Posts Tagged ‘Rose Flash’

Faster, Faster, Go, Go

October 21, 2016

Get it all done.

I was replacing the light bulbs in my overhead lamp and juggling laundry, messaging with a friend, peeling carrots for lunch tomorrow, packing my school bag and putting away the groceries.

Jesus H. Christ on a raft.

I’m a little busy.

I got up early today and wrote a paper before I went to work.

I also wrote my morning pages, because that’s where so much of the mind gets sorted out and it’s helpful to clean that out before I do my other stuff.

It really does help to set me straight.

I’m a bit bent.

I’m a bit crooked.

I need a little help.

From my friends.

My friends, pen and paper.

I picked up some of my favorite pens today at Walgreens, along with said light bulbs that I was just juggling in my hands, multi-task much Martines?

They always remind me of being in Paris and how devastated I was to not be able to have them when I was running low.

The funny thing is, they are just generic, cheap pens, but I’ve been using them for years and they just have the nicest flow to the ink.

Lovely, luscious, scrawls right out onto the page, easy, loose, and that is important to me, as I write a lot long hand and I want the pen to just be an extension of my hand.

I don’t scrimp on paper though.

Oh!

That is something I just realized!

I will be buying myself Claire Fontaine notebooks when I go to Paris.

I always buy a bunch.

There is a website, I suppose I could always order them, I am still stocked up at the moment, I’ll probably need to replenish sometime between Christmas and May, but I might make it.

Anyway.

That paper, so good, so dreamy, slick and cool and silky under my hand when I write.

I am such a sensory little beast.

I love how things feel, I’m all about the tactile.

The wind on my skin, the warmth of the sun, the touch of something soft.

And smells.

Flowers, my perfume.

“You smell like roses,” she exclaimed to me, “I couldn’t figure out who smelled so good Friday night, and it was you!”

I smiled.

Yes, that’s me.

“But not old lady roses, what is it?” She asked.

Rose Flash baby.

My new perfume.

Well.

I suppose it’s not so new at this point, I started wearing it back in March I think, after I broke my favorite bottle of scent in the bathroom sink, the scent that I have worn with a few exceptions (the Issey Miyake Feu D’Issey years before it went off the market, fuck I would kill for one more bottle of that) Egoiste Pour Homme, by Chanel.

Yes.

I know.

That’s a men’s scent.

But it works so fucking well with my chemistry.

I can only get it at Chanel down on Maiden Lane or when I travel.

Ooh.

I could get another bottle in Paris.

Of course I will.

How could I not?

French perfume, God, I love perfume.

So much.

And scented candles, I’m such a sucker for the good smells.

Wood smoke.

Nectarines.

Salt.

I put on my perfume before I go to bed because I like to smell it in my hair as I fall asleep.

I like clean, soft sheets and perfume.

I light up my candles when I get home.

I like my cozy.

I like my sensory things, I’m a little gluttonous when it comes to those things, but when I think about all the things I don’t imbibe in, well, fuck, bring on the perfume.

Hello, please.

I am pretty happy with the Rose Flash though, I get it at Tiger Lily a little perfumerie on Valencia Street in the Mission, I don’t know if it’s my forever scent, I vacillate about going back to the Egoiste, but it is such a lovely perfume, and I do feel special wearing it.

I want to turn heads.

What girl doesn’t?

I’ve had people stop me when I’ve worn it, as well as follow me to ask what it was.

“You smell so good,” he said to me, and kissed my neck when he stopped by Wednesday before I was heading into work.

Thanks I said and handed over his boots.

Bye bye boots.

Those boots were made for walking right out of my house and I don’t think they’ll be coming back, I didn’t invite the boot owner in and I don’t think I will be again.

But that’s another story.

Senses.

Sound.

Oh yes.

Music.

Right now I’m listening to the Spotify play list my dear French friend put together for me.

I get to see her tomorrow and I’m really happy about that.

In fact, I’m super happy to see a bunch of my cohort.

