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Sparklingly herbal, Envy's a scent I'll be purchasing. The mint really jumps out in the first minute or two, with the limes crisp and right alongside. Give it a few minutes, though, and you'll get a complexity you wouldn't imagine could come from four main components. If you ever had to weed you mother's flowerbeds as a kid, you know the scent of grass and plants ripped from the ground and crushed in your hand - take that scent, add quick grating of lime zest, and only a hint of lavender to get an idea about Envy. The mint's still around, but recedes into the blend rather than staying on top. This one's very bright to me - it glitters in my nose, like beads of water on those flowers I had to weed around, shining in the sun.

I like the Moroccan rose Beth's using - it's lush and with an unusual sort of clarity that doesn't get lost in the blends. In Pride, the narcissus combines with it to make a unified, expensive, I-am-better-than-you-everyday-sorts kind of scent. I walk with my head up and my hips swinging anyhow, so it might be a little over the top if I went with my reaction of throwing my chin up a bit higher and swaying some more. It's what I would want to do, though. <grin> Pride's a straightforward but really beautiful rosy scent, and because it's uncommon and has such strength of character, I'll be ordering this one. Updated 3/21/04 - Was headed out the door this afternoon - stepped into my bedroom and put some of this on while the fella was in the other part of the house gathering stuff up. We got into the car, rolled the windows down to enjoy the sunny spring afternoon, and he started pointing out all the Bradford pear trees in bloom and talking about how good spring and flower gardens and greenery smell to him. I didn't think anything of it until about two minutes later, when he looked at me kind of funny and said, "I don't think Bradford pear trees smell that good. I think you must have put on some perfume." A quick sniff-test confirmed I was the smell-good!

Ever been in a dark, previously damp basement? Dusty and full of stuff that needs to be taken out and thrown away, and has needed to be thrown out for years, but someone just kept packratting stuff away, with that thick, heavy smell of decomposing wood and paper and oil? That's Sloth. Obviously not something I'll be wearing often. I'm sitting here yawning, trying to decide if I want to bother with finishing up the reviews I have to do ...

I hope Beth doesn't let Ted wear any of the guys' scents she's been making lately. It would have to be annoying to beat away the hordes of women surrounding him, and that's just unfair considering all the work she puts into these scents before they go on someone. Lavender, but not bitter, astringent lavender. Sweetened with limes and lilac, it's still very masculine, and not just because of the musk. There are other lavender-based colognes out there, but this isn't overpowering, artificial, or common.

Note from the voice of experience - do NOT test De Sade and Lust in the same day if your partner isn't around. The red musk and patchouli are so well blended they're practically a single note, and the myrrh is just separate enough to make this crisp and with a bit of bite. The ylang-ylang disappeared somewhere in the mix, but I can feel it even though I can't smell it specifically. My cheeks are flushed, my lips are full, my eyes are half-closed ... I'd say Beth managed what she was aiming for with Lust.

I may uh ... uh ... need a little time alone to ... erm ... contemplate ... this scent. Where is the cowboy when I need him? I never give him gifts, but I'm making an exception and ordering this immediately. Manly perfection in a bottle. Damn! This might make a good replacement for my Bvlgari Black, even though it lacks the tea note. The smoky part is still there, and this isn't chemically the way Black is ... but I don't know it it will be safe for me to go out in public smelling this all day long.

Patchouli and heliotrope come out immediately, with the copal not far behind. The oakmoss stays at the bottom and really ties these three together. I don't know that I'd call it golden, but I would call it rich. Very earthy, but not overwhelmingly so - and something I want to keep applying as I sniff it.

Actually, I liked the apricot note, and I even liked how the black ptachouli fought with it when I first put it on. The patchouli took over in less than two minutes, though, and the apricot disappeared about five minutes later. If I could keep the first impression going throughout, I'd wear this on days I just want to be difficult and throw people off balance because I'm in a snit.

