Tag Archives: Humor

Deja F***ing Vu — Hello and Goodbye

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Welcome to my world…

smelltugGuess who’s leaving again? You win! Easy to figure this one out. Yup. Another captain got sick and had to be flown home, so the company just called my tugboat man and off he goes on Wednesday.

I don’t think that’s very funny; I hadn’t planned for this — he was supposed to be home for at least a month — however, since I’m a glass half full kinda gal, I found a couple of tugboat jokes and a poem to share.

I hope you get a chuckle out of the jokes, even if they are a bit lame.

Tug humor, gotta love it.

Tugboat Joke #1

Once upon a time there was a famous sea captain. This captain was very successful at what he did; for years he guided merchant ships all over the world. Never did stormy seas or pirates get the best of him. He was admired by his crew and fellow captains.

However, there was one thing different about this captain. Every morning he went through a strange ritual. He would lock himself in his quarters and open a small safe. In the safe was an envelope with a piece of paper inside. He would stare at
the paper for a minute,then lock it back up. Afterwards, he would go about his daily duties.

For years this went on, and his crew became very curious. Was it a treasure map? Was it a letter from a long lost love? Everyone speculated about the contents of the strange envelope. One day the captain died at sea. After laying the captain’s body to rest, the first mate led the entire crew into the captains quarters.

He opened the safe, got the envelope, opened it and… The first mate turned pale and showed the paper to the others. Four words were on the paper; two lines with two words each:

Port Left
Starboard Right

Tugboat Joke #2

Way down the Mississippi River, two tugboat captains who had been friends for years, would always cry, “Aye!” and blow their whistles whenever they passed each other. A new crewman asked his boat’s mate, “What do they do that for?”

The mate looked surprised and replied, “You mean that you’ve never heard of an aye for an aye and a toot for a toot?”

 …and a poem

Sea Fever

I must go down to the seas again,
to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship
and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song

and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face
and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again,
for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call

that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day
with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume,
and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again
to the vagrant gypsy life,

To the gull’s way and the whale’s way
where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn
from a laughing fellow rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream
when the long trick’s over.

John Masefield, 1878-1967

tugboat

640px-Tugboat_diagram-en_edit1a

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

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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.”

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I Just Want to Pee Alone… A Must-Read Book Review

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I Just Want To Pee Alone

Trust me, this is one of the best (and most irreverent) guides to the real world of mothering you’ll ever read.

It brought me back with laughter to the days when the bathroom was a place to hide for a few brief moments of precious solititude — where I’d hide a book to attempt to read and eke out a few sentences before the scratching and whining at the door would start to let me know I’d been discovered.

Ahhh, the good old days!

Way back when my son was a baby, we didn’t have blogging or the opportunity to use humor as an outlet to the rewarding — but unrelenting — job of being a mommy.

Raising kids properly is hard work. Every mom can relate to  “I just want to pee alone!”

I Just Want to Pee Alone is a collection of hilarious essays from thirty-seven of the most kick ass mom bloggers on the web. “Grown Up Words in a Pint-Sized Mouth” by Momaical (Tracy Winslow) is laugh-out-loud funny and is a must-read. She’s in great company with the rest of the bloggers, including People I Want to Punch in the Throat, Insane in the Mom-Brain, The Divine Secrets of a Domestic Diva, Baby Sideburns, Let Me Start By Saying, and Rants From Mommyland.

Read it for yourself and I’m sure you’ll agree with me.

This is a super gift for a baby shower or a new mom, as necessary as a stroller or a car seat!

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Breaking News: See-through yoga pants from Lululemon. Get ‘em while they’re hot!

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Listen up, ladies!

Do I hear a WTF? A what-what?

Even in the midst of body conscious Suthern Caly-forn-eye-A, we who aspire to the “forever young” mantra know what yoga pants mean. They mean we don’t have to always think about holding it in, they mean we can EAT, they mean it HIDES imperfections and flaws while we are in pursuit of perfection, they mean we can — for the duration of the wearing of yoga pants –NOT be self-haters or ashamed of our silhouette in the reflection of a shop window.