I have missed them.

I didn’t get it all done, all my homework, I didn’t manage to get all my reading done, but all the papers I have due, four, are finished.

And I’m not going to sweat the reading, I did enough.

I am enough.

And I don’t have to be perfect.

I do need to write my little blog, because it feels so good to write it, all the frustrations and thoughts, it takes away my pain.

Not that I’m saying I’ve been in excruciating pain.

Just a little agony.

You know, no biggie.

Agony.

Ha.

Where was I with my senses?

Oh taste.

Salt.

Cinnamon.

Nutmeg.

The taste of an apple with the above spices liberally sprinkled on them.

Fizzy water in black cherry.

Persimmons!

And oh are they in season, it looks like a persimmon orchard on my kitchen counter.

Sight.

Let me not forget you, and I am scantily covering these senses, there is so much more that I haven’t even had the opportunity to share, write about, ponder.

I don’t have that much time tonight, I’m already up past my bedtime considering that I need to get up and go to school tomorrow.

But.

Let me finish.

I love pretty things, color, my home is full of light and every where I look,  a piece of art, a photograph, something to rest my eyes on, some sort of beauty to see.

Art.

I want to live my life as an artist.

I might even call myself one once in a while.

Writers are artists, no?

Not that I believe tonight’s blog is art, it’s just a scattering of words on a page, a nest of luminous possibility, the thoughts that tumble, the words that I do not write, the ones still trapped in between the skin my heart and the skein of my soul.

But that too.

Is another blog.

And this lady still needs to finish her laundry.

Good night love.

Sweet dreams.

For tomorrow beckons with all its busy.

Rest now.

Rest my heart.

Rest.

 

 

 

Friday

October 1, 2016

I finally made it.

Tomorrow is my first day off in two weeks.

It feels surreal and already gone, wasted, like I didn’t do enough.

Sigh.

Sometimes the days they are like that.

But.

I did do a lot today and though I didn’t make it far past the church on the corner across from Safeway, it was enough after work fellowship to feel like I was plugged back into the matrix.

It didn’t hurt that I got a new phone today too.

The rice thing didn’t work with my old phone, I didn’t actually think it would, my phone was submersed for too long in the water, but hey, I tried, and having a day off from my phone was not a bad thing.

Weird.

But weird is ok.

I think that’s how I feel right now.

Just a little bit weird.

Not a bad thing, but just a little turned around, a little unsure the lay of the land.

And probably just a little tired and needing to decompress from the work week, the school week, the stuff and things, the phone.

All of it.

I am super glad I did not buy a phone yesterday as well.

The difference in the place on Mission Street versus going to the Radio Shack in the Inner Sunset was night and day.

First difference was they had a similar model Iphone to the one I dipped into the toilet.

I had an Iphone 5C.

I was able to get an Iphone 5S.

And.

It had a big promotional, so I got it for half of what I would have paid at the store in the Mission which was pushing me to sign up for a lease to buy the Iphone 7.

No thank you.

I mean.

Sure.

If I had a lot of spending cash, but I don’t really need it and the cost seems to out weigh, and I mean out weigh by a lot,  my needs for it.

I’d rather go get my butt back to yoga class and sign up for another six months of studio time then lease a new Iphone 7.

Besides.

I just wanted to buy it out right and not have payments over my head.

So I was super grateful to find out that though I thought I was being flip when I told the man at the store, “I know you don’t carry five’s anymore, but I don’t need a seven…”

And he replied, “actually we have some 5S’s in stock and they’re on promo and you’ve got an upgrade.”

And he got me a great deal.

Half, actually more than half of what I was looking to pay.

And.

The second biggest difference in the two stores, this customer service guy went over my contract with a fine tooth comb and got rid of some superfluous things, got me unlimited talk and text and got me a plan that is $10 less a month than what I’ve been spending.

That was awesome.

Even when I realized I had no contacts in my phone once it was turned on.

