Chanel No. No Thank You

I am on a quest to find my "signature scent."  I have never been one for perfume but recently decided, Yes! I would like to wear perfume!  And smell pretty!  But finding a perfume that I would like to wear?  That has not been easy.

Shopping for perfume is not like shopping for anything else.  If you are shopping for jeans, you can try on dozens and dozens of pairs, until your butt and thighs start to chafe.  If you are shopping for some beach reading, you can open up book after book until you find The One.  Even if you are just buying frozen yogurt, you can still sample one or two (or five) flavors before committing to your dessert.

But perfume?  Perfume is IMPOSSIBLE.  You can't just sniff the bottle.  You have to apply some perfume to your wrists and then let it react with your natural body chemicals (or something like that) for twenty or thirty minutes.  And once you've applied some perfume to your wrists, that's it.  You can't layer your body with several different scents, or you will smell like a brothel.  (Ok, I have never actually been to a brothel, but I imagine that a brothel would smell like a dozen different perfumes that have been applied too heavily.  But that's just me).  So long story short, you can only sample one perfume a day - unless you are willing to run home and shower.

I recently watched the movie Coco Before Chanel.  It was excellent.  Since I had Chanel and perfume on my mind, I decided to try Chanel No. 5.  I understand it's the Holy Grail of perfumes - the most popular, the most famous, the most whatever.  I know it might take awhile to find my signature scent, but maybe Chanel No. 5 would abbreviate my quest.

I found a sample bottle of No. 5 at Nordstroms.  Cautiously, I sniffed the bottle.  Hmm, I thought, this does not smell good.  But, what do I know?  I am a perfume virgin.  Surely it would smell delightful on my wrist.

No, it does not smell delightful on my wrist.  Chanel No. 5 + Courtney's Wrist = Smells Like A Public Restroom.

Damn, the quest continues.

Goodbye, Old Friend

So this is it.  Borders is bankrupt and going out of business, never to return.  Today I said goodbye.

The books were steeply discounted.  As I wandered through the store, it felt like I was looting a dying friend's house.  Is there someone I could apologize to?  I bought a Kindle and my visits to Borders dwindled.  And when I did go to Borders, I furtively wrote down the titles of books I liked and then ... gulp... I bought them on Amazon.  I'm sorry!  I was just trying to save a few dollars!  I didn't mean to kill Borders.

I probably shouldn't have visited Borders today.  The store was gasping for a final breath.  About 99% of the books are gone, and the remaining books are scattered haphazardly throughout the store: an Anne Rice novel is next to a book about romantic relationships which is next to a book about the history of beef.  Depressing?  Absolutely.

Here is the last bag I will ever get from Borders.  I'm thinking about having it bronzed.  (That's a joke.  Well, not really.  Is it possible to bronze a plastic bag?  Or maybe I can have it stuffed and turned into a pillow?)

Goodbye, Borders.  Rest in peace.

There Was A Loud Crash, And Now We Have The Best Tree Fort In The Neighborhood

Last night, my husband and I were eating dinner when we heard a large crashing sound outside.  I normally hyperventilate in these circumstances and assume "there's a mountain lion on the roof!" or "there's a pack of rabid raccoons coming down the chimney!" But last night, I dismissed the very loud crashing sound and assumed it was something trivial.  Nathan was skeptical, but we continued eating dinner and forgot about the sound.

In the morning, Nathan discovered the source of the loud crashing sound:

Oh.  I guess it wasn't that trivial. 

Apparently a very large tree branch crash landed on our front lawn last night.  I hesitate to call this a "tree branch."  It's about the size of two large cars.  This "branch" could take out the brass section of a respectable marching band.  It's bigger than some of the trees in my neighborhood, and yet, it's just a humble branch.

When I was in high school, I told myself I would never be 100% adult.  I believe it's safe to say that I have kept that promise.  Case in point: this morning, when I saw the branch, I noted I would need to call the City of Pasadena to remove the branch.  (There's no way this bad boy could fit in our trash bin!)  But I also thought: this would make an awesome fort. 

The City of Pasadena is collecting the rogue branch today.  I know the branch has to go, but still, it makes me a little sad.  If I covered the top with an old sheet, it really would be the best tree fort in the neighborhood.

It's Magic! It's Gas! It's MAGIC GAS!!!

I cannot begin to tell you how happy this gas station makes me:

People, it's called MAGIC GAS.  

I'd really like to know how this gas station got its name.  Did the owner lose a bet?  Is he really into the Lord of the Rings?  Or, did he think his customers would actually believe the gas is magical if he calls it Magic Gas?     

And what makes the gas magical?  Is it sprinkled with fairy dust?  Does it smell like a unicorn?  Does the gas come from an oil well near Loch Ness?  These are important questions.

No Fresh Tomatoes

Although my husband and I live in a house, we do not have a backyard.  We have a backAREA that’s basically a pool (awesome!) and a lot of concrete (less than awesome).  We call it the backyard, though, because “backarea” sounds stupid.

I love gardening, and someday, I would like to have a vegetable garden with zucchini, pumpkins, carrots and tomatoes.  (And yes, I know tomatoes are really a fruit.  And no, I’m not going to call it a fruit and vegetable garden.  I want a vegetable garden with tomatoes, end of discussion). 

