saviabella

Grace in good things

noreply@blogger.com (savia) — Fri, 03 Jul 2009 22:02:00 +0000

Having someone drive down my street and know instantly which house is mine, because it reflects my style and personality (Hey - all those expensive renovations are finally paying off!)
Men who wear cologne.
Resisting the urge to bury my face in the necks of said men to take a deep sniff of said yummy cologne.
Good theatre with good company.
Long discussions about South African politics.

Oh, shit (or, the Great Distemper Scare of 2009)

noreply@blogger.com (savia) — Thu, 02 Jul 2009 00:50:00 +0000

Thanks to everyone who gave suggestions on names for the new foster kitties. The verdict is in. Meet:

Howie (thanks typicalquirk) is the shy male black kitten. His name is inspired by Howard Hughes, only cuter.

The outgoing black female kitten's name is Astro Girl (thanks, Diva).

And this little tabby dude is Xander (yes, my Buffy obsession won out after all.)

I was keeping the three kittens in my spare bedroom, which has a futon in it. I covered the futon with blankets and a bunch of towels to protect it. The kittens all hid underneath it, not surprisingly. I went up there several times a day to handle and socialize them, and make sure they had enough food and water.

Every time I went in, I noticed that one or more of them had pooped on the towels on the futon. Probably stress, I thought. So, I'd clean off the towels/blanket, put on new ones, and haul the soiled ones downstairs to toss in the laundry.

By the time the laundry was done, the kittens had soiled the towels and blanket I had just changed. This pattern continued until I was doing more than four loads of laundry a day, and about ready to burst into tears.

I sent a frantic email to our awesome foster home coordinator freaking out about kitten poop and saying that I couldn't keep them in my house anymore, as I was worried they were going to wreck my futon. She got back to me shortly and said that she had found another foster home to take two of the kittens and asking if I could keep one of them.

One poop monster is far easier to deal with than three, so of course I agreed.

Shortly after Astro Girl and Xander were shipped off, I got an upsetting call from the foster home coordinator. One of the kittens' litter mates (a litter of nine, would you believe) suddenly became very ill and had to be euthanized immediately. They suspected it was severe and rapidly progressing distemper, which is fatal to kittens. All of the kittens from that litter needed to be taken to the vet for treatment.

I put Howie in his carrier and took him down right away, not knowing if I'd see him again. At the vet, he was isolated with the other exposed kittens and given aggressive deworming medication, IV fluids and antibiotics. A few hours later, the foster home coordinator dropped him and a bottle of liquid antibiotics and deworming meds off with me, as the vet was going to be closed the next day and they wanted to make sure the kittens were being monitored in case they got worse.

When she brought Howie in, she said, "Uh, he had explosive diarrhea in the car, so you're going to have to give him a bath." Sure enough, I looked in the carrier, and it was coated with putrid, liquid kitten poo. Lovely.

Howie's poo, meet some "Yes to Carrots" shampoo. I'm sure you'll be very good friends.

Howie's been doing so much better since, however, and proven to be the polar opposite of his namesake. Perhaps he was so shy because he wasn't feeling well? In the past few days, he has become a playful, exploring ball of energy.

Part of that is the fact that he has decided that my male black cat, Levi, is his mom.

I like to call Levi the Official Ambassador of Savia's House of Pets. He's such a laid-back, friendly, fearless cat. He doesn't feel territorial or threatened when other cats are around, and is the first to go up to them and lick their foreheads in greeting. So, when he met Howie, that's exactly what he did. Being a kitten, Howie had only every experienced this gesture from his mother, so it makes sense that he would think Levi, a fellow black cat, was the reincarnation of dear mum.

Then, something kind of weird happened. As Levi was grooming Howie, the kitten bonked his head against Levi's chin, and then worked his way lower, down Levi's chest. He then began rubbing his face into Levi's belly, kneading it with his paws, and searching for a nipple on which to suckle.

This went on until Levi got a really freaked out look on his face, and ran away.

The phenomenon repeated itself several times a day. Observe (they're both black, so it's a bit hard to see, but you get the drift):

Now, Levi and Howie have come to a compromise they both can live with. Levi grooms and cuddles Howie, and Howie gets to pseudo-nurse from Levi, as long as he keeps it above the belly, away from the nipples. So, I am often confronted with the scene of Levi lying down, licking Howie's face and body, and Howie soaking Levi's fur with his kitten spit, suckling and kneading Levi's chest right below his neck.

It works for them, I suppose, and damn, it's cute. But also, kind of weird.

iVibe

noreply@blogger.com (savia) — Mon, 29 Jun 2009 21:45:00 +0000

This free vibrator application kind of makes me want to get an iPhone. Read this blurb for all the tingly details.

My favourite quote from the article: "why not turn on the app, hold the iPhone discreetly against your body while on the metro, in a cab or even at your desk as you exchange sultry IMs or Twitter DMs with your real life partner or dream partner? Having a little vibration can add excitement and tingles to your day (and your genitals)."

If you have the app on your phone or add it, you have to promise to tell me all about it!

The X factor

noreply@blogger.com (savia) — Sun, 28 Jun 2009 17:03:00 +0000

Two weeks ago, Superstar showed up in the city, unannounced. He returned to pick up the remainder of his things and transport them to his new life on the coast.

When I got his call, tears flowed immediately. I wasn't sure if I could see him, because it was quite possible I would sob the entire time. It might hurt too much.

The thing is, I didn't really mourn the loss of this relationship. Two years of my life, with my soul mate, ended right before Christmas. At the time, we held each other and cried, had amazing break-up sex, and then didn't see each other until he was leaving town. A supper with some friends and then a latte date to say a final farewell.

After that, I didn't cry at all. Just went on with my life. I was preoccupied with work stuff and immersing myself in thesis research. Not to mention cuddling the awesome cat I replaced Superstar with.

I thought I was fine. And then, at the end of May, the same day I had been approached to participate in a threesome, I went to the arts festival with Superstar's family, who invited me to watch the boys' dance performance.

