Princess Rosebud Ponders a Dilemma of Gigantic Proportions

Sophie's Choice via Google Images

Sophie’s Choice via Google Images

That’d be me, of course.

Princess Rosebud.

With a dilemma.

An enchanting sort of dilemma.

OK, here’s the deal…

That husband of mine-who-is-never-here-but-really-exists-really-he-does has been out to sea on assignment since March 10.

Yes, that’s correct — MARCH 10.

A very long time indeed, and as it happens, my birthday is coming up VERY soon.

I don’t really care to celebrate the day but I DO love to get a prezzie. (Or two, as you’ll see.)

I’ve had my eye on this little minimalist necklace that is all the fashion rage; hub told me to go ahead and get it, which made me verrry happy, and that’s what I did.

I drove to Bloomingdales in Fashion Valley; saw it, loved it, put it on, bought it,

Just like that.

It’s the perfect little sparkle to wear all the time; either by itself or layered with…other necklaces.

laurenjoymini

(Here’s where it all goes wrong (or right, depending on your point of view.)

Floating on a retail high, I strolled around the shopping center, wandering into Hermes, Carolina Herrera, Tory Burch, Gucci, Prada — there’s no Chanel at Fashion Valley, so you’d think I’d be safe from temptation, right?

BUT.

Drifting through Nordstrom, running my hand through racks of silky boho blouses and scarves, I discovered a secluded little alcove that was all CHANEL.

Iconic Chanel tweed suits, timeless classic beauty in the $5000 and up price range — good to look at, but they’re not coming home with me, that’s for sure.

But then.

I turned around and saw a glass display case full of Chanel jewelry.

DID YOU HEAR ME?

Full of Chanel jewelry.

Uh oh.

The very nice sales associate brought out one piece after another and I tried them all on.

“Have you seen this one?” she said.

“It’s sparkly” she said.

OHMYGODOHMYGODOHMYGOD.

I’ve always always wanted the little CC logo pendant.

I died. What do I do? Not half an hour earlier I purchased a 14K diamond necklace that was supposed to be my birthday gift from my EXTREMELY GENEROUS absentee husband.

Here’s the dilemma:

  • Do I take back the first necklace and buy the Chanel?
  • Do I walk away from the Chanel?
  • Do I keep them both?
  • Do I have a choice here?

What do YOU think I did?

I had a brief chat with myself because I couldn’t call hub for his opinion since he wasn’t available by cell, so I had to solve this dilemma entirely on my own.

My decision?

I needed BOTH necklaces.(See how I used the word NEED instead of WANT.)

Of course I did, because I DESERVE both of them.

How could anyone choose? They’re both equally amazing, equally beautiful, and now I’m twice as happy!

(No Sophie’s choice this time.)

Here’s the awesome little Chanel.

chanelnecklaceCC1

By some miracle of the cosmos, another gift arrives this week.

Totally unexpectedly, tugboat man called and said he’s flying home for a week or so between assignments. On Thursday. MY BIRTHDAY.

That’s TOMORROW, which means I’m back on Cinderella duty — jewelry off, yellow rubber gloves on; cleaning, baking, ironing sheets, and hanging welcome home banners.

Don’t think I don’t know I live a charmed life.

I know.

Stop All The Scrunchie Shaming!

MESELFIE2STOP SCRUNCHIE SHAMING!

I’ve had just about enough of this abuse.

I confess.

I’m here to out myself. but I’m still hiding behind dark shades (Chanel, of course).

I’m an addict.

I’ve tried to change.

I really have.

Not a day goes by that I don’t wish and hope and pray that I could be strong enough to resist temptation, but I’m weak.

I NEED it to tame my mane.
I mean, LOOK at me, would ya? My hair has a mind of its own.

When I was growing up in pink toe shoes and tutus and my hair was properly braided and beribboned every morning, how could I possibly foresee what the future would bring?

There was no crystal ball to warn me of the impending appearance of those colorful fabric-wrapped elastic bands that would be my crack.

