writers block

i don't like to think of myself as a one track mind person. i would like to think of myself as this more evolved being that can set aside one problem and work on several other things- you know, the back burner theory.  

the older i get, the more i find myself fixated on one problem at a time, dog on a bone, not letting go until it's fixed.

what do you do when the thing you're fixated on isn't something you're really game to talk about?

if you end up like me, you're staring at a giant pile of writers block.

welcome to my week.

i'm not one to shy away from airing dirty laundry. i'm not one to shy away from revealing (usually embarrassing) personal details of my life. there are some things however that are *shockingly* off limits to me.

unusual concept.

so instead, it ends up being trivial dribble vomiting out in some sad attempt to strike another vein of writing or venting or giving voice to thought.

does anyone else hear the jeopardy theme song right now?

i've been addicted to the tv show numb3rs lately- if you're not familiar, the FBI uses a math specialist to formulate all sorts of fancy algorithms to solve crimes. i understand less than half the show, can't stand a few of the main characters, but i'm still somehow totally addicted.  the main character, whatever his name is, has a certain flaw that drives me NUTS: it ALWAYS looks like he has a dip in his lip. something about the way he talks, the way his mouth is shaped, i don't know, but it always looks like he's half a can of skoal in.

GROSS.

i hate chew. loathe. it smells like an old first aid kit to me. always has. back in the days of marriage he chewed- always disgusted me.  

more disturbing: i've run into more and more women lately who chew. I GET IT- it's not that much different from smoking. what's the difference between a guy and a girl smoking? so what's the difference between a guy and a girl chewing?

it's GROSS for both, but there's something even just an edge beyond about women chewing. maybe i'm sexist about some things. i'm ok with that. seeing a guy with a skoal ring in his jeans is one thing. seeing a girl with a skoal ring? no thanks.  seeing a guy with a spitter in a bar? thanks for not spitting on the floor at least.  seeing a girl with a spitter? ew. seriously, just ew. never understood it, never will.

went out to a western bar out in the valley last week called the roadhouse. yes, patrick swayze lives on. this  place is almost as bad as the before. packed full of every horrible stereotype eastern washington/northern idaho is known for. everything from real cowboys in their dirty baseball hats and worn out ropers to the city slickers in their polished stetsons and never scratched tony lamas. CAN'T MAKE THIS UP: saw a girl with a mudflap girl tramp stamp tattoo. nothing says super sexy like a mudflap girl right there in the middle of her buckle bunny back.  you know what i mean when i say buckle bunny, right? take your typical bar fly, put her in pigtails, too tight jeans, some kind of tied up flannel/plaid shirt, add a crappy cowboy hat, and she'll be going home with the biggest belt buckle in the bar ever. single. night.  the bartenders are typical bitches that ignore everyone but their friends or whomever happens to be yelling the loudest, the drinks are overpriced, the way the bar is run is sketchy at best, and the dj (dj camo) is playing the WORST mix of country music possible AND repeating half the songs by the time the night is over. the bar, of course, wouldn't be complete without a mechanical bull oh so cleverly named "yo mama" again- CAN'T MAKE THIS UP. unfortunately, there's enough business to keep this place open at least a little while, even as bad as it is.

THE POINT- there is a point. saw more WOMEN with chew in one night than i've ever seen. EVER. spitters were left on our table by people heading to the bathroom who were *gag* scraping the dip out of their lip and throwing it on the floor as they walked by.

i'm a country girl. correction: i'm a rural girl. grew up in a small town. bought my first pair of boots in high school. i was never a farm girl, never a ranch girl, purely one of the people that just liked to wear the clothes. had the high waisted wranglers, the keyhole cut out sleeveless shirts, the boots- this was back in the day when i had a midriff that didn't look TERRIBLE if it happened to peek out a little- not that it had much chance with those jeans.  i went to work at a power plant where jeans and boots were required work wear. to this day my boots are still my most comfortable shoes, even when half the uppers on my favorite pair were chewed off by a dog years ago (the design was discontinued so i can't get new/replacement ones). i've never milked a cow, i've never bucked a bale, i've never shot/killed/skinned/cooked my own meat. i have no idea how to churn butter or cook a meal for 18 farmhands or if farm life actually is different than it is in the Farmer Boy book. 

so maybe i'm missing a legit part of country life. maybe there's something real farm girls know that i don't. i'm a city slicker. i'd rather read books that muck a horse stall. the idea of crawling up in a hayloft with a cowboy while a BIT inciting is outweighed by the idea of how many spiders there are and how itchy the hay would be.  whatever it is i'm missing, I'M OK WITH THAT when it comes to chew. i'm good. ya'll can keep your long cut death in a can to yourselves.

