Rant: Do Kids Have To Go Everywhere?

Look, I love kids. 

Okay, that's not really true, but I love my own kid, and I will love my grandchildren whenever they arrive.  But the truth is, I don't love all kids all the time, everywhere.  The truth is, I would welcome kid free shopping days or kid free restaurants. Maybe some people can shop, or eat, or do anything at all while their child is screaming, but it's more difficult for those of us who aren't on Valium.  And maybe ignoring this behavior is all part of some new parenting technique, but I gotta tell you, it's irritating me. 

Whatever happened to babysitters?

If kids aren't running loose, they're in strollers the size of SUVs.  Just in case you didn't know, they have the right of way everywhere.  When a stroller is barrelling through the crowd, you are to step aside, make cooing noises and comment on the child's beauty.  That, or the stroller pusher will stare you down and sigh in exasperation because you don't know the rules of the road.  (For the record, there are a lot of ugly babies out there.)  And can someone please explain the phenomenon of the parent pushing the stroller while the child is trailing behind them screaming?  Here's an idea: put the kid in the stroller so he's not stumbling around in 98 degree weather and give him a drink of water.  Just a thought.

Even my office building, one of the only kid free zones on earth, has been invaded.  Last Thursday, I am waiting for the elevator outside my office when the door opens and out comes seven kids under the age of...oh, I don't know...five, and a frazzled looking, very pregnant woman.  The kids are all fighting, yelling and crying.  Frazzled lady says, 'let's go surprise Daddy!'  Jesus, poor Daddy.  What if Daddy's in a meeting?  Or in the middle of a project, or a conversation with his boss?  As I hold the door for Mom and her parade of crying offspring, I can't help wonder how many more precious little darlings she and Daddy are planning to bring into the world.

I'm just sayin'.

Equally annoying are the mothers and fathers who are desperate to prove their skill to anyone within earshot and believe they are constantly auditioning for Parent of the Year.

'You are so smart!'
'Mommy loves you so much!'
'You're such a handsome boy!'
'When we get home, do you want Daddy to read you a book?'
Kiss, kiss, kiss, look lovingly into baby's eyes, kiss, kiss, kiss, lift baby in the air, kiss, kiss, look around to see who's watching, kiss, kiss.

I've considered printing fake certificates and carrying them with me at all times so I could hand them one and say, 'You win, okay?  You're the most amazing parent I've ever seen. Perhaps on earth. Now please, for the love of God, stop.'

The last straw was Saturday after shopping at the farmer's market. Exhausted from dodging maniacal SUV stroller drivers, B-man and I visit our favorite wine store to wander and shop with other adults of legal age. We're walking down one aisle after the other, browsing and enjoying ourselves when I hear a whiny voice and realize it can only be one thing...a kid.  Someone brought their kid to the liquor store. 

Is nothing sacred?

Image from parenting.com

Goodbye Burt and Ernie

Tonight, we have a lovely dinner.  I make my homemade veggie soup and mediterranean butter beans.  We have a salad, toasted baguette and goat cheese to complete our meal.

Yum.

Later, I'm sitting on Big Red, cruising peoplemagazine.com (don't judge) when B-man walks in and says, 'Oh, no!'  In his hands lies the Burt & Ernie bowl that has been in our family for as long as I can remember.  The bowl that our son used for cereal and spaghettios growing up.  The bowl that shared our history, JD's coming of age and our Sesame Street innocence.

The bowl that was broken in half by the dishwasher tonight.

We look at each other.  Then we cry.

Image from blogsfgate.com

What Does That Perfume Remind Me Of?

Last week, as I was travelling from one meeting to another, I stopped at Ulta to cruise the 'clearance' shelves.  This is one of my guilty pleasures, and I never know what unexpected treasures will be found.  Like nail polish in weird colors - that I never end up wearing - or lotion and body spray.  Or even discounted hair color that, hey, I might try one day, plus funky lip gloss and eye shadows.

You know, stuff I have to have.

My trips to Ulta always include wandering through the mostly mainstream selection of perfume.  I spray and sniff dozens of scent strips and wonder again if I should buy a purse size spray of Pure by Donna Karan.  On this trip, my nose, Daphne, got stuck on 212 by Carolina Herrera. I've smelled this perfume about a million times before, but decided to spray it on my wrist right before I left the store.

212 is definitely green, but creamy and floral at the same time.  It lasts forever and has considerable sillage.  212 also took me back to a perfume from the past that I couldn't identify. All day I racked my brain...what is it, what is it, what the hell is it?  Daphne got annoyed with my pestering.

Later that night, after I showered and got ready for bed, I took a last sniff of the watch band that had been sprayed with 212.  Suddenly, my perfume from the past came back as clear as day: Elysium by Clarins.

Does anyone else remember Elysium?

Image from jonathanasmis.com

Pre-Emptive Cheap Out: Living With Perfume Buying Regrets

I'm annoyed with myself.

