Holy Frozen Wasteland, Batman

Every now and then, I use this very blog as a reference†: which scarf did I knit for Kelley? what was the name of that perfume? what's the proper generic for Zamboni?‡

That one stopped me dead in my tracks Saturday night. I was trying to impart some wisdom on The Twitter, so I hopped to the blog and searched "Zamboni."

Then "Steve."

Then "Ice."

Then I looked through my post index and found - *gasp* - I WENT TO ZAMBONI SCHOOL% AND ALL YOU GOT WAS THIS LOUSY T-SHIRT.§

There may be more of this. One of my great #OldAndFeeble tricks is to set something up so thoroughly in my head that I think I did it. I know I do it with email and occasionally phone calls. I had no idea the blog had fallen victim.

So.

In February, Steve and I went to Ice Camp. We learned the history and mechanics of ice resurfacing equipment¶ in a classroom setting.








Then we did some hands-on# illustration of what the TV told us.










We watched an ice resurfacing machine empty after a productive trip around the rink.




We had photo ops.






Then we drove the beast.

THEN we made ice.††




Dudes, if we were in a disaster movie and the Zamboni operator freaked out or had a heart attack,‡‡ I could totally resurface an ice rink.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): As I'm sure you do.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): A registered trademark of Frank J. Zamboni & Co., Inc.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): Like Hogwarts, but more athletic. Also? In fricking FEBRUARY.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): It's actually a cool t-shirt that says "I drove the [picture of a Zamboni] at The Ice Ranch." But you don't actually get it. You have to *earn* it.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Which is the generic of Zamboni.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Literally, though you have to be careful, as there are blades that cut and pumps that suck.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): When you're in the know, you know better than to say you drove the Zamboni. When you're in the know, you make ice.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I think this movie should be made. It should be called "The Ice Marin Cometh."

A Tale of Two Boots

I stand accused of being cutting edge.

Yeah, it's even funnier if you knew me in high school, like my accuser did.

See, Jeffe† said she was getting some of those slouchy boots, like we wore back in the 80s, when we also hacked our t-shirts up Flashdance-style and thought the bi-level haircut‡ was the height of edgy, futuristic sophistication.

We were teenagers. Our taste was questionable.

Yet here we are again,§ shoulder pads, pegged jeans, neon colours... but the elf boot¶ is classic.

I had a pair of black suede elf boots. And when I say "had," I mean until six years ago when I decided to hand them off to ARC# in the cleaning-for-moving frenzy when I bought my house. I'd had the heels rebuilt†† and recapped,‡‡ but the suede fuzz on the toes and heels was worn to a shine, so I decided my 24-year-old boots had their day.

On into the future, I was doing a little wardrobe work last fall, when the personal shopper at Nordstrom suggested a pair of Steve Madden boots.

Boots EXACTLY like my elf boots, only cured leather instead of suede.




And, y'know, with the Steve Madden label inside.




The rest of the story is that when Jeffe said she was getting a pair of 80s boots, I told her I got a pair last year, at which point, she declared me cutting edge.§§

We all know different - I'm a dork with a streak of nostalgia who's never quite gotten over having to give up her elf boots.

Let's just call it trading up.¶¶


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Of still-Jeffe fame.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Now known as The Coach.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): And by, "we," I don't mean you and me, or even Jeffe and me, I mean "society in general."

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): If you were into Dio or Dungeons & Dragons in the 80s, it was definitely an elf boot. I'm not confessing, just sayin'. You don't have pictures, you can't prove anything.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I did not, however, hand off my 31-year-old Nike All-Courts with the baby blue swoosh. They're in terrific shape for their age, and I love when the skate punks stop me in the mall and say, "Rad shoes, dude. Where did you get them?" And I say, "1980."

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Once.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Twice.

§§FOOTNOTE (two slouches): And challenged me to a blog-off, in which she was going to use my "Like high school, only Steve Madden" line first. I lost the race in spectacular fashion, but maintained my stubborn insistence on ignoring people trying to get me to blog. Small victories are better than none.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (two boots): 'Cause it sounds much classier than "old people nostalgia hoarding."

The Pie Makers

Which sounds like the title of a highly acclaimed runner-up for the Man Booker Award or something.†

Definitely soon to be a major motion picture starring Kate Winslet.








