thesarahscope: (Default)
DSC_0269
Photo from our trip to Natchez of the Mississippi River at sunset

 
We are currently still in the old house but should be completely finished moving soon. Once I sort everything out, I will post photos of the new place which I'm crazy about! It will take a while to get settled because my husband is very finicky about how and where we hang the art. I generally pick the art, although he has some mixed in, and then he decides on placement. It's a joint project which takes time, but I'm very giddy about the decorating and nesting so hopefully it won't take too long to show you. It's funny because before I was married, I loved art but I'd just haphazardly hang it up any old way on a wall. Tacked, crooked, and taped. K. is particular. While it frustrates me with my immediate demands and lack of patience, I do admit it looks better when he's in charge with his maddening measuring and eyeballing and teeny pencil marking. Shh! Don't tell him.

In our neighborhood in the front of our street they are building a new road. Behind us they are building new graduate halls so there is always something going on when I come out every morning with the dog. I’m always at my worst, hair standing on end from sleep, eyes blinking in the morning light. Today there are cars parked in our yard, several bulldozers, half a fence torn down around the site, and workers in boots gabbing by our pecan tree. Mearl, our pug, is miffed, and she tells them loudly and insistently. She charges down to the creek, and her eyeballs bulge as she chews madly on weeds while watching them. I imagine she’s thinking of what she’d like to do to them, but in truth, she’s dumb as a box of rocks and eats everything like a goat. She is a delightful little companion, and I’m mad about her but she’s definitely lacking in the intelligence department.

I finally tried Confetto, the last of the perfume samples. It’s good, but it smells like a sissy version of Hypnotic Poison. Some described it as better than Hypnotic, but I prefer how the Dior scent smells very naughty with the softness of the vanilla. Confetto just smells soft to me, and I like depth and mystery. It’s okay, but I don’t have to own a bottle. I put on the Salome again this morning, and I’m truly in love with that perfume. It’s my next “to buy” scent (or to have bought for me if I play my cards right at holidays or birthday). The Cumin is so heavy in this perfume, and it’s naught, naughty, naughty. Some of my favorite online reviews/descriptions of it are below—

The first perfume that actually made me blush. Jehzus. Elephants. Circus. Straw. Feces. Leather. Sweat. Definitely of the ‘Grossmith’ older perfume house ilk, it felt vintage but more daring. It honestly makes me swoon a little just because I feel like my brain can’t process or define the intensity that I’m selling. This is Not for the faint hearted and definitely not one to wear at Christmas dinner with the in-laws. Or is it… "

Wow. Just wow. All the little animals contributing their wonderful stinkiness amid the flowers. I think I love it. Quite powerful and would avoid crowed elevators while wearing, but this is a beauty.

“This beauty blew me away! Absolutely stunning. Gorgeous fragrance reminiscent of a vintage perfume on a glamorous silent film starlet. Animalic, a little smoke and a lot of hot sultry "come hither".

“You know the famous scene in When Harry Met Sally: " YES! YES! YES!" ? Well, I will DEFINITELY have what she's having. OMG, Salome is utter delight. When I was 26, I fell in love with L'Heure Bleue, before the whispered reformulation. This reminded me of that: vintage, amazing, beautiful, bold. But this is different: it is its own modern thing, and delicious on its own. It takes a different turn & has many different scents going on during the drydown. Witchy candle-wax, vintage, castoreum, sex.

“Oh, man! Got a sample and immediately had to have the full bottle. I'm in love with each stage of this gorgeous, vintage-smelling, sex pot of a fragrance. The smoke, the indolic flowers, the deeply unsettling and very carnal humanness of this scent is like nothing I've smelled before. All I can say is WOW.

“Um, whoa. Right off, Salome socked me in the eye with a very vintage Rochas Femme feel. Of course, Femme is about as raunchy as they come. But this is unshowered Femme, with her JF hair & post-coital cigarette, & she is unimpressed with you. Flowers, my butt. This is cumin, ashtray &, well, particular mucoidal fluids. If you are confident enough to pull this one off, more frickin' power to you! Tough sell, though, for more conventional palates, I predict.”

