valentina

Oh no! I'm so sorry to hear this, and I'm glad that your Mister is home and under your care. I am friends with someone who is the type Who Cares Too much, and I always worry about him flaming out. (Sending you my yoga teacher relaxation talk or my general goofball distraction technique, or maybe a bit of both!) I hope that you both take care of yourselves this weekend, and if you can get the Mister to consider being gentle with himself, that would be grand. to both of you.

I received an imp of Oneiroi as a frimp in a swap with a lovely and generous forum member. I opened it up, took a sniff and pronounced it to be pure, holy jasmine. When I put it on my skin, it certainly smelled largely of jasmine, but not as overwhelmingly strong as many other jasmine blends. There was a fresh, herbal scent that probably came from the lavender, bergamot and mugwort. However, after about an hour, the jasmine pinned the herbs and sandalwood to the mat and began lumbering about like Andre the Giant or some other thuggish wrassler. It's just my body chemistry, and I wish jasmine didn't behave so badly on my skin, because lavender, bergamot and mugwort are all lovely herbal smells and I love sandalwood. While I have the jasmine problem, I could imagine that this scent would comfort one into dreamland, and also promote deep and clear breathing during sleep. I have a friend who is a jasmine-aholic, and tends be be an insomniac, so this frimp is being gifted to her, and I'm certain she will love it dearly.

What a beautiful rose! I love the color, and it's such a perfect, tiny little thing. Fiddling around with flowers and plants is the most soothing thing in the world.

Oh my. Hot sun and red curry. My body would have reacted in a similar manner. Warning: For anyone who is eating/has a weak stomach, the remainder of this paragraph is probably TMI. Skip down to the next paragraph. It probably won't make you feel better about what happened, but I had a friend who did a very similar thing at a dinner theatre in Kansas City, Missouri. Except she had no hot sun/spicy food causative factors, and her incident involved not only projective vomiting, but also what she termed "explosive diarrhea." And that was in a closed space during a theatrical production. At least you were outdoors and in a foreign country. I think the old bat who termed the scene "disgusting" was lucky that you didn't turn to look her way, because the rapid head movement might have caused you to hork on her. And finally, I can't help but be reminded of the "thin mint" restaurant scene in Monty Python's "The Meaning Of Life."

Yeah, I read the Bronte sisters and Thomas Hardy, and I like to quote poetry every now and then, but I also listen to Ani DiFranco and I'm in an Ani mood these days. Not that Ani isn't poetic, in her own 20th/21st century way. And anyone who started their own recording label called Righteous Babe Records has to be alright. Right now I'm listening to the "reckoning" disc of the "Reveling/Reckoning" double CD set. I was driving around last night singing along to "So What" and I looked over at the car in the lane next to me, and there was a teenaged girl, singing and doing upper body dancing as she drove. I thought, damn it, I miss the surly grunger days. In the town that I live in, there's way too many perky teenagers, but I was in suburbia and the closer I get to downtown, the closer I come to finding surly youth. However, a lot of them tend to sit around outside coffee houses and sing folk songs with people closer to my age, and I find it rather confusing. Back to Ani. A few years ago in "Jazziz" magazine, in response to the question "What is your guilty pleasure?" Ani replied: "FUCK GUILT." That was my New Year's resolution that year. It worked. (I wasn't raised as a Catholic, so maybe it was easier for me.) Then a year later, I did a spin on that and made my New Year's resolution "FUCK 'WHAT-IF'S.'" I realized late last week just how well that one took, because I spent some time around someone who was spinning "what-if" scenarios, that to me, were no more than fantasies about something that was painfully impossible. I realized how I simply never go there, or if I do, I pull myself back. (Hell, I don't even fantasize about Bob Schneider, and that would be a sweet diversion!) But as a result, I have a bit more of an Ani DiFranco attitude, which is to jam reality right back in my face. It makes for an interesting life, I'm not missing as much, except for when I'm so sulky that I'm not really paying attention. Better to be looking around than your head in the clouds or up your ass, right? But even then, almost in spite of everything I've said above, I'm still a romantic. I've yet to figure that one out.

