Just a Cup of Coffee – The Love Story of Princess Rosebud and her Captain – Part One

Today:  Sometimes he’s here, sometimes he’s not. That’s the life of a tugboat captain’s wife. Right now he’s not..

weddingpicture

Yup, the secret’s out. I’m married to Johnny Depp

The Wedding: February 21, 1994

Our song, our first dance as husband and wife. “Unforgettable” by Nat King Cole
http://youtu.be/wkVuQGgx7d8

The Beginning…This is the love story of me, Princess Rosebud, and the tugboat captain.

We met when I was a year into my deal with myself to stay celibate until I met someone, uh, worthy…

Easter Sunday, April 4, 2010… At 3:40 this afternoon, I was in the threshold of our garage door that leads into the living room where I had dragged in a ladder to help with my latest project–painting the living room walls a divine shade of seafoam green–to stay busy when the captain’s out to sea. I mean, I can’t shop ALL the time. A girl has to take a break now and again, right? I set the ladder down and went back to close the garage door. At that precise moment, the glass vases on the shelves surrounding our fireplace began to vibrate and wobble. Here in SoCal, I’ve endured a handful of quakes, but never such intense shaking.

Through the open garage door I saw the bicycles that hang from the ceiling sway back and forth. As I attempted to process THAT information, the crystal lustres on my grandmother’s antique porcelain candelabras clashed and clinked. Terracotta tile flooring in the foyer seemed to roll back and forth as if I was on a sailboat in San Diego Bay, and I had a difficult time standing.

Feeling dizzy and unbalanced, I grasped the doorway for support.  My poor kitty gave me a dirty look like I had interrupted her nap on purpose. So much for the concept that animals can sense an earthquake–not this spoiled little brat.

I ran up our oak-planked steps into the family room and through the patio doors onto the deck and shouted out to the neighbors.

“Look at your pool!”

“I know, this is crazy! Are you OK? Any damage?”

“I don’t think so. A couple seashells fell off the shelf in the family room, but I was so freaked, I didn’t want to stay inside, so I ran out back. I don’t know if we should stay in the house or what we should do!”

“Us either! Let’s see what’s on the news.”

This quake was so violent that it caused the water in their pool to slosh over the sides like a mini-tsunami. We each went back in our respective homes and turned on CNN. We discovered that there had been a 7.2 earthquake in Mexico. The first reports that came in revealed a lot of damage near the epicenter in Mexicali, but no major problems in San Diego; only broken glass and falling cans at grocery stores, which seemed pretty miraculous considering the earthquake’s size.

Still spooked by the shaking and some pretty strong aftershocks, I surveyed the house, removing anything unsecured and potentially dangerous.

This is as good a time as any to confess something.

I’m a shell-aholic.

seashell mirrorI’ve got shelves and shelves of seashells in every room–including the bathroom. Everyone collects seashells, right? One here, one there, as a memory of a great beach or a fun vacation, right? Well…I’m a seashell hoarder. I want ALL seashells–there are never enough seashells to collect or buy. I make things out of some of them–picture frames, mirrors, boxes–they line the walls in our two bathrooms and even our front door, but mostly they just hang out–in bowls, on shelves, anywhere and everywhere. There is no empty space in our house, and if there is, it’s quickly filled with a shell–or a rock.

After a couple decades, we have come to an understanding, the captain and I. He thinks I’m crazy and obsessed with shells and rocks and driftwood, and I don’t destroy his surfboards if he doesn’t give me a hard time about it.

I anxiously emailed the captain who’s half a world away in the middle of an ocean. I figured that if anything would cause him to cut his four month assignment short, this might be it. The way that emailing works in deep ocean situations is through a pretty inefficient satellite; sometimes it takes hours to complete the process. If there’s a real emergency, I have a phone number to call, but this didn’t really fit the definition. I wasn’t hurt and the house wasn’t damaged or anything. When he finally read the email and wrote back, he told me to “standby” at the house phone because he would try to make a call from the boat’s sat phone. When he called, I used all my powers of persuasion to convince him to come home, but to no avail. He simply wasn’t going to call the United States Coast Guard to fly a rescue mission a thousand miles from land to bring  him home because the kitty and I were scared.

Well, I know where I stand in his list of priorities. Hmmm, I wonder if this is when I hatched my plot to get that Chanel. Hmmm, I wonder.