I'm trying to get caught up on descriptions, Reina - maybe they'll help you decide. I'm not familiar with any of the scents you mentioned, but Beth has been cranking out some fantastic "clean" scents of late. For those and other ideas, you might look for reviews or try Imp's Ears of: Lightning Othello (which has roses as a component, but doesn't smell like them - you might try it and see what you think) The Apothecary Tempest Tears Unseelie Unseelie is my gut reaction as the most similar to your description.

I got the nutty undertone, too - except on me, it turned into a rancid peanut butter smell. Unfortunately, this will in no way entice me to work towards the name, so I'll have to pass on this one.

Not my specialty at all, so I have no input other than to tell you that I'll happily kick in my dollar or so to be able to see the reviews and keep up with everyone, if need be. Thanks for coming up with such a great idea in the first place!

A spring scent, indeed - at least for me. This makes me think of a bundle of tulips, interspersed with a sprig of eucalyptus, and a handful of ylang-ylang and lemon rind in the mix, too. Faded quickly on me, too - but since I'm in a lotion-making phase, I think I'll make some in Phantasm so I can see if layering does the trick. Nice for spring, but BPAL creates other scents that are much more to my liking and that I'd be more likely to wear enough to repurchase.

This is another beautiful Tarot scent, but I don't know a good way to describe it. I put it on and got a sense of Pepto-Bismol and fizzy ginger ale, of all things - and even stranger, they worked together perfectly. I'm not saying this smells like those two items, but it had a very flowing, chalky, and at the same time, crisp and bubbly character. I very much feel the two scents pulling at, and with, each other. After about fifteen minutes, these somehow merge into an unknown white floral that is utterly lovely in itself. I didn't get any of the mellow fruits or dusty notes that viciousviolet did, although the herbs are a faint but sturdy base for the mystery floral. I wonder if I can talk Beth into telling me what's in this one, as it's beautiful but unidentifiable to me.

I love all of the BPAL scents, and my list of favorites is constantly changing because Beth keeps coming up with such wonderful new goodies. The Apothecary, though, has just made it into the illustrious top three, along with Snow White and the Empress. The Apothecary is absolute fruit and herbal purity. It's clear, it's crisp, it's even a bit aquatic - and it does so all without ending up smelling like air freshener. It's not green, and it's not fruity - it's truly a perfect balance. Even as it dries down, neither facet overtakes the other. This may be my perfect comfort scent. There are no caloric identifiers, as in Gluttony, no sexual connotations, as in Snake Oil, and no effort required, as in Old Venice, which requires that I put makeup on to look as lush as I feel. I could fall asleep with nose to wrist smelling Apothecary, and it would perk me up in the morning, too. Perfection, or damn near it.

Violet's right ... this is simply stunning. I have never, and I mean that with complete sincerity, found a rose scent with as much authenticity, clarity, and simple complexity as this one. There's a faint, light touch of lemon tea underneath the rose, but it weaves in and out of the fragrance like a butterfly landing on the rose would. The tiniest bit of wood - again, I'm wondering if it's rosewood Beth's using to create such subtle warmth - gives this fragrance unexpected and almost hidden strength, as well. Absolutely amazing.

Persephone's a nice rose scent, and it's practically a rose-berry sort of scent with the pomegranate, which makes it sparkly and innocent.

Thanks to my great-great grandmother, who firmly insisted upon using remedies from "the mother land," we were always handed a sprig of dill to chew on when our stomachs were upset. My great-grandmother trained my grandmother when she married into the family, and she trained my mother - and I've been considering planting some dill in a planter that can come in during the winter. I'm sure the scent part is simply association, but dill weed does definitely help an upset stomach. As for a scent for cold and sniffly-type illnesses, I'd think Old Rome would do the trick. I know it doesn't have eucalyptus or pine but it's a sharp, kicky green that would help clear sinuses and invigorate a snuffly, worn-out gal.

