Jump to content
Post-Update: Forum Issues Read more... ×
BPAL Madness!
Post-Update: Forum Issues

valentina

Members
 View Profile  See their activity

  • Content Count

    2,066

  • Joined

  • Last visited

Blog Entries posted by valentina

  1. 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
     
     
  2. valentina

    Candy-O

    By valentina,

    I have on a new layering adventure today; I bought a bottle of Bengal from chappiti on the forum (BTW, check out her avatar, I love it). While I really love Bengal, (or why would I have a bottle of it?), it tends to light up on my body for a bit. By that I mean, the cinnamon bark makes my skin flush rosy red for a brief time. So this morning I put down a nice layer of O (kind of like a paint primer) and then put Bengal over it. Yummy! Since I think Bengal smells like redhot candies over musk, and O smells, well, like O, I'm calling this blend Candy-O. That name is stolen from the title of an album by The Cars, which had this cover:
     

     
    And now, for a brief aside: A friend called me and told me to turn on the Today show, because they were doing a shoe fashion show. Naturally, the Shoe Whore-Foot Fetishist turned it on right away. I just finished watching it. They were doing very close close-ups of each model's feet, and ARRGGHH! One of the models had on a pair of open-toe, slingback shoes and SHE HAD CRUSTY HEELS! OK, I know it was a big closeup, but I shudder to think how it looked on HDTV. I probably would have vomited. And who picked her to model shoes? Why didn't they put her in a pair of closed-back shoes? And if you had even 1 hour's notice that you had to sub for someone as a shoe model, would you at least do a little buffing and shining? Arrggh!!! At least I didn't see any French Manicures on the toenails, thank goodness. I would have screamed so loud that I would have frightened my coworkers.
     
    Ahem, sorry to anyone who was eating as they read this. You probably had a hard time swallowing.
  3. valentina

    Celebrate

    By valentina,

    Things to celebrate:
     
    It's going to be around 80 degrees here tomorrow! Woot! It's been almost chilly for a month now and I am getting the urge for some semi-hot weather. Remind me I said this when I'm complaining about the weather in July.
     
    I maintained my self-control and ordered a 10 ml of O and one bottle of Lithia. That's all.
     
    I get my hair done tomorrow. It's just entirely too long for me to stand it right now.
     
    I did the trip to my mother's care center, the dinner and my trip home with equanimity. The drive was pleasant. I listened to Shawn Colvin on the way down and she was good preparation.
     
    I'm leaving work now to go to yoga class. I think doing some yoga is going to jar loose a few mental blocks that I've been struggling with all day long. It's worth a try...
     
     
    Music in my CD player: Bob Schneider, "Lonelyland." Because Baby Bob just rocks my world! And he's always something to celebrate!!!!
  4. valentina

    Cocoa Loco

    By valentina,

    Lingerie divas, this blog is here to enable you. I happily encourage growing the economy by purchasing BPAL and lingerie. The two are like hand and glove, for gorgeous lingerie is made even more beautiful when you are wearing a white-hot BPAL oil.
     
    I had a $10 credit to Victoria's Secret and wandered out there over my lunch hour yesterday like a crack-addled 'ho in search of her next fix. Naturally, I came away with a new bra, but just one thong undie. I had succumbed to the IPEX bra extravaganza out there last spring and summer and now have three pairs of those babies. I do think the demi version of the IPEX is the nicest, and that is, in fact, the model of my sassy tangerine bra. But yesterday I purchased their new Secret Embrace model in a lovely dark cocoa brown. The Secret Embrace underwires are barely detectable and there's no bulky snaps or even tags. It's intended for those clingy little spring and summer tops, BPTP baby doll t-shirts and the like. And it's got a bit o' subtle padding in the bottom of the cup, to give the girls a bit of an extra boost.
     
    And while I wear a 36 C or D cup at VSC, that just makes me laugh. My girls are middlers at best. I have broad shoulders and a fairly wide ribcage, so there's a bit of a grand canyon between the girls; cleavage requires feats of engineering that are too painful for me consider, so I rely on the perkiness factor where the girls are concerned.
     