I too am told that I'm "bubbly" and "optimistic." And often that occurs when I'm in the middle of an Ani mood, and I think, WTF?? My theory is that you get so far on one end of the spectrum, that you go around the bend and come out on the other side! And seriously, I think there's a true romance and hopefulness in life, just as there's a lot of crap in life, and if you're realistic, you're going to address both sides. You try to bring out the good, all the while knowing the really bad stuff is lurking around the edges. I don't do the Christian thing, but once I watched a TV sermon where the minister of a very progressive/liberal church in this town talked about his philosophy of life. He's not especially preachy, and I'll always pause to see what he has to say when he's being more generally philosophical. And in this sermon, he said that his philosophy is to enjoy people, hope the best from people, look for the good in people, but cut the cards yourself. I thought, dude, you're cool.

Blood Amber, in the imp, was a really knockout whiff of Dragon's Blood, with that amber-resin undertone. But mainly Dragon's Blood, a scent that when it hits my skin, smells like fresh blood. It's very feral; I think of wolves eating their kill when I smell it. After a while, the scent took on a peppery top note, with that scent of blood hovering just underneath and some resin lurking around the edges. And it's a very strong scent that holds its place very well. To my nose, and mixed with my body chemistry, it's wild and animalistic. I know a lot of people find this scent very warm and comforting, but it just doesn't work that way on my body -- not that it's bad, but I rather smell like a she-wolf who just came in from the hunt!

I recieved Blood Pearl as a frimp from a forum member, and I sniffed it in the imp and immediately tried it out, not knowing what was in it. It smelled sweet and dark and very appealing in the imp. But once on my skin, that King Kong called orris took over the entire blend. Then the coconut moved in, and coconut gets weirdly bitter on my skin. In the end, the dry-down was OK, but it was a pungent powdery scent, and not really my style. I think that for anyone who can wear orris and coconut beautifully, this is really a scent to consider.

I sit here on a late Sunday morning, with my cockatiel, Herb D. Byrd, sitting on my shoulder, doing his imitation of someone dialing a cordless phone: beep, beep, beep... He can also do a killer imitation of the phone ringing and then the answering machine going off, then the beep at the end of a message. He is a little character. On Friday, the postman delivered a bottle of Dorian that I won on eBay last week! The seller charged me $5 for shipping, which seemed a bit high, but then I realized that she lives in Canada and she it airmailed to me. Bless her. I also bought a bottle of Dorian on the forum three weeks ago, and unless something changes soon, I think I've been swaplifted. I'm giving the seller one more chance to write back to me/send me the bottle and then I file a report with the mods. I'm more than willing to consider that it could have been lost or stolen by the USPS, but the seller's lack of a response to my PM makes me wonder what's happening. I've never had that happen before on the forum, and by and large, most people selling and swapping are incredibly nice and generous. Anyway, the aroma of Dorian has some sort of effect upon me that I find hard to describe. It involves associations, and scents and music are my two major emotional associations. I love, love, love the smell of Smut and O and Urd and Underpants and Khajurajo, but Dorian almost makes me cry. I get over it after a while, but the first sniff gets me every time. But I love it, I want to wear it, and I think the emotional rush that it gives me is a cathartic thing I'm going through at this time. However, when I did wear it (when all I had was an imp), I had a couple of my male "noses" sniff it and they both responded with a dazed, wide-eyed "you smell so....incredible." Smut gets a vaguely drooly "ohmygodyousmellgood," Underpants and O gets the "yeah, that is nice," but Dorian, I think, has magic dust in it. I think it's the scent that Beth made for her beloved Ted, so maybe in a "Like Water For Chocolate" way, it reflects how she felt when she created it. My, I'm romantic this morning. Like I said, music also creates some circuit-jamming emotional associations for me. I was at a wedding and reception last night, and weddings don't do that for me. I never cry at weddings. But at the reception, once the endless tape loop of Michael Buble music ended (he gets REALLY tiresome after 2 hours) and the lovely-dovey dance music was tuned on, I was somewhat relieved, if only for a change of pace. I was sitting there watching the bride and groom dance the first dance, thinking how sweet and cute they looked. And it was rather odd, no one else was watching. The parents were too busy being tense (bride's mom and dad are bitterly divorced, groom's dad had a lot to drink by that point), and the wedding party was utterly blitzed. Everyone else was eating, drinking and talking. I was glad that I gave that little moment of theirs my attention. I hope they never forget that they once were like that. But then some country rock song came up on the rotation, and while I normally detest country rock, this song gets to me. I can't even tell you the name of the song, but it almost made me cry. I thought, well shit, I could sit here and sniff the inside of my elbow, get a big hit of Dorian, and just start sobbing, right here in the middle of the reception. I didn't. It was an open bar, and I got another drink and disassociated for a while. I hate to disassociate from my emotions, but sometimes it's what you gotta do, if only not to make a scene at a wedding reception. My friend Ron always tells me that in spite of what I call my cynical attitude, I'm the most romantic person he knows. He says I'm not sentimental, but I am romantic. Did I read the Bronte sisters entirely too much when I was a teenager? Yeah, let's blame it on Emily and Charlotte! And Dorian, and that stupid country song! Charlotte and Emily and Dorian don't annoy me, but a country rock song? I humilate my own sensibilities with that one! But at least I take comfort that it wasn't a Celine Dion song! (Whew.)

