I have a tracking number for my Switch Witch present! Why what is a Switch Witch you ask? It's like a secret santa but better - hehe - I'm a member of a perfume oil community where perfume is just a small part sometimes - it's just the most awesome group of people. You join the round and fill out a questionnaire and a secret person gets to know you and you do the same for someone else. And, then you send little packages, e-cards - whatever strikes your fancy to your secret witchee. It's really fun, and I have a package coming! (hehe) I've already finished witching my witch (hehe - say that 5 times fast!)
I've been reaching for much different oils than I normally do - usually I'm a bubblegum, foodie scent type of girl - I guess it's because I'm going through a lot of changes right now. I've fallen in love with these two Black Phoenix oils:
Whip: Agony and ecstasy: black leather and damp red rose. (Usually, I detest rose scents but ohmygod this smells good on me - flowery with a big slap of naughty - must get more of this!)
Graveyard Dirt: A tribute to a somehat nefarious and truly notorious ingredient in New Orleans spellcrafting. It is employed in hoodoo rootwork for various reasons, primarily in spells of protection, “tricking” your enemies, binding, and even love magick. The graves are chosen based on the type of working, and are determined by the type of spirit that lies there and the manner of their demise. Payment is always required in the form of offerings to the deceased. This is the scent of pure graveyard dust, spattered with grave loam and dusted lightly with tombstone moss.
(I do *not* like scents with dirt notes in them - ever! But, this goes freaking wicked chocolate on me - a down and dirty, sexy chocolate. I adore this - which is not good because it was discontinued in 2005 so is very hard to get - I got lucky and snagged a couple of vials).
He called tonight to tell me that my roommate sent him a text message. I'm like, you're a big boy - handle it yourself - I'm not responsible for what my roommate does or doesn't do. He claims he's going to file a complaint about him - go for it! Just don't call me whining about it - because I just don't care - I had to deal with his crazy exes contacting me and befriending my ex. I'm sick of all the drama. I almost didn't pick up the phone; I probably shouldn't have - some part of me was hoping that he had something nice to say like "hey, I realized how dumb it was to not do one little thing for someone that loves me with all of her heart and soul so that she'll feel safe living with me." I'd like to write the script for my life for just one week - seriously.
I'm part of a necklace swap where I have to make a necklace for a secret swapper - how do I get myself into these things?! I wish I knew someone locally that could teach me beading; I would love to learn how. I think for now I'm going to get some metal clay and sculpt a centerpiece necklace - it seems the closest thing to my current skill set.
My Snow, Glass, Apples perfume is coming this week too with a limited edition copy of Neil Gaiman's short story of the same name. I was lucky to snag the set (a limited edition chapbook and the accompanying perfume) - they sold out in a day - did I mention that I love love love packages? (yes! all kinds....hee!)
Snow, Glass, Apples: It's supposed to smell like "sexy, vampire apples"- here's the intro--
She said nothing. Her eyes were black as coal, black as her hair; her lips were redder than blood. She looked up at me and smiled. Her teeth seemed sharp, even then, in the lamplight.
"What are you doing away from your room?"
"I'm hungry," she said, like any child.
It was winter, when fresh food is a dream of warmth and sunlight; but I had strings of whole apples, cored and dried, hanging from the beams of my chamber, and I pulled an apple down for her.
"Here."
Autumn is the time of drying, of preserving, a time of picking apples, of rendering the goose fat. Winter is the time of hunger, of snow, and of death; and it is the time of the midwinter feast, when we rub the goose-fat into the skin of a whole pig, stuffed with that autumn's apples, then we roast it or spit it, and we prepare to feast upon the crackling.
She took the dried apple from me and began to chew it with her sharp yellow teeth.
"Is it good?"
She nodded. I had always been scared of the little princess, but at that moment I warmed to her and, with my fingers, gently, I stroked her cheek. She looked at me and smiled -- she smiled but rarely -- then she sank her teeth into the base of my thumb, the Mound of Venus, and she drew blood.
I began to shriek, from pain and from surprise; but she looked at me and I fell silent.
(borrowed from the lab)
So excited...now, if only I could sleep - apparently, the pain and stress of the past few weeks are wreaking havoc with my sleeping schedule.
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