Hey, Sailor!

I'm a ridiculous procrastinator when it comes to photos and have FINALLY uploaded all of my pictures from Halloween. As a sailor, it was my duty to drink, curse and misbehave like any good shipmate would. I found a nautical vintage frock and took it in just a touch at the waist, donned '50's red lipstick, finger-wave curls, back-seamed stockings, false lashes and an outrageously gaudy fake red rose tattoo. Ooh, and did I mention the handsome captain on my arm? ;) The evening was a splendid success, despite my splitting headache and general dishevelment the next morning (but that's a sailor's life for ya). Here's a pic from the spooky night.



Adore everything nautical? Check out these seriously sea-worthy goodies (click on the pics to visit their sites!):

Poetry Hour: The Line

Three horse-mouths bite the bit

and lick cold metal

suspended between invisible houses.

They wait on empty wires,

to bear a pair of pants, a

child’s summer dress high, above the ground.

Damp cloth hung from lips

and dripped

pale fluid between blades of grass.

Remember gritty textures

of linen, cotton, and calico

to savor and suck dry.

The wooden teeth grind

As the bare limbs of trees wave against a backdrop

where the sky used to be.

Browsing (Not Shopping)

With so many attractive goodies to drool over, what's a broke girl to do these days? Lately, I've gotten into the painful, yet oh-so yummy, habit of "browsing" online, not shopping! I scan, scroll, oggle, gasp... A sweater or pair of pumps may accidentally fall into my shopping cart, but a mighty click! on that x button instantly eliminates all temptation...for a few minutes at least...

These little ditties are a treat for the roving eye:

I am obsessed with Armour Sans Anguish's whimsical confections, made entirely out of recycled fabrics! My sister had a gorgeous dress custom-made out of creamy vintage lace for her wedding reception -- she sent Tawny Holt her measurements and payment info, received the dress in the mail within weeks and it fit perfectly!


Ah, L.A.M.B, how I love thee! Finally an artist's designer label that actually delivers. Pin-up girl meets sexy secretary meets bad ass punk chic in these adorably quirky booties. Drool.













These high-waisted trousers by French Connection are the best I've found so far -- elegant and classic without a lot of junk around the waist. As a long-waisted gal, I appreciate the ability to transform my awkwardly-hanging, too-short tops into sleek tucked-in goodness. Whip off the button-down and trade for a sexier number after the 9-5 shift is up.

A Naughty Playlist

Music turns me on. But some songs just have that mmmm about them, if you know what I mean. Here are a few tracks steaming up my ipod:

Morcheeba: “Slow Down”

Morcheeba drips with sensuality. The British band's blend of trip-hop, rock and R&B makes a truly delicious bedtime aperitif. (They even have a song called, “Undress Me Now”...though I chose a less blatant, equally sexy alternative.) With a name that means "more marijuana," the heady trance-like affect of Morcheeba's music is no surprise. Skye Edwards’ rich honey-smooth vocals lull listeners into an erotic reverie as she coos:

When the day is through
All you got to do is slowdown…

Lovage: “To Catch a Thief”

Lovage’s one and only album, “Music to Make Love to Your Old Lady By,” is an outrageously entertaining and sexy ode to love-making in all forms and fashions. Mike Patton brings his ingenious lyrical and vocal skills into the mix, crooning, and occasionally growling, in a dark melodramatically brooding tone; think Barry-White-possessed-by-the-devil. The scary-talented Kid Kuala turns tables and infuses the songs with tasty samples. Choosing a song in the CD's delectable bouquet -- which includes impressively realistic chorus of pleasure-moans and an orgasmic train ride -- is not an easy task. But I get an extra thrill listening to Jennifer Charles purr to her cat burgling lover:

Come in off that roof top
You're so handsome dressed in black
See you in the shadows
I'd like to see you on your back…

Bjork: “Joga”

Frothing over with sensuality, “Joga” is an exhilarating joy-ride for the ears. Volcanic beats and swelling romantic strings wrap themselves around listeners like silken sheets, building steadily. But before we burst with anticipation, madame Bjork catapults into a soaring chorus with lyrics that exquisitely encapsulate the explosive climax described (and induced).