I lack strength; I’m powerless.

(This is tougher than I thought it would be.)

I won’t — I can’t– hide my addiction one more minute.

The truth is that I wear a SCRUNCHIE every. single. day.

I can’t get through the day without one. Or two.

AND YES, I WEAR IT ON MY WRIST LIKE A BRACELET.

Just to keep it close and handy.

scrunchie1In fact, I have one on my wrist right now, AS I’M TYPING THIS POST.

Don’t even THINK about trying to wrestle it away from me.

Red or blue or purple; I carry extras in my handbags JUST IN CASE I LOSE ONE.

Us girls with SUPER curly and thick hair need a big fattie scrunchie to tame our wild beasty locks.

scrunchie3

You know what?

I’ve had friends who’ve staged spontaneous interventions to help me confront my love for the scrunchie.

I’ve had friends pull them out of my hand and toss them in the trash.

Friends have gifted me all sorts of other hair bands and a variety of products to secure my crazy hair.

I’ve been bribed with lunch and unlimited wine if I don’t show up wearing a scrunchie.

“It ruins your outfit” they say.

“You look like a reject from the nineties”, they say.

Apparently, it’s embarrassing to be seen with a scrunchie-wearer.

I. DON’T. CARE. WHAT. ANYONE. THINKS.

I LOVE my scrunchies.

HAHAHA…the dreaded SIDE SCRUNCHIE!

scrunchieside

No other form of securing my tresses will satisfy me:

  • A scrunchie doesn’t pull my hair
  • A scrunchie doesn’t create unsightly lines
  • A scrunchie doesn’t hurt at night when I have to pull my hair back or braid it so I won’t look like Medusa in the morning
  • And Cosmo says it’s a “must have” for oral sex, so it must be true

I feel so much better having confessed my secret addiction.

It’s a huge load off my chest. I feel light and free.

So deal with it, world.

From this day forward, I’m out, I’m loud, and I’m a PROUD scrunchie-wearer!

My stash.

My stash.

Just be glad it’s not a banana clip. Hee hee.

Every Picture Tells A Story, Don’t It?

We live near an elementary school and I took a random pic from my upstairs office window while they were doing some noisy playground maintenance during spring break.

I had no idea that this moment in time was captured by the camera until I downloaded it.

(Hee hee.)

Man at work. Where did he go?

portapottieschool

P.S It’s not MY bad grammar. Blame Rod Stewart.

Older. Wiser. Better?

Many years later, still puzzling things out.

SELFIE PUZZLEStill the paramount focal point of any photo.
Still fabulously attired with beautifully coiffed and beribboned hair.
Still unable to fit round pieces into square shapes.
And yet, still, the world revolves around me.

And most importantly, still adorable.

P.S. I sent this post to hub and he emailed back that this has always been his favorite pic of me and it’s because I look so determined.

Rebranding Fat Tuesday and Much LOVE for Cindy Crawford

There’s a connection here — or at least in my feverish condition, I see one…

Writer’s note: After I hit publish, I realized there’s grammatical confusion with the original title — I don’t think Cindy Crawford needs to be rebranded ALSO, which is what the “and” implied Update:. I think I fixed the problem with this version.

Photo:Enchanted Seashells,Confessions of a TugboatCaptain's Wife

Photo:Enchanted Seashells,Confessions of a TugboatCaptain’s Wife

It’s not the excessive alcohol consumption that bothers me, nor the shiny beads (I love all that is shiny and sparkly), nor the naked-y ladies dancing down Bourbon Street.

What really vexes me is the name…FAT Tuesday.

I know what it means…

Mardi Gras is French for “Fat Tuesday”, and is the practice of overindulging in rich, fatty foods before the ritual fasting of the Lenten season.

Because of my body issues, it’s the word FAT that causes me distress.

