taste in our mouths, as did the cactus, the orange blossom honey melted to perfection on our tongues. The last pick was my choice and I picked mountain gamble oak, a honey that was so rare they could only harvest it every seven years. Also, it did not come from pollen like most honeys, but from the sweet sap of oak trees. I fell in love.

A few more items here and there including a lemon infused moisturizer sold by a lady that insisted on rubbing my shoulders with something she claimed helped take away pain naturally (think natural Icy Hot) and we were on our way.

A two minute walk from where we were staying, we took notice of a small french bakery. Never having had french food before, we decided that was where we were going for breakfast. And oh, how it changed the world as we knew it.

Let me just say this about Clafoutis, French Bakery and Restaurant . . . . had we the brains to try this place the very second we arrived in Santa Fe, we would not have had the ability to see anything else on our vacation. We also may never have left. We would be the homeless couple sitting on the side of the street begging for money. Our sign would say "Will Work for Croissants".

Despite not having more than three parking spaces in front of the restaurant, the place was beyond packed. A tiny little bakery, smaller than a small house had people pouring out the front door. We squished ourselves inside and added our names to a waiting list at least twenty-five minutes long. After the first twenty minutes, we excused ourselves to go outside and wait because the front area was so cramped, Matt was getting hit with the door anytime people entered.

When our names were finally called, we excitedly went to our table and sat down. The funny thing about waiting in line for over a half hour for brunch seemed to be that no one there was upset about the wait. It was cramped, hot and should have been frustrating. People who'd never been there before had their names crossed off the list due to the wait, while regular customers laughed and said, "They've obviously never been here before." We took a leap and stuck it out. We wanted french food.

The owner, Ann-Laurie, a sweet french woman that stood behind a large shelve hosting dozens of beautiful pastries and breads called out, "Bonjour!" as people were seated. The atmosphere was simply delightful. Despite having changed over from breakfast to lunch, we were assured that since we had been waiting so long, we could have our choice of either. Torn over the menu, we ordered our drinks and I fell in love with a french sparkling lemonade that came in the bottle.

When our waitress, Charlotte, the owners daughter, brought a basket of break, she set down a small plate with a pad of hard butter on it. "That'll never spread." I mumbled and instead folded the butter into the piece of bread like a filling and we both took a bite. Eyes wide, I turned to Matt and he exhaled, "It's almost like cheese." I agreed. The best most amazing cheese you've ever tasted! We devoured the bread and immediately asked for more.

I ordered an omelet with herbs de Provence, tomatoes, olives, mushrooms and cheese. It came topped with sprouts, shredded carrots and a tomato. And it was pure heaven.

Matt had been browsing over the menu, thinking about getting a simple sandwich when the waitress said, "Our special today is duck." And that sealed the deal. Never having properly cooked duck before, it's been on the top of Matt's list of things to eat. When they brought the plate, the smell filled the whole room. A duck leg and thigh were cooked in a sauce made from tomatoes, herbs de Provence, and olives.

One bite in and something happened to my husband. He looked at me and said, "Oh my gosh, it's so good I could cry." He then immediately gave me a bite as I rolled my eyes at him but no sooner than I put the freshly cooked duck, sauce and an olive in my mouth, I was overcome with flavor and I looked at him, wide eyed. Yes, dear readers, there is food amazing enough it can bring you to tears. And it's at Clafoutis in Santa Fe.

The portions were perfect too. Despite being able to easily put away three to four dishes at any buffet, the smaller portions (which were VERY reasonably priced) filled us perfectly. It was in fact, just enough. However, our filled stomachs didn't stop us from tackling the pastry counter like ravenous predators. All out of loaves of bread, we bought a bag of day old brioche, two croissants and a raspberry tart. All of which were gone by the next morning, covered in freshly bought honey.

CLAFOUTIS

402 Guadalupe St.

505.988.1809

7am - 5pm, Monday - Saturday

More vacation updates coming soon . . .

You Are Perfect

I've been wanting to write this for a while and if I don't do it now I'm probably going to forget again, and I don't want to forget - because someone might really need this right now.

I talk about wanting to rebuild low self esteem a lot. Every Saturday in fact. But it's not just the low self esteem that you see plastered on television regarding weight, beauty, etc. It's depression. Mental illness. Sickness. Loneliness. And the feeling that you're just not good enough - even though you really, really are.