    And I had my mammogram about 3 weeks ago. Divas, please do valentina a favor and do your breast self-exams, and if you're of the age where a mammo is indicated, get one. If affordability is an issue, many states have passed laws that help pay for mammograms if you don't have health insurance. Check it out. Our girls are wondrous things and we need to keep an eye on them. Also consider taking flax seed oil as a supplement; first of all, it's great for your skin and hair and second of all, there's some evidence that essential fatty acids can help diminish the risk of cancers, including breast cancer. If you won't do it because I say so, do it for Sheryl Crow. I mean, I don't really like her music, but to break up with Lance (not that I think he'd be an especially laid-back boyfriend) and then be diagnosed with breast cancer is pretty fucking rough patch, IMHO.
     
    OK, when did this become a public service announcement? Oh my hell, you've probably stopped reading!! Let's talk about the flesh colored mesh thong with that little "Pink" dog VSC mascot depicted in red rhinestones on the upper left-hand side. I think that Pink campaign is a bit pruient and about as subtle as a 2x4 upside the head, but I have dogs so what do I do when confronted with a fleshy meshy thong with a doggie on it? I buy it, because I am a lingerie-addled 'ho.
     
    And this 'ho keeps wear her O and Tunisian Patchouli combo. It smells really good together. I know I will tire of it, my body chem will do another seasonal/hormonal morph, or more likely, my order of the Monster Bait and Osun will arrive and I'll have a new infatuation, but for now, the O and Tunisian Patchouli cocktail is swoon-worthy.
  5. valentina

    Coffee house characters

    By valentina,

    I wonder if Greta Garbo uttered her famous "I vant to be ah-lone"* comment because she was simply trying to sit in a coffeehouse and write in her journal without goofballs or well-meaning sorts interrupting her?
     
    Today I was sitting in Meadowlark, writing, when this old dude who's down there all the time stopped to ask me if I wrote in a journal every day. Well yeah... So then he had to tell me about his career as a journalist and then as an ad agency rep. There went 10 minutes of writing time.
     
    And I don't think I told y'all about the guy, a few weeks ago, who walked up to me and said "You look like a rock and roll girl..." Away he went on a story about the band Badfinger. According to him, it's a tragic, tragic story, apparently there's only one surviving member, two committed suicide, one "just died" and the surviving guy won't return this character's emails. This guy had aviator glasses that appeared to be relics from when Badfinger was in their heyday (early '70's, I think) and what I can only describe as a Prince Valiant haircut. He did make me think of Toni Tennile of the Captain and Tennile. I let him go for 5 minutes and then shut my journal and declared it was time to go back to work.
     
    You might suggest that I go to a different coffee house, but really, I am the least molested at Meadowlark. I used to go to a place called (imaginatively) The Coffee House, and there's a crazy guy named Alvin who goes in there. He's one of those brilliantly talented, smart, yet insane people. He came up to me and declared that in a former life, I was a Viking Queen. There was also the pervert mailman. He was one of those mensa-level IQ people who said the hell with it and became a postal employee. This guy was, at the time, in his late 50's and one day he felt compelled to tell me that he was having an affair with a disabled woman on his route. I nearly vomited. But later he told me (and a very appalled friend who had happened to join me) that this woman dumped him for a real boyfriend, and I was so happy for her.
     
    Then I went to a place called Coffee Culture. It eventually closed down. Bummer -- the best coffee in town. Terrance, the guy who ran it was a master coffee roaster, and a complete character in his own right. But it was great, because he was so odd that he scared off the really kooky people. He was a Vietnam vet, an old hippie and somehow knew how to freak out the freaks. But he didn't try to do it; it just happened. I remember the perv postman wouldn't go near the place. Terrance got a lot of business from women fleeing the perv's haunts. I did my best journaling there, because even when Terrance came over to talk to me, he'd have to stop whenever a customer came in.
     
    But I regale people at work with my coffee house stories and they love them. One coworker has declared me a "weirdo magnet." And I try to be philosophical, for if I get someone jabbering at me, I try to view it as probable fodder for later journaling efforts. And besides, what would I do with a vanilla life?
     
    *Why is it that when I write something in a Greta Garbo accent, it will remind most people of Governor Ah-nold Swartzenegger? Damn his Republican ass. And BTW, I still do miss that ol' poonhound, William Jefferson Clinton.
  6. 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.
  7. valentina
    I'm sleeeeeepy today. I worked late last night, didn't eat enough the entire day (that happens when I get hyped) and then a girlfriend from work wanted to get a quick martini after the legislature finally adjourned at 8:30 pm.
     