After that stressful event, and many aftershocks later, some pampering was definitely well deserved. That evening, I drew a bath in the upstairs bathroom we call the spa because it’s decorated in earthy tones with seashells and beach glass surrounding the mirrors and along the walls.

(I know what you’re thinking, and I don’t care.)

I lit a fragrant and calming lavender candle, eased my body into the almost too-hot-to-stand-it water, and trickled in ginger and lemongrass aromatherapy oils. Sipping from a glass of merlot, I leaned back, closed my eyes, and my thoughts wandered.

Experiencing an earthquake; the dizziness, the weightless feeling in a tub of warm water; it all reminded me of falling in love. It all felt the same… and it all started with a fifty cent cup of coffee.

Newly divorced in 1990, I speed dated a few guys, including one totally boring and slightly scary man who immediately wanted me to meet his parents after the first (and last) date, along with a couple of total idiots whose combined IQs prolly didn’t equal my Border Collie‘s. Those unsavory experiences became flashing red lights–STOP! NO! THINK!–impossible to ignore–that I seriously needed to take some time off the dating circuit.

It was the perfect time for a list.

I’m an inveterate list maker; I prioritize my errands and even list groceries in the order of where they’re located in the store– like my own custom board game–where I start at the entrance and finish at the cash register.

I wrote this particular list with the hope that if I documented the qualities desired in a significant other, the universe would deliver the right one when all the planets were aligned. Or so I dreamed.

At midnight on August 7th, 1990, with a bottle of wine to seal the deal, I made a promise to myself–I would not date (or do anything else) for a very long time, and the next one would be “the one”.

The List
1. Must call when he says he will. This is non-negotiable.
2. Must show up on time for dates.
3. Must love pets. Also non-negotiable.
4. No cigarettes. No smoking, and of course, no drugs.
5. Likes to exercise, work out, eat healthy, etc.
6. Must have gainful employment.
7. Must be nice and polite and honest and trustworthy.
8. Fidelity is of paramount importance.
9. When the time is right and he meets my son, my son has to like him. Also non-negotiable.

Fast forward to a year later, the following September 1991.

Tomorrow:
Part Two…Just a cup of coffee, the love story of Princess Rosebud and the tugboat captain

Shopping Tips From Princess Rosebud. More Confessions of a Tugboat Captain’s Wife.

Shopaholic Tip #1 Save your receipts.

Shopaholic Tip #2 Make sure you are well versed in the return policies of each and every store in which you shop.

Here’s why: The other side of being a shopaholic is buyer’s remorse.  Sometimes it happens as soon as you arrive home and unpack all of your treasures — there’s a little seed of doubt growing roots in the other side of your brain no longer high with shopping endorphins — maybe you’re just not as enthralled about the colors or the cut or the style  — maybe the way the color looked under harsh florescent lighting is different that you imagined it would be; say for example, the cornflower blue sweater isn’t exactly the shade of cornflower blue you thought would be such an amazing pop of color with a specific blouse or maybe the shoes that you tried on for a moment in the store aren’t comfortable and would NEVER be worn.

Or if you’re like me and really hate the confines of a dressing room, you chose a bunch a couple outfits that you thought would fit ‘cos it’s your size and all that, but when you actually tried them on in the relaxed and serene (and clean) confines of your bedroom, you discover that the cut of the jeans is unflattering or has an unnaturally low rise. Come on people, when will fashion designers STOP manufacturing women’s jeans based on the body of a  prepubescent boy and remember that most women possess waistlines as well as child-bearing hips and we’d like our trousers to fall somewhere close and not be so obscenely low as to reveal our Caesarean scars? Hmm? It’s not that I don’t have some great Joe’s jeans and skinny jeans from Anthropolgie that fit perfectly right, but I’m talking generalities here.

Anyhoo, this is a running topic of contentious conversation with me and my tugboat man.

As soon as I tell him I went shopping, he asks me how soon it will be until I take half or all of my purchases  back. And then he laughs. Ha ha. NOT. It’s his little (tired) joke to bet me which items will not make the cut, so to speak.

Poor tugboat man. He thought that same psychology would work with any of my Chanel purchases, but sadly for him, this Princess is way more clever.

Have you EVER heard of anyone returning an iconic 2.55 Chanel quilted handbag with the chain strap because it didn’t fit? HAH! He’s not as smart as he thinks he is. I threw him a shady eye for even suggesting that it might go back. That’s crazy talk, Captain. He really doesn’t know who he’s dealing with. Really.

