My Letter to Rolling Stone Magazine

To Whom It May Concern:

When a person hears the words "Rolling Stone Magazine" it brings a certain nostalgia to their ears. Throughout many years, thousands of aspiring artists and even ones who had made it, fought to be on the cover of this magazine as it was similar to winning the World Series or the SuperBowl for a musician. 

Today you took every ounce of credibility, American-ness, and honor that was being a part of your once great magazine, and not only covered it with excrement, but shat on the soula of Americans everywhere.  Does your magazine also have American flags as door mats and even smaller versions of flags for toilet paper? Do you take company field trips to Arlington just to piss on the graves of those who lost their lives for this country? That is pretty much what you have done by exalting a terrorist onto the cover of your magazine.

Its funny that your address is even "1290 Avenue of the Americas" because you do not belong on an street with a name so distinguished.  To call yourself or anyone at your magazine "American" is blasphemy to those who lost their lives for this country, especially in Boston this year.

How dare you immortalize the face of a murderer on your cover!  You have put John Lennon on the cover three hundred times you couldn't just make it three hundred and one?  Was there really no one else?  Were there really no bands on the planet that couldn't have filled a place on you cover? You make me sick. You make America and its actual American's sick.  If you wanted controversy so bad you could have just thrown Trayvon or Zimmerman on there because Lord knows the two of them had about as much musical ideological effect as Tsarnaev.  

No one needs to remember his name or his face. No one gives two cares that the terrorist was a "popular kid" or an "upstanding student."  He is a murderer.  He deserves death and nothing more.  And since you so clearly support him, you are no better than a terrorist, nay... you are terrorists. 

How you sleep at night is beyond me.  I am certain that if I was a terrorist I wouldn't be able to sleep a wink knowing that I was a disgrace to my country and all of it's citizens.  

I am pretty sure that Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, Ronnie Wood, and Charlie Watts, even though they were established 5 years before your crappy magazine, are contemplating changing their band name.  I sure wouldn't want to be assimilated with your second-rate magazine in any way, shape or form.

Sincerely,

Mary Anne Theriault

Former Fan & Former Shelf Subscriber of terrorist magazines (Aka: Rolling Stone)

Current American citizen & supporter of our troops

Find My Happiness

Robert Frost once spoke of taken a road less traveled... I seem to have followed that advice quite thoroughly in my life.  I've done everything backward and without a plan.  I have flown by the seat of my pants, drifted with this life's current, and have come out on the other side worse for wear.  I have been broken, bruised, a little tattered, and even a bit upside down.  Now comes another chapter. Another time where I have to make a decision that will shape my future and I don't know what to do or even how to do it.

I am a skeptic. A realist. A bit of a cynic at times... okay more than a bit.  But I am cruising on the last two semesters of my degree and I need to make the adult decision of what I want to be when I grow up.  I don't know in all honesty.  I was accepted to two Universities and I still don't know.  I think I should be aware by now... and I am so not.

I love to write. I have kept a journal since I was nine. It speaks to me; helps me breathe when I can't sometimes.  Putting a pen to a clean sheet of college ruled paper can do more for me than a hundred sessions of therapy.
I also love to read.  I find that reading is more calming for me than almost anything else.  And opening a book, smelling its pages, feeling its binding in my hands is like climbing inside the adventure.

To me, these are hobbies. Nothing more.  They are things people do for fun not for career.  Realistically I can't make real money in this economy with a BA in Journalism under my belt, even though I want to so desperately.

Some say "Do whatever makes you the most money."  I disagree. Others say "You'll never be happy so it doesn't really matter what you do."  Again I disagree. I don't care how long it takes, how many really crappy jobs I have to take, or even how poor I am til the day I die, I will never stop trying to find my version of happiness.

Community College BFFs

A happy day and a sad day all rolled into one.

As one door closes, so many open up.  It was the last day of my Intro to Speech class and I just left the bar where myself and 13 of my classmates went to say our final goodbyes.  Boy was it bittersweet.