Actually, Tallest, Hairiest Nephew and I baked a cherry pie‡ while Dr. Doom was at soccer practice.§

But they *so* look capable of pie making, don't they?¶

I had to tell them the old-people-nostalgia story of how their father was exactly the same way, and back when we still had film in our cameras,# it would cost me oodles to foot the bill for the film we had to go through so he could make faces for 20 frames before we got down to one good, serious shot.

Then I had to explain the word "hereditary" to them.

Also "evolution."††

Trying to build hope for the future, one nephew at a time.‡‡


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): My old book club would definitely swoon for it.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Handmade crust and all. Skillz... we has them.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): And I went to his soccer game this weekend. He is not a soccer talent. Brother says worse than usual, but I notice a certain sibling tendency that includes a complete lack of awareness of the ball and such joys as watching clouds while the game is going on around him.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): My tongue is firmly planted in my cheek.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): You kids get off my lawn!

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Next time, we'll explore "nature vs. nurture."

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Aren't they handsome creatures, soccer and pies aside?

Lost the Camera Cable

That was August.

Found the cable in December, but lost the camera.

Found the camera this week, then realised the cable I found was for an old cell phone.

Bought a new cable today.

Wondering if hundreds of pictures of the Liberace Museum are too passé to post.

Fireworks!

Actually, I'm irritated in an old geezer you-kids-get-off-my-lawn way about blown-up-in-my-backyard fireworks right now.†

Huh. I've already digressed and I haven't even started talking yet.‡

There are three great things I saw this weekend that I wish to share, plus a bonus of two happy things that happened:

1. I landed home Saturday afternoon and flipped on the TiVi.§ There was a baseball game right in front of me, which I was just about to turn off, when I noticed the player up to bat was Angel Pagan.¶ I wish I could have kids so I could name one of them Angel Pagan.
2. Driving to Jerusalem Restaurant for a very patriotic Third of July dinner, I passed the giant convent/Catholic convalescence home in the 'hood. There was a Barbie-pink scooter waiting at the giant gate to make a left onto 29th. "Wish I had a camera," I thought. "This would be a great blog bit." Then the scooter pulled in behind me and it was a bearded guy in aviator sunglasses and that made it all the better.
3. On the same drive, I was at a red light and across from me were two of the whitest, yuppiest, Chanel sunglass-wearing, designer polo shirt-clad 30-something dinks# ever seen, playing a vuvuzela and waving a South African flag out of the sunroof on their BMW. I'm not saying they *couldn't* be South African, but if they are, they're on the wrong side of the popular political tracks and maybe shouldn't be displaying the equivalent of one of us wearing a loin cloth and a feathered headdress and doing the Tomahawk Chop out of the windows of our BMWs.

Then I got to Jerusalem and the ever-so-adorable chicklet who took my order asked what my shirt meant.

"Rock-paper-scissors... lizard-spock," I replied to a peal of delighted laughter.

Then she cooed and exclaimed over my emergency wallet.††

It was a good day.

And that was a totally elegant segue into a package% from my not-so-secret-pal Jo.‡‡ Because my emergency wallet looks like this:




And Jo, not knowing a thing about my emergency wallet,§§ sent me this soap:




Which was an adjunct to that month's subject prize, the washcloth¶¶:




And came with a bonus soap dish:




And totally bath-related pirate cupcake set##:




So thank you, Jo, both for your patience and for the lovely gifts.

Give me another two months and I should be caught up.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): But real fireworks, performed by professionals, are one of my favourite things.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): That may be a record. Lyda's going to be so proud when she sees.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): As one does.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I took Spanish, so I know it's pronounced "ON-hell pa-GONE," but he'll always be Angel Pagan to me. Plus? If you Google "Angel Pagan" (even without the quotation marks), you don't get a single religious reference for pages.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): And I mean both in terms of "Jebus Cats, what a couple of dinks" and "Double Income No Kids."

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): The wallet that goes in my pocket in which I keep my driver's license, debit card and a small chunk of cash to hold me over when I leave my purse somewhere three times out of ten. Usually home, mind you, but one should have the necessities with one. If that one has juvenile onset Alzheimer's like this one does.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): I'm smooth like peanut butter. Note how I not only tied it all together with the Cute as Hell theme, I managed to not let on that this package arrived two months ago and I'm just getting to it now.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Who just revealed herself to me per the terms of our year-long swap agreement, in which I was totally wishy-washy and said, "Oh, let's be secret for six months, then not-secret for six months." I am fair, if indecisive.

