plain awesome

I love this. I love this so very, very much.

it’s electric!

Photo powered by BlackBerry.

This is a picture of me about to pass out with the new electric throw (or electric woobie, as I’ve been calling it) that Paige mailed to me because she’s awesome. The only way this present could have been more awesome is if they somehow just invented an electric Snuggie and nobody told me.

I’ve used it since I got home tonight (which, for those of you playing along at home, was 9 p.m.) and I’m not sweaty hot. It’s actually this even, comfortable, wonderful level of heat.

And now you have a Marcia Griffiths song stuck in your head. I did that.

there’s need to fear

Last night, I sat on my couch and watched Brandon in seven levels of hell as the No. 1 Tennessee Titans derailed and let the Cleveland Browns Baltimore Ravens take away their shot at an AFC championship.

Fortunately, I still have all of my teeth.

But then, Carolina went down like a sack of wet cement. And today? Wow. Sorry ’bout your luck, Giants fans. Geez.

And now, I’m stting here watching Pittsburgh mount a second-quarter comeback after being down 10-7 on San Diego.

It’s like life got inverted and any normal semblance of NFL playoffs went out the window. It’s almost like a real-life, NFL version of “Vote for the Worst.” It’s like we’re trying to get Sanjaya into the Super Bowl in a match for total dominance against Taylor Hicks.

Someone just needs to get me Chris Daughtry. Immediately.

(Note: It’s 14-10 Pittsburgh now. Much to my happiness. Much to Brandon’s dismay.)

So, I hadn’t really forgotten about the blog, but to say that I’ve been busy is a bit of an understatement. I spent the week before Christmas trying to compact about six days worth of work into two to meet the printing schedules of our other papers. I spent a great, great five days at home, and while I didn’t get the chance to see everybody I wanted to see, it was still nice to be in West Virginia and among people that truly make you feel like no matter where you roam, you have an anchor.

Once I got back from the Christmas visit, we jumped into our New Year’s printing schedule, and then before I knew it, it was almost time for the Obamathon. Wall-to-wall from Wednesday through the big day. I got home at 9 p.m. almost every night last week, and that’s after spending all day compiling things, looking for events, etc.

I have a weekly column now which rocks my face off. I’m so happy to have the chance to actually have a space, every week, for me to write. I’m a dork, but I get excited on Thursday mornings when I see people reading it on the train.

But it wasn’t until I got an e-mail from a good friend of mine last week (a good friend in spite of some pretty whacked out turbulence around the edges), asking me if the Girl of Words had run out of words.

I truly haven’t. I just haven’t had the time to actually stop what I was doing at work to spend 15 minutes or so updating. And I post links to Facebook sometimes whichs gets a discussion going, but it doesn’t replace this. It really doesn’t. I never think people care much about what I’m thinking until someone actually stops to ask.

So, there’s not going to be a show tonight. There’s not going to be a show until after the Super Bowl. In addition to being a little bit burned out, I realize that with the season premiere of “24″ tonight and NFL playoffs, I can’t, and don’t really want to, compete. I want to enjoy “24″ and the Super Bowl.

So, I’m thinking we’ll be back Feb. 8, which is three days before I turn 30. Woof. Three days before I turn 30. Man.

And maybe I should, at any rate, make time to blog more because it’s great, cheap therapy. I’ve also seen some things floating around town in the last couple of weeks that truly would have made great entries.

But I hope all of you that are still checking in are doing well … I do read your blogs, I think about you often. You’re alright in my book.

for a good time, call …

I laughed until it hurt at my friend Cale’s misadventures in text messaging today. I’m glad Cale is my friend because it’s comforting to know that there’s at least ONE other person out there in this world that this kind of stuff happens to. I think that for Christmas, I’m going to have to buy him the t-shirt I saw that said “Shit happens. But mostly to me, so don’t worry.”

what’s for lunch?

Today’s edition of “What’s for Lunch?” is in honor of Sweet Ann of Charleston, W.Va.

Why?

Because yesterday, she was, for lack of a more accurate word, quasi-lectured that she could either use Twitter to tell people something “relevant” about an event she was attending or she could tell people what she was having for lunch.

Upon learning those developments, I picked to honor her right to use Twitter however she chooses by putting up her theme idea of “What’s for Lunch?” today.

