Grateful Moment #7: Disgusting Flowery Perfume!

 

Swarovski Crystals Flowered Perfume, $44.95 on Amazon

 

Join me for a personal shout-out, to the inventors of disgusting flowered essence.

To be honest, I abhor the smell of flowered perfume, but to the grannies of our time who chase the scent like it’s a club-pack size of Depends on sale for $9.99, flowery perfume is a gift!

If flowery perfume had never happened, what would grannies do? Older ladies crave the lavender/rosy essence, it’s in the genetic code (a complicated code that stays dormant ‘till the grannies’ loss of teeth or will to live, or both.)

More importantly, what would I do? Because I’m pretty sure I want to live to the age of “granny”, when my deeds are remembered as epic, and when my younger self watches over the city square as a bronzed fountain. So what would “granny-Romi” do if “eau de fleur” was discontinued?

I’d hit the source is what I’d do, the way a heroin addict hops on a plane to Colombia.

In my case I’d go outside and find the nearest public garden. I would rip a row of aromatic flora from their roots and start to rub. I’d rub those flowers over my neck and when that wasn’t enough, I’d expose my granny collarbone and rub some more.

Okay I have to stop there.

I hope you have seen my point or maybe I have blinded you with it. The point is that convenient little bottles of flowered poison are what keep the world’s grannies in check. In fact grannies should stay behind closed doors as a general rule. That’s not me making an asshole statement, that’s society who stuffs the elderly in their own special compounds, where they’re not allowed to interact with the young and fabulous. An entire building of old-people smell, and teenage volunteers who need “x” amount of bed-pan-changing hours to graduate.

Sorry for the truth bomb, society, but that’s what we do.

So if society has already determined that the elderly should be contained, the disappearance of flowered perfume would interfere with the lockdown! It would be like a modified scene from a zombie movie; escaped, confused, slow-moving grannies with tilted heads, sniffing around for gardens or flower-shops, desperate to rub their collarbones with unsuspecting petals.

Nobody needs to see that. Like ever.

So sure, scrunch your noise at the nearest granny’s nasty flowered essence, but remember ladies, one day that will be us, and dammit we will need the supply.

So thank you, flowered perfume factory, keep the quota nicely humming…

(PS to all the men: disgusting flowered perfume doesn’t help you in any way so I have no consolation. But hey, sometimes the woman’s needs matter more so just be quiet and learn how to deal.)

Grateful Moment #3: NO Bowl Haircut!

If you’re an adult with a bowl haircut, I hope it was an accident. If it wasn’t an accident and you’re proudly shaking your bowl hair at me right now, then don’t read this blog anymore.

As for the rest of you, we are all grown adults, but the danger of a bowl haircut is all around us.

To start, cereal bowls can be found in every house. So can scissors. In other words the two needed weapons are in arm’s reach EVERY day, should a family member want to screw you over in your sleep.

And then there’s the frightening risk each time you go to a salon. Some people trust their hairdressers with their lives. I absolutely do not. Every time I’m in that chair, I suspect she’ll try to give me “the bowl”, just because I’m younger and prettier than her. Whatever. And hairdressers are so damn trained, that they don’t even need a real bowl to execute the cut! They could pull it off freehand and you may not even know until the last chop is made.

That is scarier than an STD, and no one’s even made a movie on it yet? (“You Gave Me “The Bowl” Last Summer“…)

So please feel grateful for your hairstyle, even if it’s greasy and ghetto-ass.

And definitely sleep with one eye open…

Environment Saved…Sexiness Lost?

Is pollution an adequate price to pay for keepin’ it sexy?

When I explain the following scenario, you might just nod your head yes.

As a modern working woman with an automobile and a shoulder-padded blazer (purchased in that order), I admit I have a regular need for petroleum. Though I do try to limit my dependence on oil with a train pass, a subway pass, and some comfortable “old lady” walking shoes (made for old ladies but not out of old ladies…though the latter would be an interesting form of recycling), I do fill up on gas three times a month.

These gas-pumping events are unlike any other, when it comes to expressing the following needs:

-look sexy, move sexy, and above all else…get noticed.

If you don’t know what I’m talking about you obviously take the bus, so here’s a historical archive to assist (at 1 minute 40 seconds to be exact). In this music video for “Crazy” by Aerosmith, Liv Tyler pumps gas the way all women were meant to: bent over in painted-on leather pants and a half-shirt, with ass swinging to and fro like a pendulum.

