The Starter Show

I think everyone loves to secretly love two things: Celine Dion and TV. Most people you meet will not admit to either of these loves, will usually shout NO! I do not like Celine! I do not watch TV! They lie. Secretly, everyone has at least once beat their chest and sang "My Heart Will Go On" in their car and knows all about Tyra Mail. It's ok, you don't have to admit it out loud.

But I will.

I LOVE TV. For the past two years it's been a manageable love since we didn't have cable. I was restricted to just loving the prime time obvious like 24 and Lost and American Idol. But last Friday, the heavens opened up and behold......ILLINGWORTH MANOR NOW HAS CABLE TV. It's been a week and I already get jittery if I don't get in at least an hour of HGTV every night. I've now been freaked out by Little People Big World and scarred for life from some caveman show on The Discovery Channel last night. We got cable at the perfect time - when all of our shows had just ended. Now we're free to watch all the weird sci-fi-cartoon-network-TLC-comedy-central-MTV we want!

But I fear, it's already gone too far.

I presume you've seen the ads for the USA mini-series The Starter Wife. I presume this because I felt as if I was being stalked by this show. Ads for the show were in every single magazine imaginable. Every other commercial. Debra Messing was on every morning talk show. I even heard about it on conservative talk radio. It was at that point, when two old dudes were talking about "that one girl with red hair from that show...she's in it" that I knew I could not bring myself to watch something as overly-hyped as honeymoon sex. I vowed to ignore The Starter Wife. I would stand strong! I had 93 other channels to watch! I would not be lured by the "from one of the producers of Sex and the City" mumbo jumbo!

So I watched it.
And I liked it.
Oh crap.

Major Announcement

I was thinking I should post something today, maybe something about how last night I got pulled over by the weirdest cop in Spring Hill. And about how he stayed ten feet away from my car at all times and shined his big, retina burning flashlight on my face and hands to make sure I didn't have a weapon. And about how he let me off with a "verbal warning" even though my insurance card was expired and my registration was in a crumpled ball in the bottom of my glove box. But you don't really want to hear about that. Then I thought about telling you about my phone call to the NASA Space Store yesterday to order official NASA space suits and helmets for an upcoming band photo shoot. But you don't really want to hear about that either. I could tell you about my lunch today with the fabulous Lori but you kinda had to be there. We could all CERTAINLY talk about the Grey's Anatomy Great Depression Finale or the fact that Dwight K. Shrute is the best thing to happen to TV since Alex P. Keaton or the fact that people don't appreciate Melinda Doolittle like they should. But again, that's not what you want to hear right now. What you want to hear right now is this:

TMC, The Medical Condition of which we do not speak but have been speaking about for months and months (22 months, actually), the nasty awful thing that has been so nasty and awful, the thing that we all thought would never release its grip....remember that*? I do. I remember it. And I do mean "remember" as in past tense. As in....

IT.
IS.
OVER.

As in, I'm free. Healed. Over it already. And so to celebrate, I've written you this short note.



Dear Internet,

The Medical Condition is no more. Feel free to shout Hallelujah.

Love,
Jo


*I would include links to past stories for reference but I'm too busy smiling.

New Haircut

Fill In The.....

A couple of weeks ago something bad happened. I haven't talked about it here, or really anywhere, because I'm not sure what to say exactly. The few people I have told about it are also not sure what to say exactly. They agree that something happened. And that it was bad. But other than that we all sit around saying "hmmmm" a lot and wondering silently about bad things and that they sometimes happen.

Summary: After several months of frustrations, none of which had anything to do with me, a certain person that I work with on a very regular basis unleashed hell. On me. He verbally assaulted me and physically threatened me and the whole thing ended with several other guys pulling him off of me. It might be obvious, but this sort of thing doesn't happen to me. Ever. Not even close. I've never been screamed at in such a way, never felt like I was about to be punched. Hard. By someone I have known and worked with and trusted for years. Afterwards, after the initial hours of crying and freaking out, I felt........blank.

I've seen the sad stories of battered women on Oprah and Dr. Phil and Channel 4 News. Women who are screamed at and hit every single day*. Most of the time, these women look blank. And I've always wondered to myself why they don't fight back, why they don't scream in rage and throw a punch and get the heck out. Why they always seem so.......blank.

Last night on Grey's Anatomy Meredith was blasted by her father. Her estranged father that wasn't a part of her life until recently. Her father that left her mother and potentially did the right thing since Meredith's mother was so over the top overbearing and mean and crazy and adulterous. Her father that she recently kinda sorta reconnected with and then met his wife who tried to be BFF with Meredith even though Meredith wasn't all that into it. The same part-time-step-mom who last episode died under Meredith's care. He screamed at her (publicly) and said things that can't be forgotten. Things that hurt. Things that can change a person. And she didn't fight back. She didn't say one word.

I wonder why that is. I wonder why some of us retreat when attacked. I wonder why a fiesty woman, a strong woman, a confidant woman, an any kind of woman would be rattled to the point of ....well, nothing. No words or emotions or reaction. Before The Incident a few weeks ago, I would have told you exactly what I would have done. How I would have given that guy what for and defended myself and blah blah on and on. But in the moment - I was blank.