I read something earlier this week that made me think about the people closest to me. Including some that I've never even met face to face, but they still know my heart and my soul in detail that can't be described. And I can't imagine ever losing them. They are sketched into the pattern of my spirit and my life. And I want them to know that.

I also want them to know something else . . .

You. Are. Perfect.

(caution: the following video contains some disturbing images)

Matt, Josh, Kristine, Steph, Desi, Chrissy, April, Charlie, Casey, Jackie, Ashley, Jill, Rachel, Jessica, Loralee, Tiffany, Julia, Jack, Emmie....

I don't want to leave anyone out, so please know that if you are reading this - if you've commented here before - if we've spoken on Facebook or Twitter - if we're related by blood - if we're related anyways - if you were my first friend or my most recent friend - or if we've ever spoken face to face . . .

I'm talking to you.

We Know More About Your Stuff Than You Do (Update: We Also Have the Power to Get Other People to Watch Phantom Tollbooth)

Last week Matt took the week off to celebrate his birthday. The man turned 27. He claims that 28 is when you officially become an adult, so I have a feeling that there will be a lot of cartoons to watch this year. Lucky for me I believe you become an adult at age 82 - I'll be telling fart jokes long after I turn 28.

For his birthday, Matt's parents decided to send us to Santa Fe for a few days. It's only an hour drive north, but we've only been one time and that was to see Eddie Izzard perform live (and then we stalked Robert Englund) but we didn't get to really see much of the city.

The drive up was quick, especially with Matt driving.

Matt: You're like a woman in labor having contractions.
Me: What?
Matt: Every few minutes you look over at the speedometer with a stressed look on your face.

To be fair, we made great time despite my constant panic. If you're wondering how fast Matt drives, barely over. When I drive (which is rare), I'm that irritating person on the road going ten under the speed limit.

We had to turn around once before we finally used the GPS to locate the place we were staying, but within that short time frame we got a basic layout of Santa Fe and could easily figure out where things were from that point on. We checked in, got the keys to our room and opened the door to a weekend of luxury.

A king size bed for instance . . .

A fireplace . . .

Living room . . .

Entertainment center . . .

Fully loaded kitchen . . .

A huge bedroom . . .

And a bathroom with a tub so deep that I could have swam in it. Picture not included. I'm guessing each room had their own separate water heater because that water never got cold. It was amazing. Water so hot it steamed up the mirrors within a minute. A perfect blank canvas for a handsome artist to sculpt a masterpiece.

Friday morning we headed out on foot, because you can hoof it around Santa Fe pretty easy. At the recommendation of a co-worker, Matt chose Bert's Burger Bowl as our first local cuisine. A little hole in the wall type place (which usually is our favourite type). All seemed well. They even had the Food Networks stamp of approval.

Honestly, it was okay. Nothing to write home about.

If your unfamiliar with Santa Fe, it's basically a city filled with artists and old churches. That's pretty much it. But, lucky for us, we're suckers for decent art. They also had a Chuck Jones Gallery. We went and visited the Andrew Smith Gallery first which had amazing photos by Annie Liebovitz, Herman Leonard, and a massive collection of Ansel Adams.

We were going to check out the Georgia O'keefe museum, but we were trying to see what we could without spending much money, and Matt said that the price for admission wasn't worth getting to look at "a bunch of flowers that vaguely looked like genitalia".

After the Andrew Smith Gallery, we found the Chuck Jones Gallery, which was actually the reason we chose Santa Fe as our vacation destination over Taos. If you don't know who Chuck Jones is, he's basically the father of most of your childhood cartoon favourites. The gallery was swimming with scuptures of Wile E. Coyote and The Roadrunner. In addition to Chuck Jones original sketches, cells, paintings and sculptors, there were plenty of local artists that were featured at the gallery.

When we walked in, the manager thought we were simple tourists who just stopped in to look at pictures of Bugs Bunny. Oh, how she underestimated my husband.

Manager: Are you interested in anything specific? As you can see, we have a lot of his classic characters.
Matt: Do you have anything from Phantom Tollbooth?
Manager: Woah . . . . you know your stuff.

