What's that smell?

I thought about telling you about how when I asked Ryan if TiVo and I were stranded on a rooftop and he could only save one of us which one would he choose, and he said he'd have to think about it. But you don't want to hear more TV talk. Then I thought about telling you that my brother's little girl is due any second! But lots of people hate hearing about other people's babies and how cute they will surely be, so I can't talk about that. I thought about telling you about my HELLISH day at work today but that's even more of the same song second verse. Little bit louder and a little bit worse. Of course there's the recent health drama/scare/situation I've been through but even I'M tired of hearing about that.

Instead I'll share this nice comment I received from my dear friend Anonymous.

"This blog is dying. A. Slow. Painful. Death.
Used to be my favorite. What's going on?"


So THAT'S what it is! My BLOG is dying! What a relief....all this time I thought my lack of words was due to despair or overwhelming stress or exhaustion or life. You know life, it ebbs and flows with its ups and downs. I thought maybe I was just traveling through one of the valleys. I was even ok with that...figured I would eventually make it out to the other side - the land of words and stories and funny observations. Lucky for me I don't have to worry anymore - it's just my boring, dying blog!

On the Rocks

Sometimes you just need to cry. You need to all out freak and cry and wig out. Cry so hard you gasp for air and embarrass yourself by saying something you meant to keep secret. So hard that people who witness it have no idea what to say.

Of course, then, the rest of the day, you feel like your eyeballs are filled with rocks.

Sometimes even the day after.

Do We Have More Of These?

You know the Target Lady from Saturday Night Live? And you know how she loves every item that comes through her line and has to have it immediately?
Wow, these are some smart kackis, she says.
Thanks, you say.
Do we have more of these? she says.
And if you say yes, she runs away to find the smart kackis in her size leaving you standing there dumbfounded. She's also thrilled when your debit card is approved. Man, that skit cracks me up every time.

So.

The following exact exchange just happened to me. At Target. In real life.

Wow, this is SO CUTE, she says.
Yeah I thought so too, I say
I mean it this is SO CUTE. Do we have more of these? she says.
No, I got the last one, I say.
The last one? she says.
Yes, I say.
Oh......................she says.
Yeah, I say.
..............................she says.
I'm getting it for a friend for her birthday, I say.
..............................she says.
..............................I say.
..............................she says.
Ring it up! I gotta get home and watch TIVO! I say.


And yes, my debit card was approved!

Reason #33: Birthday Edition

Reason #33 Why I Love Ryan Illingworth.

He wrapped my birthday presents in Christmas wrapping paper. And that is sooooooo Ryan.

(Note: My awesome co-workers got me TIVO for my birthday! TIVO! FOR ME!! Prepare yourselves........)

Everything's Coming Up

Oh.
No.

I take it all back. DO NOT watch The Starter Wife. It sucks like....like...well, like you probably thought it would. And you were right. I should have just stuck to HGTV. Next time, inner voice, I'll listen to you.

P.S. I do realize that this has slightly turned into a blog about TV. Here's the thing - lately my job is fairly overwhelming and stressful and a lot. At the end of the day the only thing I have energy for is the remote control. And in turn, the only thing I have the energy to type about is TV. Sorry.

P.S. Again. Also, the bigger-than-TV things that are going on in my life aren't quite ready to be aired to the masses. But soon my lovelies. Soon.

P.S. Yet Again. I'm growing roses.

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.