But pretty much, here’s how it went.

Red: “I like you.”

Me:  “I like you too. I have something for you.”

Red: “Oh thanks. I have the perfect place for it.”

And that was the end of Red.

Even though John Mayer is a cunt-  he may be on to something with this….

Here comes the cold
Break out the winter clothes
And find a love to call your own

You… – enter you
Your cheeks a shade of pink
And the rest of you in powder blue

Who knows what will be
But I’ll make you this guarantee

No way November will see our goodbye
When it comes to December it’s obvious why
No one wants to be alone at Christmas time

In the dark, on the phone
You tell me the names of your cousins
And your favorite colors
I’m learning you

And when it snows again
We’ll take a walk outside
And search the sky
Like children do
I’ll say to you

No way November will see our goodbye
When it comes to December it’s obvious why
No one wants to be alone at Christmas time
And come January we’re frozen inside
Making new resolutions a hundred times
February, won’t you be my valentine?

And we’ll both be safe ’til St. Patrick’s Day

We should take a ride tonight around the town
and look around at all the beautiful houses
something in the way that blue lights on a black night
can make you feel more
everybody, it seems to me, just wants to be
just like you and me

No one wants to be alone at Christmas time
Come January we’re frozen inside
Making new resolutions a hundred times
February, won’t you be my valentine?

And if our always is all that we gave
And we someday take that away

I’ll be alright if it was just ’til St. Patrick’s Day

Rain. Umbrellas. Powell’s. Coffee. Graphic novels. Eaves-dropping. Journaling. Being.

I was never very good at having girls for friends. Having been a tom boy for most of my life, I tend to get along better with men.  I’m guilty of a boy-ish sense of humor.  The occasional “pull my finger,” or sometimes the rogue ‘mooning,’ of innocents.  I have  ‘MAN-a-Thon Movie Days,’ where I watch as many manly movies as I can in a day. James Bond, Rocky, Lethal Weapon, Terrentino films, Bourne films, Die Hard, Indiana Jones, Super Hero movies, etc.  I don’t generally drink Cosmos, I’m a whiskey girl.  I love fishing, guitar, classic rock, flannel, working on my car, old cars, boats, road tripping, living minimally, and the outdoors.   I’m not saying it’s these things alone that define me as a Northwest Girl, but rather, just define me as a person. It just so happens that the kind of people who tend to share these interests and love my companionship because of it, are generally men.  Men of all ages from all different places and walks of life.  Men who like what I like. Beer. Guns. Rock climbing. Sailing. The open road. The love of freedom and the earth.

That aside, I’m still a girl.  Tastes and interests only make up so much of my gender. The rest is sadly physical and chromosomal.

I’ve come to find that most girls have that one man. Even if (especially if) we’re single.  But even in a relationship, there’s that other man on the side. Always there for her.  Most girls in California, or on the East Coast have this and you know what I’m talking about. They may be harder to find in the bible belt, but if you’re out there and you’ve found yourself one, hold on to him,  they’re precious.  He is the one who will always be honest if you DO look fat in that dress, will tell you how to do your hair in a sweet way, who will never steer you wrong on a date outfit, and who will never offend you by telling you your tits look amazing today.
Of course I’m talking about the girl’s Gay Friend.   We all have one or maybe more.  We love our gay friends. Why? We feel safe around them. And of course, because they love us. A girl and her gay are so normal now, I’ve not met any boyfriends who even think of getting jealous or weird about it. Red often asks me about my Gay….We’ll call him Gay-J.  I’ve known him since we were kids, and there is a closeness there that breeds the kind of trust that can only be earned and grown, not bought or expected.

Gay-J and I work out together, we hang out together, we watch TV together and snuggle. He often provides me with precious fashion help. Gay-J taught me how to walk in heels years ago. I’ve always been grateful, as many men have complimented me since in the way I move. “You have HIPS, girl. USE them.  It’s so sad that I have a dick and can do this better than you. Can I borrow those shoes after this date?” He taught me priceless make up tips. He tells me I’m still beautiful even when I’m fat and nasty, and somehow, I believe him. He always has the best new internet videos to share with me, he has the best relationship advice, he always listens to me, and he never, ever, ever lies to me.