The manager went into the back and dug out a piece worth thirteen thousand dollars, seemingly the most expensive they had there. It was hidden back behind other prints more recognizable to the public eye. The manager then explained that she'd never seen the movie and that the only reason she knew where to find the piece was because it was the only one they had. Matt went on to educate her properly.

We went home for a quick nap afterward, and then ventured out in search of some local cuisine. We didn't yet have a map of the city, so we drove until we found anything that sounded vaguely mexican. After spotting a place, we browsed through a few local shops and galleries, finding some amazing leather sculptors, metal religious works, and retro western paintings. We also found the highlight of the trip for me.

A little jewelry store near the restaurant featured antique coins in the window. We went inside just for the heck of it. A little jack russel terrier pup greeted us at the door. The owner, named Jessie, came over to show us some of the pieces. The store specialized in taking antique coins and setting them in rings, bracelets and necklaces. Browsing through, something caught my attention. A tiny tag attached to an old coin that read "Thrace 550 AD". My heart skipped a beat.

I don't talk about it much on my blog, but I have a strong passion for world history, particularly that of Greece, Rome and Scandinavia. Been that way since I was a little girl and stuck with me for years. Spotting a Thracian coin just got my blood pumping, especially since I knew that Spartacus Gods of the Arena was airing later that night. The owner pulled out several other Thracian coins for me to look at, as well as some from Macedon that had the face of Phillip the second on it.

Owner: I don't need to tell you who that is.
Me: Nope.
(Father of Alexander the Great)

Then I began to madly search through the displays, eagerly browsing for what I really wanted.

Owner: Is there something specific you're looking for?
Me: I know it's a stretch . . . but do you have anything from Rome?

Then she smiled, and stepped over to a display case where a long gold chain held a silver coin with a familiar face on it. I recognized it immediately and held my breath.

Owner: This is a silver denarius with the image of Apollo on it.
Me: A real denarius. *heart pounding*
Owner: Yes, it's dated at 90 BC.

It took every power I had not to shout out "Oh my Gods" at the revelation. I held my composure. Mostly. I may have teared up a little. And started hyperventilating.

Matt: Are you okay?
Me: This predates the birth of Julius Caesar. I could die, like right now.


More vacation updates coming soon . . .


Update: As y'all can see in the comments below, folks from the Chuck Jones Gallery have corrected me on a few things. The lady that we spoke with was not the manager at all, but a new consultant and the piece we had looked at was three-thousand, not thirteen thousand. I easily mix up numbers, especially when I'm coming down from vacation high.

Also, since the Gallery folks have apparently read my blog, I want to express a few things that I mistakenly left out of the original post: The Chuck Jones Gallery was AMAZING. And while the consultant we spoke with had not seen Phantom Tollbooth (though I've been assured she's been forced to watch it continuously since this posted) she was nothing if not wonderfully kind and knowledgeable about all the other pieces.

Like I mentioned earlier, the whole reason we chose to go to Santa Fe was because of this Gallery and we were more than pleased. Hell, my husband was over the top thrilled with the experience!

PS: If the Chuck Jones Gallery folks are still reading this, there was an artist on display there and I can't remember his name and I eventually want to purchase some of his work. The consultant mentioned that he was local and he added hearts to his paintings for his daughter who had some kind of condition. I'd love it if you could let me know his name so I can add his works to my wish list and spread the word about his gorgeous paintings.

PS x2: Just a side note, but how cool is it that Wile Coyote commented on my blog? Awesomeness.

Things You Should Never Do With Vegetables

Me: Matt, will you bring me a tomato?

Matt: Sure. *comes into the living room* Here you go.

Me: Thanks.

Matt: Just so you know, I let Willow lick it.

Me: What?

Matt: Willow licked it.

Me: My tomato?

Matt: Your tomato.

Me: Are you kidding me?

Matt: No. She was curious, so I showed her and she licked it.

Me: Are you effing serious? You let our dog lick my tomato and then you just GAVE it to me anyway?

Matt: She was curious!

Me: I don't care! You let the dog lick my tomato!

Matt: So what?

Me: She licks my feet, your feet, her beefy chew toy and her own ass! My tomato is now covered in feet and ass!

Matt: Do you want me to go wash it?

Me: Yes! Please!

Matt: *washes the tomato for like 5 minutes*

Me: What's taking so long?

