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valentina

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  1. valentina

    The Kidz

    By valentina,

    Happy Mother's Day (in advance) to everyone out there who's a mom to a human kid, and also to everyone else who has pets, since they certainly do become our babies!
     
    So here's my kidz... Mugzy and Ella Bean. Mugzy's a Boxer and Ella Bean is a Basset. Mugzy and Ella were both abandoned dogs found during cold, snowy winters.
     
    Mugzy was found wandering down a country road by a farm family, who located his then owner. The owner said to shoot him. Thankfully, they knew they had a sweet, sweet dog on their hands and turned him over to Boxer Rescue. The poor little guy had pneumonia, but he recovered nicely and came to live at my house 5 years ago. The Mug-Bug is the sweetest man on the planet. He is utterly devoted to me and he follows me everywhere. Now that he's getting to be an older guy, I cherish every day that he's still here.
     

    Ella Bean was sighted wandering near the Interstate in a rural area. Her rescuers had quite a time catching her, because she'd probably lived on her own for a while. She was eventually captured and turned over to a shelter. She was a wreck when she came to live at my house; she was stressed, skinny and extremely distrustful of humans. She has a big lump on her ribcage, the probable result of being kicked. But two years later, she's a squishy, happy, devoted little soul. Basset feet are the cutest things on the planet. I never knew I could be so endlessly charmed by dog's tooties!

     
    We all work out our maternal instincts one way or the other, don't we??
  2. valentina

    My turn to tell a story

    By valentina,

    Since Dawndie has written about this, and now Filgree Shadow has told her story, I guess I'm brave enough to tell my own paranormal story. If anything, they make good reading!
     
    My maternal grandfather died when I was 3.5 years old. My mother had helped my grandmother take care of him until he became too ill to stay at home, and she used to take me along. Just as an aside, this was not a good move, but my mother was of the opinion that little kids didn't "get it." She tends to think very small children simply don't have the ability to understand what's going on. But my first memories are of running through a room where he was in bed and I was utterly terrified of him, because cancer had moved to his brain and he was in a state of delirium. Today I have a galloping case of hypochondria, and the seed was no doubt planted at that early age.
     
    But I was his youngest grandchild by about 8 years, and word has it that when he was well enough to live relatively normally, he doted upon me. Based upon photos from what my mother always pronounced in melodramatic tones to be: "That. last. Christmas," this was, in fact, true. I also remember his funeral and my brother working very hard to keep me quiet, because I was rather giddy. My grandfather was dead, and he wasn't going to be around to scare the crap out of me anymore. And my beloved grandma might eventually stop crying. She always felt a lot of anxiety about me seeing him so sick, and my reaction to it. Then I felt bad about making grandma feel worse. Is it any wonder than I'm angsty?
     
    What I recall is that sometime after he died, I was sitting in the waiting room of a doctor's office with my mom. I wasn't sick -- I was getting some sort of immunization. The door of the waiting room opened and my grandpa walked in, dressed exactly as he was when he was well. He sat down across from us and was looking at a newspaper. I leaned forward and stared at him. I looked at my mom, who hadn't glanced up from her magazine. Because my mother has always been an inveterate people-gawker and normally seizes the opportunity to engage a captive audience in a conversation, this wasn't normal. And it was her dead father that she was ignoring! Dood, he's back, at least say hi! I kept staring at him then looking up her. He kept glancing up and saw me staring at him. He looked a little chagrined and wouldn't look directly at me. He acted like someone who was trying to not be seen. I leaned forward even closer, thinking he'd at least say hello. He laid down the newspaper and walked out. My mother kept flipping through the magazine like no one was there. I remember looking at her like she was insane. I can see this entire event in my mind so clearly, it's like it happened this morning.
     
    I always attributed this event to the notion that I was, in fact, sick, and my feverish little brain was working overtime. I never told my family about it. Then about 5 years ago, my mother told me a story about sitting with me in the waiting room of the doctor's office, less than a month after my grandfather had died. She couldn't remember why we were there, but she remembered that I wasn't sick. She said I became extremely, extremely quiet, and then turned, looked at her very seriously and very distinctly said: "I think if you look around here, you'll find grandpa."
     
    I never told her what I remembered, she wouldn't have accepted that as anything but my wild imagination.
     