§§FOOTNOTE (sssupposedly): I think.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (two heads better than one): Which was hard to photograph adequately, but does, indeed, have a black skull motif rampant on a black background.

##FOOTNOTE (that's the symbol for shock): Why? Where do you eat your cupcakes?

Injury, Meet Insult

"I want to use a whole assortment† of four-letter words right now, doc," I said to the optometrist when he told me I NEED BIFOCALS.

I've worn glasses for years for three things:

1. Driving at night.
2. To see the names on the jerseys.‡
3. Movies.§

[SUMMARY: Keep your eye¶ on the important things.]

Apparently, I got old overnight. One day, I gauged where to hold my book by how comfortable my arms were, not where I could see. Because, you see, I could see. Everything. Just fine. Far or near.

Then, *bam!* one Tuesday,# I couldn't see the computer screen. And that night, I had to hold the book an inch from my nose.

So. Bifocals.

I reeled around the mirrored displays, blindly†† picking up one frame after the other, waving them in front of my face in a desultory manner, humming "Glory Days" and craving dinner at 4:30 for some reason.

[SUMMARY: No focus‡‡ at all.]

Old, feeble brains can't multi-task.§§ It seems I was... less than thorough in my search.

To those of you youngsters out there with all this wonder ahead of you, let me give you a little tip.




Don't forget to check the whole frame before you order.¶¶


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Like a big, brightly-coloured Costco assortment.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): You know how it is with free agency and salary caps. Sometimes you don't know a soul at the beginning of the season.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): When I remembered them. It was always a proud day when I could say, "Oh, we can sit anywhere. I remembered my glasses."

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): I worry that I have a form of Alzheimer's which has as its primary symptom uncontrollable punning.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Um... if I remember correctly.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Oh, no...

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Punzheimer's!

§§FOOTNOTE (*so* confused): And just remembering the words to Glory Days is multi-tasking in and of itself.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (*headbonk* *headbonk*): For those of you scoring at home, the random, ugly triangles are orange, purple and white. All I wanted was copper frames. I thought they'd go with my hair. I showed Hans and he didn't even try to make like it was OK. "Your hair almost completely covers the bad part," he said, helpfully.

Attached

It's not quite like that, really.

You know those times you† send out a lengthy and hard-won work email, with careful wording that shows off your vast and varied vocabulary while maintaining readability, that hints at greatness and touches on the good of the company and all hinges on the concept that you attached the illustrative document... and you have to resend everything with some version of "Oops!" when someone@ says, "I don't see the attachment."

This reminds me of that.

[SUMMARY: Drawing on common experience to make myself feel less dorklike.]

Yesterday's post about knitting angst may have lost some of its oomph when you clicked the link to find yourself in a sterile grey house with sterile grey people staring out of different doorways while their sterile grey dog blends into their sterile grey carpet.‡

See, the Unhappy Hipsters blog isn't set up so someone with the technical acumen of a WWII vet§ can figure out how to link to an individual post. Only I didn't realise that until this morning.

[SUMMARY: I'm not as quick as I used to be.]

So, at the risk of infringing on copyrights,¶ I'm simply reenacting# the blogpost here so you can see what I really meant.




Trapped by the tawny palette, he struggled through yet another brown knit scarf.

(Photo: Randi Berez; Dwell, September 2005)


You're welcome.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): And by "you," I mean "I." You probably stopped doing that ages ago.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): For me, it's almost always the boss or the know-it-all from the 6th floor.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): I'd never noticed how morose Dwell Magazine is.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): That'd be me.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Something a saint should never, ever do.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Like some historical event. It's not stealing or infringing, it's reenacting.

Damning the Saint

Brother called Friday morning to say he and The Gov and Fuzzy G and maybe Magnet† were meeting for happy hour at the Coral Room.

I thought, "Why not?"‡

I debated over whether I would have a drink or try to stay true to my own idea of Lent.

Guess how long that debate lasted.§

I believe Ben was two tables away when I shouted, "Tempranillo! Please!"

[SUMMARY: Sainthood hasn't changed me a bit.]

Actually, I had given myself an out for emergency situations: if I'd hurt someone's feelings by not having a bite of birthday cake, if someone got engaged and anything but a champagne toast would be inappropriate, if someone got pregnant and a jug of Wild Turkey seemed wholly appropriate...

