Confession: I’m a Halloween Hater

Not because of any religious reasons or anything remotely like that or even the overabundance of sugar.

I think I first became disenchanted with Halloween when adults sucked the magic away from kids and it became way too commercial.

When I was growing up, it was so much fun to dress up as a princess (duh) or fairy or ballet dancer and walk around the ‘hood with my mom to fill my little plastic pumpkin with a few pounds of chocolate.

Years later, I birthed the only child in the world who hated dressing up.

He even cried about it one year because his entire class was to be in costume and he really didn’t want to, but he wanted to participate in the party and school carnival.

I had a talk with his teacher: “Angel Boy is special and you and I both know that, and you will honor his choice and not say one negative word to him about it or allow the kids to tease him OR you will hear from me and I dress up as Monster Mommy every single day of the week when it concerns my child. Do I make myself particularly clear?”

Needless to say, he was treated extremely well, cos that’s the kind of mom I am.

I’m kinda bummed that adults helped to turn it into their “thang” but that’s just me.

When I was in SF visiting Angel Boy and DIL, apparently my child (now a man),  now DOES dress up for Halloween.

In fact, he’s participating in a critical mass bike ride and requested my assistance to make his costume!

Keeping in mind his status as an erudite and brilliant professor, he chose to emulate a character from a film by Salavador Dali and Luis Buñuel: Un Chien Andalou (An Andalusian Dog) (1929).  It’s a significant and monumental art film.

We recreated this character: “A slim young man bicycles down a calm urban street wearing what appears to be a nun’s habit and a striped box with a strap around his neck..” (Wiki)

He even had fake ants delivered to glue to his hands. (If you ever saw the film, you’d understand.)

unchienandalou

Tonight, I’ll be passing out Skittles and other stuff I don’t like (so I wont be tempted to eat it) to trick or treaters, but I won’t be enjoying myself.

Happy Halloween, I guess, to those of you that do!

 

Merry Christmas, Everyone!

Merry Christmas! Feliz Navidad! Mele Kalikimaka!

Since my Angel Boy has flown off to England, we’re going to the Anza-Borrego desert for a day hike where temps will be in the eighties. 

Can you believe it? On Christmas Day?

I‘m going to attempt to take pics with my new Canon Rebel  — wish me luck!

I hope Santa brought you all everything you wished for…he brought a new surfboard for hub and yes, I got that Chanel 2.55 I’ve been DYING for, spoiled girl that I am.

tugpearlschristmas

Enjoy this little Bing Crosby tune and have a safe and happy day from our home to yours.

http://youtu.be/hEvGKUXW0iI

 

He who tugs at my heart

Our first Valentine’s Day…a sweet moment in time

10:00 a.m. Pre-boarding routine on a 350 passenger charter vessel.

On the dock, the ramp is placed snugly against the vessel’s port side; a deckhand wipes it down to avoid any mishaps.

The captain checks with his crew to confirm that they’re stationed in the designated safety zones.

In the bathroom, the marketing coordinator fluffs out her hair and re-applies lipstick, grabs the clipboard, reviews any late changes for this corporate charter, scribbles a couple of notes, but her mind isn’t really on her work.

10:30 a.m. Two hundred men, women, and children gather at the foot of the dock awaiting the OK to board.

The captain straightens the gold stripes on his shoulders and counts the people clicker down to zero.

I take my place on his left where I’ll greet everyone with a “Welcome Aboard” after they’re counted.

The captain nods to the deckhand to unhook the velvet rope blocking the gangway.

It’s time to begin the boarding procedure.

He turns to me and whispers in my right ear, “My heart is melting.”

WTF. That is just so HIM, to say something so monumental and amazing and unexpected–and it took my breath away. Literally.  My mouth dropped open. (It really did, I remember it like it happened yesterday.) I had no sense of what went on for the next three hours. I was a zombie.

When all the guests were escorted to their seats and listened to the safety speech and lines were untied and we were underway, and after I had answered a million questions about our destination and passed out a few barf bags, I opened the door to the wheelhouse and handed my captain a cup of coffee.

I was suddenly shy. “Hi.”

“Thanks for the coffee.”

“Why did you say that, you know, back there?”

“Because it’s true.”

“You can’t just say something like that and expect me to just go on and act all normal.”

“I just did.”

Well, tugboat man, it’s our twenty-third Valentine’s Day, and you still make MY heart melt every time I look in your amazing grayish blue eyes.

I love you.

Happy Everything, Everyone!

Aside

I’m going to spend the next couple of days reading and commenting on a crapload of posts piled up in the old inbox–oh yeah, and enjoying the homecoming of my very own tugboat man! Merry Christmas to all and I hope you all get the presents you asked Santa for! Hugs and kisses from SoCal
xoxo

The little sign says Princess Rosebud but it doesn't show up very good

The little sign says Princess Rosebud but it doesn’t show up very good

All I want for Christmas is you…and a credit card with a high limit.

While I’m hard at work on a new post–or maybe it’s a chapter of my book...please enjoy the musical interlude.

 

It’s a dedication–of sorts–to the physical representation of the disembodied voice of my tugboat man. And while the lyrics might say, “all I want for Christmas is you” and that IS true in an existential way, it’s not the only thing I want for Christmas/Hannukah. Yes, I did get my Chanel Grand Shopper Tote, I mean, I could hardly represent my hood without it. Yo. But now I need the matching wallet. And although the GST is a roomy, serviceable day bag, I still very much need the 2.55 with the gold chain for all of my sparkling evening events. Which right now is zero, but once Tina Fey realizes that I am going to be her most prolific, witty, banter filled writing and producing partner, then I’ll be showing up at all the MAJOR parties. Maybe, just maybe, if I’m very, very good, I’ll be able to negotiate with my tugboat miser man and work out a mutually satisfactory deal, if ya know where I’m going with that. Wink. Wink.

P.S. And if you’re thinking to yourself…well, try this…imagine me imagining you with a thought bubble, “Is she really this shallow?” and maybe you’re getting a bad taste in your mouth about this whole “enchanted” person and her apparent obsession with Chanel and shopping, what if I was just a really good writer–but I’m a seventy-year-old MAN–or what if I was really the mariner, and I’m the one on a tugboat, and I have a scruffy blondish/silvery beard and all the boy parts and this is my secret persona–WHAT THEN, huh? Paradigm shift? Could be, ya never know…