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Another Year Older

My birthday is coming soon.

How do you celebrate so far from home and friends? I'm not in a very b-day spirit and debated wether to work the weekend previous to the pending day or leave it open. I opted to fill the time. At least the question of what to do isn't left hanging. I had it answered for me, even if it wasn't the response I'd hoped for.

What I really wanted was a special day. The day I'm supposed to feel appreciated with a carefree ring of laughter. Even a new adventure would have been nice.

Here's to another year--

The Cry

Yesterday, I lost it. I really, really lost it. Everything that had been building up came up in choking burps, the pieces I’ve been holding down in my gut and had to come back. They rolled into a ball and I couldn’t digest it any longer. I had a good cry, and once I started, it wouldn’t stop.
It’s been what seems like forever since I haven’t been able to slide into something, even temporarily, to support myself. Even if they’re small, the paychecks come in. I realized that the money I’ve been making has backlogged into a chunk of dough I’m owed, but don’t know when I’ll see. It’s the nature of the contracts I work. I get paid when they get paid, trickling down through the pipeline that sometimes gets clogged by lost paperwork and delayed mail systems.
I realized just how much I don’t fit in. I stand out like the girl I am who talks different, dresses different, thinks different, and sees the world through a different perspective. I’m the odd man out. The girls I worked with for the liquor promotion were getting together last night for a girl’s night in at an apartment. I wanted so badly to be there, but it didn’t make sense to drive all the way to Dallas. Gas prices are far too outrageous. There are fashion meet-ups and networking opportunities, but I have to pick and choose cautiously for the same reason. I felt left out.
There’s no denying that being a model, spokes model, and promotional model is highly competitive and opportunity is given based on looks. Ability lets you keep a job, but your face gets you through the door for the chance at it. I haven’t felt pretty lately. My body is soft where I don’t want it to be, I’ve been trying to figure out if I should cut my hair again or let it grow, if I should keep it black or go back to blonde as the roots begin to show, and my skin doesn’t seem to be as clear and tan as in the summer. I had a ‘fat day.’
Combine and mix with too much time on my hands, and it was recipe for my breakdown.
But I got it out, gave up to the river of feelings, and ended the day talking to my guy about all sorts of things.
In the morning, I cautiously started the day, trying to forgive myself for the puffy eyes I’d created.
But things were actually better. I don’t know if it was me, or the circumstances. But I felt a small piece of direction. I finished the article I was working on and submitted it to the waiting magazine editor, ran outside in the morning sunshine with my dog who was all too grateful to go along, took a long shower, found inspiration for the book I’ve been wanting to begin, lined up a few more work prospects/pending projects, and found myself in a good enough mood to play a practical joke on one of my boyfriend’s friends. I ended the night starting to put together a modeling portfolio of photos, and seeing what I still need. Then, lining up photo shoots to get them.
I actually passed the day with something filling. I’ve been so hungry for it…

I Swear, Girls!

Have strong females figures become extinct?

This was my thought this morning as I stared into the mirror, brushing my teeth in readiness to take on another awkward day. Lately, I can’t shake off that feeling of isolation that comes from being different and somewhat of an oddity in your surroundings. I’ve seen moody girls, demanding girls, loose girls, pout-y girls, whiny girls, bitter girls, and girls with low self-esteem, but nothing even close to someone who is strong and sure and whole. Locked away in a life where only the security of a man translates to the only future one might hang onto can’t be a happy outlook for them. That’s not what I want.

I don’t want to be married, not now. I will always strive to be the best parts of me, able to take care of myself, create and reach for my own goals. There’s always more to achieve. I’m more than a girl, more than a girlfriend. I have options and ambitions I’m working towards and things I have yet left to do. I’m a little bit feminist in my beliefs, and a vegetarian finding myself drawing even closer to the vegan way of life lately. I want to feel good while I make waves. I’m tired of the men in my life (fathers, boyfriends, friends) prodding me to change the fact that I’m just not interested in another lifestyle.

I’m still holding out that there are one or two strong females around here somewhere; if, that is, I don’t have to train them up myself!

The 20-Something Manifesto

"Being a 20 something is a time when everything in life is uncertain. I feel like the rug is constantly being pulled out from under me. The overwhealming guilt for not being happy for what I have in my life combined with constantly feeling like there is more to achieve and not enough time is exhausting. I wonder, is this as good as it gets?"

- Executive Administrator, 24, single, Minnesota

Taken from the book 20 Something Manifesto: Quarter-Lifers Speak Out About Who They Are, What They Want, and How to Get It

Is there something I'm missing?

