Dude vs. Diva

This will come as either no shock what-so-ever to you, or it will blow your friggin' mind. I'm 1/2 Dude, 1/2 Diva. No, I'm not a hermaphrodite. I'm me. Carrie. Taney. Mama Taney. Bitch Supreme. One of the guys. THE one of the guys with the best set of knockers.



But, I am still 1/2 Dude too. Somewhere between

and

.... and I'd be the English bloke yelling. We all know I'm a drinker AND a fighter. Cheers.

I've learned to embrace the Dude within. --- hee hee hee, ok, even I'm giggling at the perverted nature of that line. But it's too good a line to erase, so just giggle along.
I am comfy in clothing that works for me. Shorts that I don't have to pull out of my ass crack, as well as underwear that isn't intended to go there. Shirts that I can do the things that need to be done in without having to worry about messing up my wardrobe. Shoes to wear that I don't care if it rains or they get a little muddy.
I like being able to go out in the woods, either for an evening or for camping, and be comfy, not be dolled up and complaining about bug bites, sprained ankles, and the mysterious temperature changes that happen in nature & when you're away from a thermostat controlled environment.

But then there is the Diva.

I absolutely love my over-sized sunglasses. And if I could manage to pull off wearing a dress like that, I totally would.

There is part of me that longs to embrace the Diva Goddess within. But one of two things tends to sideline me first.

One - I tend to get side-tracked (not necessarily a bad thing) into my love of all things funky and different and wonder off into something like this ..

~ I actually really adore this outfit. But I have neither the adorable little figure nor the large bank account to pull it off. Plus, I happen to live in SW VA, a place not known for it's delightful haunts of funky clothing~

OR .. and what really tends to happen, is that I end up looking more like this, the photo on the left:

~Sorry Christina, I really do think you're awesome, with or without make-up~

As soon as I get myself dolled up, or at least embracing my inner-DIVA, Karma comes along to remind me of how insignificant I really am in this world.
Take yesterday. I had run out to grab a bite to eat. Got home, feeling good. Got out of the car with a swagger. ----- Maybe that is the problem. Cowboys swagger. John Wayne swaggers. I don't think DIVAs swagger. Do they??
A guy is riding by on his bike. Oh yea, he's gonna be awestruck by just how rockin' I am.

...... (do you hear Karma quietly sneaking up on me yet?)

As soon as I get out of the car, my cell phone falls to the ground. I try not to let this minor setback bother me, and bend over to fetch it.
I manage to whack my head on the side view mirror on my way back up, in the process dropping said cell phone YET AGAIN onto the ground, where this time the stupid protective casing pops open.
My once-cute ponytail now looks like evil-witch photo from day before. Loose tendrils hanging alluringly around my face is not the image I've mastered. Thanks to the wind it is more a look of "Look Ma, a tornado done grabbed her up by that there ponytail on her head and shook her up REAL good."

And this is why I embrace the Dude within. (ok .. it's still funny for us gutter minds). The "Oh screw it and give me a beer" response is one of great comfort. Especially since later that evening I manged to pour my drink on the table, then on my hand, then down the front of my shirt. Oh yea, that was the SECOND shirt for the day too. The first one I accidentally let Foster, our Mastiff puppy, use as a napkin.

The Dude Abides.