valentina

Since my previous entry was a prolonged rant, I'm doing another entry to lighten up the mood, and it's on one of my more favorite subjects. I turned on TV last night and there on the screen was some absurd CBS 4th of July special, featuring Boston Pops doing a live outdoor concert. But when I turned it on, Aerosmith was playing along with the Boston Pops. What? I guess the Aerosmith boys came from the Boston area. But it was surreal, to say the least. First of all, these days, Steven Tyler has a tighter face than his daughter Liv. It does not look especially flattering on him -- a bit too much work, I think. But I could have lived with that, had he sounded halfway normal. Oh my hell, his voice made the menacing cat scream-growl noise uttered by Puddin' Tom sound like the song of a lark. Tyler at his best never had a resonant or clarion-clear rock star voice, but this was off-key and vocal chord polyp-inducing squalling. I nearly hit the mute right away. Actually, I did so when he started to hack his way through "Dream On." It was just too sad. But Joe Perry was, well, Joe Perry. He and Steven did look like they got into a Clairol frost 'n tip hair highlight system together, but I like the way it looks on Joe. (Do I dislike they way anything looks on Joe? Probably not.) Joe has two big platinum blonde streaks running on either side of his part, and it looks rather dramatic, as if he needs any more drama and presence. Poor Steven Tyler was working very hard to keep the energy and drama focused on him, and all Joe had to do was stand there, play the guitar and toss his head around. If you got it, you got it. ETA: OK, I just read that Steven Tyler was "fresh from surgery on his vocal chords," so that's why he sounded so bad. But that's like getting a liver transplant and going out and drinking shots a month after you've been released from the hospital! Rest your voice, Steven.

I came up with a descriptive line today that I felt was one of my better ones -- I was talking to a friend about how I'd been in an insanely bad mood a couple of weeks ago. In hindsight, I realize that it was because I was coming down with a bad summer cold, but at the time, all I knew was that I was not a happy camper. I characterized my mood in this manner: "I wanted to shove kerosene-soaked tampons up everyone's butt and walk around with a flame-thrower." Maybe TMI, or maybe a visual you'll enjoy. It probably depends upon your mood.

I am weak with laughter. A coworker says her husband mutters "anus breath" at people that he's rather disgusted with. South Park has permanently scarred me. I have picked up entirely too many Cartman-isms. I especially like yelling "BEEFCAKE" at a guy in my office who goes running on his lunch hour.

I am so much older than most people around here, so please excuse the ancient person song subreference, but there's a Joni Mitchell song called "Coyote" that starts out with Joni speaking, more than singing, the words "No regrets, Coyote..." THAT SONG HAS BECOME A BRAIN WORM! I got a bottle of Coyote in the mail yesterday, thanks to the lovely and generous GypsyRoseRed, who went to Will Call to make purchases for the non-L.A. dwellers. This no-coast girl owes her a serious debt of gratitude. Of course, I tried out Coyote right away, and after getting a sinking feeling because the grass-woods element of the scent bloomed so strongly at first, it mellowed into an outdoorsy amber-musk smell. And I can't stop "No regrets, Coyote...we just come from different sets of circumstances..." from playing in my head. That song, BTW, is from the album "Hejira." And in a confluence of random mutant thoughts, darkitysnark's latest entry about the yin and yang of her personal style -- either femme or what I could call cute earth mother (because who can't look at the tree photo in her hair travelogue and not say "that's just cute!") -- reminds me of a line in "Song for Sharon," which is also on "Hejira." It's a song about about growing up as a romantic at heart, while still being a little wild and rough-and-tumble, and the line is "mama's nylons underneath my cowgirl jeans." Since I was a kid who used to ride my bicycle up and down gravel roads while wearing my mother's old dresses, with lipstick no doubt applied clownishly on my face, I do understand that song a lot. I never was a normal farmer's daughter -- and that was probably one part disposition and one part environment. My father's mother had to run the farm and raise 4 children because her husband was chronically ill and was unable to work for long periods of time. She looked 60 by the time she was 30, and my father wasn't going to make any daughter of his work that hard. There are snapshots of her where she literally looks like a man -- weather-beaten, stringy-skinny, in work clothing, not a smile to be seen. My mother has since told me that my grandmother didn't even want to live on a farm that badly, much less run one -- but through a series of circumstances, my grandfather took over the farm instead of his two older brothers. I'm sure when my grandmother and grandfather married, she thought they'd eventually move to a town or a city. But instead, she accepted the hand that she was dealt and became not just a farmer's wife, but a farmer herself. Damn, and I think I have things to bitch about. I get to bathe with Villainess soaps, anoint myself with BPAL, pay absurd amounts of money to get my hair done, make my skin soft with oils and lotions, run about to the gym and to yoga class, and generally be a bit of a vain diva who likes to throw in touches of androgyny in the midst of her girlyness. My life is pretty good, and no regrets, Coyote!