It was so great. The five-year-old girl was so happy to see me that she hugged me at least 12 times, and sat on my lap the entire performance. The 11-year-old was thrilled with the book I gave her on early Canadian women settlers (this kid is way too mature for her years. For instance, she's read all of Jane Austen. I'm an English MA student and I still have one Austen book to go!) The boys' dance was great, and I had interesting conversations with Superstar's sister and brother-in-law.

At the end of the night, I hugged them all and they promised to have me over for supper soon. As I walked away, tears began streaming from my eyes. I felt the full impact of the loss of our lives together, being part of that family on a daily basis. I've never felt like part of a real family before, except for when I'm in Italy visiting my family, and I'm lucky if I see them once a decade.

I missed Superstar and what we had together. Particularly juxtaposed against the threesome offer earlier that day. Being the guest star in a liaison with a married couple is perhaps the most casual, uncommitted sex you can have. What Superstar and I had is the polar opposite of that: true intimacy, love, connection, and passion. Next to that, everything else seems so cheap.

I felt as though I had been broken open. For at least two weeks, I cried myself to sleep, feeling the emptiness left by their absence in my life. I realized that I hadn't really dealt with it over the past five months. It dawned on me that my heart is, indeed, broken.

And then, he showed up on my doorstep.

To be continued.

Blog business card giveaway

noreply@blogger.com (savia) — Thu, 25 Jun 2009 17:03:00 +0000

Visit my review site for a chance to win some business cards for your blog. The giveaway closes on July 2. Good luck!

Name my pussy

noreply@blogger.com (savia) — Fri, 19 Jun 2009 20:08:00 +0000

Hey Internets, can you help a gal out?

I am fostering three kittens for a local animal rescue organization, and I need some names. If left to my own devices, they will all have names from Buffy the Vampire Slayer (I changed my other foster cat's name from Peaches to Willow after chain-watching the first four seasons, so don't put it past me.)

The kittens were just dropped off this afternoon. I don't know if they're male or female yet, so the names will have to be versatile.

Two kittens are black. One of them is super shy and a little fluffy, and the other is a very active and outgoing short-hair.

The third one is a tabby whose personality is somewhere between the other two.

Names are important, because they can often affect how long it takes for the animals to get adopted. And, frankly, the longer seven animals are in my house, the more likely it is that I will become the crazy cat lady living down by the tracks. I've already got the crazy and the tracks thing going on, so I need your help, stat!

What would you name them?

UPDATE: I have finally scoped out the kitty butts, and know the sex of the three kittens. The outgoing black cat is female and the other two are male.

Finally, a beer commercial I can support

noreply@blogger.com (savia) — Sat, 13 Jun 2009 04:45:00 +0000

Now, that's what I call talent

noreply@blogger.com (savia) — Thu, 11 Jun 2009 00:03:00 +0000

Sign language

noreply@blogger.com (savia) — Wed, 10 Jun 2009 00:30:00 +0000

Savia's pheromones strike again

noreply@blogger.com (savia) — Tue, 09 Jun 2009 15:48:00 +0000

Awhile ago, I went to a burlesque show with a bunch of friends of friends.

Being the burlesque wannabe that I am, I wore a pink corset with black piping, black lace choker, filmy black skirt with fuchsia underlay, black open-toed heels and a sexy long black jacket I like to call "Matrix chic" (thanks, Abigail, for giving that one up at the last clothing swap!)

My look was such that when we went to the bank machine downtown and I was walking by a guy standing on the corner, he stopped, looked me up and down and said, "Wow. You look fantastic."

Nothing like the drive-by stranger compliment to make a gal's day. And here I was feeling all self-conscious looking like a hooker on a street corner. Oh, well, at least I was a high-class one. Probably expensive, too, because of all the extra time it would take to get me unstrapped from that corset. You pay by the minute, baby. Tick tick tick.

One of the new friends I met that night was a guy dressed in an impeccably tailored gray suit, stylish tie, perfectly polished shoes, and great hair. He fawned over me immediately, "You look so amazing." The compliments flowed throughout the night. He was very friendly, flirtatious and touchy feelie.

I assumed he was gay. Until he started talking about his wife, who would be joining us later on.

"Huh. I guess he's just a very flirtatious meterosexual with great taste in clothes (and women)," I thought.

His wife was awesome. Really nice, smart and funny, just like him. We didn't get to talk a lot, because of all the burlesque action going on. At one point, the guy leaned over to me and said, "My wife has a girl crush on you."

"Aww. How sweet. I really like her, too," I responded.

Later on, we went to get our pictures taken with the burlesque performers. Waiting in line, I noticed the way he touched his wife, stroking her back affectionately. It was obvious they had a really close relationship.

She got tired of waiting and went over to a bench across the room, and I noticed his hand beginning to stroke up and down the curve of my waist, in the same manner as he had touched his wife. Only his hand kept going lower. I thought, "Well, this is interesting," and looked over my shoulder. His wife didn't seem to notice, or if she did, she didn't care.

Maybe she was used to his flirtations and knew they were harmless?

At one point, he tried to hold my hand. Feeling a bit uncomfortable, I linked my arm through his instead. Again, his wife was not too far away and showed no reaction to his display of affection.

I know a lot of guys like that: they're just flirty guys, their wives know it, and it's no big deal if they hit on me blatantly. But, then again, I've known these couples for years, and this is someone I just met that night. I wasn't sure what to think, so I just dismissed the thought.

At the end of the night, he announced that he wasn't working the next day, and we should all come over for some wine on their deck. I agreed, as I wasn't doing anything. Shortly thereafter, I found out the other gal in our group probably wouldn't make it. And then, his wife said, "Oh, I may not get to see you. I have to work tomorrow at 12:30." I responded, "I'll make sure I come over before then - I really want to hang out with both of you!"

So, she was okay with me coming over to her house and spending time alone with her husband, drinking wine. I guess they have a very strong, non-jealous relationship, I thought.