He comes to me when he’s sad and I do my best to make him feel better. I believe he is one of the most beautiful people I know and one of the most cherished in my life. I admire him and his strength. I look up to how he is still a happy, funny, loving person after all he’s been through. His family life is nothing short of tragic. The way they treated him, what I even witnessed when we were kids, is enough to bring me to tears. Yet he is the one who smiles and laughs and makes jokes, and touches my shoulder and says “It’s ok! I’m good!”

But there is something every Northwest Girl has in comparison AND addition to our gay friends.   He may not be as sweet as your gay friend. He may be a little more crass, sometimes downright pretentious about his craft. He may be dorkier, a little more gossipy, not as fashion conscious. He may be downright crass, straight up honest, talented, lovable, but blazingly inappropriate at times without a hint of shame…  But rest assured, he’s just as opinionated, and just as appreciated and OH SO POWERFUL.

He knows what every man should know about a woman…  He knows how I like it.

Hot. I like it hot. And sweet.  I like it to last and I like it to make me feel good afterward. I like it to carry me through the day. I like it so much, I think about it when I’m feeling down. It gives me a warm feeling on the inside. It puts me in a good mood when I get it and I haven’t had it in a while.

He is the one I trust my mornings to. He is the one who leaves me with words of encouragement for the rest of the day, the one who gives me what I need to make it through, the one where when I ask “What did you put in my drink?” It’s with a smile and not with accusation.

Northwest Girls, you know who I’m talking about.

He is my Barista.

He is passionate about his work. He is part chemist, part critic, part chef, part entrepreneur, part dreamer, and part artist.  He is informed, well read, and educated if even by proxy. He is equal parts sugar, cream, coffee, and therapist.  He is better than Oprah.  He has the power to set the tone for my day. And for this, I am grateful.

Finding your perfect Barista is like finding your perfect hair stylist or bartender. Everyone has their preferences. I can’t tell you what YOUR Barista should be like, but I’ve definitely found mine.

It recently came to Barista’s attention that my NW Girl Drawings all feature a certain Corporate brand of coffee. He has informed me this is simply a lie, as he is my Barista, and he does not work for the Company Who Shall Not Be Named.  He owns his own company, he makes his own coffee, and the way he does it, combined with the love he has for it and the care, is nothing short of an art.  Not to mention he makes some kick-ass waffles too.

That aside, upon his realization of my Corporate Whoring, I got an earful. I also got more coffee that was devine. But the threat of withdrawl of coffee rights was made. And so it is here that I make the official announcement that the Northwest Girl does NOT drink Starbucks.  (mostly.)  The Northwest Girl is a supporter of Nook Coffee.  A Northwest based, independently owned coffee company.  The Northwest Girl is also currently designing the logo for Nook Coffee and Waffles…so keep an eye out for that. If you’re ever in the area, you should totally try it out. Also, if you’re lucky, he’ll be your Barista

Barista will be on my Podcast coming up soon. We’ll call it Coffee Talk.  Nothing’s off limits.

Then there are the OTHER men still.  The kind of friends every girl who is a Tom Boy inevitably collects.  I’ll refer to them as the Brothers.  I’m talking about my best guy friends. In this case, they are the boys in my band. But before there was a band, they were simply, my best friends.   We’ve got Drew, Sean, and Big Matt.  They are the brothers. The strong support group that surrounds me and guards me like a pack of …well… brothers. All older than me, they’ve taken an interest in making sure I don’t end up a sobbing, crying mess on them any time soon, as several band practices have been taken up with my sob stories of horrible dates, guys that make me feel like crap, and feeling totally inadequate as a woman.  When I start bitching about not being pretty, they refer me to Gay-J, as it’s not their expectation. At their admission, I have boobs, so I’m pretty.  Plus, they just don’t see me that way.  Much like the  ‘you’re like a brother to me, ‘ I’ve received the ‘you’re like a sister,’ speech a few times. At least its mutual.    They are the boys my parents love and trust with me. They are the ones that help my dad out with things I’m not strong enough to help with. They’re the ones I call when I’m moving, the ones who conveniently show up at my house around dinner time. They’re the ones who will ALWAYS pull my finger, who will never judge me but will love me and be there for me, even when I’m sad, pathetic, fat, and totally ugly.    They are my best friends, my brothers. And I wouldn’t get through life in one piece without them.  I love them.

