Custom Perfume

I’m torn between thinking that this is a pretty awesome idea (maybe partially because I DID see that movie, Perfume and thought the premise of making the ultimate perfume out of wicked hot ladies was pretty cool), or an incredibly disgusting one.  It was okay when it was a movie and I didn’t really need to ponder the chemistry of how one would sort through all the nasty odors the human body secretes and generate a beautiful scent because it was just a movie. 

But somehow, the wizards and conjurors of My DNA Fragrance have discovered how to make it a reality!  And now they can sell you your very own Love Potion Number Nine that will lure any man/woman to you with an immortal odor.  My question is, whose to say everyone smells good?  Yes, we each have our own unique smell, but what if the cologne you produce is straight up dank?  Do they throw a little rose petal in there and call it a day?  They say straight-up on their website that “DNA has no odor, so it cannot set the precedent for smell.”  Okay, so what exactly do you do again?  Oh that’s right, take my money and run. 

Esquish.

With Alotta Love,

zee zee cakes

 

Hipster

“The dance floor at a hipster party looks like it should be surrounded by quotation marks.

While punk, disco and hip hop all had immersive and intimate and energetic dance styles that liberated the dancer from his/her mental states- be it head-spinning b-boy or violent thrashings of a live punk show- the hipster has more of a joke dance. A faux shrug shuffle that mocks the very idea of dancing or, at its best, illustrates a non-committal fear of expression typified in a weird twitch/ironic twist. The dancers are too self-aware to let themselves feel any form of liberation; they shuffle along, shrugging themselves into oblivion.”

-Douglas Haddow

You should read the rest of this article here.

thanks NY Times for the photo..

Dear Assholes of the Somerville Circle,

Now, contrary to the teachings of Asshole Drivers of America United, if you would like your car to go left, you do so from the left lane. If you would like to go right, you do so from the right lane. You follow these rules strictly, unless signs or marks on the road indicate otherwise. Oh, you’re confused.

You see, lanes are indicated by those white markings on the ground. You know. They’re similar to those big thick ones you straddle every time you park your piece of shit car because you don’t want anyone to park beside you. Yeah, those smaller ones indicate lanes. Now when you’re riding on the Somerville Circle, and you know you want to remain on the circle, don’t get into the fucking exit lane because there’s no traffic and then cut me off. Why? Because I drive a used 2000 Honda Civic that already has a huge scratch down the right side, and nothing in this world would make me happier than to fuck up your brand new Mercedes Benz. Believe me. Nothing.

So, the next time one of you fuckers cuts me off, I swear I will accelerate right into that shiny left fender. I’ve got a pimped out  Caddy Coupe Deville just begging me to drive it anyway.

With Alotta Love,

zee zee cakes

PS Sorry.  I’m very angry.

Oops

I think I’m wearing the same shirt to work that I wore on Monday.  I hate when the forgetfullness sets in.

Except when I wear mine, I try not to go for maximum trashiness.  I never realized how much longer the arms are on other people; the sleeves are really short on me.  Are my arms really that monkey-ish?

With Alotta Love,

zee zee cakes

Stupid Police Get Girl Killed

ABC News aired this July 25th about a Florida girl, Rachel Hoffman, who they coherced into becoming an informant.  Watch the video

…..

Alright. Proceed.

First of all, how the hell does possession of a baggie of marijuana mean she’s a drug dealer?  I’m confused.  How much less marijuana do you need to be carrying in order to drop down to drug user status.  Or perhaps it’s the fact that it was in a baggie.  Maybe if she’d had a small tin of marijuana it’d be okay.  Or a spoonful?  A sprinkle! 

Second, why does the idiot Tallahasee Police Chief seem like such an idiot?

Did you give her training before you sent her on a job?

Ummm wellll uhhhh.  Training? Uhhh Well by training you mean…. ummm welll.  As far as training goes.  Well.  No we didn’t give her training.

And am I mistaken or did they find her with weed and a couple of ecstacy pills?  No, I’m not, right?  Then can someone please explain to me why the police force then think it’s logical for this girl with no training and no experience to go chasing coke dealers with a gun?

It seems to me like they just got some straight-out-of-college, wide-eyed hippie girl, who as far as I can tell could’ve been ME or any of my criminal friends, caught her in a bind, and got her to do a job no one in their department wanted to do.  How on earth could anyone ever believe policemen are anything less than good and righteous?

