Perfume Rx for Cranky: Wear One and Call Me In the Morning

I'm restless and cranky today, even though the sun is shining and it's 60 degrees on our deck, which is where I am sitting right now.  I should be blissfully happy and relaxed, looking forward to cooking, conversation and Champagne with B-man later.  I should delight in the new buds on our trees and Paige lying on her back in the sun.  My peppy rating should be off the charts because spring was invented to make you peppy, right?  Renewal, redemption and resurrection...what could be wrong with that?  And I should take great care to chose the right perfume to match this storybook setting, one that perfectly captures my unbridled joy as I twirl in the sunshine. 

Yeah, sure, whatever.

Believe me, I tried to choose a perfume earlier, sniffing one bottle after the other, wondering why they all smell so harsh and nasty. Honestly, I don't know why I bought any of them.  Daphne, my nose, is super sensitive today, and a little bitchy if you want to know the truth.

Hormones? 
Grief?
Life transition?
Identity crisis?

Yup.

Losing my last parent makes me feel ancient and more urgent than ever about moving my life forward in some meaningful way.  Actually, meaning is optional - I'd just settle for moving forward. Except I forgot what I'm moving toward and the pursuit of 'what's next' that has fueled my life for the last...pretty much always, is gone. Like what's next decided to stop playing and go in the house to watch TV.  Now I'm stuck living in the stupid moment.  Whoever started that concept can kiss my butt.  You live in the moment, dumbass, I want to know what's next.  You go meditate and do yoga and grab a therapeutic massage on your way home.  Namaste. 

Just lemme know what's next.

If I wanted to wear a perfume that smells as cranky as I feel, there are plenty to choose from.  Paloma Picasso, Amouage Lyric Woman, Bandit or Rumba jump to mind. They were made for one purpose and one purpose only: to piss people off.  Or Angel, which sparks low grade irritation at first, then builds over time, getting stronger and stronger with face-slapping patchouli until I have to bite my tongue so I don't blurt out, 'stop wearing that shit' in the middle of a meeting.

But wait, what if annoying perfumes can actually counteract crankiness the same way stimulants like Ritalin or Adderall treat hyperactive kids?  No one's proven it can't work as far as I know, and it's certainly worth a try.  Rumba, don't fail me now.

Image from google.com

Bakhour by Al Rehab

For the life of me, I can't remember how I discovered Al Rehab perfume oils.  They must have popped up when I was researching something else on Fragrantica, my diversion-from-reality drug of choice.  However it happened, I'm glad I found them, and now I own six, which is all good because they are cheap.  Like, $3.95 cheap.  Inner Farm Girl hasn't even noticed.

Of course, cheap doesn't matter - even to me - unless the perfume smells good.  So far, several of the Al Rehab oils smell very good, but I seem to be stuck on one in particular: Bakhour.  Not exactly what I expected from an Arabian perfume oil, Bakhour is bright and floral-citrus, woody and vanilla-musky.  Some have compared it to Angel or Alien, but I don't get that.  Jasmine is definitely involved, but no more so than any other member of the ensemble.  What's most interesting about Bakhour is the drydown, which has the mustiness of a greenhouse.  Just the right touch to 'Arabize' the scent.

Bakhour lasts for 3-4 hours and has good sillage for a perfume oil. Al Rehab oils come in roll-on bottles, but they develop best when they are also rubbed into my skin rather than simply left alone to sit on the surface. Then I run my fingers through my hair to share the love a little more.  I'm wearing Bakhour today over Capri Seaside Citrus lotion by Bath and Body Works...the perfect combo on Spring's second day.

Image from fragrantica.com

Ode to Nomaoud by Comptoir Sud Pacifique

Jet Engine

Pizza Delivery Box

Ink

Hot Road Tar

Gasoline

Damp Straw

Smoked Paprika

Image from fragrantica.com

Grief Makes You Weird

As much as I want to feel like my normal self, I don't.  My dad died and I'm sad about it.  February has been a month full of painful anniversaries: Dad's birthday, Mom's death and their wedding. 

Grief is hard work.
Grief makes you weird. 
Grief makes you fat. 
Grief makes you smile to hide the fact that you don't care about anything. 
Grief makes you not care that you don't care. 

One day in the future, I will care again.  One day, I'll be able to walk on the treadmill for more than 10 minutes at a time and stay up at night later than 8:30.  I'll be able to look at myself in the mirror and think, 'maybe you're not that hideous, after all.'  I will stop forgetting my name badge in the morning and having to turn around and get it, making me late for a conference call that I don't care about.