Following Quantum Spice's link, the Will and Baumer brand has "Pontifical - That traditional aroma we all grew up with." I'm not Catholic, so I can't attest to the veracity of that statement, but I may not be able to resist the French version with cedar that's listed just underneath it. I grew up in central Oklahoma, where firewood, Christmas trees, and the siding on my parents' house is cedar (the smell of which, just as it started to rain, has never left me .... ahh). Most of the incense I do burn involves cedar in varying degrees.

Dry, bitter incense wafting through the air; warmed with melted wax and sandalwood, plus the teeeeeniest, tiniest hint of ... red currant? Something fleeting that makes me think of tiny possum grapes bursting on my tongue, it isn't there when I smell my wrist, but every once in a while I smell it for just a split second. Oh, I like this! It's exactly what it claims to be - incense, first and foremost (and I could drown in the frankincense here ... ahhhh!), with the crumbling, earthy undertone of aged stone. While it's very different from Etro's Messe de Minuit, it's more what I wanted MdM to be - and there's no "cat pee" smell, as my ex-husband used to refer to MdM. I always thought of it as old books in a damp basement, personally - and I'm glad Cathedral retains such crisp, dry clarity, instead.

You'll laugh, but one of my favorite parts is the faint band-aid smell that disappears in the first five minutes. Quietly sexy is a good way to describe this one. It's warm, it's soft, it's got a definite "I'm so turned on that mmmmm.... just oozes out of my pores and puts a flush on your cheeks" feel about it. Remember being in a new relationship, having the glow from the happy vibes? This is the other kind of glow, from having so much incredible sex that you're a walking advertisement for the words languid and completely satisfied.

Scorpio is definitely not for someone who wants a light, airy scent. This is sweet incense, a touch of clove - which I usually despise, but not in this - musk, and wood. I'm wondering if the wood is rosewood, because it has such a warmth to it. Drydown is barely powdery, but in the context of powdered incense vs. a stick of the same. Scorpio has a fine, almost grainy sense about it - like dust motes in a beam of sunlight. Have you ever been falling asleep, just barely conscious, and felt like your body was small and you were somehow giant, just tall and straight and majestic, but disconnected from it all? Or maybe had one of those moments where you've been sitting for so long it seems like your arm is tiny and in a different position than it's actually in? I don't know any other way to describe the aloof, disconnected feel I get out of Scorpio - and it also has a brutally focused determination about it that's indescribable. If you're prone to headaches from strong scents, you should pass on this one. This is borderline for me, but I imagine I'll be wearing it regularly in spite of that.

Oatmeal, milk, and honey. If I were to mix the three up in a bowl and slather it on my face, this is exactly what it would smell like. Sweet, grainy, and the kind of thing you'd lick off your fingers when you were finished spreading it across your face.

Aside from the layer upon layer of beautifully balanced florals, I keep thinking I smell dried grass. Sort of a clover hay that's been in the barn all winter kind of grass, if that makes sense - it's barely there, like it was full of fragrance all summer and finally faded out after fall and winter. Whatever that note is, it, along with sandalwood, makes a perfect base for the light florals of this scent, and it really sets Queen Mab apart from the other light florals Beth creates.

Ohhhh. I know what I'll be wearing the week I have PMS and an uncontrollable urge to eat everything in sight. This was a perfect foody scent, unlike anything else out there - the faintest touch of gingerbread, perhaps? which spiced up the absolutely decadent chocolate, caramel, and white Karo syrup notes.

For further proof that chemistry is THE factor - the honey and wine notes were immediate on me, with the floral note never really emerging. Instead, I got an herbal mulled wine sort of scent - and it was very lovely, a bit to my surprise. Feeling generous, I put just the tiniest bit of this on my chihuahua's tailbone, and she went nuts - in a good way, mind you - rolling around and doing the uncontrolled shaking leg thing. She also licked my ankle and looked dazed until I couldn't stand it any more and made her stop. Something in this gave us both a glassy-eyed, mellow sort of look, and a stranger probably would have thought we'd been drinking.