...and also because I'm avoiding doing laundry.
So what is UP with all these skunks lying dead on road surfaces around here over the last week? Hmmmm? Skunk invasion that failed? Big skunk party some of them didn't make it to? There's one in the left lane of Rt. 100 near the airport, one in the right lane of Lee Highway not far from the bridge, and one on the road that goes by the high school. Then there's the one on Broad Street near the bank, and the one I encountered this morning on Bagging Plant Road, on the way to work. FIVE dead skunks, separated by at least a mile, mile and a half - and you know that if these five didn't make it, there are fifty in the surrounding area. Eek.
And Perfume Posse is offline so frequently over these last months. Is it their blog host? Is it their astonishing web traffic? Grrrrr. I need my Posse fix. Hey, now they're online... off, on, off, on...
I've been so busy testing tuberose scents - and all the faaaaabulous swappie samples I've received lately, thanks to all of you wonderful Perfume Hussies - that I haven't had time to wear the scents I already know I really love. Okay, okay, I did wear Diorissimo on Monday... Vanille Tonka, come to Mama, I've missed you. And don't worry, Tabac Aurea, you're next. Smooches!
And speaking of those tuberose reviews, I'm not gonna finish in January. You knew already that I wouldn't, didn't you? I have AT LEAST 22 scents left to review, with the possibility of nine more (if I can get my hands on them, curse Histoires de Parfums and their new tuberose series!). New Plan: I review these over the next three months... or maybe five months... or maybe I make 2010 the Official Muses' Year of the Tuberose. Yep, I like that. Year of the Tuberose it is.
Oh, hey, and apparently Sasha Cohen is back. Girl is still fierce - if I'd gotten to choose what I'd look like, I'd have said, like that, all gamine and dangerous at the same time.
You know what? Turns out I like a hint of civet in my frags: Climat, Ubar, Parfum Sacre, vtg L'Origan, Diorissimo, Sortilege. (Exception Joy. But then I've always maintained that it's the indolic jasmine that bothers me in Joy, not the civet. Why is it that indolic tuberose, or orange blossom, doesn't bother me but indolic jasmine is Total Ho Underwear? I have no idea.)
Is there anything better than a spiral-sliced Smithfield ham? Sure, there are several things As Good, and lots of things that are Almost As Good, but better? I don't think so. Okay, maybe filet mignon. But ham is fabulous. Ham cooking liquid is very weird, though. It's a nice color, and if you strain out all the little brown bits and ham bits and fatty bits, and get the grease out of it, it would make nice gravy. Trouble is, the best way to get the grease out of it is just to refrigerate it and then scoop off the layer of hardened grease after the whole thing is cold. And then what you have is, essentially, Ham Jell-O. Ewwwwww. I guess technically it's gelee, which could become the very fancy-pants aspic, if I were insane enough, and bored enough, to suspend things like poached eggs in it, a la The French Chef. But still, Ham Jell-O. Who in blazes thought that would be a good thing to eat?
So Bookworm actually let me spray her this week with a couple of samples she considered innocuous: one evening it was Kenzo Flower, which we both like, and the next Kenzo Amour, which I like a lot on her, not so much on me, and which she finds “boring.” Progress is being made. Weird that Amour is very creamy on her but floury on me. I know a lot of people really like that rice steam note, but I don't find it interesting beyond the five seconds it takes to isolate and identify the note, sniff it twice for realism, and say, “Yep, there's that rice steam thing.” By the time I've done all that (all five seconds of it), I'm ready to move on. Next!