Apartment Apparition - Part 2

Last week I started a running list of the things I despise about apartment-living. The delay in the sequel to that posting can be attributed to the fact that my free time has been largely consumed with house-hunting (and Toby). Let us resume the list, shall we?

5. About a week or so after bringing Toby home, it was late on a Wednesday night and Ryan and I were just about to head off to bed when I noticed a small wet spot in carpet of our bedroom doorway. Knowing full well that neither of us dared take our eyes off the puppy and his 1 oz bladder the whole night, I knew it likely wasn't Toby pee, but it appeared to be about his usual size. So, grudgingly we cleaned it up as if it were dog pee and went on our merry way off to slumberville. In the morning as I sleepily left the bedroom to start my day, I stepped in something wet and squishy. When I looked down, I discovered that the wet spot from only 7 hours before had effectively tripled in size while we slept. Feeling a little curious and concerned but not having much time to investigate I left for work, only to return home and discover that the spot had more than tripled in size yet again. At this point, the 'wet spot' as we'll call it was about the size of a livingroom end table, and showing no signs of slowing down. So off we go to the Superintendent's office to let him know that something is obviously going on - since the carpet was so saturated it had actually lifted (a discovery that our little Toby was quick to make). He tells us that he'll have someone take a look at it the next day. This made me nervous because the next day was a Friday, and based on my experience with property management, "tomorrow" = next week. So Friday afternoon when I'm getting home from work I get into the elevator and lo and behold the superintendent is in the elevator with me! I ask him how it went in our unit and he seems to have no idea what I'm talking about (Surprised? I'm not.) After I refresh his memory he says that no one had a chance to make it by today, so he'll come take a look a little later on. I respond with "Well I'm on my way there right now, why don't you just come along with me so you can see what we're working with. It won't take but a minute." - feeling the pressure he comes along. After seeing the damage that's happening he confirms we need a plumber (no! really?) - but says that it probably won't be until Monday. So early the next week the plumber comes by, cuts a few holes in our bedroom wall and leaves saying he'll be back "later" to fix the pinhole leak in the pipe. "Later" is a subjective term however, and he did not identify that in his mind it meant a couple days. Awesome. So eventually he comes back to fix the leak and then says again that he (or someone) will be back "later" to repair the holes in the wall. (NOTE: I am not home when they are doing these things or I would have blocked him in a corner until he gave us a definitive date with a time range extending no more than a 2 hour window). So someone comes back a day or two later when no one is home to mud and sand and paint this wall. Notice I said sand. When they sanded this wall in our bedroom, they didn't put any sheets down to protect anything.


These holes? They were cut in the wall right next to my vanity with all my make up and hair products which went unprotected when the dust from the sanding was flying about. Fantastic.

Even better is the fact that this happened a month ago and yet they still haven't secured the carpet down again. So now we've got an oversized piece of tupperware filled with crap sitting on the loose carpet in our bedroom doorway to keep the dog from grabbing a piece of it and running away in the opposite direction, effectively pulling up the carpet of the entire walkway.

6. The people (again). Not just because of their dirtiness, but because they're there (or rather here) all the time. Now that we've got little Toby I find we get stopped a lot so people can ohhh and ahhh over him, which is cute and all and that part I don't mind - but I find it opens up the doors for them to tell us all about the dogs they have or had in the past and to give advice on how to train him, etc etc. I don't really like unsolicited 'parenting' advice especially from a stranger who's dog is trying to ravage my dog's butt, or who has to wear a muzzle because who-knows-why.
Also? If we go into the elevator at the same time and I ask you what floor you're on so I can press the button for you, please don't act insulted when I don't already know that you live on the same floor as me. If we haven't formally met or had some kind of shared near-death experience in one of the elevators, you just blend in with the rest of the people I see coming and going through this building. Sorry!

7. One of the items in last week's list revolved around the laziness of people who can't be bothered to dispose of their garbage appropriately. I wonder if someone on my floor reads this blog and decided to take things to an all new level because since that posting the following things were discovered in my hallway:


This would be poop. I assume canine, but who can really tell? Someone left this hairy little nugget about 2 feet away from our apartment door. Needless to say, I was not impressed given the fact that our puppy is like a Dyson vacuum and picks up EVERYTHING - poop included.