Although I did have some texts and was able to get a few numbers programmed in.

Then.

Later today someone made a comment about “why didn’t I back up to the cloud” and I was like, all fuck you in my head, then, I remembered.

Fuck me!

I had.

And now, this is weird.

I did it two days ago.

Two.

The day before I dropped my phone in the toilet I backed it up to the cloud.

I have no idea why, it just occurred to me out of the blue and I did it while I was at work.

I mean.

I have had that phone for years and never once thought to back it up to the cloud.

Then the day before yesterday I decide to do it, its super simple, not sure why I hadn’t before, and when I remembered that I had in fact done the back up I went into my new phone connected to the cloud.

And voila!

All my contacts back.

Fuck yes.

That was super nice.

Also super nice was the realization that I was trying to go to fast again.

And going to fast yesterday was part of the problem with dropping my phone in the loo.

So.

I cancelled an appointment that I was scheduled to be at to do the phone thing and not feel pressed for time and remade it for next week at the same time.

I got a positive response, confirmed and then when the phone wrapped up easily and quickly and I was paid and out the door.

I thought, fuck it, I’m getting my nails done.

I had the time and I don’t want to be out riding around a lot tomorrow on my scooter.

The crazy is already happening.

Hardly, Strictly Bluegrass is going on and there are a lot of extra drivers and people in the city and I just want to keep a low profile.

There is the off-chance I might take the scooter over to a garage of a friend who has a part for a cosmetic fix on my scooter that I didn’t have my shop take care of.

But.

That’s not confirmed.

The only thing that I will definitely do is hit my 7 p.m. spot and I’m thinking about going to yoga in the morning and committing to that now that my brain doesn’t seem so on fire with life in general.

I also picked up my favorite new perfume from Tiger Lily today, Rose Flash, and had a nice time chatting up the ladies there who remembered me and were happy to help me out with the task of smelling really fucking good.

I smell delightful I tell ya.

Tomorrow I think I shall be chill.

And I will probably do some reading for school.

The towering stack of text books to my right is not going anywhere soon and I need to read them.

All of them.

And write some papers.

Although I may not this weekend.

I may just do as much reading as I can and let the papers go until next weekend.

Anyway.

Friday.

I made it.

Thank you God.

Sound of me sighing.

Good night.

Sleep tight.

Don’t let the bed bugs bite.

Those fuckers have big teeth.

heh.

I Don’t Know

June 9, 2016

And I mean that with every ounce of my being.

I don’t know shit.

But.

I’m showing the fuck up anyway.

Doing the deal.

“What are you going to do?” She asked me two years ago this July, we were just pulling into the Caribou Coffee shack on my way to the airport in Minneapolis.

I had been having a rough couple of months.

I had a severe, like ridiculously severe, in an air cast, out of work, in bed, crying like a baby, unable to do anything for myself, except put on funny stripe socks to bolster my mood, ankle injury and I was heading back to precarious work and the not knowing.

The constant not knowing.

It could have killed me.

Or not.

In the end, it didn’t.

I do remember telling her, my friend who doesn’t have my disease but has some sense of it, she’s a smart cookie, that it ultimately doesn’t matter.

I have a purpose.

I have one primary purpose.

And as long as I take care of that I will be alright.

“I just really want to use heroin,” she wept into the phone.

Well fuck that.

We got together.

We sat over tea.

We did the deal.

We hugged it the fuck out.

And I feel like stellar motel in the sky with lucy and diamonds on the soles of my shoes.

I could dance party until dawn and work a full shift with my boys and be absolutely spot on.

It does not matter what I do.

Well.

Ok.

There are some things I need to do, help others, be a good friend, show up, share my experience, strength, hope, the good stuff, the what works for me stuff.

I don’t advise.

I just give some suggestions and let it go.

Sometimes it is heady and intellectual, but tonight, for me, it was all heart and love, unconditional love for a woman who’s name, ha, I just realized, I don’t know her last name.

If this was a lover.

