The Day I Met Micah My Inner Diva Was Born

My mother may disagree with the title of this post, but I guess that may hinge on the definition of the word Diva. Some people take diva to mean a brat, a showoff, a fabulous performer, and I was a little bit of all of those in my earlier years.

Even though I refused to answer the door when it rang because "a stranger is behind the door", once I was wearing sequins and some kind of mockery of a headband adorned with plastic pieces cut to look like flowers that may have sliced my cornea, luckily it never got too close to my eyes, and was placed on a stage; I was unstoppable. I was that little girl center stage never missing a beat and doing those booty thrusts a little too well. Also, when my mom busted out the video camera, I was either trying to hog all the attention by making her focus all on me and my attempts to do the middle splits or touch my nose to the ground whilst spread-legged; or I was belittling my little brother for doing something terrible like making too much noise as he innocently sipped, I mean SLURPED, his ramen noodles. So, I guess I was a mini diva back in the day - but I didn't KNOW I was a diva.

When I met Micah he opened my eyes to a world that was not all sweat pants, stud earrings, and pony tails. He opened my eyes to becoming the fashionista diva that was dying to escape. I had started gaining some fashion sense by the time I was 21, but he inspired me to totally go off the deep end. I mean, I would not allow him to look more fabulous than me in public. I'm glad my hubby is one sexy, suave, well-dressed man with impeccable style, but I will not be subjected to peoples thoughts (that you can obviously read on their faces) that are saying, "What the hell is that scrubby ginger-headed girl doing with that rock star?" I would and will not stand for it.

Micah also likes to tell me that people as beautiful as me (he's so sweet) can get away with more crazy fashion. Like the BCBG hat he helped me pick out that is definitely funky and I totally love, but cannot get over the fact that I look like a naughty police officer or train conductor when adorned. I'm glad he thinks I can get away with this, but I still struggle with the totality of confidence it takes to really go all out. But I'm getting there.

I wear crazy dramatic makeup, and that's no big deal to me, I've always been into "you're going to stare at my face NOW" kind of attention, but the clothes are different. I have to be 100% confident in the outfit, plus the body beneath it. So I went out on a limb today and wore my hair with a pretty high and mighty ratted "front-poof" (hopefully you all know what I mean) with a slicked back pony tail, leggings, with black leg warmers, patent leather pumps, and a cute black sweater and black dangly earrings. My Asian co-worker said I should go into fashion, which rocked, but then again who knows what that means. Have you seen Gwen Stefani's Harajuku girls?! There is some crazy shit going on in Asian countries.

But, where else can I try out my new Diva-ness if not at work! I want to rock that lime green eyeshadow and the hoop earrings so large they could fit around my thighs - yes plural - and those funky pants and Beyonce heels! Because after work = pajama time; the weekend = pajama time + occasional outings...but I want to have my look solidified before taken somewhere in PUBLIC! So for now my co-workers will have to come to terms with the Diva in the corner cubicle who envies Drag Queens.