Do you remember the scene at the end of "Beetlejuice," where Gena Davis is trying to say "Beetlejuice" three times and she gets his name out once, and he does this high-pitched "Ayyyeee-EEEEEE" screech at her? That's how I feel right now, because I tried to listen to country music songs on Amazon to figure out what song I heard the other night. I never did find it, but I heard entirely more contemporary country music than I care to hear for a very long time. (Shakes head to remove sounds out of it!) Maybe it isn't even considered a contempo country song, it just has vaguely country twangs in it and that's enuff for me to call it country. Anyway, you're sweet to picture me as Snow White. Mugzy, my Boxer, is rather convinced he's my prince, anyway. Oh, and the "occasionally pissy" mood you have is not foreign to me, except I get into that very moody Greta Garbo "I vant to be ahhlone" mood. Except I always want to be with my menagerie, of course!

Your entry was just so interesting and thought-provoking, in it made the wheels start spinning right away. First, I remember when I was about 10 to 12 years old, my parents went through Salt Lake City on vacation, and my mom wanted to stop and do the LDS headquarters tour. Of course, you can't get into the big temple unless you're a member of the church, but I do recall them telling us on the tour that if you're married by the church, you're married forever. And even then, my little pea brain thought: "Damn! Now THAT is a LONG time." It was what stuck in my head the most about the Salt Lake City experience, other than driving out to the Great Salt Lake and bobbing around. When I was reading your entry, I started thinking about how Buddhists often say that we keep running into the same people over and over again in our lifetimes. There's a karmic connection that keeps getting played out. Thich Nhat Hanh encourages people to look at their mate and think: "You are you my darling? How long have we known each other? What is our connection?" I think that is so sweet and so soft and so open. It honors the connection. So I see the LDS tradition as a similar way to regard a relationship as sacred. Of course, it gets that authoritative Christian bent, which, to me, avoids acknowledging the tenderness of many connections, and even numbs out deeper consideration of the intense emotion that bubbles around them. And often it creates fear. I know it's because I embrace the Buddhist notions, but I don't think you should be worried, because you and your Mister will be together, no matter what. And that's the word from valentina, comparative religion geek and insufferable romantic!

