My brother is about 12 years older than I am, and thus, I'm right in between his age and his oldest daughter's age. So once when I was about 19 and Lori was about 7, Lori decided she wanted to send my dad a letter, and she wanted to dictate it to me. It was really quite hilarious and I think my dad saved it for a long time. It started out: "Hi Grandpa. How are you? I am fine. The house hasn't burned down yet."
And therefore, the title of today's entry. For whatever reason, the firework lunacy around my town seemed to occur on the evening of July 3, rather than July 4. The next door neighbors have been out of town for over a week, leaving their 17-year-old daughter to care for the household. She was having an allegedly wholesome teen gathering at the house, complete with fireworks. Then, about 2 a.m., I was awakened from my slumbers because someone was frantically ringing the doorbell over and over. I got to the door and yelled "WHO IS IT?" and the response was: "YOUR FENCE IS ON FIRE!"
Great. I ran out the back door, turned on the hose and for whatever reason, ran to the right part of the yard. My DH was left standing confused and didn't even know where I went. But the time I got around the corner, the fire was almost out, for the neighbor's daughter had also turned out their hose and was spraying down the fence.
The explanation: although there were about 4 carloads of kids hanging around, they just all happened to be driving past, and hadn't been spending time there. They claim they stopped and rang the doorbell, couldn't wake us up, and went to her house and got her to come out and put out the fire. Yeah, right. I'm a light sleeper and one doorbell ding is all it takes to rouse me from horizontal slumber to a sitting-straight- up, wide awake state.
And the fire was really caused by a plastic gas can that was set on fire. The fence was scorched due to its proximity to the gas can. The kdis, of course, had no idea who had started it, or where the gas can came from, but it was a random act of arson.
Once the kids heard my DH has finally come to his senses and called the fire department, everyone who just happened to be driving by got in their cars and promptly left. This included the friend who was supposed to be staying with the neighbor's daughter. The neighbor girl's eyes popped out of her head when she heard the firemen were arriving, and that they would probably call the police. She yelped: "But the fire is OUT!" Apparently the two guys who knocked on our door felt it was a good idea to let us know the fence was on fire, while the others didn't want us to figure it out. Our neighbor's daughter feigned great innocence to the fireman and the cops and claimed she'd been indoors watching movies when the act of arson occurred.
The cops took forever to arrive, so we were up until almost 5 in the morning. The police just rolled their eyes at her story. By light of day, you could see where the gas can was on fire in their driveway, and someone kicked it (probably to get it away from her car, not a bad idea), it rolled down an incline toward our fence, and then it scorched the fence.
This is the daughter of people who have a patio chimnea in the the back and like to burn tree branches in it, but if the branches are too green to burn well, they dump charcoal lighter on it and get flames jumping 3 or 4 feet out of the chimnea. I am sure they will also take no responsibility for anything, because she's obviously copping to nothing. The firemen did take pains to point out to her how the fire could have really damaged her house a lot, because if it had continued, it would have gone up into a tree and hopped over to the roof her her house first.
And crap, just last week I had commented that she's very good at playing the wholesome cheerleader, fine Christian girl routine, but she's obviously a bit more of a handful than her older sister. But the parents don't seem to get it, because they're too busy acting like they're socially superior to their neighbors, while they guzzle beer and burn scrap lumber in their chimnea.
So why is it that when people act either superior or have to wear their wholesomeness on their sleeves, it's usually to cover up something else?
If you've read my blog before, this is hardly news to you, but to anyone who might have happened to stumble into here for the first time, I have an insanely annoying coworker. The only way we maintain sanity is to vent at each other via email. Fortunately, we have a relatively good sense of the absurd, and my other colleagues can be quite hilarious. Here's an example of some of vents that are just too funny not to share. If you can use them at your workplace, be my guest, steal our snarks:
First, a rant of mine. I titled the note "I Must Document This Process:"
The way that she is eating whatever foodstuff is on her desk sounds like this: Imagine people were bobbing for apples, except that they were supposed to suck them up out of the water rather than biting at them. There would be some really intense air intake and schlurping. Then there would be a lot of coughing due to the schlurped water, and nose blowing due to the schlurping and coughing. Now, imagine that they were bobbing for caramel apples, and once an apple was snagged, the caramel became stuck to their tongue and the roof of their mouth. Lots of smacking. To get relief from their intense effort, they'd take a huge swig of a tasty beverage, make that weird little gluggy noise that happens when there's too much liquid heading down the gullet, slam down the glass and exclaim: "AHHHHHHH!"
--------------
Me: Sometimes, I swear, I listen to her and think of Louis Armstrong.
Coworker: I see skies of blue and clouds of white
The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world why do I have to sit here and listen to her.
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Annoying person is on a low carb diet, and announces it frequently:
Me: I am going to sit back here and munch my ass off on my carb-laden crackers.
Coworker: When she gets on that kick (OK, every day of her life!!) it just makes me want to sit there and eat an entire loaf of bread.
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Me: Here's my horoscope for today. Good grief!
Daily Overview for September 08, 2006
Provided by Astrology.com
Quickie:
Extend a kind hand to the people in your life who use anger to hide their sadness.
Overview:
An extra dash of sensitivity will help your day run much more smoothly, especially when it comes to some bossy or moody types in your immediate vicinity. They may even return the favor in the near future.