For someone who gave herself that many loopholes, I think I did remarkably well.

[SUMMARY: Auto-aspiratic horn blowing.]

Anyway, wine.

Wine.

Wine.

After the old Corral, grabbed a bite at Chipotle,¶ peed twice# and headed for the Hai Bar.

Shot.

Vodka.

Vodka.

Talk turned to getting brother a little action, seeing as he's wounded and divorced and needs to get back on some horse, maybe any horse. We were right in the middle of extolling the virtues of rebound sex when what to our wondering eyes should appear but a young woman who, in the dim light of the bar, could best be described as the love child of Robert Smith and Amy Winehouse.

Black chaos of hair, eyeliner as wide as a Wyoming sky. Lanky. Gawky.

So Bruce grabbed her and said, "Have you met my friend Bill?"

She told us her name was Erica†† and she was going to see Z-Trip and we should come. This excited the young folk to no end.

The old folk sucked her vodka ice cubes and tried not to feel her grey hairs glowing in the dark.

Brother and Bruce thought Z-Trip at Beta sounded like a *fantastic* idea.‡‡ Greg was interested in going home early, but allowed as how maybe he could be talked into it. And your dear ol' AntiM shrugged and said, "Sure. I can hang."

[SUMMARY: Enthusiasm is my middle name. Some of you may think it's Elizabeth, but that E is actually for Enthusiasm.]

So we cabbed to LoDo§§ and stood in line at the club.

Once inside, Crown and ginger ensued.¶¶

I tipped the bathroom attendent $20 because it was all the cash I had and nobody is going to work my soap pump for me and not be rewarded for it.##

We ran into Erica and she and I did a brief, happy girl dance together.†††

Later that evening, a very young, very drunk young man chose me for his own. I danced with him for a moment, then tried to get him to go on his way.

"You were really mean to him," said Brother later.

"I wasn't mean. I danced with him for a minute."

"Then you said, 'Make him go away.'"

"I believe what I said was, 'Step on him.'"

"Dude, you got hit on by a 22-year-old. You should be happy."

"Yeah, that was pretty cool."

[SUMMARY: That really was pretty cool.‡‡‡]

Z-Trip was interesting. He uses songs I know§§§ much of the time, which is an important component for my DJ well-being.

Y'know, the whole DJ-as-concert thing is a little weird. I can see a good DJ at a dance club being worth a following, but *watching* someone put other people's music together is like paying a premium price for a signed, numbered photograph of Starry Night.

Weird.

[SUMMARY: Old and feeble and you kids get off my lawn!]

Ish.

*************

Incense Rosé - Tauer Perfumes

Marin says: I totally fell in love with this. I think it is the hallmark of my undistinguished scent palate that I love big, spicy things.¶¶¶

With the spices, this is a tangy rose -- like a Tropicana -- rather than the prickly velvet of an American Beauty. The woods give it a darkish depth that makes me think of an opium den. There's something camphorous in the mid-hours of the perfume that speaks patchouli, but not too high and medicinal -- tempered by woods, for sure.

The incense isn't too churchy. In fact, I'm really impressed by the way the incense, wood and rose balance each other out. Nothing every shrieks or submits, they just fit together like a snake eating its own tail.###

The scent lasts for a long time and stays true to the core of itself through most of the journey. Oh, there are moments of higher camphor and moments of deeper woods and when it all boils off, it's more resiny that it was through the rest of the trip, but that tangy, spicy rose stays the course.

Andy Tauer says: Incense rosé is a mysterious fragrance built around smoking frankincense,$ with rose$ and citrus notes, and dark balsamic resins.

First, you might find a few rose petals, from a dark and spicy rose. The natural bergamot and Clementine essential oil, together with just a hint of cardamom play there with the natural rose absolute from Bulgaria.

The fragrance is lifted by orris notes, rendering it vibrant and clear. At the same time it is dark and rich, with castor and woody notes playing on the skin.

It is the Texan cedar wood, vetiver and the balsamic, dark and mysterious notes of myrrh and patchouli$ that are all dancing with the incense. This natural frankincense, CO2 extracted Boswellia serrata, is softened by balsamic labdanum and ambrein.

Brother says@: Woody.

[It's "Incense Rosé."]

Yes, it is.


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): People actually call them by these names, though their parents probably still call them Adrian, Greg and Bruce.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): If the heathens are going to party in my house of worship, shall I not join them?

