Nihon, yo.

I'm not sure how I got suckered into watching back-to-back episodes of Ninja Warrior, but this mess is crazy. Then again, everything always sounds much more exciting and life-or-death with an over-animated Japanese announcer going positively bananas every time one of these guys takes a tumble.

Then again, if this is any indication of what Japan is really like, culturally speaking, I so want to go there as soon as humanly possible.

Self-Esteem Boost

I can have my ego stroked and my butt kissed by everyone on the planet, but it won't matter anything at all until I can come to terms with it on my own. So that's exactly what I'm going to do.

I am worthwhile. I am smart. My ideas do matter. I am gorgeous. My hair does look great (even when it doesn't).

I am awesome.

Take that, negative forces.

Laserrific

Going to the laser show at Stone Mountain Park will always make me feel a bit more like an honorary Georgia peach.

Here it is

Your Friday moment of zen, brought to you by the corgi that I hope to adopt oneofthesedays:

Y'know

Sometimes I wish I had a typewriter. There's a sensory satisfaction you get from the effort you need to get the keys to work just right, the necessity to type the word correctly the first time, and the catharsis of making an angry jackhammer noise with the keys.

Anyone got any leads on how I can get one?

I don't normally do this

(Okay, I tend to do this more often than not.)

Check it out, though: What's Your Hero Name?

Let's be honest. Our Facebook feeds are plagued with awful "What's your Death Date/Spirit Color/Patronus Animal" gorge-fests, but this one's a little better than the rest. Why, you ask?

Because my hero name is Jacquie, The Sexy Gunner.


And what, y'all. And. WHAT.

YA SEE THEO

Folks, I just started to wax nostalgic for some Jell-O Pudding Pops.

Don't you dare tell me that fudge pops at the grocery store taste just like this. Just-- don't even tell me that. There is nothing (NOTHING!) that has the consistency, the sweetness, and the frozen portability that Jell-O Pudding Pops has.

The most heartbreaking part of all? They don't make them anymore. I mean, you just can't find them. I don't even know why. They were such a delicious staple of my childhood.

And Bill Cosby endorsed them. How can that not be an air-tight promise to produce the product for at least a hundred more years?

You have a library? Indeed. With books!

Finally took care of getting my DeKalb County Library card, which has now opened me up to a whole new world of literary joys.

Above: This afternoon's events, as captured by Disney.

I spent the better part of an hour and a half walking up and down the aisles, craning my neck to read book titles until I got a cramp, occasionally stopping to pick up a volume that either (a) had an interesting-sounding title or (b) had a neat cover design. (Way for me to judge a book by its cover, AM I RIGHT?!)

Ultimately, I decided upon a few old favorites, but I left feeling a little overwhelmed. There were so many books. How does one decide which one to take a chance on? It's not like most books get overexposed by social media the way that movies and TV shows do. Nine times out of ten, we just have to guess.

Anyone have a book recommendation or two? I lean more towards historical fiction (contemporary can seem dated to me) that either includes a scant bit of romantic interludes, supernatural occurrences, or both.

(Yawn)

Is it this normal to feel so dang sleepy before 9:00pm? We helped out at a brunch event and walked around the Dogwood Festival in Piedmont Park, but it wasn't like we over-exerted ourselves. (And when I say "we," I mean "David and me." I'm not so self-absorbed as to refer to myself like I'm the bloody queen of England.)

But really. I'm exhausted. Like, can't-keep-my-eyes-open exhausted. Bedtime might be sooner than I think, you guys.

Newsies on Broadway

Will be happening exactly three weeks from tonight. The feels I feel are truly unreal.

(This moment of momentarily lyrical insanity brought to you by yours truly.)

Here it is

Your Friday moment of zen (and general bit of advice):

Anyone else remember that Miranda Cosgrove had the misfortune of being in this film?

Bad Bod. BAD.

I'm not sure whether it's related to the fact that I'm due for my monthy visit next week (ifyouknowwhatimean), but I've had a rotten body image for the past few days. 

Aside from the occasional crumble-and-snack-on-Birthday-Cake-Oreos-but-ONLY-just-two-I-swear, I've come to understand that the best way of dealing with bad body image issues is not to drown them in a bowl of rainbow sherbet (except I just did, whoops). Rather, I've resolved to do at least one or two workouts.

