Friday, March 7

Friday Confessions

Well, after a one-week break from baring my soul and scaring you all, I'm back with a new confession. One that will give you a peek into my warped soul life. Please still love me after you read this.

A little bit about moi. I homeschool. I stay at home. We are very conservative Christians. I now have babies at home, I breastfed David until he was 14 months old, and use cloth diapers. I buy groceries in bulk. I have gardens and chickens. I mostly wear skirts because I think they are more modest, more feminine, and honestly, more comfortable. I'm not this gal:
(and I'm sure she's a wonderful person), but I do try to dress on the conservative side. I've even been known to wear a head covering.

Not me:

But it's possible that I do own this skirt:

However, I have a dream. Not this kind of dream (although it might make more sense after I tell you what I'm about to tell you).

Here's my alter ego:

That's right. In my 'other life,' I'm Rachel Bilson. I have a studio loft in downtown Austin. (I'm single, so I can do that.) I work at the fabulous little store (Anthropologie, maybe?) for my day job, and I have a few variations on my night job. Sometimes I'm the know-it-all host of some snooty high-end, exclusive restaurant. Sometimes I'm the awesome bartender that's kind of mysterious, but totally hot, and makes lots of tips while never letting anyone know anything about her.

I don't have all the physical tell-tales of having children, like 4,982 stretch marks. And saggy boobs. And spider veins she showed up when I was 18 years old and pregnant with Sam. I mean, what? Huh? What were we talking about?

Oh, my alter ego. Right. I can pull off outfits like this:

And this:

And let's not forget this:

Sometimes, instead of being Snooty Host Girl or Awesome Bar Gal, I'm the ultimate ... Rock Star Girl!!

(Ok, I think even my alter ego wouldn't actually wear this, but you know what I mean.)

My band is cool, and local, and a little indie, but a little hippie, too. I vacillate between being the bassist or drummer, but I'm totally cool, no matter what I do. Seriously. I even have writing credits on our album.

Sometimes, I'm also Kate Hudson, minus the blonde hair and famous mom. I like my mom, and she's still my alter ego's mom. She comes to all the shows she can make, and shops at my boutique, and gets the best seat in my restaurant on Friday nights without having to make a reservation. I wouldn't do that for Goldie Hawn. My mom is waaay cooler than that. I'm just saying.

Anyway, that's me sometimes.

And for the record, here in real life, I do have a couple of quirks. I've been known to dye streaks of my hair purple (and not just when I was younger). I still really want to get my nose pierced but my husband won't let me. I own a killer pair of rock star cowboy boots, and I look great when I wear them with my rock star-esque jeans. I used to have piercings that had to be removed when I started breastfeeding, and I just never put back in. What? Who said that?

(My mom is totally going to kill me for saying that last one, but she's out of town right now. Maybe she won't notice. Right? It's not like she's not the most observant person I've ever met, so I'm sure it will pass right by her ... right? Please?)

It probably sounds like I spend way too much time in fantasy land thinking about this. I really don't. It's taken me years to refine this alter ego, because I spend so little time thinking about her. I love my life. My husband is amazing beyond all words. My kids have me wrapped around their little fingers, and know it, and they mean the world to me. I would never, ever, for a single second trade my real life for my alter ego's life. Ever.

But sometimes ... my kids drive me crazy. Sometimes, I know I love them, but I wonder how much I like them at that exact moment in time. Ditto the great husband. (As it turns out, he and I are both human, so we butt heads and act like buttheads to each other. Luckily, this happens few and far between, and we might get into a spat about once a month. If that.) Sometimes, the housework gets to me (did you know I have mopping issues?), and I think how lucky my alter ego is, because she lives in a small, minimalist studio loft and has a very naturally clean personality. Clutter bothers her, so there's not so much of it around. Lucky her. I mean, me. Wait, is she me? It's all very confusing.

But she's sad, and doesn't know why. Her life is full, but not complete. When she drives through the country (on her way to another gig, of course!!), she wistfully looks out the window and sighs. Poor thing.

But sometimes, I just want a martini. I'm just saying.

No, I don't. Just kidding.

But not really.

No, seriously. I don't want a martini. Really.

Because I actually want a white russian.


No, I'm not. Well, I kind of am.

I'm just saying.


At A Hen's Pace said...

Brea, I thought this was hilarious. And I totally know what you mean.

My alter ego emerged when my daughter became a teenager and suddenly we started sharing shoes and earrings and tops and makeup and hairstyle tips. Her girlfriends love my tennies and the boys all think I'm pretty cool (as moms go). Best of all, I occasionally get mistaken for her sister!

Yeah, it's fun to pretend a little sometimes...



tinymama's mama said...

Missy - you were adopted. I've been waiting for a special, intimate time to tell you. You are not my blood. As evidenced from your post. There is nothing wrong with adoption. You were chosen. But you are not my blood. I'm jus saying.

Huh? What?