Silent Sunday: Sexy #Chanel Sunglasses

 

 

The new collection…MUST HAVE THESE! Must feed my Chanel obsession. chanelsunglases

 

not needy, wanty

Silent Sunday: Peppermint Striped Rose

Just before the petals fall…
peppermintstripedrose

 

 

 

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Vogue’s Vague Blunder and If Conscious Uncoupling is the New Divorce, Maybe I Need to Sign Up

I’ve been a bit out of sorts at Casa de Enchanted Seashells, I might be a tad snarkier than usual. My Tugboat man’s been home for a while and I’m seriously contemplating a temporary conscious uncoupling because he picked up a horrible bug somewhere and he’s been coughing, sneezing, whiny, cranky, grumpy – and he’s getting on my very. last. nerve. Guys make the worst patients, don’t they?
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What a few days this has been for America’s celebrity watchers!

Number One…Vogue, WTF?
Kimchee, I mean, KimYe, Kim and Kanye, baby momma and baby daddy, unmarried ‘rents of a compass direction, the magnetic true North, (Didn’t they hear my momma mantra, “No Cohabitation Without Documentation“?)

How did y’all pull off the cover and all that fluffy copy in Vogue? Hmmm?

Somehow, somewhere, I truly believe a shitload of cash must have been deposited into Anna Wintour’s offshore bank account, because how else could she justify the dummying down of Vogue Mag, the Vogue I’ve salivated over since I was a little girl in Detroit, using my shiny silvery rounded edged scissors to cut out my favorite aspirational fashions and paste them in my wish book.

HOW COULD YOU, ANNA WINTOUR??

How can you justify putting them on your cover?

You have hurt me to my core, Anna Wintour. I am SO disappointed in you. Really.

I loved Vogue, Vogue is fashion. Uber fashion. High fashion. Picture me, Princess Rosebud, in Detroit, drooling over haute couture (even the term is exotic and exciting), sucking in my rosy little cheeks to play “model”, walking across my bedroom floor with a stack of books on my head. I inhaled the smell of the print on a fresh mag (still do) —  and the added treat of those fragrance samples nestled between the pages.

This is where I honed my WANTS and desires of a material nature.

I am a material girl.

However, Kim Kardashian actually disgusts me. Her fame is based soley on a sex tape–A SEX TAPE. I’ve never seen it, nor do I ever want to, but I heard about it. She has no discernible talents or skills except for achieving the ultimate in a superficial and meaningless life.

GREAT message to send our impressionable young women, Kimmy! Way to go!

Maybe that’s my problem. I should have done a sex tape and accidentallyonpurpose leaked it to the media/public and then I’d be rich and famous, too! Too late now, right?

The KardKlan sells a line of klothing at Sears, and although there’s absolutely nothing wrong with SEARS, this is VOGUE, people. I want Chanel, Dior, YSL, MiuMiu, Burberry, Louboutin…all that jazz.

And I bet that no one knows that I have a personal connection with Vogue. When my Angel Boy was four and adorable, he had an agent and did a fashion shoot for the Italian Vogue. My baby boy! A model! He HATED it so it was a VERY short-lived career. Sigh. He was soo cute.

SHAME ON YOU, ANNA WINTOUR! SHAME ON VOGUE!

I’m on Vogue, too! Look at me and my new hard crush, Richard Roxburgh, star of the AU Rake, a MUST SEE. Don’t we make a LOVELY couple?

My Vogue Cover

On To Number Two…Gwinnie and Chris
WTF is a goop? I never would have googled goop (that’s funny, say it ten times…googlegoop googlegoop…haha) but I say BRAVO to Gwinnie for capitalizing on the death of her marriage to Coldplay hottie Chris Martin by making it a front page story to drive traffic to her website/blog.

Way to go, Gwinnie! Yay for exploitation! Apparently, nothing IS sacred anymore. Not even the conscious pulling off of the wings of your marriage.

But I bit, I went there, I “gooped” — and this is the gobbledygook goop that I found there.

Hey, Gwinnie, did you know this is the definition I found for “goop”?

Ick, right? Totes ick. Ewww.
goop

Mucho negative valence here, Gwinnie!

While visiting goop, I learned about this new age term,  “conscious uncoupling”, this systematic undoing of a marital contractual obligation, kind of like Jenga, carefully taking out one piece at a time until one day it totally crumbles. Who’s the loser? Who’s the winner?

Is that what you mean, Gwinnie?

You are so blah to me, sorry, I just never GOT you, you never thrilled me with your acting, and your personal life seems so CONTRIVED and FAKE.