Matt: I'm washing the feet and ass off your tomato!

Me: . . . .

Matt: . . . .

Me: You're . . . No . . . you're not using . . . dish soap are you?

Matt: How else am I supposed to wash a tomato?

Me: Oh jeez, please tell me you're kidding.

Matt: What!? You asked me to wash it!

Me: You can't use dish soap on vegetables!

Matt: Why not?! You use it on plates and I've seen you lick plates clean.

Me: If you ingest soap, it'll give you diarrhea!

Matt: So eat the tomato and then take an imodium.

Me: You can't wash vegetables with dish soap!

Matt: Here. You're tomato's clean!

Me: It smells like apple scented Dawn.

Matt: *Sigh* Do you want another tomato?

Me: Yes, please. And thank you.

Matt: You should probably know for future reference, I let Willow check out most of our food.

Me: Umm . . . why?

Matt: Remember that discovery special we watched where they showed that dogs can detect cancer.

Me: . . . .

Matt: Don't look at me like that. It was scientifically proven!

Me: With dogs that were trained to detect cancer, yes.

Matt: They don't have to be trained.

Me: Pretty sure they do.

Matt: Don't look at me like that, you're OCD makes you wipe your face anytime someone touches it because you think it leaves finger prints!

Me: You know what? You're totally right. Fair enough.

Matt: Thank you!

Me: . . . . so is my tomato cancer free?

Bionic Pug Powers Include:
- Cancer Detection
- Spinning in Circles
- Snoring

------

PS: To be totally fair, my OCD is WAY worse than his. Most of his concerns are legitimate. Mine usually involve my hands being the right temperature, I always think that I'm spelling "color" wrong and the fact that I can't properly pronounce the word "going".

PS x2: I'm pretty sure I once used one of those steel scrubbing pads to clean a potato once, so I shouldn't really be so judging.

Ps x3: The dog detected no cancer in my tomato. But she did rub her ass on the neighbors yard, so I'm not sure what to tell them about their grass situation.

Lazy By Association

Remember that time when I was always on schedule and I never missed deadlines and my laundry was all caught up? Yeah, me either. So this week I've been missing because it's Matt's birthday on Thursday and to celebrate said birthday, he took the whole week off of work.

That means that I took the whole week off of work. The house has suffered. Willow is staying at Matt's parents house for the week and is probably getting massively fat and spoiled. We on the other hand have caught up on watching Rules of Engagement seasons, and episodes of American Dad. Do we know how to vacation or what?

Seriously though, I'm going out of town tomorrow thanks to a birthday gift from Matt's parents. We're heading up to Santa Fe for the weekend to over indulge in art, New Mexican history and some more sleeping in. I'll check back in on Monday when I'll hopefully be well rested.

Welcome to This Week On:

This Week on Letters to Jia:

• Orgy Party of One

This Week on Untypically in Love:

• That's right y'all!!! The new chapter of Untypically in Love is FINALLY UP! If you don't know what I'm talking about, I started writing the love story about how my husband and I fell in love in high school, broke some hearts, got in trouble and eventually got married... but we're not there yet. Catch up on previous chapters here.

This Week on the Internet:

• Twitter can't stop talking about my rack.

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Self Esteem Saturday: Wasting Time

Featuring Gen, from Gen's 100

I guess I’ve always felt this way. I just didn’t know what it was or I wasn’t conscious of it. I definitely didn’t have a label for it. I was simply someone who liked to please people. If I felt like my presence was unwanted – which I felt most of the time – I would duly oblige and leave that person alone. It’s not like they were missing out, right?

Then as I was talking to someone about something unrelated, I explained it to her this way: “I just feel like I’m not worth people’s time. I don’t see why anyone would want to be my friend.” And I truly felt that way about all the people I considered my friends. I just didn’t get it. I didn’t understand what I contributed to their lives.

What she said next made me feel like I simultaneously got slapped and was treated to an ice cube down my back.

“You do realize that’s called having low self-esteem, right?”

No.

I didn’t.

But I see it now.

It’s flagrant really. And it’s been following me all my life, without me really knowing about it. In fact, I always thought I was a confident person. I knew what I wanted out of life and was always able to get it. I’ve never (or almost never) doubted my capabilities. I guess I’ve always doubted my capabilities in being wanted as a friend, though.

