Color In, Color Out

All right.  A few changes to my physical person came about during our family vacation to Wyoming.  Some of my readers who know me may be scratching their heads over the tattoo my right hip is now sporting, or the platinum blond wisps now covering my head.  Fear not.  My sanity is yet intact.  Or, at least in the same condition it was upon leaving on this trip.  No, it was not the mountain air or the Crown Royal and Coke I held aloft for Cousin Juanita during my first evening there.  For the entirety of the visit, I was in complete control of my faculties.  I had fun.  In fact, I had a blast most of the time.  But it was the little things, like the Scrabble game with my husband, Aunt Marie, and Cousin Laurie, which made the best impressions and etched the deepest memories.

Save for the matter of the etching in my skin and the bleaching on my scalp.  About those . . .

The reasons for both go back a bit.  Solid foundations.  For those not in the know, when I hit 30, I shaved my head to satisfy a curiosity I had held for over a year.  My long tresses disappeared during the course of a slightly dramatic evening, culminating in sighs of surrender from my mother and the whisper of scissors from my younger sister right before the buzzing of the dog clippers in the reluctant hands of my spouse.  Total baldness lasted roughly two weeks as I could not long endure the nails-on-chalkboard rasp the razor made on my tightly-knit hair follicles!  (I get the shivers just thinking about it.) 

So, when a couple of magazine pics of gals with white-blond and platinum blond ended up in my journal last October, I knew there was an itch in need of scratching.  By the time I took my long locks to medium in November and short in April, I'd decided now was the time to damage my hair in search of my inner blondie.  If things went terribly wrong, growing it all back wouldn't take much time, and my vanity has ebbed enough to withstand the possible ramifications.  Cousin Claudette nailed it: the services were free, and she educated my hair-illiterate self.  It was an adventure.  I did it.  Itch satisfied.  It won't last much longer than the bald thing.  Fast as my hair grows -- we have spotted tiny black roots against my pure white scalp already -- I can't afford to keep it this way.  And, truth be told, the shade does nothing for my coloring.  I look like a baby bird.  Every time I stroll past a mirror and catch sight of myself, I am shocked all over again.

Now, tattoos are another thing.  In all of my 40 years, I have never EVER expressed a curiosity in such body art.  My youngest brother is 3/4 of the way covered: a good percentage self-writ.  Several cousins and their spouses are engaged in ongoing additions to their original works.  Every one of my children wants to go under the gun as soon as possible; my eldest boasts two at this time.

What I do have is a loyalty to my good friends.  In turn, they have a pull on me.  One shining gal of the full-lipped smile and gregarious giggle has been in my life since my high school freshman year.  Due to my childhood lifestyle, long term friends of that nature are a rarity.  So, when this particular pal of mine, Laurie G., observed the "friend tattoos" of a young relative and her best friend, she turned to me with those wide laughing eyes and asked why WE didn't have such an ode to our connection.  Suddenly, it seemed like the most logical action in the world to take while enjoying our stay under her gracious roof.

We settled upon nicknames, tossing out 'Laur' and 'Glor' in favor of the 'GL' (for Gloria) and 'LG' (her initials, which soon became 'Algae') we used when signing off on our numerous letters back in the day.  The pen nub on mine denotes a love of writing.  The entire process was over within half an hour!  This next week, LG will decide upon her personalization logo, and get her ink while the getting is good.  Our artist at "Pain For Sale" clocked out early and Laur missed her window while I was there.  I'm trusting her to go through with it now that I've sullied my reputation.  GRIN!

There you have it.  The whole sordid story of my transmogrification.  Turning into a bad girl in the Badlands.  Be warned!