Are you also dedomiciling, going phfft, disassembling?

And what about the kids? How do you plan to consciously uncouple them?

In the midst of all the important and serious events in this world, the media has focused tons of attention on these unimportant stories.

Just in case you missed it all, you’re welcome!

From goop:

Conscious Uncoupling

It is with hearts full of sadness that we have decided to separate. We have been working hard for well over a year, some of it together, some of it separated, to see what might have been possible between us, and we have come to the conclusion that while we love each other very much we will remain separate. We are, however, and always will be a family, and in many ways we are closer than we have ever been. We are parents first and foremost, to two incredibly wonderful children and we ask for their and our space and privacy to be respected at this difficult time. We have always conducted our relationship privately, and we hope that as we consciously uncouple and coparent, we will be able to continue in the same manner.

 

 

I Fell Down and a Baby Popped Out.

In that order, but it took a whole day to achieve my life’s greatest accomplishment.

In 1981, March 23 fell on a Monday.

This year, my Angel Boy is in New York at a conference at NYU. My BABY boy is not a baby anymore. That’s a hard concept to grasp…

The day before…
I took my dogs, Beowulf and Sabrina, out for an early morning walk.

My mom was going to come over around noon and take me shopping — see, that’s where I get it from!

It was a full week past my due date and those pesky Braxton Hicks contractions were terrifying me on a daily basis. My mom was the head RN of Women’s Surgical at a local hospital. She thought a bit of retail therapy (see what I mean?) would take my mind off of that discomfort.

At that time, my son’s dad and I lived in an older part of San Diego; Hillcrest. The sidewalks were deteriorated with huge cracks and fissures.

With my big belly full of Angel Boy blocking my view, I tripped and fell — not hard — but with sixty extra pounds on my normally one hundred pound frame, I was more than a little ungainly.

I remember being super embarrassed for anyone to watch my feeble attempts to get up. Luckily, no one was out that early. I leaned on Beowulf (one-hundred-pounds of Akita/Husky/Wolf) who stood about thirty inches at his shoulders, and he was a sturdy support to help me up.

I continued walking home — just a few blocks — and didn’t think much about my fall, but I did tell my mom when she picked me up to go to the mall.

She knew everything there was to know about birthin’ babies.

She reminded me that she had told me a zillion times not to go walking alone this late in pregnancy, but I replied like I always did, “Blah, blah, blah…I’m not listening to a word you say.”

We stopped at a lingerie shop and she bought me a beautiful rosebud sprigged shortie nightgown.

As we were leaving the store, I whispered to her, “Mom, I think I wet my pants.”

(Dumb me, who had read every single book ever written about pregnancy and childbirth, didn’t comprehend what had happened.)

My mom instantly went into what we always called her “nursey” mode.

Quizzing me non-stop about any other symptoms in a very calm voice, we cut short our shopping day (darn) and drove home.

I don’t want to be too gross here; let’s just say other things were leaking out of me, too…

Suddenly, those Braxton Hicks contractions became the real thing.

I called my doctor. It was time.

All during my pregnancy, I had planned to deliver at home, au natural, with my mom as midwife.

Toward the end, it became obvious that my Angel Boy was too big for that to be possible.

I hate hospitals.

I didn’t want that atmosphere to be the first memories implanted in my baby’s precious brain. With reluctance, I agreed that his health was more important than my hippie chick desires, and hubs, mom, and I all went to the hospital.

The doc examined me, concluded that the fall had merely torn the amniotic sac and the potential for introducing bacteria was a concern, so I agreed to let him completely puncture it to speed up the process.

And oh yes, speed it up it did. The mild contractions intensified.

Other than the unrelenting pain, which didn’t respond to that stupid Lamaze class training, I remember my son’s dad watching “Patton” on the wall TV in the birthing room.

I will always hate him for that.

After being in labor all night, my mom and the doc had a consultation.

Apparently, my baby had a head the size of Plymouth Rock and it was stuck.

It just wouldn’t come out.

I was so upset I couldn’t stop crying.

I had failed my first test as a mom.

So…at 9:42 a.m. on Monday, March 23, 1981, I had an emergency Caesarean Section.

I was wide awake and watched it all.

In the end, I guess it didn’t really matter how my Angel Boy got here.

He was beautiful and healthy; 8 1/2 pounds and 21 inches. He scored a 9 on the Apgar Scale; a high achiever from the beginning!

Happy 33rd birthday, Professor Angel Boy!

