valentina

Thank you so much...you are very sweet. Really. I am, if anything, resilient, so I won't dwell on things too long. And my instincts also tell me that often when I'm feeling like this, it's because something wonderful is on the horizon. Sometimes I am so not a goth!

Damn it, minilux! You've reminded me that the only time I ever had a dream that I was pregnant, I was with child by Eric Clapton. Eric wasn't even in the dream, but I was discussing with a friend that I hoped the baby would grow up to be an awesome guitar player. I also had a dream a few years ago that I was car shopping with Ernest Hemmingway in Idaho. There was a yummy one a year or so ago that I was out for a walk on a bike path and William Peterson (Grissom on "CSI") was waiting for me, came up and wrapped his arms around me. I was pissed when I woke up. A few years ago, the mayor of the city I live in was a guy with really bad acne scars. I had a dream that I was in a custom sign shop and the owner was painting the mayor's face on a "Welcome" sign. I asked him if he was going to sit the sign out in a hailstorm so it would be more realistic. (As a friend said about that one: "you had to go to sleep to tell yourself a really good joke, didn't you?")

When you're out shopping for the lingerie with your man-thing or woman-thing or another girlfriend or a gay guy-friend, here's something to get a good laugh, or at the very least, a stunned look: So you pick up the item -- the bustier, the panties, the bra, the frou-frou nightie, whatever floats your boat, and you hold it up in front of you and say: "Gee, I wonder how this will look?" The person you're with is going to mumble some sort of response. Then you take the garment and rather insouciantly toss it somewhere. I know the staff at most places might get a little fussy if you toss it on the floor, so toss it on a lower display rack or a countertop. Then you lean over, look down at it and say: "Oh, it's going to look divine laying on the floor!" I know, I know, a lot of the underthingies that I buy are very functional and I want them to fit well to hold the girls in line and avoid VPL on the bottom, but it's a fun thing to do with an unsuspecting companion. Speaking of underthings, I was at Victoria's Secret the other day and saw, on the sale rack, a bustier with a pin-up girl design on it. It was a size small, and there's no way that I'm a small. I have the shoulders and ribcage of a Soviet bloc swimmer. Well, maybe not quite that wide, but wide enough. I'm broad from the front, but narrow from the side. I know a woman who's built like me, but she's a bit thicker from the side. Not fat, she just has more volume than me. And her boobs aren't as big as mine, but she looks like she has two missiles jutting from her chest. They remind me of a horizontal version of the Grand Teton mountain range. She causes car wrecks. I was at a party last night, end of the legislature. OK kids, I'm on the dark side of my 40's, but I'm well-preserved. I can pass for about 10 years younger than my chronological age. So one of my coworkers bought me a shot of tequila, because that's what I wanted. I decided a bit later to get some water, and went back to the bar. A really young guy who works down the hall from me came up and started giving me crap for getting water. I told him that I'd had a shot and I needed water. He thought it was so fucking cool that I'd had a shot, that he got a shot for himself and a shot for me. Somehow he made reference to younger men-older women. I told him to call me Mrs. Robinson. I asked him if he'd seen "The Graduate" and he told me that he hadn't, but he'd probably rent it on his way home. So you know what my take is on this guy? He's probably gay. I mean, there are boatloads of gorgeous young women in their 20's in this building. As a guy in my office says, they're just smokin' hot. What is this guy doing, saying that crap to me when there's eye candy all around? And it's not like he's a total zero -- in fact, he's outgoing and kind of cute, but he's always pinged my gay-dar and now I'm even more convinced. But he bought me a shot of tequila, so who am I to bitch??

Y'all are making me laugh, and I need to do that tonight! Actually, my little buddy is kind of a tall skinny thing and considering that I have these shoulders and I do lift weights, he might be wanting a little muscle to protect him around the building! And minilux, how did you know about my rep? A few years ago, some people in offices around the corner found a Victoria's Secret price tag laying in the middle of a hallway and they brought it down to me, asking me what I'd bought! I told them it wasn't me, because the pricetag was for a size large and I wear mediums.

No house can be as awesome as Snarky's healthy boobies! I'm glad that the boobie status is copacetic and I'm sure the "modesty mole" will be the same. I hope your appetite returns, soon. Valentina meditates and does all the Zen stuff and still gets a wonky tummy. If you're anything like me, it will return with a vengeance and you will sit down to a repast that would make a starving farmhand blush.