At least that’s what yoga pants did for me. Until now, that is.

see through yoga pantDid you think that all the attention you were getting at the gym or the grocery store or running errands was because your beauty was shining though and the universe was responding to your inner goodness and wit and intelligence?

WELL…maybe that’s true, but it could also have been this. Lululemon is recalling some of their yoga pants because of a teensy weensy transparency “issue”.

Yup, you can see through ‘em.

yogapantrecallYour (and my own) overpriced and overhyped little Lululelmon logo embellished workout wear lets it all hang out for the world to see.

According to a Lululemon company statement, the recall is due to “the coverage… resulting in a level of sheerness in some of our women’s black Luon bottoms that falls short of our very high standards.”

The transparent pants, which resulted in a recall of 17% of product, are the fourth quality-control issue that Lululemon has had this year.

For the outrageous price of a Lululemon product, would it be too much to expect that they’re well-made?

Seventy percent of their clothing is manufactured in third-world countries with factories in China, Taiwan, South Korea, South America, Israel, Indonesia, Thailand and Vietnam.

The Lululemon website explains, “Global economic forces…have shifted manufacturing to more cost-attractive locations and resulted in closures of some domestic factories.”

Good times, y’all!

Instead of using the goddess-given benefits of Spandex to crunch and smash together all my cellulite into one hot tight mass of “muscle”, everything I DON’T want the world to see is OUT THERE. I’ve been OUTED.

Hell, even I don’t want to see that cottage cheese on the back of my legs. Now I have to be stressed out that YOU can see it, too?

And what’s worse? My confession? I don’t wear underpants under my workout gear. I hate  panty lines; they just bother me. Now I learn that it’s all on display and I never knew it.

Apparently I’ve been giving it away for free, as my mom would have said. Not only my butt, my cellulite, and my C-section scar, but — oh joy –you can discover whether I’ve had a full Brazilian OR NOT.

i’m ashamed to say that I bought into the hype –which is huge in SoCal — and I’m gonna march myself right on to the Lululemon shop in La Costa at The Forum and hand them back so I can get my $79.00 plus tax put back on my credit card and hippity hop over to Target and buy several new very densely packed yoga/workout pants for about $25.00 each. A much better bargain and my girly parts and cellulite will stay private.

image-via-funnydictionary.com_-300x213I read online about several different girls who attempted to return a pair of pants at Lululemon and were forced to wear them and bend over to show that it was sheer to the employee.

That is so crazy. Crazy, crazy, crazy.  I think you prolly have a very good picture of what would happen if a salesperson insisted I bend over.

CHICK FIGHT CHICK FIGHT CHICK FIGHT! 

Lululemon blames the manufacturere who says in response..”All shipments to Lululemon went through a certification process which Lululemon had approved. All the pants were manufactured according to the requirements set out in the contract with Lululemon,” [Eclat Chief Financial Officer Roger Lo.]

christine Day, CEO LululemonLululemon CEO Christine Day replaced Lululemon founder Chip Wilson in 2007. Before that, she was an executive at Starbucks. She has been criticized for growing the company too fast with a resulting loss of quality.

I don’t want to put the hate on a woman at the helm of anything, but I think women in positions of ultimate power have a tendency to model themselves after males in similar positions and forget the wonderfulness of our gender.

Don’t try to mimic a male; instead, be the best HUMAN you can be.

Overnight French Bread or Dr. Freud is in the house

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I couldn’t resist. This was too funny to not share.
Anyone think I miss my out-to-sea captain hubby?
Overnight French Bread rising…
Calling Dr. Freud…calling Dr. Freud…

overnight french bread

 

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Countdown to Sexy Time – Part One

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My fall–not from grace but off the counter–didn’t slow me down, but it certainly kept me on terra firma for the remainder of my pre-tugboat man welcome home preparations.