What do you do in a small town?
When life revolves around day trips to Wal-Mart and small bars blaring country music for beer-guzzling cowboys, where does that leave the rest of us?
I’ve given into cooking lately. On days when working from home leaves me tied to the laptop furiously responding to emails and negotiating contracts, the stove top has become a guilty pleasure. I sneak away to create enticing aromas and get lost in the challenge of turning our sparse cupboards into a dish never before created. (Fancy cheese? Special spices? Fatty additives? Pashaw! Who needs that?) I always have a corner to cut.
Ok, I will admit that sometimes it works and sometimes it does NOT.
My other new pastime is taking the dogs for walks. They anxiously await the ritual now and it gets me an extra mini-workout in at the end of the day. (And a reason to watch the funny little people who live in the neighborhood-- Some of the things they do!)
Maybe I’ll write a novel or discover something exciting, but until then I feel domesticated and not sure how I like that role.

Domino

Our household grew by one yesterday.

It all started when my boyfriend moved into our house and left his former roommate now living by himself. His roommate’s girlfriend wanted to get him a pet and brought home what was supposed to provide companionship—a beta fish.

Now, it’s not that the roommate doesn’t like animals; He actually enjoys them quite a bit. The problem is that he’s not good at taking care of them. Poor beta must have sensed his fate and simply gave up his soul in the matter of 8 hours.

The following weekend a rabbit showed up in his fenced yard. The boys tried to figure out where she’d come from, and then left her some water to survive on her own.

Two days later I was walking past the house on a chilly, windy afternoon and saw the rabbit outside the fence. Maybe she to, was giving up and sacrificing herself to street cars, neighborhood dogs, and starvation. The rabbit was skinny, dehydrated and cold. I sighed, hesitated a moment, and started trying to catch her. I followed her through bushes, under cars, and around the house until I could finally get close enough to pick her up and stick her inside my coat. She nestled into the crook of my arm and I knew she was coming home with me. I named her Domino.

Domino came to our house, into the warmth of our garage, in a secure cage, with blankets, food, and a water bottle. I hid her from the boys and discovered she was actually quite tame.

Now… what do I do with her??

She Works Hard for the Money

I had my first job in Dallas. Working again felt good, really really good. It’s not a permanent job, but I was hired to be a promotional model for a party with all the major liquor reps in the central region, which covers 19 states.

The promotional company I was hired through contracts us out for various roles, some of which are glamorous, and some are not. This one was purely fun and with only the pressure of making a good impression on the client who we will be representing for future promotions for consumers.

It’s an easy job, but takes the ability to mingle, socialize, act professionally without taking things too seriously, and knowing your role. Sometimes you are around bars and beer without being able to participate in the booze. This isn’t a problem for me; I’m used to being the sober one. However, so many girls with this ideal job have gotten the boot for misbehavior or being drunk.

We showed up early to help set up, got changed into outfits that were provided, and got to hand out free beer and challenge the reps to games of Nintendo Wii. The co-worker I was paired with was a really cool girl and we hit it off right away. She and I were assigned to the boxing game and had a blast. The competition was intense and the boys were determined to beat us! Winners were entered into four separate drawings for trips to the PGA tour, boxing championships, a party in Las Vegas, or a music festival.

One reason why I love working these is meeting a group of girls and over the course of a few hours, being able to act like we’re all friends. You work together a lot over the course of the year and share fond memories.

And home is where your friends are.

Looking for Love at Wallgreen's

I’ve started wearing my fake diamond again.
It all started when I was out running errands. When you first move in, there’s always something you forgot at the store, ran out of last minute, or misplaced during packing. I stopped at Walgreen’s to pick up a package of batteries and made a quick run through the aisles to make sure there wasn’t anything I was forgetting. That’s when he spotted me—Mr. Small Town Man.
I don’t know what about the situation said “Here I am! Come hit on me!” but he felt it was his right to be the first to try and pick me up in the romantic aisles of the pharmacy. I caught him eyeing me and I became even more engrossed in cotton swabs and foot cream. Please leave me alone, I am NOT here to meet men like you. But he yelled at me, made a scene and said he simply HAD to know my name. “You’re gorgeous”, he added, flashing a great big grin speckled with gold plated teeth. Really?? I thought. Do women here REALLY put up with this crap? Maybe it’s just me, but I don’t appreciate being approached in such a disrespectful way.
He looked at me with expectance and anticipation. Maybe I felt a little sorry for him-- Sorry that he was so narrow-minded and stuck in a small town he may never escape. Stuck in a life with a dead-end job and illegitimate children by two, maybe three different women he’d met late at night at dimly lit bars who wanted a sperm donor and their own escape; Sure that maybe he just didn’t know how unappealing and sleazy he seemed to me.
I looked only half in his direction. “Oh, I’m married.”
The words came out and tripped over each other, with an ease that scared even me. I stuck my hands in my pockets to hide the absence of a wedding band. “Thank you though.”
He backed away slowly and left me to examine cold medications.
The next day I put on my false pretenses encased in cubits zirconium and for once, was ok with the idea of ‘being married’ for a while.

