Confessions of a Gleek, or the Anatomy of an Obsession

To those who know me best, it's no secret that I have a tendency to obsess about the things I love. That's probably the understatement of the century. God love my parents and my husband for putting up with me and all of my obsessions. Especially my parents. They've lived with 28 years of me and my "loves," including but not limited to: horses, Johnny Depp, Alfred Hitchcock movies, Jimmy Stewart, Dave Matthews Band, musicals, writing, reading, William Faulkner, Jane Austen, Wuthering Heights, James Dean, Ireland, anything and everything Irish, cooking, gardening, cats, animals, owls, black birds, birds in general, The Beatles, Counting Crows, history, ghosts, zoos, scary movies, love stories, food, anything Southern...I should probably stop. Before I seem crazy crazier. I tend to be passionate over everything my heart loves, and I mean passionate. That's who I am, and what follows is a look inside my overly-passionate, obsessive heart.

I purposely left off one of my major obsessions from the list above because it may actually be the mother of all obsessions and is the subject of my post. This obsession came to life the moment I heard a rumor that the show might have been a twinkle in its creator's eye. Then I saw the preview for it and fell head over heels.

When the Glee pilot originally aired in May 2009, I thought I might die between its airing and the airing of episode 1 in September 2009. Thankfully, I didn't, but I'm pretty sure Jeremy was sick of hearing about Glee THEN.  Poor guy. Yep, I'm a total Gleek. Nope, I'm not a 12-year old tween with braces and glasses, singing Celine Dion's "All By Myself" at the top of my lungs in my purple, horse-decorated bedroom...but I once was. And my 12-year old self loves Glee. Loves it. Heck, I won't lie so does my 28-year old self.

But with all of my obsessions, there's usually some kind of reason or logic behind my reason for obsessing, and Glee is no different. Which brings me to: The Anatomy of an Obsession.

The Underdog, Anti-Hero, Dreamer Lady

Let's start with the Glee's heroine: Rachel Berry, a character most people love to hate, but one that I absolutely adore. She's not neat. She's not easy-to-love. She's sometimes obnoxious, has questionable judgment, and is pushy and opinionated. But she's just the kind of character I love the most: the anti-hero(ine). Look, people aren't simple. None of us fit into easy categories, and if we do, then we probably need to re-evaluate our depth and sense of self but that's another post for another day. Rachel reflects (an exaggerated version) of real life. She dreams and chases those dreams shamelessly, and the dreamer in me respects that tenacity. Plus, she's an underdog, and I am a complete sucker for an underdog, also another post for another day.

Unrequited Love

Ah, unrequited love. Could there be a single person on the planet who doesn't relate in some way to unrequited love? Then again, I'm sure there are some people who have never longed for someone they can't have, but Glee's probably not the type of show those people could relate to anyway. I'm getting off-track. The unrequited (mostly) love between the Glee's main characters, our favorite underdog Rachel and popular yet awkward football player guy Finn Hudson, is definitely a key component to my obsession. Love stories that begin with unrequited love and end with happily ever after thrill me! And while happily ever after is yet to be determined on Glee, the "getting there" with Finn and Rachel's story has me hanging on and enjoying every minute of the ride.

Random Outbursts of Song


Music makes the people come together. Madonna knows what she's singing about, for real. And music, although I don't have any talent for it myself, moves me. I sing songs at the top of my lungs. I analyze lyrics and composition and the way songs make me feel. And because of a deep love and appreciation for music, I've always adored musicals. The random outbursts of song fill my heart with joy. When I was a teenager, I used to wish life could be a musical. If I could only sing about my love and heartbreak, it would make it so much easier to handle! Or so I thought. But, really, what is Glee but a musical? A never-ending musical and that's even better!

The Message

To wrap up this unnecessarily long post (see? I told you I'm obsessive), I'd like to touch on the final and perhaps most important reason behind my obsession with Glee: the message. Glee tells the story of misfits and underdogs, and it teaches viewers about acceptance. The gist of the show? We're all different, but we're all worth loving, whether we're weird, gay, black, white, purple, gothic, self-conscious, curvy, OCD....or a tiny bit obsessive by nature. And to me, that's a message worth obsessing over.

Do you have an obsessive personality? If so, what's your obsession? 

Oh, and PS - Are you a Gleek? Glee lovers unite! :)

Don't forget to play Captchouli....Click Here

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!

 

Melodrama Mondays - A Phone in the Refrigerator

Today, I put my phone in the refrigerator. Yes, it was that kind of day. I got fussed out by more people than I can name, including one right at the last minute of the day, and THEN on our way home, my husband and I and the car in front of us both got passed on a double yellow line on a curvy, hilly road. I'd just like to know what's so dang important that you have to take your life, my life, my husband's life, and the lives of all the passengers of an SUV into your own stupid hands? But whatever.

Back to the phone story.

We were getting ready for dinner, and I grabbed a bottle of...something that needed to be put in the fridge (how the heck am I supposed to remember exactly what it was? Remember, I'm the girl who puts her phone in the refrigerator)...and put it in the pantry cabinet, and my phone in the fridge. Now, this kind of thing has happened to me before believe it or not. I sometimes transform into a whirlwind of cleaning/straightening up magical-ness and may lose sight of what goes where in my hurry to get it all done. This happens a lot when we bring home groceries.

The putting away of groceries is nearly an athletic event for me. It starts with getting the bags out of the car. I carry as many as humanly possible without cutting off the circulation to my hands from the sheer weight of it all. I hate making more than one trip. Hate it. So I grab as many bags as possible, as does the hubby, and we make the trek up the garage stairs into the kitchen. By the time I get to the top of the stairs, I won't lie, I feel like I've run a marathon. Heavy breathing and wheezing ensues. A thin film of sweat has broken out on my forehead, but my task isn't near complete. After neatly carelessly dropping the grocery bags on the kitchen table in a heap, I race to begin unloading them. Curse the bag boy for his poor organizational skills (dry goods and meat in the same bag, really?!)! Everything is typically in jumbled order and disarray, so I just start grabbing. Yes, sometimes the milk ends up in the pantry, or the mac-n-cheese will somehow find its way into the fridge, but in the end, everything gets straightened out and finds its place. 

Which is just what happened to my phone tonight. As we were bringing everything into the living room to eat, because the table in the kitchen is solely for looks, I remembered that I still needed to fix our lemonade. I went back in, opened up the fridge, and ta-da! There my phone sat. For a moment, I imagine I was a little puzzled but that only lasted a moment. Jeremy trailed into the kitchen as I was lifting out the lemonade pitcher. "Do we have everything?"

I got down two glasses and filled them with ice. "Yep, everything but my phone. Can you grab it out of the fridge?"

Poor Jeremy. He just stood there looking at me. I imagine he wonders what the heck he's gotten himself into...a lot. I assured him I had a  perfectly good reason for keeping my phone in the fridge. He raised an eyebrow at me. "Oh really? And what was that?"

With as straight of a face as I could muster, I replied, "Because the bacon needed to make a call."

Yeah, I'm corny. We're two corny kids in corny love. 

Post Script - As I was writing this, my neighbor had their car radio turned up so loud that our house was shaking. I had to fight the uncontrollable urge to open my screen door and yell out "Hey, you crazy kids! Turn your damn music down!" I am officially old.