I love the colors; I love to run my fingers through the racks and feel the texture of the fabrics. I can eyeball silk and cashmere from across the room.
Ahh yes, it’s time for another session of retail therapy.
Do you consider yourself a shopaholic? No. Ha ha. Of course the answer is YES! I will shout it from the rooftops–I’m proud to be a shopaholic!
How would you classify your style? Sparkles to sweat pants. It depends on what mood I’m in. For example, the launch of my little boat Princess Rosebud called for a nautical theme.
Cozy bedtime attire for sweet Hello Kitty dreams.
Or a sexy evening in vintage Valentino at home with the Captain…
What store can you not leave without buying something from? I can’t leave Target without buying something. Marshalls and TJ Maxx too. Uh, and then there’s Anthropologie, and H&M. Ummm, the sale rack at Barneys. J. Crew. Geez, I guess I don’t leave many stores empty handed. Sorry, tugboat man!
Where do you find your best deals? The Barneys outlet, sales racks everywhere, my secret consignment shop.
What designer are you willing to splurge on? CHANEL CHANEL CHANEL.
Can you hear the angels singing? Isn’t it brills?
Do you have a go-to shopping outfit? It’s usually an all day event; sometimes I dress in skinny jeans and flat boots, and sometimes I dress like I came from the gym which I most likely did. As long as I have my Chanel, I’m a happy girl.
What is your guilty pleasure? Shoes. Boots. Designer vintage. Jewelry. Diamonds. Opals. All jewelry. Everything is my guilty pleasure. That’s why I feel guilty! Seashells, too.
What is the one piece of clothing you can’t live without? Besides my Chanel, I’d choose my skinny jeans from Anthropologie. Well, all of them if I’m being perfectly honest. I love all my clothes! Especially this Missoni sweater with those skinny jeans from Anthro.
Who is your style icon? Don’t judge me, but it’s Blair from Gossip Girl and Hepburn and Erica from All My Children. I said not to judge me! Oh, and I love Stacey London.
These are my tugboat captain wife’s confessions. Now it’s your turn. TAG–YOU’RE IT! These are the questions for you to copy and paste.
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.
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!
There 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!
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?
For the final coup of the day, I went next door to Marshalls (!) and found these…COULD. NOT. RESIST.
And every once in a while, it’s really black and white.
While I’m absorbed in the embracing and releasing of my inner beeyotch, there’s an overriding theme that’s emerging around Casa de Enchanted Seashells.
It seems that I am annoying in different ways to different people. Some might find that to be a negative character trait and should be “worked on.”
Not me.
I consider my annoying self to be a value-added option or a gift with purchase–to the liberation of my beeyotchiness.
There are some aspects of parenting and marriages that don’t reveal themselves right away. Sometimes it takes a child moving out to give him/her perspective and a spouse can also evoke a similar epiphany.
Last night my shining bright star boy child called and I was APPARENTLY nagging (his word) him about his eating habits and not eating enough. A great multi-tasker, he was chewing while chatting and told me he was eating a Subway sandwich. Always a caring and concerned and nurturing mom, I told him it didn’t have enough calories for a skinny boy like him and he needed to take bcare of himself and eat higher quality protein and more frequently, blah blah blah.
I said, ‘Maybe I should come back there and cook for you.” “No, that’s OK.” ”Why not? I would have loved it if my mom cooked for me.” “No, I can cook for myself” “But DO you?”
“Were you always this annoying?”
That about sums it all up for me, and anyway, the answer is yes, I have always been this annoying.
In fact, the captain asked me the same exact question yesterday. I was bugging him while he was hiding from me working on a project–and he said, “Do you have any idea how annoying you are?”
To which I answered, “Yes, I am very well aware of how annoying I am. This is not new information to you. I did not suddenly emerge from my chrysalis and become an annoying person. I didn’t misrepresent myself. You knew full well what you were getting yourself into more than twenty years ago. So stop complaining. Your complaining IS annoying.”
“Once in a while, you should try to not be so annoying.”
Like really, like does he not know by now with whom he’s dealing? I was gonna say, does he not know who he’s dealing with, but that’s not proper English, so if it sounds strange, whatever. Deal with it. Oopsie, just let a bit of my beeyotchiness out, like a silent but deadly you know.
I felt picked on and since I’m only sixty inches tall, I feel a good old Napoleon Complex simmering just below the surface, ready to boil over real fast, rear its ugly head, and take no prisoners.
I added that snide remark to his Frico/Freaky sharp-witted comment of the other day. Like an elephant, we women don’t forget. We just tally up the misdeeds in one of our brain’s compartments, and when it fills up, watch out.
