Poster printing giveaway

Ever thought, "Hey, I like this picture. But I'd like it more if it were really, really big"? If, so, you'll want to participate in my latest giveaway of a poster-sized print of your fave pic.

Visit my review blog for a chance to win.

Lashluscioustastic

[Note: This review is completely unsolicited. I have not been asked to review this product, nor am I receiving any compensation for doing so.]

I have few vices in my life, but those I have, I am quite committed to. Three currently at the forefront are: shopping on the Internet while suffering from insomnia, buying things because they're a good deal and/or eco-friendly, and being incredibly vain.

And sometimes, when the stars align just right, all of those vices come together to make me an overtired, semi-broke, but sexy woman (though I am always overtired, semi-broke and sexy, in case you were wondering.)

A few weeks ago, I couldn't sleep, so I was going through some posts on an eco-beauty blog and found a review of LashMantra, an all-natural product that claims it will help you grow longer, darker eyelashes. I was skeptical at first, but then I read several other reviews from beauty bloggers who said it worked for them - and one even had before and after photos. Once I saw those, I was sold. Sure, it doesn't take much to sell me on things at 4 a.m., but it seemed legit and I was interested to see what it would do for me. Not that I need it, as my lashes are fine, but did you read the part above about me being "incredibly vain"?

For the record, I ordered this product before the TV lit up with commercials featuring Brooke Shields and her "inadequate lashes." I don't really watch commercials, but I forwarded through it via digital recorder, so I'm pretty sure it went something like this:

Oh, boo hoo, I'm Brooke Shields, all famous and beautiful and rich, but I am sooooo inadequate in the lashes department and this makes me feel way worse than post-partum depression ever did and even though I apologized to Tom Cruise for talking about using antidepressants, I am now advocating a pharmaceutical to grow lashes and it's not a psych med so Tom will approve, but then again, maybe it is a psych med because we all know the horrific low self-esteem caused by "inadequate lashes" could make any of us fall into that deep abyss, in which case, Tom probably wouldn't approve because he thinks we should all take vitamins instead. But whatever. So, anyway, it's all medical and shit because there's this technical name for inadequate lashes: hypotrichosis. Doesn't it sound all scary and stuff, like some kind of food poisoning or leprosy? Which I totally swear you won't get from this eyelash drug, though it's quite possible it will make your blue eyes brown. But who cares, because aren't my lashes pretty?

Seriously, can you imagine going to your doctor, who has probably just told some 20-year-old that s/he's dying of cancer, and saying, "zOMG, my inadequate lashes are ruining my life! I need a prescription, stat! Please, doc, [sob], please don't let me end up like poor Brooke!"

Yeah, I don't think so.

But as a cosmetic, natural product that won't make your eyes grow out of other parts of your body or turn into brown ooze or whatever, I can live with that.

This is what arrived in the mail:

The bottle is full of cold-pressed oils, the plastic tube holds an eyeliner brush for application and the bag is just pretty.

I began using the product as directed, brushing the oil on my lash line every night. After two weeks, it seemed my lashes were a bit longer, though I couldn't tell for sure.

This week, I started feeling a bit disoriented. I would think I saw something out of the corner of my eye, but when I looked, it would be gone. My vision became blurry when I looked down at my books. I began wondering if I needed to start taking antipsychotics and get a new eyeglass prescription, when it dawned on me. What I'm seeing out of the corner of my eye is not an extra cat running around my house: it's my eyelashes. And that thing obscuring my reading? Yup. Those would be my eyelashes, too.

It actually worked! I'm not getting older, blinder, or more crazy AND I have pretty eyelashes! Woo hoo!

Take that, Brooke! (Along with some antidepressants to prevent you from needing to take some potentially dangerous prescription lash growth product to overcome your fear of "inadequate lashes." Come to think of it, maybe some therapy, too. Your therapist probably won't mock you for your obsession with "inadequate lashes." Probably. Well, not too much, anyway.)

Update: Until September 30, Saviabella readers will receive a $3 discount on their LashMantra orders. Just use the discount code "saviabella" upon checkout.

Keyword roundup

Just thought you might appreciate some of the keywords that bring people to my lil' ol' blog. Enjoy!

• lez cousins licking porn
  Are the cousins licking DVDs or something? I hope the gals use some syrup, because I imagine the discs would be quite bland otherwise.
  
  
• fuck har when she sleep
  Not sure who "har" is, but I hope she wakes up, kicks the shit out of you, then fucks you up the ass with a strap-on.
  
  
• fucking with kitchen inventory
  Tip: stay away from anything pointy, and try the spatula. Good times.
  
  
• nipple twirling
  They twirl? Mine always seem to stay in the same place. What a disappointment.
  
  
• what is the name for a male with a pussy
  Francis? That way, he/she can go by either Fran or Frank. It's win/win.
  
  
• hot german dudes
  I hear they like gals with braces.
  
