A Tale of Two Dresses

Do you ever take a moment or two out of your busy day or before you close your eyes at night and wonder who in the hell Princess Rosebud really is?

So do I, my friend, so do I.

Toward that goal, ponder upon this for a while. The following might give you (and me) some valuable insights into my intimate gray matter. (Not Fifty Shades of Gray, maybe only about three or four.) Or not. You decide.

I bought two dresses. I love them equally. I hung them side by side to admire them and I’m looking at them right now and I’m loving so much about each of them for their individual intrinsic qualities.

One is a Lilly Pulitzer. a tried and true real designer brand that I could wear anywhere and be appropriately attired. I love the sleeves and the sassy outrageous bright colors and the dynamic print. It speaks of shiny happiness to me. I also love that it’s XXS, which soothes my poor body image issues. In my convoluted and distorted mind, I feel that IF I fit into an extra extra small size and it’s loose on me, then no matter what or how I feel on the inside, I can’t be ginormous, right? (Not that I’m body shaming anyone as this is my own personal issue.) With a spiky highhigh heel or summer-y espadrille, this is a sexysexy dress cos it’s super short, too.

The other dress is a treasure I picked up at the Buffalo Exchange in Ballard when I visited Angel Boy 2.0. It’s Forever 21 (which is EXACTLY how I feel on the inside. Arrested development and all that…) I love everything about this dress too: the muted burgundy and black/tan colors, the print, the little buttons, the tassels, and the vaguely Elizabethan/hippie empire cut with the billowy long sleeves. With leggings and adorable boots, I can’t WAIT for autumn.

One dress cost ten dollars; the other was on sale and cost less than one hundred dollars. Equal love. Money didn’t factor into the love.

Two shades of Princess Rosebud. There are a few more shades to my personality, but none of them are too extreme unless you start counting the number of seashells adorning the walls and shelves of each and every surface. Hence the title of my blog…

On another totally unrelated subject, many thanks to whomever sent me the package of thongs! I don’t normally wear Calvin Klein underwear cos I love silky things next to my skin, but they are super cute. A mystery gift giver, how awesome! Or…stalky. Hmm…

Advertisements

Conversations with a human #578. Chicken Butts.

My little three-year-old guy, the one I refer to as Angel Boy 2.0, needed to tell me something so he grabbed the phone away from his dad.

“Dad, I need to tell Grandma something right now.”

“What is it, T-man?”

“No, I’ll tell her. Give me the phone.”

“Grandma, look! My dad made a work space in the garage!”

“Wow, that’s pretty awesome, are you helping him?”

“I have my own tools, Dad’s are really really sharp. See?”

“Grandma! I’m coming to your house next Wednesday!”

“That’s right, T! Good job remembering the days of the week.”

“Theosaurus, I need to ask you a very important question, OK? Can you listen really hard?”

“OK Grandma.”

“Do you have anything special you want me to bake or make for you and Daddy to eat when you come? Muffins or dinner or anything you choose.”

I thought he’d choose oatmeal cookies or apple pie or a blueberry cake, but I wasn’t ready for what he said next…

“Hmmm. Let me think. Grandma? Can you make chicken butts?”

“Uh, how do you make chicken butts?”

“You do something and then put them in the oven and then they’re chicken butts.”

“No, T, I will not make chicken butts. Not ever. Choose something else, please!”

“Can you make popsicles?”

“Yes. I can make popsicles but I will not make chicken butts.”

“OK Grandma. Can I press the red button now?”

“Yes, T and then take the phone back to Daddy. See you soon! Bye.”

Chicken butts. Nope. Just nope.

He’ll have to be happy with an apple pie.


Learning to walk

If I took a poll, I surmise that most females will agree that there’s trial and error in learning how to walk in high heels. A learning curve. I realize that not everyone likes to wear stilettos; some may even feel that it’s another indication of how we women are oppressed and repressed, and I can certainly understand that point of view.

But not for me.

I swear, and my mom would agree if she were still alive, that I begged and begged for my first set of heels when I was three years old.

Santa Claus brought them for me (we celebrate Christmas AND Hannukah lol) The little high heels arrived as a set with a faux mink stole and tiara, but it was the shoes(OK, I admit it, and the tiara) that became as natural to my persona as my curly hair and snarky repartee.