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Just about as long as it takes to say "Maundy Thursday."

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Except me. One side effect of drinking is it kills my appetite. Then I'm starving the next morning -- that's my version of a hangover.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Maybe that was just me.

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): Erica was actually lovely, just sporting unfortunate choices in hair and makeup.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): Brother and Bruce may have had more to drink than I had by that point.

§§FOOTNOTE (just turn around and go home): LoDo on a Friday night is almost always a bad idea.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (that's me, sticking my tongue out): Not a fan, it turns out. Thought you should know.

##FOOTNOTE (pound that soap!): Heheheheheh...

†††FOOTNOTE (my cross to bear): You know.... squeal, air-kiss, boobboobboobboob and away.

‡‡‡FOOTNOTE (what are those things anyway?): Even if he was really drunk.

§§§FOOTNOTE (earworms): I haven't been able to get "Take On Me" out of my head since.

¶¶¶FOOTNOTE (that's me, bob-bob-bobbing my head): Heheheheheh...

###FOOTNOTE (tic tac toe in 3D): I've wanted to use that image for weeks. Thanks for giving me this opportunity.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): This was Friday night. I thought it an appropriate review for the occasion. The occasion being, of course, Friday night.

$FOOTNOTE (on the money!): I would never have gotten Boswellia serrata, but by golly, I managed incense and rose.

Can I Get Some Glitter?

Yes. Yes, I can.

Remember a hundred years ago when I was talking about the Glam Rock swap?

I completed my mystery project, received my package, went on to live my life, invented no-run pantyhose, revolutionised modern hair care, became a spokeswoman for the plight of bookstore customers worldwide and died at the age of 102† with a smile on my face.

[SUMMARY: Dreaming out loud.]

Seriously, it's been awhile. A couple of weeks at least. But, y'know... the camera, the uploading, the same old story.

Anyway, here's my package‡:




Let's get a close-up of those stitch markers:




I don't know how glam skulls are, but they're certainly *me* and I believe that's what counts.§

How cool is this?




It has a full Bowie bio between its shiny, shiny covers.

[SUMMARY: If it has David Bowie, it must be cool.¶]

Now for the tooting-my-own-horn portion of the program.#

Remember when I showed you the needle-felted Obama Brother made? And remember how I showed you a bag of fluff and said I was going to make something glam inspired by the needle-felted Obama?

[SUMMARY: If you don't remember, I'll remind you.]

Quick side trip to the back story††: You know how there are things that follow you? Like you have some sort of pre-destined meeting‡‡ with this... thing?

F'rinstance: a month or so ago, Juno asked how close I live to North Boulder because Dawn Spencer Hurwitz, a perfumer, has her shop there. I'd never heard of DSH, but within three days of Juno's inquiry, Chandler Burr reviewed her, I saw an ad for her, Nathan may have mentioned her... it was like she was haunting me.§§

Well, I had a similar series of events surrounding Klaus Nomi. A few years ago, I got my brother "The Nomi Song" for Christmas, part of a series of odd and/or interesting gifts we have exchanged. When I got it, I was only vaguely aware of Klaus Nomi, and then only as one of the first celebrities to die of AIDS.

Brother watched the film then passed it on to me. Turns out Nomi was an artist of some merit and a character worth filing in the brain, if for nothing else, for his glam¶¶ persona.

Then this glam swap came up and my recipient mentioned liking Klaus Nomi. Then Paris fashion week brought a Klaus Nomi reference. Then Nathan posted something that caused me to make a Klaus Nomi reference.## Then I decided to make a needle-felted Klaus Nomi, and when I explained this to the nice women at Fancy Tiger, one of them said, "That's so strange. I was just going through my iPod yesterday and re-discovered Klaus Nomi. I've been playing him a lot today."

[SUMMARY: KNMI: All Klaus Nomi, all the time.]

So, yeah. I needle-felted a Klaus Nomi.†††




[SUMMARY: Duh.]

This action appears to have exorcised Klaus Nomi's ghost. Who knew he was just hanging around waiting to be immortalised in wool so his soul could rest?


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Marin the Math Wizard would like to acknowledge that if she told you about the glam rock swap a hundred years ago, she was probably at *least* 141 when she died.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): The scarf is all glammy teal and fuschia and silver... but it looks like a Colorado Avalanche scarf to me. I'm pretty sure hockey isn't glam, so I'm pretty sure that's not what my upstream swap partner meant.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Being, as I am, the cente of my own universe.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): Rule of Cool #9 (right below sunglasses and right above an Eames chair).