    A Cosmopolitan on an empty stomach is rather potent. It pisses me off that I have to love the sterotypical "Sex and the City" drink, but I do, in spite of myself. I love Sea Breezes too, and maybe I should start ordering them. I just love booze and cranberry juice and I still prefer Cosmos to Sea Breezes because I could take or leave the grapefruit juice.
     
    My friend had a dirty martini with olives and a little bit of blue cheese, or something like that, sprinkled on the olives. She said it was yum, it looked kind of good, but ugh, I know I would have hated it with a deep and abiding passion. I am a fruity sort, in so many ways.
     
    My girlfriend is fun, a diva, and we had a nice chat. We've both been so busy with work that we haven't talked that much recently. Once the legislative session ends, we have to get back to that periodic check-in over martinis.
     
    OK, my perfume is still in the Tunisian Patchouli and O rut, loving it, my bra is a pretty shiny pale blue fabric with almost goldish undertones, with a gold-bronze lace accent. The bits are covered by a thong, in this great retro tattoo print fabric. Mainly blue and white, but with some red tattoo heart designs.
     
    I anxiously await a CnS on my first Monster Bait order (underbed) and a GC order. I've been tracking the CnS thread this week, and my time is growing near. I always feel like a virgin bride awaiting her beloved when I know an order is coming...
  8. 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?
  9. valentina

    Diva overload

    By valentina,

    Today I decided to put on some Monster Bait Underpants because I hadn't worn it in a while, and then I put a touch of Bengal over the top. This blend could be called "Panties on Fire." Hell yeah!
     
    That "hell yeah" reminds me -- because the t-shirts you buy at Bob Schneider's concerts have that on the front -- Bob has a new recording coming out on August 8! Ah, something to live for! Bob can set my panties on fire, I tell ya. Plus I really do like his music.
     
    I decided to get all dressed up this morning because I was having one of those days that, when all else fails, be a diva. On the way into work, I decided to stop at my favorite locally-owned coffee house (this town is big into non-franchise coffee houses) called Meadowlark. There's outdoor seating for the smokers and people who generally just want to hang around outdoors, and often there's a real blend of denizens at the outside tables. I've seen residents of a nearby halfway house for mental health center clients sitting at one table and a stockbroker sitting at the next table.
     
    This morning it was a group of characters that I've never seen before at the outdoor table. They were unique. I walked past them and one of them, who had a mullet and was wearing a "Got Milk?" t-shirt, looked at me and said: "Wow, baby!" I walked into Meadowlark and the barrista behind the counter looked at me and said: "You're so fancy today!" I think I may have diva-ed myself to excess...
     
    It's going to be a skort and a black tank top tomorrow!
  10. valentina
    First of all, some TMI about my dogs. If you're a smidge fussy or easily grossed out, skip to the next paragraph. If you like sophomoric dog-related humor, read on. Ella Bean, my Basset, is a little mommy hound. She'd probably had a litter or two of puppies before she ended up at a shelter and came to live at my house. She's spayed now, but still has very mothering instincts, so she acts them out on Mugzy, the Boxer. She likes to lick his eyes and face and then licks his butt. It's insane, and of course, I just watch it. Boxers are somewhat well-known for their flatulent tendencies, and just a moment ago, Ella was tending to Mugzy's cornhole when he audibly pooted one. She yelped and jumped back. Mugzy can remind me of Cartman on "South Park" in that episode where he was afflicted with flaming farts. Was that when the aliens had the probe up his butt?
     
    I haven't watched South Park in a long time, but I fondly remember the show where the boys went over to Afganistan, and the U.S. military thought that a goat was really Stevie Nicks. They believed that she'd come over to do a USO show. They were chasing after the goat yelling: "Oh, Miss Nicks! Oh Miss Nicks!" I have insisted for years that cocaine turned Stevie into a goat. There is yell-singing (Michael Bolton) and mumble singing (Tom Waits or Rickie Lee Jones, and I love them, BTW) and then there is bleating, and that is Stevie Nicks. For all you Stevie fans, sorry, she once had a beautiful, clear, bell-like voice, but that was a long-ass time ago. I'm shocked that sheep herding dogs don't come rushing after her when she starts singing. I better stop before the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Stevie Nicks comes after me.
     