So, of those four pairs of shoes I purchased last week, I’ve kept two of them. The Asics went back. Why? Because upon detailed inspection at home, I discovered that they were NOT the same style as the ones I had originally purchased for $120.00 and they were not as comfortable. And I take my work out/walking shoes VERY seriously because I live in them. A heel or a wedge doesn’t need the same criteria because they’re worn for shorter periods of time and let’s face it, you don’t even think about hiking in a pair of Louboutin heels, right?

That’s why it’s UBER important to save your receipt and all the tags and make sure you know there’s a decent return policy — not as I’ve found with some shops in tiny print “exhange or store credit only”.  No SIR. I want my $$$$ back.  I do NOT want my money held hostage and  forced  to choose something else. That store goes on my list of places to NEVER again  frequent. It’s not that I don’t understand the nuance of a small business — I’ve owned a couple of them myself — but it’s a negative no matter what the reason, that’s all I’m saying.

I’m still shaking my head…return a friggin’ Chanel??? Does my tugboat man have ANY idea who he’s married to? I mean seriously, where has he been for the past twenty years? I suppose it was wishful thinking on his part, but COME ON.

I can’t even form the thought, “I’d like to return my beautiful Chanel handbag that I’ve lusted for and dreamed about my entire life.”

That’s a whole lotta crazy talk.

Hee hee. :) Have a lovely Sunday and remember to save your receipts!

Is There Anything Better Than Shopping?

That is NOT a rhetorical question. Or is it?

Duh, whatever, the answer is a resounding “NO!” unless it’s being the recipient of a gift…or multiple gifts sent by an absentee husband.

I realize that most of the time I’m talking to YOU as if you know all about ME, and for those that aren’t familiar with the backstory, here’s a brief overview…I’m really and truly the wife of a tugboat captain, a professional mariner, a proud member of the Merchant Marine.

He goes out to sea and I stay home. And shop. And clean. And glue seashells. And shop. And go to the gym. And did I already say shop?

I am an unashamed shopaholic.

And while there’s really nothing better than a daylong shopping spree, finding a box of treasures delivered by my friendly postman is equally exciting.

While I’ve been caring for my son and helping his recovery from emergency life-saving surgery and then discovering that the sparkles in my left eye were due to a retinal tear, not diamonds or rhinestones even (so unfair) —  my tugboat captain husband had to leave and go out to sea.

Yup, he left me and to add insult to injury, he departed ON MY BIRTHDAY.  At least he had the foresight to take me shopping at Bloomingdales before he left so that I could pick out my special birthday gift, a pair of Chanel sunglasses that I LOVE LOVE LOVE.

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Because he was unable to be here for the laser surgery to repair my torn retina (fingers crossed that it was a success) as he’s in the middle of one of our oceans (can’t say where exactly), but he had a couple of hours in a foreign port (can’t say which one) and what did he do with his free time? He bought his Princess Rosebud a whole bunch of presents ‘cos he knows how to bring a smile to my face and a sparkle (not that kind) to my eye!

You can kinda tell that he’s somewhere beachy, somewhere maybe hot and possibly Pirates of the Caribbean-y?

Pretty silvery wrapping paper, but it just made it that much harder to get to the treasures. I ripped ‘em apart like a wild animal…giftbagmess

First things first. Hard-working hub combed the beach “somewhere” for these seashells. A couple of them broke, but I appreciate the effort. Broken shells are better than no shells at all. jshells

Jewelry!!! You can never have too much, right? One butterfly bracelet in happy oh-so-bright colors. This will look gorg with a maxi dress and a sexy suntan, don’t you agree?

btrflybrace

The more the merrier is the way my hub thinks. Check out this dragonfly  bracelet. Think white skinny jeans, a skimpy top, and cork wedges. Oh, and a fruity cocktail. Maybe two…dragonflybracelet

 

braceletsideContinuing with THAT logic, if one pair of earrings is good, four is much better, right? Do you have the feeling that they were possibly on sale? Hmmm, no worries, I love them all!

They are all mother-of-pearl and various shells. ADORABLE!
earrings1 earrings2 earrings3 earrings4

Now it’s time to resume being Cinderella and scrub the floors…my tugboat man is on the final leg of his assignment and should be home at Casa de Enchanted Seashells before the 15th. Yay!

 

 

In Which Princess Rosebud Gets Her Groove Back.

As in shopaholic heaven.

As in a daylong shopping frenzy.

On a roll, guys. On a friggin’ roll.

The sun is shining, the sky is blue, the birdies are singing.