YouTube is chock full of that stuff, you guys. Legit stuff. Like from TV and everything. I did a standing ab workout and a butt workout. Boy howdy, I'm not sure if my hips will forgive me.

So, y'know, here's hoping that I wake up extremely sore from those endeavors (because yesterday's pilates made my sides hurt like nobody's business), and that I wake up with a slightly hotter bod than I had yesterday.

That's the power of positive thinking. And perhaps the power of Pine-Sol, baby.

Leg circles!

I haven't done pilates in a long time. I wasn't even supposed to do pilates at all today. I was supposed to do a Zumba class with my pal Lorien tonight, since we scored a suh-weet deal on LivingSocial: 20 Zumba classes for $10. Apparently, everyone in the metro Atlanta area bought the same deal, because not only was the place busy, but the line was out the door. There were about 30 of us still waiting outside before they had to cut off the line. So, y'know, no Zumba for us.

But apparently there's a whole slew of pilates workout videos available on Netflix streaming, so we did that instead. "This'll be easy," I said. "Look at how slow they're moving," I said.

Thirty minutes later, I felt a soreness in muscles I didn't even know I had. Then we ate sushi, watched Saved By The Bell, and had a grand time.

Not sure how much I'll be feeling this come morning, though. (Hint: I hope I feel it a lot.)

Unsinkable

I've never sobbed unabashedly in a movie theater as much as I have when I saw Titanic six times in theaters back in 1998. And I haven't sobbed unabashedly in a movie theater as much since. Well, until I saw Titanic in 3D today. (Only minor exception in this history was my viewing of a critical death scene in The Hunger Games. Even then, it was 30 seconds of sniffly tears. Not the knock-down, drag-out sobbing that ensues for the last half of Titanic.)

Case in point:

AND THEN THEY'RE ALL

AND AND AND THEN

"You jump, I jump. Right?" GUH REALLY THE TEARS.

Between THAT, and then all of the scenes with ladies kissing their husbands goodbye forever (which only made me cry more now that I've got a husband of my own), and people sliding down the ship's deck to an uncertain, grisly fate (poor Trudy!), I was a hot mess. A hot, teary, blotchy-faced, puffy-eyed mess.

And it felt so good.

In an unrelated story, we were outbid for the house. Unless the aforementioned higher bid falls through, our little dream house is out of the picture. Mreh. There will be better things in store, but I can't say I'm not disappointed.

House Hunters ATL

David and I went to see the realtor today to draw up the papers for an offer on the aforementioned Bosma Dream House. Very little else can make one feel like a grown-up the way that does.

Now, we play the waiting game. Let's hope no one makes an offer...

Ren'ing it up.

Three huzzahs for the Georgia Renaissance Festival! We hit that up with our pals Joey and Lorien today and had a killer time.

Note to self: in January, audition for said fair. I'd be a phenomenal Anne Boleyn, believe you me.

Also, note to self: Go to bed. The Renaissance makes you tired.

Once a princess, always a princess

Today was a relatively busy day of volunteering at the Atlanta History Center. We had a large event ("Sheep to Shawl") that was essentially a petting zoo, open farmhouse, multi-demonstration free-for-all. My duties for the day included some crowd control during the open house, answering questions, and being partially adorable.

Above: Me, being partially adorable in mid-1800s costume.

I don't know if it was my previous charisma learned from all my princess lessons at Disney, but I was a huge hit today. Oddly enough, I'm always a huge hit with Japanese tourists, who want multiple pictures with me because I'm clearly ultra kawaii.

I had a few Japanese tourists today, and they were presh as all get-out, but I have to tell you about a particularly endearing experience I had today.

This little girl had to have been just barely four years old. I commented on her awesomely colorful dress (as the inner princess in me is wont to comment on all little girls' dresses and discuss how much fun it is to twirl in said dresses), and unlike 99% of the kids I saw today, she didn't clam up all shyly. Later that day, toward the end of the event, her dad brought her back to my "station" at the porch, and oh, brother, did this girl ever talk.

