Guess I’ll have to make the next one shorter. Today, hitting the bumps on the way to the bus means scraping the roof with my fancy pants tiara. Oops. Engineering issue.
i neglected to wear a tiara Friday while working at home, and Saturday for the same reason. But I made a few more Thursday, so I’m ready to wear em out in public next week. Since I’m in public today, I’m wearing one now. Also, it’s beyond silly, so it needs to be a mainly-at-home one.
You know, I don’t even care so much about wearing them. It’s making them that feels so good. Creating something. Finishing something. I love it. Aiming to wear one daily just keeps me moving and making more. Keeps me on track.
I can’t decide if I need to make a bunch ahead for our road trip next week or if I’ll make them while on the trip. Likely I’ll do both. Plus, I at least have to make one to marry my friends in a week.
Hmm, what kind of tiara says “dudeist priestess”?
Last week’s tiaras:
On my birthday I forced all of my friends to drink beer with me and to wear tiaras. Most complied, to their credit and my great joy.
But after that I was like hey…why shouldn’t I wear one, like all the time? I mean, I was treated pretty royally for my birthday, and rather than demand my friends and loved ones indulge my every whim every day, maybe I’ll just treat myself nicely every day instead. A daily tiara will help me remember that.
Everyone could use a little reminder to be nice to herself daily. Not party-indulgent all the time, but little things. Five minutes to herself with a quiet cup of tea. Or the shade of lipstick she loves. Or those shoes. Or saying no to a social obligation and yes to her own time. Day-tiara level indulgences, not the Crown Jewels.
So yeah. I am making and wearing one every day this year, because my daily teatime of the soul is being creative. And I’ll share the message and the tiaras as I go. Keep ya posted.
Wow, first of all, killer birthday this year. I highly recommend everyone ask for what you want for your birthday. Turns out you can get it. I asked my friends to show up and show me their O-faces, and they COMPLIED. Man, yall earned those stickers. Straight up.
Edit: a couple of these beauties never loaded.
“My birthday’s on Tuesday and I’d like a pink parasol.”
“Well, pink’s my favorite color, too.”
Kudos if you know the quote. For me, I’ve been waiting a long time to say my birthday’s on Tuesday. (But I don’t need or want a parasol of any color. That part is just for the quote completion. If you know me, you know my speech is filled with non-sequiturs for the sake of quoting movies, comnercials, and lyrics. Roll with it. It’s shake and bake and I helped.)
What’s more, I already got what I wanted: all my friends in a room eating cake and making jokes with me. That’s it. Just their time and attention for a few hours. And maybe some unicorns, time permitting.
I learned, finally, that you can get what you want, but most reliably when you ask for it. Well, that only took forever to figure out.
So go ask for your pink parasol. You might not get it, and that’s ok. Someone uninterested in bestowing or collecting gifts might politely dodge your request by changing the subject back to herself even though she specifically asked to hear something about you and each of your siblings and why won’t she just admit she fell in love with your father and anyway she’ll resign before dinner and omg did you see her face about the spiders because we so totally have her number, the bitch. But you certainly won’t get it if you don’t ask.
I’m finally feeling like a Californian.
Yesterday it was a million degrees* in Silicon Valley, so some friends from work invited us to go swimming in the ocean and escape the heat. She promised it would be cooler there, but all I could think about was burning hot sand and a scorching sun.
She was right. I was wrong.
First of all, I felt like a super badass going to the beach on a whim. “It’s 5:30 and we have no plans. Sure, let’s throw on a bathing suit and head over.” Wow. I live in California!
Second, we knew there would be traffic. Oh the constant traffic. People who live near the beach watch the changing tides; people everywhere in California watch the ebb and flow of traffic. Ceaseless. So we got on MBF’s motorcycle and wove our way** through a near-standstill on the Pacific Highway. About halfway there (we travelled a few miles down the road to a less-travelled beach than the Santa Cruz boardwalk we’re familiar with), we entered a fog bank curling around a stand of huge eucalyptus trees. The fog made their sweet scents even more pungent. Immediately, we lost the sun and about 15 ambient degrees. Our t-shirts were no longer appropriate wear, and we realized why everyone has sweaters handy year round.
Finally, after ducking under some pretty rough and tall waves that even the locals were avoiding (they called them “bully” waves), we receded to the parking lot, sticky with salt and sand. It was too cold for me to consider the return trip in a t-shirt, so like a fully-local Californian, I rode on the back of the motorcycle in my wetsuit.
After shucking off my suit and hosing the sand and salt from it, I realized just how much of the beach I’d inherited as part of my Californian indoctrination: roughly a metric shit-ton. My scalp, eyebrows, and ears were clogged with sand from the heavy surf. Somehow the sand had even been driven up into the ankles of my wetsuit.
I figure I’ll stop finding sand on the floor and upholstery in roughly October. My ears might never be free of the stuff.
*A million degrees in local currency is around 95 Farenheit. Aka “nice weather” in Texas.
**I can’t believe it’s legal for motorcycles to do that here. Encouraged, even. At one point, another motorcyclist rolled by us, sharing the lane with us CHiPs style. He pulled in close to us and gave us each a fist bump. Whoa. New experiences abound!