Confessions of a Shopaholic

By way of my beautiful-as-a-movie star BFF Cowboys and Crossbones, I got tagged for Confessions of a Shopaholic which is totally and absolutely cool!

Who doesn’t know that I LOVE to shop? Anyone?

It doesn’t matter if it’s a thrift store, consignment shop, TJ Maxx, Ross Dress for Less, Target, or ChanelI love the process of shopping.

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.Nautical attire

Cozy bedtime attire for sweet Hello Kitty dreams.

hello kitty pajamas and slippers

Or a sexy evening in vintage Valentino at home with the Captain…

vintage Valentino dress

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?

Can you hear the angels singing? Isn't it brills?

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.

Via Spiga and Steve Madden (and ChaCha)
Black Boots

Lanvin and Jimmy Choo

Jimmy Choo and Lanvin

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.
These are the questions for you to copy and paste.

Simply Stacia

Do you consider yourself a shopaholic?

How would you classify your style?

What store can you not leave without buying something from?

Where do you find your best deals?

What designer are you willing to splurge on?

Do you have a go-to shopping outfit?

What is your guilty pleasure?!

What is the one piece of clothing you can’t live without?

Who is your style icon?

Lesson #1. Never do this to your daughter-in-law. Ever.

Or anyone else, for that matter…

I write a lot about THINGS.

Things I collect.

Things I like to acquire.

Seashells. Rocks. Driftwood. Sand.

Treasures discovered in little out-of-the-way shops.

Other things…gifts, presents, prizes, surprises…rings and necklaces and bracelets and trinkets from my tugboat man’s travels around the universe.

Chanel south coast plazaMy first Chanel handbag and wallet — ad nauseum.

Why does Princess Rosebud’s tugboat man give her so many THINGS?

Have you asked yourself that question?

Why does SHE rate all that loot?

Really, why DO I?

One of the reasons, I mean, besides my specialness, of course –hold on — I’m taking a breath here.

I’m gonna reveal something personal.

It’s deep.

Hubs feels that he needs to make amends for the way his parents treated me –uh, er, I mean Princess Rosebud.


Never do this to anyone, especially your DIL. It’s the meanest thing EVER. EVER. I mean, like EVER.

My wonderfully sweet tugboat man EXORCISED the demons.
In a big way. Again and again.

Here’s the story: We had been married for only a year, perhaps two. I’m not sure exactly because I’ve tried to block the pain of that Christmas. And yes, I’m Jewish, and yes, I have a Christmas tree and a menorah, and yes, I say “Merry Christmas”. What. Ever. Haters gonna hate.

If you’ve been reading my confessions for a while, you prolly have gathered by now that I loves me some designer labels. Whether it’s a new ChaCha or treasures from that secret consignment shop, I have a deep and abiding love for all that is beautiful. And Valentino, too. (Click on the link to read about my vintage find of all finds.)

Take a look at these Lanvin and Jimmy Choo shoes. Aren’t they TDF fur realz?Jimmy Choo and Lanvin Yup, that consignment shop again.

During that particular holiday season we were still seeing hubs family which means it was pre-2001, ‘cos we haven’t seen them since. (That’s a whole other chapter, and not the subject of the MEANEST GIFT EVER, but a story about the worst family ever.)

We received a package of gifts from the captain’s family and arranged them under the tree for Christmas morning. I was sooo excited because the one that had my name on it (misspelled again, dammit) was a huge bag from Versace.

In fact, here’s the bag.

versace bag I’ve kept it as a reminder of something to NEVER EVER  do to my DIL–or anyone else. Look at it! It’s Versace! All glossy white with the iconic golden lion head.

OMG, I thought it was prolly a scarf–I love scarves–and I was having a hard time not sneaking a peek.

Christmas morning…in front of the fire with a fresh cup of coffee–one present for the captain, one for my son, and then it was my turn… I plunged my hand into the bag and pulled out something encased in white tissue paper.

What could it be??? A scarf? Jewelry?

Alas, NO to all that wishful thinking. pencil and pad of paper

It was a muvvverfluffing pencil and pad of paper from a muvvvvverfluffffing dollar store.

This is MAJOR. Let me repeat that.


I turned the bag over, shook it, peered inside, felt all around the four corners and even under the little flap on the bottom, and then  — nothing, nada, zip, birds could fly in and out. Empty.

No Versace ANYTHING.

Which means my darling hub’s evil bitch of a stepmom must have gotten something for herself from Versace and used that bag to toss in that cheapass idontgiveashitaboutyou pencil crapass crap in the bag. BITCH BITCH BITCH BITCH BITCH. Yeah, I’m talking to you, MOTHER-IN-LAW.

A vicious calculating diabolical mean-spirited deliberate intentional act. There is no excuse for that behavior. None at all.

I “get” the whole subtext of that little THING. 

Not that I wouldn’t normally like a little gifty like that as a stocking stuffer because I’m a very apprciative recipient, but for all that is holy, don’t set me up to expect something from Versace only to be brought to tears by your passive aggressive ultimate unkindness.

The message was crystal clear; this was no accident. I’m not being overly sensitive but I always had the feeling that she didn’t like me; before this occurred, I never had an overt sign.

How do I know that there was no other reason for this cruelty?

She’s a muvvverfluffing PSYCHOLOGIST.

She knew full well what she was doing. She has all the mind screwing tools at her disposal. Way to go, hateful bitch!

I was gonna take that pad of paper with the cheapass pencil and fill every page with a long list of all the ways she was a total bitch and how it hurt my feelings, and how it wasn’t a very nice way to treat the woman her husband’s son loved, but then I decided not to (which isn’t like me cos I don’t have much impulse control); instead, hubs and I ceremoniously burned it in the fireplace.

My amazing hubs could see how distraught I was, not because I didn’t get an expensive gift, but because she set me up, and because it was proof positive that she didn’t like me, because everyone else received nice and thoughtful gifts. (Like I said, there’s much more to this story.)

And for all these many years later, he’s still feeling guilty and ashamed of the way his family [still] treats me, and that’s why I get a lot of prezzies. Well, one reason, anyway! Wink, wink.

But I kept the Versace bag so I’d never forget. Lesson #1 about how to NEVER treat my own Angel Boy’s DIL.

marc jacobsRight, S?

Don’t you just love your Marc Jacobs handbag “reward” for achieving that extraordinary work-related goal? My pleasure.:)

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Yes, I really AM that annoying.

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.

Chanel south coast plaza

Hubs isn’t a very good photographer and he would only take one pic

On the way home from SCP

On the way home from SCP

So beautifully packaged, I didn't want to open it!

So beautifully packaged, I didn’t want to open it!

Chanel ribbon too!

Chanel ribbon too!

Can you hear the angels singing? Isn't it brills?

Can you hear the angels singing? Isn’t it brills?