Well, hell yeah, I live out here on the plains and I didn't see how Coyote couldn't work on me! Doeskin, plains grasses, dusty woods, it sounds like my childhood stomping grounds. These scents have to be encoded in my DNA, don't they? In the bottle, I got a lot of green and woodsy smells -- what I picked up on reminded me of Yggdrasil or Hamadryad. So I thought, ooh, I dunno. But once it hit my skin, while the green grass and woods were still there in the forefront, but the doeskin, musk and amber really kicked in. After about 5 or 10 minutes, the grass and woods softened and dried out, and left a spicy muskiness that I love. I went to the gym after about a half hour after applying Coyote, and once my skin warmed up, I started thinking, OMG, what is that GREAT smell? It was, in fact, the Coyote. It's a dusty, spicy amber-musk. It is very outdoorsy, it is to me more of a casual scent, and very androgynous -- I think it could be drop-dead sexy on both genders. I took the leap of faith on this scent and got a bottle without ever testing it, and Coyote held up to every expectation that I had, and more. ETA: I realized about a day after I wrote this, that the grass smell in this fragrance reminds me a lot of sweet grass. It has a green, but slightly vanilla-like essence.

In the imp, I knew Marie had rose in it, because it was all that I could smell. I tested this scent without reading the description, but once it hit my skin, I did correctly guess that it was tea rose, because it's a smaller, spicier rose scent. I could also smell something darker lurking around in the blend, and that would be the violet. Normally rose becomes overwhelming on my body, but tea rose, when paired with violets, actually works. I know several people think this smells soapy-bubble bath, and perhaps it does just a bit, but to me it's a very comforting scent. It breaks my "I can't wear rose" rule, and it really quite lovely. It's also a scent that I think would be very nice for a little girl -- it's not too complex or overwhelming. I'm thinking about going off and layering it with O to naughty it up and see what happens , but I do think that it may be a scent that would layer very nicely.

My lord, I loved the snark hair travelogue. It was just superb. I wish I had a travelogue of my hair colors, it would be a rather vivid thing, especially in the '80's. Then again, maybe I'm happy I don't have too many photos.

In the imp, Ophelia is beautiful and very evocative of all the pre-Raphaelite paintings of Ophelia, especially the one by Waterhouse, where she's sitting by the water, putting a garland in her hair, wildflowers in her lap, and blooming water lilies in the background. It's very much a floral scent that you'd find near a lake or a quiet, slow-moving stream. But when I put this beautiful scent on my skin, my body chemistry turns it into a scent that makes me almost as insane as poor Ophelia -- the combo of florals just overwhelms. I'm not especially able to wear a pure floral scent, and my body's reaction to Ophelia comes as no surprise. But because I find this scent so pretty, I plan to scent some potpourri with it, and if I ever get around to getting a scent locket, Ophelia is going into it!

In the bottle, Litha smells a lot like honey mead and honeysuckle. When it hits my skin, it become positively woozy with honey mead, with emphasis on the mead more than the honey. It's very sweet, but a little yeasty. After than calms down, after about 15 or 20 minutes, it reminds me of a more summery Yggdrasil that's drunk on honey mead. I smell woods and greens (especially ivy) and bright summer flowers, along with the honey mead. It's not especially suited to my body chemistry, as the woodsy/green/wildflower/herbal scents tend to muddle up on me. For anyone who loves those sort of scents, if you don't have a bottle, find one soon. And the label art! It is positively gorgeous, and so beautifully expresses the nature of the holiday.

The not-too-distant future: Snarky the anti-gardener will turn into Snarky the uber-gardener. Then we will see that she'd going to be a guest on Martha Stewart's show, talking about knitting in her amazing garden, which she redesigned and rebuilt herself. It's gonna happen!!!!

Good morning Grace! Congratulations on starting a new day with a new first name. How many people get to say that's what they're doing?

Those symbiotic relationships are always a dicey matter, because while there's always a certain amount of symbiosis at the beginning of a relationship, that normally changes and matures into a different sort of commitment. I think when a child enters the picture, it's difficult to sustain the weight of child-rearing duties with the demands of maintaining 24/7 symbiosis. I hope the snark's friends can find a way to let the relationship evolve where they can each be their own person, still be in the relationship, and parent their child under the same roof.

