Queens Wear Crowns.
I lost my virginity on Friday.
I did it. I finally did it.
And unlike how these things usually go, it was absolutely great. (I mean, no matter what...there's obviously always room for improvement...we are talking about losing the v card here. That is...unless you lost it to Jason Momoa. Or Charlie Hunnam. Or Jeffrey Dean Morgan. Or Michael Madsen. I'm sorry...have you SEEN him in Reservoir Dogs?!)
Guys... I lost my cancer v card. I WORE MY HEAD SCARF IN PUBLIC FOR THE FIRST TIME.
AHHHH. Ahh? AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.
People will say, "your hair doesn't define you."
I'm fully aware of that. Because otherwise, I would still be in jail based on the dye job I gave myself during my freshman year of college. Like we're talking full on FELONY hairslaughter here. It was so, SO bad.
I realize my hair doesn't define me. But it's been there during the good times...and OBVIOUSLY bad. I mean, this bleach blonde dye job was SO BAD...I'm surprised my hair didn't fall out then in rebellion for knocking myself with the ugly stick.
I don't say this ironically or sarcastically...I am 100% serious. Big head and all...bald would have been a better look on me than than attempting bleach blonde hair.
Attempting...and failing. Kind of like Lena Dunham's acting career. Or Michael Avenatti's legal career. Or the time I actually lost my virginity.
But...dear god. Talk about a bad hair day....AKA MONTHS. It was awful.
Ironically what made it extra terrible wasn't JUST the dye job. I also had a TERRIBLE cheap spray tan. Remember spray gate 2019?...aka ANOTHER bad spray tan incident that occured TEN YEARS LATER. Clearly I have learned nothing.
(My mother says I like to cause my own problems. I suppose she's right.)
Back to my story. So my beautiful goddess musical unicorn of a best friend...the one I awkwardly talked about murdering in an earlier post (once again mama K, I promise I have no intentions whatsoever of actually murdering your daughter)...found this fantastic company in NYC that makes head scarves and she told me to pick one out, so we could get matching ones. #headscarfsolidarity #ceeceescloset
If you haven't noticed by now I have a flair for the dramatic. She does too.
...Mine is just more like "my phone died therefore the world is ending and I'm going to fling myself off this building" dramatic. Or "Starbuck's is out of PSL's and everything sucks and life isn't worth living" dramatic. Her's is more like...rocking a fantastic outfit which sometimes includes statement earrings and a bear canister. Yeah. She solo backpacks. In the Pacific Northwest.
I'm still not sure why anyone would VOLUNTARILY climb 21 miles up and down a mountain, with a fucking 30 pound pack on their back..."for fun." I think she's joined a cult. But none-the-less...she's badass. If that's not making a dramatic statement, then I don't know what does.
Ironically, we met in high school drama class.
This means we LIVE for a dramatic look (#IMADEITNICE). Aka our lipstick game is kinda sorta totallycompletelyonehundredpercent very important. Just like meditation and spirituality are also very important.
She meditates during sunrise with prayer beads. I watch Bravo.
Still. Lipstick and being flamboyant andloudanddramaticanddoingallthelouddramaticthings has always been big a big part of my life.
Granted...that was slightly sidetracked with the whole getting raped and gaining weight aka depression plus the cancer thing and then the MORE cancer thing...but at least the upside to having to come to terms with possible soon impending death is a "fuck it" mentality.
I don't mean like jumping out of airplanes sorta thing. Honestly, my fear of heights is so irrational I think I'd rather do chemo than that....I don't mean like a FULL round, but maybe like a day...dare I say 2?
If we're talking about a full round, I'll take the airplane....along with a faulty parachute.
CALM DOWN...MORBID HUMOR IS MY THING. Obviously the whole point of this whole thing is I don't want to die.
All I'm saying is that coming off a round of chemo and having to think of another one...call me Katniss. I fully volunteer as tribute for a faulty parachute.
So I was supposed to go to work with my roommate on Friday. Aka "let your sick friend tag along with you to work day Friday because she has no life." He's in radio, I'm fascinated by the process, and I enjoy to go with him when I can.
But, it turned out that my parents wanted to meet me for lunch.
...I had a moment where I almost said no to both.
I didn't want to go out in a headscarf. I've been out before...but not this bald...and only to the doctors. Ironically, the nice thing about an oncology office is that everyone there has something in common. Aka the worst thing about an oncology office is that everyone there has something in common.
So, this would be the first time I would go out in public. Like...PUBLIC public.
And what would I wear? My first headscarf was an utter and total fail. Aka my fat head is so fat that it wouldn't fit my fat head.
I had a dramatic conversation conversation with my mom the other day. You know, the "I am woman hear me roar" kind of bullshit where I dramatically announced that I was just going to go out bald and who cares if anyone else feels uncomfortable this is MY life and MY illness and they can just DEAL WITH IT.
*insert dramatic hair flip here* ...well with what's left of it.
So...yeah. Clearly I'm not at my Britney Spears circa 2007 phase yet. Although all things considered, I fully admire the kind of commitment it takes to FULLY shave your head. Girl was going THROUGH it. Damn.