Some days, I think I'm fine until realizing I've spent the whole day feeling anxious.  I'm afraid of losing someone else that I love or of dropping dead myself because, hey, I read the obituaries and lots of 54-year old women are dropping dead.  Or getting fired because everyone figures out that I can't remember my name badge.  Then they feel sorry for me just like I feel sorry for myself. 

And I miss Dad so very much. 

Perfume is my relief.  I pile it on constantly, layering one on top of the other until I get it right.  Or until I stop piling.  For the first time, I have a stash of decants and samples at work, and sometimes - like today - I remember it when I am exhausted and just cannot fake it for another minute.  As soon as the aroma meets my nose, I can relax, give my sadness a rest and catch a whiff of the good life that I know is coming.  That, I care about.

image from paintings-art-pictures.com

Fine Dining Isn't Always Fine

Eleven hours after leaving my hotel in Naples, I arrived home hungry and slightly nauseous after a bumpy landing.  My butt was sore from sitting too long and I felt annoyed by all aspects of flying.  Waiting, standing in line, loading the plane like cattle and managing claustrophobia with far too many humans in one place.  Could they jam a few more seats in there?  With all the advances we have made in technology, our current method of flying people around the world feels more and more antiquated.  Or maybe I'm just cranky.  Probably that.

One of the hardest things about traveling is compromising my food routine.  I wouldn't call myself a food snob (onion rings and a Cobb salad make me happy on the road), but I do want what I want, when I want it.  'Food brat' is more accurate.  In Naples, we went to nice restaurants at night, which was mildly satisfying, but the food/drink pacing was all off.   On the first night, for example, they took my drink order shortly after we were seated.  Twenty minutes later, my Chardonnay arrived.  Twenty minutes after that, they took my food order.  Much later, my wine was almost gone.  Then came my dinner.  I asked for another glass of wine at the same time, because I knew my first glass would be gone in two more sips.  I ate painfully slow, making conversation and trying to love my duck gnocchi as I waited for my wine (they didn't have onion rings).  When I was nearly done with my meal, and others were already on dessert, my second glass of wine finally arrived.  By then I was pouting and didn't want it anymore, so I left half a glass in protest. 

Yup, definitely cranky.  And lame.

Fortunately, B-man understands my love affair with food, and walking into the house after a long trip home was a visual and aromatic delight.  Waiting for me was grilled salmon, tilapia and shrimp along with spaghetti and my favorite spicy sauce.  Plus crusty bread with olive oil dip, steamed broccoli and roasted cabbage that was crispy on the edges and tender in the middle. 

And wine whenever I wanted.  Now that's what I call fine dining.

Image from friasproperties.com

Ode to Naples

 

My hotel in Naples

 

Impending Rain

Geranium

Overripe Fruit

Roller Coaster

Tobacco

Clean Sweat

Money 

 

Image from merchantcircle.com

 

Perfume In Naples and on Airplanes

Tonight, I arrived in Naples, Florida to attend a meeting that includes a small, exclusive group of industry leaders that do the same thing I do. We meet twice a year at posh, fun locations (the last two were Park City and Napa Valley) and spend an intense 36 hours together sharing information during the day and drinking good wine and eating elegant food in the evenings.  

This is my first time in Naples, so of course, I tried to bring perfumes that might represent Florida, and I'd like to buy a perfume that captures Naples while I'm here. After a long day of travel, however, both me and Daphne are tired, so even though I've been out wandering the streets tonight, I can't get a clear feel of the essence of Naples.  Tomorrow morning, I'm heading to the beach - an easy stroll from my hotel.

Since my SOP (B-man taught me this military term, Standard Operating Procedure, and I use it every chance I get because it makes me feel important) requires that I take multiple decants/samples and small size perfumes, here's what I have with me:

Diptique L'eau des Hesperides
Diptique 34 blvd Saint Germain
Al Rehab Bakhour
J-Lo Miami Glow
Lancôme La vie est belle
Jessica Simpson I Fancy You
Marc Jacobs Daisy Eau so Fresh
Versace Crystal Noir
Bvlgari Voile de Jasmin
Salvatore Ferragamo Tuscan Soul

And, btw, I'm no longer banning perfume on the airplane, although I try to keep it respectful and pleasant. Besides, this is another perfect way I can use up my B&BW products, as none of them are overwhelming in the universal scope of perfume strength.  This morning, I wore Twilight Woods lotion, Warm Vanilla Sugar body spray and Twisted Peppermint hand cream.  It was perfect.  Oh - plus Sweet Peony shiny hair spray.  I smelled divine in this unsophisticated, 'I'm so friendly and approachable' sort of way.  I consider this a gracious response to the BO/dirty hair/fart sillage that permeates airplane travel.  We all do what we need to do, right?

Any tips or inside scoop for perfume shopping in Naples?

Image from realestatesalesnyc.com