Just nice

In a recent post, "Perfume lust", I was practically moaning with, well, lust, for Annick Goutal's Encens Flamboyant. Here's the description from the Annick Goutal website:

A mystical, arousing and intense scent.
An ode to frankincense, masterfully blended in three formats: Frankincense essence emerges first, a distillation of tears of frankincense, whose ethereal and mineral freshness evoke cold stone. Black pepper and rose berry bring a pungency and edginess.

Then comes frankincense resinoid, a warm and balmy scent, steeped in precious spices, cardamom and nutmeg. Finally, "Vieille église" frankincense deliciously burnt and warmed by woody balsam fir, welcoming and sweet, and pure extract of lentisque. Drawn from arid vegetation, it is also used in Kiphi, the prized Pharaonic perfume.

Now, I'm not usually swayed by ad copy, but this caused me to feel weak in the knees. I wanted some and wanted it badly. It's hard to find a good incense smell. I love L'artisan's Passage D'enfer, but wouldn't mind a change now and again. But at $175 for a bottle of this stuff, I could only yearn and hope that it would wind up on Ebay or some discount perfume store sometime in the future.

As I write this, I am now wearing some of this precious stuff, the supposedly flamboyant incense. It is a nice scent. That's it. Nice.

Don't you think for one hundred and seventy five bucks it should be a bit better than nice?

But I'm not rich, so what do I know? One hundred and seventy five bucks is chump change to one of the CEOs of Lehman Brothers, even if they've just lost their business. Perhaps some discouraged banker bought a bottle of this stuff for his wife on his way home from work -"Here, honey. Things aren't as bad as they seem. I got you a bottle of perfume!"

Hell, one hundred and seventy five bucks doesn't even get two people a good meal at the kind of restaurant a person who worked at Lehman Brothers would go to after a day of work. (Oh, I keep forgetting that someone who is middle-class makes 250K).

And you thought this was a perfume review?

Well, it is.

Encens Flamboyant is nice, and I'd certainly wear it. It is to my taste. It certainly is an incense fragrance. It lacks any hint of head shop (and at that price, it darn well better). I can smell the "burnt" frankincense and that is, again, nice.

Now that I've tried it, I can see why it doesn't come in smaller bottles. It is pretty weak. I needed to use half the vial (.5ml) to really smell the stuff, and I don't think I'm suffering from any anosmia.

So, there it is, folks. The big letdown. I'm glad for it. What if I had fallen in love?

Painting note: Edouard Manet Nana 1877
Would this woman wear something Flamboyant? I think not. She'd wear something nice.

Addendum: Thank you, Nika, for sending me a sample.
Also: I realize it was sexist of me to assume that a businessman might buy some of this for his wife, so I'll add: Perhaps at the end of the day, after hearing that she'd lost her job, some businesswoman at Lehman Brothers decided to walk uptown from Wall Street and stopped in at Aedes de Venustas on Christopher Street to cheer herself up with a new scent. It would be a shame if this is what she had settled on.
And no, I don't get anything for consistently linking to this wonderful store (sigh). And I presume I won't get anything for giving this scent such a pathetic review, will I?

Addendum II: Last night, the Encens Flamboyant seemed to fade away to near nothing. As I'm having a lazy Sunday morning and haven't had a shower yet, I notice its lingering scent. I would have bet good money that this scent would only be a memory the next day (and I would have lost). So, what did I do? Put some more on. It seems fitting on this terribly gray and rainy Autumn day.

Usually, I wake up with a stuffy nose. This morning my sense of smell seems more acute than normal. Was I indeed suffering from a bit of anosmia last night? Or perhaps one needs even more of this juice to really smell it. I didn't quite apply an entire .5 ml of the stuff yesterday - it was just an estimate - but now the vial is indeed half empty (or half full, as the happier person would say). Still, after one more application, it shall be gone, and it will not be replaced.

Addendum III: 4:10pm Uh oh. I felt a strong desire to apply more (and I did). This morning, while I was meditating, I felt keenly aware of the scent. This is not a good thing! Now I associate it with meditation, so I find it calming. Maybe I should ask my doctor for a prescription. I don't know how much street drugs cost, but what can one buy for around 60 dollars an ounce?

