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

Best Christmas Decorations EVER-Haters, Line Up! Yoo Hoo, Pinterest, I’m Calling YOU!

 I hope you enjoy a repeat of one of my most clicked on posts of 2012 while I spend a little time with my tugboat man and my son, Angel Boy.
…..     …..     …..     …..     …..     …..     …..     …..     …..     …..     …..     …..     …..     

It was last year that I was inspired by other topnotch decorators who so kindly blogged about their DIY Christmas tree masterpieces.

In fact, I was so inspired and so thrilled to be stuck here all alone for the millionth time during the holidays that I created a masterpiece of my own, just for you, my loving internet family.

As I looked around my house, the elliptical seemed like it had the best “bones” to adorn.

Plus, it had a ready-made beverage holder!

I didn’t have any Maxi-pads or other feminine hygiene products–‘cos THAT ship has sailed–if you know what I mean. (Hey cool, a nautical reference jauntily tossed in. Damn, I’m good!)

I added a toilet paper garland, a couple of Sophie Kinsella novels, two glittery seashell ornaments, a bottle of wine in the beverage holder, a white plastic poinsettia, a few EMPTY gift bags, and a festive plush Hello Kitty toy.

You can’t really see it very good, but there’s a chocolate bar too, which I don’t have to share with anyone! I’m such a lucky girl! This is the best use I’ve found for the elliptical. Hanging freshly ironed shirts hanging on it is a close second.

Now you can carry on with your day; just take a moment to let it all sink in.

The moral of the story is that it might not be a good idea to leave Princes Rosebud alone for long periods of time.

Don’t HATE…Emulate.

Decorated for Christmas elliptical

Property of Enchanted Seashells, Confessions of a Tugboat Captain’s Wife

decorated elliptical

Property of Enchanted Seashells, Confessions of a Tugboat Captain’s Wife

My Mad Skills As A Personal Fashion Stylist: But NOT My Dream Job, I Guess…

what-not-to-wearI had visions of becoming another Stacy London of What Not To Wear — without the signature silvery streak, of course, but with snappy repartee and a fast paced shopping excursion highlighting all of the essentials.

I’d help my clients build a wardrobe of neutral staples combined with pops of color, figure flattering visual interest, texture, sparkle, animal print, completer pieces, awesome shoes, and scarves to draw attention away from the hips and up to the the face.

I had an epiphany.

Sometimes things that theoretically seem like a great idea and plausible do NOT  always turn out that way in the real world.

I so wish y’all could have been with me; you’d be the ghost-like apparitions following us around the shops.

Here I am at my age (just never you mind about what it is) still grabbing at parachutes, searching for a career path, a niche, a calling, a vocation.

It’s been suggested by some that I should combine my love of shopping and fashion and become a stylist to help others who don’t have my innate good taste and eye for color, texture, and style. All kidding aside, my Hello Kitty obsesh is only a teensy weensy anomaly, not representative of what’s contained in my closet(s).

You know, shopping but for others with OPM (other people’s money) and stuff like that.

I kinda have a dilettantish background for it; I worked at San Diego‘s Old Globe Theatre in the costume department, I’ve sewn my own clothes for years, read all the fash mags, and spend hours and hours and hours shopping and drooling over finely crafted designer wear. Sigh.

In fact, I had serious thoughts of starting my own clothing company. I registered the name and acquired the patterns and though it kinda never went anywhere beyond the concept stage, it’s still viable. ***If anyone wants to partner, email me.

Anyhow, here’s the backstory:  I was getting my glasses adjusted last week at the same place we’ve gone to for about fifteen years. There was some convo with the owner who was asked to accompany her guitar teacher at a gig in Rancho Santa Fe (very ritzy part of San Diego) and she declined because she had nothing appropriate to wear.

One of her employees said, “Hey, you should ask Rosebud to shop with you, she’s a fashionista.”

One thing led to another and I learned that she hadn’t shopped for clothes in at least two years. TWO YEARS. Yeah, I know. Can you believe it? The poor thing. She needed me.

With a public declaration that I would be her personal stylist, our mission was to acquire a variety of clothing to wear for musical gigs in several different venues from upscale to casual.

We arranged to shop for a solid five-hour block.