I think a nontraditional blue wedding dress will be just lovely! I'm always so pleasantly suprized when I see a bride in something other than white. I recall seeing brides in the white dress with so much material around them that they've almost vanished! Anyway, you will look lovely and luminous and everyone will get to see you looking like that. Like I said before, a few pictures on you blog in the coming weeks would be lots of fun... hint, hint, wink, wink, nudge, nudge... Congratualtions!!!

Maybe Boston Cream Pie is the secret to nice veins? BTW, the Big Apple Bagels in my town also has muffins, and they have a Boston Cream Pie muffin, and it's really just a muffin-shaped Boston Cream Pie. Nummy.

It occurs to me that I have not provided a definitive update on the cat who took up residence on my front porch nearly two weeks ago. I was calling the kitty Puddy or Puds or Puddin', and a week ago I took the little geek into the vet to get the giant hairballs cut out of his fur and to get a general health assessment. So here's the news: the kitty is a neutered male, the vet guesses he's about 10 years old. He'd probably lived on his own for a while, considering the extent of the matted hair on his back, but he obviously was someone's pet for most of his life. He had no microchip, and no lost cat report fits his description. His ears were simply very dirty, he had no mites or parasites except of evidence of some fleas, so he was treated for the nasty fleasters. His bloodwork came out clean and vet gave him vaccinations. The vet also said he was in amazingly good shape, considering his age and his recent "on the road" lifestyle. The shambling gait that he has is probably due to general age and perhaps some sort of old injury. But some of it, I believe, was due to the fact that the poor guy was skin and bones and half-starved. So for now, he's living contentedly on the front porch with his little kennel for shelter and his food and water. He isn't going anywhere, believe me! He's filling out, I'm brushing him daily to get more of the dead hair out of his coat, and his wobbly gait is improving. He loves to crawl onto your your lap, purr and knead his paws. Ella Bean, Basset Queen, was taken out on the porch to meet him, restrained by her harness and her leash, and Puddin' Tom just watched her and gave a warning growl every now and then. She didn't push it. Mugzy the Boxer was curious, but not aggressive. If they keep meeting up, a truce may be established over time And as you can see, I'm calling him Puddin' Tom. I think it sounds like a cross between a children's book title and a good ol' southern boy. He apparently feels like he's found his retirement home!

A nice bakery that makes carrot cake! Woot! As good as it gets! BTW, we (or at least I do, but I'd guess that there's others) want to see photos of the event!!!

My poor Puddin' was not fortunate enough to have an exotic and beautiful sweetie who keeps him smellin' good! But perhaps that matted hair was just a very poor attempt to get his hair into dreds? I don't know if the real Puddin' has dreds, but I've heard it rumored that Beth does...

darkity's response made me think of a wedding reception that I attended recently, and the couple had a middle eastern bakery make their cake, and it was astonishing. They had a whipped cream frosting with a few decorations on it. It wasn't the traditional tower cake with the traditional frosting, but oh my, it was delicious. Everyone commented that it was the best wedding cake they could remember eating. Did I say how good it was? I think a distraught bride's entreaties can get a bit of attention, and don't hesitate to pull out some drama. What the hell, you deserve to!

Ah, the cat! I was very excited to try Bastet. In the imp, I smelled almost pure, sharp almond, with some sweetness underneath. Once on my skin, it was more sharp almond, and I was concerned, because while I love almonds, the aroma is one that my body chemistry amps mightily. But not to fear, the other components begin to emerge upon drydown. Short-term (15-30 minutes), I get a lot of sweetness, cardamom and saffron along with the almond, producing a smell akin to a really yummy middle eastern pastry. Long-term, the pale musk and amber arise and take their places, producing a gorgeously spicy, complex scent. It is sweet with an edge that is almost pungently spicy. It is no surprise to me that this is such a beloved scent, because it truly is a beautiful juxtaposition that is great fun to wear. I can imagine it smells just a bit different on everyone, for it is independent, just like the cat!