Yes, I was an extreme girly girl. I mean, did you ever stop to think of why I refer to myself as Princess Rosebud? My dad first started calling me Rosebud cos it’s similar to my IRL name, and after the tiara became part of my daily fashion accessories, it was only a matter of time before I became royalty. I’d always felt that I was born into the wrong family and this was all the proof I needed.

I really wish I hadn’t lost the tiara…I could still rock a sparkly rhinestone tiara, I know I could.

But here’s my dilemma.

I can walk for hours in heels and I don’t care if they hurt my feet, either.

But I can’t for the life of me, walk in flats. I’ve tried, I really have, but I don’t know what to do! It’s such a quandry.

I’ve practiced…but HOW? Do you shuffle? Kind of like shuffling bare feet through sand at the beach to avoid a jellyfish sting? Is it a heel/toe movement? Do you bend your knees? When? I just don’t get it at all. I feel very awkward in flats.

Even cute ones like the vegan Tory Burch’s. The Jimmy Choos are the worst. I mean, they’re super cute, but it’s impossible to figure out how to walk gracefully. It’s not a pretty sight, trust me. Even the less expensive ones don’t work right. They’re comfortable, that’s for sure, but I am definitely challenged. I keep buying more and more shoes in case I find the magic formula, but I haven’t found them yet.

There are many YouTube instructional videos–“How to Watch in Heels and Stilettos” –but nothing for flats. I guess I’ll have to only wear heels or suffer the embarrassment of lumbering and shambling down the street.

Ladies, what’s the trick? Help me!

Burning down the house

(To fellow WP bloggers, this is the weirdest thing. Apparently this post did not publish, or it published in a draft format that was not at all what my final result looked like to me, and that’s why I’ve reposted it. Strange limbo zone!!)
__________________________________________________________________________________________

Do you smell the smoke?

It’s a rainy SoCal day and I was in a state of cleaning bliss, dusting and polishing and organizing.

I lit dried sage from the garden to smudge in a metal bowl on top of a mirror on my bedside table to bring a little pungent sagey/outdoorsy fragrance.

It seemed safe, right? Metal bowl placed not directly on wood, but on a mirror to protect it.

Apparently NOT safe.

I continued cleaning the other rooms, enjoying the sagey perfume. After a while, I thought that it seemed to be smoking for much much longer than the amount of leaves in the bowl and as I walked toward my bedroom, I was engulfed in smoke!

A MAJOR smudge haha.

I ran over to the window which was closed ‘cos of the rain, and slid it completely open, then to my beside table where I could see the mirror had cracked and the metal bowl had fused to the wood and was too hot to touch.

img_6904

The table was literally seconds away from going up in flames!

The smoke was no longer from the sage; the antique and very dry wood was burning.

Oh, and somehow the carpet had a few burn holes too.

Now there’s a nasty burn mark on my mom’s antique bedside table,img_6903

It took about an hour for the smoke to dissipate. There’s not a smoke alarm in my bedroom and it hadn’t yet reached the dining room area where there are TWO smoke alarms, so that’s why I was oblivious.

Well, one reason why I was oblivious.

The other reason is that cleaning puts me into a Zen-like trance and I was lost in my own little world.

Moral of the story? DO NOT put sage in a metal bowl on top of a mirror on top of a wooden surface. EVER.

I repainted this room recently, and noticed that it no longer reeks of fresh paint, so there’s a sort of silver lining???

img_6738

 

 

This. Is who I am.

Okie dokie.

What did you think about my recent post about finding a local source for Chanel and other high end designer goods?

Loved it? Don’t really care? First world problems? Entitlement issues?

Angst. I suffer. Truly I do.

On the same day I purchased my new Chanel sunnies, I was still riding the sweet endorphin rush and made a beeline to Rite Aid to see what was on clearance as a way to detox myself.

Here’s where you’ll get to know the real me. To walk in my stilettos for a brief moment; to feel compassion for the crazy that I am, and which I fully OWN, by the way.

This is complicated, so follow closely.

Do you see these three bottles of nail polish?

(I’m assuming you are all nodding your heads.)

img_6380

It’s a low end brand but that doesn’t mean low quality. The polish lasts quite a while and doesn’t chip-while it’s not $10 Opi or Essie quality, it’s perfectly acceptable especially if you’re quirky like me and change your colors on a whim. One day I’m sparkly and the next day I’m red hot.