I might, um, a, be you know.

I tiny bit ashamed of myself for not having his last name on the tip of my tongue.

But this?

Fuck no.

It’s not important.

What is important is that I made myself available and I mainly just listened.

I’m not a doctor.

I’m not a therapist.

Yet.

But.

I have a special set of skills and with those and some experiences to share, some working knowledge of a basic text, I have a purpose.

I have a point.

I was just reflecting on this as I was looking over air fare to Wisconsin for July 4th weekend.

Yeah.

I know.

Am I fucking nuts?

The Midwest in July.

Do I want to die?

The mosquitos will be big as rescue helicopters.

The humidity will make my curly hair a wild mess.

I will get some stares.

I have a few tattoos.

And though they are more prolific in the Midwest than they used to be, I guess folks be watching LA Ink or something, there are still few women who have neck tattoos or chest tattoos or partial sleeves, let alone all three.

Plus.

Heh.

My hair will be pink.

Which.

Whatever.

The last time I was there it was half purple and blue.

I got a few looks.

I got proselytized to as well outside of the ice cream store in downtown scenic Hudson on the river.

Nothing like a young girl, a teenager, somewhere between sixteen and eighteen I would guess, talking to me about God.

Oh doll.

I know God.

And I know God well.

Do I understand God?

Fuck no.

Does God understand me?

Yup.

Do I need to know what God is or does or how God works or doesn’t work?

Nope.

I just have this deep, unshakeable belief in this entity that absolutely and completely loves the fuck out of me.

Who also has a wicked sense of humor.

And.

Never, ever, ever.

Ever, ever?

Never.

Has failed to take care of me.

Ever.

I don’t always get what I want.

But I have never not gotten what I needed.

And so often.

All the time really.

I am surprised, blown away, beleaguered by the love I am given.

All I have to do is turn and shine that love on someone else.

And I am taken care of.

Taken care of in the best sense of the world.

Sometimes I imagine, my small, petty, limited mind.

That my God is a gigantic sunken living room with white fur carpet everywhere.

Hella plush.

Big old pillows everywhere.

Warm soft fuzzy

There is a fire pit.

There are big, huge, gigantic floor to ceiling windows with let in oodles of warm gold light.

I am held in this luxurious love.

Sometimes God is a memory.

A sense of flying.

A swimming through the aqua blues and greens of the pool at the high school in DeForest, swimming laps back and forth in the last lane, the one by the windows, when on a quiet Sunday the pool was empty, the parking lot empty, and no one in the pool be me swimming in and out of patches of aquamarine love.

Held.

Perfect.

Serene.

A float.

Sometimes it is the emotional, melodic beat of drums.

The pounding in my heart that echoes a song.

A rhythm.

My body moves without thought and dance.

Dance is God.

Music is God.

Love is God.

All of it.

I am all of it.

Subsumed.

Taken.

Ravished.

Overtaken.

God is art.

God is standing love struck like a bulldozed girl on Valentines day who finally gets the red carnations call over the loud speakers in school from the principal’s office, come get your flowers at lunch break, to find out that it was her secret crush who had a secret crush on her too, in front of Kandinsky’s “Accent en Rose” at the Pompidou when I moved to Paris in my 40th year of life.

Cold.

Wet.

Miserable with the rain and the getting lost and the hungry but not sure for what.

The aching legs from walking lost in the Marais, the wet socks, the squish, so un melodious, of my Converse as I stepped onto the escalator up to the fifth floor.

Sacre Couer in the distance.

The towers of Notre Dame.

Montparnasse.

The sky mottled with grey, purpled, black, silver lined rain clouds, the bent heads scurrying through the courtyard underneath the flimsy arms of tourist stall umbrellas.

Wondering down the hall.

Wonder (ing) in wander.

Wander (ing) in wonder.

Awed and overcome.

Constricted with the pleasure of art unfolding around me.

Then I turn and see the Kandinsky and I am rose flushed.

Flashed out in love.