I was bopping around Zappo's and came upon a company called "Pleaser USA," and then I recalled that evanesce provided a link to their shoes earlier this spring. I came across this pair of shoes and was sufficiently provoked to take a closer look. Then I had to look at the customer comments. Read the third customer comment from B.Y in Seattle. WTF? I sent this to my friend Ron (a shoe fetishist if there ever was one) and asked him if it could help him find religion. His response: "There’s high church and low church. Then there’s high heel church. I know which I prefer!" http://www.zappos.com/n/p/dp/15599613/c/1141.html

I speculated that since the initials were B.Y, that could be a clue that the person is trying to tell us that they're bi. And my other theory is that it's a crossdressing Lutheran minister. Those red pumps would be mighty flashy under the vestments!

The first definition that comes to mind when I hear the word "grace" is not the one that suggests physical sprightliness and coordination. I usually consider it in the context of a state of grace, which is a beautiful thing. I also associate it with handling matters with grace, which typically means using kindness and compassion. They're both rather ineffiable states, but you know it when you feel it or see it/hear it. I think it's a very lovely name, and I'm glad your mother-in-law is already calling you Grace!

Oh hell. I wasn't going to order Harvest Moon, the scent, until I read the update thread and someone commented that it was her birth moon, so she just had to get it. Well, it's my birth moon also, and while I'm not sure it will smell that great on me, it has all sorts of things in it that I hold near and dear, because I do love those late summer smells. Anything with Russian sage in it is worth owning, in my opinion. So I ordered a bottle. If it doesn't work on my body, it might make a wonderful scent locket or room scent. And the t-shirt, I simply must order the t-shirt! Macha's design is astonishing. A bit of a Celtic/Gothic/Georgia O'Keefe quality, and who but Macha could weave all of it together so perfectly? I'm just really, really fond of the design, and hey, it's for my birth moon, so I simply must. So the scoreboard says: Update: 2 Resolve: 0 OK, the other matter at hand: I have enough reward points to cash in and change my member title to whatever I want. I love all the self-titled names, they are all so damn clever. I'm having problems coming up with anything like "rapscallion in fuchsia tights" or "1/32 too few" or "part-time ninja" or "fae fatale." Sookster just changed her title to "p-town's naughty sea monkey." In a prior entry, I'd commented that I could call myself "Phantom of the Prairie Phallus," a reference to the building where I work. But it's not that funny, unless you know the architecture of my state's capitol building. I thought about calling myself "The Jean Genie" (as in the Bowie song), since it's a reference to my real name. Then I thought I could call myself "The Jean Genie in Joe Perry's bottle" because we know my feelings about Joe Perry. Or I could say I was "The Jean Genie in Bob Schneider's bottle," but very few people would know who I was talking about. (Bob may get famous yet!) Then I remembered that in my review of Sacred Whore of Babylon, I was bemoaning that exotic flowers like jasmine and orchids are hardly indigenous to where I live, so I'm not exactly familiar with their exact scent. And I further postulated that exotic florals smell icky on me due to my geographical location somehow influencing my body chemistry (I don't really believe this), but if Beth ever made a scent called Sacred Whore of the Prairie, it would probably smell good on me. Now, "Sacred Whore of the Prairie" might be a good forum name, and it amuses me. (Some might heartily agree that I'm a whore, the sacred business is no doubt highly debatable; but the part about the prairie is indisputable.) Any ideas, reactions, comments?

We have further corrupted darkity's mind! Dawndie, I wish there was a high-five emoticon, because I'd be using it! This is way too many characters long and it's a really disgusting image that I hesitate to suggest, but a forum name like "Dick Cheney's exhausted jockstrap" sure would get attention, eh? ETA: For darkity, I keep coming up with bright colors and "Naked Lunch" variations, like "Nekkid Fuchsia Luncheonette."

That's good to know about the character limit, I don't want to get my heart set on something that's too long. I think "The Jean Genie" is better all on its own anyway. I believe I'm down to that and "Sacred Whore of the Prairie." BTW, the place where I work can sometimes seem like the "phantom little 'ho-house in the prairie phallus!"

On me, Anathema is a dead ringer for the Yves St. Laurent fragrance "Opium." Only it's better. I wore Opium a long time ago, but it did tend to be a bit on the overwhelming side, and just a little too chemical. My body tends to amp the black opium in Anathema, but the honeysuckle in the blend, and perhaps even the vetivert (usually a monster on my body) mellow it out. So it's a real opium kick, but not a headachey or eye-crossing kick. To me, this smell is sex on a stick. Of course it would provoke naughty and excessive and wonderfully heathen behavior, thank the Goddess. I want a bottle ASAP.

Bengal is one of those scents that I would have been afraid to sample a year ago, as a BPAL neophyte. But now, I just blaze away, just the way Bengal smells in the imp -- its predominant notes are very blazing, warm spices. And on my skin, Bengal blazes away for 5 or 10 minutes! I'd guess it's the pepper and cinnamon bark, but it does make me flush a bit. I waited it out and it went away with no ill effects. For about the first hour or so, Bengal is largely a very spicy blend, with all the components happily melding together with no one spice taking dominance. After that, the body musk and honey take front stage with the spices lurking in the wings. It's really a beautiful, natural, yet exotic scent. It may be going on my "buy a bottle" list, because I'm willing to handle a little skin flushing in order to smell so wonderful!