"I'd like to dance, please. Try this dance. Now, try this one! I want to twirl." Et cetera, ad adorablum. (PS: Imagine all of that said in a little baby British accent. No, I'm not making that up.)

After spending a great deal of time twirling, dancing, and teaching this girl the hokey pokey, her dad confided in me that the little girl (Erin, or "Eh-win," as she introduced herself), had asked him many times if he could take her back to "see the princess." My heart.

Naturally, this resulted in me giving Eh-win extra dances, making her pinky-swear that she would never ever stop wanting to dance, and giving her a dear princess hug.

Conclusion: I miss working at Disney.

Here it is

Your Friday moment of zen, brought to you by the fact that I've been watching Season 7 of Boy Meets World all night:

"Undapants."

"I always sleep like this."

"UNDApants."

"Oh, here we go."

This show.

Domestic bliss and potential home ownership

David and I took a big step today: we're making an offer on a house. The "good" news is that this is a short sale, meaning that it may take a few months before the bank/seller approve our offer officially. That's also, of course, the bad news as well. In the meantime, we may look at a few other houses - if nothing else, to solidify that this is the house we want and this house will be the one we raise our future youngins in.

We'll be meeting with the realtor early next week to draw up the terms, so keep all them fingers crossed for us!

I mean, isn't it darling? Quintessentially Georgian, I must say. And you've got to love that double porch.

You're also invited to the housewarming party. If you're a stranger, the cover is a $500 Ikea gift card (minimum).

Sing out loud

I have a good soul for singing.

Now, that doesn't indicate that I can sing by any stretch of the imagination, but boy howdy do I have the ambition to. I guess I'm being a little unfair to myself - I'm relatively good at singing, or else I wouldn't have made it into the leading role in most of my high school musicals.

But that was high school, see. I'm talking about f'reals Broadway quality stuff. Don't worry though; I've got it covered. I burned a CD of instrumentals and, every so often, I'll pop that puppy into my car and sing at the top of my lungs.

Regional theatre, here I come. Or it could just be 11:30 at night and I'm in desperate need of sleep.

No cats in America

At Target a week or so ago, I was able to locate both An American Tail and An American Tail: Fievel Goes West, both for $7.50 total. Bazinga.

I haven't seen those movies in aaaaages, so I decided to watch An American Tail tonight as I was winding down for the evening.

Come on. Who doesn't love a movie about an adorable immigrant mouse in turn-of-the-century New York City? Haters, perhaps.

First off, let me lament the fact that despite this movie being quite dated-looking (as was evident by the super-old Universal logo used at the beginning of the film), I'm actually older than this film is, by about 10 months. Older's older, and boy howdy, do I feel older.

I don't remember much about this movie when I was younger, save for the fact that I was stressed out during much of the movie. There is a lot of chasing down, bad situations becoming worse, and worst of all... those parts where Fievel and some streetwise mouse are galavanting about town and Papa and/or Tanya are RIGHT FREAKING THERE AND THEY DON'T SEE HIM.

Because, let's face it: as a kid, one of our biggest fears is getting lost. This is a whole movie about a kid that gets lost.

Even so, James Horner composed the music and, if we can be honest with ourselves here, I'll get misty-eyed at any music James Horner composes (including, but not limited to, Titanic and Casper).

I'm thinking that either tonight or Thursday, I'll take a look at Fievel Goes West, because if there's something I love more about a heartwarming tale of turn-of-the-century New York immigrants, it's a heartwarming tale when those New Yorkers move out west.

Or just when they sing about moving out west.

No place like home

Quick, obligatory update: I'm back in the land of the living, having lived extraordinarily this weekend in the technology-less mountains of western Virginia. It was a wonderful visit, gorgeous weather, and I'm grateful to have had the trip.

And now, back to work tomorrow. And by "back to work," I mean "roll out of bed five minutes before my in time, open my computer, clock in, and start checking emails/voicemails in my jammies."

Added bonus: tomorrow's already Tuesday. Can't say that I'm complaining one lick about any of that.

Risen

After the Sabbath, at dawn on the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to look at the tomb. There was a violent earthquake, for an angel of the Lord came down from heaven and, going to the tomb, rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothes were white as snow. The guards were so afraid of him that they shook and became like dead men.