Focused. Determined. Goal-oriented.

She picked me up here at Casa de Enchanted Seashells and we were off to The Forum in La Costa. I wanted her to feel the textures and colors and variety at Anthropologie, not necessarily to buy a lot of clothing there, but to arouse her senses and try on a lot of things outside her comfort zone.

Her current comfort zone seems to be heavily dependent upon beige t-shirts and beige cargo pants.

OY, the horror. I’m shvitzing just thinking about it.

If only I really were Stacy London, I would have happily tossed them in the trash can!

All my research tells me that It’s important to get to know your client and her personal taste, in order to help her to look her best. Trying on clothes is critical! Just because something looks good/bad on the hanger, you’ll never know if it works unless you try it on.

I had to force her to see beyond the initial like/dislike of something that’s just hanging on a rack.

We found a couple of JBrand skinny jeans at Anthro, along with several casual ethnic-inspired tops, and then we were off to Nordstrom Outlet in San Marcos. In addition to clothing, they have an amazing selection of footwear.

I selected two different styles of boots, two pairs of flats: one casual, one dressy, and two pairs of not-very-high heels.

She’s pretty open to trying new things and expanding her fashion choices (beyond beige, thank goodness)  but she’s not a girl who wears dresses or skirts with ease.

Because she needed to portray class and elegance especially for her upscale gigs,  I chose a Calvin Klein black blazer and matching tuxedo trousers as wardrobe staples.

I paired several blouses with the blazer/trousers, including a beautiful turquoise, green, blue swirly graphic design with a self-tie for visual interest, and an appropriate silk animal print.

Unfortunately, we were in such a time crunching whirlwind, I wasn’t able to take pics of the outfits.

What I learned about myself is that I’m REALLY good at this personal stylist stuff; I’m always helping everyone in dressing rooms who need advice — I’m not shy about offering my opinions, THAT’S for sure…

But…

I’ll let you in on a little secret…

I HATE SHOPPING WHEN IT’S NOT FOR ME.

Hate it. HATE IT.

This little Princess wants it all to be about her. Yes, I’m speaking in third person — it’s what I DO when I’m trying to really get my point across.

My arms are crossed and I’m stamping my little foot and yes, my lower lip is jutting out just like you thought it would be.

PRINCESS WAS SAD.

As I (back to first person) was perusing the racks for appropriate clothing to dress my client, my gaze wandered longingly to shoes and dresses and sparkly things that I wanted to caress and lovingly scoop up in my arms and run off to the dressing rooms…but this was not like going shopping with a friend where you each try on outfits and then come together for independent reviews of yea or nay.

I was being paid to SERVE someone else’s needs.

ME NO LIKE.

NO CAN DO.

Obviously NOT my dream job.

I was a very sad Princess Rosebud. I guess it’s not in the stars for me to be a personal stylist.

Yes, it was a success for HER but I came away empty-handed and depressed.

Black blazer and pencil skirt

This is not me; the suit is being tailored for my short arms and legs.

Guess what I did?

I bet it’s not too difficult to figure me out.

I went back to Nord a couple of days later and tried on clothes and shoes to my heart’s content.

I came away with an awesome black Calvin Klein blazer and matching pencil skirt (to replace an outfit I had previously returned to White House Black Market.)

And you know what?

NOW I’m happy. :)

And PRINCESS is happy, too :)

P.S. Anyone want to go shopping with me?

My Fresh Obsesh

Blog Update: I don’t know what’s happening to me! If you’ve been following the life of Enchanted Seashells, Confessions of a Tugboat Captain’s Wife for a while you might have noticed a sea change, a slight course correction, a freshening breeze.

It’s become increasingly more difficult – impossible even – to suppress the other seashells that insist upon rising to the surface…more than frivolous pursuits; pearls and Chanel, Hello Kitty and retail therapy, more than waiting for my sometimes-he’s here-sometimes-he’s-not tugboat man to come home.

The real world has rudely barged in and is guilty of disrupting Princess Rosebud’s rose-colored glasses form of reality, in spite of all the vigorous denial of that river in Egypt.