On the first day of class, Professor Robinson said "By the end of the semester you guys will be so close you wont believe it." And I didn't believe it.  I don't have trouble making friends so I figured this class would be like any other; I would come to class and leave each day without thinking twice about it. 

On the second day of class she had us all push our desks into a cluster in the center of the room. We were all touching elbows and our personal bubble alarms were shrieking inside our bodies. Uncomfortably close doesn't even explain it.  I honestly think that is where the ice began to melt.  From that point forward we would all hang out before class even started as if we were friends that knew each other for a hundred years.

Sometimes when I would show up even 5 minutes late I would get a text asking where I was.  Every day with this group of people was like going to a party where I knew I would get to see all my friends.  And every speech that was given was like opening a door into their personal lives, their hearts, and maybe even their souls.  I feel like my last minute decision to take this class was complete fate. I originally was taking an Intro to Film course - I had bought the book and everything.  The day before the class had started I dropped Film and took up speech instead. BEST. DECISION. EVER!

Going to the bar with these people was like amazing.  Hanging out in an uncensored environment where we could be ourselves and just have a lot of fun was unforgettable.

So to Cecelia, Mallory, Josh, Billy, Beth, Tyler, Patrick, Emily, Amber, Nick, Aleksey, Joe, Sarah, Evan, Cory... thank you.  For being you above all. I see things differently than I did 8 weeks ago and I could never have done it without all of you. I am here for you if you ever need anything and I love each of you. 

"All Democrats think blank"

"All Democrats think they deserve something while Republicans work their asses off for what they have."

This statement is bold and a little slanted right?  Sounds like something perhaps Bill O'Reilly would say?  This statement given today by none other than my Political Science professor in my American Government class.  I get it. Truly. A lot of people in this society expect something for nothing.  A lot of people don't have a high sense of value or work ethic like in years passed, however, to make a generalized comment like the aforementioned quote you better be able to listen to the other side.  

I am not a Republican.

I am not a Democrat.

I am, however, on Unemployment.

I am a single mother.  I could easily get child support, welfare, food stamps, medicaid, and other types of government aid just because I am a single mother.  I do not get any of these.  Nor do I believe that because I am a single mother or unemployed that I am "entitled" to anything.  

So I fought my teacher on it this time. I couldn't hold my tongue for the entire semester.

I started coolly with "Can you really generalize that?"

Then it went back and forth like so:

"Yup" he said.

"I know 6 Conservative Republicans on welfare.  So how does that work?" I asked.

"No you don't."

"I do, actually."

"You just think you do. They aren't real Republicans."

"Ohhhh so now you think that people are imaginary just because they may differ from you."

"You do not know anyone like that. And its just like a Democrat to blame Republicans."

"I didn't blame anyone. I am not a Democrat, but I can see you don't know how to have an intelligent debate."

Needless to say the rest of the lecture was lost because now my adrenaline was through the damn roof, I was seeing red, all I could hear was blood pounding in my ears, and I wanted to punch him in the throat. You have got to be kidding me?  No one has argued with him all semester. Not once.  He has slammed Democrats for eight weeks, not to mention talked about every minority under the sun and even used slang that you just don't use. I tried so hard to button my lips and chalk it up to ignorance or close-mindedness.  Not today...

I am not unintelligent. I am not a moron. I also do not know everything but I am willing to listen and perhaps even learn, but I do not take kindly to slander and bigotry.  Actually if you want to see me get angry - bigotry is great ammunition.

Several minutes later he was speaking about war and "what would happen if..."  I was still chewing on my lip and my face was still flushed.
"What if a missile was launched in the East and it blew up Alaska..." he began to say.
"Sarah Palin would die." I responded.
"Jesus Christ.  Another Democrat that wants to see a hardworking mother die. Is she really so evil to you? Let me guess, her daughter is a whore too, right?"
"Wow. All I said was that if Alaska blew up, she would be dead. Calm down."
"Typical Democrat."