I thought you might like to accompany me on my journey of self-imposed indentured servitude over the last couple of days:

  • Washed the windows, inside and out, including taking the screens out and washing them.
  • I paid special attention to the patio door tracks. I hate dirty tracks, don’t you?

    Window Washing

    Tools of the trade: toothbrush, skewer, bleachy stuff, glass cleaner.

  • Mowed the lawn
  • Reseeded the lawn
  • Cleaned out the pond, filled it with water, and plugged in the pump
  • Trimmed the vines on the arbor which involved standing on a three-step ladder but I was very careful. :)
  • Washed our deck with a mop and Murphy’s Oil Soap; it got messed up during our rain last week. (See, it does rain in SoCal!)Rain in SoCal

I have a great vacuuming tip…
Before a special event like my always gone husband returning or guests are coming, or you just want a lovely smelling home, saturate a cotton ball with your favorite scent. It could even be vanilla extract or lavender, but I spray “Chance” by Chanel on the cotton. It’s a bit extravagant, but lasts a long time. The next step is to actually vacuum up the scented cotton ball and commence vacuuming! Your entire house will smell absolutely delicious. You know how the bag can get that really icky smell? The scented cotton ball freshens the bag, too!

Tugboat Man Update:
It’s less than forty-eight hours until I leave for my billionth trip to the airport. His flight arrives Thursday at 3:15 p.m. I’ll have to leave at 2:30 or a bit earlier if there’s traffic.

Stay Tuned for Part Two on Wednesday
Baking and perfumed sheets…I bought him a couple of shirts for a welcome home gift and I’ll be hauling out the welcome home signs.

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The perils of being a domestic goddess

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Spring cleaning can be hazardous to your health…

kitchen windowThere I was in my full-on Cinderella mode, first scrubbing the hearth and then trudging upstairs to the kitchen, washing the window above the sink, crouching–squatting really–on the tile counter–stretching my right arm at an awkward angle across my body to reach the very top of the glass, at which point I accidentally knocked over a cup of cold tea near my feet which made the counter slippery as ice at a skating rink and I couldn’t stop myself before I slipped off and fell on the very hard tile floor. Gracefully, I might add, and with no real damage done but a lot of bruises and a slightly sprained wrist. I thought I was gonna have to email TheFurFiles to have her surgeon hubby fly in for an emergency operation!

Alls well that ends well. I’m finished with the heavy work and now it’s time to work on me: a little exfoliating and self-tanning and a mani-pedi and I’ll be ready for my tugboat man!

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Why are old men such assholes?

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Old men, you are hereby put on notice: STOP PICKING ON ME BECAUSE I LOOK LIKE AN EASY TARGET ‘COS I’M ONLY FIVE FEET TALL! STOP BEING BITTER, RESENTFUL, SMELLY, DRIED UP OLD ASSHOLES!

old manThat grumpy neighbor, we all have one in our ‘hood, “Get off my lawn, you whippersnapper!”

There seems to be an epidemic of grumpy old men in beige shirts with beige windbreakers and stained beige slacks–you know the kind that are pulled up high and belted–so you get that burn-the-eyeballs, never-to-be-forgotten view of either 1. their Depends, or 2. a nasty old Vienna sausage (if you know what I’m sayin’)

They all seem to be farty and perpetually frowning; what happened to chivalry?

Ramming their damn shopping cart into me at Trader Joe’s, giving me the evil eye like I stepped in front of them just so they’d have to run me down. Like, really. “HELLO OLD DEAF THING, THE MOTHER F-ING SHOPPING CART IS EQUIPPED WITH WHEELS AND A HANDLE SO YOU ARE ABLE TO STOP BEFORE YOU TAKE OUT MY ANKLES.”

Can you hear me NOW?

I’m on a roll. I’m ranting and rolling. Old men are horrible drivers. Old women are pretty awful too, but they seem to be less hostile.