I’d much rather write about my seashell gluing and sewing projects, the search for that perfect shoe, or any of my seemingly neverending encounters with bad drivers and crappy customer service – but when animals are being abused, neglected, abandoned, slaughtered, unloved, or species threatened with extinction — it’s impossible to ignore.

My one small voice in concert with many will hopefully become a roar loud enough to effect positive change.

At least we have to try, right?

**This is a warning of sorts. You’ll be subjected to more posts that will be calls to action to raise awareness about animal related issues, defending these magnificent creatures, and providing them with the voices they lack. It seems like I should change the title of my blog to be Enchanted Seashells, Confessions of a Tugboat Captain’s Wife and Beeyotchy Animal Advocate-- or, too much?

===============================================================

But that’s not today’s topic. Today is all Princess Rosebud in her shopping glory!

If you’ve been keeping up with the saga of my quest for the perfect wedge. here’s an update:

I’m in holding pattern. I’m not actively searching anymore; I’ve exhausted all of my resources. I’ve looked far and wide up to Orange County and have experienced disappointment at every turn. I’ve made the majorest of decisions to leave it all up to Mother Universe — when she’s ready and the time is right, she will place the ultimate shoe in front of me — and I need to stop stressing about it.

There. I’ve given it up to a higher power.

Edging out the wedge (ha ha) of Number One priority status is my new (obesh) obsession to find the perfect black suit — pencil skirt and jacket  — for my public speaking event at a hearing in Sacramento on October 2 with Defenders of Wildlife.

Normally, I don’t travel alone. I don’t like to fly, I don’t like airports, I don’t like crowds, and I don’t like taking my shoes off in potentially germ-ridden places. I’ve only flown alone a few times; to visit my tugboat man in Hawaii before we were married, and to visit my son at Yale. Going to Sacramento alone is a major deal for me.

I’m not afraid of the public speaking part of this; I don’t suffer from glossophobia – I’m afraid mostly of driving to the airport, finding a place to park my car, getting from the airport to the hotel; those kinds of things.

So it makes sense that a new outfit to boost my confidence is just what I need, amIright?

A pencil skirt can enhance one’s shape or detract from it in a most unflattering way.

A three-way mirror is a harsh critic but very necessary, especially since I’ll be standing at a podium, facing the panel, but I can’t forget about the audience behind me. They’ll have the rear view.

A good fit is priceless.

That’s my logic for probably spending way too much money. I’m depending upon this suit to speak volumes to my audience and maybe even the media. Call me a media whore, no really, call me a media whore and I’ll answer you. I’m not ashamed of it, I’ve been known to whore myself out for a few precious moments of video, as long as my makeup and hair look good and my butt looks small. Well, smallish.

My Monday retail therapy pilgrimage brought me once again to White House Black Market. They have a pretty good selection of sizes for my five-foot-tall frame. Yes, I’m a Size Two and sometimes a Zero, but I’m a FAT Two. Really, there is such a thing. I’m small but solidly built. That’s what a zillion years of ballet and training with weights’ll do.

Black suit1I was lucky; I got a lovely skirt and jacket that look professional and will travel nicely. The jacket has a half-belted back that looks great and accentuates my waist. The three-quarter length sleeve is perfect for my short arms; this way it won’t have to be taken to the tailor.

I paired it with a deep charcoal gray shell; the only jewelry a simple strand of pearls and pearl earrings, along with platform patent leather heels. And of course, my Chanel Grand Shopper Tote, ‘cos that’s the ONLY Chanel I have…for the moment.

Being so short, I’ve found that I need to dress in a severe manner if I want anyone to take me seriously; I tend to still have a “little girl” look even though now it’s a wrinkled and Botoxed affect. Ah well, aging…

These selfies don’t really do justice to the deep black; I must have a lighting issue. And they’re neck down ‘cos I’m scary with no makeup.

Since my mean and non-existent-for-the-moment tugboat man has FORBIDDEN me to get a new smaller Chanel to supplant my courage, this suit will have to do it all — carry the day.

Although…he’s NOT the boss of me (I tell him that all the time) and he CAN’T tell me what to do, ‘cos I always do the OPPOSITE.

blacksuitopenWAIT!

Hold that thought for a minute.

Let’s analyze what he said.