One more thing (and then, hopefully, I'll be done with this!): It does smell quite a bit like the super cheap incense I burn in my meditation room - Nippon Kodo's Morning Star Pine ($7.50 for 200 sticks). The Goutal doesn't smell like balsam fir and the real incense doesn't smell like pine. . .maybe it is me (and my poor untrained nose).

Addendum IV! I do smell the balsam. Last night, as I was falling asleep, with my hand pressed up against my face, I realized I was wondering "What ever happened to the little bag of balsam needles that I used to have?" Sniff. Sniff. It was my wrist sending me that thought. When the incense finally fades, there it is: balsam.

The end.

Are my babbling days over?

I doubt it. However, I haven't felt the desire to blog as often as I used to.

As a reader of blogs, I know it's nice to see a new entry (or more) each day. And judging from my blog stats, I can see my readership is down. So, have you all caught up? There's a large amount of entries here, and the majority of them are not topical.

Jaime suggested I write about shoes, socks and mittens. I've written about shoes and mittens before, and there are even drawings of shoes (see the tag "EIIIProduct" in the sidebar). I started writing about socks last night and wound up deleting the entry. I guess I've got some sort of writer's block. Normally, I could write about socks for hours if I didn't stop myself. Last night, writing about anything was about as difficult and not worth the effort as trying to squeeze the last little bit of toothpaste out of its tube.

And normally, I'd now be writing about toothpaste. But that stream of consciousness has dried up, for now. I have no doubt that I'll be back to my normal babbly self at some point. When? I make no promises!

And now, a little story:

Last week, I was wearing Annick Goutal's Encens Flamboyant. Dick and I were standing in front of an open cupboard. I guess we were looking for food. Of course, that has nothing to do with anything, except to explain that we were in close proximity to each other.

He asked me, "Do you smell something burning?" I answered, "No." He then said, "Well, it's not really a burning smell. It's more like the smell of a dryer sheet." I told him I had just put on some perfume. I offered my wrist for him to smell. He wasn't sure if that was the smell he was smelling. And that was the end of that, for him.

It wasn't the end of it for me, however. I kept sniffing my wrist and asking myself, "Does this smell like Bounce or Snuggle or whatever the name of our dryer sheets are?" And the answer was a resounding "Yes."

Because I'm terribly lazy, I just googled "Snuggle" to see if the box looked familiar. Dick and I raced each other to see who'd find it first. He won. And Snuggle is the brand we use. I don't know why. I do like the way it makes the clothing smell.

And though I would assume that Annick Goutal would be nearly horrified to discover that Encens Flamboyant smells like a dryer sheet, it does. It's not a duplicate, but there's a definate similiarity. I think that only a nose who can differentiate between manufactured scent molecules would be able to explain this similarity.

Today, after I put my clothes in the dryer, along with a sheet of Snuggle, I had a strong urge to wear the fragrance that will now be forever linked to the mundane task of clothes washing. Do you think that Snuggle could be described as having "a mystical, arousing and intense scent?" That's the opening sentence of the Encens Flamboyant description. As for Snuggle, the original fragrance is only described as "fresh" and "clean". But, wait (and wow!) the Snuggle website says "Snuggle - on a mission for upliftment."

I didn't think that "upliftment" was a real word, but I found it in Merriam Webster's Dictionary. Is there something wrong with sentence? I was going to say that I didn't care for the sentiment, but that's not true. I'd be a hypocrite and a snob if I thought that only top of the line perfume had the power to lift one's spirits. After all, I'm the one who bought the Snuggle dryer sheets.

Photo note: I find the official Snuggle bear a bit creepy. Maybe it's because he (she?) has an open mouth. I can't think of another reason. The Snuggle bear is pretty classic in every other way. Since I like stuffed bears, here's a photograph of one I do like. I found it here.

I am fickle

It wasn't exactly summer when I wrote about my indifferent response to Annick Goutal's Encens Flamboyant, but we did have an unusally warm Fall until about a week ago.

I've gone from indifference to true love. A lovely woman was, well, lovely enough to send me a 1ml vial of the Annick Goutal scent, which I have enough left of for one day's wearing. I am nearly bereft!

Note: Hyperbole is essential when writing about perfume.

A perfume I had truly loved, L'artisan Parfumeur's Passage D'enfer has fallen off my adoration list, replaced by Encens Flamboyant. They are quiet similar, but what I once loved about the former, I now find flat.