What I’m saying is, it makes normal people say, “What’s that smell?” It makes me say, THIS IS PERFECT. I always wonder why I like the dark so much? I pray about it, “Dear Lord, I want to be good, but I love the hard edges and mystery so much. Is that wrong, too?” I always imagine Heaven as arriving at the gates and finding I belong to one of the 12 tribes of Israel. I just would like to get up there, and Jesus would say, “Okay, here is where you come from.” I would see this group of warrior like people that have fought their anger issues their entire lives, but Jesus uses them as the badasses from Heaven who fight the Dark. So they’ve got a little Dark too because you can’t go toe to toe without picking up some. They would be silent people with icy eyes and moon skin like mine. They would always be pacing and prowling like animals and restless and want to wander, and my lifetime of anxiety would make sense then. Oh, these are “my people”. These are the ones I came from. Everything has a rhyme and reason now. That’s my version of Heaven. Getting down to the roots of why I am how I am. That or this other version—everyone exists in the same place at the same time, but we each are independently also living our own version of Heaven. Like, mine might be ballets and beaches and operas and libraries and your’s might be golf and…what do people that play golf like? Anyway, we’d each be living our version unbeknownst to the others, but we’d all be doing that together. Does that make sense? My favorite is the first version though where we all each come from some tribe of likemindeds. We hang out together up there doing whatever you do in Heaven, but we have a special connection—like twins do—with our tribe. I was so jealous of the forever history when I toured the beautiful synagogue in Savannah. I wanted that sort of history and those kinds of stories. I want onion history going back to the 1500s. Anyway, I’m sure that’s not how it works, and He has a better plan but that’s the best I can come up with.

Anxiety is going to get your 6 month refills on your prescriptions/wellness check from your doctor, and being beside yourself for days before with consuming worry that threatens to swallow me about the entire situation. “Hey, how are you?” I really want to answer, “I’m still crazy. I still worry about sinkholes swallowing me daily. I still worry about having an aneurysm. I still worry that my husband will die in the 15 minute trip to the grocery store. I worry that my dog has rawhide wrapped around her intestines. I worry that my dog has asthma. I still think every time the heater comes on in the house, that it will explode. I still can’t drive because it’s huge gaping laughing terror. I still have anxiety about this anxiety med appointment. Please help, Doc?”

While we wait together, my Mom asks me, “Are you happy, Sarah?” My matter of fact response, “No, I haven’t been happy in a very long time. Years, maybe.” “Are you happy with your marriage still?” she questions. I quickly and fiercely respond, “That is the only thing I am happy with. That is what gets me through my days. That is the one thing I cling too.” It’s everything to me. He’s everything to me. He is my anchor. I can’t tell you what the problem is because I don’t know. It’s just here, and it’s been here for the last 5 to 7 years, I guess? It’s become such a part of my life that it doesn’t even make me sad to admit it. “No, Mom. I’m not happy. I don’t remember her. I don’t know what she looks like. She was years ago for a brief time, and then she died. She’s not coming back, and it’s not important that she come back. What’s important is to figure out, how to keep surviving, and I do. I will. But my marriage, is what gives me shiny droplets of happy, dripping in daily. It comes into my cell to give me a little bread and water, and I wait for it to visit every day. It’s bits that drip down into my life and are so special and perfect. It is the only thing that means a damn out of all of this that I messed up somewhere. That probably sounds pathetic to you, but I don’t care. This day to day heavy curtain doesn’t even bother me anymore. It’s just here. It’s forever. I am learning how to carry it better, but please never touch my perfect K. with it. He is my life raft. That's not to say that I'm on the verge every day, and I don't have things I enjoy but I've accepted that this undercurrent will always be a part of my life.

Oh, other happy moment, though! My Uncle that passed away used to make this amazing Wild Rice Soup that he predatorily guarded the recipe for, despite my pleading. My aunts, uncle, cousins, and mom and dad all met up at Grandma’s to celebrate their belated 60th anniversary with a family party, and they made his famous soup. Mama brought me home a bowl and a bottle of Merlot sent to me from Grandma. It was as amazing as I’d remembered. I thinned it out a little with milk to make four bowls from the one (it’s very rich), and it’s so yummy! Fortunately, the recipe was passed on to Mama so when we make it, we can also think fondly of Mark.