As someone who loves vintage pinup girl art and underwear, this homage to the peculiar illustrations of Art Frahm never fails to draw a titter: http://www.lileks.com/institute/frahm/art1.html "The Shakedown" is my favorite. The illustration alone is absurdly Freudian, and the description of it as being from Frahm's "Edward Hopper period" are spot on, although Hopper is probably rolling in his grave. OK, I just channel-surfed past the Home Shopping Network or QVC, or one of those channels, and they were selling some skank-ho trashy platform sandals that had a peculiar "Carmen Miranda goes to Africa" vibe to them. And they were $150. You know 50ish fat ladies will be tottering around in them, their tubby little toes with toenails pained orange (and always long toenails, because they're too fat to trim them properly) spread wide from the tonnage inflicted upon them from being placed at such an odd angle. Christ, these shoes wouldn't be cute on you adorable young things with really cute feet and skinny little legs. You'd look like you were wearing cement blocks on your feet that were painted in a black-and-white tribal design. Wouldn't it be great to have a goth home shopping network? Or just to have a few good goth merchants show up on QVC? Beth and Puddin' could do a BPAL and BPTP segment. I would pay good money to see it and of course would spend money like a drunken sailor.

Your Glasgow icon is lovely, but maybe you need another one? However, if Beth ever did a Monster Bait scent with a distinctly male emphasis, there needs to be bait that lures the monster away, so it doesn't get 'neath the kilt and yank down the wee bonny knickers! However, if a monster wanted to get under Ewan McGregor's kilt and yank down his knickers, or blow up his kilt if he's going regimental, then maybe I want that monster to do her thing...

My signature line is a favorite Dorothy Parker quote, one of the finest declarations regarding lingerie that I've ever read. Dorothy was a writer, and of course an amazing wit with an acid tongue. Suicidal and alcoholic too, but also funny and smart and ahead of her time. Here's more Dorothy Parker quotes: There's a hell of a distance between wisecracking and wit. Wit has truth in it; wisecracking is simply calisthenics with words. He and I had an office so tiny that an inch smaller and it would have been adultery. I require only three things of a man. He must be handsome, ruthless and stupid. His voice was intimate as the rustle of sheets. Take care of luxuries and the necessities will take care of themselves. It serves me right for keeping all my eggs in one bastard. All I need is room enough to lay a hat and a few friends. You can lead a horticulture, but you can't make her think. I'd rather have a bottle in front of me, than a frontal lobotomy. She runs the gamut of emotions from A to B. I like to have a martini, Two at the very most. After three I'm under the table, after four I'm under my host. (In answer to what she'd like for breakfast) Just something light and easy to fix. How about a dear little whiskey sour?

I worked late yesterday, came home feeling really tired, went to bed early. This morning, got out of bed, made coffee, staggered to the computer and OMFG!!! Here Ye, Here Ye: MINILUX IS AN EVIL GENIUS!! My friend Ron (who kind of likes the boys in their skirts) must see this. The look of utter rapture will indescribable!

Wee lacy pink knickers, but instead of a rosette on the front, there would be a little thistle... If you made that scenario come true, it could be the label art for Monster Under My Kilt... a lusty highland musk! I would also declare you to be She Who Makes Twisted Dreams Come True!

And I'd almost (hear me? almost) bet a bottle of Monster in my Panties that you're thinking I'm going to go off on a rant about Brad dumping poor Jen for naughty-pants Angelina. But I'm not. Jen projects such a damn normal image that I have to wonder if she isn't a seething cauldron of weirdness, and Angelina is so out there with her weirdness that she may have less frightening shit lurking beneath the surface. I don't know; you have to live with 'em to really know. But what I'm talking about is Brad's tendency to make himself look like his sweetie-pie of the moment. When he was dating Gwyneth and she cut her hair, he ended up with this blond floppy side-part haircut. I'm rather surprised he didn't sport wee little barettes in his hair, as did La Gwyneth. When he was with Jen, he had to go through that suntanned and highlighted and immacuately-groomed stage. Jen should have seen trouble brewing when he stopped giving a shit if he looked like her. Now with Angelina, he's kinda pale, dyed his hair really dark and looks like the earnest crusader for UNICEF efforts that his jeans, t-shirts and backwards ball caps. I want to say: "You're Brad fucking Pitt! Why do you need to make yourself look like someone else?" It just boggles the mind.

I wish someone with some artistic talent and a twisted mind would do an Art Frahm-inspired illustration of a Scotsman in a kilt with his wee knickers around his ankles. The name of the piece could be called "He's Regimental Now!!"

Every bit of good luck for darkity that valentina can possible conjure up is being sent your way.