When I got home that night, I added the guy on Facebook (his wife didn't have an account). He immediately added me back, and sent me this message:

"[wife] and i want to do naughty things with you... okay... really, i want to do naughty things with you."

Hmmm. Interesting. Is that a joke or a proposition? So, I wrote back, "I get that a lot, actually," logged off, and went to bed.

The next morning, there's a normal message from him giving their address and saying his wife was really excited about me coming over for drinks. I was curious about the situation, so I grabbed my dog and went.

We sat on their deck and had a great chat. He drank wine, she drank coffee, and I had some Perrier while watching their dog trying to eat my dog's poo. Which was kind of gross. Fortunately, the dog was thwarted by his owners each time. Anyway, it was a great conversation. Then, his wife had to go to work. After she left, the conversation changed just a tad.

Some tidbits:

Guy: You really looked amazing last night. That corset was so hot. When [wife] and I got home after the burlesque show, we were so horny. You featured prominently in our fantasies that night...and again this morning.
Savia: [unfazed] Aw. That's sweet.

Savia: Oh, look. Your dog is trying to hump my dog.
Guy: Is that a euphemism?
Savia: Actually, no. I really was talking about the dogs.

Guy: [talking about how he and his wife like to smoke pot.]
Savia: I had a really bad experience once and didn't do it for three and a half years. Then, Superstar said to me one night, "How about I get you high and go down on you?" And who can say no to that?
Guy: I'd get you high and go down on you.
Savia: [gives him an odd look, like she's not sure she heard him correctly.]
Guy: Just sayin'.

At one point, he grabbed my foot, took off my shoe, and said, "I'm going to massage your foot." Uh, okay. The weird thing is, while he was doing it, it seemed platonic. We were discussing things like home renovations and other benign topics while he massaged my foot and calf. This went on for about 20 minutes or longer, so I was starting to believe that there was nothing more to this. That he really was just an overtly and somewhat overzealously flirty guy. And then, his hands moved up past my knee and started massaging my thigh.

I lost track of what I was saying about whatever topic we had been discussing.

Savia: I...uh...um...what was I saying?
Guy: Is this okay?
Savia: Uh...no.
Guy: I can stop.
Savia: Yeah. Below the knee is okay, but, this...

He moves his hands away from my thigh and I decide to get blunt.

Savia: So, do you guys have an open marriage or what?
Guy: No, we don't have an open marriage, exactly. We enjoy doing our...extracurricular activities together.
Savia: So, you're swingers then.
Guy: No...Well, yes...but not that word.
Savia: Oh, so you like having guest stars.
Guy: Yes.
Savia: So, how does that work, exactly?

We proceeded to have a totally normal conversation about how the "extracurricular activities" work in their relationship. When they agree on someone (his wife likes the ladies with the boobs and hips, so me in the corset must have been quite the draw for both of them), he is the one who does the "recruiting." Then, they all have a good time. Neither of them are jealous at all, because they have trust and a solid relationship. They're just really horny people who like to have a lot of sex with different people, but are committed to each other. The only time there are problems is when the other woman gets emotionally attached to the guy and begins to think there is going to be something more. Then, the wife boots that chick to the curb.

"Interesting," I said.

Now it all made sense. The wife not caring that he was caressing me and trying to hold my hand at the burlesque show, and not showing any concern about me being alone with her husband while she was at work. Clearly, the plan was that he and I would get it on that afternoon, and then, at a later time, the three of us would have naked good times together.

Throughout the conversation, I remained neutral, trying not to show any reaction that would make him think that I was into it, or that I was judging them in any way.

I know another couple who has explored some extracurricular action together, and who has made it clear that I can join them sometime. I think it's great that they have the kind of relationship that can weather an outsider coming in. Plus, it's really hot to hear their stories, and also to fantasize about taking them up on their offer. (What can I say? They're really hot.)

I didn't give the guy any indication of a response, and the conversation topic veered in another benign direction. Though, at one point, there was this:

Guy: Oh, god, you're driving me crazy. Look what you're doing to me.
Savia: Uh. I'm just sitting here, holding my dog.
Guy: Oh, you know what you're doing. This is all your fault.
Savia: Uh...
Guy: Just kidding.

He must have realized that nothing was going to happen that afternoon, so he announced that he had to get back to his gardening, and essentially kicked me out. As he walked me across the street to my car, we chatted about getting together for drinks sometime, and he said something weird about how we should get his wife drunk and high sometime because she's so fun when she's like that.

Alright.

Just before I opened my car door, he came toward me for a kiss. It seemed as though it was going to be a peck on the lips, but I instinctively turned my face so that he caught me just outside the corner of my mouth. And then I left.

I called Diva immediately to tell her the story. She's the friend I always call when something crazy happens, plus, I knew she'd be home during the day. After I was done, she said, "Go for it! And then tell us all about it!" I could hear B-rad in the background, yelling, "Do it!! We want details!!"

My friends, they are oh, so helpful.

I would like to think I am the kind of person who could go through something like this, but deep down, I know this isn't who I am. Sex, to me, is about intimacy. I've never done the casual sex thing, and I don't know that I ever could. However, if this is something that works for guy and his wife, that's great.

They are really cool people and I wouldn't mind seeing them again, but how do you say, "I really like you guys, but not in a you-do-your-wife-from-behind-while-she-goes-down-on-me kind of way"?

They haven't contacted me since. I guess they figured out that I'm just not a threesome kind of gal.

But at least we can all still have the fantasy.

Twirling, twirling, twirling toward freedom

noreply@blogger.com (savia) — Mon, 25 May 2009 04:01:00 +0000

I went to a burlesque show on Thursday night and was inspired to sign up for a burlesque workshop in mid-June. I've taken a burlesque dance class before, where we learned some moves, but this workshop is far more intensive. From the brochure:

Includes: Walks and character development, small reveals, glove and stocking removals, boa work, tassel twirling, parasol and fan work, and striptease tips.

What got me was the "tassel twirling." As in nipple tassels. The second half of the class is topless! Eep!

