valentina

Gorgeous boxes! I love!

I have on the Custo today and a coworker pointed out that the belly of one of the sumo guys is spread out across my left boob. She always notices things like that and feels compelled to point them out to me. The body of the shirt with the sumo design is dark blue and browns, oranges, dark red and amber. The sleeves are yellow and orange and an op-art design, very '70's. Another coworker walked by and said: "Marcia, Marcia, Marcia," because it reminded him of The Brady Bunch. Custos always get that reaction, don't they?

You are a creative tornado! Seriously! Gorgeous icons and boxes!

There's a line of thunderstorms blowing through out here on the prairie tonight, here in the land of Willa Cather, and I do love a nice rumbly thunderstorm. Nothing severe or tornadic, mind you, just a garden-variety thunderstorm. Rain, a bit of wind, thunder rolling in the distance. It's just so great. The most utterly gorgeous drive I've had in some years was about 4 years ago, heading east out of Ft. Collins, Colorado. If you head east, you drive directly away from the Rockies and into a rolling grassland. It was about 1 in the afternoon and thunderstorms were moving across the area. You could look to the north and see blue-black clouds in the distance with sheets of rain whipping out of them. Occasional flashes of lightning, rolls of thunder. It was an incredible contrast to the rolling yellow-green grassland and the lonesome, winding road. I put on the Cowboy Junkies and sailed along. By the time I got to Nebraska, it was blue skies and clear sailing across the state. That was a great drive. I had soundtrack music for each part of the drive... I started out with the Cowboy Junkies and by the time I pulled into my home city, I was listening to cool jazz by Patricia Barber. That was probably boring. You just had to be there. I was in a zone during that drive, I was so in love with so many things on that drive. There's a Buddhist nun named Pema Chodron (she's American, that's her dharma name) who said she became a Buddhist nun because she wanted to fall in love with not just one person, but the entire world. In a very pure sense, of course. My passionate nature doesn't allow me to forego the ways of the flesh, but I do, at times, truly understand what she's saying. By the way, my favorite song by The Doors isn't "Riders on the Storm," it's "L.A. Woman." There's another driving song for you!

Soon enough, darkity will be buying panties to match the walls!

Woo... I love those bright colors! The Mister will adjust. And multi-coating does darken it considerably. The photo of darkity next to the orange paint is priceless! New home, bright colors, nummy food, gorgeous pansies. What's not to like????

Tee hee! There's plenty of guys around here, having grown up in tornado alley, who stand on the end of their driveways, or out on their balconies, with binoculars when everyone's being warned to head to the basement. There's a guy that I used to go with a long, long time ago who's a triathlete. The closest to a tornado this town has had for a number of years (knock on wood) was a really bad storm with straight-line winds that were very strong and did a ton of damage. He was out running when it hit. Did he seek shelter? No. What a complete moron! He apparently couldn't see where he was going, the rain was so hard and going sideways from the wind, but he decided it was good resistance training. Obviously, he survived, but his face was cut up by flying debris. Now you have me started and I'm subreferencing all over the place... you do this to me, minilux! If anyone wants to read a funny essay about getting caught on a tennis court when a tornado hits, read "Derivative Sport in Tornado Alley" by David Foster Wallace. It's in his book "A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again." DFW is my literary imaginary boyfriend. He's funny as hell and rather cute. I'm sure in real life he's boring and not as cute as his jacket cover photos, so I like him the way that I have him. Why do I have such a jones for geniusy, funny, but undoubtedly difficult men? Christ, it's a bad thing. Living out here just messes with yer noggin!

Last night when I was at the gym, riding a cardio machine and minding my own business, a thought ran through my head that said: "you need to get out of your own way." Whenever stuff like this happens, when I'm working out or walking around or generally not ruminating over something, I tend to pay attention to it. I do a wonderful job of getting in my own way by overthinking everything. I have a relatively analytical brain and I suppose that helps me professionally, especially since the word "analyst" is part of my job title. I'm good at seeing connections, coming up with options and trying to make things work. I can be really decisive. But in other areas of life, where subject matters are much fuzzier, I try to think my way through and analyze things that would be best left alone. In fact, I get obsessive and then I get very bummed out, because I can't find the answer. That is so damn stupid. And the problem with all of this is that I have good instincts. But I can quickly talk myself out of them when I overthink a matter. Countless times, I've had to sit back and note that I knew what was going on, but I refused to listen to myself. Sometimes I think I don't trust my heart, except when I'm around animals or little kids. Or maybe I don't trust other people with my heart. What to do? Get out of my own damn way. Not that I'm going to be an irrational moonbat, because that's impossible considering the way my brain is wired, but when I set the wheels grinding and I catch myself, I'm going remind myself to get out of my own way. It's worth a try.