    I've often read that little children can see and hear things that adults can't, and that the social maturation process shuts off that corner of our mind. I tend to agree with that. Also, never take a toddler along to do hospice care. Not a good idea at all.
  3. valentina

    I blog, therefore I am

    By valentina,

    I am a word etymology geek, and of course, any sort of "where did that world come from?" question sends me off in search of its origins. In this case:
     
    Webster's New Millennium™ Dictionary of English-
    Main Entry: blog
    Part of Speech: n
    Definition: an online diary; a personal chronological log of thoughts published on a Web page; also called [Weblog], [Web log]
    Example: Typically updated daily, blogs often reflect the personality of the author.
    Etymology: shortened form of Weblog
    Usage: blog, blogged, blogging v, blogger n
     
    ______________________________
     
    I admit, I was really down on blogging a couple of years ago, if only because the few blogs I'd run across were the most self-aggrandizing, nauseating pieces of crap I'd ever read. I realize now that the source I'd used to come across them led me to some very unsatisfying blogs. (A much different forum, I won't get into that right now, that's another entry in itself!)
     
    Then I started reading political blogs, especially after watching a discussion on C-SPAN where a number of print media journalists were lamenting the demise of the newspaper as a source of true investigative journalism. The reason they most often cited for that demise was the proliferation of chain newspapers that functioned to reflect the views of the corporate ownership. One of the panelists was the woman who started the political humor-commentary blog Wonkette. Some of the more traditional print journalism panelists were dissing blogers because they lack the editorial control of journalistic ethics, and she retorted that when traditional journalism simply wouldn't look at the hard topics, investigate issues or print the controversial stories, blogs were stepping in to fill that void. And indeed, more and more serious journalists are running their own blogs these days, to the point that they're e-zines. I appreciate that a lot.
     
    Since Wonkette is essentially a political humor blog, I started reading a few more general humor and commentary blogs, just because some of those people make me laugh like crazy. And my local newspaper makes me laugh, but only inadvertantly, and only because they are so hick and pathetic. Good blogs takes things to a higher denominator, and I feel like I'm actually a part of the world again.
     
    So this brings me to writing in my own blog space, which I started mainly for the jollies of it. I saw it as writing practice, if nothing else -- I had no idea what I'd write about. But really, I tend to have a lot of stories. I see my life as an endless series of odd stories and observations, and I share the better ones. (Well, not all of them, but at least some of them.) Sometimes I get a little Zen or a little angsty, but that's human nature. And often, issues and problems take on a greater shape and clarity when one writes about them; the mere act of writing can help end the spinning-in-the-head that too often occurs if we just mull over things without setting them to print.
     
    I think reading each other's stories gives perspective to our own stories. I have friends who know me well, who see me a lot, who have certain expectations of me, and who sometimes do not look at me with fresh eyes. (Not in that "fresh" way, for any of you perverts out there! Oh, oops, hold it...I'm the pervert! ) So many of you give me a fresh perspective, either from your own entries, or through comments on my blogs. Sometimes you are a realilty check that I just can't get from my friends. Hopefully now and then (when I'm not carrying on about underwear, high heels, BPAL or dreams of George Clooney), I give you a different perspective that might also serve as a reality check.
     
    I think our reasons for blogging are as varied and nuanced as we are, and it only adds to the tapestry of our lives. All of you make my life so much more interesting, and for that I am most thankful.
  4. valentina
    I stumbled onto the computer to find a PM from the esteemed minilux, notifying me of the Monster Bait: Underpants LE arrival. When I finished rolling around on the floor with glee, I picked myself up and immediately ordered two bottles. I also ordered a bottle of Beltane, because Scotland and gardens and spring just gets my sap flowing. And laying on a bed wearing lovely panties with flower petals strewn all around you is a lovely thought, no?
     
    My ofrenda today is set to honor Beth, high priestess of panty lovers, and to the lovely mods, who invoked the priestess to develop her panty potion. For without question, only friendly monsters should enter our gorgeous panties!
     
    I this place.
  5. valentina

    Pie hole

    By valentina,

    Calling someone's mouth their "pie hole" has always amused me considerably. As in: "Shut your pie hole." It's even better when said with a Andy Griffith/Mayberry accent, as in: "Shuhut yer pah hawl, Barney. Ima thankin' 'bout sumthin.'"
     
    I work with someone who is apparently a monument to oral fixations. If she isn't talking at a very high volume, she's eating at a high volume. This person likes to hear herself smack, schlurp and snort as she eats. She is a professional person, but she is a grotesque eater. She also makes little murmuring and yummy sounds as she eats. And she feeds her pie hole all the time. Often she has food smeared on her face when she's eating because she virtually sticks her face in it and slops like a hog. Astonishing. Disgusting table manners are truly one of my pet peeves. If she had french manicured toenails, I would probably lose my mind.
     
    And have a look at this, I pull this site up and play it every now and then. It's good for a titter.
     
    http://www.albinoblacksheep.com/flash/piehole.php
  6. valentina
    I have always been amused by the saying: "their karma just jumped up and bit them in the ass." It's so much more colorful than sayings like "what goes around comes around," or "they got their just desserts." That's probably because I had an Airedale named Karma, and I always could picture the literal Karma laying around in angelic sleep, then suddenly jumping up and chomping butt.
     
