Friday, September 5, 2008

Revenge of the Hubris-Sniffing Gods


Little Miss Indispensable isn't going to Reno.

Maybe in December.

The boss called yesterday:

"Is the door to your office closed?"

"Why? What are you going to do to me?"

"Nothing that hasn't been done before."

Which made me laugh. Fortunately for me, I not only *am* twelve, I work with a bunch of twelve-year-olds.

Turns out the geologist was way behind everybody else and rushed in with the oil and gas equivalent of "Stop the presses!" yesterday. Thus, nobody is sure where they want to lease anymore, so I'm not going to the federal lease sale.

In Reno.

With the hotel on the river.

With the spa.

With the chocolate mint body scrub.§

When will I learn to knock on wood? Or keep my mouth shut?

[SUMMARY: The gods have nothing better to do than screw with me.]

Today, lunch with the girls and a little minor surgery.#

Tomorrow, housecleaning and overnight murder mystery.

Sunday, football and football.

Monday, an all-new blog use†† and the Broncos on Monday Night Football.‡‡

[SUMMARY: I have the skin of a twenty-five-year-old and the schedule of a seventy-two-year-old.]

In happy news, Hans came back yesterday evening, so he's in the office today.

And at least I didn't have to go to Lusk.

Black March - CB I Hate Perfume (water perfume)

Marin says: The first whiff is wet wood in spring. New leaves and rich, black, wet earth quickly follow.

After a few minutes, the green of the leaves disappears and the ubiquitous "white flowers" peek through. At the same time, a drier, dustier earth comes up, smoky.

Eventually, it becomes a lighter scent, still dirty but woodier and lightly floral. It's not exactly patchouli, but the rich sweetness of it -- lighter than the syrupy patchouli oils in a lot of essential blends -- but definitely patchouli.§§

CBIHP says: A fresh clean scent composed of Rain Drops, Leaf Buds, Wet Twigs, Tree Sap, Bark, Mossy Earth and the faintest hint of Spring Flower Bulbs as pretty and bright as rain drops on black twigs in March.¶¶

Hans says: It smells like pine trees. Or gin.

FOOTNOTE (crossed): When the next federal lease sale takes place. Merry Christmas.

FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): As is evidenced by the big laugh I got from the boss when I closed the phone call with, "I think I need a cigarette."

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): With the chocolate martini.

FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): How much more hubris? None. None more hubris.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Hysteroscopy. They just won't leave my uterus alone.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): This is my attempt at a teaser. I'm here to tell you you're going to be wildly disappointed if you spend the weekend on the edge of your seat waiting for it.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Have I mentioned in the last ten minutes how delighted I am to have my football back?

§§FOOTNOTE (tendrils and leaves): Imagine my surprise at finding there's apparently no patchouli at all as the perfumier sees it.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (one stanza, two stanzas): On the CB I Hate Perfume website, there is a poem that goes with the scent. Hell, the poem is the *reason* for the scent. Now I'm going to have to try it again because I didn't look at it with an eye to cracking the mystery -- or tracking down the rest of the poem.

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