Someone actually PUKED right infront of the elevators and left it for who-knows-how-long. All I know is that it was there in the morning when I left for work (and I leave fairly early - so it may have even been from the night before), and it was still there an hour or so later when Ryan took the dog out for a walk. This is what I'm living with, people.

In addition to these two mysterious wonders, I have found dirty undergarments as well as more poop and even urine in the stairwells. Which brings me to item #8...

8. The stairwells. As much as I hate/fear the elevators, the stairwells horrify me in completely different ways. I am a clumsy person - accident-prone if-you-will. Stairs and I? We just don't get along, mostly because my legs/feet and I don't really get along - we tend not to agree on where we're going and when to go there, and so as you can imagine, this leads to a lot of falls. Falling down on an even surface is one thing. Embarrassing? Sure - but not as dangerous or horrifying as falling down stairs where I instantly invision rolled ankles or broken femurs. So normally when going down (and up, because yes - I do also fall UP stairs) I hang onto that railing for dear life. In this building though? After the things I've seen in there? I don't know that there's enough hand sanitizer in the world to protect me from whatever bacteria thrives on the stairwell surfaces. I prefer to take my chances with the elevator. I figured free-falling 6 flights is a quicker way to go than contracting some disease that will slowly eat away at my liver or something. No thanks.


Ending on a not-so-relevant note, I find it incredibly annoying when artists sing their own names at the beginning of their song - like our friend Jason derulo who sings it as if he's fantasizing about himself. In your head indeed, Jason - in your head, indeed.

Apartment Apparition - Part 1

It's not that I'm feeling especially pessimistic this evening, but an entry about my distaste of apartment living has been long overdue. So here it is.

Ryan and I have been living together for about 4 years or so now, and while we've always inhabited apartments, they've all been of the triplex variety. In December we moved into our first actual apartment building - and I had high hopes that things would run a little smoother here (referring to building management) than they have in other places we've lived.

So...without further adieu: The top 4+ things I hate about this apartment.

1. The people...or rather, the dirty people. On each floor of our building (as with most buildings I would imagine) there's a garbage chute so that us lazy inhabitants do not need to concern ourselves with going outdoors to dispose of our waste. On our floor (and possibly others), people have taken lazy to all new levels. On more than one occasion I have gone into the garbage chute 'room' to find several garbage bags on the floor as opposed to in/down the chute. It's apparently not enough that all one has to do to dispose of their garbage is to walk down the hall, open up a door and throw your bag in the chute...my neighbours seem to feel that they are above actually touching the garbage chute and that someone else should dispose of their bags for them. Wait - there is one neighbour who is the exception to this rule. Words can not describe, but a picture says a thousand words:


Okay, so this picture says 42 words...you know what I meant.

Needless to say, this behaviour has resulted in the posting of a few letters - initiated by yours truly (naturally), but followed up by other tenants who share my disgust.

2. The parking lot. A couple years back I was convinced that our neighbours were going to kill us with the giant compressed gas cylinder they were storing on their front lawn for use in their drug lab. Since our SWAT team equivalent came and evicted all their asses before it came down to that, this theory was conveniently (and thankfully) proven wrong. In our new home however, there are two potentially lethal sources: the elevators and the parking lot - more specifically, the blind spot coming into our parking lot where I almost got slammed into head-on by a guy driving a pest control vehicle. I couldn't help but think of all the unfortunate puns that would be used if I died from being hit by an exterminator's truck (ie: "Well, I always said she was a pest - it's only fitting!" or "She did have a way of bugging me. I guess I won't have to deal with that anymore"). There was also that incident involving the douche-canoe in the truck who was later discovered to have handcuffs. I'm tempted to call in (or write in!) a work order for the installation of some convex mirrors at this blind spot. Stay tuned for progress on that front...

**On a side note, two other things I hate about this parking lot is that there's not enough spots for all the cars in the building, and the number of available spots is dramatically reduced in heavy ran when about half of the lot floods so you step out of your car into 3 inches of rainwater. It's called a drain. Look into it.