I wish I could say that the last time I was topless in front of a room full of women was high school gym class, but we were all too self-conscious about our bodies back then, and everyone was cowering in their corners, refusing to shower and covering up as much as humanly possible. So, I would say that I have never been topless in front of a room full of women. The only way this workshop will be like gym class is if the gym's water fountain were spiked with E.

So, it's a tad bit intimidating, but that's part of the reason I signed up. Everyone else is going to be topless, too, so I imagine we'll all just laugh and get used to it. Plus, if I yell, "Show me your tits," this is one of the few times that dozens of women will oblige. And who wouldn't want that?

If we don't already have nipple tassels, we were told to email the workshop's Head Mistress to order some in advance. So, I emailed her. This is what I got in response:

Savia, yes, can you please let me know what colour and what size. Small = tea light; large=soup can; medium=in between.

Knowing already that I am definitely not a soup can, I went to my candle holder, pulled out a tea light and whipped out a boob.

Medium it is.

Speechless

noreply@blogger.com (savia) — Fri, 15 May 2009 20:16:00 +0000

Anyone who says pole dancing isn't an art can suck it. This is one of the most amazing things I've seen in a long time. Enjoy!

My hips don't lie

noreply@blogger.com (savia) — Thu, 14 May 2009 21:55:00 +0000

I went to a professional event the other day and a guy came and sat next to me. He and I had crossed paths in the past, so it wasn't a big surprise. We had a nice chat over lunch and he was quite flirtatious. Then, he asked me out for coffee. I thought that would be fine, as we did have a number of professional things to talk about. Also, as I have been immersed in thesis research as of late, I have been trying to make an effort to be more social, lest I turn into a total book geek.

Most importantly, however, I discovered during the course of our conversation that he is from Africa and had read a lot of African literature; this means we could discuss my thesis and he would actually know what I was talking about, which made me very happy. Okay, forget that part about trying not to turn into a total book geek, because it just happened.

When I agreed to coffee with a professional and literary bent in mind, he made it very clear that it wasn't just coffee: "You are very beautiful and that is why I'm asking you for coffee." So, no deluding myself that this would not be a date. It caught me a bit off-guard, but at least I knew what I was getting into, should I decide to go through with it.

I ran into a friend of mine before I left the event, and said, "Hey, that guy over there just asked me out."

She looked shocked, "Uh, he's married!" She mentioned that he was a pretty flirtatious dude, but had never taken it that far with anyone she knew. Another guy who overheard our conversation said, "The brother's pretty aggressive." I responded, "It's the childbearing hips - they're a beacon to men from other countries. Never fails." He laughed and high-fived me.

As for the business card of smarmy married dude? Card, meet my recycling bin. I hope you'll be very happy together.

Overrated

noreply@blogger.com (savia) — Fri, 08 May 2009 15:04:00 +0000

There's an online project asking people to make a list of four things they consider overrated.

Here is my list:

1. The 69 position
2. Spray lube
3. Vibrating cock rings
4. Ginormously large penises

What's yours?

Bug sex

noreply@blogger.com (savia) — Sat, 02 May 2009 23:13:00 +0000

This video of Isabella Rossellini having sex with a giant fly rocks my world.

However, it is a distant second to her reenactment of sadomasochistic snail sex.

And, now that I think of it, probably third behind her lament over losing her penis in the Queen Bee's vagina...

Check out the whole Green Porno series. You won't regret it.

I fucking love crazy Italians.

Savia smells, pass it on (continued)

noreply@blogger.com (savia) — Fri, 01 May 2009 02:36:00 +0000

In this post, I promised a follow-up review on yet another natural deodorant I was testing out. Here you go:

Burt's Bees Herbal Deodorant

When I saw that Burt's Bees had a natural deodorant, I had to buy it. I have been a fan of every Burt's product I have tried thus far; they're effective, smell great, and are widely available, so I don't have to go to a specialty store to seek them out.

When I looked at the ingredients on the container, I saw they were similar to those in the Kibio deodorant that I raved about in my last review. So, I thought that this would be the same kind of thing, only at a lower price point ($12 compared to $20).

I smelled the nozzle in the store and it seemed alright - a kind of herbal, woodsy citrus, but not as tasty as the Kibio. I thought it would be acceptable, until I got it home and sprayed it on myself. The concentrated smell just about knocked me over.

The company describes the scent as "the smell of nature" or "outdoorsy." I would describe its stench as akin to a natural mosquito repellent. I actually gagged, it was so awful.

I would rather smell my own BO than walk around smelling like this crap. And, incidentally, I ended up smelling my own BO because the deodorant, as strong as it seemed, did not last throughout the night. Talk about a rude awakening. Its stank mingling with my natural stank created a whole new creature that could potentially be the cause, or perhaps the cure, of the Swinefluenza epidemic.

Why, Burt's Bees? Why? What did I ever do to you to deserve this? Aren't you supposed to be trying to make things smell like bees, rather than kill all the bees in a 10 km radius? We need those bees. They pollinate shit and stuff like that!

Don't make me scold you again, Burt's Bees. Or I may be forced to spray you down with your own deodorant, and no one wants that.

Always be prepared

noreply@blogger.com (savia) — Wed, 29 Apr 2009 22:00:00 +0000

I went to see my therapist yesterday. As I have been feeling a bit queasy as of late, I brought with me a bottle of natural ginger ale to sip so I wouldn't puke all over the therapist's nice leather couch. I mean, what would Freud have to say about that? Is there such a thing as reverse oral fixation?

I wasn't the only one in the waiting room. There was also a guy reading some a workbook on positive self-esteem. At one point, he glanced up from his book, did a double take at me, and gave me a strange look.

Jeez, I thought, judgmental much? It's not like I'm the only one in therapy here, low-self-esteem guy. Maybe you'd have higher self-esteem if you weren't giving total strangers dirty looks. Jerk.

He was called into his therapist's office shortly thereafter, and once he was gone, I realized what the weird look was all about.

