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.

Where was your first “I love you”?

Aside

Christmas
Wednesday, December 25, 1991

This was our first holiday together after I figuratively walked to the edge of the cliff and jumped off by telling my tugboat man I loved him the first time we shared a cup of coffee.

I was positive he was going to break up with me.

My son was with his dad for the day. The captain and I went to the gym in the morning for a little holiday workout before they closed at noon. The house was freezing when we got home. I remember going to the thermostat to turn on our central heating.  It’s rare that we need the heat on continuously here in SoCal; we use it briefly to take the chill out of the air.

It was (like it still is) a sad home when my son’s not here.

On the way home from the gym we stopped at a liquor store and bought a small bottle of Jagermeister250px-Jagermeister_bottle and a bottle of Rumpelmintz.rumplemintz

I was in the bathroom when I heard him. He very quietly said, “Rosebud, will you come into the family room? We need to talk.”

Oh NO, NOT the dreaded we need to talk. This did not sound good. Not good at all.

That’s breakup speak, I just knew it. But on Christmas DAY??? Who would do that? I know we had kind of fast tracked our relationship after that first cup of coffee–he even had been introduced to my son during a  work-related event or two and things were moving along great-or so I thought. Maybe things were moving too fast and he was getting cold feet. All kinds of doomsday scenarios were floating around in my head. All I knew for sure was that I didn’t want to come out of the bathroom; I stayed there, heart pounding, tears welling up in my eyes. I looked at myself in the mirror.

Why today of all days? What did I do wrong?woman_crying_m

I was still wearing my workout gear with an oversized plaid shirt. Nineties grunge, ya know?

At some point I steeled my nerves and came out of the bathroom to get it over with and figure out how to endure a breaking heart.

He was sitting at the small dining table we have in our family room where we eat informal meals. There were a couple of shot glasses filled with Rumplemintz (peppermint schnapps). He looked very serious. I mean, like he planned to deliver really bad news. He pulled out a chair and said, “Have a seat.”

tablechair

I said, “No. I don’t want to.”
Nice guy. He was going to get me drunk, break up with me, and run out the front door. This could be the worst day of my life. Seriously. He was going to do this before I could get a Christmas present from him? Seriously?

“Oh, come on. I need to tell you something. Come and sit down right here.”

Oh. Shit.

I forced my sad little plaid covered self over to the chair and looked down. I looked anywhere but at HIM. I didn’t want to see him for the very last time.

He wasn’t saying anything. I could feel him looking at me. At that point, I was thinking to myself, oh hell–just get it over with already! I gotta get myself a gallon of ice cream and start on it asap.

Finally, he reached over, took my hand and said, ” I need you to know that I love you.”

WHAT? You set me up for a break up scenario and you were planning to tell me that you loved me? WTF? 

I had anticipated the worst possible outcome. Instead, once again–he surprised me.

Crap. I can’t go any further with this story! He just told me that I can’t write the rest of what he said ‘cos it’s private–not for anyone to hear but me is what he said–but I can tell you it was lovely and sweet, and I’m so glad he’s here now–home for Christmas–because I’m always reminded of that first year.

If you don’t have to drive anywhere, try our special holiday tradition cocktail, the Reindeer: mix equal parts Jagermeister and Rumplemintz. Very potent!

Where did your most memorable “I love you” take place?

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…