You get the picture…

But that’s not this story NOR my dilemma.

Bear in mind that I JUST spent a small fortune on new sunnies and the price tag didn’t make me flinch. Notwithstanding THAT, I am really very thrifty. Frugal, even.

The nail polish brand must have been discontinued because there were signs offering a deal. If you purchased two at the regular price of 99 cents, the third one was 24 cents.

So random. 24 CENTS? Honestly, who came up with THAT number?

But my convoluted thought process was working overtime. Do I NEED three new colors? NOT REALLY.

But how can I pass this deal up? I did a quick calculation and discovered the price would be $2.22 for all of them.

You prob think this is a no brainer, right?

NOPE. Not for me.

I agonized for a good ten minutes, talking to myself (in my head, not OUT LOUD, sheesh) about the necessity and/or waste of $2.22 when I really only wanted ONE color, and then I asked myself (again, IN MY HEAD) whether or not I could walk away from a deal like that and might I not find a use for the other two colors at some point in the coming months.

It was excruciatingly painful to be in my orbitofrontal cortex,  anterior cingulate cortex, the striatum, and my thalamus at that moment. You wouldn’t want to be in there, trust me.

All the odd OCD synapses were firing at the same time.

I mean, do you see the insanity? How can I explain it to anyone when it makes no sense to myself?

If you move the decimal point over a bit, you can figure out about how much I spent on new sunnies. (Well, more, but who’s counting.)

I had less angst over THAT amount of money than I did with the $2.22.

What did I do?

Holding your breath?

I bought all three.

NOT SO FAST.

Actually, I first decided not to, and was walking to the shelf to put them back, and then I thought I was being BEYOND mental and completely ridiculous, so I changed my mind.

Whew.

I’ve had some tough decisions to make in my life but this ranks right up there with the most insane waste of time about virtually nothing significant. (Like the time I stressed about driving twenty miles to take back a $2 ball of twine. Which I eventually kept. Read all about it here.)

I told you I suffer from angst. I really really do.

Believe it.

A Pink Lego Handbag. OMFG.

After writing about the dark night of the soul, I thought it’d be a good time to raise our collective spirits with a bright white uplifting #retailtherapy experience–you could say I underwent a Jungian shadow moment.

Carl Jung stated the shadow to be the unknown dark side of the personality. According to Jung, the shadow, in being instinctive and irrational, is prone to psychological projection, in which a perceived personal inferiority is recognized as a perceived moral deficiency in someone else.(Wikipedia)

So I guess I’m now healthy and balanced and that’s our ultimate goal, right?

Since I decided that I NEEDED (need as opposed to WANT) a new pair of sunglasses,  I performed my usual high level due diligence research. My options were to drive to South Coast Plaza in Newport Beach OR take my chances with whatever styles were available at Nordstrom or Bloomingdales. All of those locations are not in my little town and with holiday traffic, I knew it’d be hellish parking.

BUT WAIT.

Apparently there’s a new game in town. How did I never know about this? How? It’s inconceivable that a biz could open HERE that specializes in high end designer goods and it slipped in under my radar? I can speculate that I’ve been a bit preoccupied with certain personal issues and while that might well be true –but if I had only known, perhaps it would have softened the extent of my pain.

Enough ruminating. It’s here, and to coin a phrase from one of my fave Seinfeld episodes, it’s “spectacular.”

This is a tease; I won’t actually give specifics yet. But this should make you salivate.

You know how sometimes a company gets it right from the very first moment? Like they’ve done their homework with fonts and graphics and design and PR and marketing and customer relations?

That’s this place.

The website drew me in and I was hooked.

But I really wasn’t prepared for the ENTIRE EXPERIENCE.

It’s at the end of a cul de sac in the business area of our city, not a regular retail location.

There’s a security gate and an actual guard who checks you in.

VIP parking stalls.

And then I walked in. OH EM GEE.

Bright white walls, bright lighting. All dressed up for Christmas.

And the PINK LEGO HANDBAG. See? I wasn’t kidding around. It’s GIGANTIC. Like almost as big as me and I’m FIVE FEET TALL.

img_6371And look at the holiday decor. AWESOME. Well done.

img_6372When I arrived, I was greeted by two lovely smiling ladies and offered a bottle of water, and I’m not talking the low end generic stuff. I’m talking about Fuji Water. FANCY water.