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): I have not yet decided if I want to continue tooting my own horn because nobody gets the job done quite like I do, or if I'm sick and tired of tooting my own horn and want an experienced horn-tooter to toot my horn for me. Wait... what were we talking about?

††FOOTNOTE (ddouble-ccrossed): What your people call "tangent," my people call "side story." I was just channelling the Land O' Lakes chick, in case that didn't come across.

‡‡FOOTNOTE (doubble-crossssed): I *really* wanted to reference the story where the wealthy Indian merchant hears that Death is coming to his house, so he gets on his horse and rides to [city in India] to cheat Death, only Death shows up at his house and when the servants tell him the merchant isn't there, Death says, "Oh, that's alright. I'll see him tomorrow. We have a meeting in [city in Inda], and the story's title is "Meeting in [city in India]," only I can't remember the name of the city and Google isn't much help in this case and if ANYBODY knows what the hell I'm talking about, please give me the title in the comments because it's driving me mad and I may not sleep until I get the answer.

§§FOOTNOTE (twisty tales): Unlike Klaus Nomi, who was always a little outside the box, Dawn Spencer Hurwitz was easy to appease -- a little VISA magic and some Mini bonding and her spirit rested.

¶¶FOOTNOTE (space age antennae?): I don't mean in the Vogue/W Magazine sense or in the 80s hair band sense. I mean in the David Bowie-Gary Giltter-Tommy Bolen sense.

##FOOTNOTE (that's me, pounding my head on the desk trying to dislodge clever thoughts): I honestly have no memory of what this footnote was going to be. Bet it was clever. And funny. ETA: GOT IT! I was going to say something about how commenting with slightly obscure references is why one files such bits away. The irony is not lost on me.

†††FOOTNOTE (hot cross Klaus): If I were a better photographer, you could see the prominent cheekbones and the sharp, slightly upturned nose.

I FOUND IT!

All caps necessary to instill the proper sense of the excitement and relief I felt when my arthritic brain released the identity of the much-favoured blogger who posted the "be your own rockstar" meme.

Yvette. It was Yvette.

I feel better. I'm going back to sleep.

I Vant to Suck Your Saddle†

Which creature of the night are you? Your Result: Vampire You are a social pragmatist, as likely to kiss as to bite. Your sensuality and social pragmatism is the counter-balance to your existential angst and your tendency toward depression.
Werewolf
Incubus/Succubus
Sorceror
Cthulu Spawn
Ghost
Demon
Which creature of the night are you? Quiz Created on GoToQuiz

Lookie there.

And I thought I'd end up being a fry cook or a 911 dispatcher.‡

*************

ETA:@ Dzing! - L'Artisan Parfumeur

Marin says: The bad news: I know the story line of this scent too well not to be a little influenced by it.

The good news: It actually made sense to me.

The clear and impressive note is oiled leather, definitely mixed with a little horse. Every trip to the stables from my teenaged years smelled like this.§

It took a long time for that to blow off enough to get the sweeter notes. The carmel was certainly there, but not big, not too sugary and always gently blunted by the smell of leather and hay.

I will say this was definitely an educational scent over one I'd wear either to entice someone else¶ or to please myself.#

L'Artisan says: A unique fragrance inspired by the circus. Possesses all of the distinguished fragrances of this wonderful universe : saddle leather, sawdust from the ring and the caramelised smell of candy. A perfume that reveals itself completely on the skin.

Hans says: It smells like something in the doctor's office. Like tape. And gauze.%


†FOOTNOTE (crossed): Friends don't let friends drink and title.

‡FOOTNOTE (double-crossed): Given the dry and practical nature of some of my answers. For instance, when my theoretical car broke down in the middle of nowhere while driving with my theoretical squeeze, I didn't rip his clothes off and make passionate love to him in a nearby field. I got out of the car and looked under the hood.

@FOOTNOTE (atted): *ahem* Old. Feeble. It's a running theme.

§FOOTNOTE (swerved): Well, this has slightly less actual horse poop.

¶FOOTNOTE (paragraphed): More easily accomplished with beer and baked goods than perfume.

#FOOTNOTE (pounded): Or room spray.

%FOOTNOTE (percented): You'd be surprised how much a doctor's office smells like a stable.