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babyJ
sailorsuitJ
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Totally Wordless Wednesday: Pure Ivory, A Virtuous Lily

Pure Ivory, A Virtuous LilyWhite Calla Lily close upPhoto Credit:
Princess Rosebud @Enchanted Seashells, Confessions of a Tugboat Captain’s Wife

Best JewMom Film: A Review of “Guilt Trip”

Since it’s almost Purim and Passover, this is the PERFECT time for a little JewMom guilt, dontcha think?

First of all, don’t go all hinky on me; I maintain the right to use the term “JewMom” not only affectionately, but proudly, respectfully, and accurately, because I AM a JewMom. Probably the JewMommiest Mommy of them all, to be totes honest with y’all.

ince it’s almost Purim and Passover, this is the PERFECT time for a little JewMom guilt, dontcha think?

I CONFESS (this IS Confessions of a Tugboat Captain’s Wife and I DO confess transgressions and deep dark secrets every once in a while just to keep me honest and to keep you guys on your toes)

So, I CONFESS that I saw “Guilt Trip” three times in the last two weeks. CRZY. Cray. Beyond cray.

Why, you ask? Netflix stuck? TV broke? Dementia? (That description is from my snarky son, Angel Boy, I mean DOCTOR Angel Boy.)

Here’s how it happened. I was baking up a storm, a marathon baking sesh ‘cos my son, DIL, AND tugboat man were all arriving at Casa de Enchanted Seashells virtually within hours of each other, which meant that I had one train station pickup and two airport pickups back to back to back.

While the Ginger + Ginger Cake was in the oven and chocolate chip cookies were cooling on a rack, I poured myself a glass of chard and searched through Netflix for something funny with which to entertain myself while i allowed myself a relaxing moment or two.

On Netflix “Guilt Trip” came up a few times in New Releases and Newly Added and Suggestions for me, but I kept looking for something else, cos the thumbnail pic of Seth Rogan and Barbra Streisand didn’t really call out to me – film marketing companies need to work on their thumbnails! — but then nothing else did either, so I thought I’d give it a try.

I’m so glad I did ‘cos it was an unexpected and sweetly funny surprise. Rogan and Streisand have a great chemistry together; natural, easygoing, playing off each other effortlessly. Road trip films are a tried and true formula; moms and sons is a savory twist to the genre.

I love movies that aren’t full of gratuitous violence, gratuitous sex/nudity, and have happy endings. If you’re like me, you’ll like “Guilt Trip”.

A SHORT SYNOPSIS: As UCLA organic chemist grad and  inventor Andy Brewster is about to embark on the road trip of a lifetime to sell his product, a quick stop at his mom’s house turns into an unexpected cross-country voyage with her along for the ride.

BEST MOM QUOTE EVER: “If all the little boys in the world were lined up, and I had to just pick only one, I’d choose you… every time.” (Streisand to Rogan)

Every mother and her adult son SHOULD see this film together, whether you’re a Jewish mom like me or not. They are, after all, always our baby boys, no matter their age. Like I tell my son, there are worse things to endure in this world than having a mother who loves him as much as I do.

It is SO funny. I saw a lot of myself in it — the zillion phone calls, screaming out his name at the airport, the son going to school 3,000 miles away from home (we don’t even want to GO THERE) — Angel Boy and I haven’t gone on a road trip together, but it might look pretty much exactly like this one if we did, except for me winning a steak eating contest.

Actually, we did something similar when I flew to Goettingen, Germany to visit him for his junior year abroad at the University of Goettingen when he was at UCSD. We spent a week together traveling around Germany. I had an amazing time, even though we got stuck in a blizzard, and even if I was prolly a bit annoying. OK, maybe a LOT annoying, but still, to spend time like that with my Angel Boy was priceless. Spending the night at the airport in Frankfurt is still something that makes us laugh.

Aside: In the film, there’s a LOT of blatant product placement from Kmart to Costco to QVC, but it wasn’t too distracting and i had to admire the chutzpah.

The second viewing was with Angel Boy and DIL. I think DIL probably enjoyed it more than my son; he cringed a bit during some of the scenes of Rogan with Streisand that we thought were HILARIOUS. I think it all hit a bit too close to home at certain moments, LOL. And yes, I too have purchased underwear for my adult son. I confess…

DIL thought that UCLA as Rogan character’s school and the UCLA sweatshirt was “art mimicking life” and perhaps a SIGN FROM THE UNIVERSE because Angel Boy recently interviewed for a teaching job there (fingers crossed!) and because all I wear are t-shirts and sweatshirts from the universities my son has attended. Right now I’m sporting  a “Someone at Yale loves me” t-shirt under a “Yale Mom” sweatshirt. I am SUCH a cliche, I know, I know.