  
• the other name of pussy
  I like Wonder Snatch, myself.
  
  
• teach my dog to fuck me
  Uh, no.
  
  
• can compost worms eat cherry pits?
  It doesn't appear so. I had to fish a bunch out of my vermicompost bin after waiting a year to see if the worms would eat them. They didn't. It sucked.
  
  
• how to masturbed
  Are you asking how to master your bed? Because I'm pretty sure you can do that by jumping up and down on it and yelling, "I am the master of this bed!!" Go ahead, do it right now. You know you wanna.
  
  
• bottle of jizz lube
  If this lube is made out of jizz, why bother? Just use real jizz. It's fresher and has less preservatives.
  
  
• boys fucking new styles
  So that's what they do with the weird new styles from top designers' collections that no one real is ever going to wear after the big fashion shows are over! Who knew?
  

The X factor, part two

Part one is here.

When I opened the door, I immediately started laughing. Superstar had grown a ridiculous goatee that extended several inches past his chin. I knew exactly what he was doing: playing a little game with his new employers to see how long it would take them to make him shave it off. His way of sticking it to The Man.

The thing is, even with the bizarre facial hair, he is still incredibly hot.

I made some tea and we sat and caught up on each other's lives while my dog tried to make out with him. He used to call her Girlfriend #2 because she can't keep her paws off him.

He told me about his new job sailing through the Arctic and I told him all about how people are trying to have threesomes with me and the crush I had developed on Diva's best friend, who happens to be female. I asked his advice on how I would go about hitting on a girl.

"Probably the same way you would go about hitting on a guy. Hey, have I put you off men entirely?" he asked.

"Yup," I said.

I had been saving a bottle of Raspberry Chocolate Port wine and decided to crack it open. After two (half) glasses, I was licked. What can I say, I'm a cheap drunk. The warm, fuzzy feeling was just enough to send the lust I had been feeling all night bubbling over, so I grabbed Superstar and started making out with him. Then, I dragged him upstairs and jumped him. Three times.

It was passionate and intimate and loving and all around hot, hot, hot. The physical and emotional connection between us was still so intense. After the first time, I had a good, long cry. It was a good thing - a release of everything I had been keeping bottled up these past six months. The next two times were just for fun - no tears, only screams.

I've never done the ex sex thing before. When I'm done with the person, I am done. They're Dead To Me and don't deserve a return email, much less my Wonder Snatch. (If you met any of my ex-boyfriends, you would understand why.) But Superstar is different. Our ending, while sad and difficult, was filled with so much love and respect for one another and what we had shared during our two years together.

When a lot of people hear the term "ex sex", their first thought is, "Watch out. Someone is going to get hurt." But it depends where you're coming from. If the approach is a manipulative one, such as "I'm going to show him what he's missing" or "I'm going to use sex to get him back", then the person is going to get hurt if she doesn't get the result she wants. If it's a case of "I still love him and want to be close to him even if he doesn't want to be with me, so I'll take whatever I can get," that's going to end in heartbreak for sure.

It wasn't like that with Superstar and me. We accept that we can't be together, and neither of us is playing games. There was no ulterior motive. In this case, the ex sex was actually cathartic and healing. It eventually led to a conversation where I expressed some things I needed to say, and we both just held each other and cried.

That week we went to his niece and nephews' dance recital with his family, we went on a date to the Lego exhibit at the Science Centre, followed by lattes (where we ran into his sister and niece and had a great visit) and some crazy ninja sex (don't worry, his sister and niece weren't around for that!), and we also had an awesome sushi night with Schmutzie and Palinode. Just like old times.

It felt like we had never been apart, which made me all-too-aware of the fact that we are apart. There were times I thought, "Why? Why can't this work out? Why aren't we together when it's this good? This isn't fair!" And then I'd remind myself to stay in the moment and appreciate our week together for what it was. Which was hard, because each coin of happiness had sadness ever-present on its other side.

And yet, I have no regrets about that week. By the end, I was ready for him to go. I was done. I shed a few tears, and then I walked away and haven't cried since.

I would say that it was closure, but I'm not sure I believe in that cheesy concept. That, and a short email from him last week saying, "I just wanted to say it was great to see you again. And that I've been thinking of you, and I miss you. Big love, xo Superstar," brought tears to my eyes.

I'm not sure I will ever have closure with him, because we do have a very special, deep bond. But hey, at least I got some action out of the deal.

Best. Comment. Ever.

bee at 6:13 AM
savia,

what do i need to do to inspire you to post more often? i love your blog...it fills me.

i miss it when you don't post often


Bee,

I'd say that's pretty inspiring. You made my day and then some. I'll post later just because of you :)

xoxo Savia

Grace in good things

1. 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!)
2. Men who wear cologne.
3. Resisting the urge to bury my face in the necks of said men to take a deep sniff of said yummy cologne.
4. Good theatre with good company.
   
5. Long discussions about South African politics.

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

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.