Coworker: Haven't your heard???? The horoscopes have been all screwed up since the damned astronomers decided to boot Pluto from the planetary alignment. Don't MESS with mother nature!!!!! I rechecked Yahoo for your Pluto-adjusted horoscope. It reads:
Quickie:
Extend a kind hand to Wield a meat clever against the people in your life who use anger to hide their sadness.
Overview:
An extra dash of sensitivity cutlery will help your day run much more smoothly, especially when it comes to some bossy or moody types in your immediate vicinity. They may even return the favor remain quietly in their cubicle in the near future.
----------------------
Me: Isn't she a delicate thing?
Coworker: ----------------delicate…….like a thorn in your retina.
----------------------
In addition to being on a low-carb diet, the annoying one has a Labrador Retriever that is the most of whatever you're talking about -- bigger, smarter, horribly-behaved, best-behaved, toughest, wimpiest... it doesn't matter, because as one of the guys in the office wrote:
My dog's bigger than your dog,
My dog's bigger than yours,
My dog's bigger than your dog,
Because he's been on this low carb diet to try to lose some weight, don't you know, but it's just so hard, it's just---so---hard…..and he just can't seem to stick with it…..he likes the cottage cheese, but all that other low carb yucky stuff he just spits out and runs off to eat a bag of chips or a bowl of popcorn or a loaf of Wonder Bread or an entire angel food cake or a pie (he just loves pie) with lots of high carb sugar in it; he won't even eat meat loaf unless it has Grape Nuts or oatmeal filler in it; sometimes he'll eat some of that low carb yicky stuff, but then it just goes all to hell because he'll just run off to his dog house (he has a really cool dog house, you know) and drink a bunch of beer and eat a couple of bags of Cheetos and a big pile of French fries smothered with a huge mountain of mashed potatoes and then he gets all depressed and refuses to go to obedience class and just lays around thinking about carbs; it's hard, it's just--so--hard, it's just--so--very--very--hard; but,
My dog's bigger than your dog,
My dog's bigger than yours,
My dog's bigger than your dog,
So to hell with everybody in South Beach!
I won't get into a long-winded explanation of who Ken Wilber is and why I find his work fascinating, but much of his work would be considered transpersonal psychology -- the study of how people grow and evolve. I get a newsletter from his organization, and they link to various articles in the media that are of interest to people intrigued by transpersonal psychology, spiral dynamics and all that stuff.
This is one that I can't resist putting up on my blog, since anyone who's read my rants about my annoying coworker will know that the article made me laugh. But it will also be useful to anyone with an annoying boss, family member, coworker, whacky neighbor, whatever... If you've ever found yourself asking, "Don't they get it?" The answer may very well be, "No." Seriously, what can you do about it, other than laugh? Besides, it hurts less than beating your head on the wall.
http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?.../18/MN73840.DTL
Here's a visual for you: Last night I came home from the gym and decided to go sit in the basement and watch a bit of a Lucinda Williams "Austin City Limits" DVD with Puddin' Tom. Ella Bean and Mugzy had to accompany me, and at some point, I was sitting on the dog couch (a $5 garage sale loveseat) with Puddin' Tom across my lap and Ella Bean next to me, her butt facing me. Puddin' was doing his happy cat paw kneading thing, and he had his legs stretched out so far that he wasn't kneading my leg, he was kneading Ella's butt. Ella's hair is thick enough and her butt is squishy enough that it apparently felt good. In the meantime, Mugzy has crawled up and sprawled out on the other couch, which was my Mom's old couch and must be about 7 feet long. (She got it so my 6'4" father could take naps on it and not have to scrunch up.)
And I thought, something is really odd about this picture, although it's rather typical of my life. Just crawl on me, everyone, that's my purpose in life!
A note about the Lucinda Williams DVD -- it was from a 1998 Austin City Limits performance, so it showcases the earlier part of her career. Her sound back then was a folk-country-cajun-blues brew. And absolutely, the song "Sweet Old World" makes me want to cry every time I hear it. I never do cry, but I want to. Lucinda wrote a few suicide songs in the earlier part of her career because he was involved with a guy who killed himself. "Pineola" is a pretty graphic description of a suicide's aftermath, but "Sweet Old World" is a very poignant reminder of all the little things that are very precious about being alive and embodied. It absolutely makes you want cry, but then you want to run out and find the person you adore the most in the world, just so you can to be around them. Or at least that's the response that I have to that song. A friend of mine is always bitching that I adore these songs that would make most people take a fistful of antidepressants. I think I've talked about this woman before -- she listens to The Andrews Sisters, the Monkees, and old-time musicals like "South Pacific" and "Oklahoma." I told her that is the most mind numbingly annoying musical blend I can imagine. I am often shocked we are friends.
Anyway, there I was, sitting on the dumpy little couch, covered with animals, listening to "Sweet Old World." Not a bad thing for a rainy evening in October!
It's summer! I know the solstice isn't until a week from today, but I had one marker last night and another one this morning. It's official in my world.
Last night I went outside at dusk and the fireflies are out! I'd seen one or two fireflies in the garden over the weekend, but it was during the daytime and I didn't notice them at night. Last night, at dusk, they were rising up out of the garden and twirling all over. The first sight of hundreds of fireflies waking up for the night always stops me in my tracks, because it is so gorgeous and amazing, especially living here on the prairie. We go through the harsh and barren winter, the mercurical spring, and it's hot and dry a great deal of the time in the summer, but you can go outside on summer nights and watch the stars rise in the sky and watch the fireflies repeat the act as they rise up out of the garden. It's just a miracle.