High on art.

Stranded in the wilderness of my romantic heart.

Bereft and beguiled.

Beatitudes battering my breath.

Caught.

There.

High in my throat.

Tears welling up and sweltering onto my fevered face.

God.

Is in the details.

In the ellipses between the frames.

In the pause before the eruption of fireworks after the rocket has launched into the sky.

God is.

Or God.

Is not.

What is your choice to be?

I already made mine.

Love.

Always there.

Always holding me.

Always this.

Always this.

Always this.

Love.

My love.

Just.

Love.

 

Back At It

May 26, 2016

Holy shit do I feel better.

Nothing like a little 24 hour bug to put my health in perspective.

I had no idea I was that under the weather.

Until I woke up this morning and felt so much better, so rested, so ready to conquer the world.

Which was a good thing since the family missed having me around.

I made so much food today.

Holy shit.

Triple batch broccoli soup.

Double batch turkey and black bean chili.

Oatmeal for the boys for the rest of the week.

Cut up raw veggies and fruit for lunch boxes and snacks.

And.

Cheese tortellini with pesto sauce.

Oh and a dozen hard boiled eggs.

Not that boiling eggs is such an ordeal, but yeah, I did the food up today.

Plus.

Getting back into the routine with the boys who seemed so much bigger and older and well, sassier.

Which is generally what happens when I go away for a long weekend or don’t see them for a little while, they are going to push my boundaries and see if I will hold them the same way I normally do.

And I did.

Little struggles here and there but after a tiny bit of acting out, a few time outs and quiet time moments, we got our groove on and had a really nice day.

I felt great.

Until I didn’t.

And that did, thankfully pass.

Although it did freak me out for a moment.

I got super dizzy and head rushed running up the stairs to grab a book for the six year old and suddenly found myself standing and wobbling back and forth in the boys room.

Hot and cold by turns and almost passed out.

Granted I ate almost nothing yesterday, but I ate well today, and I caught myself before I toppled and breathed and it passed.

But it was a spooky moment and I am grateful I had neither boy in my arms or anything in my hands had I fallen.

I was also absurdly grateful that I had taken yesterday off.

I would have not made it through the day.

No way.

No how.

It is nice to get back into my groove, though I adore the traveling, I am also a creature of my comforts, my tea, my music, my space, my transportation.

It was hella nice to be back on my scooter and not on a subway.

“You’re an above ground kind of girl,” he said to me–the gentleman I stayed with via Air BnB, “you’re not much on the trains are you?”

I do prefer to be above ground, I love trains, but sometimes subways and undergrounds I can do without, I like to look at things, I love to watch the landscape go by, I like to see the sky.

I also like to walk and that’s always a good way to experience a city.

Or any place I travel too.

It’s good to see things and smell things and take in the environment.

Today I was happy to smell the sea and drift wood smoke and a charcoal pit being lit up, the eucalyptus in the Pan Handle, so good.

I felt happy and free and alive.

And I also smell of fabulousness.

I got my new perfume!

It came into Tigerlily and I picked it up right before work.

Rose Flash.

Fuck me it’s so good.

Super sexy and lush and floral, tuber rose and spicy and a bit musky, but not too much, just a hot kiss of it and the dark rustle of angel wings on fire.

Oh.

I fucking love it.

I could just rub it all over my body.

The girl at the counter was so happy for my happiness that she threw in a body oil on the house also in Rose Flash.

I shall go about my days dipped in deliciousness.

And my nights drowned in the lovely of it.

I like to put on perfume before I go to bed, especially on my wrists and on my neck, behind my ears, so it floats in my hair.

I will crawl naked into bed, float down under the comforter, raise my arms over my head and bury my face in my hair or my shoulder and breath the perfume into myself, my heart, my spirit.

I don’t know when I started that.

But I think it may have been when I was sixteen or seventeen and had splurged on a bottle of Calvin Klein Eternity.

I wore it all the time.