I was not drinking just any ginger ale. I was drinking Real Brew Outrageous Ginger Ale (the brand in the States is called Natural Brew, FYI) and the bottle looks like this:

Now I know what he was thinking: "Wow, you've got some serious problems there. Good thing you're in therapy, though I don't know how much that's really going to help if you're drinking beer in the waiting room."

I smiled and shook my head and went in to see my therapist. When he saw the bottle, he remarked, "Oh, so you've come prepared, then."

My response: "What can I say? It's been a rough week."|

Savia smells...pass it on

noreply@blogger.com (savia) — Tue, 28 Apr 2009 12:30:00 +0000

I realize that I have hit quite the blog block as of late. So, I have decided to break it with an uber review of natural deodorant. [Note: This review is completely unsolicited. I have not been asked to review these products nor am I receiving any kind of payment for doing so.]

Yes, deodorant. That stuff that is supposed to stop you from smelling like that creepy dude passed out in the corner of the bus station (the one you don't even want to poke with a stick because the smell keeps you from getting close enough to do it. That, and the stick would probably disintegrate.)

Notice I said deodorant and not antiperspirant. There's a good reason for that.

For the past few years, I have been making a major attempt to go natural in terms of my beauty routine and diet. I've cut out hydrogenated oils for the most part (though who can resist Easter chocolate, come on!) and am no longer buying shampoos, conditioners, lotions, soaps, makeup, etc. that contain sodium laurel/laureth sulfate or parabens.

My one real holdout, however, has been antiperspirant. It was hard for me to let go of it, because, well, it works. And there is no real natural substitute for it. Deodorant is not the same as antiperspirant. With deodorant, you're going to sweat; you're just hoping you're not going to smell while you're sweating. Antiperspirant allows us to believe that women glow rather than sweat, because we are so far above that base function.

I'm all for anything that allows me to believe that I'm a princess who doesn't need to have sweat glands, but it seems a tad bit unhealthy to clog them up because I don't want to smell. The presence of aluminum in antiperspirant also stresses a lot of people out, and understandably so: aluminum is a neurotoxin known to cause dementia and wreak havoc on other bodily systems (there are rumours about it causing breast cancer, but these are highly disputed.) And I don't know about you, but I already have a healthy dose of The Crazy, so I don't need anything else fucking with my brain, thank you very much.

Somewhere along the line, I decided to suck it up and see what this whole natural deodorant thing was all about. After all, it worked well for Superstar, and he was a big, sweaty guy. I've never had a problem with sweating or body odour myself, so it seemed I was being a bit paranoid in cuddling the remains of my last stick of Secret. Time to take the plunge.

Adidas Cotton Tech Absorbent-Deo, Pure Powder

My first foray into the world of deodorant was mainstream. I heard that Adidas makes an aluminum-free deodorant that is supposed to act like an antiperspirant. A friend of a friend highly recommended it, so it had to work, right? Plus, how great would it to be able to just switch to a new drugstore brand without any real hassle?

The stick's cotton technology is supposed to absorb wetness, while the deodorant keeps you from smelling. As far as I could tell, it did neither. Even though it wasn't working, I kept using it, desperately hoping I was wrong.

I mean, it is supposed to be tested on athletes. I imagined all of these sweaty wrestlers with Cotton Tech residue under their pits, tackling one another in a gym that smells like old socks, only they, themselves, smell like Pure Powder. So, if it wasn't working on my pits, what did that say about me? Was my extreme stenchiness a sign that I really wasn't a princess (gasp!)?

Fortunately, Schmutzie's review of the same product concludes that it actually made her (and Palinode) smell worse than using nothing. Whew (or shall I say, phew?) It's not just me!

Nature's Gate Organics Deodorant, Lemongrass and Clary Sage

Having struck out at the drugstore, I decided to hit the health food store and see what kinds of hippie sticks tickled my fancy. I came across this one, which wasn't overly expensive. Perhaps the fresh scent of lemongrass and clary sage would do the trick?

And...FAIL.

It smelled nice when you first put it on, of course, but once natural processes took over, not so much. Can anyone say citrusy BO? Is this Nature's Gate or Nature's Gate to Hell? I don't care what lovely scent you put on top of it, BO is still BO.

I shoved the almost unused stick at Superstar. Of course, it made him smell all nice and he didn't reek at all. Jerk. This time, however, instead of questioning my body chemistry and feeling self-conscious about my stench's resilience, I reminded myself that Superstar is a dirty hippie, so it makes sense that hippie sticks would work so well on him.

Crystal Body Deodorant Spray

In the interest of full disclosure, I'm not certain this was the brand I used. The bottle was different - clear with writing on it. But it was the same sort of concept - the whole crystal dealie in a spray bottle.

The instructions said I should use two to six pumps of spray per armpit. I used two and flapped around like a chicken for a few minutes, trying to get my pits to dry before I got dressed.

Sadly, my chicken dance did not help this product work.

Yup, you got it. BO strikes again. Maybe it only works on people who have large enough pits to use six pumps without the spray dripping down their bodies, as well as an extra two hours to wait for their pits to dry after doing so?

Superstar got my castoff bottle of this deodorant as well. And guess what? He loved it. Motherfucking hippie.

Tom's of Maine Deodorant Stick, Honeysuckle Rose

Tom's of Maine is one of the best-known natural brands around, as its line is available in drug stores and is moderately priced (by moderately, I mean less than $10. It's amazing how you adjust your idea of an acceptable price after you've tried enough of these deodorants. Buh bye to the $2-$3 antiperspirant you used to take for granted. Sigh.)

I knew the Apricot long-lasting deodorant had worked amazingly on Superstar when we were together. He could actually be super stenchy and put the deodorant on over that and come out smelling like apricotty goodness.

Of course, I should have known by now that a deodorant working on Superstar does not have any bearing on whether it will work for me. I am beginning to wonder if the fact that it worked on Superstar ensures that it will definitely not work on me, because guess what? It made me smell the worst of the bunch. The combination of honeysuckle, rose and BO was truly revolting.