Last time we were in Seattle, winter of 2009, I discovered Serge Lutens' Borneo 1834 and fell deeply in love.  Everything about it resonated with me and I thought for awhile that Borneo and I might have to leave B-man and get a place of our own. 

There was really only room for the two of us.

Before we left for Seattle last week, I convinced myself I could recreate that moment again and find 'My One True Perfume Love of All Time.'  Once there, we took the bus to Fremont so I could go to Essenza, one of my favorite perfume boutiques.  B-man left me to my sniffing madness while he strolled around this funky little town, taking pictures and looking for souveniers.

And sniff I did until I came up with the following finalists:

Tam Dao by Diptique
Philosykos by Diptique
Silk by Andrea Maak
Sharp by Andrea Maak
1697 Eau de Parfum by Frapin
Cannabis Rose by Fresh

All of these were applied somewhere on my arms (except 1697, which I swooned over, but assumed it was one of those $300 perfumes), then I went outside to walk around, smell myself and try to find B-man.  One thing was certain, I was not leaving Freemont without a new perfume love.

Here's my thought process on each:

Tam Dao - Yeah, I like it, but it's a little boring...smells like something else but I don't know what.

Philosykos - It's true, I am in the mood for something herbal and figgy, but it's just not quite lighting me up.

Silk - Love the beginning, but really ordinary in the drydown.

Sharp - This interests me...it's vanilla, but weirdly green and unlike anything else I have.

Cannabis Rose - I like this, and it's hard to find, but it's not new to me so, 'meh.'

I ended up with Sharp, which I like a whole lot.  And it's different than anything I have, which is always a plus.  But do I want to bathe in it, re-apply it morning, noon and night and possibly leave my husband for it?  Uh, no.

Note to Sharp: Yes, I know I wrote the ode and even faked a couple of orgasms for you, but I really just want to be friends.  Look, it's not you, it's me.

The worst thing about the whole fiasco?  Frapin's 1697 costs only twenty bucks more than I paid for Sharp.  Twenty dollars.  But I didn't discover that until later in our room, after I had already purchased the Sharp.

Because I never asked.

Yesterday, I called B-man from work to confess to buying perfume in Seattle that I didn't love.  That's a cardinal sin, if you ask me, and one that warrants harsh punishment.  Instead, he said, 'well, I can understand that - just let yourself off the hook, it's okay.'

But what I didn't confess - until now - is that I pre-emptively cheaped out on a perfume that may just have been my next true love.  I hate when I do that.

Image from zazzle.com

It Never Actually Rains In Seattle

As you know, we chose Seattle as a getaway spot last week because we haven't had any moisture here all summer in Drought City.  I couldn't wait to immerse myself in the murky comfort of low clouds and rain.  Checking the weather leading up to our trip, Seattle showed rain every single day.  Clothing was planned and umbrellas were at the ready. 

Liar faces.

It never rains when we're there. We may be graced with a light, fleeting sprinkle, but nothing of any substance.  Honestly, it's starting to piss me off.  Especially after B-man informed me Thursday morning that it was raining hard...back home.  Little Mister Optimist went on to point out how badly we need the rain and how, if it was going to rain anywhere, it's probably best that it rained there.  Why, yes.  Of course you're right.  Absolutely.  Kumbaya, my Lord.

Severe eye twitch.

After I talked myself off the ledge, - I told you I might jump - I began to appreciate the clear weather.  After all, we were free to walk anywhere, anytime, and stand outside on the ferry because it wasn't pouring rain.  Plus, it was only 65-70 degrees, and the landscape was green and lush and gorgeous.  We truly enjoyed every day and the locals were simply giddy, enamored by the warmth and bright sun.

Because it rains every day.

B-man mentioned this Murphy's Law of weather on facebook and one of his friends replied, 'That's because sunshine follows you wherever you go.'

Well, now we know.  It's Little Mister Sunbeam's fault.

Image from wherethefairieslive.com

Ode to Sharp by Andrea Maack

Juniper Berry

Sarsaparilla

Candied Almonds

Gravel Road

 Church Pew

Smoking Pipe

Carmex Lip Balm

Image from Fragrantica.com

Perfume Update

Yesterday, my Fourth of July perfume was...

Trish McEvoy Sexy 4

I've had a small sample from Nordstrom for months, and would describe Sexy 4 as naughty gardenia.  Gardenia that smokes when no one's looking.  Gardenia on a Harley.

Mom used to love gardenias, so my sister and I made sure she had a big gardenia corsage every mother's day to wear to church.  Until one year, when Mom said, 'will you please not get me a gardenia corsage for Mother's Day this year?'  I can't remember now if it was because she changed her mind about the smell of the flower, or because she felt awkward with a huge corsage dangling off her dress.

Sexy 4 is not a corsage gardenia.

