Diary of a Mad Perfume Blogger (Take Two)

Zelda creepin' on me in the bathtub.

Here is a second version of my new Scent Diary feature, with a different format from the first. Please let me know which one you prefer!

Wearing: Botrytis Ginestet. The combination of warm honey and bright white floral notes has been perfectly matched to this recent slew of sunny-but-freezing winter days.

Reading: Springiette, the cutest webcomic about a lady-ninja and her pet sushi ever. The fact that it is most likely the only webcomic about a lady-ninja and her pet sushi does not in any way detract from its cuteness.

Springiette is the (adorable) copyrighted property of María Victoria Robado.

Watching: Star Trek: The Original Series Season 2, now that my beloved little brother Buzz has finally gotten Netflix working on his Wii. Last night’s episode was “Obsession”, in which Kirk goes all Captain Ahab up in here and starts tracking a gaseous cloud that smells like honey. Buzz and I agree that this honey cloud is quite possibly the lamest villain of all time, with the possible exception of Team Rocket.

As if being honey-scented wasn't threatening enough, the cloud also sparkles. I don't even know.

Lusting After: Some CB I Hate Perfume Burning Leaves, which is on sale at The Crushed Violet. I’ve never tried it before, but I love smelling burnt anything (coffee, marshmallows, halloumi cheese). I would also cut a distant relative for this “Bros” shirt, which depicts the epic bromance between authors Jules Vernes and Edgar Allen Poe.

Caught in a bad bromance

Cheering For: My fabulous reader breathesgelatin, who is getting her brand new perfume blog up and running this weekend! I’ll update this post with a link as soon as she’s ready.

Diary of a Mad Perfume Blogger

So this is a new feature: I share a few stories from my week and talk about the perfumes that I wore during the week’s events. Please let me know if you think that I should make this feature permanent, or if this should be its first and last appearance.

Friday, January 6th: I am about to begin to a perfectly peaceful day of perfume shopping at Towson Town Center when my ex of four years calls and informs me that he is an hour away from Baltimore. I am, of course, in seven-year-old sweatpants (which proclaim in huge white letters that they were a party favor from Stefanie Milner’s Bat Mitzvah) and look about as put together as Ke$ha. While I have no issues with seeing my ex, who remains a good friend, I am quite grumpy that I will have to miss out on perfume shopping. Still, the day was not a total loss on the perfume front: my 6’5″ ex was able to help me reach some Lush bath bombs (Satsumo Santa and Cinders) that were shelved a wee bit high for a five-footer. I nod along as he tells me about his plans to work as a mining engineer in Australia, happy to hear that he is doing so well.

Saturday, January 7th: I am determined to make up for the perfume shopping that I was denied on Friday, so I return to Towson Town Center and hit up Nordstrom with a gift card. I buy a Cartier Baiser Vole gift set and delight in its gorgeous, photorealistic lily. It will be perfect for sorority events, which are all white dresses and faux virginity.

Sunday, January 8th: I spray on the playful Prada Candy and head down to our local pub just in time to watch the Steelers lose. Baltimore residents unequivocally loathe the Steelers, so everyone is in a good mood. One lady enthusiastically tells me that “Jesus done shown them justice” as she attempts to eat my french fries. I eventually give up and share them with her, and am rewarded with lovely stories about her grandchildren in Philadelphia. Jacob! Kaylee! Your grandma says hi!

Monday, January 9th: Today is the first day of my intersession class “The Fitzgeralds in Baltimore”, taught by a member of the Rockefeller family. I do my best to appear presentable, putting on a full face of makeup for the first time in months and brushing my hair so that I look a little less like Snape. Damn, I’m nervous. I know plenty about the Fitzgeralds, but very little about doing well in classes. I am non-neurotypical (this is a nice way of saying “a total aspie”) and am very prone to accidentally contradicting and/or offending professors. I rummage through my perfume collection and curse myself for not owning more intellectual perfumes, which turns into cursing myself for not being more intellectual in general. I eventually settle on L’Artisan Safran Troublant, which strikes me as the right choice to meet a beautiful Indian friend for lunch.

On my way to class, I notice a man attempting to fight a tree. The tree puts up a valiant resistance, but is ultimately no match for his fists of fury. I am surprised to find myself relating to the poor tree. I finally take my seat in the classroom and try not to feel too out of place at the 13th best university in the country.