So my newest obsession/hobby is: perfume. Not the kind that we used to always smell at Rite-Aid before church, the alchohol based florals, walking through the mists of their testers in order to avoid having to buy a bottle. No. Those are generally yucky.
A friend of mine (someone who has become more dear to me since leaving Hippietown...that's the way these things go) got me into 'smellies.' Perfumes and bath products, to be more specific, the offerings of online companies such as Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab, Villainess, Violette Market...there are a few more, but I may post them at a later date. Mixtures of oils with names you might not want your mom to see, scrubs that make your mouth water and save you the step of having to reach for your lotion...it all lays before me, just a few clicks away.
I've been keeping a photo journal (?) of my collection and I hope to update it as it grows, to show how these things happen. I've seen pictures of people's 'stashes,' and I almost feel like an idiot admiting to how few I have. But these collections all started somewhere, and I wanted to show how mine grows, though I sincerely hope my collection never reaches the numbers of some of the ones I've seen. I mean, I'd like to help Sopi get through college.
Why am I, a generally frumpy, somewhat grumpy housefrau drawn to this? Well, first and foremost, it means I get to collect tiny things. I've always had a slight obsession with collecting small containers and this basically satisfies it and justifies it since each tiny container has something inside that is worth something. My collection mostly consists of samples (referred to as 'imps,' 'decants,' 'petals'...depending on what site you're on) which are lovingly labeled 1ml amounts of various perfumes. I get to keep them in a grey ammo box at the moment and there is a slight feeling of opening a treasure box when I pop open the lid and gaze down at them, inhaling the aroma of flowers, resins, herbs and other olfactory substances. The bottles that I have are also small (a few inches, tops) and have labels that range from mundane to awesome. They are also glass and boy howdy, do I love a small, glass bottle.
Then there is the 'fake chemist' aspect. Sometimes the descriptions of the perfumes (BPAL and Possets in particular) drive me insane (what the **** does a 'star lit sky' smell like?!). But there are the moments when your brain and nose 'pop' and you say, 'aaaaah...cypress. Perfect.' Applying the oil methodically to one's wrist (that's how I'm doing it, as I'm still testing a lot of imps right now), sniffing the bottle, sniffing your wrist to see how it reacts with your skin/body chemistry, waiting a few minutes and seeing how it has transformed...this is fun and interesting. I wonder why some people can wear 'Strangler Fig' and they get fruit but I put it on and it's just freaking plastic. Or how something can smell like old ladies at first and then awesome, wolfy greatness the next? There is a bit of a thrill when you read through the notes of a new perfume and you wonder, 'oh man, will that be as awesome on me as I HOPE?!'
Then there is the community of people. I hear pokemon can get like this but at least for BPAL and a few others, there are great communties online of people who are swapping and selling, trying to spread the gospel of occasionally wanting to make sweet love to your wrist (Countess Willie, hello!). Everyone I've dealt with has been VERY nice and a lot of these businesses are small affairs with just a few people, hand mixing and designing smells for the pleasure of themselves and other people and *that* is a good thing. A lot of these retailers are personable, have families and gift their buyers as an act of goodwill. When was the last time you bought something from amazon and they included a free chapter of a book? Uh, never. And the people who trade (as hobbies, not to make money mind you) are also generaous with their giving as well., lovingly and carefully wrapping their offerings in bubble wrap, sending their babies off with only Delivery Confirmation to guide them to their new homes.
I will confess: this shit ain't free. I've dropped some dough on this. It costs money and some places have killer shipping fees. But for me, well...I bust my butt raising Sopi and wifing my husband and writing my stories and sometimes, I think we all deserve a little something-something, as they say. I deserve a little fun, a little community apart from my labels as mom and wife, to feel a bit more feminine and get excited over the mail showing up. I'm really excited for a sample pack I ordered from Violette Market with some decants I am giving my mom for the holiday season. It feels a bit like I am getting compensated for some of the energy I've given over the last few years.
For what that's worth. Ah well, time to sit back, enjoy a Youngs Double Chocolate Stout with the husband and indulge in our shows. I have a very good life. I am thankful for it. And I am thankful for pretty, smelly things that make me feel a bit more like a person.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Friday, August 21, 2009
Boobylicious
So, if the black clad women at Victoria's Secret are to be trusted, I am a 36C. This is good to know. Improper support of breasts can lead to bad things and having a bra that is too tight (which most women have) is very bad for you.
