Posted in Moxie, Oh, Baby!, Pop, Winter

My Glorious Fuchsia

My husband, Jim, must love me an awful lot.  He and I are very nearly polar opposites.  I am constantly doing and saying things that confuse his numbers-oriented brain and yet he bears with it all, mostly…  Having grown up in the O.C.  he was raised with a concern for appearances, no matter how subconsciously.  For example, he doesn’t really like piercings of any kind, not even the normal, average ones that most little girls have by at least 10 years old.

This is a laugh, for me at least, because, the day custody was transferred to my adoptive parents, I got my ears pierced to celebrate.  I was 16 years old.  As mentioned in an earlier post, I had been “sheltered from the world and all it’s sinfulness” since birth.  After disfiguring myself in such a manner that first time, I proceeded to acquire a few more similar defacements.

My latest desire is for a cute little stud in my nose.  Knowing my inclination towards this type of thing, Jim graciously agreed to let me get it. (All will be informed when I have made acquisition of said nose jewel.)  The hard part for him is that my penchant for piercing is accompanied by a similar character flaw: hair coloring.  This combo may make me sound like a ‘bad girl’, ‘tough girl’, or a girl associated with any number of music genres that induce piercings, hair coloring, and tattoos.  However, quite the opposite is true with me.  In high school and even into college I was ever the ‘goody-2-shoes’, stepping carefully, flying under the proverbial radar, constantly fearful of breaking all rules, real and imagined.    On the other hand, I didn’t pierce or color in an attempt to portray a coolness that did not exist, hence earning myself an appearance with the popular crowd. In reality, in the same way that guys grow their facial hair into different styles and shapes, I merely used the God-given accessories I have to express the God-given creativity I also possess.  My latest adventure caused Jim to scratch his head and recall the 7-year age difference between us.

My sister-in-law, Lindsey, is a junior stylist at a salon in town.  After having a baby, I was in need of TLC in the tresses department.  Needing someone to practice color on, she offered to let me come down to the salon on a Saturday afternoon.  Being rather penniless at the time, I had a few weeks previous resorted to box color, on-sale, at Giant.  Lindsey bemoaned my attempt at a change in color and adorned me with the most beautiful high- & low-lights!  At my request she also put a layer of fuchsia in the back.  I love it!  Of all the colors I have put in my hair over the past 4 or 5 years, the fuchsia is by far my favorite.  My hair has suffered through dark brown, red, blond, and black cherry-gone-purple.  I have to say I was a bit surprised at Jim’s reaction since most of my coloring, indeed the most drastic ones, have been done during our acquaintance.  Along with most of the populace, he may have assumed that the birth of my two children and the subsequent mothering had ‘tamed my rebellious streak’.

I think he is beginning to understand my artsyness, if you will, for artsyness will not remain dormant, but will vehemently demand an outlet, whether in person, place, thing, or idea.

Today, my valiant, California-born knight-in-shining-sweater vest is braving the elements: snow and ice to bring back the kickboxing equipment I have just purchased.

My lack-of sleep

My Glorious Fuchsia
My Glorious Fuchsia

aggression needs an outlet as well…



I rock. I also paper and scissors.

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