I began to wonder if my armpits were colonized by some kind of mutant alien bacteria that was immune to everything except neurotoxins. My resolve began to weaken and desperation began to set in. If something didn't work soon, I was going to Shoppers Drug Mart and slathering myself head to toe in Soft & Dri.

Dr. Hauschka Deodorant Roll-On, Floral

Clearly, it was time to bring out the big guns. Everyone knows that you get what you pay for, so enough of the moderately priced natural deodorants. If it's expensive, it's bound to work, right? Right??

My acupuncturist sells the Dr. Hauschka line of natural skin care products and has me hooked. They're pricey but they make you feel like a princess. Since I was feeling like a stinky princess, I figured Dr. H's roll-on deodorant was the logical choice.

It was $25 for a 50 ml (1.7 fl oz) bottle. Eep! But my acupuncturist assured me that it would last up to a year because it was a roll-on, and she had clients who really liked it. I cringed and shelled out the cash.

She had two flavours in stock - Floral and Fresh. The Fresh had an herbal smell that I quite liked, but I chose the Floral because I felt the extra fragrance would be more effective. (WTF? Do I ever learn?)

For the most part, it works. Notice I said, "for the most part." I find that I can make it through the day smelling fine, but once I go to bed and wake up in the morning, I reek and have to give the ol' pits a thorough washing before I can reapply the deodorant for the day (putting it over top of the stench did not work. Trust me, I tried. Mmmm...floral BO.) I am not a morning showerer, so I have to reapply the deodorant before I go to bed if I want to avoid the morning washcloth. This means the bottle will last half the time - six months instead of a year. It's livable, but not ideal. Who wants to wear deodorant to bed? Or, gawd forbid, wake up 20 minutes earlier to take a morning shower? The horror!!

Kibio Protective Care Deodorant

I was beginning to wonder if I would be relegated to washing my smelly, germ-infested pits several times a day to avoid having jeers and insults hurled at me in the streets, when I came across this chic aluminum bottle containing an organic spray deodorant from France. Ah, well, what's another $20 given all the time and money I've already put into my quest?

I am so glad I did not give up, because this deodorant is the shit! And by the shit, I mean not smelling like shit at all. In fact, quite the opposite.

The spray stings when it first goes on, as it contains alcohol and witch hazel, but the scent is intoxicating. I would describe it as a spicy citrus - not sweet or overpowering, but subtle and kind of sexy. It would work for either sex, for sure (and may inspire some of us to have sex, because it does smell that good. I'd love to smell it on my lover. Yummmmmmm.)

One day, after sweating more than usual (bath got me overheated), I started to smell a bit ripe, so I sprayed some more of this deodorant on top of the odour and get this: it made it go away! It even worked well the night Magnetalasa and I went to the Taboo Sex Show. That place was hot and crowded and annoying, and I came out smelling like a citrus blossom.

In contrast to the Dr. Hauschka deodorant, I don't have to use it before bed to prevent morning stench. My favourite aspect of this product, however, is the fact that if my natural smell starts to come through, it mixes with the spicy citrus scent of the product and adds a sexy musky element to it. So, even if you start to smell, it doesn't smell like BO or citrusy BO. I feel like it works with my body chemistry to come up with a special, customized scent that is just right and makes me smell good no matter what.

In other words: WE HAVE A WEINER!!!

(If you don't want to take my word for it, check out another positive review here.)

Kibio has just appeared on the scene in Canada, being sold only at Shoppers Drug Mart. I'm unsure of its availability in the US, but Clarins recently bought shares in the organic French company, which is good news for product accessibility. (Is anyone surprised that the princess picks the rare French product as her fave?)

For those of you who can't find this particular brand, don't worry. I have one more product to review just for you. I just picked it up today, so you'll have to give me some time to try it out.

In the meantime, keep your pits crossed.

The other side

noreply@blogger.com (savia) — Sun, 05 Apr 2009 17:36:00 +0000

I should be crying, I should be screaming, I should be curled up in the fetal position, shaking with anxiety and nausea.

But I'm not.

I find this curious, as this is one of the most awful situations I have dealt with in a very long time. A lot is at stake. A lot.

Sure, I have cried. I have felt hopeless and helpless. I've had to remind myself to breathe to calm the clench of anxiety throughout my entire body. But instead of allowing these emotions to take over, I felt them, worked through them, and then I let them go. So different than how I have handled crises in the past.

I step back and look at the way I'm dealing with this and think, "Hmmm. Is this how a healthy person deals with an extremely stressful situation? Could I actually be....healthy? Huh. Who knew?"

So, why am I different? Well, the proper medication helps. It allows me to step back and get some logical perspective on what's happening, the kind of perspective I am so good at providing to other people, but fail to have for myself in dealing with the same kinds of problems.

In the midst of all this turmoil, I woke up on Friday morning and thought, there's nothing I can do about this situation. It is what it is and it's going to turn out the way it's going to turn out. And, really, when you think about it in the context of my tumultuous and difficult life, I have been through so much worse.

I remind myself that after I have weathered the darkest times of my life, things tend to swing in the opposite direction. I've grown and learned and taken new risks, attracting and taking advantage of new opportunities I would have never dreamed of. I find myself grateful for the adversity and trauma, because without it, none of the good would have happened.

Friday morning, I had an epiphanal moment. I realized that I am so happy and fortunate to be alive. No matter what happens with this matter, I will still be alive. And for that, I am grateful. Life, living, being alive is something that cannot be taken away from me (unless someone tries to kill me, which is probably not going to happen in this situation. And even if it did, there's nothing I can do about it anyway.)

Instead of worrying and letting myself fall into a deep pit of despair, I find myself smiling and laughing and truly enjoying every small aspect of my day.

I am me. I am here. I am alive. I am joyous and free. And in a weird way, I am looking forward to going through this trying time, to prove to myself and others how strong I really am, and to find out what adventures, opportunities and blessings await me on the other side.