With Alotta Love,

zee zee cakes

Sometimes

Don’t you just wish you could forget all the horrible things you’ve done because you were stupid and didn’t know any better?  I guess you wouldn’t be who you are now though, would you.

Purses for Rent

I love stuff.  I love having it.  I love shoes and bracelets and rings and pretty dresses and hot pants and cute bags and all the sugar and spice and everything nice girls are supposed to love.  And while a significant amount of my money goes towards purchasing these things (significant meaning more than I can afford), I’m not sure I could ever bring myself to rent these items in order to save money.

MarketWatch, a part of The Wall Street Journal’s digital network, posted an article last Thursday about a company, StyleForRent.com, that will make it possible for women to rent purses for as little as $5 a day!  And yes, that includes your Prada, Gucci, Louis, all that good stuff.

I suppose if you’re going to some chic event, the kind for which you need a dress that you’re less than likely to ever wear again, with shoes and a bag that you will also only wear one or two more times, this service is perfect.  Like men renting tuxedoes, women can rent the ridiculously expensive bag necessary for such an occasion for almost nothing.  But wouldn’t it be a sad thing if flocks of women started renting their everyday handbags so they could be hip and fashionable and appear as though they’ve got loads of money to invest in accessories; when they dont?

To me, it seems like it defeats the purpose.  You get your Louis Vuitton bag with a plague of LV’s stitched all over as a symbol.  A symbol of wealth, a certain taste, and an enviable status.  A woman who just cannot afford that purse who will rent it instead of just buying a nice bag she can afford is almost pitiable.  Not almost.  She is.

What happens when you have to admit it’s not yours?  When someone says, “Oh! Where’s that great bag you were wearing last month!? I haven’t seen you with it?” do you lie and say “Oh that old thing?! I chucked it! It didn’t go with enough outfits.” or do you swallow your pride and admit the truth.  I imagine the truth would be embarrassing, especially if you are talking to a true fashion lover who sacrifices paychecks and rent money for style.  Or perhaps you’ll know you’re economically saavy and that’s all you need.  It’s definitely smarter and less wasteful, but if you feel the desired image is important enough to feign wasting your money on overpriced items, just suck it up and spend the bills like the rest of us.

Perhaps I just like to snub my nose at people who pretend to have what they just don’t.  But I’m perfectly comfortable with that.  Renting something will never ever give me the satisfaction of taking something pretty home, unwrapping the tissue paper, and providing a home for it in in my closet.

With Alotta Love,

zee zee cakes

Cute Men

While I was on my break I went to the tobacco shop to pick up rolling papers.  Yes, I’m smoking again and I got the wrong papers.  Word of the wise, don’t get JOB cigarette paper.  They’re stupid and are folded perpendicular to the sticky strip (how does that make any sense?). 

I’ll stick with my slow-burning ezwiders.  Woot!

Anyway, as I was walking into the store an attractive not-quite-but-practically-middle aged man stopped me and told me my hair was beautiful.  I saw him again on my way out and he wished me farewell.

I wish I would’ve given him my digits. Le sigh.

With Alotta Love,

zee zee cakes

PS A woman in my office just said “Holy Mackerel” without sarcasm.

A Masturbation for Liberation

- You know. The best sex I’ve ever had was with a black girl.
- Oh.

I couldn’t help but let my brow rumple at the comment, and Vin took another sip of his beer, calm and self-assured. My eyes took the lifting cup as a signal to take another trip around the party. I’d worn my nicest bra, my sexiest black pumps, and my smallest black satin dress; all in hopes that I’d run into Charlie. Now where the fuck did he go?

- So, you comin back to the apartment with us?
- Um, no. I don’t think so. I have work in the morning, so. Yeah, I think I’ll be leaving soon.
He smiled.
- I love your hair.
- It’s too long.
- No, no. It’s perfect. Sexy.

Belated Fiction Friday Preview

So, it’s late.  2:27 am.  And I’m exhausted. 

The good news is I finished the story I was writing.  The bad news is that I only have a small portion of it typed and I feel as though I’m going to pass out at any moment.  So, I’m going to leave you with the portion that I finished typing in hopes that it will spark an interest in the rest of the story to come tomorrow (really! it will come tomorrow!)  I think I’m going to title it either A Masturbation or A Mastered Boation but that’s still in the works.

Read on to enjoy.