3. The late night calls. More specifically the knock on the door at 2:30am Saturday night (or rather, Sunday morning) by one of the Superintendents and a couple police escorts. Since I was not decent to answer the door (and honestly, what woman is going to answer a knock at the door at 2:30 in the morning?) Ryan went to see who was there. I guess they were looking for some guy who had an altercation with a cabbie earlier in the evening and they guessed the wrong apartment based on the cabbie's story (ie: the guy must have been a floor above, below or apartment to the left or right of us). I'm thinking however that whatever happened must've been something to see though because they wouldn't go knocking on random doors at 2:30 in the morning just over a yelling match. I'm kinda bummed I missed it...

4. The laundry room. Oh how I loathe the laundry room. Let us count the reasons why, shall we? (wait - aren't we already in a list? Hmmm...)
First and foremost the fact that we're having to use the laundry room at all, given the fact that we have a brand new washer/dryer set in my dad's basement - just no hook up in our apartment. So the knowledge that we're (somewhat) needlessly paying about $4 per load of laundry is frustrating.
Even more frustrating is the fact that we're paying into machines that don't always work. Sadly, I seem to be the only person who will leave a note on the machine (to caution other tenants) when we take it out of the washer dry or the dryer wet. My neighbours seem to think that the note is a good idea because they'll take it off one broken unit and put it on another broken unit leaving the next unsuspecting neighbour to lose their money in a broken machine. Awesome.
There's a strong theme of laziness running through this entry (and my building) as we end our tales of the laundry terrors with the discovery of 'the unknown'. This of course means the mysterious articles of laundry that don't belong to us, yet somehow find their way in with our own. At first it was a random sock, followed by another the following week (interestingly enough I believe they were a matching set...just not a set belonging to Ryan or myself). More recently however I was about to start heavily teasing Ryan for finding a plain white t-shirt that either fit a very petite woman or an 8 year old boy...that was until the next article of clothing I pulled from the hamper was a pair of BOXERS that were not belonging to my husband. I figured his case would be stronger than mine. I mean a shirt is one thing, but a strange pair of underwear is an all new level - one that evokes more power when one is trying to tease another about their boyfriend/girlfriend leaving articles of clothing behind. At first I thought someone was just being cheap and instead of paying for their own dryer had started throwing their clothes in random dryers (a la "The Blindside" - only he did that out of necessity, not out of frugality)....but then Ryan pointed out that maybe they just got caught in that little niche under the dryer lint catcher thing. Touche Ryan....

To be continued.....

Hate the playa AND the game!

I recently discovered that Crest is playin' the game with me. When I wrote in to them a month ago with my concerns over having had their toothpaste in my eye on several occassions, they wrote back and seemed to be genuinely concerned. (Although it remains to be seen whether their concern was for my personal safety - or theirs, FROM me. No restraining order yet!). I was told by the Crest representative that they'd be sending me something in the mail in two to three weeks, however it has been a month now, and I've received nothing. BOOOO CREST! So in return for the absence of mailage, they have received the following from me:



(If you can't read the text, leave a note on this post and I'll edit with the text in the body of this post for all to see)

Since I've only just sent this e-mail, there has not yet been a response, however you can rest assured that as soon as I receive one, I will update you all. Be forewarned however, we may have a boycott issue on our hands. Crest isn't the only one who knows how to play....

Additionally, one of my recent favourites for the summer beverages is 'Vinho Verde' -


a nice Portugese wine, that's refreshing, delicious, and most importantly - cheap. I've had several bottles in the past few weeks with the anything-but-winter-weather, and all of them have presented issues with the cork - namely that when uncorking the bottles, the cork falls apart into about three different pieces, sometimes more - and typically at least one chunk goes INTO the bottle. For this, they were GOING to recieve the following:

Dear Gazela,

I'll try to keep this simple since I don't know what skill level your translators are working with - but I am a big fan of your Vinho Verde. What I am not a big fan of however, is taint - more specifically, cork taint, which I suspect is what is happening when your corks crumble everytime I go to open up a bottle of your otherwise delicious wine. Please revise asap, and don't hesitate to send me samples so I can do some product testing on your new sealing methods.
Looking forward to your response and delivery,
Loony