In my town old men drive with the rage of a thousand Clint Eastwoods.

They tailgate, and pedal to the metal with lead feet left over from the big war, WW2, when cars were cars and men were men. Or something.

They cut you off, they obey ZERO traffic laws, and blast the horn with the same sort of zeal as if they’re masturbating it. HONK HONK HONKHONKHONK HONNNNNKKKKKK.

For the most part when I have these encounters, it’s invariably  when my tugboat man is out to sea and I must deal with it myself, either by ignoring their bad behavior or by being assertive, or by majorly unleashing my previously leashed INNER BEEYOTCH.

If their impulse control clearly functions when I’m accompanied by a “man”, why does it fail when I’m by myself? 

This last time, hubs was there to defend his woman. when men stop being asholes

sceneclapperLet’s pretend this is Episode #24 of my TV sitcom, That Crazy Wife of a Tugboat Captain–a little bit Lucy, a little bit That Girl, a little bit Gossip Girl, and a little any Real Housewife of Anywhere, sprinkled with the best of Erica on All My Children.

Your basic fantasyland, that’s where I live.

Okie dokie.

FADE IN:

EXT. FITNESS CENTER – MORNING

Scantily clad gym members line the dingy hall. They’re waiting for the Spin class to be over and BootCamp to commence. All ages mingle, chat about the cold morning, aches and pains, boyfriend problems. At the front of the line is PRINCESS ROSEBUD–exuberant, this ageless chick sweats charm like an old-time movie star.

[Backstory: The line forms because there's a sign on the doors to the group class room admonishing members to wait until previous class is over before entering.]

An older, late sixty-ish, flaccid muscled man in an unwashed sleeveless t-shirt (also called a wife beater) with a few dry hairs trying but failing to cover his liver spotted scalp, bumps into Princess Rosebud and pushes his way into the room.

Under the aggressive gaze of twenty PMS-y, peri- and post-menopausal women plus a few actually normal men, he places his water bottle and towel on the floor directly in the spot Princess Rosebud has always claimed for her own. While the spin class is STILL in session, he proceeds to set up steps and risers for himself and another.

PRINCESS ROSEBUD
OH NO HE DINT.

Outrage erupts up and down the line.

PRINCESS ROSEBUD
OMG, Did you see that? Did you see what he did?

RANDOM GIRL WITH SHOES THAT ARE TOES
I can’t believe he pushed you. He can’t do that. I’m going to say something to him.

RANDOM OLDER LADY WITH GRAY HAIR
There’s a sign! We’re all standing here to be respectful of the other class!
We follow the rules, he should too! Does anyone know him?

PRINCESS ROSEBUD
What an asshole. That’s MY spot. Everyone knows I’m in line first ‘cos I take that right upper quadrant. It’s the spot of most mirrors and least germs.

ANOTHER RANDOM OLDER LADY WITH GRAY HAIR
What happened, what did I miss?

PRINCESS ROSEBUD
Remember last week? That’s the same guy who pushed me out of the way at the jelly weight bins and tried to grab the eight pound weight (the yellow ones) out of my hand.

Scene of the first hostile encounter jelly weight bins

FLASHBACK TO THE PREVIOUS WEEK’S ENCOUNTER WITH NASTY OLD MAN
I tightened my hold on the weight, stood my ground, and gave him my best squinty look like, It’s on, old man. High noon behind the gym. Bring it. You’ll get that weight when you pry it from my cold, dead hand. He backed off then, but I sensed further trouble down the road and here it was.     END FLASHBACK


TUGBOAT MAN WALKS UP, HAVING CHANGED INTO WORKOUT GEAR
What’s going on? Why’re you looking at me that way?

PRINCESS ROSEBUD
Where have you been? Didn’t you see? it was that old man, you know, the one I told you about, the one that tried to grab the weights out of my hand last week!

TUGBOAT MAN
What did he do?

