The New Heights of Nerdiness

Ok...I have been aware for a while that I am a closet nerd. Well...I think I believe I am a closet nerd; when, in truth, it's out there. After this latest (and long overdo) blog post...it will definitely be out there.

I have been slowly coming to terms with and actually becoming more comfortable with my nerdiness for quite a while now. I have always loved to read, and, as soon as I hit puberty, I gravitated towards guys with glasses and a deep love for the Lord of the Rings. I also grew up with a Father who loved Star Trek, Alfred Hitchcock, and the X-Files--an affinity he passed along to his only child. Since Peter and I have been together, our mutual love for Harry Potter and audio books have sealed our fate as a nerdy couple. But lately, it has been the deadly combination of Netflix streaming on my laptop and a renewed love for agents Scully and Mulder that have me worried that my nerd to cool ratio has become a bit unbalanced.

Why do I love the X-Files? I can't quite figure it out. Is it that David Duchovney (the 90's version, not the sketchy millenial version) is my new celebrity crush? Is it because I am wondering when oh when Scully will finally tell Mulder that she is in love with him (which is so obvious...wake up Mulder)? Could it be because my best friend Lori believed that the strange red light that would appear on our dorm wall (remember when laser pointers were cool) could possibly be extra terrestrials...maybe the 90's fashions are just drawing me in, or is it simply that this show provides mystery, and dog gone it, I love a good mystery. Who knows? But I am here to say that I cannot help myself. I simply love the X-Files.

Watch out creepy, anonymous government agent men...Scully and Mulder are on the case!

J-Nerd...out

christmas 10

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Due Dates...in Which the Question Get Asked

The thought of Summer can evoke very different pictures to various types of people depending on their occupation. For some, Summer simply means warmer work days and more options on the weekends. For others (those who still live and work on a school schedule), Summer means so much more. For Peter and I, the months of June, July, and August were marked by gardening, moose tracking in Colorado, 117 degree weather shared with good friends in Charleston, and lazy evenings on our front porch.

Most of our time this Summer was spent in Fraser, Colorado at Crooked Creek Ranch. Peter spent most of his time chasing down moose with our Rebel and a telephoto lens; while my job consisted of building relationships with leaders and setting them up well for their week at camp. It was awesome. But the moment from our time at CCR which made the biggest impression happened one Wednesday evening.

In Young Life, a wednesday night at camp can only mean one thing..."The Night that Never Ends." This evening consists of, but is not limited to, a tableau, a western dinner, a square dance, a carnival, and--an opera. Now the opera in Young Life does not include arias; rather, it is a show jam packed with lip syncing, choreography, and rescuing Crooked Creek Ranch from the "Bad Guy" (in our case Reid A. Bookman). I had the opportunity to perform in the opera, which pretty much meant that life, for me, became all that I had ever hoped...an episode of Glee. But I digress...Anyway, after the opera that night, one of the Adult Guests came up to me, put her arm round my shoulders and said, "When you were on stage it hit me...when are you DUE?"

Ok...time out...seriously? 1: My ego ain't prego...fo shiz. 2: I think I am correct in thinking that it is never--ever okay to ask a woman (even if she is obviously about to pop and wearing a t-shirt that says "Baby on Board) if she is pregnant. 3: OMG--every shred of self-esteem and positive body image I may have ever had just flew out the window...this chick thinks I look pregnant. Surely...any sane person would think that would be her last comment right? Wrong!

Meanwhile...back at the Ranch...with her arm still around my shoulders and a look of shock on my face, she continues, "I mean, I was watching you on stage and thinking to myself---Wow, she has such a great figure for someone who is expecting. So how far along are you?" I was literally speechless...and I was a little offended by the whole thing. But then I thought to myself, "Ah...finally something to blog about."

Defective Eyelash Curlers and other Fiascos

When someone asks , "What is so and so like?" there are normally three to four descriptors given to the question asker. If someone asked what I was like, I feel like I could imagine what the description might consist of.

"Oh, Jess? Well, Jess works for Young Life, is married to Peter, believes that life is a musical, and is really, seriously accident prone."