    Popular culture in the U.S. has turned "karma" into such a cliche, as in "peace, love and good karma, man," but karma is a two-way street.
     
    And if you haven't figured it out, while I don't really take pleasure in other's misfortunes, sometimes it really interesting to see a fast turn-around of karma. Sometimes it's very, very slow, and other times it's as if events reach a critical mass, and karma wakes up in a big hurry. I think those of us who get little karmic nips all the time are luckier than those who have karma sitting there and watching, just like a terrier waiting for hours for the vermin to move out from under the building. Because then it's just a "ker-pow" of a punch.
     
    There's a couple of people who I know fairly well who are walking around with chunks missing from their butts because karma just got them. I'm sorry life is anything but a dream right now, but I hope it's a wakeup call. You just can't treat people that way forever.
  7. valentina

    The Italian Greyhound

    By valentina,

    Well hells belles, I haven't written an entry in almost a week! What have I been doing? I'm getting busier at work and it cuts down on my recreational writing time. Whatta gyp!
     
    Last night I went to the pet food store to get some kitty food for Puddin' Tom, and the Italian Greyhound Rescue organization had a table set up by the door. The guy who's the local IG rescue coordinator was there with two of his foster doggies. The one was a bouncy youngster, about a year old. The other dog had some white on his face and was obviously a mature fellow. When I kneeled down to pet them, the older guy came over, put his eensy teensy little paws on my legs and snuggled his head against me and kind of whimpered and cried. The sweetie, the honey! There was another woman there and I wanted her to be able to pet him, but this little dog kept coming back and just leaning on me.
     
    I asked the IG rescue guy what the story was with the older dog -- he said it was an owner surrender. This couple had owned two IGs since the dogs were pups; one dog was 9 and the other was 8. They decided that the dogs were getting older and might get more high-maintenance, so they just turned them over to rescue. Kind of like the dogs were motor vehicles. What doucebags. This little dog kept looking at me with his big sad eyes, and you could tell he's just confused. And sad. And frightened. He's being very well-cared for in his foster home, I know, but the poor little guy wanted to adopt me. He broke my heart.
     
    Look, IGs are really delicate little creatures and I already have a bossy Basset and a very possessive male Boxer. I would seriously fear for the poor little guy. I only hope that he turns on the big-eye nuzzler act on for other women and he gets a wonderful home very soon, so he can be curled up on a couch with a little comforter thrown over him on chilly autumn nights.
     
    Wayward dogs and pain in the ass men, they all love me.
  8. valentina

    Domme-O-nance

    By valentina,

    I'm in a rut, but it's a lovely rut, and a rut that I am happy to wallow in. I'm still wearing Tunisian Patchouli with O slathered over the top. It is a nice dirt rut with a bucket of honey and nuggets of amber poured into it. It works for this time of year. My body chem is very seasonal and this is the Tunisian patchouli time of year; it gets too overwhelming when the weather cools off, and even now, I like I much better when it's layered and softened with the O.
     
    I have a tattoo of a triskele on my sacrum; I got it because I love Celtic spirals and it reminds me of the New Grange stone carvings. I've had it for several years now and I only recently discovered that in "The Story of O," the protagonist (or maybe I should say the pro-agonyist) wears a ring with a triskele design. As a result, in some quarters, the triskele is a symbol for BDSM.
     
    So I wear O, I have a triskele tattoo, someone give me my leathers and a whip! A friend of mine used to get a catalog from a place called "Dream Dresser," and he always passed it on to me. Oh my. It made me want to become a domme on the spot. He stopped getting the catalog and we looked up the company on the web, and sadly, I think they're defunct.
     
    All that said, I never do the domme act. I think I have more fun making people believe that I would make them get down on their knees and bark like a dog, than I ever would have if they actually did so.
     
    Oh yes! I have on an eggplant-colored bra. One of the VSC bandolier minimal-padding numbers. I really like the way that the straps look, they're wider-set and very flattering. And I love the color. My panties are black mesh bikinis. I do have undies to match the bra, but they tend to produce VPL (visible panty line) and I have on a pair of those long shorts/short trousers with dark hose. I didn't want to ruin the line.
     
    So I've been told that men love VPL as long as it's not incredibly evident. Just a shade of it that find rather sexy, just because they get to think about your panties. But is that true? What have you heard? Do report back...consider it a research mission.
     
    Back to my fragrant rut...
  9. valentina
    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
  10. valentina

    Damn the torpedoes

    By valentina,

    Do you ever have one of those spells in your life, where you'd just like to put the universe on notice that he/she/it can stop tossing grenades in your path? That maybe you're just tired of dodging explosions in the road, and a bit o' smooth sailing might be a lovely change? Just long enough to have a little time to get some things figured out? I think some people are given a life of more combustables than others. And my life, for the last year, has been a series of big-ass explosions and smaller rumblings, more akin to a volcano getting ready to blow. I'm getting weary of it.
     