    I will update anyone who might still be reading this far, that my coworker is still addled by the smell of Snake Oil. He is convinced there are pure pheromones in it. I also had a woman nearly crawl out of a ticket-taker window at a parking garage, because when I rolled down my car window to pay for parking, she got a whiff of the Snake Oil. She was bug-eyed and yelling "WHAT IS THAT? I LOVE IT!" Good grief. Well, at least they aren't crying, the way that I get all misty-eyed when I sniff Dorian. Beth didn't call her business Black Phoenix Alchemy Laboratory for just any old reason. She brews up some powerful stuff.
  11. 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...
  12. valentina
    I buy coffee from a guy who is a custom roaster. He used to have a little downtown storefront where he served coffee beverages and roasted and sold his beans. About five years ago he closed the storefront and built a roasting hut on the farmstead where he lives. Now he sells beans on his web site, but he still delivers beans to the old downtown coffeehouse crowd.
     
    He also sends out very chatty emails to his clients to tell us what coffees are in stock, to remind us of the weekly order deadline, and to give us his opinion on current events, or whatever else might be on his mind. It's a bit like walking in on his surreal and rambling discourses when he ran the shop. The man is never short of opinions and is rarely afraid to express them. Did anyone see the movie "Blue In The Face" with Harvey Kietel? (It was the follow-up to the movie "Smoke.") Lou Reed had a cameo role in that movie, and our roaster man is more than just a bit like Lou Reed in "Blue In The Face," sans the cigar.
     
    Now don't get me wrong -- this man knows his coffee and roasting techniques thoroughly, and I consider him a master roaster. As a political pundit, it's another thing, although I'm rather amazed he isn't a guest commentator on Fox News. To illustrate this point, here's a sentence from his most recent email. It is one of the most weirdly hilarious things I've read in a long time, if only because I know he was dead serious. Read it and weep or laugh or howl:
     
    "So, now what do you think of this? A 25-year-old female Spanish language schoolteacher has been arrested for having sex with an 18-year-old male student. It seems that Texas passed a law against teachers having sex with students. The initial bill was for students 17 years of age or under taking into the fact that the age of consent is 18. But some old fart in the legislature had that dropped and made it any student. Now come on, this man, can sign contracts, he can vote, he can serve his country, he can marry but he can't have sex with his teacher."

    Well damn it, a man has a right to bonk his teacher! But isn't turn around fair play and that 18-year-old female has a right to bonk her 25-year-old science teacher? I may have to ask him that when he drops of the coffee beans. He'll probably say: "Hell yeah!"
     
    If I could play music to close out this segment, it would be The Police, with Sting singing: "Don't stand, don't stand, don't stand so close to me..."
  13. 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.
  15. valentina

    Essence

    By valentina,

    I was listening to Lucinda Williams song "Essence" on the way into work, and while it's an amazing song in its own twisted way, and I have to admit that I really like it because it just throbs sexual energy, the male reaction to it has always mystified me.
     
    I don't know if many of you listen to Lu, but I think of her as a southern gothic rock/folk/blues/alt country singer. She's just difficult to categorize. Her voice isn't very pretty, but her lyrics are so raw and real that they bleed. Her dad is Miller Williams, a nationally-known poet who read a poem at William Jefferson Clinton's* first inaguration. Lucinda hasn't exactly led a simple and idyllic life. Jesus Christ she has terrible taste in men, and I'm not sure that being happy and just a little bit content doesn't make her really really nervous, she's obsessive-compulsive about her music and apparently can be a real bitch to work with. But there's no one quite like her.
     
    She also has a certain physical appeal, in this hot mama biker chick sort of way. (She's even older than me, but I've seen some pretty young guys get worked up over her, so go figure.) Lots of sulky surly attitude with a distinct vulnerability. Gets 'em every time.
     
    So her song "Essence" is about a really obsessive stalker chick who wants her man and follows him all over the fucking place. And she wants him now, forever, and all the time, in a very twisted and addicted sort of way. ("shoot your love into my veins," "please come find me and help me get fucked up....") Printing the lyrics does not do justice to the song -- you have to listen to it. Her vocals, the guitars, the drums, the throb.
     
    I've seen Lu in concert twice, both times in a smallish theater/club, because Lu likes it that way. When the guitars kick into the opening bars of "Essence," men rush the stage like bull elephants chasing cows in heat, bellowing "LU! LU! YEAH! LU!!"
     
    I was aghast. I've always thought that the attraction to sick assholes who would make your life a living hell was a primarily female trait. Silly, silly me! I saw a small herd of goofballs who apparently have a fantasy that it would be cool to be stalked by a woman as hot as Lucinda Williams. Yeah, right fellows. Maybe it might be kind of cool to have it happen once. But that sort of shit doesn't happen once, and the boys would get mighty tired of it. Besides, women like Lu don't need to stalk men; they're too busy hiding from their stalkers and feeling miserable because they're in love with the one man in the world who doesn't know that they're alive.
     