PRINCESS ROSEBUD
LOOK! She points inside the room, which by now has erupted into chaos, a gaggle of women surrounding the old man, pointing to the signs clearly stating the gym policy.

He pushed me and took our spot! I’m out of here, he ruined my bliss.,
I’m gonna go upstairs to work out on the Stairmaster and weight machines.

TUGBOAT MAN
No, don’t go. Wait here. I’ll say something to him. That’s just not right.
What is it with old men, anyway?

My knight in shining armor came to my rescue!my knight in shining armor

VOICE OVER NARRATION
What is it? Is there a switch that turns a (probably) normal guy into a crabby, belligerant unpleasant person?  is it the slipperly slope of the effects of lowered testosterone levels? Too many episodes of  erectile dysfunction? Ran out of Cialis? Pipes clogged?

PuppetMcCain-scale

Maybe there IS a reason why aging men are so unpleasant to be around. According to Innovative Men’s Health…for MEN, there is something similar that happens as we age called andropause. Andropause is the male version of menopause but is much more insidious (happens slowly over time) and it can happen slowly enough that you only notice it after several years or someone else points out there you seem different. Some guys seem to hit a breaking point where their low testosterone level seems to catch up with them and they all of a sudden start having symptoms, such as erectile dysfunction.

The grumpy old man syndrome is an example of how important adequate testosterone is for brain function. It is like PMS for men but it is ALL the time! Testosterone has an affect on brain function and low testosterone increases your risk of getting Alzheimer’s disease.
END  VO

BACK TO EPISODE #24

TUGBOAT MAN
Walks over to the old man.
Look, man. You can’t go around pushing women out of your way.
That’s not the right way to treat women.
That was my wife you pushed and I don’t appreciate it.

OLD MAN
Throws hands up in the air in a supplicating gesture.
Okay, Okay, I get it. I get it. I heard it from everyone already.
{sarcastically} What am I supposed to do, apologize to her?

TUGBOAT MAN
Nah, that’s not necessary, dude. Just be more of a gentleman to the ladies.
You don’t need to be an asshole.

TUGBOAT MAN reaches out a hand to shake the hand of the nasty old man. The old man accepts the gesture, shakes,  and…class begins.

FADE OUT.

indoor-fitness-boot-camp-classes-now-forming

Don’t hate me, but I love to clean house

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vintage_cleaning_ad-300x201March means spring cleaning, right?

  • Vacuuming
  • Polishing furniture
  • Laundering curtains, drapes, bedspreads
  • Ironing
  • Bleaching grout
  • Shampoo carpets

Nothing compares to a job well done–the satisfaction of sparkly tile and a well ordered linen closet…the sweet perfume of bleach, Pine-Sol, and vinegar.

And it’s great exercise, too.

I don’t understand why housecleaning is the victim of such visceral loathing. I’ve always found it to be a source of –well, not quite mindless activity– but rather a Zen-like state.

I’ve come up with some of my best ideas while vacuuming.

UNKNOWN_CleaningDishesMotherAndDaughter_WIt’s ‘cos of my mom. When I was growing up, she made chores fun— not drudgery to be avoided. Whether it was washing the crystal in the china cabinet or ironing scarves and handkerchiefs, we always had a great time. A time to joke and chat, working on a project together.

“Good morning, Rosebud, guess what we’re going to do today?”

“What, mommy. what?”

“We’re going to take ALL the books out of the bookcase, wash the shelves, and dust the books! Do you think we should put them back by size, or subject, or alphabetically? Doesn’t that sound like fun?”

“Oh, mommy, that sounds like so much fun!

If a job has to be done, why not enjoy doing it?

I think that’s a wonderful gift for a mother to bestow upon her child.

men-housework1- travelerstipsnpicsI’m all for equality; equal pay and all that, but cleaning and organizing is deeply satisfying.

Even my tugboat man enjoys the virtues of a clean garage and he’s a great window washer, so it’s not a gender thing.