Here's the link to the TAL oils: http://www.twilightalchemylab.com/

The most wonderful indarkmoon mentioned last week that Nikki Giovanni's poem "I Wrote A Good Omelet" was nice, and she was so, so, so correct. Here it is: I Wrote A Good Omelet I wrote a good omelet...and ate a hot poem... after loving you Buttoned my car...and drove my coat home...in the rain... after loving you I goed on red...and stopped on green...floating somewhere in between... being here and being there... after loving you I rolled my bed...turned down my hair...slightly confused but...I don't care... Laid out my teeth...and gargled my gown...then I stood ...and laid me down... To sleep... after loving you

Spoken like someone who's been there! That's a good thing!!!

The psych types always say (and I believe it is true), that introverted people tend to develop deeper friendships, and extroverts have a ton of acquaintances. Extroverts often marvel at, and sometimes envy, the deep and abiding friendships that introverts are capable of developing. Introverts get their energy from within and need to recharge their batteries by being alone. Extroverts get energy from other people, and thus, they thrive at bars and scenes with lots of people. The thing is, most of the people there yesterday probably didn't even notice that you felt like you were fading into the woodwork. Again, no offense against extroverts, but sometimes I have to tell my very extroverted friends to be a bit more sensitive to other people's feelings. Some of them are normally so busy talking and carrying on that they don't notice what's going on around them. And there certainly is a range of extroversion, and I have friends who are on the extreme end of the extroversion scale. I do have to pick and choose when I want to be around them, and if I'm in a really pensive mood, they are the last thing that I need. But they're my friends, so I obviously don't mind them that much! It truly is the way you're wired... your place to shine just isn't in a bar.

I think you probably aren't the "bar crowd" type. And you probably aren't a huge extrovert who wants to come blowing in, be the life of the party and get everyone's attention. Nothing against extroverts (I have several extremely extroverted friends), but they do the best in bars, yelling over the top of music, holding brief conversations and generally bouncing around from person to person. I'm an introvert who has developed her extroverted side very well, and going to bars was never my milieu. I do OK if I go to them now, but they kind of wear me out. Give me a coffeehouse any day. When I used to go to bars in my more introverted days, I always cultivated an aura of insouciant mystery. I was actually too shy to go running around talking to people! So don't be bummed, really. It just wasn't your kind of scene.

I think you're wearing a lot of foody scents that may appeal to you, but not as much to the boy. A lot of guys like foody scents, but not all of them. I think it's true, whatever smells really really good on you is going to attract them. When they impulsively grab your arm and start sniffing the inside of it, you know they like it... ETA: Maybe you should consider one of the Twilight Alchemy Lab potions? See below: Queen of the Nile Use in love magick when the object of your desire is a stranger. Opens up opportunities for communication, and entices people to be more responsive to your advances.

No, I agree... it could either mean that she felt so great afterwards that she was utterly discombobulated with post-coital bliss, or that he dumped her (and thus, the "after loving you") and she went totally crazy.

Yes, I corrected it to indarkmoon! Duh!

I wondered where you'd been...we miss you!

Regarding civet, where is one of our fabulous mods/avatar designers, minilux? She is a self-described "pervert who loves civet." She might have some good suggestions. If she doesn't show up soon, I'll harass her to stop in, because I also want to read what she says about this topic (as she is way too funny!) I can't wear civet. I have a really good nose for civet and my nose says NO. Actually, I shouldn't say I can't wear civet, because I won't put anything with civet on my body. It might smell good, and I don't know. If you simply want a good laugh, go read the review thread for Satyr. There's lots of varied rants and raves (including a lot of my own fussing around) and it's evident that civet is a "love it or hate it" kind of thing.

Congratulations! The dance performance sounds like it was awesome -- and what a rush to have it all fall together on stage. I think the collective energy when you're with a group of people and you're all "on" is just about as good as it gets. What a great break from the studying routine, and I think you're spot on about adreneline taking you to an optimal level. Micro roses? How teensy are they? Sounds interesting. I do love spring. Congratulations again!

The domme of this blog is fighting off a cold and ennui, and she plans to go take a nap very soon. Ennui nonwithstanding, she is wearing to bed a pair of purple cutoff sweatpant short-shorts that she bought at VSC the other night. Sassy. The poet of the day is Mary Oliver. I have a two favorite poems and I refuse to make a Sophie's Choice-like decision (because there are no blog Nazis here!) and I will run both of them. Both of the poems contain stanzas that I adore above all other poems. At least, so far... there's a lot of poetry to read in this world! Enjoy, dear ones. Wild Geese You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting-- over and over announcing your place in the family of things. When Death Comes When death comes like the hungry bear in autumn; when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse to buy me, and snaps the purse shut; when death comes like the measle-pox when death comes like an iceberg between the shoulder blades, I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering: what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness? And therefore I look upon everything as a brotherhood and a sisterhood, and I look upon time as no more than an idea, and I consider eternity as another possibility, and I think of each life as a flower, as common as a field daisy, and as singular, and each name a comfortable music in the mouth, tending, as all music does, toward silence, and each body a lion of courage, and something precious to the earth. When it's over, I want to say all my life I was a bride married to amazement. I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms. When it's over, I don't want to wonder if I have made of my life something particular, and real. I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened, or full of argument. I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.