First of all, a belated happy 21st birthday. Keep the celebration going by buying some more fine chocolate. Your refining tastes in fragrance and chocolate are obvious indications that your priorities are in the right place. (At least in my worldview.) The title of this note has been making me smile ever since I first read it. I have never tried wax tarts, being one to really fill up the room with incense rather than candle fragrance, but some day I may have to give the tarts a try. Now you have proven that I can be enabled even when I try to stay out of the Retail Therapy discussion area...

I must start today's post with a moment of love. Thanks to shriekingviolet (I corrected this from the original, where I called her "Ultraviolet." Sorry! If you're going to thank someone, it helps to call them by the correct name. Jeez.) and all the mods who helped get the forum running again and in its new, improved and expanded form, including this little blog corner. You guys are fantastic. I went shoe shopping today. Actually, sandal shopping. I wanted a new pair of black sandals, femme-looking, and I was having a hard time locating such a thing. I like the wedges, but a lot of the wedges with black uppers aren't very delicate looking. Picky, picky, picky... I'd actually purchased a pair of wedges a couple of days ago and hadn't worn them yet. I put them on last night and decided for the price I'd paid, they weren't exactly what I wanted. So I went back and found my usual salesman, who knows an addled shoe 'ho when he sees one, returned my first purchase and started on a new quest. I found what I wanted. I'd include a link to them, except they just don't look as hot in photos the way they do on the foot. They're Kenneth Cole Reaction shoes, the model is called "Float Ur Boat," or something like that. All black, kitten heels, a teensy wedge with canvasy edging, thong-style, and the thong has rhinestones and sequins (all black) on them. Got my toenails painted a nice burgundy, and I am ready to rock and roll. Foot fetishists, watch out. If anyone likes jazz, go buy Cassandra Wilson's new CD called "Thunderbird." The first time that I sampled "O," I was convinced that it smelled like b.o. on me. The scent had to grow on me, and it helped that other people would kind of have their eyes roll up in their heads and go "ummmmm" when they smelled me. A couple of people that I know did such a long "ummmmm" that I thought they were chanting "Ohm" like a yogi or yogini. And now, it's become my comfort scent. I love it alone, I love to mix it. But I'm really excited to get my order with Osun in it... it has honey and herbs, and that sounds OK with me. That CnS should be coming in a few days, since in my classic fashion, I ordered 1 LE bottle and then decided to go on a GC rampage. And then last week I went on another LE rampage. Do you know why I stay in the blogs so much? It's to keep my no-self-control, goodie-purchasing ass out of Retail Therapy. I am rather easily enabled. I have a dear friend at work, a great guy, our brains work in very different ways. He's terribly thorough and literally worries things to death. I am a classic Intuitive on the Myers-Briggs inventory and I will jack around seemingly doing nothing and then regurgitate a lot of work. My friend said to me yesterday: "You tend to read, think and write a lot faster than I do." A couple of weeks ago he walked into my office at the end of the day and said: "It's not that what I was doing today was so difficult, it's just that I had a hard time doing it." You have to love such goofy honesty about one's own self! It's a quiet day around the blogs, I bet you were all out panty shopping, right?

oooh, a woman after my own heart... if either one of you have a CD player in the car, you could go driving around on a nice day and listen to it... maybe at lunch or after work....

My day blew chunks, but then I got a CnS for my Monster Bait: Underbed order, and the dark clouds parted and the moon came out! (The CnS arrived at 8:04 p.m., sun wasn't around.) I am really, really tired after my week at work. A minor rant follows. I work for a state legislature and everyone in my office tends to specialize in certain policy matters. I was assigned a legislative bill last year that has morphed into something that's not within my subject matter specialty. Because it's a terribly controversial issue that keeps morphing, and because the person working with the subject matter that my bill has now become is the newly-hired golden boy in the office, my boss didn't reassign the bill to him. He's making me keep it and I'm going to be the one whose name goes on what may be a controversial analysis document. Now, WTF? Some of my coworkers told me it's because my boss trusts my work, but I don't believe that for a minute. I think he likes to run my butt up the flagpole and spares the men in the office. If the new guy did the work, my boss would have to trot along with him if a senator is upset, because the new guy is a poor little baby and we can't have his feelings hurt. With me, no way. And it's not like I even did that much of the difficult analysis -- economists in an agency did that work. But my name goes on the document, and we do have the ability to disagree with agencies. But I didn't, because it's damn near impossible to accurately figure out what's going to happen. I said there was no basis, at this time, to disagree. How's that for weasel words? And here's the worst part: I was telling my boss today about an obscure part of the bill and he said to me: "I didn't know that was in there... good girl for finding it." Now, WTF? I am not his fucking dog who retrieved a bone, nor am I a girl. I am fucking over 40 years old! Patronizing 'nadless sack of shit. And they all wonder why I have such an attitude. I do need to investigate those TAL blends and see if there's one for my boss. Any suggestions, TAL experts?