In the imp, Centzon Totochtin smells very chocolate-rum. And I'm really surprised how light-colored the oil is -- I was really expecting something very dark, but it's a pale amber color. When I first applied it, it was all Mexican chocolate and coffee. Very rich and intoxicating, a bit like a cup of coffee with Ibarra chocolate and a bit of kaluha stirred in. But after a half-hour or so, my skin ate the chocolate-coffee smell. Is this any surprise, that my body eats chocolate and drinks coffee? No -- that's what I do all the time, so why wouldn't that happen with a fragrance? What is left is a scent that totally trips my brain over into associations with the smells of a Mexican grocery store that I go to when I buy Ibarra chocolate. I swear I can smell chili powder and Mexican vanilla and stewing meat. I think I'm smelling the booze-wine-blood scent of Centzon Totochtin, but I'm simply at the Mexican market, and I probably start smelling things that probably aren't even in the blend. I really wish the initial elements of this smell would linger longer, but I also suspect that it might be more of an autumn-winter smell for me, and it's July as I write this, so I'm holding on to my imp and trying it again.

In the imp, Grandmother of Ghosts smelled very greenish and floral, but pungent. Once it hit my skin, it was the strangest thing -- it smelled like how I'd imagine a granny's floral-scented vinegar douche to smell. Weird! I think the laurel, mandarin and pepper take on a really pungent quality that smells vinegary, but the florals of the blend compete for attention. After a little while (maybe an hour), that wears off and a totally different smell arrives, and it is really quite nice. I'd say it's woodsy and musky with a peppery quality. It's incense-like and very subtle. Because my wonked-out body chemistry produces the initial vinegar-floral reaction, I probably wouldn't wear this often, but the final dry-down is really very pretty.

Well, on my body, this Succubus is spending all of her time in Florida. She's been all around all the citrus groves to gather the best juice and blossoms. She plies men with mimosas and then sneaks back in when they're sleeping. She is probably the the reason that Don Johnson always looked so sleepy-eyed in "Miami Vice" -- she was stopping by his houseboat every night. She is the anti-Anita Bryant. Anyway, I get carried away; Succubus is obviously very citrusy on me, initially a little sharp, but then softening and mellowing into a sweet mimosa, with maybe a bit of a powdery undertone from the bergamot. Clove, frequently my enemy, simply doesn't show up in this blend when I wear it. While it's not a daily scent, I think it would be great fun to scent some of my body cream with this, because it's a fresh and glowing blend. (And now I have a huge craving for mimosas! )

I have always been amused by the saying: "their karma just jumped up and bit them in the ass." It's so much more colorful than sayings like "what goes around comes around," or "they got their just desserts." That's probably because I had an Airedale named Karma, and I always could picture the literal Karma laying around in angelic sleep, then suddenly jumping up and chomping butt. Popular culture in the U.S. has turned "karma" into such a cliche, as in "peace, love and good karma, man," but karma is a two-way street. And if you haven't figured it out, while I don't really take pleasure in other's misfortunes, sometimes it really interesting to see a fast turn-around of karma. Sometimes it's very, very slow, and other times it's as if events reach a critical mass, and karma wakes up in a big hurry. I think those of us who get little karmic nips all the time are luckier than those who have karma sitting there and watching, just like a terrier waiting for hours for the vermin to move out from under the building. Because then it's just a "ker-pow" of a punch. There's a couple of people who I know fairly well who are walking around with chunks missing from their butts because karma just got them. I'm sorry life is anything but a dream right now, but I hope it's a wakeup call. You just can't treat people that way forever.

One of the people that I wrote about in the above entry called me up yesterday afternoon, not feeling at all happy, and started out the phone call saying: "And what's good about today? Could you tell me one thing?" I said: "Hmmm....it's Friday?" We talked for a while, and this person said he was go off and be alone to think about things and reflect a bit. That's good, that's what he needs to do. Sometimes I think it's my karma to be nice to people who have had some bad karma come their way, and to not go: "Well, nanner, nanner, nanner, what did you THINK would happen?" The other thing that Karma the Airedale was notorious for was head-butts. Airedales have anvils for heads, in case you didn't know. Seriously. I'm still on a list for Airedale owners, and a couple of years ago, a woman on the list had to have surgery because her Airedale reared up and hit her in the cheekbone with the top of his head. He broke the orbital bone -- the bone that cradles your eyeball -- and that's not a good thing. Anyway, karma can sometimes be a good head-thumping and we all need them.