Named in honor of the primeval Greek Goddess of Night. A scent reflecting inky black skies and eternal desolation. Night-blooming jasmine, warmed by myrrh, lifted by the promise of rose. There's a Jamie Cullam song called "Get Your Way" about a very willful woman with incredible style. And there's a line in it that goes: "mmmmm...the scent of wild jasmine." How I wish jasmine would be that way on me, but no, it smells like an old lady's cootch on me. Oh hell. Nyx is strong jasmine in the imp and the myrrh and rose can not overpower it once it hits my skin. It just stays that way. I think it's a very murky jasmine, not a crisp bright jasmine, so for those of those you who like your jasmine a little dark and on the rocks, try this one out. For the jasmine-challenged, it's probably best to be forewarned.

If the darkity ever runs a belt sander on the hardwood, I want photos. I have visions of you in a Devo-style getup to provide yourself with a little humor as well as functional physical protection. The unfortunate break-in only proves true the theory that an unoccupied house is a blinking neon "take me" sign to hoodlums. (It may be, in fact, to some a brighter "take me" signal than letting your lacy bra straps and the top of your thong show.) I'm sure they saw the "sold" sign and knew that realtors wouldn't be showing up whenever necessary, and considered it safe game. I'm glad you're getting the sellers to install an anti-theft system. And once the Snarks settle in and give clear signs of residency, the hooligans will vamoose to another easy target. But most importantly, just how cute are you and the Mister Snark? I loved that picture! The gleeful proprietress ("Whee! A lotion and potion room!") and the brooding proprietor ("What homeowner/man o' the house project do I start first...")of Chez Snark! Congratulations!

I had someone recommend reading the poet Nikki Giovanni, so I went to her web site to see what her work was all about. This was the first poem that I clicked on. I liked it so much that I wanted to share with anyone who might choose to read this blog. I'm going back read a lot more of her work. So here it is... I hope you enjoy it. Poem (for EMA) though i do wonder why you intrigue me i recognize that an exceptional moth is always drawn to an exceptional flame you're not at all what you appear to be though not so very different i've not learned the acceptable way of saying you fascinate me I've not even learned how to say i like you without frightening people away sometimes I see things that aren't really there like warmth and kindess when people are mean but sometimes i see things like fear and want to soothe it or fatigue and want to share it or love and want to recieve it is that weird you think everyone is weird though you're not really hypocritical you just practice not being what you want to be and fail to understand how others would dare to be otherwise that's weird to me flames don't flicker forever and moths are born to be burned it's an unusual way to start a friendship but nothing lasts forever

The current U.S. Poet Laureate, Ted Kooser, is effectively from the town that I reside in. (He lives in an acerage outside of town.) His poetry is very spare and I really do prefer his prose, but he's a pretty amazing guy. I probably identify with the Giovanni poem entirely too much. It kind of freaked me out when I read it. I was just bitching in my blog the other day about people living in fantasy worlds, pretending to be something that they aren't, and Nikki does that in the poem. So could someone who thinks they're the moth, but tries to live authentically, actually turn the tables and become the flame? The person who pretends to be something else (and thus is a pseudo-flame) could get burned by the flames of the moth's honesty. And then who has the upper hand? It's something to consider. Sometimes I think people who try to live as authentically as possible don't give themselves enough credit for having power and integrity. Please feel free to write back and tell me I'm full of shit!

Kuniochi, have you ever tried mixing a bit of O over the Beaver Moon? Since I have both of them, I tried, and while it's kind of sweet for me, it's nice. It looks like you enjoy the foody/sweet scents, so you might love it. It's like eating cheesecake after sex. I can always come up with some sort of graphic mental association, you know... I can't quite imagine what O might do to Smut, but it might be really, really good, unless the Smut overwhelms it. I'd say a touch of Smut with more O might be hot. I traded away all of the Smut that I ordered, and now I regret it. I should never let my winter body chem influence what I think might smell good on me during the spring. I'm feel an itch to visit the sales/swap thread. Anyway, I'm also a big Urd pusher and I found the patchouli element to be very, very low-key in that scent... I get a lot of muscadine and nag champa and just a hint of patchouli. If you ever want to sample it, PM me, I have a 10 ml. I'll be really interested how you like the Khajurajo, since I luurrrvvve it! It's not as foody, but it's sexy!!