And i’m drinking out of a Yale/Hello Kitty water bottle. Pathetic, right? I know.

The third viewing was with my tugboat man and I know he liked it mainly ‘cos he didn’t fall asleep once, ha ha!

I hope I’ve “guilt tripped” you into seeing it, too, and I hope you like it as much as we did.

I totes recommend “Guilt Trip” (2012)
I give it 5 Louboutins out of 5
Christian-Louboutin-Pigalle-Plato-Spring-2013Christian-Louboutin-Pigalle-Plato-Spring-2013Christian-Louboutin-Pigalle-Plato-Spring-2013Christian-Louboutin-Pigalle-Plato-Spring-2013Christian-Louboutin-Pigalle-Plato-Spring-2013

Daily Prompt: If You Leave

http://www.brainlesstales.com/2010-11-23/fork-in-the-road
http://www.brainlesstales.com/2010-11-23/fork-in-the-road

“Should I stay or should I go now…”

Aren’t those the lyrics to a song? I think so; and I’ll search for it in a minute. (Oh yeah, it’s the Clash. It’s really about a relationship, but still slightly relevant.)

I’m not often prompted to follow the prompt of a Daily Prompt, but this one spoke to me because I’m at a crossroads — in the midst of a decision to stay or go…

…to the BlogHer Conference in July in San Jose.

I bought my pass the first day it was announced so I received an Early Bird discount and I have a Southwest ticket I need to use since it’s already paid for, but I’m not sure if I want to go.

I’m not sure what I’ll find there or if it’s worth it to attend.

In the beginning of my blogging journey, I was a newbie; gung-ho to write and purge and acquire readers and followers and belong to groups that seemed to be JUST LIKE ME.

Then I realized that I don’t really fit in.

THERE IS NO ONE JUST LIKE ME.

I am unique.

Except for the animal loving, pet picture sharing, SAHM, love-to-shop crowd, I don’t have a whole lot in common with other mid-lifers.

For example, I don’t feel like sharing in great detail how my eyes are failing me, my cholesterol levels are high, or my vaginal dryness is preventing me from enjoying the penis of my choice.

I am by nature a private person and don’t feel the need to overshare on social media, plus my tugboat man hub won’t even let me take a pic of his face OR use our real names.

I don’t and never have had hot flashes, I work out at the gym pretty much every day, and I have the agility and flexibility of a twenty-year-old — one who isn’t stuck to her iPhone 24/7.

For the record, I have great cholesterol levels, I’ve always worn glasses or contacts so nothing new there to complain about, and the only meds I take on a regular basis is Levoxyl for a slightly low performing thyroid.

I thought I could make a go of monetizing my blog, but I don’t really think most BRANDS find me representative of any demographic, so there goes that dream. I don’t have a lot brand loyalty (just Chanel haha).

Except for occasional retail therapy/shopaholic excursions, I’m a pretty thrifty gal, grow our own veggies, bake from scratch, and I drive a thirty-year-old vehicle.

What’s the point of going to a blogging conference?

The other attendees include women whom I naively thought were going to be part of a joyous and nurturing community of other writer/bloggers –but are really just midlife mean girls.

There’s a level of snarky schadenfreude competitive behavior that is very distasteful; not what I expected.

There are more and more female bloggers grasping for whatever dollars are out there, a huge pool of women jumping up and down, shouting “choose me, choose me!”, vying to be the wittiest, most outrageous, “Most Likely To Go Viral” and thereby fight their way to the top of the heap.

I didn’t hang with those girls in high school and I don’t find any kinship there now.

That’s not me.

This isn’t to say that I haven’t met some remarkable women that I totes respect and like and would love to hang with — and you know who you are…BUT I’m in the middle of a crossroads now.

So, do I stay or do I go?

As you can surmise, I’m a bit saddened and disenchanted.

My motivation to begin blogging was fueled by my DIL who told me I was funny and a good writer and I should  blog for exposure in that realm — to earn an income  by writing, something I could do from home while my tugboat man is out to sea for months at a time.

It sounded like a great idea, and a blogging conference seemed like a great opportunity to expand my knowledge and meet INDUSTRY EXPERTS, but now I just don’t know. I don’t seem to have the skills to crack the code. I’ve consulted with a couple of blogexperts and they both told me a blog needs a million views to be competitive. WTF? I thought my nearly 70,000 74,000 was pretty spectacular but I was wrong. Obviously.

Am I just scared to go by myself? Am I full of sour grapes?

