Archive | March, 2012

Bon Jovi Cassettes

26 Mar

  When I was a little girl, I wanted to grow up and own a cassette tape store.  I would play for hours with all of my mother’s cassette tapes.  I would build towers out of Whitney Houston, Bon Jovi, Journey, etc. My store would be lined with various cassettes and the walls would be adorned with Guns N Roses and New Kids posters.  Technology obviously killed my childhood dream, as it would be difficult to convince people they should purchase cassette tapes for their iPods.

  When I was in middle school and until about two or three years ago, I wanted to write novels.  After I graduated from college, I did freelance writing from home and  in that time, lost any desire I ever had to profit from words. Something about churning out articles for dollars made me feel icky; like when you hear a song you think you might like then find out it is actually a Nickelback song, making it impossible for you to like it without losing all respect for yourself.   When I did try to work on actual writing ideas I had, I had no motivation because I had spent large portions of my day finding whimsical ways to describe products for children. Then I spent the rest of the day trying to promote those articles for enough clicks to make bonuses that made it worth my time. 

Today, while it was sunny outside, I spent the day studying so that one day I can argue with people that are infected with viruses about why they don’t need antibiotics, and why unnecessary antibiotics can be harmful. So much studying for a future filled with small arguments. 

I really wish cassette tapes were still around. I’m convinced if I had the chance to sling cassette tapes rather than study my life away, I would be super happy on this Sunday evening. 


Love and Other Cheeses

19 Mar

  When I started blogging again, I thought I would put in a good faith effort.  I was wrong, but what’s new?  I’m no stranger to being incorrect. But the thing is, I’ve always done my best writing when my brain was festering with mixed feelings and the inability to communicate with the spoken word.  Lately, I’m rocking communication with the spoken word, and I am happy.  

  I guess I don’t know what to write about.  No one wants to hear about how happy my boyfriend makes me.  How nice it is to be completely thrilled with the companionship of another human being; how nice it is to truly love someone.  Until I was 26, I was almost certain that being inexplicably happy was a myth. I think I was just looking and looming in all of the wrong places, like a bad country song.  It turns out it just takes the right person.  It just takes another adult who understands adult responsibilities, adult happiness, and an adult who wants to make things work.  Someone that wants to make you laugh and enjoys laughing at/wish you as well. Someone who seems perfect for you. Someone whose shoulder you can’t wait to rest your head on at the end of a long day.

 If you had asked me a year or two ago if I believe in two people being perfect for each other, I probably would have resisted punching  you in the face.  Mostly because that would seem like a terrible question to ask of me. I was a professional in regards to cynicism regarding love and finding your person. 

 But I’m getting used to this happiness business.  In the beginning, I was very scared.  It’s terrifying to make yourself vulnerable to something you’ve never truly given free will to believe in.  I’m over being scared, and I’ve committed myself to taking the plunge to ride this out. 

Misery loves company.  I’m finding that my miserable friends find me a lot less entertaining now that I’m not knocking around with anger and pessimism in regard to the being happy with my life. I can see that perhaps I was more entertaining to them when I had loads of hateful things to say at any opportunity in regard to others.  But me, well, I’m glad I’m not miserable. This whole being content thing, I feel I can rock it dutifully. 

If the sap in this made you puke, it’s okay.  Sap still makes me puke at times too.  I’m just glad I can believe in it.  If the title tricked you into reading this, I also apologize.  I mentioned no cheese.  But I do love cheese:  Gouda, Feta, Swiss, Colby.  There’s your cheese, fools. 

Allie’s 7th Birthday Letter

17 Mar

Dear Allie, 

  You turned seven nearly two weeks ago.  I would insert my excuse for this letter being late; however, by the time you are old enough to care to read it,  you’ll probably understand that sometimes I have a million things to do and I get a little forgetful.  Not that I forgot to write this, but I slacked a bit on making time.  Anyway, here it is now.  