Fuck it all to hell

noreply@blogger.com (savia) — Fri, 20 Mar 2009 16:33:00 +0000

An idea stolen from Schmutzie, who stole it from someone else. A list of things I give up on.

Savia's Fuck It List

Take my Grade 3 History and Grade 3 Harmony so I can get credit for my Grade 9 Royal Conservatory of Music Singing exam that I did in 2006. Why do I need to do this? Just to say that I could?
Get a PhD. I have become convinced that this level of grad school would give me a free ticket to the psych ward. Not worth it. (I am going to finish my MA, though. That's just a free ticket to a handful of psych meds, which I probably need anyway.)
Learn Italian. I know enough to fight off an incestuous Italian cousin. What more do I need to know?
Live life more consciously. There's a certain freedom in not noticing shit around you. For one, you don't care if people are talking about you or looking at you funny, because you don't know that they are. Being lost in your own thoughts has its benefits. Except for when you walk into a wall or almost get into an accident while driving. Hey, I said almost - it's working for me so far.
Forgiveness helps you heal. Fuck that shit with a fork. I'm owning my anger these days, and I like it.
Run a marathon. I am not built to run - I have hips. That shit will fuck up your knees in the long run. (ha ha - long run.)
Train my dog. She's almost 9 years old. You may be able to teach an old dog new tricks, but you can't teach her not to pee on the couch.
Trust others. I think I should learn how to suspect others. I am probably too trusting to begin with. Some people suck.
Stop gossiping. Oh, my God. I knew this chick once who gave up on gossiping, and she totally caught chlamydia. Purple monkey dishwasher.
Go camping. Sleeping on the hard, cold ground with a blanket of mosquitoes or curling up with my furry cats on a queen-sized pillow top? Hmmm, which to choose, which to choose.

Grace in floral things

noreply@blogger.com (savia) — Mon, 09 Mar 2009 01:44:00 +0000

1. On Friday, International Women's Day, a beautiful bouquet was delivered to my house from a friend who had moved away and knows I'm going through a difficult time right now.

2. The flowers are pink lilies that remind me of spring. They were wrapped beautifully in bright coloured tissue paper and cellophane, instead of your usual newspaper and tacky floral wrapping paper.

3. The card said, simply, "Love, D."

4. The lilies are in a vase in my bedroom, and every time I walk in there, I am greeted by the overwhelmingly beautiful scent of them. It makes me feel incredibly special and blessed.

5. My future sister-in-law and I went to a flower show today (coincidentally at the same place my friend sent the flowers from) to look at ideas for bouquets for her wedding. She went in with a very specific vision in mind, until we both saw the most stunning bouquet of calla lilies, orchids and roses, all in a very vintage/muted colour scheme that compliment her theme and gown perfectly. The combination, along with the colours and arrangement, is breathtaking, and we both knew, "This is it. This is the one." It was wonderful to be part of that moment with her.

Grace in unexpected things

noreply@blogger.com (savia) — Mon, 02 Mar 2009 16:47:00 +0000

1. My foster cat, Peaches, has been very aggressive toward my other cats, so I've been keeping her in a separate room. However, there seems to be some progress of a relationship between her and my newest cat, Levi. The other day, he walked up to her and licked her on her forehead. I was surprised that she didn't growl, hiss or flinch at all. Then, later on, even more surprisingly, she walked up to him and bonked her head against his side. Of course, the next day, she attacked him and chased him around, but I still have hope.

2. Saturday morning, I got an email from a friend I hadn't seen for months, inviting me to go to the musical Annie with him that night. The friend he originally had tickets to go with had to leave town for a funeral and he needed a last-minute replacement. I was free, so I agreed to go and we had an amazing time. Laughed our asses off at the historical and political inaccuracies of the plot and the exploitation of President Roosevelt, which was quite hilarious.

3. After a truly awful week, the majority of which I spent sobbing my head off, I got a call and a follow up email that made me realize that I have nothing to worry about and everything is going to work out okay. It was a huge relief and I've been feeling calm and optimistic since.

4. I think my antidepressants are either at the level they should be, or close to it, because I'm feeling pretty good these days. I actually went out and was social yesterday. (Another unexpected turn of events: I discovered a group of great people get together every Saturday at 2 p.m. to play Scrabble. How awesome is that?)

5. I've been reading a number of books in preparation for working on my thesis this summer, and I was pleasantly surprised to find a number of short stories by the author I'm focusing on, which have insect imagery in them. It's great to know I'm on the right track and that she really does use a lot of insects in her writing. I'm really on to something here. My hunch is paying off!

Happy Jawiversary

noreply@blogger.com (savia) — Sun, 01 Mar 2009 23:06:00 +0000

I just posted a one-year post-jaw surgery update on my other blog, Smiling Bella. You can read it here.

Grace in liquid things

noreply@blogger.com (savia) — Fri, 27 Feb 2009 19:06:00 +0000

1. Real hot cocoa - the kind you make yourself with milk, cocoa and organic cane sugar. Simple, delicious, devoid of chemicals and other fake foods.

2. Tea. Any kind of tea, but especially Swiss Chocolate Rooibos, Rainforest Mate, White Tea, Spearmint Green Tea.... I could seriously go on forever. The only kind of tea I'm not crazy about is your typical Red Rose, and even that can be made tolerable by the addition of milk and sugar, so all is not lost.

3. Sparkling water. I'm such a sucker for this - Perrier, San Pellegrino, tonic water, club soda. Love it. It makes you feel like it's a special occasion everyday, drinking something all sparkly. Plus, no high fructose corn syrup or fake sugar chemicals like you find in soft drinks. One of my favourite things to do is to mix some Perrier with pomegranate juice - yum!

4. My jet tub. Redoing my bathroom last year was pricey ($3,000 and I'm not entirely done yet) but oh, so worth it. My favourite part of the entire house is my jet tub. It's the same size as a regular tub but much deeper so you can fully immerse yourself and then turn on the jets for an amazing massage. It uses up all the hot water in the house, but I figure that my low-flow toilet and shower head make up for it. Shhhh - don't tell David Suzuki on me!