I had previously said it was dry without being dusty. Now I smell dust. I had thought, "Oh, I liked it when it was warm out, but now it's cold." Not true! Just read this post, and you'll see how fickle I can be.

Really, I was positive that my change of heart had to do with the weather. It makes sense. Passage D'enfer is such a dry fragrance, without any warmth. So, it would stand to reason that as the weather gets colder, I'd not want to wear it. But the truth is exposed in old posts (many of them, in fact). My taste has changed. Pure and simple.

I had hoped that I'd be able to obtain some Encens Flamboyant on Ebay by 9:00pm today, but the expert bidders will outdo me by a penny every time. I have never won any auction on that site. Maybe someday this particular Annick Goutal will wind up on one of the big perfume discounter's sites, but I suspect that by then, I'll have moved on to loving some other incense fragrance.

Painting note: Giovanni Bellini
Naked Young Woman in Front of a Mirror 1515

Yet another side blog

I've had a side blog before and I let it go. Well, I started another one a few weeks ago. It's called "Just looking." You'll see it in my blogroll - see, I'm a fan!

The only reason I'm doing this is because if I have a blog "on Sugar", I have access to all the Getty images that are copyrighted. I thought perhaps I'd move this blog other there, but Sugar is just not as good as Blogger.

Not much to check out on that site yet. A few more pics of Dior's stunning red gown that I've posted about here. An interesting black gown by an unknown designer (and if anyone knows who, please leave a comment). And three bottles of Annick Goutal's Encens Flamboyant. They do have a great image editor, but I haven't quite figured it out yet.

Image note: Portrait Of A Lady In A Yellow And Black Gown Adorned With Lilies Holding A Black Bird, 1901, by Ilya Efimovich Repin
The new blog is about fashion and art. I stay rather mum. Sounds impossible? Not in the least.

Perfume lust

If any of you happen to have 750 bucks that you are dying to get rid of, I really would like Annick Goutal's Les Orientalistes, a trio of three new perfumes. If that's a bit steep, I'll settle for the three without the leather gift box. That'll be three times one hundred and seventy five, which is, uh, um. . .well, three times one hundred and seventy five. . .(there's no calculator on this PC). . .here's the way I do it in my head:
150 times 3 is 100 times 3 (300) and 75 times 3, which is 50 times 3 (150) plus 75. . .so we have 300 + 150, which is 450 plus 50 (500) plus 25, which equals 525. Is that right? Okay, I got the calculator and it is indeed correct. Now you have a good idea about why it takes me so long to do math without a pen or paper, if I can even remember what the heck I was trying to calculate (or if you could even follow that or wished to).

Unfortunately for me, I am on the Aedes de Venustas mailing list, and so tonight I get the big announcement that these new Goutal fragrances are out. They sound luscious. Just their names are drool producing (oh, I know that's not a nice image for ya): Ambre Fetiche, Encens Flamboyant (which just reading about almost hurts, it sounds so beautiful), and Myrrhe Ardente. . .oh, please! Why don't they sell them in small sizes? ". . .Frankincense deliciously burnt and warmed by woody balsam fir. . ." Oh, my heart aches! My nostrils are flaring! If this isn't lust, what is?

Yes, this post is incoherent! I know! But it's okay, 'cause I can't go crazy and buy even one. Ha, this makes me think of a movie I saw recently called "Klepto" in which a shoplifting twenty-something girl's mother is a shopaholic. Well, I have neither the opportunity to steal a bottle of Annick Goutal nor buy one, so I will not be acting out any time soon (so don't worry).

I wonder if any of these scents are as good as the ad copy. Go read it. If you are moved by words and you know what any of the notes in these scents actually are, you will be thinking similar thoughts (or perhaps running up your credit card debt).

Photo note: That pink leather box is not worth the extra two hundred and twenty five dollars, so please don't bother with it, whoever my prince or princess may be (hey, I can indulge in absurd fantasies, can't I?)

Addendum: How embarassing! These aren't even new! They're new to Aedes, but not to the rest of the perfume world. There's a review from Bois de Jasmin, from way back on May 28th. I could cover my mistake and delete this post, but I am not ashamed. Okay, I am. Well, shame is a strong word. I'm just out of the loop. . .c'mon, I do live in Maine. I should be out of the loop! That's sounds about right. Even though I'm on line nearly all the time, I shouldn't know the latest in anything! I live in the middle of nowhere!