    Maybe if I could be a little more clueless, everything wouldn't seem so acute to me, but who wants to be clueless? Sometimes I think those of us who are rather gothic in our outlook are simply the people who just can't stop paying attention long enough to get clueless. Not that I can't be clueless about many things, but they usually aren't important enough to tranqulize me to what's going on.
     
    But I suppose to be awake to the difficulty of life is also to be awake to the gorgeousness of life, so why be a whiny-pants about it?
  11. valentina
    It occurs to me that I have not provided a definitive update on the cat who took up residence on my front porch nearly two weeks ago. I was calling the kitty Puddy or Puds or Puddin', and a week ago I took the little geek into the vet to get the giant hairballs cut out of his fur and to get a general health assessment.
     
    So here's the news: the kitty is a neutered male, the vet guesses he's about 10 years old. He'd probably lived on his own for a while, considering the extent of the matted hair on his back, but he obviously was someone's pet for most of his life. He had no microchip, and no lost cat report fits his description. His ears were simply very dirty, he had no mites or parasites except of evidence of some fleas, so he was treated for the nasty fleasters. His bloodwork came out clean and vet gave him vaccinations. The vet also said he was in amazingly good shape, considering his age and his recent "on the road" lifestyle. The shambling gait that he has is probably due to general age and perhaps some sort of old injury. But some of it, I believe, was due to the fact that the poor guy was skin and bones and half-starved.
     
    So for now, he's living contentedly on the front porch with his little kennel for shelter and his food and water. He isn't going anywhere, believe me! He's filling out, I'm brushing him daily to get more of the dead hair out of his coat, and his wobbly gait is improving. He loves to crawl onto your your lap, purr and knead his paws. Ella Bean, Basset Queen, was taken out on the porch to meet him, restrained by her harness and her leash, and Puddin' Tom just watched her and gave a warning growl every now and then. She didn't push it. Mugzy the Boxer was curious, but not aggressive. If they keep meeting up, a truce may be established over time
     
    And as you can see, I'm calling him Puddin' Tom. I think it sounds like a cross between a children's book title and a good ol' southern boy. He apparently feels like he's found his retirement home!
  12. valentina

    Love your feet

    By valentina,

    Wow, I have a friend (a man) who fell off of someone else's deck (which was only a couple of inches high) and freakishly managed to detach his quadricep (the big muscle that runs down the front of the thigh) from where it attaches around the knee, taking a few tendons with it when it blew.
     
    After I finished wincing and groaning around about the huge amount of hurt that has to be, I realized that I wear stilettos much higher than the deck from which he fell. But he's a guy and I'd wager his joints were pretty tight and wouldn't tolerate the twist.
     
    I rationalize high girl heels by not walking very much in them -- no Carrie Bradshaw-like trotting down the street in them. It's hard on the shoes and it's hard on the feet. That's where I found "Sex And The City" to be the ultimate fantasy; no self-respecting Manolo lover would walk that far on asphalt, because it rips the hell out of them. And there was never, ever, one scene of Carrie soaking her aching tooties after a day of cavorting around in her spikers after Mr. Big or Aidan or whatever man du jour she had her sights set upon. If I'm wrong about that, please comment and let me know. There was a show when Big had angioplasty, but never one where Carrie had bunions removed.
     
    I love girl shoes as much as anyone, and if I ever get a pair of Manolos (or Jimmy Choos), I will post a photo of me wearing them on this blog. (My guess is that I would obtain a used pair on eBay, but you never know when the fairy godmother will appear. Hey, a girl can hope.)
     
    But in the meantime, BPAL is so much more affordable and versatile. You can walk on the asphalt in Chuck Taylor high-tops and still smell like a princess. That's a good trade-off.
  13. valentina

    Peculiar pinup art

    By valentina,

    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.
  14. valentina

    Bottles

    By valentina,

    Retail therapy, moi?
     
    Well, I must stay true to my word, and when I say in my sales thread that I'll reinvest the proceeds from my sales in the Lab (and then some), I must follow through. I placed a tidy little order for a bottle of each of the following: The Brides of Dracula, Theodosius, the Legerdemain and Snake Oil. The Brides of Dracula was the only scent of the recent LEs that really tripped my trigger. I hadn't ordered the Legerdemain with my Carnaval order because the jasmine made me jittery. Then I tried Siren, fell in love with it and realized that jasmine need not be a reason to rule out a scent. So the Legerdemain it is. And of course I need a bottle of Snake Oil to sit in reserve and age like a fine wine while I use my current bottle.
     