And when I walked out to check the baby cardinals in their nest this morning, I discovered that the first day lily of the year is blooming in my garden! Day lilies are named appropriately, since each lily lasts but one day, but fortunately they produce a lot of blossoms. The one that's blooming is a pink-peach color and it literally yells "summertime!"
Is September already over? Is summer almost over? Waaaah! I don't know why I'm always so romantic about summer, but I am. I think I took summer romance songs entirely too seriously when I was in high school. And I love autumn, so why am I sad to see summer go? I don't get it. However, it's a good excuse for that case of wistfulness and poignancy that I like to carry around with me, although if you were around me at all, you'd probably never guess that those tendencies were part of my baggage.
Ah, baggage...we all have it, and it's recently started to amaze me how people who a lot younger than I am already have a lot of really serious baggage. Nothing against them, not at all... I think it's more a reflection of my relatively sheltered upbringing and generally cautious nature in my teens and 20's. Actually, I was also a bit of a pinhead, at least emotionally and interpersonally. I couldn't even begin to get myself into anything especially complicated, but I did just stupid rather well.
Sometimes I think my wistful, poignant moods are a result of my former, younger self doing battle with the current, older self. I can be very realistic and pragmatic, but I can still be hopelessly romantic and a real dreamer. But if I let myself think back to early June, the beginning of summer and the smell of Dorian, I realize that there were some achingly gorgeous moments this summer. Sometimes it's hard not to look back and try to wish yourself back into certain moments. But every time in my life that I've wanted to do that, I have later realized, there was always something else better waiting around the corner. That heartbreakingly perfect moment was just a warm-up, and it's always a lesson to get my head out of the clouds and take a look-see at what's going on around me.
So I'll pull my head out of June, put my chin up and head towards September!
I have my satellite radio in my car and it is such a novel experience for me, because I'm used to playing CDs all the time and generally controlling what I listen to. I have all my presets so I can move around if a station that I'm on is playing something that I don't like. But today, at noon, it was like a train wreck. I wanted so badly to change channels but something was keeping me there. Before the signal came over the radio, the digital read-out was telling me "Stevie Nicks." Then I was "treated" to Stevie playing the piano and talking in this dreamy-stoned-stream-of-consciousness way about Rhiannon, what a beautiful name, and how she loved her story, oh Rhiannon, the name, the story...and then the music rose a bit and she began to sing "Rhiannon rings like a bell in the night..." but all I could hear was "baaaaah-baaaah-baaaah." The woman bleats like a goat. I swear the reason she wears those long floaty dresses and big-ass platforms (even when they weren't in style) is to cover up her cloven hooves. (Hmmm... french manicured hooves?)
So then I did switch channels, because vomiting and driving just don't go hand-in-hand. If I have a bitch about Sirius, it's that whoever is doing their music blends gets into a rut and they play the same stinking people ad nauseum on any number of channels. For instance, for the last two weeks, Dave Matthews and Coldplay were getting flat worn-out. Now they're on a kick where if they can find an excuse to play Bob Dylan or Springsteen, they will. It is wearisome. I switch to jazz or electronica when that happens.
I also get a kick out of the Met Opera channel, especially when they're playing the ending of an opera, and the announcer is talking about what's happening on stage during the curtain call, describing the costumes, what the audience is doing, and all that festive stuff. It reminds me of listening to golf when they're broadcasting from the actual green that the players are on, and they're whispering "and now, for a birdie on the 16th hole..." I don't think they do that anymore when golf is on TV, do they? The announcers are in a remote truck somewhere? It's not like I watch a lot of golf. Maybe they do it even if they are in a remote truck, because it's just fun to whisper melodramatically.
If they did a wrap-up of a Stevie Nicks concert over the radio, the announcers would be saying: "And now, the audience that actually purchased tickets to see Ms. Nicks are standing and applauding, and their companions who came along as part of their martial obligation or who simply lost a bet are removing their ear plugs. Ah, Ms. Nicks bows again, and oh, now a lovely, lovely curtsy with her long flowing gown, oh my, her mammoth platform shoe just ripped a piece of her dress! Oh well, no one will notice on that tattered hemline anyway. Oh, and how lovely, how dramatic! Now the goat-herding Australian Shepherds and Border Collies are escorting Ms. Nicks from the stage..."
Oh, that was just too mean. I did see Fleetwood Mac in concert once because the guy I was dating got free tickets, and I was never so bored in my life as when Stevie was on stage doing her Welsh-witch ballerina swirling around bullshit. I think we left before the concert was over, because it did make me want to go drink beer and listen to the blues at The Zoo Bar. If anyone is a fan of Ms. Nicks, sorry, but that faux witchy woman behavior always drove me crazy. If she'd just gone with the California hippie chick all hopped up on coke image, I would have a lot more respect for her.
Woooot! I went to coffee at noon with some friends who don't go to my customary coffeehouse (a much more bohemian place). The place where we meet is an in-state franchise, kind of a Starbucks-for-people-who-don't-want-to-go-to-Starbucks place. Not a lot of soul, but it's clean and well-lit and in a converted old department store. Right across the hall is a funky little store called The Uncommon Market. It sells used clothing and some new clothing, plus the owner of the store makes her own creations. It's fun.
I had to wander over there, just 'cause, and found a long-sleeved Custo Barcelona shirt. It was pristine and looked almost unworn. The colors are a bit like darkitysnark's walls, that is, bright , and the design is a bunch of big ol' samari/sumo wrestler guys. It cracked me up. And it was $7! I bought it. I know the snobby fashionistas would say that Custos are so passe, but I am always amused by them. Especially for $7. The bitches cost around $175 if you purchase them new.