In outlandish things, I was absolutely dreamy about these copper sneakers by Stella McCartney, but she is entirely too proud of her outer space shoes made of ground up pennies as they are $385 (marked down from $550). Also, everything she’s done shoe wise as of late is on a huge foam-looking platform. She takes sensible and slaps audacity on it and calls it a day, and unfortunately, I couldn’t love it more. It’s not for me to wear, but I do delight in them even if I think it’s ridiculous to spend so much on shoes which to me are just functional. Put ‘em on your feet and walk. I definitely didn’t get the stereotypical lady obsession with shoes. But all these that look like they’ve been presented on a pedestal, and I’m admiring just a bit.

This weekend: more moving, trip to the library to collect new books and return those read, celebrating a friend’s birthday with a dinner at one of my favorite restaurants, and hopefully, sorting through some thrift stores if I can convince my love. I hope your weekends are all marvelous! What have you got planned?  


thesarahscope: (Spooky Mouse Club)

New hair this weekend!
 

Friday evening my magical hair artist whipped and painted and created the most perfect hair she's conjured, yet. Stormy gray and blues brewing and lapping over my skull.  She went down to a two on the buzzed sides. The shorter sides make me feel like a warrior. It feels fierce and coupled with the color, I might be able to conquer the world. It suits me.  I think this one will stay for quite some time!  Perhaps forever.  

A dear friend came back to our office bearing King Cake from Louisiana.  I had never tried it, but I knew of the baby so I insisted that she hide it for us.  The cake tastes like a cinnamon roll, but this one has an over the top cream cheese filling that luxuriously spills out when you cut a slice.  It also has the jewel colored sugar sprinkled on the top that crunches delightfully in your teeth.  Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about because if you've ever eaten a Christmas Tree Cake (by Chef Little Debbie), you've caught the bug.  I do it as a toast to my teeth cleaning friends at the dentist so they can continue to live in style, I insist.  I will happily crunch the sugar bits against my molars until I have clickety clackety porcelain ones that I soak in a cup every night.  It will be worth it, I surmise.  We then read up on the history of the baby, and I was delighted to find that a baker once bought a surplus of porcelain babies that a traveling salesman was selling to put in the King Cake in place of the bean that was usually used.  It became very popular, and when he used all the porcelain infants up, he went with the cheaper plastic ones. I'm not from Louisiana so I'm not sure as to how true this is, but so says the Internet (there is a lot of fighting about whether the baby in the King Cake represents baby Jesus). If you know of another tale, do tell.  I like this traveling salesman story though so I'll keep that one if you don't mind?  

Yesterday my perfume samples came in, and I first tried Salome.  The first smell was awful to me.  It burned my nose, and it reminded me of Grandmothers at church.  It is strong, and it bowls you over.  After a while, I smelled my wrist again, and I enjoyed it.  It is still bold, but it's a nice vintage smell.  It's definitely not a daily wear perfume, though.  It's for a night out at the opera.  It's for the ballet.  Use sparingly, or you'll give yourself a headache.  Trust me, I know.  Of course I would have exquisite tastes, and I adored the sample of Note Vanillee that I tried this morning.  After testing it, I went online to see how much a full size bottle would cost, and it's a cool 235 bucks.  Around 10:30 a.m., I took a whiff of my wrist, and it had faded.  I couldn't detect it at all, and for almost 300 bucks, you'd hope it'd last longer.  The Salome is so pungent it would probably last for four days.  I haven't tried Confetto yet, but I'll report back when I do.  Rumor is that it smells like a better version of Dior's Hypnotic Poison which is my signature scent.  

At work, our office has been infiltrated by a gnat army.  We have been searching high and low for what's drawing them in, but fortunately, our Facilities department brought vinegar traps.  Then a curious student overturned one near my desk, and it smelled of vinegar all day.  He has scented the hallways, and a friend questions, "Why does it smell like cat piss everywhere in here?"  