When I first became involved with my then boyfriend, now husband, I didn't need to wear a bra. I tight enough shirt did the trick. They were able to defy gravity, they were firm, various tendons and ligaments doing a good job of keeping my boobs where they should be. I was lacking in the cleavage department, but had been told I had 'perfect' breasts by no less than 3 guys. Of course, being an idiot, I had thought they were 'too small' for a while but a good relationship and becoming more comfortable with my body made me realize that my boobs were perfect for me and what was required of them.
As the years of stability went on, I put on a bit of weight and became a bit more filled out. It's as if being in a happy relationship made me hit Puberty Part 2: You Get a Butt. A tight shirt was still pretty much all I needed, though it was considerably tigher. I hated wearing bras and wore them when I had to.
Then: pregnancy. Goodbye normal boobs. Hello utilitarian mammalian protuberances. Bigger, insane, manufacturing things that seemed to have minds of their own. I remember being horrified when my milk came in. I looked like I had implants. It was like something out of science fiction, altogether in line with what I had just undergone the previous nine months and experiencing at the time. Thankfully, over the two years my boobs have been required for nourishment, they have calmed down and gotten smaller. But they are not the handful they used to be. I'm bigger. They're bigger. And they need support.
I should say right off the bat, I hate buying clothes in general. I generally think garments aren't worth what they are being sold for. I also have issues with places that are overly girly. Needless to say, I have to give myself a mental pep talk before I walked into VS today.
The girls talked to me about various things and smiled and gave me their names. I even tried on a...thing. This weird, gel type strapless bra thingy (up to 15 uses! For 68 dollars?!). But in the end, I couldn't bring myself to buy anything, even though I needed it. One, because I actually don't like VS stuff all that much. And it seemed like a lot to spend on something that was basically underwear.
So I still don't have a strapless bra which I need to war for my husband's graduation. I still have my relatively inexpensive sports bras that actually feel good and are comfy and don't have underwires. But I still have boobs.
What the heck am I going to do with them?
When I first became involved with my then boyfriend, now husband, I didn't need to wear a bra. I tight enough shirt did the trick. They were able to defy gravity, they were firm, various tendons and ligaments doing a good job of keeping my boobs where they should be. I was lacking in the cleavage department, but had been told I had 'perfect' breasts by no less than 3 guys. Of course, being an idiot, I had thought they were 'too small' for a while but a good relationship and becoming more comfortable with my body made me realize that my boobs were perfect for me and what was required of them.
As the years of stability went on, I put on a bit of weight and became a bit more filled out. It's as if being in a happy relationship made me hit Puberty Part 2: You Get a Butt. A tight shirt was still pretty much all I needed, though it was considerably tigher. I hated wearing bras and wore them when I had to.
Then: pregnancy. Goodbye normal boobs. Hello utilitarian mammalian protuberances. Bigger, insane, manufacturing things that seemed to have minds of their own. I remember being horrified when my milk came in. I looked like I had implants. It was like something out of science fiction, altogether in line with what I had just undergone the previous nine months and experiencing at the time. Thankfully, over the two years my boobs have been required for nourishment, they have calmed down and gotten smaller. But they are not the handful they used to be. I'm bigger. They're bigger. And they need support.
I should say right off the bat, I hate buying clothes in general. I generally think garments aren't worth what they are being sold for. I also have issues with places that are overly girly. Needless to say, I have to give myself a mental pep talk before I walked into VS today.
The girls talked to me about various things and smiled and gave me their names. I even tried on a...thing. This weird, gel type strapless bra thingy (up to 15 uses! For 68 dollars?!). But in the end, I couldn't bring myself to buy anything, even though I needed it. One, because I actually don't like VS stuff all that much. And it seemed like a lot to spend on something that was basically underwear.
So I still don't have a strapless bra which I need to war for my husband's graduation. I still have my relatively inexpensive sports bras that actually feel good and are comfy and don't have underwires. But I still have boobs.
What the heck am I going to do with them?
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Fairness
Life isn't fair. Duh. We all know this.
But when I read that other women are getting to talk to their husbands for an HOUR...well, this saying seems to be laughing in my face.
Life really isn't fair.
BUT...there are women don't have their husbands because they've died. There are women who haven't heard from their husband in months, who have husbands in combat, who have husbands that work in dangerous places, and I'm not just talking Army, folks. There are places in the world where waking up in the morning increases your chance of being killed. Portland, OR isn't one of them.
So...really...I shouldn't complain.
Doesn't mean I'm not still bummed....
But when I read that other women are getting to talk to their husbands for an HOUR...well, this saying seems to be laughing in my face.
Life really isn't fair.
