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<span style='font-size:9pt;line-height:100%'><span style='color:black'><span style='font-family:Georgia'>From the Bewitching Brews collection: Decadent, flamboyant, and fiercely seductive! Passionate red musk mixed with jasmine and wisteria. This is another of Beth's "second-skin" fragrances, as the red musk and jasmine intertwine with each other to balance the earthy and sweet notes of the scent. Wisteria keeps this fairly light, and the combination of the three has an unexpected, definite sexiness about it. I don't get flamboyant, but fiercely seductive I can go with. Subtle, but alluring. Sweet, but not fruity or stickily so. The jasmine isn't overpowering, the musk isn't blatantly animalistic, and the wisteria isn't too pale or light. I immediately bought a bottle of this one.</span></span></span>

Menacing, bewitching and darkly sexual. A blend of myrrh, amber and lilac. This one's an interesting mix; the lilac is kept from being cloying by the incense note and warmed up by the amber. I wouldn't put it in the same category as Messe de Minuit (which others have compared it to), because that one's so very dry and markedly incense, where this one's much more sweet and warm. The lilac is actually the off-putting note in this for me; it somehow turns this into a "little old lady" scent, if there is such a thing. Worth a try, though, particularly if the crisp, dry character of incense scents is a little too dry for you.

This single note is sooooo good! It's better than a regular pear, I have to tell you - it's sweet while still keeping it's tang, and it has none of the sticky sugar syrup of a canned pear. Not yellow and overripe, but pale yellow-green with just a hint of blush on the skin of this pear.

I understand that Brazilian rosewood, which is almost extinct, really smelled just like fresh roses when it was cut. This is more like the Indian rosewood that I've been able to smell - roses, but more resinous and woody. Rich, with a definite grain, plus sap - melded with a very true (but more muted than in some of the blends) full-blown rose.

Beth's single note in Fig didn't impress me out of the bottle. It was much more the sweet, imitation fig note that I smell in potpourris and generic home scents than the green, earthy fig notes I get from L'Artisan's Premier Figurier or Diptyque's dry Figurier, both of which I love dearly. With a couple of minutes, though, this changed completely. While I can only claim having sniffed dried and relatively fresh fig fruits, this becomes a nice, sweet un-fruity fruit scent with a hint of earth and tartness. It's not the fig note I mentioned from L'Artisan or Diptyque, but it's gentle and sweet like I imagine a fig tree in bloom must smell like. Pleasant and pleasing, although not remarkable as a stand-alone scent.

Sweet, candied fruit. Not a true pomegranate, but I have no idea how anyone would duplicate that tart, ruby-red casing around the seeds. Works well in scent blends, even if it's not what you smell when you cut open the fruit.

When I was a little kid, I was fascinated by the lichen growing on rocks at my grandmother's farm. I'd never found anything like it before at our house, and depending on the season, it had a very different character over time. I got in so much trouble when my grandmother found me picking it off rocks and eating it - I decided not to tell her that I'd been sniffing it, rubbing it on my arms, and eating it, all in an attempt to figure out the fascinating blue-grey stuff, for months. While oakmoss grows in trees, it still has some of those same lichen-y characteristics. It's a moderately (compared to vetiver, in particular) earthy smell that some people prefer in place of patchouli, I'm told. I never found it to smell like patchouli, but it always smells to me like crisp, new dollar bills did when I was a kid, getting them from my grandfather when we went to visit that side of the family. I started to type that this was another perfect re-creation, but I don't think it is. I think this must really be oakmoss, rather than a fragrance.

A wonderfully potent spiritual purification blend. Lemon zest, a dash of black pepper, and some light wildflower all jump out when this first goes on. Uplifting and fresh without being stringent, Lobban quickly dries down to a warm green floral with definite citrus tones.

This is the dry, dusty note we've wondered about in Seance, I think. It's beautiful on its own, and it really smells like an old, fallen tree, half-buried in moss in the depths of a forest. It's a little musty and earthy, but almost dusty, because not much rain makes it to the bottom of a redwood forest.