It's supposed to be cool tomorrow, only in the low 60's, I may have to wear it to work. My favorite way to dress, if I can get away with it, is to wear something funky with something rather sober. Juxtapositions like that can be rather entertaining.
So has anyone else looked at/tried on an Ed Hardy shirt? I love his retro tattoo artwork and even went so far to try on a few t-shirts, but holy hell, they cost around $70 or $80. I just couldn't. And anyway, I'll find one at The Uncommon Market in a year or two for $7.
Yeah, well, hey... I haven't written here in a while. I had to really buckle down to work at my job and something had to go, so meandering around on the internet was one of them. In addition, my winter solstice mood has been coming on, and that's not really a bad thing. When the days get shorter, I start getting quieter and more contemplative. I think it's reasonable behavior for a North American mammal. I see so much really bad behavior this time of the year that reminds me a lot of how animals in captivity act if you jam them into too small a space and don't give them enough food. Seriously -- you can go to a mall and see that sort behavior being acted out all over. I haven't seen anyone chewing on another shopper's ear, literally, but I've seen figurative versions of it in the tiny little forays that I've made out into the retail realm.
So no, I haven't been spending my time at the mall. I just completed some shopping online on Saturday. The internet is quite the blessing for the semi-hibernating North American shopping mammal. Except don't try eBay; you get into online captive behavior there.
Have any of you experienced what could be called clairsentience? It's the perception of energy fields through physical sensations. Scientific-rational types consider it hooey, because it's not a regularly occurring measurable phenomenon, but since our nervous systems send out energetic impulses are measured all the time with machines, I can't really understand why they think the human body isn't able to detect external impulses on its own. Any everyone has this ability, it just depends on how open or closed off to it we happen to be.
I'm just asking because it happens to me, and I think there's a lot of cool stories out there that most people won't talk about, lest they be considered "weird." And what I think is weird that that we can't acknowledge or talk about it without being seen as spooky. I was reading the New York Times yesterday, and being the incurable romantic that I am, I was looking at the weekly Sunday feature about a couple who had just gotten married. The woman in the couple featured yesterday said that during their second or third date, she felt a strong pang in her chest and she knew that something very special was happening between the two of them. How cool! There are so many people who would say she just had indigestion or an anxiety attack, and I get so tired of that "it's only..." blow-off to any mystical or emotional reading of a physical clue.
I do know that there are people who get those responses and then cut and run from whatever made them feel that way, because they find it scary and it makes them feel insecure. There is nothing spooky about it to me, it's a part of being human and having fully-functioning senses. There's a lot of mystery to it, but that's what makes it so remarkable. And because you never know when it's going to happen, you can't sit around and watch for it, which makes it even better.
So if you have stories, tell them... I'm listening!
Remember Thomas Hardy's book "Return of the Native?" Well, today was the Return of Teh Smut to my abode. I'd ordered multiple bottles of Smut when it came out in February, but Smut, my body chemistry, wintertime clothing and heating systems running all day long just didn't match up very well. It got a little overwhelming. And I hadn't really adjusted to wearing something that didn't have a lot of patchouli in it. I was still wearing Urd day in and day out. I sold or swapped my bottles of Smut.
So fast forward to May; it's warmer, my body chemistry is in the spring/summer mode, and I've become very habituated to both O and Monster Bait: Underpants. I began to get a jones for some Smut. I was kicking myself for not keeping a bottle. So I went to "Wanted" in Swaps and begged for some Smut. I got it! Actually, I got two imps and a bottle! This way, I'm able to share an imp with a friend.
The two imps arrived today and I did a test run of Smut all alone and then a test run of Smut with O. What would that be called? Smut-O-Rama? I like that idea. Smut and Smut-O-Rama both work on my seasonally adjusted body chemistry, breezier clothing and the furnaces shut off. I am happy that I will soon have a bottle of Smut to sit between O and the Panty Monster.
Did you see the Lotus Moon t-shirt? I adore Ganesha, the elephant-headed Hindu diety. He represents good fortune, happy beginnings and learning, particularly in the arts and humanities. The design is beautiful and regal. All of Macha's designs are great, but this one really grabbed me. Needless to say, I ordered one already. And it's my good fortune to be able to own one!
I remembered that I had an imp of Siren that I hadn't tested, so yesterday, when I had a migraine, I decided to try it once I started to feel better. I almost ran downstairs right away to get some vinegar to wash it off when I remembered that the description said something about jasmine being one of the ingredients. Jasmine is the bane of my perfume-wearing existence. I thought, oh great, the migraine will bloom again. Because truly, on my body jasmine smells like flower vase water that has been sitting around waaaaay too long. I've always wanted to love jasmine, since it seems so girly-girl and mysterious and it's so pretty on some people.
So I sniffed the swiped area and waited for the gag-a-maggot smell and the throb behind my eyes to reoccur. It smelled nice. My head didn't hurt. I waited a bit and sniffed it again. I could swear I smelled patchouli. I went to computer to look up Siren and yeah, there's jasmine in it and no patchouli. Weird. I was convinced that after an hour or so, I'd still be heading for the soap and then the vinegar to neutralize the stench. But I didn't -- it stayed the same and didn't morph. I was meeting a friend for coffee in the evening and I put on more. I'm wearing it today. It's nice! It's exotic-sexy-sultry and I can smell jasmine in it, but it smells good. What???? It must be the ginger offsetting the jasmine, that's all I can figure out. There's also vanilla and apricot in Siren, and I do get a fair amount of apricot, but I like it even better than the apricot in Depraved. What the hell? Just amazin.'