Then there is THE man.  The man that takes care of all those other needs. The one who is the best listener of all of them.   Never jealous. Steady.  Faithful. The one who I come home to. The one who even when I don’t want to talk to anyone, is there anyway. The one who goes everywhere with me, who just wants to be with me more than anything. The one who never judges me, not even remotely. He’s always happy to see me. He is in my bed waiting for me when I get home.

He is my dog.  My fat, cream-filled, loving, sweet Bernese Mountain dog, the one you see in the NW Girl drawings… he is my Canoli.

I admit, sometimes being surrounded by men, I wonder why I even need a boyfriend. I wonder why it is sometimes I feel like I’m not getting what I need from these incredible men in my life. From my brothers, to my gay friend, to my Barista, to my dog. (I only get boy dogs.) . From my faith in God, to my admiration for my amazing and inspiring father… I sometimes feel there is a hole in me that’s not being filled.  I thought for a long time it was a love I wasn’t getting. Something out there I was missing. A true passionate, romantic love.   But I’ve realized finally, it’s not that easy.  That kind of love is a different kind. The kind that is not granted to you as an amazing gift as my friends and family have been granted to me through chance of similar taste or paths crossing…

That kind of love is the kind of love I only get once I learn how to properly give it.

Just like there is a difference between my boyfriend and the other men in my life; there is also a difference between a boyfriend, someone I’m seeing, an acquaintance, a one night stand, a mistake, a fancy, a hopeful, a sweetheart,  an ex, a place-holder,  a lover, a friend with benefits, a fianc’e, a husband, and simply, the man I love and who loves me.

I think I know why the longing is still there.

I have experienced all but the last of those. Perhaps that’s one where taking your time is alright.   Besides, in that case, it’s not all up to me.

And I’m a little proud of that beer gut. It’s just small enough still to be cute. .. I don’t think Imma let it go any further though.

Well… maybe.

…that looks something like this.

Go back to school

Get good job

Get dream job as a comic writer

Get book published

Get Website up

Get Boyfriend (this takes care of staying warm and getting someone to cook for me so I can watch TV and get ‘inspired to write.’)

Get hot ass

Travel extensively

Get hot rest-of-body

Make lots of money

Buy hot shoes

Hook up with Alan Tudyk

Get married eventually maybe

Rinse, repeat after 50

But it seems amidst all this hustle bustle, keep myself busy, keep on my path, establish a routine- I’ve totally forgotten about how I feel about any of it.  It’s a really bad habit I have.  If I keep myself in a routine and stay busy, all needs should be fulfilled, right?

Wrong.

This super-routine business is just a good way to put everything away. The same way I go through my mail and hide my pending bills in a folder so I don’t have to stare at them.  The same way I choose the treadmill in front of the window instead of the mirrors, so I don’t have to look at myself.  Having a very rock-hard routine in my life, regimented, scheduled, timed and daily executed pattern is a great way to ignore anything that is not of the norm. I either don’t have time for it, it doesn’t fit into the routine, or I can just move on to the next thing on my list, and ignore whatever it is that doesn’t fit in.

These things that don’t ‘fit in’ to my routine are things like;

*Considering failure as an option and a very real and looming reality

*Accepting my wings may be clipped for a while and that I will be stuck here for quite some time

*Feeling threatened in my relationships

*Financial Insecurity

*Social Inadequacy

*Judgment from others on anything from my looks to my career choices to my past

But much in the same way I have a thing for organizing my space neurotically when I feel out of control, even when I’m flustered, I tend to leave the drawers messy sometimes.  What does this do? It makes the rest of my space look clean and organized, color coded, accessible and aesthetically pleasing…but open a drawer and the ugly truth attacks you.  SHE HAS SO MANY MISMATCHED SOCKS!!!