If such descriptions had been given, they would be correct, in reference particularly to the last one. I am SO accident prone. It started early on in life with the usual bouts of falling down, scraping knees, etc. Then, at the tender age of 8, the freak accidents began. Somehow, while playing on the monkey bars at school, the bar broke, I fell, and ended up with 16 stitches in my tongue. After that, there was a series of broken noses, whose catalysts ranged from gymnastics equipment to a run in with a tennis racket.

One would imagine that after the awkwardness of the growing stages of life ended that, perhaps, the frequency of accidents would subside...not so with me. In college, I managed to both fall down a waterfall (Laurel Falls to be exact) and dislocate my shoulder while transitioning from the running man into the roger rabbit (both are popular 90's dance moves often practiced by MC Hammer and the Fresh Prince). After the initial dislocation of the shoulder, I discovered that I had actually torn a ligament in my shoulder and proceeded to undergo shoulder surgery.

More recently, my incidents have mostly consisted of banging my head on things (once my head actually collided with HoneyBear, my dog's, noggin--that one took talent). Then of course there is the incident of face planting dramatically in the middle of the street in London, landing in the fetal position, and hearing British people walk by and say, "Awe poor thing," as they stepped over me. Perhaps while you are reading this blog you are thinking to yourself that there cannot possible be more...but this morning, my accident prone-ness reached a new level.

I was standing in our tiny, little blue bathroom, getting ready for the day, and putting on a little bit of makeup. I was almost finished when I remembered I needed to put on some mascara, and what comes before the mascara? The eyelash curler of course. Now some men might think that an eyelash curler looks like some kind of medieval torture device, but we ladies know it is an essential part of the beauty regimen. I had already curled the right eye and applied the mascara--no problem. Then, as I begin to clamp the curler down on the lashes of my left eye, I hear a snap then feel this sharp pain directly below my left eye. The eyelash curler had actually snapped and the spring slung around and whapped me in the face.

Peter, we may need to look again at my life insurance policy...apparently the world is out to get me. OY!

Prom...

Remember prom? Spending weeks finding the perfect dress, getting an over styled (and over sprayed) updo, trying to get a hint of color at the "fake and bake" and always ending up lobster red instead of brown, and knowing the entire time that you will stay at the prom exactly 45 minutes--the length of time it takes to get your picture made and dance to approximately 3 songs . Those are the memories that stand out from my three prom experiences in high school.

Last Friday night, Peter and I went to the prom. Well, actually, we went to Providence Academy's Junior/Senior Banquet...which was so much better than any prom I ever attended! The theme was "The Best Years of Our Lives" which sounds super cheesy but actually highlighted the 1940's Hollywood theme. All the best parts of "prom" were there without the sketchiness. Girls were dolled up, guys were in tuxes, good food was served, and pictures were taken. The distinguishing factor between JSB and Prom, however, was definitely the DANCING! Everyone was dancing! Guys, girls, faculty...you name em', they were on the dance floor. Even my husband, who is normally on the sidelines heckling the dancers, was out there pulling a Kevin Bacon.

The best moment of the night by far was towards the end of the evening. All the Ol' Folks (myself included) were cleaning up in the back when "Can't Touch This" by M.C. Hammer begins to play. Peter suddenly looks at me and says, "Oh man...they don't know how to dance to this." Before I know it, we are running to the middle of the "dance circle", and we are busting out some old school dance moves; including, but not limited to, the Roger Rabbit, the Running Man, and the Sprinkler. My shoulder somehow stayed in place, and I will forever be a fan of the Junior/Senior Banquet.

Ah...South Johnson City, Tennessee--lovingly known to it's residents as "SoJo." This little section of the world is where life happens for me, my husband (of almost 2 years) Peter, and our wonder-dog Honeybear. We live in an 81 year old bungalow located in a transitional, blighted neighborhood on the wrong side of the tracks, and we love it. We work in our garden, talk to our eccentric neighbors, and I ride my 1962 Schwinn to the office when it's warm outside. I work for a ministry called Young Life here in Upper East Tennessee, and Peter works for a classical school called Providence Academy. It's a simple life, but we like it...and for some reason I thought blogging might be an appropriate way to document it. It also helps me to realize my life long dream of being a newspaper columnist...I also always wanted to be a storm chaser, but I am not sure how blogging will help me to realize that dream--but there's always hope.