At lunch, in the food court, I see a man who looks exactly like Charles Manson waiting at a table.  I can't stop staring.  I wonder if anyone has ever told him that?  I'm certainly not going to be the one to break it to him, but I can't help but feel both sorry for him and also repulsed even though he's done nothing wrong.  

thesarahscope: (Spooky Mouse Club)
Our three kitties lazing about: The black and white is Dimitri, the gray one leaning on him is Francis, and the one farthest from those two is Nickel

The Christmas break is over, and it was wonderful. It ended too soon, as usual. Mine was a mix of giving over to the depths of laziness and also packing and starting the move to our new house. The new house is just four houses down from our current house.  That can be both convenient or insulting depending on my mood and how heavy the boxes are that day. Besides the moving, I've been enjoying the gloomy, wet weather quite a bit.  Every morning when I go to take out Mearl, the stubborn pug, it feels as if I'm suddenly on some Welsh coast.  Trudging through piles of wet leaves with my ankles out.  The air is so damp, I look to make sure I didn't step in water.  I like to commiserate with people on nasty weather because, for an introvert like me, it's an easy way to not have to think of some mind numbing small talk everyone seems interested in exchanging. I must admit, however, it's all a blatant lie.  I love the rainy, wild days in the winter. I love avoiding puddles, and I love the sting of the wind. It makes me feel alive.  In summer, it's just awful and humid, but rain in winter is a dream,I confess!  We did the usual and made some trips to visit family over the break which we enjoyed. I gorged myself on literature, olives, and blue cheese.  I ate an ungodly amount of blue cheese.  When I talked to the pusher behind the cheese counter, I insisted, "I want some funky blue cheese.  I mean funky."  She raised an eyebrow, "You want something that kicks you in the teeth?"  "Perfect," I said.  I don't think it's healthy to eat an entire block of it no matter how much you're enjoying the creamy melt in your mouth texture and wrapping your tongue around the chunks of blue mold while reading.  That didn't stop me, but the dog wouldn't leave my side.  Every time she neared me, I'd see her little nose quiver wildly, and she looked eager to find the source of the putrid smell. I once went with my Mom to a wine tasting, and I was much more impressed with the cheese.  These Southern society wives kept droning on and on about the wine, and all I wanted to know was where the hell the cheese came from.  

In other expensive habits I have, I purchased three new samples from my favorite perfume site Luckyscent. I ordered Note Vanillee, Salome, and Confetto.  A lot of people said in the reviews of Confetto that it was really similar to Hypnotic Poison which is  my signature scent so I'm sure I'll like that one.  I hope I don't like them too much because the full size bottles cost a shit ton.  

Kelly won at gifts as he does on every occasion.  One gift from him I've been enjoying lately is our new subscription to FilmStruck.  I was heartbroken when The Criterion Collection moved off Hulu so of course, we had to pick this up.  He also booked a stay for us in February at Stonewind Retreat to stay in a yurt.  There's heat and wifi and an indoor bathroom so I can go.  I still have my fear of bears, and the deep dark secret wish that they would all become extinct, at least in the United States. I've never come across a bear in the wild, but I've had millions of nightmares involving them since I was young, and I try not to go anywhere where there is a potential to run into one hence the reason that I don't go hiking (one of many).  

Last night, I took myself back to childhood.  There was a pot of leftover rice on the stove, so I reheated it and added milk, butter, and a teeny bit of splenda, teeny bit of honey, and tons of cinnamon.  My Mom used to make this for me when I was little.  I basically find it to be a kheer knockoff, but it's still yummy and was as good as when I was a kid.  Not as good as kheer, mind you, but it'll do.  

I had a wonderful lunch with my Goldilocks friend today.  She is always a wonderful listener, a light to everyone, a curly haired perpetual sunshine.  It was so good to catch up with her.  We laughed a lot, as always.  There is never enough time to get everything out in a lunch break, though.  We'll have to meet up again soon.  One of my intentions this year is to try to be a better friend.  I have been blessed with friends who have the patience of saints and have never given up on me when I'm down in a hole.  The problem is, I'm always in the hole.  I owe them more.  They deserve better.  I am going to try.  I love them, but actions speak louder than words so I hope to do better this year.  I'm sorry for the many times I let everyone down in the last year.  It probably won't be the last time, but I strive to make it not as common in 2017.  

I'm really happy to be over here now.  For some reason my blog always made me feel like I  had to be more formal, and like I couldn't just ramble like in the old Livejournal days.  I have rambled my way through this, and it feels wonderfully familiar and comforting.  I hope you all will feel free to comment, and if you have an account on here and you stumble across this journal, please feel free to add me.  I look forward to making new online friends, too!   

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