Genuine Imitations

Once upon a time, or rather in September 1988, two blonde girls were born. Rach and Bry. Twin dragons.  

We found this on the ground at the Pleasure Palace where the Xi'an Incident took place.

And although the phrase twin dragons rings of power and confidence they were destined to live shy, quiet lives of struggle and mediocrity. These girls would spend their lives defining themselves mainly by the following obvious things: the fact that they are twins and that NO ONE can seem to get past that fact; that their last name is Fix and that that is apparently hilarious; and that they are blonde. 


Admit it, you have a deep dark (maybe not all that) secret fascination with twins.  And you know what? I really can't blame you. Hell, I AM a twin and I find us fascinating. Well, not US. Bry and I can be rather boring when we really set our minds to it. However, I find other twins fascinating. I'll admit it, I stare. How freaking freaky is it to see two people standing next to each other that look the same??? 

This picture was not posed. We just naturally look this attractive.

SO weird. And now you're thinking, "But, Rach, that's what it looks like whenever Bry and you leave the house together. Shouldn't you be used to it?" The answer to that is no. When I'm out in public, I only see Bry unless I look at us in a passing window. I easily forget we look freakishly alike. So, yes, when I see a set of identical twins I do stare. Rather openly, unfortunately. There's nothing like getting caught staring at someone. If I'm caught staring at a pair of twins, I always want to go over and explain myself to them as if there's ever a good excuse for blatantly staring at a total stranger. It's like getting caught staring at a kid in a wheel chair. You go over to explain yourself and it comes out like, "No, it's totally cool if I stare at you. I've got a friend in a wheel chair. He's not here right now... but, I swear... Sorry I was creepy." It just doesn't work. So, going up to another twin that you've been caught staring at goes a little like, "Hey, sorry. I wasn't being creepy. I'm a twin, too. Oh, well she isn't out shopping with me today. Er... I just got a new phone or I'd show you a picture... Right, I'll stop bothering you." 

On top of growing up with half an identity, we were blessed with a kick ass last name.  I mean, this last name is so awesome that we were made fun of as far back as 1st grade.  Piddly little six and seven year olds were constantly snickering at roll call whenever a substitute teacher read our full names aloud. Don't even get me started on STAR testing.  That was the first time my sister and I had to write our name Last, First.  STAR testing brought about a new slew of jokes, and to be fair, our last name is so epic it should have a verb named after it.  In fact, it is a verb. 


 I often tell people how proud I am of my heritage although I wasn't thoroughly aware of what being German or Irish meant until almost the end of elementary school.  (When I was eleven I knew about as much information surrounding my culture and genealogy as I did about the function of a semi-colon in the English language; come to think of it I still think I use it incorrectly.) Every year  at Coyote Vally Elementary School the 4th graders had Pioneer Days reports, 5th graders did State reports, and 6th graders spent a whole month or so preparing a presentation on a country of choice.  

This picture is a lie. We are in fact 15 in this picture. We look 11, though, don't we?

This was my time to shine, to really delve into the world of my distant relatives that I distinctly pictured as all being three feet tall gingers dressed in green velvet.  During my extensive 6th grade level investigations it became suddenly obvious that our last name seemed to be from neither German nor Irish heritage.  It wasn't O'Something or McBlahblahblah and we weren't Von Stuff or Einwhatever... so how on Earth did our last name come to be?  Out of desperation for an answer to the often asked "Is Fix really your last name?", I began pulling people's legs with "Of course! Fix is the German verb for 'to repair'."  Yeah, I know.  It's not a particularly funny joke, and neither am I.  There you have it.


I hate blonde jokes. I really do. Alright, that's a bit of a lie. I hate that people make assumptions about me because of all the jokes they've heard. Ugh. Hell, before I was forced to bleach my hair back in May, our hair wasn't even all that blonde anymore.

Before

Rach after

After moving to cloudless (blatant sarcasm for anyone who's never visited) Humboldt County, my hair has grown in darker and darker with a lack of sunlight to lighten it. Just when I was adjusting to this fact I had to get it bleached to be in a commercial. Alright, I didn't have to. But it was that or not be in the commercial and I wasn't about to pass up my five seconds of fame. 

Pfft. What kind of fool do you take me for? Don't answer that. 

Being blonde has been a huge part of our identities. But then again we've always had a love-hate relationship with our hair. You always want what you don't have. In my heart, I've always wanted to be a curly ginger. I even tried to dye my hair red once... That didn't turn out as well as I'd hoped. And every time I've tried to curl my hair it's gone horribly wrong and turned crunchy and hard. Not good hair adjectives. Now, in all the years that I'd been blonde I had never felt particularly hot or attractive. Honestly, I'm fairly certain I wasn't. But when Bry and I were asked to be in a commercial they said they had such wonderful ideas for us. They wanted us to look like blonde bombshells! I loved idea until I realized that they wanted me to go blonder. We weren't real blondes in their eyes. What an identity crisis to have while straddling a toilet getting your hair bleached by a stranger. (Actually happened!) At first I avoided looking in the mirror. I couldn't stand to see my hair. It was like I'd had my identity taken out back and beaten. I couldn't believe anyone would do that to their hair on purpose! I ended up wearing more make-up just to feel like I looked right. And even after that I had my mom dye my hair a darker shade of blonde so I could feel less fake. I don't know if there's a lesson here or not... Um, don't base your identity off the color of your hair?


I'll end our first blog on a funny picture to lighten up the mood again:

Did I mention we were in a movie once?