In fact, I probably over wore it, not realizing that my nose got accustomed to the scent, I would put on a lot more than I needed because I wanted to smell it on my body.

“There goes Carmen, wafting again,” one of my mom’s friends snickered as I passed by.

I was horrified.

I had no clue.

I learned then to put it on at night as heavy as I wanted to, the scent washing me to sleep and curling me into dreams.

Feverdown.

Eiderdown.

Soft warm clouds.

Ambient lightness.

Like a lit globe of fairy dust and tales of adventures and wandering.

My sister told me after we had moved out of the house in Windsor, that there were times she would go hang out in my room and lay on my bed and that my sheets always smelled of my perfume.

I found that sweet.

I still find that sweet.

And I am so happy to have this new scent to waft me into sleep and dreams and reverie with.  I am a very lucky girl.

I’m happy and healthy and taken care of.

I paid my rent today.

That always feels good.

I get to go to yoga in the morning.

That will feel lovely.

And.

Cherries are in season.

Oh so sweet.

My life.

A bowl of cherries.

A wash of spiced perfume.

The moon riding over the wine dark seas.

My heart on my sleeve.

Exactly where it should be.

All is right in the world.

Love.

Love.

It’s all around me.

 

 

Upside Down

May 12, 2016

Right side in.

Topsy turvy.

This day has been strange.

However.

I have rolled with it really well, surprisingly so, I feel super settled and though overwhelmed a little, just now, pretty able to just groove along with what is happening.

It did not hurt that I got a full night’s rest.

I was knocked out last night.

It still took me a minute to fall out, but when I did, whoa, I was down.

I think I actually got a solid eight hours, which is the first time since last Thursday.

Yay sleep.

I got myself organized this morning, stripping the bed and washing the sheets, getting into my morning routine, a little breakfast, a couple cups of coffee, some writing.

Oh.

Yeah.

And text my friend who’s place I’m staying at in Brooklyn.

I mean, I should find out how I’m getting into his place when I show up there next Thursday.

Except.

Well.

Shoot.

His travel plans were changed and he actually needs to stay at his room in Brooklyn and I need to find another place to stay.

I really took it well.

I was a little sad at first, I mean, who doesn’t want to save a few bucks on a place to stay?

But then.

I got happy.

Hey!

I get to see my friend, I get to go do the deal with him and see how he’s doing and catch up and grab a coffee and maybe walk around Brooklyn.

I may wrangle him for one of my museum days.

He is an artist after all.

So instead of getting miffed, I just got real.

Ok God.

Where do you want me to stay?

I mean.

I am a little overwhelmed with the decision.

I reached out via the social media and said, hey, what’s up New York?

I have gotten some nice leads.

Suffice to say, and I am not at all ashamed of this, I’m a little too freaking tight on time to give it a whole lot of thought.

The place will find me or I will find it.

Right now.

My mind is focused on finishing the work for school, because I’m not going to have any fun in New York if I still have papers to hand into to my professors.

I got one more in today.

Just a small piece, a page posting and a couple of response replies to the thread online.

Not much, but some motion.

And!

Yes!

Oh, such sweet relief, and I have no idea how it happened, but the APA formatting software that my friend let me download from her, well, I finally got it to open.

I have absolutely no idea what I did differently, but it suddenly happened.

I texted her and got the password to the account.

And voila!

I can now format all my papers in APA style.

No more pulling out my hair trying to figure out citations for the paper, the software does all the work for you, organizing, formatting, my paper will be perfect!

Well.

At least better formatted than the previous ones.

I still have to write the thing.

I made some strides though, small ones, but it was a start.

I put away the one class reader and notebook that I have finished all my reading and papers for, thanks and good night Multi-Cultural Counseling, it’s been fun.

Then I organized my three other classes that I have assignments due for and did the aforementioned posting for the fourth class.

I had five classes this semester.

Going back to just working full time is going to feel like a vacation.

No wonder I am having trouble focusing on where the hell to stay in New York.