No description listed at this time. Begins with a fruity, almost white-wine smell that quickly morphs into moderate anise and then on to that mysterious chalky effervescent note that I've found in several of the Tarot scents. The anise and mystery note stay in the background, and a light, creamy floral comes to the top - almost buttery in quality. An interesting, light anise and cream scent at the end. Definitely something I'd prefer for study purposes over everyday wear.

<span style='font-size:11pt;line-height:100%'><span style='font-family:Garamond'>From the Diabolus collection: Son of Ares, twin to Phobos, Deimos is the personification of dread. Murky ambergris and civet with dark musk, sharpened by orange, bergamot and frankincense. There's not as much civet in this one as I was afraid of, and I've managed to avoid turning the scent rancid with my body chemistry because of it. Sweet orange, bergamot, and the ambergris combine to make an absolutely eerie sweet, warm, and lightly baby-powderish Orange Julius. Frankincense makes its way out in the middle of all this, and sharpens the notes up a bit, but they never go to bitter. The dark musk pulls this down and gives it real depth about five minutes into the wearing - without dampening the sweet orange/baby-powder notes. I usually avoid powdery scents like the plague. This, like Unseelie, is an exception to that rule.</span></span>

An invigorating, tempestuous citrus and floral blend. Starts out a basic citrus scent, but quickly morphs into something uplifting and saucy. Ever sniffed a crocus, those first flowers of spring that sometime poke up through the snow? If their scent was stronger, crossed with a dandelion that's just opened, and wrapped in lemon tea, you'd have Storm.

Neroli is sometimes called orange blossom, and it's a creamy, almost buttery white floral. It doesn't smell like oranges to me, although it has the faintest hint of something creamsicle, and it's a sweet white floral that's a lush perfumery note. It's in a lot of "heady" commercial scents. This is another scent Beth's using that's remarkably like the real thing. Any differences there might be to the actual orange blossom are very subtle, and the fact that this has that limpid, buttery tone to it is beautiful and impressive.

I don't know that juniper berry is what I thought it was. I really thought it was that not-fruity berry in things like Bewitched, but this is sharp, almost biting, and definitely sap-like. It smells like berries off hedges on campus or in a park. Mind you, this is still good. It's forest trail, without a question. Crisp, a tiny bit green, although mostly bright red berries. I'm going to have to re-visit some of my reviews and figure out what the note is that I thought was juniper berry.

Yes, yes, YES!!!! Fruity boozy floral heaven ... I am in love with Amorous Love! The other descriptions have covered it all; I can't add anything except that I am buying at least two more bottles so I can scent some lotion and layer this on in addition to wearing it in a scent locket. Soft and sweet, drydown on me is almost entirely sake and cherry blossom.

I rarely put these bath oils in my bathtub. I'm so dry this winter that I slather them on right out of the shower, wander around the bedroom naked for five minutes or so, and then go on about my day. And no, I don't imagine this would be a good thing for people with normal skin. I have a well-moisturized glow, but I can imagine someone else sliding around in their clothes all day. For me, it's worth getting up a little early because I no longer feel like a scaly, itchy pile of dr skin flakes, and I smell damn good all day long. It also means that I experience this more like a perfume, changing on my skin throughout the day, than a bath oil in the tub. BPAL's chocolate notes don't usually work for me. In fact, I opened the bottle of Gula and almost immediately decided to swap it away. A couple of days later I was going through bottles I intended to re-home and realized that I had a great match in Gula and El Dia de Reyes; since I have an obsession with layering (the same scent, rather than mixing and matching - soap, lotion, and finally perfume), I thought I'd give it a try. Not only was this better than any of the chocolate notes I'd found so far, I have new love for El Dia de Reyes (which I had inadvertently ordered in place of Noche Buena). I smelled sinfully good all day long - like pipe tobacco with warm chocolate and sweet brown sugar. By the mid-afternoon slump at 2:00, everyone else in the office had caved on their diets and had a chocolate fit. The professor sitting next to me in the morning meeting asked if I'd be offended if he gnawed on my arm, and wanted to know what I was wearing so he could get some for his wife, who might be tempted to let him gnaw on her arm if he included jewelry in the package. This was incredibly comforting, in a very indulgent and edible sort of way.

