Mental Chewing Gum

Busy, busy, busy at work. Summertime is moving time on the university campus and for reasons too tedious to go into, ours can't wait until my little undergraduate minions can be re-hired for the summer. So this is me, moving furniture and boxes, one step ahead of the painters. Ho, hum, didn't I just do this? Lucky thing I'm a strapping girl who doesn't fuss about her nails too much.

Spent my lunch hour working on mailing comments for Acnestis, which has returned me to a vaguely human state; washed the fish oil out of my shirt and put it back on backwards to minimize the humiliation, or maximize the mystery. ("Why yes, I do roll in my lunch. What's it to ya?") And now I'm ready to put up the little mental thumbtwiddle of personal priorities called Chaos into Order, which I lifted from supergee who got it from elisem, and so on.
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Ain't That Just the Way?

I was so good last summer. I spent the whole season pining to buy myself a bottle of Annick Goutal's Ce Soir Ou Jamais but I didn't do it. It's really good perfume, a touch and a half above what I normally afford myself. A mix of wonderful clean, fresh roses with just the lightest touch of citrus note. Pure floral essences, too, not the synthetic crap that curdles to its putrid component esthers and ketones in contact with my skin. It's imply the nicest, me-est scent I've found, since Perfumer's Workshop downgraded the quality of Tea Rose and pulled their pure carnation oil off the market entirely. I got a little sample phial of Ce Soir with my annual staff Christmas present from one of the faculty, and fell dead in love. Vicki always did have the best taste in girly shit. So in lieu of purchase, I made pilgrimages to Saks Fifth Avenue in South Coast to raid their testers. I hoarded my little phial jealously. And I kept promising myself that I would splurge once Hal got a job. But then he finally did, and then it was chaos, throwing things into boxes and trunks and hampers and moving the whole dog-lumbered household to Seattle, and I thought, well, I don't have time to shop now, but surely they have Saks Fifth Avenue in Seattle.

Well, no. They don't. And the Bon, whatever its pretensions, doesn't carry Annick Goutal at all. Wail. Even if it made sense to pop down to San Francisco, just to buy myself a bottle of perfume, I won't have vacation time I can take until October. At this rate, I may be thrown on the mercies of one of the online perfume jobbers, but I'm frankly leery to trust them. Wah. Well, Randy warned me I'd see the downside to Seattle eventually. I guess I found it.