People had brought up this low self-esteem to my attention before, but I had refused to believe them. I didn’t understand why they would think I had low self-esteem. And since realizing this, I’ve remembered a couple instances which have shown just this.

Go back a few years, when I was in seventh grade, one of my good friends told me I was pretty, but I refused to believe him. It made me feel so uncomfortable I was desperate to change the subject.

A few years later, one of my summer job co-workers would compliment me every so often, and I’d always brush it off with a sarcastic remark. One time she told me (nicely of course) to just take the compliment, I hadn’t realized I could never do it.

Fast-forward to first year of university. I’m meeting all these new people, and they want to hang out with me. They’re asking me to go to coffee and inviting me to parties. But I stayed away because I didn’t think they actually wanted to spend time with me. Like somehow I knew what they were thinking.

I remember one time I told a good friend of mine that my new friend was “too cool for me.” She told me not to sell myself short. It hit me then, but it hits even harder today. Why do I sell myself short?

And that’s just what it is. I’ve always felt like I’m not “cool enough” to hang out with people. Unless I feel a person needs me in their life (i.e. a shoulder to cry on or someone to confide in), I have a hard time being friends with them. It’s like I feel I have nothing to offer them.

Since having realized this less than a year ago, I’ve been working really hard at changing the way I think. I’ve been reaching out to people I hadn’t talked to in a while – just to ask how they’re doing – and had the pleasant surprise of them answering and even being happy to hear from me.

I’m less reluctant to hang out with friends – old and new – and I’m much more inclined to talk to new people I meet even if I don’t feel like they’d want me to.

I’ve found when you give, you receive, and I’ve been much more positive and happier since adopting this new philosophy.

Still, it has been a work in progress, and I’m only in the beginning stages of the construction. Almost literally, since I’m trying to build myself a self-esteem.

I’m slowly starting to realize and accept that I have good qualities and I’m someone people want to be around. Yet, even writing those words, I feel like an imposter. I’m not sure why people would want to be around me. Like somehow I’m tricking these people.

I’ve always felt and still often do like I wasted people’s time. 

I realize now the only time I’ve been wasting, is mine.

---

I so identify with Gen when she talked about not really knowing that she had low self esteem. All through high school I thought I was actually a little cocky for my "level" of attractiveness, or worth. When in reality I spent so many years joking about my weight when I really didn't have much. Or being that shoulder to cry on, the dependent one, because I felt that I had nothing else to offer.

How many of us go through life thinking that we have to work harder in order to be loved for our natural attributes?

What's worse, how many of us feel that we aren't even worth loving?

Each week we will use Self Esteem Saturdays to spread joy and love to one another.  Please show love for Gen in the comments below, for being brave and putting herself out there on display to the world. 

Note: Pass the word along about Self Esteem Saturday! We need more bloggers out there rebuilding low self esteems and spreading the word that healing is a progress that can be achieved! If you are interested in being featured on Self Esteem Saturdays, please send an email with the title  "Self Esteem Saturday" to untypicallyjia@gmail.com

Delurk Me! . . . . that sounds dirty

Okay, so you know what Delurking day is, I know what Delurking day is.

So come on stalkers! Show yourselves!

Is anyone else thinking that the official delurking day badge is kind of promoting "Show Me Your Penis" day?

I've never actually been flashed. I mean, by someone who isn't my husband, cause seriously, that man? Just can't not be nude sometimes. I can't count the number of times when I've had to say, "Can you please get dressed in the bedroom like a normal person and not in front of the open blinds in the living room?" He usually replies something like, "They're only half open," or "I pay the rent here," or "You knew what I was like when you married me."

Which honestly, is kind of true.

Side note, yesterday I made a batch of homemade salsa and I made some special for him with habaneros (called "Matt's Stupid Salsa"), and I kid you not, before he took his first bite of it, he blew on the salsa. Cause it was hot. I died. But then I realised that I've done the same thing. I think that means we're soul mates. Or something.

I've flashed people. 

Don't look at me like that, I had a shady dark side for YEARS before I ever met my husband. Although I met him when I was fourteen. That's a little concerning. OMG I'm going to be the most stressed out parent when we have kids and they become teenagers. I can see it now...

