Added bonus: it's very similar to another popular device, so I can use it discretely in public!

It means “Bullshit Detector.’ But that just sounds so banal, darling.

The latest from the R&D geniuses at ARDOR: Le détecteur de connerie (It means “Bullshit Detector; But that just sounds so banal, darling). It has a 5 mile range and can penetrate several building walls (it even works several stories underground, as I am testing here.  The best part: I’ll know when my Stupid Sister Viva is approaching well in advance, so I can take cover.

Six hours, and search & rescue still can’t pry him out of that crevice…

I feel just awful, darling. Well, somewhat awful. James “Quantum of Lame” Bond invited me to his remote winter retreat for a holiday tryst, for old time’s sake (with the promise he would drop the ridiculous double entendres once and for all). We dined, we drank, we enjoyed our traditional midnight Indian wrestle on the bluff… and then he asked if I wanted to see his Mighty Yule Log. I’m ashamed to say despite my elite training, I lost control — and hurled him off the cliff. Maybe this time he’ll get the message.

Rule Number One: No Photographs!

I was so close to finally capturing that one creature that has managed to evade my clutches, The Silver Fox.

I picked up on his hypnotic scent at Latitude: 37°46′42.211″N Longitude: 122°23′22.052″ (quelle surprise!), and followed him to the very place where we’d met. Old habits die hard, darling.

It would be generous on my part to say he was “spying”. Either he wasn’t even trying or he’s seriously lost his touch — and I personally hope that is not the case.  There he was, shamelessly circling the Mrs. Robinson’s Society. At least he still has exquisite taste, I’ll give him that. Frankly he’s lucky I spotted him before they did — those ladies suffer neither fools nor foxes!

And so I whisked him off, somewhere more private where I could give him a refresher course in the Art of Discretion. I look forward to monitoring his progress.

Elite service dogs

When my highly trained (and surprisingly accurate) motion-detecting dachshunds indicate that they need a break from work, I find that nothing recharges their batteries quite like a relaxing game of fetch.

She'd make this her passport photo if she could.

Look what just popped up in my inbox. and my smart phone. And now the home and ARDOR office phones are ringing off the hook because Little Miss Freeloader is not only crashing with me again (until I can locate one of Paris Hilton’s trustfunded exes to pawn her off on — PARIS, CALL ME!), but she also used MY CREDIT CARD to pay for it! So now I’m getting all sorts of “unusual activity” alert calls from AMEX.

The only good news is she’s been admiring herself for hours. It’s the most focused I’ve ever seen her be on anything. Anything.

Until we meet again, nimrod local law enforcement!!!

Thanks to idiotic local law enforcement (SFPD AMATEURS!) blowing my cover (and that of my partner, Matti) on a recent top-secret international mission, we’ve been forced deep underground until further notice.

Matti (you may recall he was my adorable captor during that kidnapping incident last spring) finds the whole thing rather amusing. But he’s from Finland, so he’s used to months of darkness on end. But yours truly was just starting to build a decent base tan! And now this crap.

Fortunately, I’ve also built a decent base wine collection, so I imagine the time spent in my custom-designed bunker/wine cellar shouldn’t be too miserable. And even my stupid sister Viva won’t be able to find me here.

Infiltrating a Somali pirate training facility. I suspect my greatest challenge on this one will be “blending.”

I just hope my new Silhouette Shape-Shifting Suit (SSSS) is done in time. The 2010 Model comes complete with a DNA scrambler!

Nothing spells discretion like BEING PHOTOGRAPHED WITH THE MOST PHOTOGRAPHED MAN ON THE PLANET!

My stupid sister Viva meant to send it to her new boyfriend. The one she met recently while she’s in treatment (again) for sex addiction. Instead, she sent it to her entire contact list. Probably on purpose. Anything for attention, that’s our Viva!

Fortunately the tabloids contacted me first, and now I’m off to break the news to Elin. I am not looking forward to this — that woman has a temper, boy! The jet’s been fueled up, and I plan on taking her and the children to someplace remote (with lots of open space) for the weekend. I suppose we gals will be getting quite fueled up ourselves. I’ve even invited Lara “Empress of the Universe” Croft — word is she’s got the itch again. This may turn out to be a very interesting weekend, just we ladies…

I picked up The Gypsy's scent just outside of Uummannaq.