Okay, I'll calm down and stop putting exclamation marks on the end of my sentences. And yes, I know, they weren't much in the way of sentences half the time. It's been a weird day. I'm entitled to a seriously poorly written and incoherent post once in a while! (oops, there's another exclamation point) Good night.

Changing taste

Fall has arrived. Though it crept up slowly, it feels as if it's all so sudden. This morning is gray and there is a blanket of leaves upon the ground. Last night, as with all the nights in the last week, I was keenly aware of how early it became dark out, and the reality that soon it will be nearly dark at 3:30 in the afternoon is starting to set in.

When the weather changes, my taste in fragrance usually changes along with it. This season something else has changed. I've pulled out some of my favorites and their charms eluded me. My love of frankincense seems to have left me. In spite of that, Serge Lutens' new Fille en Aiguilles tempts with it's promise of a sweeter version of L'Artisan Passage D'Enfer.

Thankfully, I can't afford such a splurge, nor would I jump at a unsniffed purchase of a scent composed of notes I may have lost my taste for. I do wonder why some fragrances that had transported me fairly recently have lost their spell-binding allure, or simply their comforting familiarity. I'm not one given to fickleness. I suspect something larger is going on. Hormones?

We know so little about the sense of smell. I know that smell has a profound effect on me. It always has, from a whiff of something bringing back forgotten memories and images, to my first experience of falling in love, and remembering the revelation of burying my face in my 16-year-old boyfriend's neck and feeling literally weak in the knees. The word "swoon", bandied around in romantic writing, is certainly real. There are those who've never swooned, and I feel a bit sorry for them. It is delightful, and a bit frightening in the way the experience reminds the conscious mind that it's not entirely in control.

I nearly swooned the first time I smelled Annick Goutal's Encens Flamboyant, and now it's leaving me cold. I quickly posited "hormones?" and left us all hanging. Yes, I suspect it might be hormones. I'm going through the big change, the unmentionable mid-life menopausal thang (and there, I've mentioned it). It wouldn't surprise me in the least if this could cause immense changes in taste in one's sense of smell. It is times like this I wish I was a researcher. I feel quite sure of my thesis, and I'd love to prove it.

In lieu of that, I've only myself to test my hypothesis out on, and my few readers. Anyone else experience sudden changes in taste and smell? I suspect any large life changes can trigger them, and certainly changes in weather and season seem to always do so.

Image note: Frankincense (Boswelia). I knew Frankincense was a resin, but of what I was ignorant. Go here to read about its processing and history in detail.

Dakota prefers Jicky

On Friday, a friend was over, and I told her about how Jicky had perked me up. She'd never sniffed it, so she did, and put a bit on her wrist. I also mentioned to her that I was enjoying Sarah Jessica Parker's Covet, much to my surprise, and that I had picked up an ounce of it at TJ Maxx for five bucks. So, she put a bit of that on her other wrist.

She told me that when she got home, her dog, Dakota, kept sniffing the wrist with Jicky on it. She completely ignored the Coveted wrist.

Jicky has a basenote of civet. It can't be the real thing for it's no longer 1889. If I'm wrong, someone please correct me. But the scent molecule for civet is there. Can Dakota recognize that? Or perhaps Dakota just prefers Jicky,for she's a dog of very good taste.

As for my reviewing Covet, I won't. I seem to have lost the ability to say more than "I like it" or "I don't like it."

Today's scent is Annick Goutal's Encens Flamboyant. I like it.

Photo note: Dakota, with a cow's hoof in her mouth.

I finally have a writing block (sort of)

I'm having trouble thinking up things I want to blog about. I've written this before, and was sent many good suggestions. But, where are they? I should spend a bit of time searching for them. I remember saying, "Great suggestion! I'll do it!" So, I will. I promise.

Lately, though, I've been feeling like a lousy writer. Don't bother to leave a comment telling me that I'm not. I know I'm not. It's just the way I'm feeling. I do believe in the aphorism "feelings aren't facts", and I'm glad I do, for it saves me a lot of grief.

Facebook, I have to admit, is eating up a lot of my blogging time. I just joined a few weeks ago, and I'm in the honeymoon period. It's been more fun that I could ever have imagined re-meeting old friends from childhood. My childhood is a time and place that I've tried to run away from, so it's wonderful to discover that I have some good memories and that the people I was friends with have grown up to be such interesting adults. The only downside to the conversations I've had with these old friends is my constantly answering "No" to any question that starts with the words "Do you remember when?"