Pictured is what I’m having, naturally. More food for eight-year-olds. Please, someone one-up me.

meanwhile, at the hall of justice

That could sum up the last couple of days for me. I left Maryland at 2 p.m. Friday, and more than six hours later (thanks, in part, to solid traffic and road construction from Maryland to Breezewood, Pa.) got to Wheeling to see my Dad. He looks great. He’s making amazing progress. If all goes well, he’ll be home in about four weeks or so. He actually talked to me Friday night, which was huge. I hadn’t heard his voice since May. Probably Mother’s Day. He wasn’t really down with my move, so we weren’t talking much before this happened. I’m certain nothing like that will every happen again.

Saturday morning, I got up early and headed down to Charleston for Michelle’s shower and bachelorette party. It was so strange going to Charleston. It felt weird. But I had a great time, albeit an exhausted one. I’m certain I’d be more equipped to really cut loose with some ample sleep, but that’s not in the cards for a few more weeks.

Sunday was spent back in Wheeling to see Dad again (it’ll be a couple of weeks before I’m back) and driving home. I found myself on the Pennsylvania Turnpike with NPR being the only radio I could pick up. It was “All Things Considered.” I heard a story about how the Olympics are nothing but out of control nationalism and a huge story about Obama’s first trip to southern Illinois. I wish I was making that up. I really wish I was making that up.

But now, home, and back at it. I saw a Twitter from Ann this morning asking what was up about everybody’s “end of summer” funk, and I full admit I’m in one, too. As I sat on Julie’s couch Sunday morning, I said, “I really feel like I’m one more event away from a ‘hospital grade’ breakdown.” Maybe it’s exaggerating a bit, but I’m starting to feel like I can’t catch a break. Every time I turn around, someone’s angry, something’s broken, something’s going to cost me twice what I expected it to, somebody’s feelings are hurt that I don’t seem like me, etc. I don’t often whine in this space, but without whining too much, I’m really just feeling like I’ve hit my limit.

It does feel good to be back here, though. As crazy an as out of sorts as things feel, at least it’s consistently that way. Consistency’s not always a bad thing.

But in case Karma’s reading today, it’s not funny anymore. I’d like to cash in my good chips.

Sometimes, they write themselves

It all started here ...

Me: god my belly hurts because it’s so funny to me to dress the animals
Me: hahahahaha
Me: i’ve become what i hate
Paige: haha
Paige: you totally have
Me: i hang my head
Paige: you should!
Paige: you’re a 45 year old housewife from fond-du-lac, wisconsin.
Paige: next thing you know, you’ll be on the metro, wearing crocs
Paige: and carrying a PBS tote bag
Me: OH GOD KILL ME NOW!!
Paige: wearing mom jeans
Paige: with the 11 inch zipper
Paige: and pleats, for comfort
Paige: elasti-waist
Me: noooooooooooooooo
Paige: you will, of course, be wearing a sweater with cat appliques
Paige: and a whimsical thought bubble from a sleeping cat that says “I’m purrrrrrrrrrrfect!”
Me: i. am. crying.
Me: hahahahahahahahaha

Paige: did I mention you crochet on the metro?
Paige: you’d like to be able to knit, but metro police told confiscated your needles during rush hour.
Paige: they detained you for 4 hours of questioning
Paige: and then released you to the custody of your husband, a long haul teamster named Carl.
Me: IT HURTS!!!!
Paige: lol
Me: I’m so putting this on my blog.
Paige: you don’t blog, Vivian
Paige: you only go online to find limited edition beanie babies on eBay.
Paige: Carl is going to take away your debit card.
Me: it’s true!!!
Paige: of course, to make up for the emotional hurt of your detainment by metro police, he’s going to buy you that special olympics 08 beanie you’ve had your eye on, and take you to Shoney’s for a nice all-you-care-to-eat buffet.
Paige: did I mention the special olympics beanie has a large head?
Me: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Me: OK. It’s like 10:30. Grandma needs to go to bed!!
Me: OH GOD IT’S ALREADY STARTING!!!!
Paige: you appreciate the diversity it adds to your collection. you will put it next to Darfur beanie and project (red) beanie.
Paige: g’night, Gramma!
Paige: no stripping, you hear?
Me: I’ll behave so I don’t get my bridge club privileges revoked.
Paige: haha
Paige: canasta
Me: hahahahaha
Paige: no VFW bingo for you this week, young lady
Me: dammit!!!
Paige: night.