And yes, I just wrote a post about a fictional character on a fictional TV show and how I can identify with her and her feelings. It happens.



*Please know that I am not in any way comparing my incident to what a battered woman goes through. Not in any way at all. What happened to me was not even 0.05% of what they go through. There is no comparison. I think you get my drift. My ordeal = tiny. Their daily life = horrifying.

Fair Warning

This past week was Gospel Music Week otherwise known as the Week from Hell for those of us in the biz. Everyone and anyone associated with our little music industry gathers in downtown Nashville for a week of running to and fro and doing this and that. Indie bands are wandering the streets trying to get noticed, veteran acts are walking quickly trying not to get noticed and there's always one or two American Idol sightings. (This year it was Mandisa and Chris Sligh.) It's my job to assemble all of my bands and make sure they get where they need to go on time and in one piece. That's 21 guys around the age of 21 - all of which become bored after about 13 seconds of anything. Oh, and I was also planning a late night showcase with six bands performing and muptiple creative people all giving input and advice. Yes, I was busy.

One particular morning I was putting out typical fires (The Robot kicked out of an event, a staff member with no badge, a band with the wrong color wristbands to enter an event) and I took a moment to visit the ladies room to get away from the mania. I walked in and noticed the empty stalls* and felt glad to have a moment to myself.

*I always notice if public restrooms are empty or not. Because empty public restrooms (especially Movie Theater empty public restrooms) really freak me out.

As I was doing my quick business in Stall #2 I heard the main door open. Then I heard a cheery woman say, "So how's your week going?" I figured Happy Voice Lady had entered with a friend.

I was wrong.

Happy Voice Lady entered the stall next to me and repeated, more loudly:
"How's your week going?"
"................(could she really be talking to me?)..............fine."
"It's such a busy week isn't it?"
"........................"
"Everyone coming and going. It's a fun week though, seeing everyone and all he excitement and traveling and eating strange foods."
".................................."
"It really does a number on your stomach doesn't it?"

At this point I am at the sink washing my hands and I realize...this woman is not making polite conversation with me. This woman is warning me about what is about to come out of her.

So I got out of there.

Doesn't she know that the rule of thumb for a situation like that is to remain as anonymous as possible, walk in with your head down, enter the last stall, pick your feet up and hope everyone leaves before you have to come out? You don't make friends.

Although I am kinda wondering if she made it out alive.

I'm in.

I've been tagged by nonblonde. And what she says - I do.

My (Current) Top Five Obsessions:

Pants - When I was 19 years old, I knew what size I wore. I could go into any store, pick up my size, and the pants would fit. Now, I wear a range of three, sometimes FOUR different size pants. This makes shopping so irritating I could be tempted to go naked. Almost. Why can't an 8 be an 8? And why can't I be an 8?

TV - I love TV. Good shows and bad shows and dramas and comedies and action and news and reality and total crap and The Office. I don't have cable channels like Discovery or TLC or E! or Bravo because it's too expensive right? (Secret Message to Internet: The reason I don't have these channels is because if I had access to all the shows on THOSE channels as well as the channels us regular folks watch - I would never leave my house. Ever.)

Babies - It's not what you think. (Or is it?) I have upwards of 15 pregnant women in my life. That's a double digit, ya'll. And that's a lotta babies. Kinda makes a girl think about....

The Future - I think about the future and when it will get here and what it will look like and how much it will cost and what size my pants will be when it gets here and if I have time to do anything about it.

Zaxby's - Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm Zaxby's.

I will now tag anyone and everyone who wants to fess up. And let me know if you do....I love reading other people's privacies.

(Privacys?)

(Secrets.)

Over It

My friend Sam after hearing Zach say that his new job is "all things web related":

"I am so over the Internet."

-Sam Shifley
Record Producer
Poet
Renaissance Man
Family Man
Often mistaken for a Homeless Man

I Know You Are, But What Am I?

You know you're fat when......

You put on some pants in the dressing room only to gasp in horror at the reflection in the adds-ten-pounds-I'm-sure-of-it full length mirror. You stare in disbelief at how wretched these pants make you look, how wide and lumpy and vast. You vow to yourself that you would never EVER buy these pants even if they were 75% off. Even if you had a Gift Card. Even if they were black and 75% off and you had a Gift Card. These pants make you look like Fun House Mirror Girl. They are awful. AWFUL!

Then you realize....

These are your pants. The ones you wear every other day.

Sigh.

Until June

Never have I used this blog to pimp my own .... wait a minute .... I do have a link to BUY MY BOOK. But never have I used this blog to pimp one of my bands. But, the time has come. I feel fairly certain that if you have read this blog more than once, you will love the band Until June as much as I do. They are three guys, they live in West Hollywood, and they write songs that sound like falling in love.

You can check out their music here or here. It will be worth the click. Their debut record comes out Tuesday - 4/17, if you are so inclined.

Enjoy.

J. F. is #1

If I watched Dancing with the Stars (which I do not)....and if I were to make a comment about it (which I can't because I don't watch it)....I would say that the host Samantha Harris always wears THE most gorgeous dresses. I mean really, who is dressing that woman? And when can they start dressing me? That is....if I had ever seen the show, which I most certainly have not.