I work really hard to fight against being overweight, to eat healthy foods, exercise daily, limit my intake of fatty and rich foods — yes, it’s my issue, I KNOW that. I’m so short at five feet tall that an extra ounce looks like five pounds on my small frame. It’s been a life-long struggle.

Still.

Here’s what I think of when I hear FAT:
Plump
Stout
Overweight
Large
Chubby
Portly
Flabby
Obese

All very negative. FAT is an ugly word.

Here’s a thought. How about a total rebranding?

If it were renamed “Curvy Tuesday” or “Voluptuous Tuesday”, I’d be more inclined to wholeheartedly celebrate.

Doesn’t that sound better than “Plus-sized Tuesday”?

I dunno. I guess you could say I’m fat-shaming Fat Tuesday.


What do you think about this unretouched photo of Cindy Crawford?

Unretouched Cindy Crawford

http://www.dailyhiit.com/hiit-blog/hiit-community/cindy-crawford-releases-un-photoshoped-pictures/On another but similar subject, what do you think about this un-retouched photo of Cindy Crawford?

I think she’s gorgeous and real and it’s incredibly empowering.

There’s so much pressure to continue to look like we’re in our unlined and no cellulite twenties — I’m hopeful the future will bring less photoshopping and more authentic portrayals of women as we are. I stopped reading all those fashion mags ‘cos they’re really depressing. Try as I might, I could never attain that level of skinny.

This might sound like a mixed message with my observations about FAT Tuesday, but it’s not. Really.

Happy Curvy Tuesday, everyone!

 

 

Oy Vey, Jon Stewart, You Broke My Heart

NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

And right before Valentine’s Day!

HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME, MY LOVE?

Did you hear the news?

My secret fantasy, the love of my life, my all-time JewCrush, has broken my heart.

I’m verklempt.

OY, the PAIN!

#1 JewMom heartthrob: Jon Stewart.

Jon’s Goodbye
http://www.vanityfair.com/hollywood/2015/02/jon-stewart-goodbye-the-daily-show

(We profess love for the dreamy Max Greenfield — Schmidt of “New Girl” — however, he’s a bit young for a true midlife fantasy as he’s about the same age of our sons — and there’s something not quite right with that scenario, if you know what I mean.)

Don’t misunderstand —  I have a special place in my heart for my erstwhile tugboat man; after all, we’ve been married for just about twenty-one years, but JON STEWART owns a huge piece of my heart (the Jewish part.)

Those blue eyes, that soupçon of unruly hair that falls rakishly across his forehead, his sort of creepy and girlish giggle — even his UBER hairy hands — no one else measures up.

His wit, his humor, his singular delivery, even his SINGING — I’m fanning myself- what will I do?

How will I survive?

What about NEWS? What about VIEWPOINT?

Don’t worry, hub knows all about how I feel about Jon — he shares the love — and never misses “Your Moment of Zen”.

We trust The Daily Show to deliver the kind of UN-biased news that reflects our perspective, our cynical and mocking attitude toward all that is political…

And he has rescue dogs! Rescue! Dogs!

I’m planning a trip to the east coast to visit Professor Angel Boy; WHAT IF I WAS IN THE AUDIENCE FOR A TAPING OF JON’S SHOW?

WHAT IF WE MET? 

That would be totally awesome.

TOTALLY AWESOME.

The stuff of dreams, my friends. The stuff of dreams.

Jon’s First Daily Show
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/11/28/jon-stewart-first-daily-episode_n_2204750.html


My previous posts about Jon Stewart:

Dear Jonathon Stuart Lebowitz
http://enchantedseashells.com/2013/01/26/dear-jonathan-stuart-leibowitz/

The Real Meaning of Thanksgiving
http://enchantedseashells.com/2012/11/21/the-real-meaning-of-thanksgiving-enjoy/

 

 

 

Au Revoir, Facebook

For the last and final time, Facebook has thwarted my desire to be known far and wide by my nom de plume, Princess Rosebud.

For my friends who like me on Facebook, I am so sorry.