And so it’s with much regret, kicking and screaming that some days, I have no other option but to sit down, pull those drawers out, empty them, match up the socks, fold the underwears, throw away all the envelopes that are unnecessary, and set it all straight.  This usually happens when I open one of my drawers looking for something, and I’m slammed with a horrid representation of what life in my head really looks like.  It looks like a really messy, sad, unorganized, and suffering underwear drawer.    It’s got the sexy panties mixed in with the washed out cotton ones, it’s got the comfy ones rolled into the garters, the Batman ones  paired with the Superman ones (BIG no-n0) It’s boasting that thong I SWORE I got rid of in 2004 right up front. (that fucking thing will plague me ’til the day I die, I think. It’s a HORRIBLE reminder of that trip to Mexico.)

Today I had to leave that underwear drawer open. It was so full, I couldn’t close it before I left the house.  Nothing folded. Nothing sorted. Just a ridiculous hot mess of panties, lace, boy shorts, patterns ranging from Christmas trees and Stars of David, to dancing penguins, to comic characters, to tiny cherry blossoms, cartoons,  argyle and plaid, stripes, dots, and several shades of green and brown.  (the brown is the color the underwear is SUPPOSED to be. No skid marks, I promise.)

I am a NEAT FREAK.  I need everything to be perfect when I come home from work.  But tonight?  Tonight I’m going to come home, and my nuisance of a fucking panty pantry is gonna be gaping open on my dresser like a toddler who’s just had a tie dyed lollipop and then stuck his tongue out.   And unfortunately, I’m gonna have to deal with it.  I’m gonna have to  sit down, drop my drawers, and deal with this shit. (is it like not kosher to mix the word ‘shit’ in with my post about underwear? They’re clean, I promise.)

I’m probably gonna have to get to folding and rolling.  I’m gonna have to separate my sexy pants from my not so sexy ones.  And I’m going to have to address the fact that there are some things in that drawer that NEED to be thrown away.  They need to be dealt with before I dress myself with them, and am forced to wear them all day after I was tricked into thinking they were better for the outfit than they actually were.  There’s a REASON they were in the back of the drawer!  There was a reason I had them rolled up in that corset that only sees the outside world once every…  well, whenever I go on a nice date that requires a corset, but where there is no chance for anything happening after because they’re a BITCH to get off, and also, the leave totally unsexy binding marks on my backs and ribs. (out of breath, long sentence.)   I need to sort this out and get it taken care of.

I probably need to take a look at my life path right now and distinguish what is realistic and not realistic. I need to address the fact that I am not as young as I used to be and far less things are possible than were before. I need to address the fact that some possibilities are probably going to be a lot harder on me now than they would have been five years ago. (NYU anyone?)  All of that, and now I need to re-evaluate exactly what it is I WANT out of life.  What I want, not what other people want for me.

I probably need to do some writing and creating and working on some things to get some artistic-ness out of me before I start up with the small internal explosions.  And then I probably need to talk to Red on the phone and actually talk about some REAL shit that doesn’t involve what dinner will be on Friday, what distraction we’ll be investing in this weekend or politics, or geek culture, or what we did at work today.  But rather the fact that I might be a little insecure about my place in the world right now regarding my age and career choices, and possibly my place in his life as well, and maybe instead of constantly asking him how HE feels about everything (if I don’t ask him, he doesn’t tell me)  maybe I should figure out how I feel about things and let him know once I’ve got it sorted, instead of just being pissed at him because I don’t know why I feel like crap…  (anyone ever have an Ex-infestation? How do you fumigate for those?)

Aside from how I hide how I feel about things behind a routine, I tend to focus more, when I have time, on how other people feel about things who tend to have the same distraction type issues. My best friend being one of them.  She will do the same thing, hide behind a routine and distract herself for months before she ultimately implodes, and then explodes, and that’s icky.  We have a habit of dumping on each other whenever our schedules allow for us to have some time together. Which is usually just a few hours of us word vomitting our feelings like some hard core hot-yoga version of a therapy session that’s free.  And then we go our ways back to our routines and exchange a few texts throughout the week that are rather short and untelling, and wait until we’re about to tear our hair out before we reconvene.  It’s just how we work.  We draw our feelings out of each other, empty the recycle bin, and approach the next month with a little bit of pep talking and a lot a bit of wine and junk food.