Thar she blows!
Here’s a little confession. Pissing me off is expensive. He paid dearly and with much pain. He was forced under duress to accompany me to South Coast Plaza in Orange County. I’ve spoken of this place before, I know, but it really is a shrine, a shopping mecca, a retail temple of the beautiful–and Chanel, or as my new friend calls it, ChaCha. (Check out her blog, reversecommuter–she’s awesome.) I love Hermes and Valentino and Versace and Gucci, but Chanel holds my heart.
It’s a beautiful drive to SCP and takes about fifty minutes or so. We could see the surf at Trestles on one side and snow-covered mountains to the east. We parked at Bloomingdales. I wanted to check out their Chanel department and compare it to the actual Chanel shop’s designs. I know I just got my Grand Tote Shopper in November, but she was a bit lonely and I thought a little sister (in other words, a matching wallet) would make her happy.
I pulled out all the stops on this one.
My crazy came out in spectacular form. Here’s what I said to the captain. “My mom called and she said that I really need a matching wallet.”
Hold on. Stay with me. Don’t stop reading now! You might be thinking to yourself, “That doesn’t sound too crazy.”
Well…when I tell you that my mom died in 1989, you might think differently, huh?
So…treading lightly here–very lightly, the captain said, “Tell your mom that saying things like that is not very helpful and you also can tell her from me that she raised a very spoiled daughter.”
I walked away and came back a few minutes later.
“My mom said you’re annoying.”
(We chat with my mom all the time as if she were still here, so it’s not that unusual to bring her into a convo.)
Back to SCP. Focus! Bloomies didn’t have a huge selection and the sales staff was EXTREMELY unpleasant and didn’t seem to really want us invading their space, so we left.
We took the escalator down to the first floor. As we were descending, I looked behind me…and there it was in all of its black and white magnificence. I swear the place was glowing, beckoning me in.
I almost forgot hubs was with me.
Marie greeted us as we walked in and made a grand tour of the salon. She commented on the beauty of my GST. I asked to see the black caviar wallet that would complement my bag. She escorted us to the proper glass case, and then beckoned me to go behind the counter where she OPENED ALL THE DRAWERS AND INVITED ME TO TAKE ALL THE TIME I WANTED TO LOOK AT THE DOZENS OF WALLETS IN EVERY COLOR AND PATTERN. My face turned bright red, I almost broke out in tears. The captain parked his ass somewhere–at this point I had no idea he existed. I WAS IN HEAVEN. Pink and blue and green and red and quilted and patent leather and imprinted with Coco’s signature camellias.
I touched and stroked and smelled them all.
With a nod from my tugboat captain–KING OF ALL MEN- best husband in the whole world–I chose my prize. When Marie asked if this was for a special occasion, my wonderful hubs shrugged and said it was “Just because.” He’s really a very special guy, my tugboat man.
P.S. In case you’re wondering, I was a very appreciative and grateful recipient.
Hubs isn’t a very good photographer and he would only take one pic
On the way home from SCP
So beautifully packaged, I didn’t want to open it!
As part of my 2013 resolution to release my inner beeyotch, Helen Reddy‘s inspired “I am Woman“ helps me stay on track!
I would like to thank three awesome women for their creativity and imagination, especially since it’s all about ME!
1. Rarasaur’s delightful interpretation of ME! Check out her incredible blog and just try to figure out how her mind works! She’s another SoCal girl and she loves cats! And she’s only 60 inches tall just like me! I love her a lot and you will too.
2. IB DesignsUSA banner in nautical flags, because sometimes the best answer is “Meow”. Kathy loves all things nautical and is a lovely lady with a great business. International maritime navy signal flags are a colorful way to spell names, messages, or to decorate your home. Give a personalized signal flag banner or wall hanging as a nautical wedding decoration, an unusual boating Christmas gift, or just for the plain fun of it!
3. In response to a tweet of mine bemoaning my lack of mail–no packages, no invitations to a ball, no requests to attend a movie premiere with Tina Fey–wonderful, awesome Red Dirt Kelly sent me a t-shirt!! I was so excited to return home (from my all day torture of my tugboat man as I dragged him from store to store at South Coast Plaza in the OC until he was so exhausted that he was at my mercy and he begged me to buy something, anything from Chanel so he could go home) and find a package to open and it was this t-shirt! Everyone needs to read the Red Dirt Chronicles!
Don’t miss Tuesday’s exciting blog! I’ll share an in-depth reportage of our day at South Coast Plaza, a day of torture and retaliation, culminating in a new Chanel acquisition!
Beeyotches RULE!