There's a song by Jamie Cullum called "Get Your Way" and some of the lyrics go like this:
I opened the door and you walked in,
(Sniff) The scent of wild jasmine.
The room, seemed to freeze in time,
My regular table will be just fine.
Radiant and elegant, you might be
But your concentration is so go-lightly
Both of your eyes reflecting the moon,
You really think you own the room.
I used to think, yeah, if I could wear jasmine, I could be that way, but it's not meant to be.
So now I can wear Siren and try to be like the woman in the song, although I'll probably fall off my heel or trip over the leg of a chair, or something dorky like Carrie in "Sex And The City" used to do. Actually, I liked her character better when she was like that, so maybe I should accept that my klutziness can be a bit charming at times. At least I will smell a bit like jasmine.
If one wears BPAL scents, people who know you can't go into a department store, go to the fragrance counter, pick up the tester bottle of the fragrance you wear, spritz it on a card and walk around sniffing it, thinking about how it smells like you. There is a certain allure to this, assuming it's the right sort of person doing the sniffing. But let us not weep, for look at it this way -- because they can't go to the department store to sniff your fragrance, they have to come find you.
This thought crossed my mind because a guy I work with was patiently trodding around the mall with his wife over the weekend when she decided to sniff all the fragrances at the perfume counter. It gave him a headache and made him vaguely dizzy. He said he realized that they all smelled alike after a while, but nothing smelled anything like the perfumes that I wear.
I told him that his reaction was akin to people buying produce at a Farmer's Market and saying: "Wow, this tastes so much better!" Well yeah, the more natural the product, the more your senses are going to like it.
I have to wonder if the overconsumption of synthetic smells, tastes and textures starts to blunt the senses. And damn it, I am all about our senses! If we forget how to pay attention to them, we start to disassociate from our bodies and then what kind of fun are we having? Not as much.
I used to teach yoga every now and then, and the hardest thing for me was to try to get through to the people who are so disassociated from their physical selves. Sometimes the sense of dropping into their physical senses would cause them to feel anxious, nervous, frightened or terribly vulnerable. They either went into the feeling and worked with it, or they'd just shut down and stop coming to class.
So I think everyone who wears BPAL does a favor to society because we, at least for a few moments, make people drop back into their sense of smell when they get a whiff of something real.
The last statement is a great rationalization to more more oils from the Lab. Feel free to use it to pad your next order. Consider it your humanitarian work: "I must re-teach people how to smell." It's a tough job, but we're up to it.
I was planning to not order any BPAL this month and now, at the ides of May, I am considering what could almost be classified as a rather large order. Self control: gone, gone, gone!!
I want to order Litha, because the honey mead and honeysuckle elements can not be resisted. I also need a 10 ml of O, because I use it almost like I breathe air. Then, yesterday, I decided to test Kumiho again and I believe I must have a bottle. I am also terribly intrigued by Baobhan Sith; it sounds like it could be a winner. I love grapefruity scents. When it gets totally hot and steamy in July and August, I know I won't be wearing Smut as an everyday scent. I need my options. And there are my rationalizations.
I can be pretty cheeky in my lack of concern about "appropriate" daytime workplace scents. In interest of juxtapositions, it's kind of fun to wear "business appropriate" clothing and a smoldering scent. Hee hee.
I get my hair done on Wednesday, and I can hardly wait. Last visit, I told the most wonderful Brandi not to cut very much off the bottom. She complied with my wishes, but suggested that next time, it might be a good idea to neaten up the edges. She's no fool; she knew it would grow so much and get so freaking long that it would be driving me nuts by now. We're planning to put some more blonde highlights in it just to add to that summery kissed-by-the-sun look.
Speaking of the sun, maybe I'm attracted to the scent Baobhan Sith because they were the "ghostly white women of the Scottish highlands" and I'm part Scottish and I'm just about that white. This weekend, I purchased some of the tanning body lotion and it's helping. I'm not looking to become the San Tropez tan girl, but it would be nice not to have legs that look like a couple of glo-sticks heading your way.
Today's BPAL: Smut and O (aka Smut-O-Rama)
Today's underwear: Tangerine bra and bikinis with a retro tattoo design print
Today's music in the CD player in my car: "Polaroids" by Shawn Colvin
In my office, we draw names for the holiday Secret Santas. It's a small office, we know each other well, and we like to be creative in our endeavors. Several years ago, the two support staff in the office decided that we shouldn't have just one day of Secret Santa, we should have stockings and 5 days of Secret Santa gifting. This was met with great reluctance by the professional staff, as we're typically very busy in December. However, over the years it has evolved into a process that is much-loved by the professional staff, and the support staff would like to end it. (insert sadistic laugh here ) It seems that a number of people become fond of the notion that there could be a week of gift themes, some seriously clever hide-and-seek games that include notes and clues, wicked funny gag gifts, and general opportunities for creativity, giving someone shit or just good humor. And in all of it, we're really pretty nice to each other. We had a gift limit that used to be at $10, then went to $15, and has inched closer to $20 in recent years. We don't really eat out as a group or shell out money to buy gifts the rest of the year, so we take this in stride. The support staff has come to hate the expenditures (even though they are paid more than entry level professionals), the time and the effort involved to keep up. Too bad. We like our little reindeer games.