    And in the wine mode, I just finished regaling a friend about a Austrian (and I mean Austrian, not Australian) white wine, brand name Lois. Specifically,, it's Fred Lois Gruner Veltliner. It's very nice white wine, not too sweet -- dry, but not dry in an icky way. It's delicious. Really, really nice. As in, grab a bottle of it and sit in the sun and eat cheese and crackers over the long weekend. Preferably with someone you like, but if keeping yourself company is the best option, don't forget to treat yourself. Put on your favorite BPAL scent and let it waft around you.
     
    What is it that the Lab's postcards say? Sensualist stimulation? By all means, go for it.
  15. valentina

    Go Big Thread Count!

    By valentina,

    The college football team that has the big-ass stadium in my town is currently in L.A., playing USC. I have some family members who flew out to L.A., and they're sitting in the stadium, watching it right now. I have the TV on in the other room and I'm only semi-paying attention. If I hear a lot of yelling, I stop and listen to what happened. I haven't been to a Nebraska home football game for, I don't know... over 15 years? I never sit and watch one on TV; it seems like a giant waste of time. When games are on TV, it's actually a very good time to go shopping, but there's a thunderstorm moving in and I really don't want to be in a store if a tornado warning happens. And we had one of those last night... it did rain like a bastard, but the ominous wall cloud skirted south of town.
     
    But, back to football. It's not like I never watched football -- I used to watch it all the time. It's difficult to avoid growing up in this state. My brother started playing high school football when I was about 2 years old. I remember being miserably cold and bored at my brother's games. And even though I don't watch it very much at all these days, I can still turn into one of the boys for a play or two and get into discussions about the design of the play, spot the holding or facemask violation or watch a receiver closely enough to see if he's in or out of the field of play when he comes down with the ball. But then I get bored and leave. Too many people in this state base their identity around the football team's success or failure. There are many things in the world that you can use to make yourself miserable, but I don't think the relative success or failure of the Huskers is a valid excuse for depression.
     
    Actually, what I did find depressing was when I flipped past the Nebraska coach's TV show the other night and he had on the most butt-ugly sports jacket I have seen on TV in years. From a distance, I thought it was some ultra-cheesy blue denim sports coat from the '70's. I kept watching the show just to see a close-up. It was a lighter (denim-colored) blue wool coat with a bit of a plaid design in it. Even worse! Shades of Rodney Dangerfield in "Caddyshack!" The previous coach turned the team to shit, but he was dapper enough. He was a spokesperson for a local men's clothier and they supplied him with clothing. I have no idea who is giving the current coach his clothing, but Pat Riley he is not.
     
    Hmmm... I think the thunderstorm has passed and I can go to the gym -- it's another good thing to do during games. The game is usually on the TVs, so I can look up and check the score to see what's happening. Actually, I always want Nebraska to win, or to at least play well, because then I don't have to deal with everyone else's bad mood and complaining on Monday morning.
     
    In closing, I really want to go spend money for sateen bedding. I have one set, and I want more. Why does it matter to me what the thread count is of pieces of fabric that I lay on when I'm mostly unconscious, or at least in an altered level of consciousness? I don't get it, but it so nice to wake up and fall asleep on sateen sheets, especially when I wear Mme. Moriarty, which smells so insanely good that it makes me want to have sex with myself.
     
    I can't think of anything else to say after that last comment, so I think I'll just stop. Go Big Thread Count!
     
    ETA: OK, I misspelled "thread" as "tread" because I was being inattentive, as all the weather bulletin beepers went off and I did want to jump up and run off to see what that is all about. A tornado was 50 miles or so north of us, around Omaha. It proceeded to rain like a bastard and even hailed a little bit, so I decided to not go to the gym. Once I ascertained that the tornado wasn't hitting hard in Omaha (it didn't do any damage), I somehow became entranced watching a cheesy infomercial for a 10-CD set of '70's music. The video clips of the '70's artists featured on the CDs were hypnotizingly odd. These CD sets have a lot of the pop music of the '70's, and the word "geek" kept going through my head. There was one guy, however, who was a one-hit wonder and he did look a lot like the guy who played Denny on "Gray's Anatomy" last season. I think the score of the game is USC 21, Nebraska 10. A respectable effort, considering we sucked two years ago and they were national champions. (See, I know more about football than I want to admit.)
  16. valentina

    Brainy test

    By valentina,

    If you have the time, go to the BBC web site - www.bbc.co.uk
     
    In the search mode, enter "brain test" and the first result you will probably get is "Science - Sex ID." That link will take you to a very comprehensive test that is designed to gauge if your brain functions on a more typically male, or typically female basis. Be ready to take time and have a ruler available -- you'll be doing some measurements of your fingers (index and ring finger ratios can indicate exposure to testosterone in utero and the degree of exposure can affect brain function). This isn't one of those little fun tests -- it's rather comprehensive and it makes you use your brain in ways that might not be your typical mode.
     