Lately, I’ve been filling the emotional void with UNproductive things. First one being something I never usually do.  TV.  I’ve been watching WAY more TV than I have in years. I just want it on. TV or music or something to drown out my own crappy voice.   Also, food.  FRENCH FRIES to be specific. I’ve indulged probably… 7 or 8 times in the last month.  I can’t have cheese anymore because of an unfortunate allergy (I believe it’s a horrible form of Karma. I must have done something HORRIBLE to someone for this everlasting punishment. I’m sorry, I really, really am.) so I have french fries. And oh God have mercy, POPCORN.  Whiskey. Beer.  And a new one lately as well? Soda. Coke to be specific. Lots of coke. The cans stack up around my monitor and make me feel really bad. Bad enough to go to the kitchen and get another one.   What does this do for me? Nothing. it does NOTHING for me. It satisfies me in the moment and then I feel HORRIBLE afterward. And then I see it show up on my body, and I just want to cry. Why do I do this? Because I can’t talk about how I feel. I can’t show that I’m actually AFRAID of things that are happening right now. Politically, I’m afraid. Economically, I’m terrified. Career wise? I’m very, very, VERY insecure.  Relationally?  Petrified.  To the point where I can’t sleep due to anxiety.   Hence the turning on of the TV and constant music playing, and inundation of any media that will pull me out of this world and put me in another.

The eating and distracting is only detrimental to my end goal.  What do I want? I want to be attractive and successful. How’s that for the American Dream, huh?  Doesn’t everyone want that? Even though my version may vary a bit in that department, my version of Attractive and Successful does NOT include  a really big ass, and having 0 income that requires me to lean on someone. Even temporarily.  My version of attractive may involve smart, caring, kind, brilliant and inspiring, but it does NOT include cellulite, back rolls, or a wardrobe that is a bit too tight.   Successful may involve an eclectic career choice, ambition, travel, an artistic involvement in an industry that notoriously doesn’t pay well-  but it does NOT include living in my parents’ basement in my 40′s, and asking permission to have a BBQ with a keg.

And while I know that my physical appearance isn’t as bad as I imagine it to be, says EVERYONE I KNOW (unless you’re all fucking liars) it’s still not where I want it to be.  The bottom line is, I’m not comfortable.  Until I can look at myself in the mirror without an ounce of hatred, and be fully comfortable with who I am inside and out, until I can make love with the lights on, until I can have an entire week where I don’t cover the mirrors, where I don’t feel bad when I smile, when don’t feel like the less attractive one in a relationship, when I don’t curse my body and age and gravity and calories, when all of that happens, I’ll have one less fear. One less GIANT, looming, mutating, debilitating fear within me that takes to my organization and self esteem like a Kitchen-Aid takes to egg yokes. (that will be mixed into cookie batter, for the two dozen cookies I am about to devour with milk, and probably follow up with ice cream, and of course, fries.)

Until I’m comfortable not only with all my clothes off, but totally naked…Until I can drop my drawers confidently,  I’ll still have times like these. When I just don’t know what to do other than sit down and put it all back together out of pure necessity. When I need to go through all of my insecurities, physical and otherwise, and evaluate their merit. When I need to lean on my friends and good fucking music, and pipe dreams.

Yep…     Red and I are doing Seattle this weekend. (just a quickie.)   A nice couple of days in Emerald City.

I’ll be meeting some of his family this weekend, as well as, of course, hitting up the Emerald City ComicCon. (insert pants wetting here.)

Hopefully I’ll have something interesting to write about when I get back. For now, I have to admit my life is rather boring.  How do I know it’s really boring? I’m not even journaling. That’s how boring it is.

I guess good/happy/nice/calm is boring.     How do I mix it up?