But it didn't last long, which is one of my perfume pet peeves.  Thinking I was seducing B-man beyond words, I asked him what he thought of my perfume.  He sniffed my neck so close his nose touched, and said, 'I can barely smell it.' 

Seduction buzz kill.

Fortunately, I just like - not love - Sexy 4, so its wimpiness has me only mildly annoyed.

Image from norkflorist.com

Seattle Through My Eyes

B-man on the Ferry to Bainbridge Island



American Band Playing before Fourth of July Parade on Bainbridge



City View at Dusk



Twin Sailboats on Elliot Bay



Street View from Our Room

 Images by Josephine

Random Seattle Perfumes Revealed

Here are the perfumes I packed for our trip:

Karma by Lush
Vintage Patchouly by DSH
Dune by Dior
Black Aoud by Montale
Iris Silver Mist by Serge Lutens
Jovan Musk
Notre Flore Iris by L'Occitane
Trish McEvoy Sexy 4

We're only in Seattle for three days, and so far, I haven't worn any of them.  Suddenly, it seems morally wrong to wear perfume on the plane.  And interrupting the smells of the city with a frantic application of perfume once I get here just feels...stupid. Who would want to miss the sillage of fish, brats and pasta mixed with the smell of the freshly cut flowers at Pike Place Market, which results in the aroma of piss?  Once I understood its components, the scent was suddenly charming. 

As always, I am delighted to be here and the same thought floods my mind each time I fly into the city, right before we land: 'This is where I belong.'

Tomorrow, we will celebrate the Fourth of July in Seattle (if you also celebrate this holiday, I wish you a wonderful day, too).  Which perfume do you recommend?

Image from paultownend.com

Get Your Own Damn Umbrella

Tomorrow, we're flying to Seattle for a few days to get out of the almost 100 degree weather of our desert home town.  If it doesn't rain while we're there, I'm jumping off the hotel balcony.  Okay, there is no balcony. 

But if there was, I swear I'd do it.

Tonight, we're packing, which means I wander around, throw clothes on the bed and spend most of my time deciding what perfume to take.  If I wasn't sick of thinking about perfume, I'd recite my selections now. 

To help us with this process, B-man put together a packing list on his computer.  Actually, he did this years ago, and it has morphed over time. For example, the list used to have 'blow dryer' and 'iron' on it, but now hotels provide those items.

Yes, I am that old.

Sitting in the kitchen tonight, I'm eating cheese and crackers like it's the last meal I'll ever have when B-man says, 'do you have an umbrella?'

Me: 'Huh?'

B-man: 'Is your umbrella in the car?'

Me: 'I thought you had them.'  (We agreed to take two after an umbrella sharing fiasco the last time we visited The Emerald City.)

B-man: 'No, you always have an umbrella in your car - do you want me to go get it?'

Me:  'Sure, whatever.'

He goes out to the car and comes back in.

B-man: 'Look, it's not my job to get the umbrellas.'

Me: 'I don't expect you to get the umbrellas.'

B-man:  'I don't want to take care of all that.'

Me:  'Fine.'

B-man: 'You have a list.'

Me: 'Great, you take care of yourself.'

B-man hates that I don't follow the list when I'm packing - then I end up needing his sweatshirt or using his deodorant...or wearing his Gris Clair.

Of course, a pre-trip hissy fit is expected.  But now, the umbrella storm has passed and we're on Big Red, drinking wine and having a happy snack.  All is well.

Image from clotheslineblog.com

Embarrassing Things I've Said and Done This Week

Lately, I can't seem to get through one day without embarrassing myself.

Yesterday, I was reminding B-man about a scene from one of my favorite movies, A Few Good Men.  'You know, the one with Jack Lemmon.'

Jack effing Lemmon.

After a polite pause, B-man said, 'I think you mean Jack Nicholson.'

I may never have figured that out on my own.

Earlier in the week, during a conference call, I made what I thought was a reasonable suggestion.  We're asking our nurses to use one system to get medication information, so why don't we consider eliminating the other three, which are much less effective?  Almost simultaneously, everyone on the call yelled said, 'No!'  They went on to give long-winded explanations about how the doctors really needed these systems and we could never, eh-heh-ver take them away.

Jeez, have a cow.

But the most embarrassing has to be the picture I offered our communications department to use with an article about me in our business newsletter.  It's not just any old picture. I had B-man take multiple shots of me in different outfits, at different angles and with different backgrounds.  Only a few made me look like a chipmunk.  We poured over them and picked the best two, one of which I sent to Communications.

Later that day, I received the following e-mail:  'It looks like we're going to need a different picture.'  'We'll arrange to have one taken next week.'

It looks like?  You mean after it was passed around the office and everyone laughed hysterically at my hideousness?  It probably hangs in the boardroom - blown up - with the NO sign, like Ghostbusters.  The best I can hope for now is that they take it down before our next meeting.

What embarrassing things have you done lately?

image from integral-options.blogspot.com