    I have a male friend who took it who tested out as having more female way of thinking; this was no shock to him. He's the youngest child in a family with a stay-at-home mom and a military officer dad. He spent a lot of time growing up being exposed to a more female mindset. (And my friend isn't gay -- he's very straight, in case you were wondering.) I have a robustly hetero female acquaintance who last summer tested out as having a male mindset. Obviously, it's an indication of how your brain works, not your sexual identity.
     
    How'd I test out? Directly between male and female.
     
    Writing this made me think of a particularly idiotic quote from a politician of past years. Too bad that while he's still stooopid as hell, he seems almost innocuous in comparison to today's idiots:
     
    "What a waste it is to lose one's mind. Or not to have a mind is being very wasteful. How true that is." -- Dan Quayle
     
     
  17. valentina
    Do you like bubble baths? I luuuurve bubble baths. And I am a damn picky bitch about my bubble bath. I used to like the Kiss My Face Peaceful Patchouli bubble bath, but they changed the formula and the bubbles leave much to be desired. I went to Victoria's Secret last week (big shock there...) and got some of their bubble bath, and it's not bad. I got the Strawberries and Champagne scent, which is rather unlike me, but that scent combo has prurient associations (in my head only, not based on any actual experience) and I couldn't resist.
     
    I actually enjoy the V'Tae bath salts in the Sacred Fire scent. That is a really, really sexy scent that is also very comforting. Their verbiage on the package always gets me -- "Anoint. Intoxicate. Enchant. Goddess. Ritual. Magic." Ah, it evokes a web-spinner to me. I just wish they made it in a bubble bath.
     
    And I am a bit of a web-spinner. I don't mind spiders one little bit. I don't pick them up and play with them, but I tend to give them their space and I never want to hurt them. I once got rather upset with a secretary in my office who recounted screaming and running around her kitchen at the sight of a spider before beating it to death with a broom so hard that her kids couldn't even find the carcass when she was finished. The story kind of gave me a pain through the heart. I know we all have our phobias, but holy crap, show some restraint.
     
    Now how the hell did I get here from where I started, on bubble baths? Well let me tell you, if there's a spider in my tub and I want to take a bath, I get a magazine and respectfully move it to a secluded corner of the bathroom. They aren't stupid -- they'll stay away from hot water and bubbles.
     
    Off to my ritual and magic in bubbleland...
  18. valentina

    Non sequiturs

    By valentina,

    Today's non sequiturs begin with the fact that the Reverend Jim guy that I mentioned in my prior entry is, in fact, employed. I went into Meadowlark Coffee yesterday and he was sitting outside, wearing a shirt normally worn by U-Stop convenience store employees. I asked Debbie, the morning barrista, if he was actually a U-Stop employee and she said yes, she was rather certain that he was. I commented that I'd always thought that he was a client at the county mental health center. And Debbie said yes, she was rather sure he was.
     
    I was watching "Austin City Limits" on PBS last Saturday, and I know it was a rerun, but I was deeply amused at the contrasts presented by the two featured performers. I like both of them, but who decided to put Lyle Lovett and Jamie Cullum on the same show? Lyle is tall, skinny, taciturn Texan who smiles only on one side of his face, is so rigid when he performs that one suspects he might break in half if he made a sudden move, and is entrancingly weird-looking. I figured out that part of what makes him so very odd-looking is that his eyebrows are almost nonexistent. He has all that hair on the top of his head (which styling products have really tamed in recent years) and absolutely no eyebrows. But don't get me wrong, I like his voice and a lot of his music, although I don't listen to him that often.
     

     
    Did he burn his eyebrows off as a kid and they never grew back?
     
    Jamie Cullum is a hyperanimated little sparkplug from England who runs and jumps all over as he is singing and playing the piano. He's so little that I kind of want to call him "Frodo," but he's also quite adorable. Maybe the Austin City Limits crowd for his show was the same group who showed up to see Lyle perform, and they just didn't get what Jamie was all about. They were as lifeless as the day is long, and I've never seen a group of such unrhymtic-looking people in my life. What was the matter with those white people? Get up and move! At least sway a bit! Granted, I love Jamie's music and his style, but I felt sorry for him, having to perform on TV before an alleged "live" audience.
     

     
    Just. Plain. Cute.
     
    I bought three bottles from the update -- two from Wanderlust and one from Carnaval Diabolique. Specifically, Cockaige and Lyonesse from Wanderlust and Midnight on the Midway. What is life without at least one or two pending BPAL orders? About as boring as a Lyle Lovett crowd at a Jamie Cullum concert!
  19. valentina
    I have been reading through the blog and forum comments about how people react to the new update scents. I really enjoy that, it's fun to read. Seriously, we're all so attuned to scents and body chemistry and blends of aromas, it's pretty amazing. Compared to the rest of the world, it's astonishing. A lot of you have really sophisticated noses. I would guess that many of you are the type of person who sniffs their food. I could get a latte with flavoring in it, but not know what the flavor is, and I'm not always able to discern the flavor by only the taste. But if I smell it, I can almost always get the flavor category.
     