I actually love the silliness of Facebook. Oh, I'm sure there's a serious side, but I'm not seeing it. I've been enjoying designing quizzes for friends to take. They all seem terribly narcissistic, with titles like "How well do you know me" and "How alike are we?", but I'm learning more about the people taking the tests (since I see the answers) than they do about me. It's a hoot!

If someone would give me a job writing quizzes, I'd be delighted. Hello? Anyone hear that?!

So, maybe my writing creativity is being eaten up by quiz writing. I dunno.

I do need some new perfumes to write about. But I'm afraid that no scents will compare to the ones I love dearly. But I can still live in hope. After all, one of favorites came out in 2008 (Goutal's Encens Flamboyant). But, it's a long shot that anything new and exciting will be produced. I know there's plenty of perfume geniuses out there, but how new can anything be? It might be time for me to explore Christopher Brosius' I Hate Perfume a bit more. He is the embodiment of creativity. But, I don't really like wearing his scents. I like sniffing them. "Forest Floor" is a fascinating scent, but I don't want to smell of dirt and mushrooms. Well, sometimes I do, actually, but that's the beautiful scent of having just worked in the garden.

I see that this post is getting longish, and the title says I have a writing block. I do. This is not a coherent post - it's just me rambling about what just happens to be on my mind at this moment.

Now that I am aware of that, I'm stopping. You didn't come here to read my diary. And if you happen to remember what fantastic idea you had for me, one to which I said "Great! I'll write about that ASAP!!", please remind me. I'm lazy.

Painting note: Arshile Gorky. Diary of a Seducer, 1945. Oil on canvas, 126.7 x 157.5 cm. The Museum of Modern Art, New York.© 2007 Estate of Arshile Gorky/Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York.

I don't care much for this painting. The reason I posted it? I googled "diary" and it came up. So, I figured I'd put up an image that I wasn't wild for, and see if anyone else likes it. Do you? If so, I'd like to know what about it moves you.

A few good links

This seems almost incestuous, but check out Smells Like Boi's "clumsily written love letter" to one of my favorite scents, Annick Goutal's Encens Flamboyant.

Please read this post at Now Smell This, on the impending death of perfumery.

Photo note: Lately, I've been rather taken with a bit of bling. I may even purchase a pair of eyeglass frames that have a few rhinestones on them. And, I've been wearing a gold link watch. I wonder if I should start worrying about myself.

Addendum: And don't forget, if you want a fix of pure fluff, check out my other blog, Just Looking.

Now that I have calmed down some. . .

My favorite scent is one that is quite inexpensive: the smell of sheep. I just had my wristers on, along with a fresh spritz of Passage D'enfer. Giacobetti probably never thought of the combination of damp wool, frankincense and myrrh, but to me it is sheer heaven.

I dearly would love to try any of the Annick Goutal fragrances that I waxed imbecilic about in the last post. I did indeed feel lust, covetousness and envy. I could go to Hell for this, couldn't I?

It's interesting to me that in spite of growing up in a wealthy suburb of New York City, I still find it astounding that people can indeed go out and buy 750 bucks worth of perfume on a whim.

When I was in my late twenties, I took over my mother's clothing store in the same suburb (Great Neck) that I grew up in. On Saturdays and late afternoons, girls who were in High School would work at the store. One girl, who didn't last very long, was working because her parents felt it was "good for her". She certainly didn't need the money. I remember nothing physical about her, not her height, nor her hair color or even her name, but I do remember the huge fight she had with her mother one day. During a break, she bought a handbag at the shop down the street. The bag, as I remember, was 450 dollars. When her mother stopped in to see what her daughter had purchased, she went ballistic, right there in the store. The mother was screaming. The daughter was screaming. Mom thought it was crazy that her daughter had spent so much. Honestly, I hadn't thought she had overdone it, for the girl had a BMW or Mercedes convertible or something like that. But Mom went on and on, yelling hysterically. The store was filled with people and we all stood around like innocent bystanders (which I suppose we were). At some point the daughter started in on the mother, saying "You and Dad spent 100,000 dollars in the last month and noone thought it was a big deal!" That's when Mom left the store. I guess the girl was right about the family spending habits. I was left wondering "What did they spent that money on and why did she know about it?"

