Duh. Read my posts much? If I didn’t mention this, one of you readers might have decided to call the loony bin and reserve a spot for me. A long sniff of my beloved Captain Morgan can relax me almost as much as taking a swig (I’m lying but didn’t want to sound like an alcoholic). Captain reminds me of the fun Fourth of Julys in the Ozarks with my cousins, the smell puts me at my local watering hole Dalts on a fun Friday night and accompanies the ups and downs in my life with ease. I love this liquor.
Skinny Pirates for me, wine for my first mate on Friday nights.
My Cat, Ted. Teddy Bear. Mr. Bear. Teddy Ruxpin. Teddy Kruger. Teddy Back Bear. TB. Yogi Bear-ah.
Shut the F up at whatever you’re muttering to yourself about me right now. I’m not talking about the smell of his cat pan. Or the terrible duck food breath he blows in my face as he yawns. But there is a specific scent that he emits (like a secret potion that makes me love him even though he does stuff like chew on my purse handles, barf on my rugs, use my toothbrush (click here to read all about it) and meows his brains out daily like a roaring lion at 3:57am) when I catch a puff of his aroma and my heart swells with a little more love for my fur baby.
Duck food breath be damned!
Gasoline. Fuel. Petroleum.
Oh a good whiff of gasoline… the vapors creep into my nose and make my brain happy for an ecstatic three seconds. Typically (and luckily for my cerebrum) I only fill my gas tank up every two weeks (I work close to home, thankfully) so my brain function shouldn’t be too altered by my bi-monthly gas inhaling.
Fueling up on fuel.
Soil. Real black dirt. Not clay.
There is something about the smell of Iowa dirt (not the clay dirt that resides in Tennessee) that takes me back to riding the combine with my Grandpa. Or planting a garden with my dad as a kid. Or concocting mud pies in Grandma’s backyard.
Could this look anymore white trash with my dad in his wife beater? And I’m pretty sure he’s pointing to where I should dig. How sweet.
ADM Factory. Rotten food. Stank ass.
Eeew gross you think. And I’m right there with you. BUT inhaling this disgustingness means that I’ve made it to the nook of Iowa where my sister, bro-in-law and their little lovies reside. Maybe I should associate a different smell with them…
Smell spoiled food? Auntie CBXB is almost there and can’t wait to get her paws on you!
The Iowa State Fair….specifically greasy food aroma.
There’s almost nothing I adore more than going to the Iowa State Fair. Fried butter on a stick, pickles, giant tenderloins, donuts, cheese curds, funnel cakes, corn dogs, Snickers….just thinking about the smell of fair food made me gain 10 lbs in the last five minutes.
In fried cheese heaven at the Iowa State Fair.
What makes your nose happy? Weird scents tag, you’re it.
Cowboys and Crossbones 