   This year and every year I’m amazed at how much personality you have.  It just keeps developing, and you seem to always be able to use it to maneuver through any situation.  You are so bright and kind.  You laugh all the time, and you are one of those kids who can carry on conversations with anyone–adults included.   I don’t think I could do that as well as you when I was seven.  You could talk the ear off of a woman in Kroger about different kinds of bread and why you like and dislike them.  I’m pretty sure I would have ran from a woman in Kroger trying to discuss bread with me at age seven.  Hell, I’d probably run from her right now. Who wants to chat it up with a stranger about bread? Not me, but I swear you’d find a way to make that conversation interesting. 

  That said: You are the best little companion, Allie.  I didn’t have a baby so that I would have company.  But you have become one of the more amazing people with whom I’ve had the pleasure of spending time.  You make me laugh until I cry sometimes.  Truly.  Sometimes you will be carrying on with a fake commercial for a product you invented that usually makes no sense, (I would quote one on here, but I’m sure if someone stole the idea you would be LIVID!  And we all know people on the internet these days are into looting) and I will be sitting on the couch with tears rolling down my face because your words and facial expressions are simply comic gold. Even more hilarious is how in tune you are with the skeezy methods people use to sell things, and you satirically employ them to pawn off your ridiculous products. 


  Last year was a little hard for you.  You were still dealing with your dad and I not being together.  The changes in your life were coming at you in speeds that a lot of children could not handle, and that a lot of children, you in included, shouldn’t have to handle.  But you stayed happy, and if something bothered you, you would just talk to me about it instead of bottling it up like I may have at your age.

  About you right now:  You smile nonstop.  You see every new situation as an opportunity to explore your world further.  You try new things.  You tell jokes. You sit around and laugh.  You read like a total champ. Most of all, you know how and when to have fun.  You’re such an adventurer and if given a piece of gravel and a wad of used gum covered in ants, you would find some way to turn it into entertainment, which I find amazing, considering you are swimming in mountains of toys. 


  A few days ago I wanted to share with you how relaxing and fun it is to ride down the road on a sunny day with the windows down and the music cranked up.  We drove and drove until we were lost.  We sang terrible country songs.  We yelled horrible rap songs.  You played air guitar to intense amounts of Theory of a Deadman.  You would periodically yell, “WOOOOOOOOOOOOO” out the window. We just enjoyed ourselves.  I hope we never lose the ability to find fun in one another.  Even on the darkest of days, you are like a little lighthouse that I can use to find direction.  

  I don’t know if I tell you enough how much I love that you totally own being you.  You embrace your red hair and talk about how fabulous it is. “People pay thousands of dollars to get their hair this color, mom. Thousands!! And mine. just. is. I was just born this way. Isn’t that great? I saved you so much money.”  My favorite part of that is how convinced you are that I would have willingly forked over dollar bills for you to change your hair color, but that’s a discussion for another day. 


People talk to you a lot about how pretty you are.  Strangers approach you in stores and tell you.  It’s nearly creepy.  And while I think  you are amazingly beautiful, please never forget that you are also smart, funny, and talented.  You aren’t just a pretty face, and I’m not saying you shouldn’t be thankful for yours: But always realize that you are a life force. 

 Along with everything else I’ve mentioned in this letter, I want to make sure that I highlight your willingness and attempts at trying new things.  You will give anything a go.  You take chances, and you try hard until you master your goal.  That’s so admiral, Allie.  I hope you are always like this.  That said,you went ice skating for the first time for your birthday this past Sunday.  You tried until you could skate on your own.  Periodically you would give in and try to hold the rail.  But you had it. When you fell, you just got back up and skated on as if it was no big deal. Mostly because you realize it isn’t. I like that about you girl. 


Lastly, I want you to know how precious you are to me Allie.  When I was 19 and found out that I was pregnant, I was scared in ways that I hope you never understand (please don’t make a grandma until I’m 50).  How would I raise a child when I was still raising myself? How would anyone well-adjusted come from someone as awkward as me?  But now, at 27, I feel like I know how to mom. I feel like even though we’ve grown together, it has been the best for both of us.  I am so proud to be your mother.  You wake up almost every day happy to be alive and ready to conquer the world, and I am so amazed.  I won’t take credit for this, because I think a large part of your natural awesome is just from you.  You are so special, and I hope that if any fool ever tells you differently, you look them in the eye and laugh.  You know better.

I love you, Allie Raegan. More than anything. Big time love. 

Yours forever, 

    Your Momma