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Is There a Better Muse Than Heartache?

Creative people draw inspiration from everything around them. However, when it comes to relationships, is there really a better muse than heartache?

I wish I could say happiness, but it wouldn’t be true, not for me at least. After my ex and I broke up, I threw myself into my writing. It wasn’t something I thought about or struggled with. The creative process took over.

This weekend marks my 2-year anniversary with my boyfriend. While I’ve never been happier with another person, I’m literally staring at a blank page pleading my fingers to type something. It’s as if my current relationship bliss has rendered me incapable of writing about romantic relationships. It’s embarrassing. I’m a writer, spinning words into gold is my job description.

Let’s face it, the life of an average happy couple is boring. As much as I cherish the simple things like grocery shopping with my boyfriend, it’s not exactly the stuff Pulitzers are made of.

No one wants to read a book about a happy couple. Imagine if Noah and Allie from the Notebook hadn’t lost touch and had just gotten married in the first place. BORING. People love a happy ending, but with a few twists and turns along the way. I suppose there’s always books on HOW to be a happy couple, but I’m almost certain Dr. Phil has that market locked down.

Perhaps the problem stems from the fact that all my current relationship problems are good problems. My boyfriend is so skinny that we wear the same size pants. Even this isn’t really a problem. The way I see it, I now have more clothes.

As great news as this is for my personal life, I can’t help but feel like it’s a death sentence for my writing career. With the exception of Gretchen Rubin’s Happiness Project, most of my creative role models thrived in times of heartache. Case in point, Alanis Morissette.

Go ahead, gasp. You and I both know she’s never been better than Jagged Little Pill. Was Dave Coulier the love of her life or, the one who got away? Definitely not. But did he inspire one of the most awe-inspiring and beloved breakup songs of all time, “You Oughta Know”? Yes.

So what next? The book’s written. Everyone knows everything there is to know about my love life. And I’m tired of writing about my ex. Nothing gives the impression that you’re still not over him, than constantly bringing it up. I’m over it, I promise. Still, writing about happy and healthy love just isn’t the same.

In case you haven’t figure it out, I’m officially writing a post complaining about how much it sucks as a writer to be in a healthy relationship, and judging myself for it. Oh well, I suppose I’ll think of something. Who knows, maybe my boyfriend will turn out to be an ax-murderer. (fingers crossed) So I ask again,

IS THERE A MUSE BETTER THAN HEARTACHE?

How To Be A Hot Mess

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MY BOOK COMES OUT TODAY!

So in honor of this momentous life event, which will probably only ever be topped by me pushing a human being out of my body, I put together a short list of my life’s most mortifying moments.

My So Called Life has got nothing on Awkward Ali.

Once while walking on the sidewalk I started having eye sex with this super hot dude. At least, that’s what I thought was happening. However, I quickly discovered that his eyes were really saying, “Watch out for that lamppost!”
When I was in high school my best friend tried to hit on our waiter by seductively sucking her straw. Unfortunately for her, she missed and poked herself in the eye. He saw the whole thing as did all of our friends. (Reason 1 million and 1 why I love her, we’re so alike)
In high school I “borrowed” my mom’s leather clogs and wore them to a basketball game. Halfway through, I tried to excuse myself to go to the bathroom, however the crowded gym made my feet sweaty, and so I slipped. Flailing my arms, I slapped all of the varsity football players sitting in front of me, upside the head. Everyone in the bleachers turned to look, including the basketball players, who actually stopped playing, just to stare. Now that’s what you call, a show stopper.
After my ex and I broke up, I went on a date a guy who asked me, “Are those your feet or mine?” referring to the smell. Damn you flats! Either I’m a good kisser or he had a foot fetish, because he asked me out on a third date.
My freshman year of high school I had a major crush on one of the varsity football players, Alex. Back then it was “super cool” to wear matching outfits with your friends and take pictures at Walmart. Without thinking, my friends and I dressed up like Target employees, red tops with kakis, and took pictures. Afterwards I gave the picture to my crush complete with a note on the back. U played well last game. Not long after I found out he had been benched the whole season.
Back in high school, a guy came up to my friend and asked him if he had a dime. Figuring I’d help out a friend of my friend, I fished in my pocket and offered him a nickel and five pennies. I didn’t know why everyone thought it was so funny until I got to college.
When I was 16 my mom tore her ACL. So for two months, I was tasked with wheeling her around. Once at Target, I bumped into a friend who, when he saw my mom exclaimed, “I didn’t know you volunteered!”

I am a ridiculousness magnet.

Help me help you, SAY YES TO YOUR MESS!

I Am (not) Miss America

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“Alison! I have a question!” My student says to me after class. “What do you think about the lawyer in the U.S who thinks everyone should have a 3D printed gun?”

This is one of the things I hate most about living in Spain; you become an unofficial ambassador for the U.S.

My job is to teach this guy English and yet there he was, waiting for me to give some official statement as if he were a reporter and I, a senator. Like it or not, people think everything I say and do is typical of American culture.

The second time I met my boyfriend’s parents, they asked me about my family. Not wanting to lie I explained my family situation, which happens to be extremely complicated.

I am the oldest of my mom’s children, the youngest of my dad’s, the only child from my parent’s marriage, and the middle child when you put all my half-siblings together. After drawing my family tree on a napkin for my mother in-law, her reaction was, “Hm well, I guess that’s normal in America.” I assured her it isn’t but I don’t think she believed me.

Imagine, me, normal. Now that’s amusing.

Worse is that people expect me to know every aspect of American culture or anything remotely related to English. What do you mean you don’t know all the lyrics to Money Money Money by ABBA? But it’s in English? I didn’t want to offend my friend, so I bit my tongue, yet what I wanted to say was, “Yes, well, I’m not 70.” I’m American, not an Encyclopedia.

However, the absolute worst is convincing people that the one other American person they’ve met isn’t an ambassador either.

“But my teacher last year told me that it’s normal for Americans to have guns.”
“Was that teacher also an elected representative?“
“No…”
“Well then that teacher was speaking from personal experiences and doesn’t necessarily represent everyone in the United States.”

Unfortunately, the Spanish aren’t entirely to blame. People have a habit of getting over zealous when they express themselves and consequently, confuse their opinion with that of an entire country. Happens. I know, because, I’ve done it.

Sometimes, if I’m lucky, whatever left liberal agenda I’m spewing, will line up with the majority. However, more often than naught my opinions are not representative of the entire United States but rather, one person. Me. Like they say, if you’ve met one person, you’ve met one person. At least now, I’m aware of it.