Picture me sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by bags and boxes and fresh crackly tissue paper. It’s Christmas in May!

I hope you are as snappy happy as I am that I haven’t lost my touch.

It’s been so long since I spent a solid day doing nothing but shopping — and I’m proud to say that I was firing on all cylinders, whatever THAT means.

I whipped out the plastique so fast there were tendrils of smoke swirling from its little slot in my (Chanel) wallet.

Must haves, every single one.

The only dark spot in an otherwise stellar day was a grave situation with the rack of undergarments at Kohl’s.

Simply put…a 32A bra should not be situated anywhere near a 42G bra on any rack at any store. And stop laughing at me. It was traumatic.

This is merely an observation from someone less — uh — ahem– less endowed.

Here’s the story: I was searching through the racks of sale bras at Kohl’s  –  and this is just a random thought…but could someone PLEASE organize them so that the 32A bras are not ALL lovingly nestled inside the 42G brassieres? There’s a whole world of sizes in between those two ends of the pectoral scale. Geez, it’s embarrassing enough to seek out the teeny tiny size I wear, but to be overshadowed by a brassiere that will eventually embrace two proudly gigantic mammary glands is almost more than I can bear…Those ginormous over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders were taunting me, I swear it. Taunting me!!! [sobbing now]

Ahh, but even THAT couldn’t dampen my spirits!

Today was a great day, my friends, a great day!

It all started with the seashells. Aren’t these enchanted?

newbottles

Michael’s had a sale. These guys were 50% off! Yippee!
Seashells are the best, right?shellbottleThat’s when I strolled over to Kohl’s in search of a new spoon rest; I didn’t find that, but look what was on sale! (Oh, and I did finally locate a couple of miniature brassieres, thank you very much.)

My super favorite brand of work out shoes —  Asics — and half the price that I paid a few months ago at Footlocker, so of course I needed twice the shoes — four shoes for the price of two!  Such a deal!

asics

Since I was totes feeling it, I stopped at the Carlsbad Premium Outlets and Cole Haan. These lightweight beauties were hiding in the secret back room clearance area. Did you know that most Cole Haan shoes boast concealed Nike Air technology? These do too, and are soooo comfy. Originally in the $200.00 range, my final price was $69.00 Cha-ching!

  • Heritage weave detailing on vamp straps. (LOVE the word “vamp”)
  • Jute-wrapped detail at midsole.
  • Stacked platform and wedge heel.

colehaaan

Another shopaholic in Cole Haan was wearing the most adorable sandals so of course I asked her where she purchased them after I complimented her excellent taste in footwear and to my surprise and delight, she pointed right around the corner at Nine West. As soon as I completed my purchase at CH, I scurried over to NW. Could you just DIE? These are the mostest totes adorbs; could be my favorite sandal EVER. Can you make out the sparkles? Sigh.

sandalsAt another store, can’t even remember the name of it ‘cos I was on a M-I-S-S-I-O-N,  y’all, I stocked up on discounted Kiehl’s. It was at that point I wished I had someone with me to carry all my bags, or at least another arm or two.

The new Kate Spade store was open and really crowded. I tried on a couple of cute dresses, but nothing spoke to me in a demanding tone of voice, so I left with nothing, but that’s OK, too.

I’m resting up for tomorrows adventure, my favorite Nordstrom Outlet!

I’m Happy, Happy, Happy!

 

Hot, Dry. Swirling Winds of Hell Must Mean It’s My Birthday!

I was SO happy to arrive in Carlsbad that I almost dropped to my knees to kiss the ground but then I remembered all the germs and disgusting things that people spit out, and my better judgment prevailed.

We got Angel Boy all settled in; now I’m working on creating meals and recipes that are appropriate for post-surgery, and that includes a lot of things we NEVER have in the house: white bread, white potatoes, white rice.

Because of that major abdominal surgery, he’s on a low fiber, low residue diet for a couple more weeks, and then we can gradually add cooked veggies and fruits, with the goal to be back on his regular diet in about six weeks.

I’ll set aside a whole post of recipes that I’ve adapted to meet his specific needs. It’s tough for me ‘cos I’m all about whole grains and tons of greens and wheat grass and smoothies, and I think all Angel Boy wants is one of my famous two-pound breakfast burritos. He’s lost about ten pounds that he didn’t need to lose (why can’t that be me??)