So the prizes and all that jazz were nice, but Brad called you??? Woot!!!

You may be amazed, but I find going regimental (as the Scots like to say) to be an excellent option. In that respect, I am an everything or nothing kind of gal -- either wear divine confections or just forget 'em altogether.

valentina was too whacked out at work yesterday to check blogs and didn't see the possible Snark Hacienda. A lotion and potion room of snark's own is what she deserves!!! Plus the house is just cute as a bug! valentina sees many flower garden possibilities in the front yard alone... Fingers crossed that it all becomes yours, yours, yours!!!!

I was so busy this morning that I couldn't write in my blog. Horrors! But let's talk about the ebb and flow of energy, or kundalini, or chi, or prana, or the life force. Holy crap, Batman, this time of year is astonishing to me. The vernal equinox is the equivalent of putting me on speed. Literally. I can't sleep, I don't want to eat, I vibrate. I'm not complaining. It makes me feel so fucking alive, I can't tell you how much I love it. I'm just happy that I don't repress this. It's gotten more pronounced since I've been meditating every night, which is something that's gone on for 7 years or so, but it really kicked into drive last year. Somehow, I've become more attuned to the cycles of nature, and there's nothing to complain about there. I may not be very enlightened, but I can feel the cycles of gaia, and that's fine with me. So, you say, how does the above reconcile with the lingerie-obsessed, BPAL-addicted jabbering in prior posts? Maybe I'm whack, but like I told someone last week, this is what it's all about -- we need to enjoy our senses as much as we're able to. We're in this human incarnation and we have the ability to truly understand and appreciate our embodiment. Isn't that fabulous? Why do we try to shut ourselves down, why do we deny our senses, deny our emotions? Why do we avoid connecting with each other? So I'll stop rhapsodizing and end with a couple of quotes from one of my favorite movies (minilux, are you out there??), "Waking Life:" Hey. Could we do that again? I know we haven't met, but I don't want to be an ant. You know? I mean, it's like we go through life with our antennas bouncing off one another, continously on ant autopilot, with nothing really human required of us. Stop. Go. Walk here. Drive there. All action basically for survival. All communication simply to keep this ant colony buzzing along in an efficient, polite manner. "Here's your change." "Paper or plastic?' "Credit or debit?" "You want ketchup with that?" I don't want a straw. I want real human moments. I want to see you. I want you to see me. I don't want to give that up. I don't want to be ant, you know? and.... The ongoing WOW is happening right NOW.

valentina wrote in her blog and then went to read what had been written in other blogs and found that darkkitty had been thinking in a similar vein to valentina. springtime just makes a gal's sap start to rise.

My friend Ron sent this to me today: Marguerite Duras said, "You have to be very fond of men. Very, very fond. You have to be very fond of them to love them. Otherwise they're simply unbearable."

I'm sleeeeeepy today. I worked late last night, didn't eat enough the entire day (that happens when I get hyped) and then a girlfriend from work wanted to get a quick martini after the legislature finally adjourned at 8:30 pm. A Cosmopolitan on an empty stomach is rather potent. It pisses me off that I have to love the sterotypical "Sex and the City" drink, but I do, in spite of myself. I love Sea Breezes too, and maybe I should start ordering them. I just love booze and cranberry juice and I still prefer Cosmos to Sea Breezes because I could take or leave the grapefruit juice. My friend had a dirty martini with olives and a little bit of blue cheese, or something like that, sprinkled on the olives. She said it was yum, it looked kind of good, but ugh, I know I would have hated it with a deep and abiding passion. I am a fruity sort, in so many ways. My girlfriend is fun, a diva, and we had a nice chat. We've both been so busy with work that we haven't talked that much recently. Once the legislative session ends, we have to get back to that periodic check-in over martinis. OK, my perfume is still in the Tunisian Patchouli and O rut, loving it, my bra is a pretty shiny pale blue fabric with almost goldish undertones, with a gold-bronze lace accent. The bits are covered by a thong, in this great retro tattoo print fabric. Mainly blue and white, but with some red tattoo heart designs. I anxiously await a CnS on my first Monster Bait order (underbed) and a GC order. I've been tracking the CnS thread this week, and my time is growing near. I always feel like a virgin bride awaiting her beloved when I know an order is coming...

That be more fun than a barrel of monkeys (or enraged oragnatans)!