HE KNOWS THIS. He knows that I’m contrary and normally do the exact opposite of mostly everything he suggests. (Example: my broken wrist. He told me not to run up the hill in slippery flipflops ‘cos I might fall and I did it anyway…fell, wrist broken. Read about that here.)

MAYBE the reason why he said I couldn’t get a new handbag is FOR THE SIMPLE REASON THAT HE WANTS ME TO GET ONE!

YES! That’s IT.  Reverse psychology!

Problem solved.

Looks like I need to do a bit more shopping, don’t you agree?

Hee hee.

The Penis in Repose…

…is not very imposing.

COVER YOUR EYES NOW. COVER YOUR EYES NOW!

(Sorry in advance if this is gross.)

Today I was scarred for life.

I cannot UNsee what I have seen.

The disturbing and appalling vision is still imprinted on my brain. I’m trying to blur it, to drown it, in Craftwork chardonnay, but it’s not WORKING. Get it? CraftWORK, WORKING.

Forgive me, I am traumatized. Wholly and completely.

Vienna-SausageThere it was in all of its unappealing glory.

Right in my face.

It was  a flippin’ and a floppin’ every which-a-way. It really was.

It flipped up. It flipped down. Up and down. It flopped. To the left. To the right. And if my eyes did not deceive me, there was some diagonal flipflopping action as well.

Everthing was moving in different diretions. All at once. In the blink of an eye.

All by itself, it was doing the “Hokey Pokey” and turning itself around.

A VERY indecent exposure.

Let me disclaim here and now: I am the mother of a male. I am the daughter of a nurse. I’ve seen my fair share…

I say all that to explain that I am not UNfamiliar with male anatomy. And yes, I’m married too, so this is not virgin territory. I AM a bit naive about a lot of things, I’ll admit that. No problem. I’ve never seen porn, not EVER, and don’t really ever want to. I’m the lover of Hello Kitty, remember? Kitties, puppies, butterflies — that’s what’s floating around in my head at any given time.

But this.

THIS was a seminal event in my life.

The backstory:

My tugboat man and I were running around doing errands preparatory to leaving for our Yellowstone journey. We had to go to REI and Target and a few other places. Our day ended quite literally at the beach. We stopped to get a much-deserved shave ice at our favorite place, JR’s Shave Ice in Oceanside.

As we headed south towards Carlsbad, hub wanted to stop at the beach to look at the waves (not very good btw) for a potential evening glass-off sesh. We pulled in behind a black truck. (Important story point.)

It was starting to get a little chilly so I sat in the car while he walked over to the cliff to check out the surf at Terramar.

It all happened so fast.

In the blink of an eye.

A surfer, obviously done for the day, was the owner of that black truck in front of us. He put his surfboard in the truckbed and proceeded to peel off his wetsuit.

COVER YOUR EYES NOW. COVER YOUR EYES NOW!

If only someone had yelled that at me, I would be writing about something else, not attempting to purge this horrendous vision from my soul.

He appeared to be in his mid-to-late forties and weighed 350 pounds or so, if my calculations are correct. The towel he wrapped around his waist was NOT large enough to completely cover his girth and…and his male reproductive parts.

There was a gap in the meeting of the towel.

A triangular gap that exposed private things. Can you picture that?

I was NOT looking, not actively, but it was in my field of vision; the periphery.

Hub started to walk back from the precipice of the cliff. He’s coming to me — he’s my savior — he’ll take care of this I know, and prevent me from seeing what no one should see.

But then…

The wetsuit is peeled all the way down his Orson Welles-ian gigantic stomach and then…

And then — because he’s too obese to bend down and pull it all the way off –HE KICKS the wetsuit OFF HIS FEET onto the sidewalk

At that moment, that precise moment that I was telepathically beseeching my tugboat man to save me, the wetsuit was kicked, the obese man gave a little hop as he stumbled just a bit, unable to balance with all that extra weight (he really needs some yoga training)…

The towel opened wide, and that’s when I couldn’t help but be exposed to all that…

flipping and flopping of his (unimpressive) out-of-control rudder. (I’m reminded of that Seinfeld episode where they’re all at the seaside and George is the victim of the cold, cruel ocean and what effect it has on…things. You know the one I’m talking about, right?)

A penis in repose is not a good look for anyone.