    Many of us tend to get on ourselves about our BPAL addiction, and I'm certainly on that bandwagon. I showed a small amount of restraint this last update, although when you read what I did, you may not think so, but one person's restraint is another person's abandon, right? I got into a decant circle (eviltemptressd's!) so I can try out 6 or 7 of the Yule scents before I order. The new 13 sounded intriguing, so I did get a bottle. And as much as I wanted to buy bottles of Love Lies Bleeding, Mania and Horreur Sympathique, I ordered them in an imp package, because I've always wanted to try out Nosferatu, Miskatonic U and La Petite Mort. This will be fun, so much to sample!
     
    I think BPAL is wonderful because it challenges us to use the wiring that's there in our brains to distinguish certain smells. This is something that the human brain can do (obviously, because even my brain can do it!), but it's not frequently needed for survival in the modern world. So rather than letting it sit and molder, we use it for our pleasure. So there's a very Gil Grissom-like rationalization for buying the shit out of BPAL. And as Ani DiFranco said, fuck guilt!
     
    I haven't written a lot in the blog lately because I was rather -- oh, what should I say? -- spent. Last week was one of those weeks when everyone was interested in confessing things to me, wanting me to be their therapist or plugging into my energy. Whatever you want to call it, people were there, almost like zombies. I did have a relatively beneficial and mutual conversation with the guy at the coffee house (Mr. "Wandering Gypsy") about how he writes lyrics to his songs. He said something very similar to interviews that I've read with other singer/songwriters, who say that it's just channeled to them. They can't explain it any other way. They sit and write endless crap and then, standing at the refrigerator, something amazing downloads in their brain and they run over, find a piece of paper and write the lyrics to an entire song. I read an interview with Greg Brown, who said he had an entire album come to him as he was driving home in the dark; it was like he had the radio on, listening to new music, but he didn't -- it was in his head.
     
    The psychology folks say that's just the left brain letting go and the right brain taking over, but my friend (and a lot of other songwriters) don't think it's that simple and/or simply biological. I read a book where a number of neurologists and researchers said that when one riddle of the brain is solved, it also leads them to discover that there's 10 more things that they don't understand. I don't think we'll ever figure it out, and why should we? Maybe the mystery isn't ours to understand.
     
    And I'll get off that kick and close by saying that I tried my imp of Has No Hanna last Wednesday night when I thought a little boost would help. And if what happened afterwards was any indication, I can't explain it, nor do I want to, but it worked...
  20. valentina
    You read all about it, here it is in graphic detail... just the usual goings-on around my house. Ella Bean gets busy on Mugzy: CORNHOLE!!!!
     

     
    I know the photo development folks see it all, but methinks they had to wonder, just a bit. However, it may have been a welcome, if slightly odd, break from all the Christmas photo shoots.
  21. valentina
    Yesterday I went to the hairdresser and she and I contemplated the condition of my hair. I apparently became a little impatient with the hair styling process when I was still really harried at work, and I turned my flattening iron up WAY too high. That, dear readers, can produce nice short-term results and nasty long-term results. I have a thing about fried-looking hair, and here I had it on my own head.
     
    So I had her cut about 3 inches off the bottom. She's also starting to grow out a few of the layers, so what I have today is effectively a longer and wilder version of a Louise Brooks bob. My hair is still at the middle of my neck, so it's hardly as bobbed as LuLu's, but it has that wedge effect.
     
    I thought this was a drastic change, so I walk into my office after getting my hair done and one person noticed. I walked back in this morning and a couple of other people (who would have said something if they'd noticed) didn't notice much of a change. Isn't it weird how we always scrutinize ourselves so intently and expect others to do the same?
     
    I think as long as person is clean and well-groomed and doesn't display pet peeve irritants (such a French manicured toenails or artificial nails with rhinestones that may pop off and land in your lap), people really don't notice the little nuances unless you're a very visually oriented person.
     
    So now I know that someone with a fried hair pet peeve won't be standing around, looking at me, thinking "eeeewww!"
     
    Odd subreference with BPAL elements: I was looking at minilux's BPAL icons and noticed that Louise Brooks was pictured in a couple of icons, one being for the scent Beatrice. There's a town in my state called Beatrice; it's about 35 miles directly south of where I reside. However, it's not pronounced the way the woman's name Beatrice is commonly pronounced, which is "BEE-uh-truss." No, people call this town "Bee-AT-triss." (And put a hard midwestern "r" in the last syllable.) I do not know the source of this trend, but people where I live will jokingly pronounce the name of the town "Beat (as in the beat goes on)-Rice (as in the grain.) I don't recall what was in the scent Beatrice, and I don't think it was something that I would have enjoyed, but even if I had, it would have been terribly difficult to not tell people that I was wearing "Beat-Rice" that day.
     