Before all this happened…the phone call at 3 a.m., flying east and living at the hospital for ten days, I was planning to write a really funny post about my birthday (which is today) — something about the face of 60 — yes, I mean SIXTY YEARS OLD — and how I still feel like I’m about thirteen, and then take a bunch of selfies to commemorate my special day — but I’m too busy helping my son recuperate (a full-time job).

,,,AND I just drove to the airport at 5 a.m. to put my tugboat man on a flight ‘cos he’s going away for a month — ON MY F-ING BIRTHDAY!!!!

Live is not fair, you guys!

Geez, nothing is working out for me today. I can’t even go shopping and drown my sorrows in some good old fashioned retail therapy.

And why is that, you ask?

Because SoCal is under some witchy-type spell and the boiling hot bowels of hell opened up; we’ve got record-breaking 100 degree temps AT THE BEACH in May when it’s normally cool and cloudy, and raging fires have started which turns the air all smoky and unbreathable, thanks to almost hurricane-force winds blowing from the east — a true Santa Ana that we normally only get in the fall.

To make matters worse, there are armies of ants invading every pore of our house —  even the ants are trying to escape the heat — and I’ve gone through an entire can of Raid in my attempts to dissuade them from setting up residence at Casa de Enchanted Seashells  — which means the house smells like insecticide — can you hear my screams of frustration?

Well, it’s back to cleaning and laundry and making special food every two hours for my Angel Boy. Hopefully, it’ll cool off a bit later on and we can go for a walk on the beach.

Happy Birthday to me!!!!!!

P.S. You must know that I’m really happy to be caring for Angel Boy and spending my birthday with him is an added bonus — considering that we might have lost him, even the thought of another bowl of Cream of Wheat can’t dampen my joy!

The new face of 60…(along with the top Chanel makeup artist from NY)

chanel makeover

 

How to Get What You Want, But Not Necessarily What You Need

From me, Princess Rosebud,  the Tugboat Captain’s Wife, with all the answers to all the questions and dilemmas.

The Rolling Stones
“You Can’t Always Get What You Want”
 (yes, you can!)

By now, I’d say that most of the inhabitants of these United States of America, parts of Canada and various other counties have stopped by Casa de Enchanted Seashells to read my blog. (Ha ha, not really, but nearly 100,000 of you have visited me; holla!)

Today’s lesson will be brief, but I suggest that you bookmark it because you never know when you’ll need the benefit of my wisdom.

OK.

Here’s the background…

My tugboat man had to leave unexpectedly just prior to our majorly huge 20th wedding anniversary, you know that, right?

*Sigh*

I can’t say it’s all that much of a surprise because it happens every so often that when he’s supposed to be home, he’ll get asked to relieve another captain who might have a medical condition or a family issue, and that’s what happened this time.

That’s the bad news. The good news is that he’s only gone for two weeks and he’ll return this weekend. Yay for that!

I’m just gonna say this one more time — I KNOW that I am a spoiled and very lucky Princess, upon whom my long suffering tugboat man lavishes expensive and utterly useless gifts from time to time.

Yes, I KNOW that I have three Chanel handbags — well, two plus a matching wallet. CHANEL2.55

opal diamond ringI KNOW that he got me an amazing opal and diamond ring last year.

I also KNOW that I PROMISED that was going to last me and my shopaholic obsessions for a good long while.

Hee hee. I LIED. Promises are meant to be broken, blah blah, he didn’t for one minute think I was serious about it.

I am SO funny; at least I amuse myself, whatev.

So…working off a bit of guilt because he was away for “the big one” and his innate niceness and desire to make me happy — (btw, how did I get like one of the best guys in the land?) — I searched my heart (and the internet) and decided that I NEEDED a new wedding band to carry our love through the next twenty years.

Are you following me?

With my laser focused research and shopping skills, and after hours and hours of trying on every kind of anniversary band and eternity band I could pack on these fat little fingers, I found the perfect one!

With hub being away, there was no annoying voice distracting me from my mission.

It turned out that the eternity band is not a practical design for someone like me who lifts weights and hikes and gardens and is generally kind of rough on jewelry, especially since I want to wear it 24/7.

Plus, half the diamonds are hidden that way, and I want to be the one to enjoy the sparkle. Who cares about anyone else? Hmmm?

I found a beautiful channel set anniversary band met all the criteria and was screaming to come home with me. It was only .50 carats, not the biggest carat weight, but I think it perfectly complements my engagement band.

How could I resist the call of the sparkle?

I got it sized so now it’s impossible to return! ***That’s an important part of the lesson.