Not George Clooney. Not Johnny Depp Not Tom Brady.

Not even Ryan Gosling (OK maybe him).

There’s something of a nightmarish quality in seeing oftentimes proud, standing at attention, and imposing genitalia in all of its glory — reduced to its sad and listless self.

That’s my opinion. On a serious note, what if, instead of it being me, it was a child who saw that? I think surfers who change in public in full view of everyone need to be more circumspect.

We drove away, hub apologizing over and over on behalf of all men everywhere,

“You shouldn’t have had to see that. I know, I know. You poor dear. It must have been so terrible for you.”

Here’s my public service announcement to all surfers who change in public:

SURFER PSA

Surf poncho. Changing robe

Surf poncho. Changing robe.

P.S. Here’s a cover-up that completely solves this problem. It’s a great investment.

Pretty In Pink

Elephants, wolves, coyotes; helping to raise awareness and rid the world of animal cruelty is a depressing mission, that’s for sure.

It makes me appreciate even more the beauty in a flower, especially flowers in every shade of pink.

Begonias
pink flowerMandevilla — I call it a “Hello Kitty” pink.
pinkflower1

I can’t wait ’til it completely covers the arbor in pink blooms.

pinkflowerFuschia
When my son was little, we lived in Hillcrest, an older part of San Diego. The next door neighbors were in their late seventies and fell in love with our little guy, the grandchild they never had. They were both amazing gardeners and taught me how to propagate and grow fuschias and I’ve loved them ever since. It’s so easy to cut off a small piece of new (or old) growth and simply stick it in a pot —  and wait. It might take a while, but they all root and eventually grow into these beauties. Hummingbirds LOVE them, too.
They grow well here in So Cal if they have lots of water; fuschias are very thirsty!

fuschia2
fuschia3

Enjoy your Sunday; keep cool and hydrate!

fuschia

Hello Kitty Is My Soul Sister: Princess Rosebud’s Hello Kitty Birthday Party

Taking my son to the airport after a fun week of Mother’s Day and birthday celebrations, he says in that snarky tone he’s perfected after thirty-two years,

“What’s the deal with you and Hello Kitty?”

Hello Kitty 4My tugboat man, who also serves as my HK enabler ‘cos he thinks I’m adorable – uh, note to single girls — only marry a guy if he thinks everything you do is adorable – responded,

“Hello Kitty is for girly girls and your mom is one-thousand-percent girly girl.”

Well said, my captain, well said.

I’ve thought a lot about the reasons why I’m so drawn to Hello Kitty and I think it’s ‘cos she’s like my pretend soul sister.

HKwatchThe Urban Dictionary defines soul sister as “someone who fully understands you.”

Yup, that’s about right.

I’m not sure if I can pinpoint the exact moment when I first became aware of Hello Kitty.

With a son, it was never really on my radar as he was growing up. Shelves full of dinosaurs and skateboards were the aisles we aimed for at Toys R Us. We dug in the dirt; not so much matching dresses or spa days for us.

hello kitty pajamas and slippers

Sexxxyyy!!

I guess it was more of a gradual appeal;  a (grown-up) friend wore a Hello Kitty watch and I was drooling — drawn to the Swarovski crystals surrounding HK’s face and I HAD to get my own; I walked by a Hello Kitty display at Target (great point of purchase placement)…

OR

…maybe it was always hovering in my subconscious, fermenting and fomenting—until one day I succumbed.

hellokittycupI was hooked.

I fell in love with that adorable mouthless face. One watch led to a ring and to a matching bracelet and then slippers, and OMG the cutest hat with an anchor! (!!!! had to have it, right? It was a nautical theme)hkhat

OK, most people associate HK with little girls, but did you know that there is a secret society of adult women who collect HK?

More often than not, when I wear my HK tee-shirt, I’ll be approached by women I do not know,

Princess Rosebud wearing glasses.

Princess Rosebud wearing glasses.

“Pssst…excuse me” [pointing to my shirt]…do you collect?”

It’s like the Skull and Bones society for women “of a certain age.” Haha.

I confess: I’m an ADULT COLLECTOR of HK. Recently at the Baltimore Airport during a layover, a Southwest employee saw my HK watch and struck up a convo about her collection that includes the HK toaster, which I really need. Really.