Right now, my vegetable garden is just a dream, because our large expanse of concrete is not exactly a gardener’s paradise.  But last summer, I convinced myself that I could grow tomatoes in our backyard.   I would be a legend: the Tomato Lady of Pasadena.  Foodies would travel from all corners of the globe just to visit my tomato stand at the farmer’s market.  Mark Bittman would want to be my friend.  I optimistically started my tomato garden.

It was an unmitigated disaster.

As you probably know, tomatoes do not grow well in concrete.  I actually did a science experiment about this in the seventh grade.  For the experiment, I planted seeds in four different materials: dirt, fancy schmancy potting soil, sand, and pebbles.  I charted the growth of the seeds every day.  It was supposed to be very scientific, but I felt bad for the pebble plant.  I could see that a seed had managed to sprout, and I might have rearranged the pebbles to help the seedling grow.   I might have lied about the results of the experiment.  (Sorry, Miss Taylor).  There's a reason I majored in history, not biology.  Anyway, I digress.  The point is that tomatoes need soil – not concrete – in order to thrive. 

Determined to grow tomatoes, I bought several books about container gardening and read everything about tomatoes.  I learned several things.  Lesson One: tomatoes need a lot of sunshine.  Okay!  My backyard has plenty of sunshine.  No problem. 

Lesson Two: tomatoes should be grown in plastic pots; terracotta and ceramic containers get too hot and will cook the roots of a tomato plant.  Cooked roots = bad, so I bought three deep containers made from plastic at Home Depot.  At least, I assume they were made from plastic.  Maybe they were made from something fancy, like fiberglass or biodegradable stardust.  I also bought some snazzy tomato-trellis thingees.

I visited several different nurseries in Pasadena in order to purchase the best tomato seedlings possible (as if I know what the best tomato seedling actually is).  I gently transplanted my seedlings and carefully positioned the tomato-trellis thingees.  I watered my plants religiously and did everything I was supposed to do.  My plants grew several feet high; the leaves spread out widely in the sunlight; and little baby tomatoes sprouted.  Victory!

Alas, Pasadena gets HOT during the summer.  Not East Coast/Midwest hot, but temperatures regularly climb into the high 80s and 90s.  And the concrete in our backyard?  It gets hotter than the surface of the sun.  Tomatoes do not grow well on the surface of the sun, and they did not grow well in my backyard.  My tomato plants died – slowly, dramatically, and painfully.  Little tomatoes would appear, with promises of sunshine and summer (have you ever eaten a tomato, fresh off the vine and still warm from the sun?  It tastes like heaven).  As I was picking recipes for my tomato harvest, the baby tomatoes would shrivel and die on the vine.  It was an emotional roller coaster.  Just when I was ready to accept defeat, the plants would rally.  Yes!  I would rejoice.  Tomato-palooza!  But again and again, the tomatoes turned brown and fell to the ground.  Between May and September, I harvested maybe four cherry tomatoes.

The four cherry tomatoes were delicious.  That said, I’m not an idiot.  This year, I moved the containers to a shaded area and planted some cheap flowers. I’m not dedicating my summer to some high-maintenance plants just so I can enjoy four cherry tomatoes. 

Fashion: Let's Bring Back the Renaissance!

I do not know much about fashion, but I know at least one thing: the fashion world loves to recycle old trends and styles.  Even though it’s the twenty-first century, we are told things like “you really need to wear these long hippie skirts” or “bell bottoms are back.”       

If fashion designers are willing to revisit the 1960s and ‘70s, I think they should look to even earlier eras for inspiration.  Why stop with the twentieth century?  Let’s bring back the Renaissance!   And English medieval fashion!  Every discerning girl needs a kirtle and a wimple in her wardrobe.  

I’m not actually advocating the return of Renaissance and medieval fashions.  I don’t see myself running errands wearing a girdle and velvet cape.  However, I would love to see the revival of fashion worn by the Roman nobility during Julius Caesar’s reign. 

If you think I’m crazy, watch an episode of the HBO series Rome. 
The dresses worn by the wealthy female characters make me gasp with jealousy (think flowy fabrics that are draped and cinched in the most flattering of ways).   But let’s limit the revival of Roman Empire fashion to women.  I don’t want to give men a blank check to run around in togas and gladiator sandals.  It’s bad enough when men wear short-shorts at the gym.  I would drop dead if 24 Hour Fitness was suddenly crowded with men in purple robes.

I also urge fashion designers to watch movies based on Jane Austen’s novels, especially the Keira Knightley version of Pride & Prejudice.  Fashion designers, please pay close attention to the dresses with flattering empire waists – they are beautiful and very practical for long, melancholy walks across the heath.  These dresses need to be available at Nordstroms, ok?

I realize the revival of fashions from the 1800s are unlikely.  For at least the foreseeable future, J.Crew and Banana Republic will not be selling fashions worn by the ancient Roman nobility and Elizabeth Bennet.* [Insert dramatic sigh].  But a girl can dream.

*I should not have to tell you this, but Elizabeth Bennet is the protagonist of Pride & Prejudice.  I’d like to be her friend except (a) she lived in England during the 1800s and (b) she’s a fictional character. 

Warning: Attack Cat

I found this sign at a hardware store:

I wanted to buy it as a joke gift for a friend with two cats, but it costs $8.  That's too expensive for a joke gift.  I would spend $8 on a joke gift if a friend was going through a very dark period - e.g. just found out her boyfriend is a serial killer - but fortunately, that's not the case here.