Since I was looking for sunglasses, specifically CHANEL, I was given a tablet connected to their online website and catalogue and told to choose up to 10 items to see at one time. Those choices would be brought down to me from the warehouse area. When my sunglasses arrived, I was directed to a seating area to try them on and decide if I wanted to make a purchase.

It was so easy. I pretty much already knew which style I wanted and when I tried them on, it was as perfect as I had anticipated.

img_6381

A quick bit of plastic exchanged hands for a minute and then my purchase was presented in a lovely bag with lots of little marketing materials.

A wonderful retail therapy day!

Here’s me with zero makeup but a huge happy smile cos I LOVE my purchase.

img_6377

Nice shades, huh?

Mean Girls at Any Age

I was working on a blog post about the dark night of the soul but I put that serious subject on the back burner so I can vent a bit.

Better to vent with words than to do what my initial reaction was, that’s for sure.

OK, here’s the deets…

I planned to go to a turbo kickboxing class at my gym. It’s one of my faves cos it’s super cardio and focuses on core strength and I’ve got some FIERCE kicking ability from all those years of ballet training.

It starts at 9:30 a.m. which isn’t the most ideal time because I like to work out earlier and get it out of the way so my day is free. However, the instructor is awesome, so I make a point to attend her class.

I arrived at 9:10. There was a sort of loosely constructed line outside the Group X room as there was a spin class in progress. I was the third person in “line”. When it was time to go in, I made a beeline for the spot I like. The girl (in her 40s, not really a GIRL per se) put her bag down and I moved to the right of it. She said, “That’s my spot.” I said, “What?” Like I swear, I couldn’t believe she said what she said. She said, “I put my bag down for my friend. I’m right here” She pointed to where I was standing. I said to myself, ‘whatever” and moved a few inches to the right.

OK, wait, that’s not what pissed me off. Bear with me, the rest of the story is coming up…

As I moved ever so slightly to the right, ANOTHER girl (again, not a girl, prob in her late 30s) said to me, “You’re going to get kicked.” I assume she was referring to the part of the class in the title: kickboxing, but as it turns out, I believe it was more of a physical threat.

I said nothing but didn’t move. She then said in a really nasty tone, “I was here first, you need to move.”

OH NO SHE DINT.

wonder-woman-Oh-no-you-didnt.jpg

I could feel my hackles rising. GURL, you do not want to go there. Trust me.

As she was most definitely NOT THERE FIRST, I said, “No you really weren’t. I was here first.”

She proceeded with some blah blah blah bs crap about how she had put her stuff down (not true) and I said, “Are we back in high school?” and stood my ground. Literally.

She didn’t move and I didn’t move. Picture this. I’m 5ft and 92.4 pounds with all my clothes on, including shoes. She’s about 5’7″ and outweighs me by about 50-60 pounds. AT LEAST. I still wasn’t planning to move cos right is right and all that, you know? And why should I?

The girl on my left who had initially asked me to move cos she had “saved” a spot decided to chime in and join her friend in bullying me by lying and saying, “Yes, she was here first. You were messing around with being in my spot.”

OH FOR FUCKS SAKE, YOU STUPID BITCHES. They have no idea the level of rage I have stored up inside of me right now.

It’s kind of funny if you think about it.

When that thing inside me finally blows up, it’ll be like Hurricanes Irma and Harvey got married and the Mexico earthquakes were their babies.

There I was, one on either side of me. Entitled Southern California bitches who picked on the wrong chica.

I’ll back up and mention this is not the first time they’ve played these high school games, trying to intimidate me into moving. In fact, I had a discussion with the instructor about it a couple weeks ago, and she shared her own gym mean girl stories, so just letting y’all know this is a REAL THING.

What do you think I did? 

Kick the living shit out of her? Unleash my really really foul mouth full of nasty commentary?

Nope. Not this time, anyway.

I channeled my friend, the Dalai Lama, and simply picked up my workout gear and handbag, told her, “I’m not dealing with your neggy shit” and walked out of the room.