I’ve been out-beeyotched by a lovely beeyotch herself, Jen of Life on the Sonny Side who may not have done it on purpose, but corrected my incorrect spelling of beeyotch. I bow to her superiority. That’s role model material, people.
I vow to say this all the time, whether in appropriate circumstances or not.
Since my only resolution for 2013 is to release my inner beeyotch, I’ve been on the lookout for inspiration. These are some of my heroines.
Photo from naomicampbell.com
According to TMZ,Naomi Campbell reportedly suffered a torn ligament in her leg when she was mugged on a street in Paris. The supermodel was hailing a cab when she was attacked and robbed by multiple assailants reports the NY Post. It is thought they were after her jewelry. The attack left Campbell in a wheelchair and crutches. The Post says Campbell’s boyfriend, Vladimir Doronin, has upped her security since the incident. When called for comment about the incident, Campbell told the paper, “I am sorry, I do not talk to press, but I am fine.”
Michelle Dockery as Lady Mary
Downton Abbey‘s Lady Mary exemplifies the refined upper class beeyotchiness to which I aspire. Oh, if ONLY I hadn’t been born in the USA! I just know my life journey could have included a dead Turkish ambassador or two.
Look at the beeyotchy way Anna crosses her arms. Guurl ain’t messing around!
And then there’s Anna Wintour, the beeyotchiest beeyotch of all. MEOW! According to Forbes Magazine, the most powerful woman in fashion continues to use her sway in politics. This year the Obama bundler teamed up with actress Sarah Jessica Parker to cohost a $40,000-a-plate dinner with the President, attended by a glittering array of designers and Hollywood icons. Some speculate she’s after an ambassadorship in London, but Wintour says these are just rumors–she’s quite happy in her current job. Vogue, which reaches 11.4 million readers in print and an average 1.2 million monthly visitors online, opened its digital archives in 2011 including articles, photos and ads dating back 120 years. It’s a thorough fashion history book and a new revenue stream–an annual b-to-b subscription price is $3,250. Wintour has edited the magazine since 1988 and is a member of the President’s Committee on the Arts and Humanities.
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…
During one of my healing retail therapy sessions in the shoe aisle at Nordstrom, an older (and by older, I mean WAY older than me, like late sixties) well groomed beautifully dressed lady was sitting nearby trying on a pair of boots. She had a scarf around her neck that you could tell simply by looking that it was woven of the highest quality cashmere. She had a lovely air of grace and elegance. I think it was that regal essence that reminded me of my mom. She owned that quality too, always dressed head to toe with class. The woman looked so together that I couldn’t keep from sneaking glances at her while I too tried on boots. I’d been looking for a pair of flat riding boots that fit snugly but weren’t too high, which is a tall order. (ha ha). I’ve never been accused of dressing elegantly. Sexy, flamboyant, stylish, wild even–but never Lilly Van der Woodsen Upper East Side elegant. Here’s an example of me getting dressed… If one pearl necklace is good, a dozen is better! A ring for every finger, well, why not? We have ten of them, isn’t that what they’re for? And aren’t our arms just begging to be filled with every bangle and charm bracelet in the jewelry box?
My mom would shake her head and say, “Princess Rosebud, haven’t you heard the old saying, less is more?” My response to her was, “Haven’t YOU heard of my saying, more is better?”
So I’m sitting there and this lovely woman is sitting there and she turns to me and says softly, matter-of-factly,
“My husband died last week.”
What do you do when a stranger opens up that way? What do you do? I said,
“I am so very sorry for your loss.”
She continued,
“We had been married for fifty years. I don’t know what to do with myself so I shop all day. I can’t bear to be home alone without him.”
If anyone could empathize with that philosophy, it would be me. Not that I’ve lost my life partner, but when my darling thirteen-year-old kitty died, I felt the same way. I left the house early in the morning and stayed away ’til dark, wandering around the shopping centers like a lost soul. I couldn’t bear to open the front door and know that I’d never again see her face at the top of the stairs greeting me. I couldn’t bear to sleep in our bed and never again feel her jump up and scratch at the covers to join me, nestled against my body, so I slept on the sofa until the captain came back. What made it even more difficult to bear was that it happened while he was out to sea, and I was the one who was unanchored, aimlessly drifting. I totes understood the poor lady’s pain.
“He made every day worth living.”
I asked her if she had family in the area to help her with her sadness, and she shook her head. It was on the tip of my tongue to invite her to join me for a cup of coffee when when my cell rang. It was my son. He needed me to run to the post office before it closed and send him a book he had accidentally left behind the previous week.