    Story that was jarred loose in my brain as a result of darkity's story from the other day, about the fake nail popping off the girl's hand on the bus and landing on darkity: A long time ago, I was eating with a then-boyfriend in a Grisante's restaurant. We were at a table that was separated from another table by a divider that was probably 4 feet high. At the other table was a couple with their young son (about 5 or 6 years old) and one set of grandparents. The kid was wired for sound anyway, and Grandpappy was not making matters better, because he kept saying to the tyke: "So are ya all excited it's your birthday? Do you think you're gonna have lots of presents when we get home? Huh? Huh?" The kid was thrashing around, kicking and waving his arms. A waitress, hoping to provide a calming influence, gave the kid some crayons so he could draw on the paper that was put on the tabletop over the tablecloth. Didn't work. Then, I looked down at my plate to take another bite of whatever it was that I was eating, and a crayon suddenly plopped down in the middle of my plate. The kid had lost control of the crayon in his hot little hand as he was waving his arms around and it landed in my pasta. The mother was mortified, grandpappy was unrepentant and the kid was too crazed from being driven into a frenzy by his apparently sadistic grandpaps to even notice. A waiter saw it happen, came over, grabbed my plate and told me he was providing me with a replacement. My boyfriend said that the look on my face, as I handed the crayon back to the mother, should have caused the entire table to turn to salt and crumble away. People! I wasn't really mad at the kid, but his adult entourage needed to have their butts kicked.
  22. valentina
    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?
  23. valentina

    Dream On

    By valentina,

    Since my previous entry was a prolonged rant, I'm doing another entry to lighten up the mood, and it's on one of my more favorite subjects.
     
    I turned on TV last night and there on the screen was some absurd CBS 4th of July special, featuring Boston Pops doing a live outdoor concert. But when I turned it on, Aerosmith was playing along with the Boston Pops. What? I guess the Aerosmith boys came from the Boston area. But it was surreal, to say the least. First of all, these days, Steven Tyler has a tighter face than his daughter Liv. It does not look especially flattering on him -- a bit too much work, I think. But I could have lived with that, had he sounded halfway normal. Oh my hell, his voice made the menacing cat scream-growl noise uttered by Puddin' Tom sound like the song of a lark. Tyler at his best never had a resonant or clarion-clear rock star voice, but this was off-key and vocal chord polyp-inducing squalling. I nearly hit the mute right away. Actually, I did so when he started to hack his way through "Dream On." It was just too sad.
     
    But Joe Perry was, well, Joe Perry. He and Steven did look like they got into a Clairol frost 'n tip hair highlight system together, but I like the way it looks on Joe. (Do I dislike they way anything looks on Joe? Probably not.) Joe has two big platinum blonde streaks running on either side of his part, and it looks rather dramatic, as if he needs any more drama and presence.
     
    Poor Steven Tyler was working very hard to keep the energy and drama focused on him, and all Joe had to do was stand there, play the guitar and toss his head around. If you got it, you got it.
     
    ETA: OK, I just read that Steven Tyler was "fresh from surgery on his vocal chords," so that's why he sounded so bad. But that's like getting a liver transplant and going out and drinking shots a month after you've been released from the hospital! Rest your voice, Steven.
  24. valentina
    Hell, I have all sorts of time at work now... I can go back to reading poetry and posting favorite poems, so for all of you that detest poetry, just sign off now. And it's spring, so let's be romantic as hell, at least for a moment or two. Then I'll get real, but still in a romantic way. So for all you lovers out there, here's two ways to look at it.
     
    A mushy poem that I love, by E.E. Cummings:
    i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
    my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
    i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
    by only me is your doing,my darling)
    i fear
    no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
    no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
    and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
    and whatever a sun will always sing is you
     
    here is the deepest secret nobody knows
    (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
    and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
    higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
    and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
     
    i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
     
    And a not-so-mushy poem by Wallace Stevens:
    The night knows nothing of the chants of night.
    It is what it is as I am what I am:
    And in perceiving this I best perceive myself
     
    And you. Only we two may interchange
    Each in the other what each has to give.
    Only we two are one, not you and night,
     
    Nor night and I, but you and I, alone,
    So much alone, so deeply by ourselves,
    So far beyond the casual solitudes,
     
    That night is only the background of our selves,
    Supremely true each to its separate self,
    In the pale light that each upon the other throws.
     
     
    And you know, maybe they aren't so different, after all...
  25. valentina

    Siren Song

    By valentina,

    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.
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