My quasi-identity crisis

Yesterday, some of you got an e-mail that I’d started a new blog.

And I had a good reason. I just didn’t feel like “me” anymore. I’m in a new city, a new job, a new life, new schedule. I felt like the Jacque Jo that lived and breathed in Charleston was a distant memory.

And the two posts I put up, which you can read here, felt pretty good when I put them up, but then the more I thought about it, the more I thought, “blah.”

No matter what the scenery is (and for me, right now, the scenery is Ruby Memorial Hospital, Room 954), I’m still Jacque. I’m saving the other blog — those of you that have been with me for a long time know my radio show used to be called “The Show That Never Ends” and I want to keep the site in case I need it down the road.

But maybe the “identity” crisis is just a surface issue of a deeper swirl inside — an unsettled feeling, if you will. Here’s a crash course for those of you just tuning in:

I moved, which was a full-scale disaster from a technical standpoint. Two days later, I started my new high-demand job (that I absolutely love and feel fulfilled and challenged and what I should feel). Four days after that, my family’s life got turned upside down when my Dad went down with a spontaneous massive brain hemorrhage. Since that 7 a.m. phone call from my sister, I’ve spent 50 hours or so a week working in DC and spending weekends in West Virginia. I’ve not had a single weekend in Washington to sit around, see and do things we read about, do laundry — you name it.

Now, I’m not bitching that the man got sick — I’m here for my father because I love my father and I get so moved and thrilled when I see the amazing progress he’s made in four weeks. Two weeks ago, we thought we were going to lose him. Today, we watched him laugh when I said my sister’s house that she’s building looks like a Pizza Hut.

I’ve not had the time to make new friends outside of office friends. We’ve only had a couple of nights (including last night’s Duckpin Bowling adventure, but more on that later) to actually do real, normal, average “couple” things like going out to dinner or see a movie. I’m tired as hell when I come home and then I’m gone all weekend.

It was difficult to do it, but I decided that I wouldn’t be coming to West Virginia for July 4. We’re going to spend it with oh, a couple million of our closest friends down on the National Mall. We’re going to do all of the stupid, touristy things we want to that day and spend the night watching the biggest fireworks display in the country.

And I shouldn’t feel bad — I had a good friend remind me that I shouldn’t feel bad. She reminded me that I’ve exceeded anything that a normal situation would have expected out of me and then some. I tend to shoulder more than my share of responsibility for anything and I’ve done that as much as I can with my Dad’s illness. Every weekend driving to Morgantown to be at his bedside is as much as anybody could have asked out of me from Washington.

So, what’s the purpose of getting it all off my chest? It’s what a blog’s for, right? And I’ve had so many people tell me they miss my blog and they miss me. I miss everybody a lot, too. If I haven’t called you or written you back yet, it’s because I’ve been trying to adjust to a world I can’t control right now, but I’ve got nothing but love for you.

And as for the blog identity crisis, Jacque Jo’s going to stick with this one because after sleeping on it, it’s what feels right.

Truth.

T-minus about 48 hours. The movers will be here Thursday. Predictably. I needed them Friday.

Things aren’t going well. They’re not going terribly either. They’re just going fast. They have no choice but to just go. It’s time for the next phase of life and it’s here. What seemed like an idea a month ago is actually here now.

I’m fine, I promise. Just drained. I’m tired in every single way a person possibly could be right now. But there’s a light at the end. I just have to keep moving closer toward it.

I read somewhere that the five most stressful things anybody can go through are:

1. Birth of a child (I’m clear here)
2. Moving (I’m ass-deep in that.)
3. Changing jobs (Monday’s coming. Quickly.)
4. Going through a divorce (… check.)
5. Death in the family (I’m clear for now. But with my luck, someone dies Saturday.)

I’ve completed 60 percent of this list in eight months. Who says I’m not an overachiever?

Quote of the Day

“I am literally bathing in Massengill.”
— Sweet Julie, talking about the perfect end to her perfect day when she realized that two of the most deplorable human beings in history are sitting in the office right beside her