As I walked away, I touched her gently on the shoulder and told her once again how sorry I was for her loss and I hoped she’d be all right.
I really, really regret not getting her name and telephone number so that we could meet at a coffee shop or simply make sure she’s OK. I have a feeling she might not be. I do have that feeling. I’ve never seen her again.
For the most part, women are a truly and deeply caring and nurturing community. I dropped the ball that day and it haunts me. It haunts me.
…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}
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}
7:00 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-
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 and buy a huge bottle of Chance by Coco Chanel (of course.)
Forget Elf Shaming, try Hannukah Harry!
Of course I got the larger size. ‘Cos I’m worth it.
I was inspired by other topnotch decorators who so kindly blogged about their DIYChristmas 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. So, Cousin Fur and Aunt Cheeky and Second Cousin Far Removed Tracy F for Fantastic, this one’s especially for you guys. 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 luckily 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 on it is a close second.
Carry on with your day; just take a moment to let it all sink in. Don’t HATE…Emulate.
Here’s today’s Daily Prompt Challenge: Hindsight. Now that you’ve got some blogging experience under your belt, re-write your first post.
This is MY deja vu–my first blog re-do–obviously my life is a deja vu redo Groundhog Day repeat. The captain was gone again, I was alone for a very long time…I’ve learned to use tags since then–maybe THIS time it’ll get read!
“…We sail tonight for Singapore, don’t fall asleep while you’re ashore” Tom Waits
Day 60: Alone again! It’s 8:00 p.m. on a Sunday evening and I just completed a copy editing assignment for a brilliant young neuroscientist. Since my first pink lock and key diary at the age of eight, I’ve filled notebooks and journals with my thoughts and observations, and even minored in creative writing in college, but the hardest thing in the world for me to do is to let go of my own words. (I’m a word hoarder. Hah!)
Update: Now I’m a word spewer–since I started blogging, I can’t STOP writing!
Although I easily re-write and proof and edit the work of others (and love to do it), my own words seem to be trapped somewhere; I am never quite satisfied with the finished product; I always feel that one more re-write is always needed—just one more, and then another and another–and I am determined to overcome this obstacle by blogging about my life as a wife of a Merchant Mariner. To other MM wives, I’d love to share our experiences, problems, frustrations, and solutions. There are thousands of us around the world—let’s create a community and help one another. What do we all do when our guys are gone? In what ways do our lives change when they’re away on assignment and when they’re home? How do we cope with the work-related absence of a spouse, whether it’s due to the military, MM, or any other career that involves a lot of travelling? Are you sad? Maybe relieved sometimes, if you were to be completely honest?
Update: Still hoping to create the community of Merchant Mariner Wives. I’ve met Snipewife who’s awesome, but there has to be others! Come out and play!
Also, from time-to-time, I will review either a product I’ve used or a book I’ve read and share my opinion. I have great things to say about Sally Hansen Smooth and Perfect nail polish. I have it in Satin 04. It claims to hide ridges and imperfections with a “breathable porcelain-smooth finish.” The website says it’s enhanced with ginseng, camellia oil, and lotus to promote stronger, healthier nails. I was really impressed with the finished product and it really does give a professional look. I’m going to try it in other colors and will let you know. Update: it worked great, very shiny, lasts a decent amount of time, and is inexpensive.
Here’s a mini-version of my back story: I’m a (was a) stay-at-home mom; when my son left for college, I stayed home. Don’t you think that’s funny? I do. That’s my standard joke/response when I’m asked what I “do”. Some people think it’s funny, some people think I’m obnoxious. Story of my life.
I’ve been married to a Merchant Mariner tugboat captain for about eighteen years, nineteen in February 2013. For the first fourteen years or so, our life was pretty ordinary and except for a few assignments that took him away for a week or so, his schedule kept him working in local ports. In 2009, he changed companies and became the kind of Merchant Marine who goes out to sea for extended periods of time and travels to the four corners of the globe. When I tell people that my husband is a MM, most either think he is a “Marine Marine” or they don’t know what a Merchant Mariner is or what they do. My guy is an academy graduate (he won’t let me say which one ‘cos he’s paranoid that someone will figure out who he is) and has been working in the industry since graduation.
What exactly is a Merchant Mariner?? For those of you who don’t know, the United States has a fleet of Merchant Marine vessels, ships which are owned and registered in the US and fly under our flag, but are separate from the military. (We are proud supporters of American-flagged vessels.) For example, car ships carry cars (obvs!), container ships hold cargo of TVs, bananas, soda ash, or even sand and gravel.