I rarely put these bath oils in my bathtub. I'm so dry this winter that I slather them on right out of the shower, wander around the bedroom naked for five minutes or so, and then go on about my day. And no, I don't imagine this would be a good thing for people with normal skin. I have a well-moisturized glow, but I can imagine someone else sliding around in their clothes all day. For me, it's worth getting up a little early because I no longer feel like a scaly, itchy pile of dr skin flakes, and I smell damn good all day long. It also means that I experience this more like a perfume, changing on my skin throughout the day, than a bath oil in the tub. Sniffing from the lid, Luxuria is heavy on the red musk and patchouli. I realize the pomegranate and red currant were a little further down the list of components, but I'd hoped to have those on the surface of the oil from the get-go. I hate to make scent comparisons, but I have to on this one. While it's not EXACTLY Madame Moriarty, Luxuria might be her older sister. A little more in your face (like every bossy big sister), Luxuria doesn't have the hint of sweetness that Madame Moriarty enjoys, and she's a little smokier, but they definitely share scent DNA. I'll be wearing Madame Moriarty in my scent locket when I use Luxuria to moisturize. Where Gula is a sensual but mostly comfort scent for me, Luxuria growls lust and unbridled passion. No "take me now" here; this is "I'LL take YOU now."

In the bottle, sweet flowers. Not to be unkind, but it's a little like the scent of my grandmother's bathroom air freshener. Crap-ola. I love the things Beth's been doing with olive and olive blossom, and that's not what I'd hoped for. I always try, though, so on it goes. No question I've been surprised more than once! Hmmm. I wish this were bolder and more in your face, because I definitely like the dry-down. Defututa's getting very warm and rich, more like smoky vanilla honeycomb than actual honey, and it's working its way toward sex-in-a-bottle without using musk. It's only floral in the sense of faded perfume that isn't in the foreground - think of perfume applied the night before and only sniffable by the person with their nose pressed up against your skin - and that perfume is a little green, for lack of a better term. I think the jasmine may be far enough down the list of components that I can wear this. Ouch. Good thing I didn't slather to see if this would have more throw; I have the jasmine-spike firmly planted in the middle of my forehead and coming out my temples. It was all good for about five minutes, though. In a perfect world, this would have more throw and not give me the jasmine headache (biggercritters is still the only one I can wear, apparently). It's good, though ... very sensual and langorous, rather than rabidly sexual, and my preference aside, not the kind of thing that should have a lot of throw because it's such an intimate scent. Makes me think of a lazy rainy day spent in bed.

If you've ever been in an orchard in springtime, you'll know that this really is what an apple blossom smells like. Nearly perfect duplicate. I say nearly perfect, because it's much stronger than any apple blossom I've been around. I always have to bury my nose in the petals to get the fleeting scent, and that's certainly not needed with this single note. I have no qualms about being able to smell something so luscious, though.