What do YOU think? Should I stay or should I go?

http://youtu.be/GqH21LEmfbQ

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Daily Prompt: If You Leave

by Krista on March 12, 2014

Life is a series of beginnings and endings. We leave one job to start another; we quit cities, countries, or continents for a fresh start; we leave lovers and begin new relationships. What was the last thing you contemplated leaving? What were the pros and cons? Have you made up your mind? What will you choose?

Photographers, artists, poets: show us CROSSROADS.

by Krista on March 12, 2014

Life is a series of beginnings and endings. We leave one job to start another; we quit cities, countries, or continents for a fresh start; we leave lovers and begin new relationships. What was the last thing you contemplated leaving? What were the pros and cons? Have you made up your mind? What will you choose?

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“From One Kid To Another: Bindi Irwin Should Oppose SeaWorld”

A note from Princess Rosebud of Enchanted Seashells, Confessions of a Tugboat Captain’s Wife:

This letter needs to go viral and author Rose McCoy, twelve-year-old animal activist, needs to be honored.

I wish more of her generation was as passionate and compassionate toward the defense and welfare of animals. 
https://www.thedodo.com/community/rosemccoy/

I am so proud of you. You go, girl!
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From Rose McCoy…

Bindi Irwin is only a few years older than I am, but we are worlds apart on our views about cramming orcas and dolphins into SeaWorld’s floating prison cells. I went to jail after jumping in front of SeaWorld’s Rose Parade float to protest the amusement park’s cruelty to orcas and dolphins. Bindi jumped at the chance to be SeaWorld’s new “ambassador” because, well, I’m not sure why.

As someone who lost a parent at a young age, Bindi seems like the last person who would be a spokesperson for SeaWorld, knowing that it has taken baby orcas away from their loving moms, leaving them thrashing and wailing with grief. Wild orcas never permanently leave their moms and pods. Please, Bindi, you should know how awful it is for SeaWorld to separate mothers and children, which it does all the time.

Orcas and dolphins in the wild have the whole ocean to swim in, and they have dozens of friends and family members who love them. They are super-smart animals who work together as a team, talk to each other using special dialects, and swim for many, many miles every day, enjoying the currents and the sights of the sea. At SeaWorld, all of this is taken away. Their world is shrunk from square miles to square feet.

Intelligent orcas with individual personalities are reduced to cartoon “Shamus.” And how many audience members realize that every single orca performer, male or female, in SeaWorld’s parks is called “Shamu”?!

Swimming in circles in SeaWorld’s fish bowls makes orcas and dolphins crazed, frustrated, and angry. Who wouldn’t feel the same way if they were kidnapped, imprisoned in a tiny tank, and forced to perform silly tricks on command?

There is nothing that SeaWorld can do and no one it can hire who can erase the truth that those of us who saw “Blackfish” know. Customers are running away from SeaWorld! Ticket sales are down, musicians are canceling shows, and schools are canceling field trips. SeaWorld can never make up for the lives it has destroyed. The only thing that it can do now is stop hurting more animals and release the orcas it has to coastal sanctuaries.

Recently, California state lawmaker Richard Bloom introduced a bill that would force SeaWorld to do the right thing by making it illegal for SeaWorld San Diego to hold orcas in captivity. I wish I lived in California, because I would like to walk right up to Mr. Bloom and give him a big hug.

It makes me sad that instead of working to free orcas — to have them live in the great oceans again — Bindi Irwin is using her name to help keep them in small, barren tanks. We don’t want to see orcas and dolphins turned into circus clowns. Animals are so much better than that. We should be, too.

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ABOUT THE DODO:

We’re witnessing a profound shift in the way people regard animals. They matter more to us now. We think of them less as objects at our disposal, as science increasingly reveals them to be intelligent, emotional, social beings that are not as different from us as we used to think they were. We’re increasingly committed to learning about them, more interested in understanding and improving our relationships with them, and more passionate about protecting them. The Dodo will channel this shift every day by covering the most important and fascinating stories including photos, videos, Vines, etc. And we want you to join us: Share your stories, your pictures, your media, anything animal-related, and you’ll be part of an unprecedented community for all those who love animals, are concerned about their welfare — and want to make a difference.

WHY “THE DODO”?

We’re resurrecting the dodo — a mysterious bird we drove into extinction nearly 400 years ago — to remind us of just how great our impact on animals is, and to inspire us to get it right this time.

STAFF

CEO and Editor in Chief: Kerry Lauerman
Co-Founder and Editor at Large: Izzie Lerer
Head of Product: Colin Sterling
Senior Editor: Jaime Lowe
Staff Writers: Stephen MessengerDan Nosowitz
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Assistant Editors: Melissa CroninJenny Kutner