The Great Divide

We finally made it.
My thoughts are torn between relief at our long awaited arrival, soothing my cramped frame that has transformed to fit the shape of the passenger seat, and trying to figure out how the Seattle girl fits into life in a place somewhere in between the boonies and small town novelty.
Lesson #1 came at Wal-Mart as I aimlessly wandered through the aisles of overstocked commodity and the most people I’d been in contact with in four days. I could swear it was the glare of overhead lights showcasing the “Half Price Sale on Beenie Weenies” that blinded me from seeing him, but I guess maybe being from Seattle I wouldn’t realize that some towns have strict codes of conduct when it comes to navigating Wal-Mart’s sacred aisles of selection. I was quickly informed by the older gentleman that HERE the elderly ALWAYS have the right of way in store traffic. Even, it appears, when you have to stop 5 feet away and wait for them to shuffle past. Ashamed that I didn’t know this and a little intrigued, I found myself studying the unwritten codes of foot traffic. It appears that the elderly are given a wide berth, followed by mothers with children, then all other women, and finally men can have their stand-off to determine who will pass first. I don’t remember walking in a store to be so complicated. Did Seattle have these kinds of rules?? I don’t think so. I think we were all so hurried and focused on the destination that we perfected the ability to be aware, yet unaware. We navigated through and around one another while juggling our steaming cups of coffee, closing a real estate deal with the person walking next to us, or chatting up more minutes on our cell phones. It was a chaotic precision. Everyone got where they needed to be and avoided debilitating blows with shopping carts, being trampled by sprinters trying to catch a bus, and squealing tires.
It’s not to say which is right, but it just goes to show how my world and this world will most certainly collide.

This is My Town?

I find myself asking, "Did my boyfriend toss an imaginariy dart at the map?"
Describing the exact location of my new digits is almost like falling off the edge of society to the stunned silence of my Seattlite friends. I give up and am simply claiming Dallas as my new city! Besides, it's easier to explain.

Now that I'm here, I figured it was important to become more familiar with this odd little town. I did a quick search and here's what I found:

-My new town is "wealthy" (maybe the missing teeth are just a "wealthy" aversion to dental work?)

-The cost of living is below the National Average (understandable)

-And it was twice named an "All American City" (not sure what that is based on, so no comment).

Arts and Culture I found included the Children's Choir, a small group of local artists, and the Little Theater. I really don't think any of these will be worth looking into, but will add them to the list should I want to send family out to entertain themselves for an hour or so.

The bread-winner jobs seem to relate to transportation and trucking services. (I'm trying to be optimistic about work options, but this is another reason to claim Dallas. It looks like my time and paychecks will be flowing from that direction.)

The jitters are setting in... or maybe it's just my missing lattes from the days I could sit at my favorite coffee shop and watch Seattle's workforce drive through the rain.

My Big Sigh

We’re already arguing.
I wouldn’t say that we fight. No, that’s not really the way I do things. When differences turn to argument, than sway into blood rushing to the face and words taking on their own strength of force beyond either my or his control, I step away. I step back to assess and come back to face the topic when we can be adults again; When the waves of emotion are more like ripples than tidal blows. I don’t fight anymore when it’s just not worth it. Nobody wins in a fight.
I can’t really say what it is we argue about, because it’s everything really. It’s the way I respond or don’t respond. It’s the way I walk away when he gets mad, or the way he does when I try to talk to him. It’s the empty moments when I want to connect and he’s too tired, too busy, or too caught up in his own life. It’s how we talk over each other, how I don’t have a job and find things to do with my time that annoy him. It’s how I react to small town life and fight back tears of frustration, loneliness, and loss of my old life. It’s wanting so badly to be happy and enjoy this time we have to finally be together, and how hard it is, how much it hurts to be in this place where things aren’t quite right between us. It’s hearing my best friend say “I can tell things aren’t going well,” and wanting to put on a happy face and tell her she’s wrong. It’s wanting things to be back to the way they used to be and not knowing how to change this place he and I have come to and move past it. We don’t argue over anything big, or anything most couples don’t run into eventually. But it’s hard. It’s hard to adjust to being here and feeling the things that I do and not knowing what to expect.
It’s a week of staying up at night and looking at the stars under a sky of promise, knowing that we’re wasting these moments arguing. And wanting everything to be better.

Thursday

The hurried blurr of packing and planning has melted into a kind of serene acceptance. The major pieces are in place:

utilities changed (check),

deposit and first/last rent received/lease signed (check),

boxes packed (check),

keys turned over (check),

goodbye to my horse (sniff...check),

u-haul reserved (check),

plane ticket for my boyfriend to drive above trailer (check!),

forwarding address completed (check)

Every part to this unravelling story has snapped into place so my mind is at peace, I just hope no major problems face us as we drive over 2,000 miles in the dead of winter. I can't wait to see the sun again, it has to be out there somewhere on the other side of overcast skies and 6 foot snow drifts at Steven's Pass.