And you push me up to this
State of emergency,
How beautiful to be,
State of emergency,
Is where I want to be.

Led Zeppelin: “Whole Lotta Love”

Raunchy, rowdy and rockin,’ "Whole Lotta Love" is perfect for naughty playful canoodlers. Turn it up loud so the neighbors can’t hear you! Robert Plant’s bluesy roots shine as he wails teasingly about all of the dirty things he’ll do to his bad girl. I'd let his 1970's self send me back to schoolin' any day. Just let me find my little plaid skirt...

Way, way down inside, I'm gonna give you my love,
I'm gonna give you every inch of my love,
Gonna give you my love.

Massive Attack: “Teardrop”

Yes, it’s the theme song for the TV series, House, but separated from this rather clinical context, the song never fails to seduce. Pulsing drum beats and surging strings blended with Liz Fraser’s (from the Cocteau Twins) smooth breathy vocals and lusciously poetic lyrics inevitably make for racing hearts, weakened knees and surging libidos.

Nine Inch Nails: “Closer”

Let's end with a bang (or perhaps the crack of a whip?) Drenched in harsh electronic beats with Trent Reznor’s gruff sing/whisper piercing through the chaos, “Closer” stirs up wonderfully wicked thoughts of leather and handcuffs. Or perhaps it’s simply the infamously profane lyrics: “I want to f**k you like an animal. I want to feel you from the inside,” that bring out one’s inner beast. Prrrowwwr.

Smell You Later

On Halloween weekend I visited a girlfriend of mine at her adorably quaint apartment. But the minute I walked through her door, I sensed, with my acutely sensitive schnoz, that something was wrong.

Sniff... Sniff...

Somebody -- somebody smelly was here...but who?

"Hiiii!" my friend squealed, wrapping me in a delicious bundle of feminine warmth. Then HE appeared. "This is Jake," cooed my friend. "We traveled together in India two years ago."

Sniff... Cough.

I feel terrible for saying this, but Jake smelled awful. I cringed. Would he try to hug me? God granted me a handshake.

"Nice to meet you, Jake!" I said as cheerily as I could while breathing through my mouth.

Bathing regularly and wearing deodorant were clearly not high on Jake's daily To-Do list. He himself was a cool dude -- quirky, sarcastic, smart, conversant. An enormous bushy beard and generally grungy appearance gave him a Sam Beam-crossed-with-Rip Van Winkle-y look. He'd spent the last 5 months leading trail groups through the wilderness and sleeping on the ground. He'd read a lot of books. When we washed dishes, he refused to use paper towels. All of this, however, could not make up for the dreaded cloud of body odor that loomed ominously about his disheveled person.

I am all for liberal ideals -- peace and love, organic produce, sustainable local agriculture, alternative energy, change! -- but I oppose the freedom to be stinky! "What's so bad about going au naturale? We're humans. That's how we smell," the B.O. advocate might say. But, NO!! That's where they're wrong!! That's NOT how we smell because, dear readers, we, the general public, wear deodorant.

In the sixties, hippies could wallow in the communal glory of each other's general nappiness. They ALL smelled bad, together. And it was beautiful. Today, this is not the case. Hipsters may look a little unkempt, but believe me, they smell awesome. By letting one's bodily flavors ooze untamed from the skin, sit and fester in all of the body's dark sweaty orifices, one produces smells that are, for lack of a better word, GROSS! It's immediately recognizable -- that smell that creeps out after an intense workout or particularly active day. Mmmm...don't you just love the smell of bacteria growing on the body?!! I didn't think so! If the average person can't stand the way you smell, your chances of success in any kind of relationship are going to be slim.