A few years ago, I remember reading an article about a lawyer who wrote letters to musicians who were spending huge sums of money on overpriced bling. Perhaps it was in New Yorker magazine. I wish I could remember. It was a funny article, though somewhat sad in a way. His sole job was to point out to the newly wealthy that buying a 10,000 dollar watch may not be the smartest of moves if you might wind up being a one hit wonder.

Not having cable TV (and living in one of the poorest places in this country), I'm not generally exposed to ostentatious displays of wealth. I once watched a bit of "Cribs" and gaped as I listened to some (one hit wonder) female rapper show us her shoe and bag collection. She didn't say anything like "Oh, look at these beautiful shoes. I just love them!" She said, "Look at these shoes. They cost 5000 dollars. Wow!"

This is one reason why I always had a bit of a problem with watching "Sex and the City". How many Manolo Blahniks do you think a newspaper columnist can afford in one month? Yes, this is an old question, for the show's been over for years, but it still troubles me.

Ah, well, I notice that a few fragrance discounters sell Annick Goutal scents, and in a few years Encens Flamboyant will be old news and heavily discounted (I hope).

Photo note: One Shetland sheep (which sounds wrong in the singular), courtesy of the North American Sheepbreeders Association. Shetlands are great sheep with lots of personality, colors and, of course, that yummy sheep smell (and I don't mean when cooking 'em).

An oddly great day

Both a preface and an addendum: I wrote this on Friday and took it down sometime over the weekend. I felt badly that I hadn't thanked a number of people who have graced my life in person. I also thought "no more diary-like entries." Now I'm re-posting it, without any changes:

Today is my birthday. I woke up, had a shower, and Dick drove me to the emergency room. On the way there, I noticed I had a lottery scratch ticket in my bag. Once in a while I buy a bingo card, because they take some time to do, and I have a good time calling out the numbers if I'm alone or in my head if I'm not (okay, sometimes I do this when I'm not alone). I have never won my two bucks back. Don't get all excited yet. I only won ten dollars. But it seemed like a good sign.

The hospital waiting room was blissfully empty. I only waited five minutes before I was seen. I stepped out to use the restroom, and when I came back, the doctor was there. He said something like "you seem quite mobile" in an accusatory voice. I was immediately on edge. The night before, I was in agony, but I knew I could get through it, and honestly, emergency rooms are usually nightmares after midnight. I'd prefer to suffer at home.

I didn't feel all that bad this morning, comparatively, but I knew I was getting worse, not better, and as I don't have a doctor's appointment until the 22nd, it was back to the ER.

Around here, and I suppose probably all over this country, people go to the ER with headaches and backaches, just to get drugs. So, I suppose seeing someone who said they were in so much pain looked suspicious.

But, this particular doctor was listening. I explained what had been going and he took me seriously. He seemed positive that he knew what the problem was. He wasn't going to slough me off on someone else. He said he was going to give me an injection in my spine. I asked, "Will that hurt?" "Not to me", he answered. I had to laugh. I said, "When I was a tattooist, I used to say that to everyone." Then he asked me if I knew this old tattooist, who had died years ago, which I did, and we talked about him for a while. It occurred to me later that this guy was smart enough to realize that a person who's heavily tattooed would not complain of so much pain if they didn't mean it (well, unless they were looking for drugs). But I wasn't. I was looking for help. The pain and numbness patterns all told a story that he understood, because, for once, someone was really paying attention.

I got my shot ("I guess you must be really scared of needles") and as the medication spread into my spine, the pain went down a couple of notches, even in places where I can't remember ever not having pain. I have had this pain for most of my life, and I have never had appropriate medical attention. I got used to it. I did a lot of yoga. I stopped bothering with doctors. But then, it got so bad I couldn't do any physical activity.

You don't need to hear the whole story, do you?

The thing is, I had a lovely day. I really did. After we got out of the ER, Dick and I went to a real hole-in-the-wall Lebanese restaurant where the food wasn't dumbed down for Yankees. I felt like I had left the country for an hour. I had a falafel and hummus sandwich on home-made pita bread. It was spicey and tasted like there might be an entire head of garlic in it.

