a stench of epic proportions

My life is punctuated intensely by my strong sense of smell. It's a blessing and a curse, really. Like, a blessing that I can basically locate items based on odor alone, but a curse because it's really just one more thing in my life that I act like a freak about.


In fact, I would relate my olfactory skill to that of a bloodhound. Those fuckers can SMELL. Just like me. We actually have a lot in common. We have stellar smell sense, we're both good with children (I mean, kind of), terrible for allergies (aka their dander sends me into asthmatic fits) and...... that's pretty much it. Maybe someday (hopefully not) we'll be able to relate based on our wrinkly-ass faces. Except Bloodhounds look ADORABLE with wrinkles, the more the better, and I'm pretty sure I'd look terrifying.

oh my god, seriously? I want a pack of them to follow me around at all times until I get bored/annoyed with it.

So naturally, I need my surroundings to smell good and/or appropriate in order for my day to unfold peacefully. Don't get me wrong, I dig the shit out of scent- everything from the aroma of gasoline to the burnt-skin sweat-smell from a long day outside in the heat of summer. And all the happy, fresh, lovely smells we associate with girlishness have a place in my smell-heart too.

Lately, seriously turmoil in the smell arena. Something has gone seriously afuckingwry. Like, off the rails on the crazy train.


Why? Why the turmoil? Where is all the turmoil coming from?

 A certain stench is messing with my happiness. We are in battle and thus far neither of us has pulled that proverbial red-flag.




I'm in a stink fight with Manfriend's new apartment.


It's really, really bad, trust me.


The first time I walked into Manfriend's new place was last Saturday. Twelve days ago. The stench I encountered nearly knocked me down. It was like someone had painted the place twice with cheap-ass paint, smoked an entire carton of cigarettes directly into the drying paint, peed on the carpet, and left while farting.


Being that I have a generally cheerful/whacked-out demeanor, I stepped up to the challenge casually, but with a spark of challenge in my eye. I just have to win.


Initially, I purchased a couple of air-fresheners at the Dollar Tree, and I got some deodorizing spray, the good shit, AIR WICK. I armed myself with bleach and scrub brushes and set off on my journey to redemption... the return of decent odor to the new apartment. There is a new breed of person living there now, the kind that have girlfriends who go batshit crazy when forced to inhale ridiculous smoke/paint hybrid smells whenever they come a-calling.


Since then it's been a relative blood bath.


AKA, I've scrubbed WITH BLEACH every surface I can get my little hands on in an honest attempt to rid the apartment of ungodly stench. MY FINGERS ARE TIRED FROM SCRUBBING.


On day five I visited with high hopes and upon arrival realized I had yet to achieve my goal. I arrived at work the next morning after sleeping over, hurried into my cubicle and caught a whiff of something.... disconcerting.




IT WAS MYSELF.




I had become a carrier. A carrier of the nasty, rank, apartment-smell. It was hanging onto my clothes and had woven itself through my hair. I literally couldn't move an inch without feeling like I was going to vomit all over my computer monitor. At lunch I doused myself in perfume and when I got back to work I tried not to make sudden movements that would encourage odor to waft.


On day seven I brought over several strong-smelling candles and LIT THEM ALL AT ONCE. This apartment is not large, normally I would be concerned about sensory overload. Plus, with a sense of smell as strong as I believe mine to be, I don't often find it appropriate to light candles often. Like, never. But whatever, my hopes were high.  No damn dice. The stench is relentless and unforgiving. Should I bring any of my possessions into it's grasp, they leave reeking of the apartment.


It's not working out.


By day nine, I'm getting relatively frantic about things. Every time I come over I'm opening every fucking window in the place, encouraging the stench to disperse. IT'S NOT DISPERSING. I purchase one of those machine air fresheners than crop-dusts the room automatically on a time-set. I instruct Manfriend to set this spritzing machine to the most frequent setting, nine minutes. This bitch is about to get a healthy dose of fresh linen and I don't even like the smell of fresh linen. Desperate times.

heavy artillery.

It's real.




Today is day twelve. I devised a plan for when I stay over to extinguish the stench on my person that involves leaving my things in my car as long as possible and showering in the morning before I leave. It's a pain in the ass, but at least I don't smell like ass. I'm tired, but I am not yet defeated. I will bring out the HEAVIEST artillery.


That's right, I'm taking it to the kitchen. A relatively unfamiliar land.


To bake things. POTENT SMELLING THINGS.




This is seriously my last resort, and yes, I realize how pathetic that is. I don't really find myself baking/cooking very often. Manfriend usually takes care of feeding us. It's his thing. You know, redeeming qualities and reasons I keep coming back and stuff. Plus his beard, but that's pretty much unrelated to the smell of his home at present time.


I. must. get. rid. of. the stench.

So, this weekend, I will undertake the task of FULL KITCHEN SMELL TAKEOVER. AKA, I'm going to fry bacon. Copious amounts of it. I'm going to cook things with garlic. What things? No fucking clue. Maybe I'll just throw garlic and olive oil in a frying pan on high heat and call it good. I'm crazy completely unskilled like that. THERE MAY BE CUPCAKES INVOLVED. Cupcakes, kinda just because I like them and the instructions on the box are thus far idiot-proof.


The time has come for the final battle. I will come out the victor.
Otherwise, sorry Manfriend, but you're dumped.


XO Sara.