Blog blog blog blog – I don’t think I like the word. What if we called it – write whatever you can think about on the count of three – one, two, THREE…. GO!
When I was five I went to the zoo with my Grandparents. I wasn’t impressed with much and was a bit bored with it before too long. I had seen birds before, knew that they shouldn’t be in cages and was a bit upset they were trapped. The alligators were creeping me out with their big eyes peaking out of the water just watching you, and the elephants were so huge and wrinkly, and their trunks swinging around – I could have cared less. I had given up on the nature safari and decided to be happy with my big stick of cotton candy until… I saw the monkey cage. From first glance I knew that I had found the animal I was waiting for. They must have known too. I pressed my sticky nose right up on the glass and watched them watch me for what felt like hours. From that point on all I wanted, talked about or thought about was monkeys. I have 4 HUGE garbage bags full of stuffed monkeys in my parent’s basement – which they will never get rid of. Every birthday, Christmas, Easter, Valentines Day, I got another one. This little obsession went beyond gifts and stuffed animals.
When I was in 2nd grade I had convinced my entire class and (gullible) teacher, sorry Mrs. Nolan, that I owned a REAL LIVE pet monkey named Tom. In fact I was scheduled to bring it in for show and tell. So my big day rolls around – I’ve convinced my parents to bring in my dog and was sure that no one would tell the difference. Well they did, and I was brought in for a little conference to discuss my “monkey tales”. Can’t a kid dream?? So fast-forward nearly 20 years. I haven’t been reminded of my M.O. (monkey obsession) in quite some time until Christmas – when my parents sent me a statue of a monkey. I held it for a minute, figuring this was just a crazy gift from my mom (I got a massage chair the year before – she wanted it and knew I couldn’t fly home with it), and as I was holding it, it all came back to me and it took a good five minutes to get the whole story out to my boyfriend as he stared awkwardly at me covered in tears of laughter.
In my mid-twenties an obsession of this kind would be silly. But I think the obsession has only rolled onto more age appropriate items. I collect my jeans and will never throw a pair out, no matter how many holes. I won’t get rid of a CD case even after I’ve downloaded it onto my iTunes. Bands and artists are also capable of creating obsessions. Old vinyl collections, t-shirts and concert tickets are stuffed in corners of basements across the world. Fan clubs are the equivalent of M.O. Anonymous, and concerts are zoos. Maybe you were convinced that you were married to Jordan Knight of NKOTB when you were 10, and still have the sheets in your closet. Whatever it is, it was weird to others but completely normal to you. So I hope you still hug your stuffed monkeys, cuddle up in your sheets, collect your ticket stubs and embrace your quirky obsessions because they keep monkeys and musicians fed and give us all a little happiness.
-Melissa