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.

Mornings

Some mornings just slap you across the face, as soon as you wake up. That's my best photo of getting slapped in the face right now. I took it yesterday and call it "Justin getting Shadow Bitch-Slapped." I shouldn't have tempted karma like that.

Normally in the mornings the kids come and watch some Tom & Jerry cartoons on my bed, which gives me about 1/2 an hour to wake up some. I just really, REALLY need that time. This morning Shannon woke me up. He was already dressed and they wanted to go ahead and eat breakfast and watch Tom & Jerry in the kitchen. (I let them eat their cereal and watch cartoons. It allows me to usually get a shower without wondering what they're up to.) OK.
I get up, throw some pjs on, help Tristan get dressed and fix them their cereal. Then I fix the dogs their food.
I go back to my bedroom and do my morning sit-ups (look at that, I'm making a freakin' effort!) and start getting ready to take my shower. Shannon comes in the bedroom and asks "Mommy, can I go outside and play in the sandbox?" --- I'm standing there with no pants on (sorry for the visual image) and look at him dumbfounded. I tell him that I haven't even had my shower yet and no.
I go to take my shower. While I'm in there he comes in and asks if he can go play in the sandbox. "NO, I'm in the shower!!"
I turn off the water. Again he appears, asking if he can go play in the sandbox. I was still standing in the shower! "NO!!!!"
I inform him that he may NOT go play in the sandbox until after I've had my shower and am dressed and to NOT ask me ANYMORE, that I will tell him when he can. I head back to my bedroom to get dressed, shutting the bedroom door behind me.

I am dressed now (you're welcome), and I open the door. Shannon informs me that Tristan ate a dead worm off the sunroom floor. *LONG SIGH*
Yesterday, when I got him up from his nap, Tristan had this to say to me: Mommy, I have to tell you something. I am sorry I ate so much crunchy ants. And I'm sorry I ate so much crunchy sand. I'm sorry for both of those. ----- Note, I wasn't aware of either (though am not shocked either) nor was he being punished, this was out-of-the-blue.
Apparently this morning he's eating worms. They haven't been fried and more than likely the worm was a centipede of some sorts. I tell him not to do that, eating dead things off the floor can make you sick, and I contemplate what type of drink is going to restore my morning.

Since then I've gone out to hang laundry on the line, we've had a bathroom "issue" and near disaster, and Shannon has yet to stop talking.

I would think Karma has gotten me back for that photo of Justin.