Afterwards, I got a haircut. I looked a wreck; pale, bags under my eyes, exhausted. My hair even looked exhausted. I've dyed it one too many times and it's been completely robbed of any luster. No hope for it at all. In the past, I would have just shaved my head (see last post) but I felt like doing something new. A real "style". Quite frankly, it's awful. I'll never be able to do whatever the hairdresser did with that huge round brush and a blow dryer. Eh, it's only hair. I had a good time having someone wash my hair with some insanely fruity shampoo and being around folks who all seemed so animated. I said that the shampoo smelled nice. "Do you want to purchase some?" "No, it doesn't match my perfume" I was exhausted when we were through. I suppose staring in the mirror at my lusterless hair and tired face wore me out. And, I had been at the ER for almost three hours. But, I had to stop and buy a hairbrush.

We made one last stop to for birdseed and suet and headed home.

My mailbox was filled with goodies; a bottle of Annick Goutal Encens Flamboyant and another free book from Amazon, "The Housekeeper and the Professor" by Yoko Ogawa. This looks like it's going to be the first of four books I've received that I can actually read. The rest have been duds. An awful lot of junk is published, and I suspect an awful lot of good writing is not. Who are these editors?

We ate avocados and sourdough bread for dinner. I adore avocados, and they seem almost decadent when it's twenty degrees outside. What a pleasure.

I discovered dear TMC put up a birthday wish for the entire world wide web to see. This touched me greatly. I have met many wonderful people on the Web. I read and hear so much about the "bad side" of the Web, but you can find something bad in everything. I want to give my thanks for all of you I've met here. You are all special, and have enriched my life. Hyperbole? Perhaps, but tonight I think not.

And with that, my day ends. An odd day, not one that is the picture postcard of what a birthday might be like, but it was a very beautiful day in its way. And I want to thank my partner, Dick, for being the kind human being that he is. He gave me a card with a photo of two young girls playing dress up. Inside, besides the personal stuff, he wrote, "I'm the one on the right." The personal stuff is personal. Yes, some things still are.

Painting note: Jan Steen The Doctor's Visit 1626

Addendum: I also wore my brand new replacement bra. But I'll save that story for another post.

One last apology before my resolution to stop being an apologist

I never do make New Year's resolutions, actually. But, if I did, here's what they'd be: Stop being an apologist. Embrace my disdain for American "culture" without becoming embittered. Protest loudly, hopefully without the stridency that turns people off. Do more. Make more. Reject the constraints of a society that tries to enforce normalcy. Finally accept myself for my slippery personality. Finally accept my disabilities while embracing my strengths. Work harder for myself and others. Listen to my inner voice, which is usually "right" and not do what's "sensible", which is usually wrong (at least for me). Speak up for those who can't. Do not live out of fear. Listen more carefully to others.

Did I forget what my last apology is? Hmmm. Oh yes - it's this: Sorry to all of you who come to this blog expecting only interesting tidbits about perfume, crafts, rural life, and nothing "lurid" or angry. There's anger in me. As much as I see the good in everyone (and I do), I have been trying to sublimate the part of me that sees just how much this so-called society hurts many. Assimilate or be punished! I do not live in an urban ghetto of acceptance of all people. If I did, it would be fairly safe to be as I am and say and do what I want. Folks who live in places like I do keep their mouths shut and their lives a secret, for the most part, or have assimilated to the point of being "acceptable enough." To those who don't, my apologies for generalizing, and my congratulations to you.

As part of the "last apology" (though I'm sure I'll make what the 12-steppers call "a slip"), here's a perfume story for y'all:

Way back in the early summer, I popped into Marshall's to check out their often interesting sale table. On it was a bottle of Annick Goutal's Neroli and two bottles of Armani Prive Eau de Jade. They were both $22 bucks. I was basically broke during this time and I figured if it wasn't under twelve dollars, I'd pass. One bottle of the Armani was open and I surreptitiously sprayed a bit on my wrist. Then I got in the car and started driving home.

I loved the smell. I kept bringing my hand up to my nose. I have a predisposition to thinking anything Armani is junk, so I found it hard to believe how much I was enjoying the scent. After driving for about ten minutes, I considered turning around and going back to buy a bottle. I did not. It seemed silly. By the time I got home, unfortunately, I was in love with the scent. So, I called Marshall's up and asked them to reserve a bottle for me. Unfortunately, exactly one half hour after I left, they marked down everything on the sale table to ten bucks and all the perfume was gone (except for the Elizabeth Taylor dreck).