    We humans, we're such perverse, perverse creatures!
     
     
     
    *It made me happy just to write out his whole name. It made me feel better just to think about him. You may have been an old poon-hound, Bill, but I miss you as President. A lot.
  16. valentina
    From etymology online, the origin of the word "goon:"
     
    goon
    1921, "stupid person," from gony "simpleton" (c.1580), of unknown origin, but applied by sailors to the albatross and similar big, clumsy birds (1839); sense of "hired thug" first recorded 1938 (in ref. to union "beef squads" used to cow strikers in the Pacific northwest), probably from Alice the Goon, slow-witted and muscular (but gentle-natured) character in "Thimble Theater" comic strip (starring Popeye) by E.C. Segar (1894-1938). She also was the inspiration for British comedian Spike Milligan's "The Goon Show." What are now "juvenile delinquents" were in the 1940s sometimes called goonlets.
     
    For those who are not familiar with vintage cartoons, Alice the Goon was so primoridally bizarre that she still freaks me out a little. I was always fascinated and deeply weirded out by her presence in Popeye cartoons. I have an Alice the Goon stuffed toy that I found on eBay a few years ago. I also love The Jeep, that weird little magical dog-monkey thing in Popeye. Was Segar on acid when he drew those cartoons?
     
    Here is lovely Alice herself -- she was a bit of an androgynous old thing:
     

     
    I think a BPAL scent based on Alice the Goon would be wonderful, although I imagine it to smell a bit like Enraged Orangantan Musk.
  18. valentina
    I find it almost impossible to believe that I have not mentioned shoes in any of my blog entries. Shoes of the high-heeled, ankle-strapped, bordering on Bettie Page fetish heels, retro-style shoes, platform thongs for the summer, boots of all varieties. The shoe fetishists always are agog. I have a pair of stiletto heels, pumps with the newer rounded toe, the fabric has small multi-color polka dots. When I wore them last week, they were compared to 1) confetti on New Year's Eve, and 2) cupcakes with sprinkles on the top, and 3) Easter Eggs. Are those shoes a Roschach test of sorts?
     
    I once had someone tell me that the shrinks believe men become foot/shoe fetishists because they sat at their mother's feet adoringly as wee boys, and somehow the association with feet and the love of a woman merge in their brains. Well. Their mommas probably didn't wear shoes like mine.
     
    One of my girlfriends calls me the shoe whore, and made up a Dr. Seuss book title of sorts for me, called: "Who Shore The Shoe Whore Of Her Shoes?"
     
    However, for every yin there is a yang, and I also own two pairs of Dansko clogs, a really ugly but comfy pair of Keens, about 4 pairs of Birkenstocks (one pair is close to 20 yrs old) and one pair of Merrells. I have to keep my feel happy during their down time from the stilettos. And I'm wearing my Adidas athletic shoes as I write.
     
    I won't even get into the effect that good lingerie and great high heels have when worn in concert. Just look at Bettie Page for the ultimate example of the incendiary nature of such combinations!
  19. valentina
    I was out trying to buy a pair of black tights yesterday and couldn't find them where I was shopping (sold out, I guess), so I bought a pair of black fishnet tights. Practical, huh? No, she never did believe in having the big wedding with the while lace gown, but by god, let's get fishnet stockings because they're there.
     
    I think I might wear them tomorrow. I have this retro-style black skirt that begs for a pair of fishnets. Everything else will be black and white and muted, and the fishnets will be the wee little touch. Well, probably more than a wee little touch, maybe a serious jab in the ribs, but who cares... I'm a fiscal analyst, for hell's sake, no one expects it. It messes them up.
     
    You know, people ask me to go to lunch with them (as did the lobbyist a couple of weeks ago), and I really don't like to go to lunch with other people. It's one of my least-favorite things to do on my lunch hour. I would so prefer to go to my nice little bohemian coffeehouse hang-out and get an hour of quiet time before I re-enter the fray. My inner introvert needs to be cared and nurtured, especially when my workplace is a zoo. I know going to lunch is "networking," but gah, most of the time it's just bullshitting while you feed your face. It wears me out.
     