No longer will I be able to waste hours and hours with you.

I will miss you!

I thought the most recent ploy on their part to force me to reveal my true name was successfully sidestepped by christening myself Rose Bushes which I believed was a singularly brilliant albeit tongue-in-cheek gaming of their stupid RULES.

Today, out of the blue, Facebook shut me out again,

I give up.

This time, they demand I send them some form of “acceptable” identification, like a driver’s license or a passport, which I feel is a huge violation of my legal and privacy rights.

I will NOT be doing that.

Of course, they will say it’s their sandbox and their rules.

P.S. There’s a chance that my blog posts will still automatically appear on my now defunct FB pages but I won’t be able to comment or converse with anyone. My sincere apologies!

So be it.

Je suis Princess Rosebud.

Au revoir, my friends.

Of course, you can still be my friend on Twitter…

https://twitter.com/EnchantedCshel

Ello, anyone?

 

 

Was Jennifer Aniston REALLY a Bitch to Benedict Cumberbatch?

Last night, in a blaze of dueling tweets, those of us who thrive on celebrity stupidity were glued to our televisions AND our fingers were SMOKING to offer thousands of unwanted opinions on all topics Golden Globes-related.

(This is one of the few activities that I thoroughly enjoy when my tugboat man is out to sea. I can watch and tweet without hearing his snotty, sarcastic complaints and girly-like whining and whinging.)

The following are some of my observations of last night’s show, in no particular order, just as I’m remembering them.

One moment stood out for me right at the beginning of the show.

When Tina Fey asked for someone to volunteer to announce the first award with Jennifer Aniston, Benedict Cumberbatch was chosen. What followed was either a poorly thought out and executed skit OR Jennifer Aniston is an ungracious, selfish, self-centered BITCH.

I choose the latter.

In my opinion, Cumby was genuinely excited to be chosen – he was a bit nervous in a totes adorbs way, and seemed to have no pretense about him.

On the other hand, JenASS was dismissive, rude to him, short-tempered, and even made a comment sotto voce about “doing it by herself”.

If it was pre-planned, and I don’t think it was, it fell flat.

Like I said in a tweet. “Cumberbatch rules, Aniston drools.”

What do you think?

Similar to the overkill with Margaret Cho as a Korean dictator. It was kinda funny the first time or two, but we got message, OK?

More relevant and eloquent was the speech by the foreign press guy (can’t remember his name) about free speech and the horrific tragedy in Paris.

For me, even with the anticipation of Tina Fey and Amy Pohler, the Golden Globes was simply “Je suis ennui.” (I am bored.)

I wasn’t wowed by them this year, sorry everyone!

The Cosby jokes were cringey and kinda in bad taste, ‘cos I don’t think rape is at all funny, and certainly not a topic to joke about.

I love love loved Michael Keaton tearing up about his son. That was beautiful.

I was never a fan of single George Clooney (I actually bet my tugboat man he was gay a while back) so married GC doesn’t really bother me. I’m not getting the marriage to an obviously brilliant international barrister, though. It seems to be a weird match — down for her, up for him – and THAT Fey/Pohler bit was funny AND great observational humor.

What else…trying to remember. Oh yeah. Then there was Kristen Wiig. Girl, PLEASE don’t wear my bedroom drapes and matching pillow to an awards show again. Thank you. It was hideous on so many levels.

And then there was Prince. Totes cray, right?

Fashion-wise, there lots of double-sided sticky taped boobage every where you looked. Kate Hudson looked amazing, JLo did not. Kate Beckinsdale is so gorgeous I have a girl crush on her. Poor Melissa McCarthy and Lena Dunham. Sad.

But the very best surprise of the night is that I’m now being followed on Twitter by the brilliant, insanely snarky comedian, Carolyn Rhea! I’ve always admired her wit and ability to cut to the heart of a situation. I wish she had her own show!