I told Red I was bored last week and then informed him I was gonna pick a fight with him because I was bored.  There are few things more frustrating than picking a fight with a pacifist.  One of them would probably be shopping for jeans at the mall.  The other one would probably shopping for jeans with someone really, really skinny.  And the other would probably be trying to make sense of Charlie Sheen’s tweets.

Anyway, point is, the fight didn’t work out.

Then I actually found myself watching “Real Women Cops of Cincinatti.”   I don’t think I even need to talk about THAT or how it happened.

Then I Facebook’d for a while. That was a mistake.  Now I feel unhappy and unsuccessful and retarded.  Though, I have to admit, I’m somewhat building a career and image around the fact that I’m a total unambitious loser.  So, we’ll see how that goes.

Then I went T-shirt shopping. Found some real winners.

If anyone would like to give me a present, I found these:

This one…

and this one…

and this one..

Yeah. You get the idea.

Then again, I have been shopping for real clothes that aren’t meant for a twelve year old. But that always just depresses me. Especially since they’re way more expensive, and the models are supposed to represent what the rest of us look like… which they don’t.  My boobs are bigger, my legs are longer, and my ass exists.

It’s raining pageant queen tears out there- yep. It’s the PNW alright.

Ok.

And now a word from our sponsors…

Looks like another Summer in the Sawtooth mountains for me.

I’m hoping it’ll be as good for my soul this time as it was last.

How do you keep going?

When the past continues to haunt you, even when you do your damndest to rid yourself of it… When mistakes continue to find you…or text you at 2 in the morning from New York just as you’d forgiven yourself for them, or send you random emails letting you know they still love you and always will, or bump into you at the local bar after not  having seen you for years and greet you with a sign that to them, you’re still #1.

How do you keep going?

When there doesn’t seem to be much hope for anything better? When you feel nauseated because you’ve been in a cyclone of a giant toilet flush that is the state of our country and economy, when the work you put into life doesn’t seem to validate anything, when you get the feeling the best money is to be made waiting tables and bar tending instead of slaving in an office,  when you have a headache that won’t go away, when you’re perpetually cold to the bone, when Spring is a pipe dream, and Summer is a fairy tale, when you wear yoga pants every day and take that as acceptable daily attire, when you just ate four cups of jello pudding and watched the Oscars packed with the world’s most glamorous people, and then you look in the mirror and realize your hair is drab, your crooked teeth need whitening, and you start knocking drinks over with your butt and not even realizing it…

How do you keep going?

When everyone else’s life seems like it’s either a Family Circus comic or a Mercedes commercial, both come with an element of charm and pride, when fear of judgment holds you back, when you are under someone else’s thumb, when you just want to fucking quit it all…when you see people you know who are constantly hitching a ride from others, always expecting to be taken care of, to find someone else to give them things, to not really work to take care of themselves and yet manage to acquire all the things you want by simply asking for it and acting helpless, who always expect an ‘in’ to everything, to never be expected to buckle down and fucking work for what they want, yet they get it anyway…

How do you keep going?

When it’s a weekly comic and doodle displaying the joke that is my life, that people actually laugh at it, that I pretend not to take it too seriously at all that I’m probably a big fucking mess without much to offer, that I’m creatively blocked right now and it feels comparable to Chinese water torture, or worse, being strapped down and forced to watch cable news for sixty hours straight. When you feel the color has drained from the world, like you’re not reaching anyone, like you’re just another fixture in the world, just another useless, nameless, faceless grain of sand in the universe, that your time will be as significant as the purpose of a rock on a riverbed… when you feel you have no place in society, your words are meaningless and not even funny anymore, and your face doesn’t even bring beauty to it as there are others who are already set aside and specified for that job.

…how do you keep going?

When you feel your purpose as a woman won’t even actually be fulfilled, when you question that purpose constantly, when you wonder if there is such a thing as love, when you face a daily battle within yourself to forgive instead of hate, to live and let live, to listen to music rather than plot revenge, to write things that make people smile instead of make people sad, when you basically feel like a totally fucking useless and meaningless and utterly insignificant?

And if you wanted to give up, what would that look like?