At breakfast, Jake said, "I wonder if my time spent in the wilderness has made me more socially awkward. I can't seem to charm girls the way I used to."

"Or maybe it's the fact that you don't wear deodorant," my friend chuckled.

"That could be it, but I figure the girls who care aren't right for me anyway."

Pity that "the girls who care" make up the majority of the female population. Poor Jakey may find himself endlessly searching for a woman who adores him for all of his smelly goodness, one who is just as, if not smellier, than he... The two of them could be bound together for eternity, their love growing ever stronger with each shower missed!! Ahh romance.

And what about everybody else who cares, meaning the majority of employers and customers and friends and...are specifics really necessary? How can Jake hope to form any kind of relationship -- to progress in a world where human connection is crucial -- if nobody can stand to be around him?

"Come watch Batman Begins with us!" said my friend, whose nostrils clearly weren't as sensitive as mine. Jake was sitting on the couch. I took a baby step into the living room. A wave of Jake-ness hits me. I took a step back.

"Ahhh, you know...I just remember I have tons of homework I have to finish! I'll just be in the other room."

Curiously, over time stinky people seem to get used to their own smells just like a person does with the scent of the perfume they always wear or the smell of the detergent they use. Noses have the magical ability to acclimate (hence, those oblivious cologne-drenched men that one hopes never to be stuck in an elevator with). Hopefully, B.O. fiends don't actually realize the extent of their stinkiness and aren't spreading it around just for shits and giggles. That would be evil!

B.O. is a powerful and dangerous weapon -- it permeates everything it touches, grows and spreads like the black plague (or...anyone remember Dr. Seuss's oobleck?) After several days, my friend's apartment was infiltrated with Jake's "aura". His smell hung in the hallways like an evil invisible fog. By the end of his stay, the couch he'd slept on looked and smelled like some kind of strange biological experiment. I'm not sure a dog would even want to sleep on it. My friend offered to wash his clothes and...you'll never believe it...he refused!!! As if, after stinking up her entire house, he is now too considerate to burden her with this simple chore?? Burning them would have been a better idea, since the one shower he took only tamped down the fumes for an hour or so (and gave the tub a healthy coating of dirt and hair....ewwww.) After he left, my friend had to call a cleaning service to rid her residence of his olfactory presence.

The worst of it was nobody had the heart to tell B.O. guy the truth!! Perhaps if somebody had said, "Dude, you stink!" he would have gotten a clue. But few have the guts to be that brutally honest. Why can't we do it? It's almost as bad as telling someone, "You're overweight," or "You have a giant pimple on your chin that needs popping!" And yet, assaulting someone's personal space with your odorous self, just because you don't feel like bathing, is downright rude. Jake needed a wake-up call. If I'd known him better I would have given him a good talking to. But alas, this wimp must settle for venting her rage on a public blog and hope that the message makes its way to B.O. fiends and victims in need.

Excerpt from Julio Cortázar's "Rayuela" ("Hopscotch" in English)

I touch your mouth, I touch the edge of your mouth with my finger, I am drawing it as if it were something my hand was sketching, as if for the first time your mouth opened a little, and all I have to do is close my eyes to erase it and start all over again, every time I can make the mouth I want appear, the mouth which my hand chooses and sketches on your face, and which by some chance that I do not seek to understand coincides exactly with your mouth which smiles beneath the one my hand is sketching on you.

You look at me, from close up you look at me, closer and closer and then we play cyclops, we look closer and closer at one another and our eyes get larger, they come closer, they merge into one and the two cyclopses look at each other, blending as they breathe, our mouths touch and struggle in gentle warmth…Then my hands go to sink into your hair, to cherish slowly the depth of your hair while we kiss as if our mouths were filled with flowers or with fish, with lively movements and dark fragrance. And if we bite each other the pain is sweet, and if we smother each other in a brief and terrible sucking in together of our breaths, that momentary death is beautiful. And there is but one saliva and one flavor of ripe fruit, and I feel you tremble against me like a moon on the water