"Mom, I'm only fourteen, I just want to go to a slumber party and listen to the 2025 version of Justin Bieber with my friends while we watch old classic movies like Hannah Montana and Twilight."

"Oh no you don't. You don't think I know what it was like to be fourteen? When I was fourteen I was smoking, crawling out of boys windows and beating up homeless people for liquor!"

"You beat up homeless people for liquor?"

"Okay well, maybe I just snuck it out of the liquor cabinet at Motherlys when she and Grandpa were at work, and it was really only that one time and it tasted awful, but still! I know what you're really up to . . . sneaking out to go park with some boys and get jiggy with it while listening to a Metallica on your iPod."

"What's an iPod?"

And then I'll call her a smart mouth and tell her that when I was young, iPods were all teh craze. She'll roll her eyes and talk about how music is implanted in your brain via satellite now, and she'll leave for the slumber party while I try and show her how awesome vintage Angry Birds is.

By the way, this Sunday is my Mother in Law's birthday. She didn't give birth to me, but I call her Mom. And even though she didn't spend hours and hours in labor with me, she did catch me crawling out of her sons bedroom window when I was fourteen, so the lady deserves some credit and a lot of love.

So umm . . . yeah . delurk and whatnot y'all.

The Perils of PMS

I was talking to one of my friends earlier who just entered the stage of motherhood where her daughter has stepped over the borderline of childhood and into the magical land of bloated-angry-crying-stabby. To comfort her in her hour of fear, I related stories from my youth of growing up with a little sister less than a year younger than me, and how despite an overflow of hormones and crazy, we survived unscathed.

Mostly unscathed.

It was actually really frightening.

I had my first period in Vegas. And guess what? What happens in Vegas didn't stay in effing Vegas!

I didn't even notice at first to be honest. Too busy dealing with a kids room and a fifty dollar bill that was burning a hole in my pocket. What I did notice - and very suddenly - was how incredibly irritating my little sister had become. Her usual clingyness was causing me to be extremely overheated and there were moments when the thought of leaving her on the strip came to my mind more than once.

It was on the ride home that I realised something was wrong. My stomach hurt and my sister sleeping on my shoulder somehow made it worse. So I took one of the stuffed animals I had won in the game room and I smacked her in the face with it.

When I got home and realised what was really going on, I knew I couldn't keep it secret for long. I didn't have money, and depended on Motherly to provide all of my wants and needs. And now I had needs. And she needed to provide. I told her in secret, standing in the kitchen, my tone the softest of whispers ever spoken. She grinned and announced loudly, "My little girl is a woman!" I immediately began my plan to run away from home.

Thankfully I got over the initial shock of the experience. Unfortunately a rough eight or so months later, little sister followed my proper example of entrance into womanhood, and like most little sisters do, she copied my complete lack of sanity for those few days of the month, which, lucky for Motherly . . . found a way to sync up! Because as every good parent knows, if one child has chicken pox, you might as well expose the other kids. Unfortunately, chicken pox only happens once a lifetime instead of once a month, and it usually happens to five year old children who cry and scratch - not twelve year old pre-teens who scream and slam doors.

Kristine did a lot of the screaming and slamming doors. She was vocal about her distress, pain and pure anguish of being a woman. Her temper was lashed out in words. Mine was quietly reserved until the final moment of violence erupted.

When I was thirteen I lay on my bed, my face shoved in a pillow with my Grandmother's heat wrap on my lower back, screaming and crying because Motherly was at work and I couldn't find the pain killers. Little sister had completed her monthly decent into hell a few days prior, and sympathy was never one of our strong suits growing up. She was rearranging the furniture in her room and couldn't move the bed on her own. After an hour of persistence, I relented and agreed to help her. As she pulled on one end of the bed, leaning against the window behind her, I tried to push and angle the frame to change its direction. But one, "You're not doing it right!" from her and all I need was one quick push and the glass behind her broke and she fell through.

Lucky for us we lived in a single story house. Unfortunately there was still a broken window to account for. We decided escape was the best option, and we hid at a friends house across the street until the potential calm fell over the house.

Few outbursts happened after that. A few locked doors. A few screaming matches. And the threat of birth control bills once we turned fourteen and started dating.

But somehow we survived it all. 

And only one broken window.

