Inappropriate-Where?!? The Day After Post

My sister has always had this fabulous natural-but often enhanced- blond hair. She can wear white like only a bride can. It’s so inspiring.

Think:

So I try it and end up somewhere about here:

Within five minutes of slipping into something white, I’m usually back in black.

So I’m visiting my sister in her ocean view apartment when I realize, Where can white be more appropriate than at the beach? (I should note that it is NOT appropriate on bikinis. As we have all learned by now, the second they get wet, they are entirely see-through.)

Inspired by my sister’s even lighter and shiner blond hair, I put on a fabulous white top and a pair of high-waisted jeans and headed for a night out.

We walked to a local bar that happens to serve the most delicious margaritas-another rarity for me. I threw caution and routine into the cool, ocean wind that filled the second story, open bar and ordered a margarita right along with my sister who looked a little surprised. That was the first of somewhere between 5 and 7, and by the end of the night, I was feeling free and lighthearted in my white, flowing top. The wind blew the back slit open and made me feel like the Grecian Goddess I knew I was- yeah, that was probably a little Jose Cuervo too.

Before 9 p.m. I’d joined forces with the local entertainment and harmonized/mimicked/mimed/screamed/screwed up almost every song on the set list (including but not limited to, Beyonce’s Single Ladies, Backstreet Boys’ I Want it That Way and Katy Perry’s Teenage Dream– I never had a chance with a line up like that.)

I’ll admit-completely inappropriate, but while my behavior was- my top never let me down. It maintained its composure while I worked my way through dozens of Top 40 hits from today and yesterday.

Looking back on last night, I was definitely that girl. I got some looks and points and definitely some laughs. I stumbled home, still singing, with an F- in appropriate behavior but an A+ for appropriate wear.

Reborn, De-thorned. Let's try this again...

Things that lived in the dirt were generally invisible to me. I’m a city girl and hardly ever stop to smell the roses. Imagine my surprise when I moved into a new house that came with a large rose garden. Really? I’m supposed to keep those alive? (Dear Google, thank you for all of your help.)

I moved in, in the brown, dead winter. Again, imagine my surprise when my backyard started bursting with color this spring. The ugly brown bushes suddenly bloomed pink and purple Azaleas, the green, leafy tree turned blood red, dripping with Camellias, and a sad, gray tree bloomed perfect white flowers with perfect yellow centers. The best surprise was an unidentified tree (that I assumed dead) that miraculously sprouted giant green leaves. This significant discovery inspired a completely random and almost unexplainable action from me: yard work.

Me? Yard work? Hmmm. I started with a vine that was strangling the flowers. This prickly, nasty vine overwhelms the plants, choking off their colorful lives. I asked my man for a hand with one really stubborn weed, and then another strange thing happened. He didn’t stop.

Cut to 7 hours later- we were covered in dirt and hard work, but I was happy. We sweated those 7 hours out with a common cause: to kill ALL of those vines. We were united, and I should add that after a tumultuous year, it was perfectly what we needed.

Yard work? I know. I’m still shocked. Those 7 hours brought us closer than we’d been in a long time. We both showered and went out for Sushi. Even though my pallet usually stays somewhere between black to gray, I chose a bright green blouse from Urban Outfitters. Spring left its mark on me.

Spring is a lot like forgiveness. Things get bad, really bad. Flowers fall off bushes. Leaves evacuate trees. When all hope is lost, spring ushers in a reconciliation. The cycle is unending, and that gives me hope because every year those flowers come back, and there’s no shame in their return. I’m back, reborn, in green.