Queens?

Brooklyn?

Hell’s Kitchen?

Harlem?

Chelsea?

Wait.

Come back, Martines, not there yet.

Get back to the paper.

So.

I started going through my notes and putting the stickies with scrawled notes and ideas on my notebook.  I started to get the gist of what I am going to write.

Tomorrow I’m going to do yoga in the morning and when I get done I usually have a few moments after my shower to look at things, I’ll take another half hour and keep up the organizing.  Then, come home and review the rest of it.  I’ll take Friday to do the writing, before and after work and the doctor’s appointment.

Then date night.

Because a girl’s got to have some play too.

All work and no play makes Carmen no fucking fun.

I’m listening to Mike Doughty’s Stellar Motel right now, he lives in New York, and as I have been blogging I have had this little question in my head.

“Where would Mike Doughty stay?”

Fucking cracks me up.

Maybe I’ll just message him.

Hey, you got a place you like?

No, you don’t know me, but you follow me on Instagram.

Ha.

I do actually have a lot of connections and folks I know in New York or people that have traveled there and had suggestions.

Everything from my boss saying she like Gramercy Park (um, out of my price range) to go where there’s good coffee shops–Queens, Brooklyn, etc.

Oops.

Ha.

Digressed again.

I am happy though.

I have the opportunity to go to New York and have a completely different experience than the one I planned.

Isn’t most of my life like that?

While I’m busy making plans, God steps in and says, “no, here, this will work better, you’ll like this more.”

Ok, God, so yeah, where should I stay?

Now that I know what you want me to smell like.

OMG.

I found my scent.

I am in love.

Remember, couple weeks back, I dropped my brand new bottle of Chanel’s Egoiste Pour Homme in my sink, yeah, that sad, sad day, I haven’t had any perfume since then.

I have not had the time, or, well, truly, the inclination, to replace it.

I suspected I was needing something new.

And wouldn’t you know it.

I got to work super early today, the traffic was oddly light, and I parked on Valencia and paid for all day parking, still waiting on the permit, in front of a specialty perfume shop that opened a little while back–Tiger Lily.

I walked in.

I told the woman what I used to wear that I really loved.

Issey Miyake Feu D’Issey.

Then I told her about the Egoiste Pour Homme and breaking the bottle and that Chanel had sold me the last bottle and were waiting for restocking.

That I decided I needed a new scent and I was looking for something closer to the Issey Miyake perfume.

I described what I wanted and she and I walked around the store.

She suggested this and that.

And they were nice, but not exactly what I wanted.

Then.

Oh damn Gina.

There it was.

Rose Flash.

Holy shit.

I had a visceral reaction to it.

I shuddered deeply with pleasure as the scent washed over me.

I felt warm and lush and supplicant and hot and fiery and sexy and roses and candles and spicy, all so delicious I could barely stand it.

I was completely transported.

“This one!” I said fierce with the knowing.

“How much?”  I asked, bracing myself for the amount.

“$60, and it’s perfume, not a toilette, so it will last you a while,” she smiled.

“I’ll take it,” I walked over to the counter heady with the perfume.

“We’re currently out,” she said scanning her supply.

Well poo.

“But, it’s a local perfumery and I can get it in really quick, let me have your e-mail and I’ll send you a message as soon as it comes in, and in the meantime, let me give you a sample, I love how you reacted to it!”

Yup.

And I have been dreamily reacting to it all day long.

I put some on at work and the soft warm wafts of scent would envelope me and my mood would just shift and change and open.

Happy.

I feel happy smelling it.

Ah.

So nice.

See.

Something new.

A new smell, a new experience.

There’s something great in New York.

Serendipity.

Love.

Adventure.

There are no problems.

Only different points of view.

Different perspectives and a new opportunity to have a different experience.

Looking forward to it.

Now, excuse me, while I wind down.

I’ve got some busy time ahead of me.

And opportunity to see what happens next.

I suspect it will be amazing.

It always is.


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