Plus, definitely be exceeding grateful, if you know what I mean. Be EXTREMELY appreciative, wink, wink.

Ta da! I don’t know how to take a pic to show the sparkle, but they do for reals.

Pretty!Anniversaryring1 Pretty!anniversaryring2 Nasty old lady handsanniversaryring3

In closing, f you need a a refresher course about how to get what you deserve, give me a call @1-800-PrincessRosebud

 

This Post Isn’t Worth Reading…#OCD #DIY Project When Tugboat Man Is Out To Sea

More of the trials and  tribulations of being married to an absent spouse  — I’m a grass widow– doing it all alone.

I wrote this post assuming it possessed some merit; after all, it’s got the bones of a story  — a DIY project along with some humor, but I’ve since decided it’s a pretty worthless and unimaginative effort and should rightfully be relegated with a click to Trash, but I’m just gonna go with it

Screw it. Whatev.

Hope it’s not a total waste of your time.

But ou’ve come this far, you might as well keep going.

I offer my apologies in advance.

Here we go…

I’m a trash picker upper.

For example, if I see something that’s been tossed out and I want it, I have no problem bringing it home, and if it’s too big for me to grab by myself, I’ll get hub to do it, unless he’s out to sea, and then I’m out of luck.

I want what I want, no matter where it comes from. Almost anything can be cleaned and even disinfected, right?

I don’t know where that idiosyncrasy came from; it’s definitely at odds with the part of me that’s a Chanel-loving, obsessive shopaholic, but hey, an acquisition is an acquisition, no matter how it got to me.

(Am I hearing you think “hoarder”?)

Driving in our neighborhood one evening (probably the next day was our trash pick up), my little eagle eyes spied a library table on the curb all by itself and looking very lonesome.

I made hub stop (actually I screeched, “STOP!!!”) and we got out to take a closer look. Upon inspection, it was a little scarred and well-used, but definitely crafted of a good solid wood and worth a rescue, in my opinion.

I’ve had to teach hub to enjoy alley picking; it doesn’t come naturally to him. He reluctantly agreed that it was too well made to ignore, plus he always needs to weigh in his own mind the level of nagging he must endure.

We He muscled it into the back of the truck and brought it into the garage. It had been painted a hideous institutional gray and would have been too arduous a task to strip the paint and stain or oil it, so I repainted it my favorite shade of fern green.

I couldn’t find a place for it, so it stayed in the garage for about a year — as a platform for some of my projects — until a couple weeks ago when I had the brilliant idea to use it as a laptop table in my son’s room, which now doubles as hub’s man cave.

Hub cut the width to make it narrower and rough-sanded it. When I returned from taking him to the airport last week, I went to Home Depot and got a quart of high gloss burgundy; a deep, rich, saturated hue.

I painted one coat. Then another. Then another. Then another.

Finally, it wasn’t streaky and it was all shiny and perfect. It took practically the whole quart.

This is where I screwed up.

I thought I should protect the top from stains and rings from glasses and coffee mugs.  I found some stuff in the garage; Dupli-Color DE1636 Clear Engine Spray Paint.

Not smart. Paint for an ENGINE, not painted wood. Duh.

The first coat came out all cloudy and streaky and felt rough, so I sprayed a second coat and it was even worse. I emailed my tugboat man and he told me where the sandpaper was in the garage and that  I should sand the bad stuff off and repaint.

His final words were, “And then leave it alone until I get home.”

Of COURSE I ignored him because I was getting really obsessed with protecting that perfect paint job on my free table.

Another brilliant thought exploded in my brain that I needed to bring it up to my son’s room and finish painting/sealing it there.

Therein lies a problem.

We have a tri-level house with two flights of stairs.

The table weighs about forty pounds (I told you it was solid) but it felt like it weighed a thousand pounds to me. I’m pretty strong, but it’s a very unwieldily shape and my short little arms couldn’t fit all the way around any part of it.

The table’s about 47 inches long and I’m 60 inches. Do the math.

I turned it upside down with the legs sticking up, got an old blanket and sort of picked up each of the four ends of the table while sliding the blanket under it.

I started pulling up the first steps.Hand crafted oak stepsThe table kept sliding down and I kept pulling.

One step up, two steps back.

I had ANOTHER BRILLIANT idea. Turn the table end over end like a cartwheel.

I huffed and I puffed and I wrestled that stupid table up to the second level.

I took a few minutes to wipe away the sweat and come up the rest of the plan.