The next morning, I called every Marshalls and TJ Maxx in the state. I kid you not. I'm always looking for a scent that truly intoxicates me and I had done so. I needed it. Yeah, I know it's a type of compulsion. I have plenty of nice perfume. But if you're reading this, you probably know what I'm talking about. I really needed that juice.

Hey, others have much worse habits. In fact, in retrospect, I realize I spent far less on my compulsions than the average beer drinker or cigarette smoker. Ten to twenty bucks a week on fiber and perfume is not much. But I digress.

I googled the Armani Prive Eau de Jade and found many a bad review of the stuff, with comments galore, saying how much many folks absolutely love it. It's a fairly straightforward scent: "A citrus-aromatic scent with notes of bergamot, spices, bourbon vanilla and Tunisian neroli." It feels to me like a strong traditional men's cologne but with more heft.

The kicker of knowing that I could have gotten two bottles for ten bucks a pop if I had loitered in the store is finding out that this stuff is listed for $185 and discounted for about $140. That's out of my league. Pleas for in on MUA produced nothing. Ebay disappointed, as usual. I thought of all the folks who had scooped it up at Marshalls across the country and were now selling it for over a hundred bucks on the aforementioned Ebay and wanted to kick myself and kick myself hard. I also wanted the Goutal Neroli. As ubiquitous as neroli is, I love the stuff, and if I can find anything that is good with neroli in it, I want it. Ah, well, one can't have everything. As for fragrances, there's many I want to get my grubby little hands on that I can't: Nasomatto China White, Neil Morris' Spectral Violet (and many of his vault scents), various Lutens (all the overpriced ones, of course), the new Artisans, a bottle of Chanel Les Exclusifs Cologne. And these are just off the top of my head. I've stopped paying much attention to the perfume blogs, for the most part. The "stage one" symptoms of perfume addiction were relatively benign and easy to satisfy. Freebies and little samples were all welcome. Everything was new and interesting. Now, everything I want is harder to find. The swaps I'm offered on the boards are never met with anything interesting. No, I don't want to swap my Lutens for your Victoria's Secret perfume. And no one has any Ginestet Le Boise, another perfume I adore. How many little vials of it can I procure? I yell at myself in my head: use up what you have! Well, I will.

This short story has become quite long. Anyway, for my birthday, I decided I must get myself some of the Armani. Of all the scents on my lust list, I figured it would be the easiest to find at an affordable price, and it turned out I was correct. I finally got lucky on Ebay where I usually am not. There happened to be three auctions ending in the same hour for the stuff, and one of them was for a refill (which doesn't have the lovely jade stone on top). Sure, I'd love that nice box with the stone, but since I keep my fragrances in the boxes, why should I covet that? I bid $25.01 and called it a day, figuring I'd be outbid and that'd be the end of it. Much to my surprise, I wasn't, as the stoned-topped boxes wound up being sold for close to retail. People want the flourishes, don't they? Good for them, and good for me.

To top off the pleasure, the seller sent it to me priority mail and I got it a day after my birthday. Thank you, whoever you are. I've been wearing it every day since. I can't help myself. I passed it by for Christmas and wore Goutal's Myrrh Ardente instead. Oddly, my once-loved Encens Flamboyant has lost its charms and the Myrrh scent has crept up on me. Okay, add that to the list. My sample vial has enough for one more dose (oh, I mean application).

And so, that brings my perfume update to a close. I hope it softens the new harshness of my blog. Hey, that's me. Soft, hard, nice, cruel, forgiving, angry, understanding, intolerant. We're all made up of contradictions. Some find it intolerable in others and in themselves. Some are blind to the parts of their personality that don't "fit" with their sense of self. I hope, at least, that I'm not completely blind to my faults. I know I can be a bore, that I'm not attentive enough, that I'm both oversensitive and insensitive at the same time (which can be truly confusing), and that I can be overly needy. Need more resolutions? I'm working on it. I think we're all capable of change, even up to the day we die. Most people harden like arteries by the time they hit the grand old age of 30. I am grateful that I did not, and never plan to.

Enough about me. What are your grand plans for the teenage years of the 21st century? I hope this adolescent period will bring about great changes that adolescence usually elicits, and I'm keeping my fingers crossed that I'm right.

Photo note: Self-explanatory, I should hope.