I just love this -- there's a roller derby club in the town that I live in called the No Coast Derby Girls. The name alone is priceless. There's two teams -- Gang Green (team color green, obviously) and the Mary Kay Mafia (wearing pink, of course). There's a match in early July and I hope to attend. Several of the girls on the teams go to my favorite coffeehouse, and come limping in, sporting large bruises, all that jazz. They are just wild maniacs, and I do so appreciate that. And speaking of being in No Coast land, if there's a beach near you, please go to it for me. I have a good friend in Tampa and I'm always asking her to at least drive by the beach and honk at it for me. For those of you who live near very large lakes with quasi-beaches, that works too. I must share a bit of kitsch from my home state that is probably more evidence that since there's no beach or large body of water or mountains, we fixate on phallic symbols. (You need look no further than me for evidence of that. ) I believe it was in the 1930's that someone decided to create a lake and a faux beach between Lincoln and Omaha near the Platte River. It's called Linoma Beach (heh, heh, Lincoln and Omaha, get it?) And below is a photo of Linoma beach, and yes, that is a light house. It's often said there have been no shipwrecks there, so it must be doing its job. That may be because the lake is so shallow and it's so dry in this state that only an inner tube can make its way out onto the water. I think I'll have to go there at least once this summer, if only for the amusement value.

I think Jezebel is really yummy in the imp -- sweet honey and flowers. Once it hit my skin, it started out as honey, and then the rose came out. My old nemesis rose! But in Jezebel, it's not an especially bad rose, because it smells like a rose with its petals tipped with honey. It isn't a blaster of a headache rose, and it wears off after about an hour. Then the rest of the blend comes forth, leaving a honey-rose-orange blossom scent, with the final lingering notes of sandalwood. After several hours, what I had was honeyed, spicy sandalwood, and that's not a bad thing at all. I for anyone who wants a bit of everything -- sweetness, florals, mild citrus and oriental spice, Jezebel would be an ideal scent.

I could hardly read through your entry without manifesting symptoms. I am sometimes too much of an empath and then I'm also enough of a hypochondriac to think up my own. Weirdly, I have fewer symptoms when I'm busy and stressed out than when I'm not busy and/or stressed. It's like my idle mind will start thinking up things that are wrong with me. Or if I get really happy, I start to think I'm about to die, because I can't live and be happy. So then I do something to make myself really miserable and then at least I'm not a hypochondriac any more. What a kook I am! I do believe (and now picture in your mind Lucy from "Peanuts" sitting below her "Psychiatrist is in" sign) that a lot of my weirdness comes from being around two terminally ill grandparents a lot when I was around 2 to 4 years old. My mother seemed to think that little kids wouldn't get what was going on, and hoo boy, was she ever wrong!

You look gorgeous in that gothic setting, wearing the Peony Moon t-shirt. You should send that one off to the Trading Post!

In the imp, Djinn is sharp, intense and smoky. Once on my skin, I smell fire and smoke, and then the scent really explodes. For whatever reason, smell of Djinn seems red to me, but there's also black smoke billowing off of the red fire. It seems to have a cinnamon smell, but also something that is rather like cumin or chili pepper. There's a novella by A.S. Byatt called "The Djinn in the Nightingales Eye" and the djinn in that story is a huge, outlandish, overbearing, very masculine and sexual creature who is both base and sophisticated, and not one of those sweet little genies that permeates our popular culture. The scent of Djinn is certainly evocative of the creature in Byatt's novella, and I really appreciate its complexity and its fire. On my body and to my nose, it's a very masculine scent, although I do not doubt that on the right woman, it could be just devastatingly sexy.

I now have a ringtone on my cell phone that's "Kasmir" by Led Zepplin. Woot! No tinkly-sweet ringtone for me, baby! Nice package, Robert...

minilux rules!