We were whispering, “Are you one of us?” “Yes, tell me what you have” and we each listed the items in our collection.

There we were, two college graduated women of adult children — I am not kidding. It was surreal. I mean, who wants to talk about the depressing economy or the strange weather? BORING! Hello Kitty is a sweet, innocent diversion that makes us happy. What could be wrong with that?

Since I really can’t for the life of me logically explain the appeal,  I wanted to explore the psychology of adult women who are obsessed with  enamored of HK and thought someone should write their dissertation about the marketing genius of this huge pink kitty head with a bow. And sparkles.

I discovered a WordPress blog that seems to be a dissertation of sorts; check out http://hellokittydevotee.wordpress.com/dissertation/

BTW, HK is worth about FIVE BILLION DOLLARS yearly in licensing. And finally the ultimate…did you know that HK teamed up with one of Taiwan‘s biggest airlines? What a great experience–a Hello Kitty extravaganza; from meals to mascots to boarding passes.
hellokittyairlines2hellokittyairlines

HKparty1Which might in some small way explain the excitement I felt for my very first Hello Kitty Birthday Party! I’m not going to tell you how old I am; does it REALLY matter? I think not.

We spent the morning and early afternoon hiking Crystal Cove State Park (read about that HERE). When we returned home, hubs was exhausted and immediately fell asleep.

So much for that birthday cake he was sposed to make.

chocolatecoconuticecream

Chocolate Coconut Ice Cream

I threw together a One-Bowl Chocolate Cake with Chocolate Fudge Frosting and Chocoate Coconut Ice Cream.

The cake was out of the oven and cooling before he woke up. Figures, right? If you want something done, ya gotta do it yourself. Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose.

I challenged my tugboat man and my son to create dinner all by themselves. OK. We’re talking a Ph.D. Yale professor and a maritime academy graduate with a BS in Engineering.

Two smart, functional, adult men, right?

OMG, watching them write a grocery list and take off to the store offered tons of fun.

“Mom, do you have jicama? Mom, where’s a knife?” “Rosebud, can you chop this onion for me? Uh — how do you chop cilantro?”

I kept looking up recipes on my computer because I felt sorry for them.

Birthday barbecue

Hubs chose to make Mango Salsa with Blue Corn Chips for his appetizer; my son’s contribution was a Jicama Kumquat Salad. It was delicious.

I thought it’d be a good idea to barbecue because I had a feeling the kitchen was going to take me a week to clean up. This was a smart decision. We had potatoes, asparagus, beets (from the garden), corn, Smart Dogs, and it was all absolutely yummy.

Best of all, it was made with love.

HKparty2

keep-calm-and-love-hello-kitty-165

“I didn’t win the Powerball Jackpot”, says Princess Rosebud

Source: wchingya.com

Source: wchingya.com

Yoo hoo! It’s me, I’m back!

Sigh, we’re not the Powerball Lottery Jackpot winner, although we actually bought a couple of tickets which we never do, and I had mentally chosen an array of colors for my new Chanel and Hermes handbags — pink, white, turquoise, orange… and my tugboat man had picked out the locations for our new homes so he could follow the surf year-round.

Oh well.

This blog thing — it’s just like riding a bicycle, right? Hold on while I climb back on that seat and clip my shoes in the pedals.

Although I’m a little rusty, let’s see if I remember how to do this…my tagline is “beguiling pearls of wit, wisdom, and whimsy — with attitude.”

Hopefully, I haven’t completely forgotten…and I hope you haven’t completely forgotten ME.

It feels like it’s been sooo long since I sat down with my Mac on my lap to write a post — in my favorite writing spot — looking out the patio doors to the deck and beyond, listening to the birdsong…Pencils-lined-up

If we still wrote with pencils, you could picture me with them all lined up, sharpened to a point, awaiting the construct of a thought to translate into letters and words.

Where is YOUR favorite location to write?

UPDATE:

My tugboat man came home last Thursday evening – my son was delivered to me via Southwest Airlines on Sunday (Mother’s Day) and flew away on Friday night.