The next question is... what will life look like in Oklahoma? Hmmm.... barefoot and buck-toothed? Will I be hanging my clothes from a line out front and frying bacon and grits? I doubt it will ever come to that!

Changes

The pending move is now final. I found my tenant, a single professional who travels and came with raving references. The catch is, she needs the house by the end of the week. This means I'll be hitting the road in a few days for the latest grand adventure.

Now that I've rented my house, finished my contracts in Washington, and started networking in Dallas there isn't much to hold me back from beginning all over again in a house I'm renting with my boyfriend. We've known each other for a year and a half, and once the decision was made to start a relationship we did it knowing that at some point one of us would have to move if it was going to work. It made sense for the move to be mine. I'll be stretching my legs soon on the Oklahoma/Texas border, a far cry from the familiar.

At the moment I'm in the midst of boxes, packing away pieces of my 25 years, and making last minute preparations. It's been an emotional rollercoaster to leave this place both from relocating and trusting my gut that my romance is worth giving a chance. I've grown attached to the Seattle area and feel secure since I know I can survive here. I keep my thoughts on details of the move to keep myself together and not get carried away in overthinking this.

Sometimes I do wonder where my paths will lead, but that doesn't change my choices. I guess the journey is just as, if not more, important than the destination. I'm scared, excited, nervous, and ready to see the sunshine again.

Stay tuned...

My Home, Your Home

My first group of potential home-renters walked through last night. They were two females in their mid-twenties excitedly anticipating the next phase of independent living. They chattered excitedly over my home, the spaces I created, the wall we painted, the details I so painstakenly planned and looked over when I bought the place a year and a half ago. It was strange. It was eerie. It was really happening.
It's going to be harder to leave this place than I'd first imagined. As a female, your home is your nest. A little space you make your own and find comfort; where you get away or entertain. It's your private world. I feel intruded upon in a way you bring upon yourself when showing your house. Every person will pass judegement you have to sit and take with ease.
Eventually, it might become my summer home. But for now, I'm faced with the challenge of letting go and letting someone else create their home in mine.
I just hope I choose well.

Tense

Tense

I've been so tense lately. I don't know exactly why, but it got to the point yesterday that after almost a month, I found myself ravaging through the glove compartment SURE I had a stash of ladies cigars tucked away. THEY HAD TO BE THERE!!!
Alas, they were not. My last hope of trying to relax. I took a walk instead. A very short, very cold walk. But it kick-started my thoughts.
I'm dying to write again. I can feel something forming, it just doesn't break through. Times are changing, life is changing, and this is always when my pen begins to flow. As I prepare for the great unknown, interviewing renters, clearing out clutter, and taking an asessment of my life, I feel lost and excited and somewhat scared. I still can't believe I'm moving.
I'm will be mobile again. Opportunities are calling, and I'm not one to sit back and let them pass by. Will I finally visit New York? Los Angeles? I can't help but wonder if a home with my boyfriend... a long distance relationship that is begging to be re-fed... will give me the chance to travel some more. When I'm finally with him, will he let me go again to pursue other ventures?

I feel blown by the wind, but with a sense that I'm both in and out of control of the course it blows. So much spinning, and spiraling-- An old friend came back in my life after months and months of parting courses. It was a reconnection that needed healing, talking, and making ammends. These loose ends are being tied up all over my life. I'm holding on and letting go and saving money for a feeling I may need it soon.

Today my jumbled thoughts spill out clinging to one another.
Time, as always, is my best friend and my worst enemy when it offers the chance to make things right and mix them all up again.

I'm Leaving

I can't believe the time has come. Seattle has been my home and a place I've grown to love, from the funky little shops downtown with narrow streets beckoning shoppers to sample fresh cheese, sip a fine roasted cup of coffee, or finger trinkets from street vendors peddling their goods. The streets have a life of their own here. They're alive in a way I've never seen before. The smells melt from savory puffs of roasted beef, to ethnic spices floating down to the street, even fresh fish being tossed among barking butchers at Pike's Market. The people of the street are fascinating. Each sect has taken up habitation in their own place and rarely mingle. The coffee shop and business crowd cluster in their section of town, riding the same busses and making playdates among high class housewives. The artists have their own haunts and venues, along with college students, and each linguistic and cultural community represented by every ethnic region imaginable. Diversity is a fact here.
The neighborhoods I revelled in discovering, the spots I called my own, and the people with whom I found a rare connection will be passing away from my life. At least for now.
I've already begun to mourn for the pieces of me I will leave behind. But I will let myself mourn only for the reason that it will let me get it out to embrace a new beginning.
And so the city girl of Seattle will be setting out to make a change, give a chance to a relationship, and try out her fingers in the lacings of small town life.