THEY LAUGHED AT ME AS I WALKED AWAY. THEY LAUGHED AT ME. Okie dokie. Noted. No worries. I got this. I almost stopped, turned around, and was going to give her a piece of my mind, but I thought to myself, I’m too old for this shit, and kept my self respect and a certain amount of Zen. She wasn’t worth my sarcasm or a stroke from rising blood pressure.

While it’s true that I got all dressed and ready to exercise and all that, the atmosphere was so hostile and negative that I wouldn’t have enjoyed it anyway, as they throw shade constantly.

I left in order to diffuse the situation instead of igniting it further, which would have only been satisfying for a moment or two. I wasn’t about to demean myself by lowering my vibrations to her level.

What I did was to locate the manager and tell him why I left, declined to make a formal complaint, but gave him a description of who it was and he said he’d check her out ‘cos even without a formal complaint, if it happened again, he’d kick her ass out. And he would talk to the instructor, whom I told him was well aware of these specific mean girls and their nasty little girl games.

I was actually proud of myself for handling it in a non-violent manner especially since she was ITCHING for a fight. She just wasn’t worth it.

As a former ballet dancer, I am just as much in love with the mirror as anyone else, but I won’t engage in World War Three over it.

What would YOU have done?  

Before you reply, moving to another spot was not an option for me, because she was a bully and a liar and no one should be allowed to get away with that. At any age. And why should I do what she says? She’s certainly not the boss of me and she doesn’t work for 24 Hour Fitness in the capacity of policing the virtual floor space.

I’ll go to another class this evening where I won’t be attacked, but because I had that unexpected extra time, I felt like retail therapy was just what I needed, so I bought Angel Boy 2.0 the most adorable chair and boy doll for his next visit. Yes, it’s an elephant chair!! And the boy doll, while not anatomically correct (which is what I’d been looking for), sports working zippers and buttons and and other cool stuff.

IMG_3410

WHEW! I feel better now. Thanks for allowing me space to vent!

The macro view of this issue is that in this current world climate, people are generally not kind to one another; there’s an undercurrent of meanness and aggression and hostility by women toward other women that is really ugly and so sad to witness it and to also be the target of it. Yes, their behavior was atrocious, but what is equally as upsetting is the sheep mentality of those that were observing; not ONE person spoke up. Very much a sign of the times, I’m sad to report.

Welcome To The Jungle

Before I was Princess Rosebud, I was Rowdy Rosie, did you know that? Something must have happened over the years to morph RR into PR, but she’s BACK!  (You can read a previous post about RR here: https://enchantedseashells.com/2013/07/02/the-story-of-rowdy-rosie/)

All you need is a little patience, right? Well, to paraphrase my rock and roll crush, Axl Rose, I guess I needed twenty-plus years of patience, ‘cos that’s how long it took between Guns N’ Roses concerts. At least for me.

When my good friend from Cowboys and Crossbones told me their Not In This Lifetime tour was one of the best concerts she’d ever attended, my ears perked up. When I discovered GnR would end their US tour in San Diego, I knew I’d have to something about it.

I dusted off an old Rowdy Rosie sheer lace spandex camisole I’d kept safe (just in case) since the nineties nestled in tissue paper and wore it over a black and white polka dotted push up bra, squirmed into skinny jeans so tight there wasn’t an ounce of space to breathe, added studded moto boots, and the look was complete. gunsandrosesfashion

Not too bad for a grandma, am I right? (DO NOT ANSWER THAT RHETORICAL QUESTION!!)

After a slight mishap at the trolley station where I accidentally fell onto the tracks. No adult beverages nor any mind altering substances could be blamed…the sun was in my eyes and it was SUPER crowded-sometimes the truth is BORING, but the truth is what you get in Confessions of a Tugboat Captain’s Wife…

The opening act was the Cult, do you remember them? They did a great job of holding our attention until Axl hit the stage.

OK, here’s where more truth comes in.

We are all aware of the inexorable march of time; it can’t be stopped, we all get older, look older, feel older–none of us really has a picture in the attic (literary reference to Picture of Dorian Gray)-even Botox and a skilled surgeon can only for a brief moment hold back the tick-tock of aging.

So…when that sweet bad boy child of mine, the now fifty-four-year-old Axl Rose first appeared, I do believe there was a collective GASP from the crowd, or maybe it was just me? I mean, I know it’s been 20+ years, but I really expected him to still look like…

4c992671aa279fcb6eee37462f0e470e

Then

AXL.JPG

Now

Side by side comparison…Where did he go?

