St. John

Normally, whenever I get my magazines, I tear out all the inserts that make the pages turn to particular areas before I even start reading. I hate all those inserts; they're annoying. Especially if I already subscribe. I don't need postcards to subscribe if I already belong to them.

(Yes, this is habit evidence, admissible in court. Damn bar. Everything that happens becomes a bar question now. But it'll be over soon, bbs!)

Today, something tempted me to try out one of those perfume samples. What the hell? I'm tired of the scents I normally wear. I wear, for daytime, J'adore, and for evening, Bulgari Extreme. It's been this way since I got over my Cool Water for Women obsession. Although lately that smells good again, which is tempered by the fact that my mother wears it.

So I got my anniversary sale catalog for Nordstrom. (I miss Nordstrom. There isn't one is Vegas. There's no good shopping in Vegas, unless it's boutique. I am poor; I cannot afford boutique.) Inside was a perfume sample for St. John. I was bored; I figured, what the hell, why not try it on. It's a little strong at first, but after about a half hour, it smelled amazing on me. An hour later, it was still good.

You know how some scents smell terrible on your body? Well, this one smells fantastic on me. So I'm off to Sephora, or, you know, begging you for gifts.