BUT...there are women don't have their husbands because they've died. There are women who haven't heard from their husband in months, who have husbands in combat, who have husbands that work in dangerous places, and I'm not just talking Army, folks. There are places in the world where waking up in the morning increases your chance of being killed. Portland, OR isn't one of them.
So...really...I shouldn't complain.
Doesn't mean I'm not still bummed....
Saturday, August 15, 2009
T-minus 30
So, my husband is almost all graduated from BCT. The time went both slowly and quickly. Obviously, I didn't pass the time by blogging. I mostly went on AWC, pined, played with baby and dealt with the horrible clusterf*ck that was my inlaws. At least I didn't have to deal with it first hand. I was more of a person who got caught by the edge of the storm, drenched but not battered. It made me realize a few things, mostly that I need to learn how to drive and that I can't trust some people or depend on others. Kind of a lame lesson to learn when your husband is 3,000 miles away, but oh well. It's done, I learned, I am moving away from them.
I'm the kind of person that doesn't value 'sorry.' To me, a sorry is just a word. Action. That is what I want. I want to see the person not do the thing they were sorry for, or at least try to refrain. Some people don't and so when they sorry, they might as well not say anything. I've put some things behind me but the main offender isn't doing anything to make anything easier for anyone else and so all their sorries are dust in the wind.
I know, could I be more vague?
Well, the T-minus 30 is a reference to: the 30-day notice. Yep, I put in my 30 day notice today. Army willing, my daughter and I will be out of this apartment and in Augusta by the 15th of September, the very latest. Most importantly, we'll be closer to my wonderful husband while he's in school. I've received quite a few letters from him, what he's been able to manage, but all the heartfelt words aren't a substitute for the man himself. That's right, my husband is a man, with everything that entails. Naturally, I miss him. I love him and I want to be with him. I want to make him food and go on walks and go grocery shopping with him. I want us to be together. I understand why he had to go to BCT, why they isolate them and condition them and work them. Logically, it makes sense.
Emotionally...well, it's stupid. But the heart is not the brain. That goodness, it would be ill equipped. I'm trying to live with my brain leading the way but occasionally my heart tries to work with the brain and when the brain isn't looking, the heart hijacks me and it's lame. But for the most part, my brain has been taking things in, muddling, ruminating and working things out to make things easier on my poor heart.
Don't worry, heart! You'll have your day in the sun soon enough!
I'm the kind of person that doesn't value 'sorry.' To me, a sorry is just a word. Action. That is what I want. I want to see the person not do the thing they were sorry for, or at least try to refrain. Some people don't and so when they sorry, they might as well not say anything. I've put some things behind me but the main offender isn't doing anything to make anything easier for anyone else and so all their sorries are dust in the wind.
I know, could I be more vague?
Well, the T-minus 30 is a reference to: the 30-day notice. Yep, I put in my 30 day notice today. Army willing, my daughter and I will be out of this apartment and in Augusta by the 15th of September, the very latest. Most importantly, we'll be closer to my wonderful husband while he's in school. I've received quite a few letters from him, what he's been able to manage, but all the heartfelt words aren't a substitute for the man himself. That's right, my husband is a man, with everything that entails. Naturally, I miss him. I love him and I want to be with him. I want to make him food and go on walks and go grocery shopping with him. I want us to be together. I understand why he had to go to BCT, why they isolate them and condition them and work them. Logically, it makes sense.
Emotionally...well, it's stupid. But the heart is not the brain. That goodness, it would be ill equipped. I'm trying to live with my brain leading the way but occasionally my heart tries to work with the brain and when the brain isn't looking, the heart hijacks me and it's lame. But for the most part, my brain has been taking things in, muddling, ruminating and working things out to make things easier on my poor heart.
Don't worry, heart! You'll have your day in the sun soon enough!
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Blue Phase and I'm feeling blue.
So, my husband starts Blue Phase on Saturday. That means one more phase, a few more weeks. He goes on a few camping trips and then practice for graduation, outprocessing. I've been diligently working on moving stuff, talking to movers, finding out what paperwork I need, sending in checks and what not, getting rid of things we're not taking/don't need anymore.
It's been weeks since I've last seen Chris. The letters and the sunday phone calls were sustaining me. But i got three letters yesterday and ever since last night...I've been down. In addition to missing him fiercely, I've been down. This doesn't fall in with my desired personality I would like to project (sarcastic Vulcan). It's not a lack of caffeine, it's not hormones. Hell, I felt better on a pint and PMS. It is just straight up missing him.