And it didn’t matter at all. Once he started to sing, I was transported back to that special place where everything was as fresh as the bright blue sky (lyrics to “Sweet Child of Mine”)

He’s still bad boy sexy though, and if I squinted, he kinda sorta-well no, actually not at all.

He’s aged, I’ve aged, we’ve all aged. He’s had some work done, not exactly a total Mickey Rourke, but a bit, and he’s brave to step on stage knowing how the world sees him in reality versus in dreams (oops, my bad, hee hee.)

I screamed like a teenager.

I danced like no one was watching (no one was) and had the BEST TIME OF MY LIFE.concertME

The biggest difference in the two concerts from then and now -except for the cost of the ticket lol-was the ubiquitous presence of cell phones capturing every single moment. I’m guilty of that too.

When the first chords of “Welcome to the Jungle” started up, there was nowhere in the world I would have rather been than experiencing that iconic moment.

They played nonstop for more than 2 1/2 hours and ended with “Paradise City”.

As we ran to grab the trolley back to our vehicle, we saw Slash drive away in his black limo SUV and he waved to us.

BEST NIGHT EVER.

And now I’ll have a forever scar to remember it by…dropmic

 

I was bitten by an alligator

lizard.

Yup, an alligator lizard. So adorable. So harmless looking, right?

alligatorlizard

A few teenagers were sitting in a local park above our beautiful Agua Hedionda Lagoon, attempting to humanely herd this creature off the grass and back into his native habitat of sagebrush and coyote bush, when I waltzed by and thought I’d be the conquering heroine and offer my assistance.

They were afraid to pick him up, but I said, “no problem, guys, here’s how it’s done.” I then proceeded to pick him up, totally forgetting the proper way to handle a scared reptile and he immediately latched onto my finger with his razor sharp teeth and WOULD NOT LET GO.

So much for my heroics; I started screaming and shook off the poor little fella, sending him sailing off into the bushes. No worries, though. He was FINE, scurrying away with all of his limbs intact and whole, probably searched for his family to tell them about the lunatic human he encountered, while I was nursing several bleeding puncture wounds…amid teenaged laughter. To be fair, they DID ask me if I was OK, but I think they actually recorded the whole incident, so if you see it on YouTube, yes, that was ME.

I dropped my phone whilst repelling the attack of the ‘gator, and this pic was accidentally taken…

alligatorlizard2

It was all good, though. Just a day in the life of Princess Rosebud.

Confession: I LOVE Comic Sans

I was shocked, I tell you, simply SHOCKED when I Googled “Comic Sans font” and this post entitled Why You Hate Comic Sans appeared from http://designforhackers.com

Here’s a little snippet…

Everyone loves to hate Comic Sans. The child-like handwriting font is so infamous, there is a movement to try to ban it. Mention its name to the common layman (aside from a preschool teacher), and you will likely get a chuckle, mention it to a trained designer, and you’ll get a look of disgust. Why hate on this easy breezy happy font?

The truth of the matter is that I love love LOVE Comic Sans. Not for every type of writing, of course–I mean it wouldn’t be appropriate for an obituary, you know what I mean? But for emails, it lends a certain joie de vivre that no other font can match.

My very special blogging friend at Misifusa’s Blog-The Presents of Presence also loves this font, so all is good! P.S. Check her out; she’s amazing.

Who designed this joyful font?
Comic Sans MS, commonly referred to as Comic Sans, is a sans-serif casual script typeface designed by Vincent Connare and released in 1994 by Microsoft Corporation. It is a casual, non-connecting script inspired by comic book lettering, intended for use in informal documents and educational materials. [From Wikipedia]

Life has forced me to learn to extract happiness from the tiniest and most innocuous of things- from gratitude to the daily rising of the sun and the moon, my flowering garden, the song of the coyote, bunnies cavorting at sunrise, to a font that brings a smile to my face–no matter who doesn’t like it!
Take a look at this sampling of Comic Sans memes.
hipster-ariel-meme-generator-dont-call-me-ariel-my-name-is-comic-sans-ms-3e4925e43ee6ad44414f53c9816d82fa2b8a70ce92d8d989c323fbfb12e9b47e4c1a6613268421766450711fde3_COMIC-SANS
One word.
WhatEVER.