SEE, this is what happens when you hit writers block. a rambling diatribe on how i'm not a country girl and i hate chew. 

i'm off to drink a glass of pasteurized, processed, sanitized, chemically enhanced milk now.  i've seen what happens when you drink milk straight out of the cow. i'll save that for when i REALLY need to lose 20 pounds in one day.

becoming...?

i’ve been in this strange transition type thing lately. i’m not sure what it is or how to describe it really. it's not really a re-invention since i'm not starting from scratch, but it is more than simply changing the favorite ice cream flavor. maybe it’s simply growing up and i’m just now catching on.

i know we all go through a continuous cycle of change and becoming who we are and all the cliche things that we see on plaques and pinterest posts all over the place. they’re cliche for a reason. i don’t mind the process, i welcome it. i don’t want to stay the same person forever. that would mean i’ve closed my mind, stopped learning, stopped seeking, stopped growing. i never want to stop any of those things.

i guess my struggle, if you could call it that, is learning to balance the process out. writing for the magazine has been AMAZING. i’m writing, #1. actually writing. getting my voice out there. a voice that was picked because of what it is. i can’t even begin to say how exciting that is. i was asked to be on this magazine because of who i am. not because i’m a writer and they wanted to twist my words. i AM what they were looking for, as i am now. mouthy, sassy, brash, vocal, raw honesty, all of it. i love the things i’m learning. i love doing photo shoots, interviewing artists, coming up with new ideas, watching it each issue grow and take on a life all its own. my creativity has jumped back to the forefront, there’s a million ideas chasing around in my head all the time, new things to try, ideas for articles, everything. i’m stepping into a world i’ve never been in and learning to still love myself even though i don’t always feel comfortable or in place. i’m not used to art shows, models, photographers, being in pictures and on camera. it’s totally different and new and fucking SCARY.

here’s the strange thing- the more i step into this new world, the more old pieces of me have been surfacing. and i’m not quite sure what to do with that yet.

back in the day (a wednesday, of course). i used to be an entirely different person. perhaps i shouldn’t say ENTIRELY- there’s still pieces of that girl floating around. in high shool i went through a few incarnations- mostly a nerd, there was also an “i dont care” phase where in there was some terrifically bad hair and ill fitting mens tee shirts (remember big dog brand? oh yeah...i had those). there was the country phase in which i tried like hell to be pretty, do my hair, wore wranglers and boots most days and had a few shirts like this: that i LOVED (oh the days when i wasn’t embarrassed if my midriff showed). i slowly morphed into a cheerleader and tried even harder to be pretty (when your mum doesn’t believe in any hair products/tools, make up, anything even remotely feminine, it’s harder than you’d imagine). during this whole time i was a nice, quiet book nerd, kept to myself- partly out of my natural self, partly out of all sorts of trouble that i’d been in my first few years of high school. better to be invisible as much as possible. i went to church every sunday and wednesday, had taken a purity pledge- no sex til marriage, did what my parents said, did my school work as well as i could, had very few friends, just kind of...there.

i got knocked up and became a mom before really having a chance to know who i wanted to be when i grew up- almost overnight i was “up”. went to college and got a LITTLE bit of self, got married and lost that, and have spent the last 9 years figuring out what and who i want to be now. even that’s changed- 6 years ago i SWORE i would never leave my small little town. 3 years ago i could have never imagined NOT being a corporate stooge. now i have no idea what tomorrow holds.

my homes have shifted over the years- from hand me down personality and furniture to “country” comfortable (oh, so, much, blue) and now i guess it could be called eclectic at best. i’ve always had pictures of family, art other people thought i would like, art i actually DO like, slowly, it’s grown into MY house. everything here is something i picked and brought in. i appreciate the help from people over the years, but it’s finally me. dark wood furniture, comfortable seating, fancy flashes here and there, strange pieces that shouldn’t fit but do, things i looked for FOREVER, things i found and instantly fell in love with. even that is shifting though- i think it’s time to put away the memorial for my dad, keep a few things out and tuck the rest away. time to have a family WALL instead of shotgunned through the house and let the rest be art that i love and want to show to people. my voice is changing again. i love it. i’m just not sure where it’s going.

back to the original point, the more i change the more flashes of past selves are emerging. i’m comfortable again in jeans and teeshirts, gone are the office clothes and slacks and fitted shirts of not so long ago. my music (much to the horror of those around me) has shifted back to country. as much as i want to dress up in a ball gown for the magazine launch party, i just as badly want to put on some jeans and boots and go line dancing at a back-woods bar. i’ve LOVED having people over for bbqs and dinners and random things. that’s something i wanted to do years ago but lost somewhere along the way.

there’s also the newer me- the one more willing to stand up for herself and speak her mind. i’m realizing (slowly but surely) that i’m worth a damn lot more than i give myself credit for. i’m creating art, meeting people, taking chances, pushing myself (with help). i’m comfortable giving my opinions, being my whole self, walking away from poisonous things without worrying about the other person instead of myself. i’ve had the chance to step away from what i HAD to do and have been able to try what i wanted to do. i’ve also learned to recognize and admit that it isn’t working and have gown enough to know there’s a balance there. i can seek the stability i need and still keep the things i love- at least some of them. now i need to learn to do that with myself, not just my circumstances. there’s room for a tattooed, country, unconventional, mouthy, conservative, artistic, honest, down home, glamorous rebel in the world, isn’t there?