    I suppose if I didn't wear fishnet stockings, people might not be so inclined to try to figure out what the hell I was all about, but I can't let go of all of my personality for the sake of being left alone. I told someone not that long ago that I'd probably dress like a churchmouse this year during the session, and I guess I lied. Actually, I was being a bit sardonic when I said that, but I think they believed me.
     
    And why is it, when the legislative session starts, several of my close acquaintances get needy? As in, really needy? I won't bore you with the stories, but it happens EVERY damn year -- the session starts and they start calling me or emailing me a lot or even stopping in my office to see if I have time to listen to godknowswhat. And it always starts with "I know you're busy, but..." The "but" should be followed with "I WANT ATTENTION! AND I WANT IT NOW!!!" It's not -- it's followed with whatever semi-crisis or love affair they want to tell me about in utmost detail. Gracious. My friend and coworker Scott suggested I hang up a sign that says: "I AM NOT the wailing wall."
     
    I am not a callous bitch. If it were a bona fide emergency or major life event, I'm there for people. But their annual job review that always goes well, or the new girlfriend, or generally noodling around about your philosophy of life are not emergencies.
     
    In a total non sequitur, I had a dream Sunday morning that I'd given birth to a baby but I'd forgotten about it and gone off to a marching band rehearsal. Then I remembered: George Clooney was the dad! I'd go over to the dream interpretation thread on the forum and ask them what they hell they thought that meant, but I think I'd be booed off!
  20. valentina
    I am going to stay halfway on-point, considering that this is a blog on a fragrance fandom community. Not that our entries should always be about fragrances, but lately the BPAL experience is what piques my musings, or more accurately, my hallucinations.
     
    I put on some Snake Oil yesterday because the Lab frimped it to me with my Harvest Moon order. (THANK YOU, Lab! ) I layered it over O, because a year ago, I didn't like Snake Oil when I tested it. Things change, and now I think it's pretty yummy. As did a coworker, who literally could not keep his train of thought going because the way I smelled was that distracting. I found someone who wanted swap their imp of Snake Oil, so I can give it to him and he can test run it on his wife. If it works, he will be taking runs at his wife, but we won't go there. She may or may not be happy with me. I think I'll also give him some O, just in case that was what was driving him nuts -- but I don't think so, because I've worn O a lot, alone and layered. The infinite power of Snake Oil, previously unknown to me, was powerfully demonstrated to me yesterday, and now I am a believer.
     
    And if you get an imp of something that you really adore, be careful of the first time that you wear it. When I got my imp of Dorian, I loved it so much that I put it on right away. However, Dorian now has associations with the situation I went into right after I applied it for the first time. I get a very poignant feeling whenever I open the bottle and sniff it.
     
    Smut is like a headbutt, O is a tease, Bengal is a dare, Underpants is a naughty giggle, Khajurajo is a shudder, Anathema is a leer, and Siren is a shimmy. But Dorian just makes me feel really unarmored and vulnerable. You can imagine, I don't wear it to work very often.
     
    But holy hell, I may have to get a bottle of Snake Oil if it's going to get such rave reviews when I wear it. This has been my week -- getting eyes-rolling-up-in-the-head reviews about Siren and Snake Oil. Whodaeverthunkit? I have a bottle of The Mouse's Long and Sad Tale coming in the mail because I had GypsyRoseRed pick it up for me at Will Call. (BTW, GypsyRoseRed is a diva and a lovely person for volunteering to do Will Call runs!) I hope I like the Mouse, but I fear for its success on my person, simply because recently everything that isn't supposed to work on me has been great -- so something that should be perfect for me may not work. Confusing!
     
    But if I love it, I'm going to be really, really careful to wear it out for the first time in a very neutral context. This much I know is true!
  21. valentina

    Friday afternoon!

    By valentina,

    Hells bells, there are a number of very thoughtful new entries over here on Blog Island. Not me. I could try to follow suit, but there is very little in the way of profound thought in my brain today. My excuse? It's Friday afternoon!
     
    Here's something to do!
     
    Get yo' pimp name here homey hunny!
    http://www.playerappreciate.com/pimphandle.asp
     
     
    Big Playah valentina Flava
  22. valentina

    From the other side

    By valentina,

    And now a missive from the other side of my personality: I decided today, because I was wearing my fuchsia and purple zebra print panties, that the other people in my office should get newer and better underwear. Why, you ask? Because they're all into some form of mass hysteria as their presentations draw near, and I find their tension to be relatively counterproductive, since if you walk in the room nervous and insecure, you only hurt yourself. But if they had better underwear, they would value it and love it and not want to get their panties (or knickers) in such a big, giant knot.
     