NOT the captain’s tug, but a good photo of a tug pushing and pulling a barge. Tugs are hard little workers. I think I can, I think I can…
The Merchant Marine supplements the military in times of war, transporting goods and equipment to areas where it is needed. The people who crew Merchant Marine vessels are known as Merchant Mariners. Perhaps you remember hearing about the Maersk Alabama, a container ship seized by pirates a few years ago? Tom Hanks stars as the captain in the soon-to-be released film of the Navy Seals’ rescue of the ship and her crew. People who work on tugboats are called Merchant Marines. My guy is a tug and tow Master, although he has decades of experience on yachts, passenger vessels, and just about every type of boat, excluding fishing. No Deadliest Catch stories here! Tugboats pull (or push) barges all over the world, assist all types of ships in and out of their berths, and work in marine construction and the oil industry. It is really more complex that than, with a rich history and great anecdotes, but I am only the wife of, and my perspective is a different one.
Update: I begged and pleaded and guilted and flattered my captain to get him to audition for the Tom Hanks pirate film–they liked his initial video audition so much the casting director even sent sides (that’s a script to those of you who are NOT in the know like I am), but he didn’t get the part. He really should have. I was totes planning to go as his personal manager to Morocco where they were filming.
Back to my story…this lifestyle has been quite an adjustment. When he’s home, he’s a 24/7 at-home husband, just like being retired, and a different routine ensues–one of compromise and diplomacy. When he’s away at sea, I become a sort of “grass widow” (awoman whose husband is away from home frequently or for a long time, as on business) and have learned to structure my time alone to stay occupied while waiting for my best friend to come home. We modern mariner wives are really no different than wives of a few hundred years ago whose husbands went out to sea. We might have email access and satellite telephones, and are able to stay in touch more frequently than the occasional letter posted from faraway ports, but we are essentially on our own for a great deal of time. We have to be completely independent and solve problems and fix broken washing machines and cars and take out the trash and mow the lawn by ourselves, unless we have kids still living at home on whom we can foist these chores.
My confession du jour? I fully rely on retail therapy to help me cope. That doesn’t mean I actually PURCHASE a lot and spend a lot of money, rather, I am an accomplished fashionista BROWSER, (which should be an Olympic sport, as far as I’m concerned.) I have endurance and I possess stamina. I’m a hunter AND a gatherer. A shot of wheatgrass and I’m good to go for hours in my quest for a treasure, a good deal, or something I just have to have, and can’t live without; the next get. You know that Shopaholic film? I’ve seen it about a dozen times; it’s like a training film for me… A day or so after my MM leaves, I fortify myself with a protein drink, a double shot of wheatgrass, and lay out my itinerary with quasi-military precision. I first make the rounds of my local stores; TJ Maxx, Marshalls, Ross, Target, Homegoods, just like a warm-up in my boot camp class, and then move on to H&M, Anthropologie, White Market/Black House. After that, I venture further away to the Nordstrom Outlet, DSW (yes!!!), and then our local mall for Bloomies, Nieman Marcus, and the boutiques-Tory Burch, Hermes, and the holy grail at South Coast Plaza in the OC…Chanel…Chanel…Chanel. I want/need a Chanel 2.55, the original black quilted bag with the chain strap. I am saving for a pilgrimage to Paris to pay homage to Coco at the original location. I. can’t. wait.
Update: I just can’t do it to y’all again, I know I’m probs on your last nerve with the whole Chanel thing, but it was cool for ME to tell myself, “Hey girl, your dream DID come true! Way to go to think it, believe it, and it will happen!”
Today, I was on the hunt for another blazer; blazers are super trendy and forever a classic fashion staple, but it has to be the right blazer in the right color and cut. I ended up at a local consignment shop and while I didn’t find the desired blazer, I discovered the treasure of a Tory Burch sweater with gorgeous logo buttons. I found a similar style for around $250, and I got it for $40. It’s in perfect condition and looks like it’s never been worn. The pic doesn’t do it justice; it’s a rich cocoa brown with TB logo buttons and totes adorbs. Update: This is the same consignment shop where I just scored the vintage Valentino.
Well, it’s back to editing for me and building my Etsy store where I can sell all the ropework jewelry and beachy décor we create. I hope you’ve enjoyed this first glimpse into my world.
Update: STILL working on that Etsy store! Almost done tho, hopefully so I won’t completely miss the holiday season…
Thanks to one and all who’ve read me and followed me and commented and offered guidance and humor and friendship. The world still revolves around me, I suppose it always will…alas, that’s the cross my long suffering tugboat captain must bear…And if you’ve un-followed me, don’t forget that Santa could leave a lump of coal in your stocking, so maybe y’all need to rethink that decision. Right???
