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Notes04/16/2021
Marieposa
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Marieposa
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Come on Barbie let's go party!
I used to love going to Bootie Mashup parties. True to the motto "We mess up your favorite songs", the greats of the scene like Dj Lobsterdust, TitusJones and many others mercilessly mix really EVERYTHING the world of music has to offer. Pirate pop icons like "Knock out Eileen" I still like to sneak into any playlist and PartyBen's "Galvanize the Empire" I'd still be pulling up in the company parking lot if I hadn't gone into business for myself years ago.
Sure, the result is musically convincing sometimes more and sometimes less, but the parties are a lot of fun and the music very danceable. Where so many rhythms meet, the own Gezappel must fit somewhere to it.
Just like a really well-made bootleg, Gucci Rush mixes elements from old familiar scents without regard to loss: there's the peach from Mitsouko - barely discernible under the booming bass - the smoky purring vetiver vanilla from Habanita, and the patchouli hedione backbone of Diorella. It's all been shaken with an overdose of milky fruity lactones in a happily bubbling chemical cocktail that probably leaves no one able to tell what originally belonged where. What results is a totally whacky but extremely good-humored neochypre, and I would highly doubt that any of the ingredients ever grew on a plant. To me, the result smells more like it was an accidental byproduct of Walter White's trailer.
Rush doesn't get you high, though, but it does make you happy. Me, anyway.
Whirling, I spin on the vibrating dance floor, singing along chunks of lyrics to songs I didn't even know I knew. Neon colors glow in the black light, spinning with me, faster and faster. I accidentally jostle another dancer, giggling, and disappear to the bar before he can misunderstand my attack. Instead of the requested gin and tonic, the bartender sets a glass of a bluish fluorescent liquid down in front of me, grinning diabolically. I don't care! I courageously take a sip - and lo and behold, it tastes delicious. Just the thing at this moment.
At some point I stand barefoot outside the club. I've disposed of my trampled shoes in the trash can around the corner. The music pulses in my blood and the bass still throbs in my ears. The cold night air tingles on my skin as I wait for my taxi.
Tomorrow I will be a sensible and responsible adult again. That's when I'll wear Chanel or Guerlain again, because there really are enough fragrances in my perfume closet for the library, the theater, or a fine dinner. Rush is certainly not the most beautiful or intelligent of my olfactory friends, but she is my favorite to go dancing with. She's got a big mouth, but her heart is in the right place, and I don't know anyone who can laugh as heartily at herself as she can.
That my little (butt-ugly!) red plastic bottle will ever be empty, I rather think not. But you never know ..
Sure, the result is musically convincing sometimes more and sometimes less, but the parties are a lot of fun and the music very danceable. Where so many rhythms meet, the own Gezappel must fit somewhere to it.
Just like a really well-made bootleg, Gucci Rush mixes elements from old familiar scents without regard to loss: there's the peach from Mitsouko - barely discernible under the booming bass - the smoky purring vetiver vanilla from Habanita, and the patchouli hedione backbone of Diorella. It's all been shaken with an overdose of milky fruity lactones in a happily bubbling chemical cocktail that probably leaves no one able to tell what originally belonged where. What results is a totally whacky but extremely good-humored neochypre, and I would highly doubt that any of the ingredients ever grew on a plant. To me, the result smells more like it was an accidental byproduct of Walter White's trailer.
Rush doesn't get you high, though, but it does make you happy. Me, anyway.
Whirling, I spin on the vibrating dance floor, singing along chunks of lyrics to songs I didn't even know I knew. Neon colors glow in the black light, spinning with me, faster and faster. I accidentally jostle another dancer, giggling, and disappear to the bar before he can misunderstand my attack. Instead of the requested gin and tonic, the bartender sets a glass of a bluish fluorescent liquid down in front of me, grinning diabolically. I don't care! I courageously take a sip - and lo and behold, it tastes delicious. Just the thing at this moment.
At some point I stand barefoot outside the club. I've disposed of my trampled shoes in the trash can around the corner. The music pulses in my blood and the bass still throbs in my ears. The cold night air tingles on my skin as I wait for my taxi.
Tomorrow I will be a sensible and responsible adult again. That's when I'll wear Chanel or Guerlain again, because there really are enough fragrances in my perfume closet for the library, the theater, or a fine dinner. Rush is certainly not the most beautiful or intelligent of my olfactory friends, but she is my favorite to go dancing with. She's got a big mouth, but her heart is in the right place, and I don't know anyone who can laugh as heartily at herself as she can.
That my little (butt-ugly!) red plastic bottle will ever be empty, I rather think not. But you never know ..
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Kurai
Jazzy76