The angel said to the women, "Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here; he has risen, just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples: 'He has risen from the dead and is going ahead of you into Galilee. There you will see him.' Now I have told you."


So the women hurried away from the tomb, afraid yet filled with joy, and ran to tell his disciples. Suddenly Jesus met them. "Greetings," he said. They came to him, clasped his feet and worshiped him. Then Jesus said to them, "Do not be afraid. Go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me."


(Matthew 28:1-10)
___________________

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you, who by God’s power are being guarded through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time.

(1 Peter 1:3-5)
____________________

Color me a simpleton, too poetic, sanguine, or any other slightly demeaning categorizations, but that's still my observation this Easter.

Far beyond the compulsory church attendance by many folks this morning, chocolate bunnies and multicolored jellybeans notwithstanding, there's something amazing that's risen with the sun today: Hope. It's new every morning.

I'm undeserving. I'm in awe. And I'm grateful.

Mountain Mama

This song will always, always remind me of the mountains of Virginia.

"Check your facts," I hear some of you say. "It's about West Virginia, not regular Virginia. West Virginia even came up with a whole license plate slogan about it."

Ah, but I submit for your consideration a tidbit from the infallible Wikipedia:

The land features mentioned prominently in the song lyrics – the Shenandoah River and the Blue Ridge Mountains – have only marginal associations with the state of West Virginia, and would seem to be more appropriate to describe western Virginia.

So there. I can attribute it to Harrisonburg and Roanoke and Catawba and all the pretty mountainness. I stick my tongue out at you, naysayers, and will continue to feel homesick for Virginia mountains upon every play of this song.

Here it is

Your Friday moment of zen, brought to you by AMAZING BOUNCING FLUFFYPUPPY.

Fair Warning

I'll be without proper internets for the next few days, as I'll be celebrating Easter weekend in the remote, beautiful, John-Denver-inspired Blue Ridge Mountains with family. This might throw a wrench into my well-laid plans to blog once a day, every day.

BUT. Apparently there's a delay-post option that will give you your daily dose of Jacquie, even if she should be briefly, virtually absent from your lives.

So I'll be giving that a try. Apologies in advance if you get inundated with mediocrity all at once. It's supposed to be a daily dose of mediocrity, I assure you.

Drawing A Blank

But, see, I'm a creature of habit. I've written one blog entry a day since November (with the exception of that teeny little faux-pas I realized at 4:00am the next day, but I made up for it!), and I've no intention of stopping until at least November.

November seems like such a far ways away, you guys. By then, it'll be NaNoWriMo time, and maybe this time, I'll have come up with a solid, respectable plot to write a novel on. Plot bunnies are more akin to kernels of as-yet-unpopped-corn in a microwave. Bam! Plot bunny. Bam! Oh, look! Another plot bunny.

We shall see, you guys. Because, not gonna lie, writing a novel would be kind of the bomb diggity.

The funny thing about Target is

You always walk into Target with little to no intention of getting anything, unless you're going into a Super Target. Then you're only planning on picking up a gallon of milk. And maybe some face wipes.

Then, through seemingly no fault of your own, you walk out with An American Tail AND Fievel Goes West ($5.00 for BOTH MOVIES, you guys! That's $2.50 per movie. I win.), a cute box from the Dollar Spot, an empty spray bottle (for a separate project of my own), and a cheap tank top.

Oh, and THESE AMAZING GLASSES.

I'm prepped and ready to either (a) enter a Lisa Loeb lookalike contest, (b) wear them like Marty in Grease ("Don'tcha think they make me look smarter?"), or (c) be moderately trendy.

Seriously. Those puppies look amazing on my peepers. And you can take that right to the bank.

You guys.

The entire Broadway Cast Recording of Newsies is posted online. Check it:

Soundcheck ®: Exclusive: 'Newsies' Cast Recording Stream - WNYC

I know it may not have a tremendous resonation with some of you, but let's be honest: I've been waiting over a decade to hear this come to fruition.

(And for those of you who share my fandom, listen to that overture and tell me you're not getting misty-eyed even a little.)

Dag NABBIT

I do believe I've forgotten an entry for yesterday.

FOILED, I tell you. Foiled again!