It's just...it's been a long time. It's four weeks till I see him but I haven't seen him for six and change. I know other people have gone longer, eventually I'll have to go a year or more without seeing him but 10 weeks cold turkey...what the fuck? That's pretty much all I can say.
This summer has been going quickly, thank goodness. Still, not fast enough.
Please, thank you for reaing but I don't want any comments or phone calls right now, unless it's about something really stupid and banal.
It's been weeks since I've last seen Chris. The letters and the sunday phone calls were sustaining me. But i got three letters yesterday and ever since last night...I've been down. In addition to missing him fiercely, I've been down. This doesn't fall in with my desired personality I would like to project (sarcastic Vulcan). It's not a lack of caffeine, it's not hormones. Hell, I felt better on a pint and PMS. It is just straight up missing him.
It's just...it's been a long time. It's four weeks till I see him but I haven't seen him for six and change. I know other people have gone longer, eventually I'll have to go a year or more without seeing him but 10 weeks cold turkey...what the fuck? That's pretty much all I can say.
This summer has been going quickly, thank goodness. Still, not fast enough.
Please, thank you for reaing but I don't want any comments or phone calls right now, unless it's about something really stupid and banal.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Recipe: Crappy fried Rice
I miss Chinese food from NY and while you can find really good Chinese food here in PdX, I never want to pay for it. This is a good way to use leftover rice and even if you **** if up, it is still tasty. You will need:
Ingredients:
Leftover rice. We always use medium grain sticky rice which actually sucks for this. Use Jasmine of long grain and your results will probably be better than mine.
Oil (Some kind of veggie and a touch of sesame oil)
Ginger, grated
Garlic, minced
(Scallions perhaps? Slice and set the white part aside from the green)
Meat (if you want; slice it super thin and small; if you are using shrimp, be prepared to take them out of the pan and set them aside so they dont overcook and get nasty)
(Cornstarch: add this to meat you stirfry to keep it tender and thicken sauces. optional)
Soy sauce (duh)
Something sticky/sweet. I use this molassas based teriyaki sauce but have used pineapple juice or maple syrup (a bit) in a pinch
frozen "asian" veggies
Heat oil in a pan. Add ginger and garlic and stir till fragrant over mediumish heat. Add white parts of scallions and fry for a little bit of time.
Add meat and cook till done. Remove to other plate if you feed like dirtying another plate.
Add a bit more oil. Add rice, breaking it up with your hands best you can. Pour on soy sauce and mix around so that the sauce distributes evenly. Add the sticky stuff and stir as well.
Add frozen veggies, stir till incorporated and cover till veggies ae heated through. Eat.
Obviously if you wanted to, you could add fresh veggies right after the meat is cooked through, then do the rice...but buying veggies in small amounts for stiry fry is annoying. Though it is probably a good way to utilize veggie scraps.
Use a metal spoon to make it so you can scrape the bottom of the pan without killing stuff.
is it aunthentic? No. is it tasty? Yeah. Sticky chinese inspired rice. YUM.
Ingredients:
Leftover rice. We always use medium grain sticky rice which actually sucks for this. Use Jasmine of long grain and your results will probably be better than mine.
Oil (Some kind of veggie and a touch of sesame oil)
Ginger, grated
Garlic, minced
(Scallions perhaps? Slice and set the white part aside from the green)
Meat (if you want; slice it super thin and small; if you are using shrimp, be prepared to take them out of the pan and set them aside so they dont overcook and get nasty)
(Cornstarch: add this to meat you stirfry to keep it tender and thicken sauces. optional)
Soy sauce (duh)
Something sticky/sweet. I use this molassas based teriyaki sauce but have used pineapple juice or maple syrup (a bit) in a pinch
frozen "asian" veggies
Heat oil in a pan. Add ginger and garlic and stir till fragrant over mediumish heat. Add white parts of scallions and fry for a little bit of time.
Add meat and cook till done. Remove to other plate if you feed like dirtying another plate.
Add a bit more oil. Add rice, breaking it up with your hands best you can. Pour on soy sauce and mix around so that the sauce distributes evenly. Add the sticky stuff and stir as well.
Add frozen veggies, stir till incorporated and cover till veggies ae heated through. Eat.
Obviously if you wanted to, you could add fresh veggies right after the meat is cooked through, then do the rice...but buying veggies in small amounts for stiry fry is annoying. Though it is probably a good way to utilize veggie scraps.
Use a metal spoon to make it so you can scrape the bottom of the pan without killing stuff.
is it aunthentic? No. is it tasty? Yeah. Sticky chinese inspired rice. YUM.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Army Strong
"Absence makes the heart grow fonder" is a stupid saying.