Stuff I Did When I Wasn't Here

Welcome to This Week On:

This Week on Letters to Jia:

• I Swallow

This Week on the Internet:

• Did you know that it's already time for the annual Weblog Awards? 2011 Bloggies. You can nominate bloggers and everything. Your favourite red head bloggers for instance. Oh? They don't have a redhead category? Oh well, red head bloggers are often willing to settle for  . . . well . . . anything.
  Just saying. 

This Week on Twitter:

If You Missed Last Weeks Awesome Guest Bloggers, Check Them Out Now:

• Top Ten Reasons I Hate My Period
• Zombie Preparedness 
• Lessons I Learned From My Family
• Facing Addictions
• How Jia Saved My Left Leg 
• Guest Blogging Virgin Talking About Whores

Self Esteem Saturday: Good Enough

Featuring Katie, from Free to Dance

I have always felt like I’m not good enough. I do everything: music, academics, sports, art, church, community service…Yet no matter what I do, I feel like I never measure up. I feel like I’m just a burden on everyone around me.

When I say it like that, it really doesn’t sound as serious as it feels. In fact, it’s something that every teenager goes through at some point. And, logically, I know this. But in real life? There is this little voice in my head that constantly tells me that what I have to say isn’t important, that everyone is just humoring me because they don’t want to hurt my feelings.

I’m naturally really introverted and thanks to my deadbeat dad, trust issues have always come naturally to me. My whole life has been a giant rollercoaster of coming out of my shell a little bit and then retreating right back to where I started.

In middle school, I had a best friend with whom I spent all of my time. We had been friends since pre-K, and we were closer than I had been with anyone but my sister. Seventh grade, something changed. As stereotypical mean middle school girls do, she began spreading rumors about me, and she turned all of my friends against me. My depression hit an all time high seventh grade through freshman year. I felt completely alone.

I was obnoxious and a downer; there was no way that people would ever want to hang out with me. Freshman year, this all turned around for me. I joined band, and I made friends in the grades above me. Finally, I was free of the loneliness and self hatred of the previous years.

Sophomore year, I got a new boyfriend. He was my first serious boyfriend, and I met him at my church youth group. It started out great, and we were the golden couple of the church for a while. Then my depression came back.

I don’t know why. Everything was perfect. But it did. However, when I went to him to talk about it, he told me that he wished that I wouldn’t ask him to solve it; I was bringing him down and it was starting to get old. In a way, I understand this. Who wants a sad sack following them around all the time?

However, when he told me this, it completely knocked my feet out from under me. I felt utterly alone. How could I keep him when I was as annoying as I was? With this thought tattooed in my brain, I turned into a smiling robot whenever he was around. The number one lie told by females is “I’m fine, really.”, and that lie passed through my lips many times that semester.

Needless to say, that relationship did not last all that much longer. As I've always told everyone else, if you don't love yourself, why would anyone else? You should always be your own number one fan. If you aren't good enough for yourself, why should you think that you are for anyone else? Loving yourself is the key to any good relationship, whether it be with friends, family, or a significant other.

At this point, I’m slowly getting back on a high, but there is still that voice there telling me that no one wants to hang out with me. I’ll never be good enough. I’m just wasting everybody’s time.

The key to me getting out of this was my recent realization that I base my self-image off of the opinions of the people around me. I cannot do that. It’ll leave me on an eternal roller-coaster ride. It is called SELF image for a reason.

I need to love me because I am good enough.

---

I think most of us have at some point understood how Katie has been feeling.

High School is usually the place where self esteem issues truly develop and fine tune themselves into harsh tools we use as make ourselves into adults. It's good that Katie realises that the points of low self esteem are not the truth, despite how hard it can be to fight it. KEEP FIGHTING KATIE!

Because you're good enough. Worthy enough. And you certainly aren't wasting our time here.

Each week we will use Self Esteem Saturdays to spread joy and love to one another.  Please show love for Katie in the comments below, for being brave and putting herself out there on display to the world. 

Note: I am scheduling SES guest posts for 2011 and spots are filling up! If you are interested in being featured on Self Esteem Saturdays, please send an email with the title  "Self Esteem Saturday" to untypicallyjia@gmail.com

How I Spent My New Years Vacation

Pst. I'm back.

And I'm sick. So the writing on this post will be supplemented with poorly taken photos and tweets.