And yes, a couple other head wraps/scarves/whatever the fuck you want to call them came in the mail...but I need to do laundry so I can wear these other headscarves. Because at the moment the shirts that would match them are dirty. Oops.
Thankfully, I have the beautiful headscarf that said beautiful unicorn goddess (that I talked about murdering) best friend sent me, but...how.
How. What. Why. Who. How.
HOW DO YOU TIE THESE THINGS.
The irony of all this (aside from all the other ironies I am currently dealing with) is that doing my hair was always my LEAST favorite thing to do my entire life.
Seriously, affidavit any of my friends. They all know my speech... "I LOVEEEE doing my makeup. I just HATEEE doing my hair" I would dramatically declare. Still do, TBH.
...Except now, I'm having to spend a tremendous amount of time on my hair...head...call it what you want...THAT I DON'T EVEN HAVE ANY MORE.
Like I said. Irony.
Anyways. So this headscarf is beautiful. The fabric is soft but stiff and beautiful shades of coral and teal and purple and pink and orange. AND it matches the shirt I want to wear (or at least one that's clean). WIN WIN.
So I've had many internal monologues with myself that since I don't know what the future holds...I need to do as much as I can, when I can, while I can.
...aside from skydiving. Or watching anything Lena Dunham is in. Or giving myself another spray tan. I'm not opposed to spray tans...I just need to leave that to the professionals.
...and seeing as how I see my roommate almost every day, I decide lunch with my parents sounds perfect. Plus, I wanted to...no, NEEDED TO do something after the hellish week I've had.
I mean, Liam and Miley BROKE UP guys. I'm still recovering from Jen and Brad and Brad and Angie. And on top of that, I lost my glasses, I got an involuntary boob job, AND had to have chemotherapy.
**Side note...to anyone that breastfeeds, y'all are the real MVP's. I've heard the breastfeeding stories. NOPE. I would say this is why God made it so I could never have children. Hey God...I NEVER WANTED THEM ANYWAY. Well, maybe for like a day. Or less than a day....say, an afternoon. You know, in between diaper changes and naps and when they are all cute and cuddly and cooing. Although I know diaper changes can happen very rapidly. Plus they can be cute and cuddly and cooing mid-diaper change. IDK.
You get my point. I just don't want to like...HAVE them have them.
FUCK COULD I RAMBLE ANY MORE?! Point is my tits hurt and are swollen on a level I would equate to breastfeeding. It went from really bad to really really bad and getting worse. And you guys actually CHOOSE that option. Like I said, real MVP's. Women rock.**
...So what I was TRYING TO SAY is that I decided to get fabulous (more so than I already am...obvi...) and go to lunch with my parents.
Things that used to be habitual in my life have now become a process. So to start, I blasted the queen of headscarves herself...Beyonce aka THE Queen. Sorry Elizabeth.
"Siri, play God is a Woman by Ariana Grande." JK. Ariana Grande sucks.
With Beyonce blasting, I did my makeup. I picked out my outfit.
I figured that spending almost an hour on my makeup would prevent me from bursting into tears that currently have a way of happening more often than not.
It worked...for the most part.
There were a few tear ups. Like when I put on pants that haven't fit me for YEARS but finally fit me a few weeks ago...and now are loose. BTW we're talking about jeans from high school.
I teared up because my chest started really hurting which brought my mind back to my new reality.
I teared up because after watching many different head scarf tying tutorials, none of those worked...because my head is big, I am balding, my face is puffy, and life's not fair.
But, like I said. Mama didn't raise no bitch. I didn't cry. (I mean, I did cry AFTER lunch on the way home because I can't help but think...how many more moments like these will I have with my parents? Or people I love. And will Miley and Liam get back together? But I didn't cry BEFORE. Hashtag winning.)
So, I decided to stay true to my brand, and said fuck it. Queens wear crowns. And I am a mother fucking QUEEN. (A queen that needs to stay from spray tan. But still, none-the-less, a fucking queen.)
I decided to do my own version of a head scarf tie.
I did the main twist on top of my head like all the videos I watched showed. (I also had to put a sock over my bun to make it bigger to do the main twist). But then, like I've done many times in my life (usually related to taking one to many tequila shots)...I said FUCK it...and I decided to jerry-rig the thing and do my own.
I stared at myself in the mirror. I wasn't fully happy with it but it was better than anything I had done so far...and I went with it. It started to grow on me. Then, I loved it.
Sure, there's room for improvement. But in that moment, I loved it. I took a selfie. I still love it.
I put on my lipstick.
I put on the biggest pair of earrings I could find.
I also put on my favorite pair of heels...and I went to lunch.
I felt naked. I felt exposed. I felt everyone looking at me.
Oh. I also felt tall. Umm...I guess I forgot to mention I was wearing 6" heels. I'm 5' 9". You do the math. Oh, and a headscarf that added at least 2".
So every eye on me in the room probably had much more to do with the fact that everyone was looking UP at me rather than AT me.
But I did it.
I lost my cancer v card.
I made it through another day.
I might have ovarian cancer and breast cancer and god knows what else at this point.
Every part of my body that makes me a woman is attacking my womanly body.
...But I am still a woman. I AM a woman. I AM a queen.
And you know what?
...Queens wear crowns.