Yesterday my husband swore into the United States Army. We stood there and watched him standd at attention, waiting for the CO to come in, watced him continue to stand there, unsmiling, as the CO addressed us, speaking highly about the four men that stood before him, saying that us being there was a testament to how much of an impact these men had. Chris had the most people there. Two of the guys had no one there. I wonder if they felt like crap.
At 3:45 this morning, I woke up. I stare at the clock and wonder why it isn't later, feeling strangely awake. Light is starting to seep through the blinds. A few minutes later the cats make some kind of horrific yowling sound and I yell at them, forgetting that its too damn early to be yelling but too scared at the moment to care. I get up to see what the hell was the problem, finding cat throw up in the sala and poop on the floor. Awesome. I clean it up and conclude that some kind of animal must have been out in the parking lot. Other cats outside the window are the only thing that evoke that kind of reaction from my usually docile cats. All of this happens before 4.
4:00 am is when Chris will get his wake up call. He'll be given a few minutes to wash up, get ready and then have to go down to eat. He has to be down in the caf to eat by a certain time or he'll get in trouble. After breakfast that will probably include coffee he won't like, he'll get on a shuttle and head to the airport with the other people heading to Jackson today. Plane leaves at 6AM. He probably set his clock early. He probably woke up at 3:45.
I lie in bed, and the cray thoughts run into my head, the ones where people break into your house in the middle of the night and kill you and I keep thinking maybe the cats will make that horrible sound again but I pass out eventually because I'm tired and I can. Sopi and I wake up, yellow sunlight gleaming. She nurses for a bit, trying to shake off the last bit of sleepiness before she sits up in bed. "Poppa?"
"Poppa's not here, baby."
"Go yes sir school." She pauses for a moment. "Take bus yes sir school?"
"Yeah." I don't tell her that he's taking a plane. I don't want her to be jealous. Jealous of waking up early and going to bootcamp. It would just seem stupid.
Probably in Chicago now, trying to grab lunch, maybe a mag and a free second. Joking with his "team leader." Looking for a bathroom. Reading. Sitting the way he does, thinking about good coffee, no beer for ten weeks, smiling, saying 'son of a fuck," thinking about us.
How much more fond can the heart grow?
Yesterday my husband swore into the United States Army. We stood there and watched him standd at attention, waiting for the CO to come in, watced him continue to stand there, unsmiling, as the CO addressed us, speaking highly about the four men that stood before him, saying that us being there was a testament to how much of an impact these men had. Chris had the most people there. Two of the guys had no one there. I wonder if they felt like crap.
At 3:45 this morning, I woke up. I stare at the clock and wonder why it isn't later, feeling strangely awake. Light is starting to seep through the blinds. A few minutes later the cats make some kind of horrific yowling sound and I yell at them, forgetting that its too damn early to be yelling but too scared at the moment to care. I get up to see what the hell was the problem, finding cat throw up in the sala and poop on the floor. Awesome. I clean it up and conclude that some kind of animal must have been out in the parking lot. Other cats outside the window are the only thing that evoke that kind of reaction from my usually docile cats. All of this happens before 4.
4:00 am is when Chris will get his wake up call. He'll be given a few minutes to wash up, get ready and then have to go down to eat. He has to be down in the caf to eat by a certain time or he'll get in trouble. After breakfast that will probably include coffee he won't like, he'll get on a shuttle and head to the airport with the other people heading to Jackson today. Plane leaves at 6AM. He probably set his clock early. He probably woke up at 3:45.
I lie in bed, and the cray thoughts run into my head, the ones where people break into your house in the middle of the night and kill you and I keep thinking maybe the cats will make that horrible sound again but I pass out eventually because I'm tired and I can. Sopi and I wake up, yellow sunlight gleaming. She nurses for a bit, trying to shake off the last bit of sleepiness before she sits up in bed. "Poppa?"
"Poppa's not here, baby."
"Go yes sir school." She pauses for a moment. "Take bus yes sir school?"
"Yeah." I don't tell her that he's taking a plane. I don't want her to be jealous. Jealous of waking up early and going to bootcamp. It would just seem stupid.
Probably in Chicago now, trying to grab lunch, maybe a mag and a free second. Joking with his "team leader." Looking for a bathroom. Reading. Sitting the way he does, thinking about good coffee, no beer for ten weeks, smiling, saying 'son of a fuck," thinking about us.
How much more fond can the heart grow?
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