La Rosa Knows

Remember that scene in Now and Then where Christina Ricci’s character has to deal with the horrors of wearing a bra? Meanwhile, Teeny is filling her training bra with vanilla pudding? Yeah, I was Christina in that scenario.

Growing up, I hated showers and wore my hair in a ponytail every day. I played soccer, (I was a defender), would climb trees, and had a “thing” for collecting caterpillar larvae. I don’t know why, it all just felt really fucking good. 

Then boobies hit. Which happened pretty early for me, at the ripe age of 11. I was terrified. Bras are basically medieval torture devices, right? Thusly, I HATED the idea of strapping myself into one. None of the other girls in my grade had to wear one, and yet, there I was, with two new ladies to call my own. By the time middle school rolled around I’d been given a new nickname by the guys in my class: “Double Bubble.” My best friend at the time was called “Pancake,” which was reflective of her own situation. (I’m happy to report that Pancake got some bubbles of her own, eventually.)

Time passed, and when high school hit, I got significantly more girly than I had been. I figured out how to brush my hair. I wore blush, much to my mother’s delight, and I’d even grown fond of wearing a bra. (Perhaps out of necessity more than anything else. After all, the ladies can get rather bouncy when left to their own devices.)

Now that I’m 28, you’d think I might have even more girlish tendencies, right? Not so much. This weekend I’m headed to Palm Springs with a group of girls, and I’m on an email chain where there’s an intense discussion about “flower crowns.”

If you’ve never seen one, here you go:

I know what these are, because a very girly friend of mine, (not going on this trip) made her own for Coachella this past year. And now, the girls I’m traveling with have plans to make crowns for all of us. Because girls look great in flower crowns. (No sarcasm at all there. I truly believe they are cute.)

That being said, the whole email thread gave me a mild panic attack. Because I realized that I don’t know how to make one, nor do I have the desire to do so. If someone hands me a crown, will I wear it? Probably, pending the color. But would I actually make one? Not so much. 

Every girl on this trip seems to be of the flowery persuasion. It’s part of why I love and am drawn to these girls too. They’re so different from me, and I think that’s awesome.

I can’t help but wonder, though, if there’s a secret former/current tomboy amongst the bunch who will sit the flower braiding out and hang with me while we chat about non-flower things… Like caterpillar larvae, for example.

Any other current adult tomboys out there?

• Tags
• teen
• teenager
• growing up
• tomboy
• christina ricci
• bra
• boobs
• puberty
• childhood
• nostalgia

It’s a funny thing about diaries—they’re not meant to be read by anyone else but you.

Unless you’re a masochist, like me, and sign up for a show called Mortified where people volunteer to get up onstage and read the horrifying things they wrote in childhood.

Next Wednesday, June 20, I will be performing in this series.

I’d encourage anyone in Los Angeles to come out and watch, especially since the show’s creator, David Nadelberg, told me he’s having a hard time picking which humiliating story of mine I should tell.

Did I say to come to this show? I meant don’t come, please don’t come and laugh at me.

• Tags
• David Nadelberg
• Los Angeles
• Mortified
• childhood
• diary
• storytelling
• my life