Sequins and pearls and beads, oh my!

There’s a quinceañera party for the village (it’s turning 15 years old) and I need to come up with a quinceañera outfit for a quinceañera happy hour party.

Ironically enough, I have a grape-colored quinceañera dress in my costume bins.

I wore it to a wedding at unSCruz that was inspired by the movie Labyrinth.

I paired it with delicate silver wings, hair jewels, and a delicate silver choker..

It seemed like the perfect dress at the time – big, floofy, and very very bejeweled.

Which brings me to the problem I’m running into:

Bejeweled dresses are at high risk for mooping.

So I can’t wear my current quinceañera dress on the playa.

I need something else.


Quinceañera dresses are notorious for taking up tons of space in storage, so I’m not thrilled that I’ll be packing a dress that takes up TONS OF SPACE in my travel bins.

And quite frankly, quinceañera dresses are not the most flattering type of dress for my body type.

Take a nice curvy body and throw a shit ton of fabric at it and you get a cupcake.

In that order, those are my quinceañera dress concerns:  MOOP, space, and flattering cut.

I do happen to have a white dress (for White Wednesday) that I might be able to repurpose into some sort of quinceañera-like dress, though it won’t be as fluffy or fancy.

To make up for it, I’m thinking I’ll wear a crown or a tiara – both common practices at quinceañera parties – and call it a costume.

I’m not thrilled that it’s white.

White seems awfully bridal and when you add a tiara, the results are very. . . ahem, nuptial.


I’m worried about the crown losing it’s jewels on the playa.

More MOOP!

This is what I struggle with – trying to make a non-MOOPY costume out of an inherently MOOPY activity.


Liver dialysis?

It was a crappy day for me.  Mostly because my ex-husband served me with papers.  We’re heading back to court.  Yay!  So when I was invited to stop at a restaurant and join a friend for Happy Hour, I figured why not?

I walk in and my friend Clint is sitting at a table with three young professional types – one a dazzling petite Filipino woman, her fiancé, and a nondescript white man who talked incessantly about his golf index and his workout regime.

They’re talking shop, they’re talking money.  They’re throwing around big numbers.  They work in real estate.  They turn their attention to me.  What do I do?

Clint explains that I work for Stanford University in stem cell research.  He’s bragging a little.

“She’s a smart one,” he says.

The young Filipino woman turns to me, “So you’re into growing new body parts?” she asks.

“It’s more like discovering the process by which our own body parts can regrow.  Did you know the Prometheus myth is true?  Humans can regrow 90% of their liver. Why not other body parts?” I respond.


She snorts, “If that was the case, then why is there dialysis?”

She said it.  She really did.  Normally, I expect those accidental stupid comments to come from me, but this time it came from someone else.

“Isn’t dialysis for your kidneys?” I ask politely.

“Oh yeah, right.”

For a moment, I felt sad for Clint, spending his evening with there rather self-absorbed young professionals who couldn’t talk about anything besides themselves.  How difficult it must be to find substance and value in an industry which brims with people who worship the dollar sign.

Suddenly, I was happy to get in my truck and drive home.