Saturday was full of cleaning and laundry, finding the clothes my son forgot to pack that he’ll probably need me to send to him — why is it that he can write a 250 page dissertation with an amazing amount of detail, but is so forgetful of the minutiae of daily life? Ah, the absent minded professor syndrome in action, right?

I took tons of pics of our busy week of hiking and birthday partying and surfing (them, not me).  I was baking and cooking and cleaning.

When I’m here all alone, I forget how much work is involved in caring for a family.

Can you believe that they expect to eat ALL DAY LONG? It’s true. Geez. And they want to do that EVERY DAY —  it is SOOO annoying!

Princess Rosebud wearing glasses.

Princess Rosebud wearing glasses.

I’m currently hard at work on several posts; our hike to Crystal Cove, my Hello Kitty birthday party, the one-year anniversary of my son’s commencement, and a pictorial of my box collection — I counted about thirty of ‘em in all shapes and sizes.

Stay tuned for a little husband snark, too. Just sayin’…

There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home, there’s no…

way I’ll ever go on BART again. No. Way.

That comes a bit later in the chronology of Princess Rosebud and her tugboat man’s most recent adventure.

If you’re going to San Franciscooo, be sure to wear some flowers in your hairrr…
There are sad vestiges of the Era of the Hippie; parts of Berkeley were a huge time warp. I bet hubs if I walked down the wrong street, I’d be pulled back and disappear in a pot-smoky haze of tie-dye and dreads and he’d never find me. 

The tugboat man had a business meeting in NorCal (that’s Northern California) and I decided to tag along.

I packed heavy; my motto is “you never know” and I might need to have an appropriate outfit for lots of different occasions.

Here’s what I brought along for a couple of days. You’ll notice an absence of dresses and heels, and that’s because I knew we’d be doing a lot of walking and it could rain at any time.

  • Black skinny jeans
  • Denim skinny jeans
  • Two pairs of workout pants
  • One long cashmere sweater
  • One short Free People sweater
  • Four t-shirts, including a Yale t-shirt since I’d be in Cal country and felt the need to represent
  • One nice silky blouse
  • Black boots, tall
  • Ugg type boots
  • Athletic shoes
  • Leopard print flip flops
  • Black raincoat
  • Warm fuzzy dressing gown
  • ***A pair of “he might get lucky” silk pajamas
  • ***My Hello Kitty, “I’m tired and going to sleep–don’t even try it” pajamas
  • Chanel handbag, of course
  • Backpack
  • Three scarves
  • And just in case we stopped to hike, I packed all my hiking gear, including my hiking poles.

Rose Garden InnSearching online, I found a place in Berkeley called Rose Garden Inn.

How could we NOT stay there?
I know, right?

We drove up Tuesday morning, had a late lunch with a cousin of mine that lives nearby, and checked in.

It’s a bit funky, a complex of old Victorian homes that’ve been transformed into rooms and suites. The first thing I make hubs do is check for bedbugs before I put anything down. I’m happy to say we were bug-free. (That silly Chanel loves to photo bomb every pic!) I wear flip flops in the shower; I wouldn’t let my bare skin touch any surface unless I cleaned it with a gallon of bleach. (Soz for the bad pic)roomatrosegardeninn

The courtyard is very inviting and quaint.Courtyard

Tuesday night we walked up the street to eat at an Indian/Nepali restaurant called Mt. Everest. It was an absolute treasure. Every dish we had was filled with flavors and fragrance, including the most amazing Naan bread.

His meeting on Wednesday was gonna take a few hours so I was on my own.  The concierge told me about a shopping area called Elmwood that was about ten blocks away, not enough to call it a hike, but a pleasant walk. It was chock full of the cutest little shops and bakeries and cafes.

I bought a couple prezzies for hubs and DIL,  whom we planned to meet for dinner near where she works in the city.

BART = HELL ON WHEELS

Bay+Area+Commuters+Hampered+Second+Day+Bay+zzz3mLm0DmKlHere’s where this BART thing comes in. Bay Area Rapid Transit.  We didn’t want to drive ‘cos there’s tons of traffic and no place to park in the city.  I never took BART, even tho I’ve spent a fair amount of time in SF on family visits — and I never will again. Never. Ever.

