greasy madeleines

Like Proust and his madeleines, certain scents can have me mentally reeling back to, well, remembering things past.
I still have a soft spot for Old Spice Sport which will eternally be linked to college boyfriends, late night games of beirut, the beer-soaked floor of fraternities and a particular red vinyl couch [patched with duct tape] I used to pass out on. The smell of good leather sends me back to barns, horses, and that inexplicable feeling of flying when jumping my first "chicken coop." And that unique smell of a hot iron and the stringent scent of turpentine brings me back to summers spent in Lenox; painting, drawing, and, of course, sewing.
My most recent scent-linked-to-memory is admittedly...more...wtf in comparison. Because these days, I'm in love with a certain Phil Wood.
There's really no describing the distinctive smell of Phil's deep green, greasy goodness. Incredibly smooth, he stands out from the rest of the pack in his sleek, Bianchi-celeste-green-esque packaging. His cologne is, for me, all things bike, mechanics, bike tools, and intact threads.

It was only natural then, that I made sure to pick him up a few days ago when I swung by IBC. The new tool set-up and rummaging in a few drawers for a requested rubber hammer resulted in pure tool envy...and a reminder that I needed some action from a particular Mr. Wood. Although, I admit, the pure abundance of a Mr. Park was almost enough to derail not only my purpose for dropping by IBC [other than hanging out as per the usual], but my wallet/bank account as well.

I almost didn't notice the new tool board until later, but instantly wanted the same set up in my future bike home/garage/workshop/studio space. The organization, designated spot for each tool, and the grouping of the tools by function and size had my OCD purring in contentment. When I saw Wes return a tool to its rightful place, I almost sighed in happiness.

This is what bike shop dreams are made of - friends, tools, grease, and smiles. And while I forgot to drop that tube of Phil in my bag this morning, I'm pretty sure I'm not going to need to huff that tube for a while.

a method in this madness

My OCD's back.
Despite my crazy [see: Asian ethnicity, astrological sign, and gender], unorganized mess is currently taking over my life. And because of my crazy [see: Asian ethnicity, astrological sign, and gender], I'm convinced I'll always remember where things are and which hat I owe to whomever, even though history has consistently proven me wrong.
It doesn't help that you people have similar names or even the same first name! Yes, I am blaming you all for my disorganized mess of a desk and lack of any structured system to keep tabs on what I need to do for whom, because, hello, how can anything be my fault [see: my gender]?
Okay that was a total lie [see: my gender]. I finally did get some sort of system together last night. It's rudimentary but it works. As pretty as excel spreadsheets are, I need to be able to draw and write stuff out, and this way I can easily deprioritize people [just kidding!].

I also did some solid sweatshop labor last night and got some linings done. They even got labeled so I know I won't forget who they're for, and where they're going. I mean, I'm convinced that I won't forget even if I didn't label them, but you know, just in case [see: Asian propensity to be overly-prepared winning out over female convictions of always being right].

As a result, my OCD's feeling a little bit better. Although, let's be honest, my list of names on index cards is going to bother me until it's actually gone. Like it's already bothering me in that toe-curling-I-need-to-get-my-work-done-so-I-can-work-on-hats-so-I-can-clean-up-that-list-of-names kind of way.
Did I mention I have the crazy?