 

 

 

When I’m cleaning, I love  Cow Cow Boogie by the incomparable Ella Fitzgerald.

Do you have a favorite song list for cleaning?

MY BEFORE AND AFTER PICTURES

This would be “during”, more than “before”messybedroomAfter…much nicer, don’t you agree? I’ll sleep good tonight.After...

clean6a00d83451ccbc69e2010536d08605970b-400wi
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Confessions and Clarifications

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I was originally gonna post about the Pope from the perspective of a perplexed Jewish Princess, but the commentary I’ve read from yesterday’s post necessitates a change of direction!

My stream of consciousness initial thoughts about the whole surreal Pope flying away on the helicopter thing…Kiss the ring–germs on the ring–destroy the ring–all those men… I tried to do the math in my head  and wonder how many of the men surrounding the Pope as he left are pedophiles or were once molested by a priest, That, in a nutshell, is the post I planned to present to you.

HOWEVER, AHEM…

Yesterday I wrote a post of appreciation for My Life with Lucille mostly ‘cos she’s a wonderfully sweet person and she bestowed upon me (Enchanted Seashells) a nomination for the Epically Awesome Award of Awesomeness.

I posted HER answers to the questions so that you’d get to know a little bit about My Life as Lucille.

Are you following me so far? Stick with me, it’ll all begin to make sense.

SOME of my fantastic wonderful stupendous brilliant beautiful witty intelligent readers THOUGHT I was talking about myself but I was NOT.

This is most definitely an emergency post situation! It’s imperative that I set the record straight and follow through with MY award!epicallyawesomeaward

The Rules For The Epically Awesome Award Of Awesomeness:

1. Tell 10 epic and/or awesome facts about yourself.  That’s it.
2. Pass it on to 10 bloggers you think are awesome and/or epic–or both.


HERE ARE TEN FACTS (Confessions) ABOUT ME, ME, ME….
PRINCESS ROSEBUD! 

1. As much as I love my Chanel Grand Shopper Tote, I have a favorite t-shirt my son gave me about six years ago, full of holes, and I wear it ALL the time.yaleshirtholes

2. I was in the film, “Stuntman”; here’s a pic of me with Chuck Bail, a really nice guy! He’s a director and a stuntman.
Stuntman

3. If, for some reason, I don’t have a book to read, sometimes I’ll read a cookbook until I fall asleep

4. I LOVE to clean house. I really do. That doesn’t mean I want to clean YOUR house, so please don’t ask.

5. I’m five feet tall. I confess that I have a Napoleon Complex. I get lost in a crowd.

6. I have a lot of stuffed animals, but they don’t sleep with me, although they’re close by!stuffedanimalschair

7. I know NOTHING about Google Analytics. I can barely cut and paste html into WP widgets.

8. Once in a while–when my tugboat man and I are out shopping or running errands, i get really dressed up, keep my (Chanel) sunglasses on inside,  and pretend I’m a famous actress and he’s my security, and sometimes I hear people whisper, “Who’s that? Is that somebody?”  This is very, very true. 

9. I love seashells, even random piles of them on our deck.shellsondeck

10. My favorite holiday is my birthday because every seven years, Mother’s Day and my birthday fall on the same day, which makes my son’s birthday in March my equally favorite day to celebrate.

Let’s recap and clarify…yesterday’s post was all about My Life with Lucille. Today’s post was all about ME, Enchanted Seashells, Confessions of  a Tugboat Captain’s Wife.

Whew! I feel better, how about you?

MY NOMINATED BLOGS, and especially UnfetteredBS

This is an eclectic group of writers, love them all and there’s only sposed to be ten or I’l add everyone!

The Epistolarians
TheFurFiles
Rarasaur
Sarahlouisek
Chewylicious
tonettejoycefoodfriendsfamily
Hello World
Cook Eat Live Vegetarian
thematticuskingdom
Little Bits of History

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