Wednesday, May 21, 2008

Just to warn you...

I stink.

Not in a gross-body-odor kind of way, but in an oh-shit-I-spilled-perfume-on-myself kind of way. Because that's exactly what it is.

I have this perfume I got in Florida, which is supposed to smell like the orange fields. It's a little bit tacky and, while it does smell a lot like oranges, it also has a subtle scent of old lady soap. BUT it came in a bottle shaped like an orange! AND it makes me think of my elderly aunt in Florida! AND AND I already dress like I'm guest-starring on the Golden Girls, so why not go all the way and smell like it too!?! Sure.

But that's a problem when I'm tired and hungover and spill it all over myself. Because now instead of oranges and floral soap I smell like ORANGE PEELS AND OLD LADIES ALL UP IN YOUR FACE. Well, all up in my face, really. And it's definitely not helping the hangover headache.

Bottom line: if you're going to be hanging out with me within the next 24 hours, you may want to keep a safe distance. Unless you have a Bea Arthur obsession or something. In which case, stay away from my plastic beads and slip-on shoes too.

Thursday, May 08, 2008

Must. Not. Roll. Eyes.

I was in Starbucks yesterday, in line for a FREE coffee when I was unexpectedly shocked out of my morning stupor.

(Sidetrack: I got a card from The Boss - that I think actually came from the NY Times but he tried to pass off as a thoughtful gift - for a FREE coffee on Wednesdays at Starbucks AND it's REUSABLE every Wednesday through May!! I LOVE FREE. AND CAPS LOCK.)

If you haven't been to a Starbucks in awhile (look at you, pretentious-non-consumer-face), you've been missing out on their crazily expanding music business. Not only do they play hit tunes in their cafes, but the name and album is displayed on a hot flat screen TV. AND if you have an iPhone or some such nonsense, you can download the song right there. And, oh my god, there is this thing called "e-mail" where you can send people letters without paper.

ANYWAY: my line-waiting-mood was lifted as the magic screen was playing "Que Onda Guero" by Beck - great morning song, in my opinion. The girl in line behind me asked what was playing, but the barista didn't know and the screen was blocked so I said "it's Beck, 'Que Onda Guero,' from Guero."

And she responded with a blank stare "Um... Beck? Is he, like, from the U.K. or something?"

I am sure my nostrils flared about six inches and steam came out of my ears, but I took a deep breath and said "Uh, no, he's very much American." There were so many other snarky words trying to get out, but I was very lady-like in containing them. This girl was my age; not 15, not 85, but clearly living in a cave of bad musical influences.

We re-convened by the milk and sugar station and she said, "Wow, thanks, I'm going to have to look for this guy!"

I said "Yeah, you should really go get every single album he's made." Although I should have said "YOU'RE WELCOME for saving you from the cave of bad music and years of awkward silences at hipster parties!"

Another day saved by Molly, musically opinionated sassbasket.

PS: doesn't Beck have the creepiest website ever? Damn.