These steps are carpeted and should have been easier to push/pull.

graysteps

I pulled that stupid table ALMOST all the way — and guess what?  I bet you figured out where my next mistake was. Yup, I forgot to move the table at the top of the landing — there I was, holding up the thousand pound table with one hand while I ATTEMPTED to maneuver the other table out of the way.

It doesn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out that idea wasn’t gonna work.

I leaned that elephant of a table up against the wall and did what I should have done the first time…move the table out of the way so I could get around the corner.

Up to this point, the process had taken no less than two hours.

And I was only halfway there.

Finally, after much grunting and groaning, that stupid piece of shit table made it to its final destination. I laid a tarp under it and touched up some of the paint that had chipped off on its arduous journey.

Still obsessing over the top, I rummaged through all of hub’s stuff in the garage and found high gloss spray polyurethane. “Hmm, this should work fine”, I said to myself. I sprayed the first coat and it was all streaky, but I gave it a few minutes, then I ran my finger over it and immediately ruined it ‘cos it was still wet. I read the directions and it said to wait four hours between coats, so I went shopping (haha) and came back a couple hours later. I figured that was long enough and sprayed another coat. FYI–this is NOT a good thing to do inside the house even with the window open. The fumes are GNARLY. 

I thought maybe I used the wrong stuff again so I drove down to the village to Ace Hardware and picked up a small can of oil-based polyurethane. I was just about to paint on a coat of that over the other two coats of the spray-on stuff when I thought I should double check with my tugboat man since he’s really the expert around here. When he finally emailed me back, he told me not to use the oil-based stuff on painted wood unless I first tried it in a spot that wouldn’t show, because it might not work with the kind of paint I used, and could cause all the paint to “lift and pe.

Who knew this was going to be so difficult?

I decided to spray one more coat just to do it, and lo and behold, that third coat did the trick! It’s shiny, it’s glossy, it’s perfect!

Whew!

This time I didn’t give in to the temptation to run my fingers through the fresh spray.

This whole ordeal was shared by my hub with his crew; another story about his wife so everyone laughs at my escapades, but I don’t mind because I have a beautiful table and I did it all by myself.

redtable

Look at the shine on that baby! I can practically see myself!

Now when my Angel Boy comes home, he’ll have a lot of room to spread out his work.

redtable1Thank you for slugging through to the end of this longwinded glimpse into the complex workings of Princess Rosebud’s slightly OCD mind.

On a scale of 1to 10, was this the WORST post you’ve ever read?

tablewithcomputer

Blogging Friends Are Found On Every Road

Words forge paths meandering around the country and across the world.

I have a friend!!

 

(Click and listen to Elton John. Super cute vid, too.)

 

I’ve met some awesome and amazingly talented peeps through this whole blogging thing.

Cowboys and Crossbones is one of my BBFFs (Blogging Best Friends Forever)

She’s gorgeous, smart, FUNNY, and loves animals and Chanel. Great criteria for a friend, right? Oh, and she LOVES a cocktail or two. Or three. You go girl with those Skinny Pirates!

She’s prolly closer to my son’s age than to mine, but we totes connected through this crazy blogosphere. If you don’t follow her, you need to for sure.

We’ve already started planning a meet-up, and the tugboat man will most def be pressed into service as our private chauffeur, driving us to South Coast Plaza so we can get our shopping fix, stopping for liquid refreshments along the way, and generally fulfilling the role as our bitch.

Yay for nice hubs, ammmIright?

Well, if she wasn’t already sparkly and wonderful enough, last week when I was suffering from my MONTY’S REVENGE (all recovered btw) she sent me a HUGE BOX OF PREZZIES!!!!!

Now y’all know that Princess Rosebud loves nothing more than to dive into hot pink and leopard print tissue paper swaddling treasure after treasure after treasure.

She is the BESTEST ever and so thoughtful and sweet!

Hello Kitty!!!

I’ve made no secret of my love for all that is HK. (Hello Kitty is my soul sister.)

“I’m a proud adult lover of Hello Kitty and I’m not ashamed to shout it from the rooftops.”

What’s better than a professionally framed and signed portrait of my soul sister, Hello Kitty? Thank you so much CBCX and Tedstar!
HKframe2 And what place of honor should HK be exhibited in all of her glory?

Right smack dead center on the wall where my son and DIL display their many academic accomplishments and successes.