That term began rubbing me wrong.  Like when you go to Cedar Point on a water ride in your jeans.  By the end of the day you can't walk because the fabric of your pants has chaffed you so bad. What a douche.  I am not a Democrat, but because I don't think like him I am the anti-Christ.
Yet we still wonder what is wrong with America and her politics.  I'll give you one clue. 

Wrists

Only 12 hours after the incident. Blah.  

I haven't been injured yet this year. Not even a ripping open of the knee during a super-awesome slide into second base. I didn't even roll my ankle at volleyball all winter.  I 'was' on a seemingly injure-free path.

Sigh.

24 hrs later

I took a ball of the wrist last night at ball.  Of course, it had to be the night before I leave for a softball tournament.  It was numb instantly and pissed off at me. Until 5 minutes later when I took a line drive off of it again.   Needless to say I needed a minute to regain my composure - as the ball not only hit me in the hand but in the face as well.   My face is fine, my wrist is not. Not. Not. Not.

I would like to think that my wrist trouble is the least of my worries when I have a tournament to play in all weekend, but I am scared to think what this weekend will bring with me pitching.  I am kinda nervous to say the least.

Dragonglass Hearts

I had to say a lot yesterday.  For those who know me you may think "Surprise, surprise. You always say a lot." But when "I had to say" a lot is in reference to my character.

Most people aren't as completely sure of their 'self' as I am.  And while I do not understand it sometimes, it doesn't mean that I am unaware, because I am.  Frighteningly so.

Yesterday was a day of explaining my inability to care.  I can love you, I can do nice things for you, but at the end of the day, my care-o-meter doesn't move from zero.  I don't lose sleep over you, I don't cry myself to sleep if you insult me, I don't journal about your idiocies; My heart strongly resembles that 400 foot wall of ice everyone keeps chattering on about in Game of Thrones. Or maybe I am a White Walker and you can only kill me with dragonglass. Something to consider...  Either way, caring is not in my repertoire.

I find that when I explain it to people it makes me super anxious.  I start pacing and using a plethora of hand gestures that I don't usually bring out in casual convos.  It almost like I get angry that  have to explain myself in the first place. Isn't "I am fucked up" sufficient enough?  Apparently not. So I constantly have to go through these motions with people and tell them why my heart is a black pit of despair, that I have no soul because I am a ginger, and that I will never care enough about you to make you stay.  I know, what a treasure!  I give the whole fairy tale.  My favorite part is no one stays when I push. No one ever stays.  No one can withstand the push. Maybe it's for the better.

My most treasured part is when I get a "One day, you will find someone who will stop you dead in your tracks and then you will sing a different tune."  Again, maybe someone should kill me with that aforementioned dragonglass. Where is Samwell Tarly when I need him?

Green

Everything is green.

The grass, the trees, the moss growing up the side of the garage, the aloe plant in the window sill, and even the duckweed floating around my pond next to the lily pads.  It hasn't stopped raining in 5 days.  Today is the first day the power has been back on in 25 hours so I could actually take a shower and wash some of the bug spray off my body and out of my hair.  I planted my garden before the rain began; I am sure everything has drowned by now.

I remember reading the first book of the Twilight series when Bella spoke of how everything was green in Washington compared to Arizona.  Well so is everything in Michigan.  It is squashy, muddy, damp and green.  Its especially fun when you go outside for five seconds and get eaten alive by mosquitoes.  My least favorite part is that it is ball season.  I want to play, I want to watch, and I want to be outside at the fields.  I've played 3 games this season...  6 have been cancelled.  My daughter plays two nights a week, 5 have been cancelled.  If this is premise to how awfully hot the summer is going to be, I am screwed.   This ginger is going to spontaneously (not maybe not even spontaneously) combust around mid-July.  

Absolute sidebar:  Today is day 229 of no smoking.