December 29th

I woke up an hour too early and spent my time getting ready for the airport and then watching LA Ink until Matt woke up. On our way to the airport, we had our usual "Jia's going out of town and we're going to miss each other so much that we'll avoid most conversation to avoid any emotional outbursts."

Matt texted me..

Matt:  Have you been molested by security yet?
Jia: No, but the guy who checked my bags called me by my first name. I'm considering that sexual harassment.

Once on board the plane, I got my traditional ginger ale and tomato juice. Not mixed. Two separate drinks. I've done this since I was like ten years old.

Seriously. It's tradition. Me having these drinks is probably what's keeping the effing plane in the sky pal. I don't make the rules, I only abide by them.

Gotta love Albuquerque weather

View over Colorado

Once I arrived, we went home to unpack and get everything situated. It was the first time seeing Motherly's new home in Colorado, and it's just gorgeous. Ten times better than the home we had growing up. My childhood feels totally ripped off.

When Motherly's husband got home, we went out to eat. I said, "Take me somewhere that's exclusively Colorado! I want to taste the local cuisine." We went to Red Robin. To be fair, my sandwich was awesome. It tasted like Denver.

The parents still needed to go home and pack their bags because they had to leave for their flight to Vegas at like 4am. I snapped this picture at dinner and immediately sent it to my sister saying, "Vegas! They're so excited!"

After showing it to them, he said, "Well at least I'm doing something." LOL

December 30th

The rents left early in the morning and I soon realised the purpose of my visit. To babysit the dogs. I spent the next four days taking pictures of them napping.

December 31st

Then the weather decided to crap all over my vacation.

It snowed.

Apparently Denver does that sometimes.

Spent New Years Eve watching Seven Pounds, My Sisters Keeper and Marley & Me. Cause I wanted to end 2010 on a positive note. And with sarcasm.

January 1st

Waking up to 2011 I jumped out of bed to the beautiful sounds of Empire Records playing on Tv. Now that's how you start a new year!

January 2nd

Spent the next day watching movies. Jennifer's Body, Time Travelers Wife, Percy Jackson, Princess and the Frog . . . and then when Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion came on, I texted my sister:

Jia: Watching Romy and Michelle.. thinking of you, sissy.
Kristine: Awe! Miss you!
Jia: I forgot how this was so us when we were like twelve.
Kristine: That and Clueless.
Jia: Clueless was our Bible.
Kristine: I remember how we used to write down the words and what they meant so we could talk like them.
Jia: Yep and we would wear knee highs and plaid skirts. And when they opened the new mall we hung out in the area called "Off Rodeo Drive" and ate Italian ice.
Kristine: We were awesome.
Jia: Totally.

Then she asked me to take a picture of her favourite of Motherly's dogs. It just so happens to be the one I dislike the most. So I sent her this one:

January 3rd

The parents got home Monday morning around 5am. The dogs started barking . . . oh . . . about that time. While I was busy keeping them quiet, hundreds of miles away my poor hubby got sick and spent the next few days miserable in bed.

Motherly and I went to Chillis, a staple in our family. We had our usual conversations that involve sex, revealing secrets about my teen years that she never knew, and talking about the family. I learned many things I cannot unlearn.

January 4th

Motherly and I went and caught a showing of Black Swan at the local theatre. Which. Was. Amazing. There's really nothing that says Mother/Daughter Bonding like watching a movie about sex, lesbians, drugs, masturbation and crazy people. Oh, and ballet. 

(I'm only half being sarcastic here, that movie was actually a dramatic art work.)

Do you know what else is amazing? My favourite restaurant, Chipotle, (which I thought was 95 miles away from Motherly house) turned out to be literally a 2 minute drive away. I died inside and was brought back to life by steak and cilantro lime rice. Heaven. It broke my heart to leave.

January 5th

We went out to dinner one last time (where I found another Chipotle location right next to their favourite restaurant, go figure), and then came home to pack up and get ready for the trip back to Albuquerque.

It was sad to leave Motherly. She's just so damn cute.

The flight home was fine, however I left Colorado on a low note:

It's good to be home. I missed my poor sick hubby. My poor lonely pug. My poor destroyed house. And my poor little blog that was well taken care of in my absence by good, and awesomely offensive friends.