Last year I drew my troublesome, loud, insane co-worker's name. She fancies herself as a bit of a foodie, and when she sent out her "hints for Santa" email -- something else we all do, which is a bit of a creative writing and/or humor opportunity -- mentioned that she always wants things for the kitchen. I gave her small, polite items 3 out of the 5 days, with the intention being to throw people off of my trail. Usually the over-the-top gifts that include notes and gags are instantly blamed on me. (Why? ) But her last two gifts did go over the top, and of course, she DIDN'T GET THE JOKES.
The first one addressed her tendency to rant and rave at people rather harshly, especially people outside of this office. I gave her a citrus reamer and a tube of Boudreaux's Butt Paste. An accompanying note said something about now she had both the tool and the remedy when she wanted to ream someone's ass, but then felt guilty afterwards. She didn't get the humor. She was happy to have a reamer, but was mainly mystified as to what she would do with a tube of Butt Paste. (This is diaper rash ointment, BTW.) I did catch a number of other staff people huddled in other corners of the office, laughing about the gift and talking about how she truly didn't get it.
For the final day's gift, I was able to secure, at T.J. Maxx, a piece of cutlery at an astonishingly cheap price. The item was a 6 inch stiff boning knife by the A.B. Dick company. The note on her stocking said: "Pardon me, but are you having a Merry Christmas, or is that a 6 inch boner in your stocking?" On the package, another note said: "Santa heard you'd like a stiff Dick for Christmas." She was befuddled by the jokes but elated to get some cutlery. Everyone knew it was either me or my coworker Scott who had her name, since we're the only two who would risk her ire by leaving such notes. Scott high-fived me when he realized it really was me who had her name; he enjoyed the jokes the most, except maybe for the guy that my coworker always "flirts" with by hollering his name and sticking her tits in his face. He nearly peed his pants when he read the stiff dick note. She kept saying to him: "But no, look at this boner!" And he'd laugh harder. And then she'd say: "Have you ever heard of the A.B. Dick company? I hadn't." And he'd laugh even more. He had to leave.
So this year I have Scott's name. He's getting little things from me for the first part of the week -- fun little things that he'll like, but I'm saving most of my money for an item that I'm bidding on in eBay. I hope I can get it for a good price. If I lose this auction, there's plenty of others out there. Scott is a Gen-X'er, but his musical tastes tend to be Boomerish, and he loves Led Zepplin. Most of all, Jimmy Page. And I introduce you to the Jimmy Page action figure:
http://wizarduniverse.stores.yahoo.net/feb063823.html (Sorry, the hyperlink doesn't work on this computer)
He will absolutely die. He will freaking love it. This is what I love about eBay, doing a search for Jimmy Page items resulted in this little gem. I am so excited.
I think "satiate" is a great word to say out loud repeatedly. It's difficult to say it out loud a number of times without putting a bit of an inflection into it, but that's part of the fun. Let's head off to the dictionary:
Pronunciation: [v]'seyshee`eyt, 'seyshi`eyt
Etymology: satiate (v.) c.1440 (implied in pp. adj. satiate), from L. satiatus, pp. of satiare "fill full, satisfy," from satis "enough," from PIE base *sa- "to satisfy"
Satiate is the root of "insatiable" and while I also love that word, it takes on a harder edge when said out loud. However, if Beth ever made a LE called "Insatiable," it would rank right up there (at least in my own private universe) with Smut and Monster in the Panties. I would buy it even it had jasmine and gardenia and rose and leather and everything that amps up and doesn't smell good on me. I'd decant it into imps and keep the bottle.
My tendency to talk about words that I like to say out loud, repeatedly, comes from a character in a short story called "The Smoker" by David Schickler. That story ran in the new fiction edition of The New Yorker in 2000, and as legend has it, Schickler had a book deal by noon on the day the story was published. You can find the story as a chapter in his book "Kissing in Manhattan," but I prefer to read the story as it stands on its own. It's a funny, mysterious little fantasy about a young man who's an English teacher at an all-girls private school in Manhattan and his most extraordinary student. The student, whose name is Nicole, likes to point out that certain words are nice to say out loud, repeatedly. I think "rinse" is one of them. "Trauma" is another.
But I like satiate the best.
What color, dahlings, is your underwear today? I'm wearing a tangerine-colored bra. Very sassy. And I have on a tangerine and yellow mesh bikini that ties on the sides.
And underneath the underwear, I'm wearing a combination of Tunisian Patchouli (from DSH) with O over the top. Damn, that is a fine combination. I think O is great alone, but I love it as a mixer.
Now this might be an interesting thing to track... I normally put my BPAL on prior to wearing underwear. Does the BPAL that I pick for that day affect the type of underwear that I pick? Ah, I have found a purpose for this blog... I'm going to track the influence of BPAL application upon my choice of lingerie.
My serious, Kinsey Report-like analysis has begun...
If you do anything this 4th of July season, make sangria! I made some first thing this morning and put it in the refrigerator, and by this evening, I had a lovely, lovely brew. I was deeply proud of my efforts. I'm steeping some sangria blanco as I write this, and time will tell if it's as good as the red. If you make red sangria, try to get a nice, fruity Spanish wine. It makes all the difference. Here's the recipe that I used -- it's a modification of "Sunset Sangria" by Rachael Ray, and you can find it on the Foodnetwork web site.