I don’t have to ask the women out there if that’s how they pump their gas. Of course they do. Nor must I ask the men out there if they happen to enjoy the show. Of course you do.

And me? Those visits to my local gas bar are a thrill. Even though I visit the gas station right after work, I quickly remove my nerdy buttoned blouse and office work pants in the car. Then, at the perfect moment I slowly emerge, all decked out in my denim tween-sized shorts (it’s summer so let’s skip the leather pants), a white tank top, black bra (contrast is everything), and pink go-go boots. It’s my 6pm showcase at the pump.

But…what if we as humans, never pumped gas again?

Laugh if you will, but as hybrid cars become more and more mainstream, it won’t be long before we fully switch to electric. And where is the sexiness in plugging your car into a socket? In your own garage? With only your cat as the audience?

It’s a travesty.

So do we make a worldwide appeal to cancel electric cars? Do we let the emissions run wild?

There must be another way, and if you’re all in agreement, I think I may have found it.

All we have to do is find alternative daily tasks in public, where short-shorts/boots/bending over/ass-swinging will work.

Here are the ones I’ve come up with:

-Putting your baby on the floor, pavement, grass (or any other “bottom” surface in public), then picking the baby up. This only works if you have your own baby or steal someone else’s.

-Grocery shopping, and only picking items from the bottom shelf (you may end up eating weird food that’s expired, but it’s a small price to pay for pleasing the men and pleasing your ego).

-Locking and unlocking your bicycle at a bike rack (this means you’ll have to start riding a bicycle…wearing short-shorts and tall boots).

That’s all I’ve got so far, but if we pool our heads together and uncover other sexy options, maybe we can save the earth and keep our superficial needs in tact (a girl can dream).

So help me…help me to help you.

Regards,

What I Hate About Chocolate…

“But whatever do you mean, dear Romi? Chocolate is the most heavenly food on earth!”

First of all, thank you for referring to me as “Dear Romi”, that’s how I’d like to be addressed in all conversations henceforth.

And I know, I know, everyone loves chocolate…mixed with EVERYTHING.

Well that’s what pisses me off. Chocolate can do no wrong (except when it’s in a Big Turk—what sicko came up with that one?), especially when it’s getting bedazzled with other ingredients.

In chocolate bars for example, interaction with peanuts, caramel, wafers,  and nougat is heavily encouraged (many times all at once).  Add that to your  “chocolate bar versions” of cakes, cheesecakes, and ice cream flavours, and it’s clear that in the realm of chocolate,  “more is sexy-ass more.”

But if chocolate gets to be the most with the most, why can’t women do it too?

(you knew this post was going somewhere very important…well here we are.)

I’m talking about makeup, hairstyles and accessories.  One of the truths about becoming an older woman (did I just say that out loud?), is that you start to discover how you can’t “get away with” everything. Even when you’re younger, being a beautiful girl has a lot to do with “less is more.” The cosmetic industry itself makes its efforts to adapt, with “natural-looking” mascara, earth-tone eye shadows, and nude-coloured lip-gloss (which by the way, seems sluttier to me. Like hello, you’re walking around town with natural-coloured but super-shiny lippies. How did they even get so shiny? Like what have you been up to today?…). As far as hairstyles and jewelry goes, the craziest options are always available, but society calmly advises you not to mix ‘n mingle.

For example: big-hoop earrings? Fine. But maybe you should go easy on the volumized hair. Luscious red lips? Okay. But only if you skip on the dollops of silver eyeshadow, ’cause mama didn’t raise no whore.

And there it is. The line you can’t cross, for fear of being labeled a lady of the night. I don’t understand this. I mean if I can find an amazing mascara that can make all my lashes look bangable (who says you can’t bang an eyelash? Maybe you just need to be more creative), a lip-gloss that provides a fierce amount of colour, eyeshadow that sparkles all night long, and hairspray that provides enough volume to touch the ceiling…isn’t that a win-win-win-win?

No,  you tart, it’s a four-way loss and a one-way ticket to Tramp-Town.

I suppose if I got naked and  lathered myself in nougat, peanuts and wafers I’d be the toast of the town. But then again my name isn’t ‘Ho Henry…or Tit Kat.

By the way, has anyone ever given chocolate an A.I.D.S. test? I’m just saying, it gets around…