    OK, bad joke. I was somewhat resigned to having a bad experience when I walked in the room, and low expectations are sometimes a blessing. I came into work on Sunday to prepare for the presentation. I can appreciate their anxiety, but I don't appreciate them being in my face all day about how scared they are. My bosses really got into their heads in a big way.
     
    But life is good when you can come home, drink a glass of wine, eat some pasta with smoked salmon flaked over the top (with olive oil, garlic and good parmesan), freshly-made French bread (a great new bakery close to my house!) and then drink a cup of really great coffee afterwards. And to make it better yet, you have fuchsia and purple zebra print panties covering your bum. What else is there?
     
    Well, plenty. I want many, many things that I can't have or I won't get, but if I truly get my knickers in a big, huge knot, it should be over something really fun. Gotta remember that one!!!
  23. valentina
    Last night when I was at the gym, riding a cardio machine and minding my own business, a thought ran through my head that said: "you need to get out of your own way." Whenever stuff like this happens, when I'm working out or walking around or generally not ruminating over something, I tend to pay attention to it. I do a wonderful job of getting in my own way by overthinking everything.
     
    I have a relatively analytical brain and I suppose that helps me professionally, especially since the word "analyst" is part of my job title. I'm good at seeing connections, coming up with options and trying to make things work. I can be really decisive. But in other areas of life, where subject matters are much fuzzier, I try to think my way through and analyze things that would be best left alone. In fact, I get obsessive and then I get very bummed out, because I can't find the answer. That is so damn stupid.
     
    And the problem with all of this is that I have good instincts. But I can quickly talk myself out of them when I overthink a matter. Countless times, I've had to sit back and note that I knew what was going on, but I refused to listen to myself. Sometimes I think I don't trust my heart, except when I'm around animals or little kids. Or maybe I don't trust other people with my heart.
     
    What to do? Get out of my own damn way. Not that I'm going to be an irrational moonbat, because that's impossible considering the way my brain is wired, but when I set the wheels grinding and I catch myself, I'm going remind myself to get out of my own way. It's worth a try.
  24. valentina
    A few years ago, I decided that it would be fun to make odd papier mache heads for Halloween. My original notion was to make jack-o-latern heads in the style of the old German papier-mache pumpkin heads, but my mind soon went off into stranger things. I made a few almost life-sized heads of individuals, all with their own names and stories. As a friend at work told me: "I'm not sure what I find the most disturbing -- the fact that you made these utterly odd things, or the fact that you developed names and a biographies for each of them."
     
    There's a stuffed dummy in farmer clothing sitting on the front porch at Halloween. Most of the time it has a generic head on it, but when my creations wish to have a body, they get to "head it up." Here they are, along with their stories.
     
    Fred Frankensteer has his name because he's a cross between Fred Flintstone, Frankenstein, and a steer. An actual person was the basis for Frankensteer's creation. Frankensteer is the result of a research project carried out by an insane UNL ag institute scientist. He now lives on a farm and is frequently anxious about his life, but is too dumb to really know what to do about it. For that reason, he fits in well and votes Republican.
     

     
    LaVerna is the daughter of LaVonne and Vern. She's a waitress at the local greasy spoon and is also Frankensteer's girlfriend. While she has a ring in his nose, she doesn't have his ring on her finger, thus accounting for her rather truculent demeanor. She once set a field of Frankensteer's hay on fire with her cig, but he didn't yell at her, mainly because he was too afraid she'd kick his ass.

     
    El Cockatillo is a famed Mexican wrestler who aquired his name because his mask resembles a Cockatiel. He is also known to shriek madly for no good reason. He was driving through Nebraska on his way to visit family in the U.S., when his transmission blew out next to one of Frankensteer's farm fields. He has remained on the farm ever since, but can't figure out exactly why.

     
    Fergus is a soccer hooligan from Scotland who was sent to Frankensteer's farm courtesy of a U.K. version of the "scared straight" program. It has been unsuccessful. Fergus takes great glee in picking on Frankensteer and then getting the snot beaten out of him by LaVerna and El Cockatillo. He proudly sports his latest shiner, courtesy of LaVerna crushing a beer can on his face.
     

     
     
    And from everyone at my house to you, Happy Halloween!
  25. 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.)
×