3 tbs. sugar
6 tbs. dark spiced rum with citrus flavor
1 orange, sliced
1 lemon, sliced
2 ripe peaches, peeled and cut into wedges
3 ripe plums, cut into wedges
2 cinnamon sticks
1 bottle Rioja or a good fruity Spanish red wine
Club soda, for topping off glasses of sangria
Combine everything but club soda in a large pitcher. Chill several hours. I ran the wine liquid through a strainer to catch the excess fruit pulp prior to serving. Serve over ice, topped off with club soda for some fizz.
This is not the equivalent of bottled Cruz Garcia Real Sangria -- Cruz Garcia needs vodka or rum added to it in order to make it seem like an alcoholic beverage. This is just a smidge stronger. Thus, adding a bit of club soda will not turn your sangria into the alcoholic equivalent of Welch's grape juice.
I am very tempted to make some Sangrita Margaritas, which entails combining a margarita with sangria. Tasty, tasty. Sangria blanco review to follow tomorrow night.
My hairdresser does have a good sense about what is trendy, because she cut my hair into this cut about a month ago, and I haven't been entirely sure about it. It's a lot healthier, but I just wasn't sure. My hair does grow really fast, especially in the summer, and now it's probably a half-inch longer. Anyway, last night I walked by the TV and there was Sandra Bullock on Leno, with my haircut. Mine needs another half-inch or so to hit the same length as Sandy, and I have sideswept bangs and she doesn't. But I'm taking in the Sandy photos at the end of this month and instructing Brandi that I want to maintain at Sandy's length. Same cut, just a bit longer.
Sandra, you probably know, went with Matthew McConaughey for quite a while. What you might not know is that her next boyfriend was that my favorite singer and designated ideal cutie-pants, Bob Schneider. I am not very jealous of her about Matthew, but about Bob, oh yeah, I'm jealous. Not really, I just say "good for you, sistah!" Then she married Jesse James, the West Coast Chopper guy. He doesn't do much for me, but I think Sandra is a biker chick at heart.
Last night I was listening to Caroline Myss, and sometimes I find her to be borderline moonbatty, but in general I really enjoy her perspective. And that perspective is looking at the intuitive, mystical side of life, as seen by a really brassy Chicago broad who doesn't mince words. I was lucky to pick out the CD that I did, because it was equivalent to getting a good lecture from a friend who pulls no punches. I am not going to lay all my garbage (or as I like to say it in this context, "garh-bhage") on you, but I really need to get my shit together. If I would detail all the complications in my life right now, you'd probably not believe me.
Caroline makes some statements that always help my perspective -- to look at the people in your life, especially those who have a great impact upon you, as someone with whom you have a sacred contract. It's not your job to figure out why they are there, or why you are there. And don't worry about your life working or not working if they are there or not there -- because you know what? You weren't born to live for them, you were born to live for yourself. And at the end of the day, if you're meant to be together, it will happen. And if you're not meant to be together, it won't happen. Simply endeavor to live out your end of the deal as well as you possibly can, giving respect to yourself first, and then to the others in your life. But don't take shit off of them if they aren't playing fair. She calls it living in the heart of the paradox, and that's very true.
Ah, should it be that easy. I'm there a lot of the time, but then there's always a person or two who are huge, huge challenges. And then I feel like I'm being eviscerated. It's such a lovely sensation. But as one of my other favorite wise women, Pema Chodron, likes to say, a lot of these really strong emotions have a shelf life of 24 to 48 hours.
So I'll wait it out, kind of like how I'm waiting for my hair to grow out to Sandra Bullock's length. Actually, I'll forget about how I'm feeling faster than my hair will grow, and I'm not upset about my hair, so what gives?
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!
For anyone who would like to do a little retail therapy, or simply likes to do some online window shopping, I present a few sites for your perusal. Most of the sites are not the favorites of the retail therapy section of the forum, although there's one or two that may have been prominently mentioned.
Good incense is in the nose of the beholder, and my nose has different moods. But for both Fred Soll incense (very resiny, strong, smoky, long-lasting) and Nipon Kodo incense (classic Japanese) and everything in between, and all in one order, I go to: http://www.bambuddhas.com In between Fred Soll and Nipon Kodo is Terre d'Oc incense, which difficult to find and not cheap, but very much worth the money. It can be found at: http://www.sensia.com There are endless goodies at both Bambuddhas and Sensia that will tempt you mightily, be warned...
Mentioned frequently in the powdered mineral makeup thread of the Bathing Beauty section of the forum is Alima powdered mineral makeup. It is the greatest stuff, beautiful colors, subtle coverage, and you can order samples. Support a small business that includes cool little philosophical sayings on the back of cards that you receive with your order: http://www.alimacosmetics.com
For anyone who wants to get that great western U.S. smell into their home, via wreaths or incense or tea or soap or jellies, go to: http://www.juniperridge.com I smell their products and this flatland girl is back in the western mountains.
She's a forum member and we did a swap, me sending her Khajurajo and she sending a necklace from her web site. The photos do not do the jewelry justice; it is beautiful and delicate and drapes beautifully: http://www.todiefordesigns.com
And her clothing is gorgeous.