I need to order a new bottle of Charisma; I'm almost out. I try to be generous sharing this one, as it works so well, so I've decanted a lot of it out for others. Interviews, performance reviews or requesting a raise, first impressions - those are the sort of things for which I'll wear Charisma. I've never had it fail me, but here's one example of how well it works: I submitted seven online applications while searching for a job recently; annointed my chakra points with Charisma before I started submitting. Started getting interested e-mails about the applications; annointed myself with Charisma and made calls/returned e-mails. Ended up with three phone interviews; back to the Charisma just before each one. Three requests for face-to-face meetings; bring out the Charisma. Three interviews in one morning; three job offers. The last interview and offer was the funniest (and the one I accepted): at the end of the interview, they ask me if I'm interested at all, and I tell them they've really gotten my attention. However, because I have two other job offers on the table and the woman who does the hiring had broken her foot that morning when she fell on the way into the office, I realize it's going to be at least a week before they make a decision, and I really don't want to wait that long. The department head says, "So if we offered you the job, you'd take it? Hang on a second," and turns to the two other people at the conference table. "Suzie, Tina - you were in on the other interviews, and I wasn't ... is she the best candidate? I can't imagine that the others could possibly be any more perfect than she is." Nervous looks around the table - this obviously isn't the hiring norm at a university - and then one says, "Yes, she's absolutely the perfect fit for this. You'll be lucky if you can get her, though." Department head turns to me, apologizes for being so off-the-cuff about it, and offers me the absolute high end of the administrative pay scale because he has to have me for me the job because (I love this part) I am "absolutely the best-smelling candidate. Erm ... best qualified. I'm so sorry! I don't know where that came from. I'm just flustered because I've never had a better candidate come in for an admin position - unless you're a flat-out liar and your references hate you, and I can't imagine that to be the case - you seem to have no flaws in your experience at all." Charisma: good for interviews, good for first impressions, and good for your ego!

I have to agree with Delphine about the simple syrup, although fluffier ... sort of like inhaling the steam off of simple syrup that's cooking down ... through a cotton ball pressed to your nose. It's simple and straightforward, and I like the pure sugar Marshmallow part of this scent. Unfortunately, it's the Poof that resonates with me the most - slather some on, and poof! - my skin eats it and it's like it was never there. Come to think of it, though, isn't that the point of a late-night marshmallow binge?

I used it for intent. My husband and I had an argument last night that had me incredibly frustrated, shaky, and close to tears - something we Scorpios despise! I fled upstairs and kicked my shoes off in the closet, and turned around to find myself looking at the shelf of TALs and Limited Editions on the closet wall, and I reached for Peace. I was barely able to think "Please, just a little personal peace ... even just for a minute" before I wrenched the bottle open. I took one shuddering sniff and instantly, the world was a better place. I could take a deeper breath by the second sniff, and by the third sniff it was a long, slow deep inhale and I wasn't shaking any more. The lump in my throat was gone by the next breath. I swiped this across my forehead and my heart, flopped across the bed, and realized My mother sometimes lectures me about "praying for the peace that passes all understanding." Not to offend anyone, but this is the closest I've ever come to that particular state. I've got Peace around my neck today, coming through my scent locket, because after last night I didn't know how I'd get through today without it. For the first time in weeks, I'm not obscenely stressed. I'm not desperately unhappy, because I'm able to tell myself some of these things are going to be all right, no matter what they seem like right now. I'm not irritated or frustrated, because I can see that some things I have control over, some things really matter, and some things are better for me to let go of right now - and that letting go of them is okay. Call it Peace, call it the ultimate stress-reliever, whatever. It has certainly soothed my frazzled nerves and brought serenity to my heart. As for the scent, it's a very soft-edged lavender; the first time I put this on I would have sworn some celery-seed gardenia flitted across the middle of things.

I double-checked myself online, and calamus is one of the herbs that was used in Old Testament incense recipes. It starts out a little sweet, and very green, and mellows to a powerful, spicy scent that seems masculine in nature. It ends up rather clove-like, which killed any appeal it had for me.

If you go to your spice rack and open the container of ground black pepper, sniff the dry, super-fine black powder that seems to separate itself from the pepper and cling to the side of your shaker. That dry, black-pepper-but-stronger scent is exactly what you get from the single note; this scent is dead-on. Dries down to a light, intense, and unique fragrance that's much better than you would expect it to be as a stand-alone; definitely worth a try!

According to the internet, galangal is a cousin of ginger and used a lot in Thai cooking. This definitely has a milder spicy note that's similar to ginger, but leaves me with a much more heated, and less crisp and biting, feeling than regular ginger.