Darling please forgive my extended absence.  I was on a top, top, top secret mission, as we got word that my fellow ARDOR agent (and former Solid Gold Dancer) “The Gypsy” might still be alive!

It was believed that she’d perished during the Greenland export revolt. But you’re probably sick to death of hearing about that. Long story short, I got a tip that she was now laundering money in connection with a black market ice ring. Let the games begin!

The question begged: what does one wear to a remote Greenland casino? The answer: bold ethnic prints and accessories. I chose bottled beer as my beverage, to better blend with the locals.

My informant told me to visit the Lucky Kapakka Casino, and ask for Maqi — he would tell me where to find my gal. Of course I recognized Maqi immediately, he might as well have been wearing “Tipster” cologne.

At least make it challenging so I can have a little fun,Maqi!

No words were spoken — his hand said it all. Christ, even my Stupid Sister Viva could have decoded the message in his cards, which gave me The Gypsy’s exact location: the local laundromat. Credit where credit’s due: nobody does irony like the Greenlanders!

Once a Solid Gold Dancer...

And there she was, as beautiful as the day I last saw her, playing the part of Money Laundress so magnificently. Of course old habits die hard, and so The Gypsy was running her own side business: Greenland’s first pole dancing school! She’d made her translator, the gamine Eqarina, her business partner.

Needless to say, the women of Greenland are very bored. And the uber-stoic men of Greenland; put it this way: no need for sleep aids there. Just try to have a conversation (or engage any other activity, for that matter) with one of them. You won’t be able to keep your eyes open. The Gyspy saw an opportunity and capitalized on it.

If only we could bring Eqarina with us. One problem: Interpol.

Still, I convinced her it was time to come home, once Eqarina assured her she’d keep the business thriving. And with that, we counted the krone, and celebrated over much wine and a traditional Greenland dish made of marine mammals.

Once that DJ started playing Hall & Oat's "Private Eyes", I knew it was time to make my escape.

I really need to make friends outside of my Elite Special Agent / International Spy Circles. It’s far too small a world, and It’s becoming quite a bore, as a recent annual conclave at the Spy Spa Retreat proved. Why did I even go? What was I thinking?

Laura “Empress of the Universe” Croft and I are back on speaking terms (since she finally returned my Kunikane). And… let’s just say Laura’s issues have issues. Our first night there she had too much to drink and got carried away, going on and on how “… I’d leave it all behind in a heartbeat if I could just find a good man who loves me for who I am and settle down,  I’m not getting any younger Vulva and I’d like to have a baby –  I don’t know, maybe six, I could adopt…” Christ, she’s seriously lost her edge.

The Good news: my ex, James “Quantum of Lame” Bond was a no-show. I swear if I have to watch him talk with his mouth full one more time I’m gonna flick a cyanide capsule in his trap myself. But I digress… The Bad news: They reason for his absence, according to Iterpol, is because he was tied up getting my Stupid Sister Viva past customs. Those two really do deserve each other. If they ever moved in together, it would literally be a house of mirrors. The two vainest people I know.

Ethan “Runt” Hunt managed to tear himself away from his latest project “Operation: Glory Hole” (which he is taking FOREVER to “research” in San Francisco) and grace us with his presence. He’s absolutely unbearable these days, always trying so hard to be the strongest/fastest/best-liked in that overcompensating way that short, closeted Scientologists often do. But I digress.

The “Bourne” Boob was there and all mopey, sitting alone posing at the end of the bar. He was never terribly interesting in the first place. But lately, he seems to be taking himself (and his image) a little too seriously, like he’s trying to be George Clooney or Brad Pitt. I’ll give him credit though, he’s dressing much more nicely these days.

The Cessna awaits and I’m slipping away for a real holiday at an undisclosed location with an unnamed travel companion. This is one Secret Agent who likes to keep her secrets secret… Ciao, darling!