5. Dr. Hauschka skin care. A few months ago, I picked up a bunch of these products in a silent auction - cleansing milk, cleansing cream, day cream, eye cream, toner, night conditioner - for the price of one of them. I just started using them this week and my skin feels amazing. They're organic and homeopathic and have a great herbal smell to them. I'm not sure if I would buy them myself because they are so expensive, but it's really cool to have the opportunity to pamper myself and feel like a princess.

D is for...

noreply@blogger.com (savia) — Sat, 21 Feb 2009 16:08:00 +0000

I stole this from Diva - you get a random letter assigned to you and then you create a list of your ten favourite things that begin with that letter. Diva has assigned me with the letter D.

So, I present to you Savia's Deeelightful D List:

Dystopian literature

I love reading and one of my favourite genres of literature is dystopian - books that look at a possible future of our society if certain elements are taken too far. Some of my favourites are The Handmaid's Tale and Oryx and Crake by Margaret Atwood, 1984 by George Orwell, Brave New World by Aldous Huxley. There are a few others that I want to read, such as A Canticle for Leibowitz by Walter M. Miller and The Chrystalids by John Windham. Does anyone else have a favourite dystopian novel I should add to my list?
Drama

I love drama on a stage, but not in my life. One of my favourite things is going to an exceptional piece of live theatre and discussing it afterward. Though the more I'm exposed to exceptional theatre, the less tolerant I am of bad theatre, and unfortunately, there's a lot of that going around.

I'm also an emerging playwright. I've written a piece that was published on the regional CBC radio station, written and performed another piece at a showcase of new works at a professional theatre, and have a play that I'm writing as well (though that one has been on hold for awhile. I'll get to it eventually.) I'm getting involved in the provincial playwright's centre in the near future, so hopefully, that will inspire me to develop my work more.
Damsels in Distress

I recently became involved in a local animal rescue organization. A coworker was on the board and would distribute the organization's newsletter to all of us. The first time I got it, I was horrified. It was cluttered, heavy on tiny print, and disorganized. As a communications professional, I could see that their written materials were holding them back and giving the impression that they were amateurish. I offered my expertise to help them get with the times and move to electronic communications. I ended up running their new Facebook page, creating an email distribution list and getting them to start an e-bulletin.

I promised myself that this was all I would do for them, but before I knew it, I was sucked in further. A very sweet kitten was found freezing and starving on the streets and all of the organization's foster homes were full. Before I knew it, I had Daisy Hitler Toes (can you tell I named her?) staying in my spare room. She was adopted within two weeks and then there was another sweet cat who was rescued from the subzero Saskatchewan deep freeze. And now, Peaches (can you tell I didn't name her?) is my new boarder.

She is up for adoption, in case you were wondering (hint, hint).

What can I say, I'm a sucker for damsels in distress, particularly in feline form.
Drifting off

Sleep is one of my favourite things in the world. I need a good 8-10 hours to be the most fabulous version of myself and do not deal well when I go through periodic bouts of insomnia. It's hell.

I spent an insane amount of money on a premium mattress but I don't regret it for a second. The coziness of curling up with a feather duvet on my pillow top and (one of my three cats or my dog) is totally worth it.
Dog

Speaking of which, my dog is awesome because most of the time, she thinks she's a cat and curls up quietly in your lap. She has also converted every dog-hater I know (including myself) into a dog-lover (or at least a lover of her.) She's a complete love sponge, just so sweet and earnest that you can't help but be sucked in by her. And she only weighs seven pounds, so if she launches herself at you, it's more amusing than annoying.

Yeah, you know you want it.
Demented humour

I love South Park. I think it's one of the most brilliant social commentaries out there. They are always pushing the envelope of decency and what's acceptable on television and it makes me laugh almost every time.
Drinking

I don't really drink, aside from the occasional glass of red wine (which I make myself, and it is faaaantastic.) But I am a total tea junkie. I drink 4-6 cups of it a day - green and white during the day and rooibos at night. I've gotten into premium loose teas lately and am hooked. My favourite is a Swiss chocolate rooibos that has real pieces of cocoa in it. Heavenly.
Drugs

I suffer from a depressive disorder that runs rampant in my family. My depressions seemed at first to be reactions to specific circumstances, such as an abusive work situation or a really bad breakup. But over the past two years, they have started happening for no real reason, and have been triggered by seasonal changes.

It's been difficult, but I've had to face the reality that I do have a genetic disorder. Lately, I've been doing some research on the link between childhood epilepsy (that I had until I was seven years old) and adult mood disorders. It has helped me realize that in my case, it really is a brain disorder rather than a response to external circumstances.

Drugs are good. Drugs make life manageable and me a functional member of society who can actually get out of bed in the morning. I didn't always feel this way, but I have come to accept that I need me my drugs, and that's okay. It doesn't make me a weaker person or some kind of nutjob who can't deal with everyday life.

Of course, drugs aren't the only answer. I'm careful to manage my stress, think positively, avoid negative people and situations, take my supplements daily, exercise, and use my SAD light during the darker winter months.

However, that being said, Yay drugs!
D cups

Boobs are great. D cups are even better. I don't mind it when I gain a little weight, because my Cs grow to Ds with just a few pounds. And they're fun to play with.
Dressing up

I love dressing up to go out - cute dresses, shoes, necklaces and makeup, all that girly stuff, is a lot of fun and a great juxtaposition to the casual stuff I wear on a daily basis. I haven't been doing it a lot lately (because I've been struggling with depression and getting my happy drugs in the right balance), but when I get that under control, lose a few pounds and become a C cup again, I'll be able to fit into all my cute little outfits and have the energy to get back out on the town.
Diva

I know the list says ten things, but this one's a bonus. I love Diva, and I can't wait until mid-March when I get to go up to Cosmopolos to see her and go to the musical Chicago. It will be a blast.

If you want to play along, leave a comment and I'll assign you a letter to make your own list.