Beautiful jewlery, a lot of animal and celtic designs. Just fabulous. I have the Irish Wolfhound pendant: http://www.black-horse-design.com
Just fun! The name should tell you so! http://www.stuff-o-rama.com
Really great designs for the goddess in you -- surely this site has at least one that is you: http://www.thaliatook.com
I'd like the Jeanne d'Arc t-shirt, because it's a name thing, the Green Tara design is gorgeous, I really like Nyx, and the Rhiannon design is beautiful, but unfortunately, if I wore it, I would keep thinking of a goat because it reminds me of Stevie Nicks singing that Fleetwood Mac song.
ETA:
My coffee guy! Even though he closed the coffee shop that was my refuge from the perv postman and the other oddities of downtown coffee houses, he still runs a custom coffee roasting business. The best coffee I've ever had, hands down -- he buys only the best beans and is a stickler for roasting. No burned beans from this guy! http://www.coffeecultureonline.com
Thornefolk Solutions -- A neat little female-owned business, bath goodies. Check out the fizzing skulls for Halloween/Day of the Dead favors, their bath salts are great and they're having a sale on Pixie Sticks (their samplers of bath salts) right now. It's a great deal! http://www.thornefolk.net
Well, I haven't been very chatty on my blog lately. I've focused a lot of my chatting towards commenting on everyone else's blogs! You give me things to talk about without coming up with something of my own!
Hey, it's 06/06/06 and the President landed in my state a few hours ago. Hmmm... what does this say? It's ostensibly because he is going to deliver a speech on immigration tomorrow, but as a blue person in a red state, I find it significant. As in: "Oh my god, Satan has arrived!" So I exaggerate. The W. isn't clever enough to be the Old Nick. Now Dick (hmmm...Dick/Nick, Dick/Nick...)Cheney or Rumsfeld, maybe, but not W.
OK, now to drive this into the gutter, because I always go there, has anyone seen photos of Dick Cheney's package? Not that I would want to look, but the Wonkette political blog runs a few photos of it every now and then. Now we know why he isn't called Richard. However, I think he has an ostomy bag or something like that packed in front, especially in the first picture. I can't get a link to the photos, because Wonkette always redirects you to the front page of the blog. But if you want to see what I mean, google "Dick Cheney very big Wonkette." You will get hits on links to two photos of the Dickster that ran on Wonkette. You be the judge of what THAT is all about!!!
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??
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?
The Puddy Cat, also known as Puds or Puddin' (a nod to Puddin' of BPTP!) has happily moved onto the front porch. She's sleeping in the small dog carrier that has a towel inside for her comfort, and is eating Tender Vittles and drinking water. I have this vintage wooden bench on my front porch that was originally a gym bench used in a high school in the 1950's or '60's. It's the kind of thing that basketball teams sat on during games -- it must be 10 to 12 feet long. (Speaking of that, I need to check the Dallas - Miami score...) Anyway, Puddin' likes to sleep on the bench. She's not crying as much and she likes to hop up in your lap if you sit on the bench. She's just a happy camper.
She's seeing the vet ASAP, probably Tuesday. I'll probably just drop her off on the way to work and let the vet's office scan her for a microchip, look at those poor ears, generally check her out, and get the hideous clumps of matted hair cut off. They will also be able to give us an idea of her age... I think she's older, looking at the color/condition of her teeth. Assuming she's not microchipped, we'll check Humane Society reports of lost cats. And there's a few people that my DH knows who might want her, although it's also an outside option that we could keep her in the basement. Time will tell! But she's already acting healthier and happier. And she is a sweet pea with such a cute little face.
About two years ago, a small town around 30 miles from here was literally flattened by a tornado. A family who lived there were running into their basement, and their cat got spooked and got away from whoever was holding it. They never saw the kitty and assumed it had been killed, until this spring, when the cat returned to their house, now rebuilt on its original site. They knew it was the same cat by the distinctive meow and markings. Where the little thing went for two years, and how it found its way home, is quite the mystery. Maybe little Puds has a similar story, but if not, she'll find a home somewhere, although she seems rather certain that she is home right now!
Today's animal story is that a cat was camped out on the front porch last night when I got home. There are feral cats in the neighborhood that are truly wild, and over the winter we'd put a dish of dry cat food out on the porch to hide them over. Lately, a yellow and white cat has been up on the porch, but vanishes when anyone appears. Until yesterday, when it was just hanging out, meowing and acting like it was at home. This isn't a feral cat, it's a poor house cat that was either abandoned or got out of the house and never made it home. The poor little soul has terribly matted hair and mite-infested ears. It's really skinny and a bit skittish, but it wants to be house kitty so badly! It starts kneading its paws and purring when you talk to it, and if it sees you through the window, it meows at you. It will let you pet it if you sit with it long enough and it comes to trust you. It's never hissed or clawed once; it's a sweetheart.
What to do? I can not let it in the house very easily, for Mugzy and Ella Bean would try to eat it. Mugzy has apparently declared cats to be his mortal enemies. I could get it inside and lock it in a basement room, but I think it needs veterinary assistance, because it lists around a little bit when it walks. I wonder if it wasn't hit by a car or injured in some manner. All the feline shelters are full, but I can't let this poor thing sit around much longer. I may have to use canned cat food to lure it into a small dog carrier and get it to the vet. I won't take it to the Humane Society, because considering the state of its coat and its tendency to list a little bit, they might euthanize without giving consideration to adoption. This kitty just wants to go home, or to find a new home. The poor, poor baby.
It's bad enough to have lost dog karma and baby bird in distress karma, but now lost kitty karma is following me around. For the time being, I'm calling him/her Puddy, since Tweety Bird has always rocked my world.
