I do this every year. Feeling the self-imposed pressure to choose the perfect birthday perfume, I go into full blown obsession mode. This includes spending hours researching perfumes online and reading reviews and revisiting samples and ordering more samples. This is followed by bouts of real live shopping to spray and sniff until I make myself crazy.
Even Daphne, my nose, is begging for mercy. And Daphne never begs.
This might sound like I'm complaining, but you have to know I'm jazzed to have a legitimate excuse to indulge my inner perfume-hoarding-nut-job self. Because birthdays are a big deal, right? And it's not just any old birthday, it's my 53rd birthday, which is really special...because five and three are two of my favorite numbers.
What?
Just for the record, B-man encourages this behavior (I try to make all of my bad stuff his fault), saying he loves to see me 'getting into perfume again,' like it ever really stops. Even when I say, 'I'm not that into perfume right now,' I know deep down it's a lie, and that my obsessive pursuit of the perfect perfume is simply napping. Probably faking it.
While I'm deciding what perfume I really want, I keep ordering other, non-birthday perfumes as a warm up for my big purchase. For example, I just bought my third - third - bottle of Hermes Un Jardin en Mediterrannee, which is a perfume staple. I must have it in the house, like cheese, if I am expected to function. Then I had to have Eclat, the perfume that is so not me because I was going to lose my mind otherwise. Of course, I was right - it's not me, but it is nice enough and now I can stop dreaming about it every night.
Yesterday, I returned from a business trip to Minneapolis, and I have new knowledge about many current release perfumes to feed my birthday search. Most of them suck. At least the sales associates at Neiman Marcus left me alone after the first time I asked to sniff and make notes on my own. I even scored a couple of samples, but not without a passive aggressive lecture on the inconvenience of this customer service.
Me: Do you happen to have samples of these two perfumes?
SA: Oh, sorry, we ran out of samples.
Me: Are you able to make them?
SA: (Sigh) We don't usually make samples, but I suppose we could do one or two at the very most.
Me: Two would be perfect.
SA: (Sigh) I'll have to look for the spray containers.
Me: Okay.
SA: I'm not even sure where we keep them (fumbling around, sighing continues).
Me: Silence
SA: These mini spray bottles sometimes leak, so make sure they are upright.
Me: Thanks for letting me know.
SA: I can't get the top on this one - it won't click.
Me: Silence
SA: Okay - finally - here you go.
Me: Thank you so much.
Dude, I'm sorry you don't know what you're doing, but I'll wait as long as it takes, then thank you kindly and walk away with my samples feeling no guilt whatsoever for your reluctant service to me, your customer.
My samples were Cartier's Basier Vole and Eli Saab Le Parfum. Basier Vole smelled herbal and minty on the paper strip, then revealed itself as powdery and beyond boring on my skin. Eli Saab is simply a stronger version of Rumeur by Lanvin. And as it turns out, they are both made by the same perfumer. Coincidence? Hmm.
Armed with this knowledge, I just placed an order for six other samples, one of which may become a contender for this year's birthday perfume.
Le Labo Iris 39
Le Labo Vetiver 46
Montale Roses Musk
L'Artisan Voleur de Roses
The Different Company Rose Poivree
Frapin 1697
I'm ready for the challenge. SMFAO
Image from psychdigest.com
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| Bruce |
B-man and I are thrilled to announce the arrival of our much anticipated grandpuppy, Bruce. JD has been talking about him for years...'what I really want is a chocolate lab named Bruce.'
Bruce isn't so graceful at the moment, running into stuff, thinking he can jump over things that he can't and making cute whining noises when things don't quite go his way. Of course, I'm the annoying grandparent, with all sorts of advice about what Bruce is and isn't ready for, like sleeping outside and 3-mile hikes (so not ready). And I try to keep him from stumbling, because come on, no puppy's feet should be that big. This means he's going to be an 80 pound, tail wagging wrecking machine before his adult dog brain catches up with his puppy instincts.
Yeah, good luck with that.
Nevertheless, we're all in love with him, and he actually looks a little like JD. I am not bullshitting, he has the same green eyes rimmed with blue, which only freaks me out a little. I do appreciate JD tolerating my suggestions and at least responding with a smile and a nod before doing exactly what he wants (as it turns out, Bruce loves 3-mile hikes). I have no idea where he gets that stubborn streak. Probably from B-man.
Welcome to the family, Bruce. Glad you're finally here.
Photo taken by JD
Last week, I spent a few days in Napa Valley, California at an exclusive conference that my boss asked me to attend in her place. Envision a group of thirty national healthcare muckety-mucks doing muckety things at a muckety hotel. We ate delicious food for three days and addressed a number of first world problems. On the last night, we boarded a bus and visited a winery that was hosting our group.
All part of the conference, of course.
Perfume filled the air with the usual suspects; D&G Light Blue, Estee Lauder's Sensuous and Clinique's Aromatics. But during lunch on Thursday, I sat by a woman who smelled...intriguing. At first, I didn't know how I felt about her perfume, but it grew on me over time. For the rest of the event, I could tell exactly where she was in the room, even if she was out of sight. And I began loving that perfume with the perfect sillage; fresh but sweet, powdery but elegant.
So not me.
The fact that I couldn't identify it - at all - was bugging me to no end. At the winery, after tasting the Chardonnay, Merlot and Cabernet, I finally had the guts to approach her and say, 'I've been smelling you for the past two days and I must know your perfume - it's really beautiful.' She turned around with a surprised look and said, 'it's French.' To which I said, 'yes, the best ones often are.' To which she said, 'it's by Fragonard, but I can't remember the actual name.'
She may have been blowing me off, but being a buzzed perfume stalker, I didn't really care. Plus, I immediately felt better about not having recognized the scent, as I'm not at all familiar with that line. (Why couldn't it have been Caron or Guerlain or Montale, dammit?) Then she said, 'I'll look tonight and let you know tomorrow.'
On the bus back to the hotel, she turned around from a seat up front and yelled toward me, sitting near the back (this behavior is acceptable, even to mucketys, after a certain amount of wine), 'I just remembered - the name of my perfume is Eclat.'
Of course, I googled all reviews of Eclat from every source I could dig up as soon as I got back to my room. Top notes are listed as bergamot, lemon and freesia. Middle notes are frangipani, orange blossom and gardenia. Base notes are marshmallow and amber. Eclat is likely not suited to me at all.
But it is beautiful. And I remain intrigued.
Image from fragrantica.com
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
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
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
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