As you might surmise, I’m not an aficionado of public transportation — I’ve only been on a handful of buses even, but hubs grew up in the Bay area and I felt safe navigating BART with him.

We had one EXTREMELY unpleasant encounter with a gentleman who was UBER hostile and aggressive and threatening because we wouldn’t give him money; quite a few others appeared like they needed to be in locked facilities rather than freely roaming around.

BART SURVIVAL TIP: NO EYE CONTACT NO EYE CONTACT NO EYE CONTACT

Poor hubs arm is  probably still full of bruises the way I was hanging on for dear life. Our BART needed to go under the water – UNDER THE WATER to take us from Oakland to downtown San Francisco.

It was way too stressful for me;  I swear I’ll never take the Chunnel after this experience, but the worst part was that the stupid train STOPPED half way through its journey — STOPPED UNDERWATER and all I could think of was the millions and millions of tons of water pressure on top of us. I was THIS CLOSE to having a MAJOR MELTDOWN. After dinner and a few very necessary glasses of wine, we took the ferry back, which was a stress-free and quite pleasant voyage.

Chanel photobomb ferry SFMy tugboat man agreed: it’s better to be on top of the water than under it.
See that silly Chanel. Always with the photo bomb, even on the ferry…what an EGO, right?

The Oakland-Bay Bridge is adorned with a beautiful light show that totes made up for our scary ride at the bottom of the bay.Check out the amazing light show.

LA traffic

A loud party at the Inn kept us awake and we got a late start driving home — had to endure rush hour through LA.


A deep sigh of relief at our first glimpse of the ocean near Trestles. Almost home!Trestles

Dorothy was SO right, “There’s no place like home.”

Today is a boot-nanza and a boot-tacular day!

All my whining and whinging and going on ad nauseum about how poor little me can’t find the perfect black boot and my stingy hubs won’t let me spend $2,000.00 on those Chanels HAS FINALLY COME TO AN END!

I have closure, I have fulfillment, I have reached my bootgasm. Aaaahhh. And it feels AY-MAY-ZING!

Since he left on Monday my tugboat man has taken three flights and an eight-hour boat ride to reach his ultimate destination. Sworn to secrecy, I can’t tell where, but let’s just say it’s remote. 

Enough about him. On to ME and MY day.

I’m back on the horse, all systems go; a protein drink for energy in my belly, and I’m off to SHOP!!!

After spending Tuesday cleaning like a madwoman and falling asleep after New Girl, my shopping desire became a hunger that rose with the sun. Instead of going to Pilates, I left the house at 9:45 a.m. in order to arrive at Nordstroms Rack at 10:00 a.m. Right on time for the opening, I  snapped a pic of my morning mecca. Blue sky, palm trees, great parking spot.

Life. Is. Good.nordrack

With a single-minded determined march to the footwear department, I surveyed the landscape like a five-star general. Shoes to the left, boots to the right. On to victory!

 nordaislenordaisle2There were a couple of other women in the same size area. I usually wear a 5 or a 5  1/2. It just depends. I grabbed a bunch of boots to stake my claim, just in case they got there first. It was woman against woman and “boot war” rules apply. It wasn’t quite the kind of madness you’d find at a Kleinfeld’s clearance, but we were circling each other; wary, squinting, attempting to strategize while seeming nonchalant. I know all the tricks, beeyotches!

bootsnord

Cinderella (me) tried on many boots–and shoes too, duh, who’re we kidding? I spent two hours in that one part of Nords–and this is what I came out with; not one, but two pair of boot! (Notice the entirely gratuitous shot of my Grand Shopper Tote CHANEL?)

The black boots are Via Spiga. I feel very empowered and beeyotchy in them, a sure sign that they contain the MAGIC. They fit snugly around the calf, which I love, ‘cos most boots are too roomy. Motorcycle cop, anyone? Or polo in the Hamptons? And then I couldn’t help but get the second pair. They are just so darn CUTE with those little studs. I feel like a TOUGH gang chicka. The color is cognac and they’re Steve Madden. I love shorty boots with dresses. Adorbs with an attitude, don’t you agree?

newboots boots2

For the final coup of the day, I went next door to Marshalls (!) and found these…COULD. NOT. RESIST.hkshoes

That’s my day, how’s your Wednesday?

haters