Like to follow me? I’m at: https://twitter.com/EnchantedCshel

carolynrhea2 carolynrhea1

 

Hairy Hanukkah Harry and The Story of Hanukkah 2012

Hannukah candles

Forget elf shaming, try a little Hanukkah Harry Guilt! (Not gelt).

This post is a time machine back to the year twenty-twelve, but it’s the only one I have for Hanukkah.

That year I was all alone. Again. 

Happy Chanukkah or Hanukkah or Hannukah or Channukah 2014!

However you spell it, it’s eight days of prezzies! 


…or the continuing saga of my life.

As my first husband’s mother said to my mom, “isn’t it such a shame you wasted so much money on her education. She doesn’t really seem to do much of anything, does she?”

Looky here, readers, you all need to stop whining right now. Right now, I say!

I’ve peeked inside your private lives. Here’s a typical scenario:

8:00 a.m. You’re home with your spouse before leaving the house to go to work or he goes to work while you “stay home to take care of the kids” which really means you’re going to Tweet and shop all day and change a diaper or two, only if necessary. Not all of you, but enough to make it true. And I know it’s true ‘cos who do you think I tweet with all day?

Spouse: “I’ll home home at six. See ya.”

{Smooch goodbye}

crzy cat lady bathrobe

This is awesome.

Wife pulls the ratty bathrobe a bit tighter and rebelts it because an important message is acoming…

“Now you come right home after work, don’t stop anywhere; no bars, no strip clubs, nothin’. You come right home, ya hear me?  I’m making something special for dinner tonight.”

Spouse: “OK”

He walks out to the car. Five seconds after leaving the house, before the car even backs out of the driveway, he totally forgot everything his wife said. Typical, right?

6:00 p.m.- no hubby

6:15 p.m – no hubby

6:30 p.m. Here it comes…the power texting, phoning, emailing commences.

{no response}

burned dinner in oven7:00 p.m. Dinner burns. wife drank all the wine, spends time sharpening knives. Candles burnt down to nubs, the smoke of one burnt out candle with its acrid scent floats through the air.

The scissors come out to make a few strategic alterations in his favorite t-shirt.

She opens another bottle of wine.

8:00 p.m. His car drives up, front door opens, “Hi honey, I’m home!”

“WHERE. WERE. YOU.”

‘Wha? Why is it so dark in here?”

Where. were. you. I called. I emailed. I texted.”

“Ohhh…didn’t I mention I’d be late today? I -uh- thought I did.”

-End scene-desperate housewives

OK, I could go on and on but the point is that when 99% of you get mad at your significant others when they’re late; when work or whatever–delays their arrival at the appointed hour–you all need to STOP WHINGING AND WHINING about it!!

Since the world revolves around me, take a walk around South Coast Plaza in my shoes (not the Gucci ones, tho. I wear a 5 1/2 and your feet’d stretch ’em all out.) I was expecting the captain tomorrow, Thursday. I cleaned the house, washed the windows, planned and anticipated the whole homecoming–even made a new welcome home sign–and he called and said he’d be LATE.

HE’S GOING TO BE A MONTH AND A HALF LATE!

HE WON’T BE BACK UNTIL SOMETIME NEXT JANUARY 201THREE!!

I’m not saying not to be pissed at your inconsiderate spouse–I would never think to deprive you of that joy–just think about ME next time.

OKAY?

Your “late” and my “late” are two different things altogether.

Ahem. Now, to give equal time to my cultural background as a full blooded Jewish American Princess, may I formally present to you my Hannukah installation….with the one and only Hairy Hannukah Harry holding the torah. Eight candles represent the eight days that I had to wait before I could spend more of the captain’s hard earned money.

Hannukah candlesForget elf shaming, try a little Hanukkah Harry Guilt!

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 get ready for my son and DIL who are visiting for a couple of days and my tugboat man who’ll be home on December 23. 
…..     …..     …..     …..     …..     …..     …..     …..     …..     …..     …..     …..     …..     

Don’t HATE…EMULATE!

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