I may not have a Ph.D. in anything, but HK rules!HKframe3

Pen and paper to write down lists and lists of wants and needs for retail therapy. 1. Black Loubys 2. Chanel necklace, the long one with the little pearls and CCs sprinkled all over. 3. La Perla underwear….
whengoingCC I’ve looked better, but HK is a beauty in black. Check out the HK cup. HelloPresents And a bag ‘cos a girl needs to carry her treasures home in style.CCHKbagJust in time for St. Pat’s Day! I’m rocking Chanel shades indoors ‘cos I’m cool. I might have the nicest hub in the world, but he takes the worst pics.

HKSelfie

Happy Valentine’s Day to all my bloggy friends!

Happy Valentine's Day

It’s #Sushi Night, Happy Valentine’s Day, and Au Revoir, Tugboat Man

This is true.

We were at Sprouts — kind of like Whole Foods, and I was over in the supplements section getting some chia seeds (which I love to toss in smoothies along with flax and wheat gras and a bunch of other stuff) and my tugboat man wandered away from me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that he was standing at a table of potted tulips festooned with Valentine’s Day signage.

After twenty+plus years, I can totally read his mind.

The wheels were turning, or in his case, the propeller was rotating.

I got the chia seeds and walked over to him.

He said, “Hey, look! Tulips! Want some for Valentine’s Day?”

I said, “Suuure. OK. I guess.”

He replied, “Good. Pick one. Now I’m done, right? Got VDay taken care of and they’re only $3.99.”

He’s a clever one, that tugboat man of mine.

Or so he thinks, wink wink.

Little does he know that as much as I love these soon-to-be-blooming tulips that I placed in a vintage cocoa pitcher, I’m not exactly sure that I’m quite done wanting prezzies.

Tulips and Bears

Check out the ball and chain on the little bear, ha ha.

After all, the week after V-day is our twentieth wedding anniversary and I deserve something HUGE to commemorate the date, right? RIGHT??

The problem is that I can’t think of what I need WANT. No, I mean NEED.  Never mind, I’ll think of something, I’m sure.

The reason why we’re even talking about Valentine’s Day a bit early is because my tugboat man is leaving, but only for a week. He’s going to an officer’s management seminar to I suppose help captains deal with crew issues.

He’s been home for a while; I know that soon he’ll be leaving for a long assignment, and it makes it even more difficult because I’ve gotten used to him being around. I don’t have that anxious feeling like when I know he’s only going to be home for a couple of weeks and then he’s off again.

A week is no problem. I can handle that, plus I’ve been jonesing for some shopping — you KNOW that’s what I’ll be doing!

That meant that Saturday night was our Valentine’s Day celebration.

The way to my tugboat man’s heart is definitely food-related; it’s easy to make him happy. A home cooked meal and a made-from-scratch dessert does the trick.

I made sushi and an apple pie. That’s not exactly the dessert that I would have chosen to pair with sushi, but it was his request, so there you have it.

I’ve been a vegetarian since 1970; I know I’ve been saying since 1971 for the longest time, but I actually did the math, and I stopped eating meat when I was sixteen years old and a junior in high school. For most of those years, I was a total vegan, then I started eating sushi because it was the trendy thing to do; also dairy products and eggs.

Now we’re weaning ourselves away from those animal products too. We agree that it’s meaningful for us to not contribute to harming any living creature.

This time I made vegetable sushi. I haven’t included any how-to recipes because there are already so many great online resources. Rolling the sushi takes a bit of practice, but it’s not at all overwhelming or daunting. I taught myself by watching sushi chefs throughout the years. The first few rolls were loose and fell apart; now they’re as tight and firm as…well, I was going to say something rude and inappropriate here, but I’ll just let you fill in the blank in your own mind, ha ha.

The real work is in the prep; once all the veggies are cut and the rice is cooked, dinner can be ready in minutes.

First we had a glass of wine by the fire.
Guess who’ll be cleaning out the ashes.
Yup, that would be me, Cinderella.

Fire in fireplace

Sitting down to lovely Valentine’s Day table decor.
Notice the little umbrella in the sliced pears.
VERY Martha Stewart, no?
P.S. I grew the flowers in my garden. Hub did NOT bring flowers.

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Sushi close up with a dot of Sriracha. We like it spicy.
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The bear will share a glass of champs, ‘cos we drank all the sake.

drunkbear2014-02-08 19.27.11

It’s imperative to have wasabi and ginger!sushiwasabi2014-01-05 18.19.28Time to blow out the candles;
have to get up at 5:00 a.m. to leave for the airport.

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