Unfortunately, Gazela doesn't care about what their consumers have to say because they don't even have a feedback/contact us section on their website. So now what I want to send them is something like:

Dear Gazela,

Screw you for not wanting to hear what I think. I'm only trying to help you out and am extremely offended that you've cut off any reasonable source of contact with concerned consumers such as myself. On the otherhand, thank you for not frontin' like some of the oral care companies who claim to care what I think. You may be an asshole, but at least you're not a playa.
Your fan,
Loony

If anyone happens to find a way to contact the Gazela people (I wonder if maybe they don't have contact info because they're not people, but Gazelles?), let me know!

Gluttons for Punishment

Nearly three years ago during a night of drinking, Ryan thought it would be a great idea to bring home Bella - a seemingly cute little kitten who was destined for a life of fleas, street rape, and fights with hungry raccoons. So small she could fit into the palm of my hand, I couldn't exactly say no (although I readily rejected the name he and some of his drunken friends thought would be ideal for her - - "Love" - so they could call out "Come 'ere Love!" with an accent best described as 'drunken Canadian impersonating an Aussie'. Once the booze wore off we determined that Bella would be a much more suitable (and might I add, less ridiculous) name being that she was just so damn adorable.
A matter of months later and I wrote Bella a little letter on my previous blog that read the following:

Dear Bella,
You are Satan. Everyday you bring me closer to wanting to make you an outdoor kitten. I don't know that you realize how lucky you are to have a daddy that loves you so much despite the fact that you try to eat him limb by limb, you hiss at him as if you're a snake pit, and it appears as though you flinch sometimes when he tries to pet you. You try to play cute and come nestle on my lap and purr in my face, and you kiss my nose like it's your religion...but I know better. You can't fool me. You think I don't know that cats have ears on the TOPS of their head to hide the horns?
Your stunt last week was not funny. Knocking a nearly-full bottle of red wine onto the kitchen floor at 6:30am is not a good way to wake up your humans. Eating the last of the toilet paper roll is also not recommended, and yet you seem to continue to enjoy yourself. One of these days when you are back behind the entertainment unit chewing on cords like I've told you NOT to do time and time again, you will bite down a little too hard into the wrong cord, my dear Bella. I'll try my hardest not to say "I told you so", but I make no promises.
Shape up, or ship out you bratty little feline.
Lovingly yours,
Mommy

It was also around this time that Ryan and I took this quiz which promptly informed us that there was a 91% chance Bella was in fact trying to kill us.

Knowing this there's no reasonable explanation for why we've made one of our most recent decisions, aside from the fact that we are gluttons for punishment. Two weeks ago, we brought home this:



His name is Toby and just like his feline sister, he is deceptively cute. When we went to 'pick him out' from his litter mates, he was the quiet, docile one who was happy playing with the pack, but even more content on his own with a toy. He climbed into each of our laps and lavished the attention and affection he received from us both. We knew this was our little guy. A week later we went to pick him up and thought that just about every little thing he did was just so damn cute, regardless of whether it was his crying in the car, flattening out on all attempts to take him for a walk, his clumsy attempt to prompt the evil cat to play, and even when we noticed that our dog is a carpet muncher (not the lesbian variety). It didn't take long before these things were no longer considered cute - and the dog actually made me cry. Most recently, was the night before last when he was completely insane for five hours. You are probably thinking "What did he do?" - the answer? What didn't he do?! Working a full day then coming home and having to keep an eye on this 28 pound, 11 week old German Shepherd ball of energy with teeth and a burning desire to use them is exhausting. If he wasn't trying to eat the carpet he was trying to snack on the furniture or the cat, completely forgetting that he's house broken I'd watch him run in the opposite direction of the door and pee on the floor - all the while I'm confident he was giving me this mischievous grin as if to say "this is all for you Mommy!". Over the last week his newest fixation has become his own poop (or, when available, the cats). He practically lives for the stuff. It's no sooner out of his back end then he is trying to eat it, and I'm almost positive I caught him trying to turn back mid-stream to ingest the draft-version of his own pee. Even worse, he comes in after ingesting his waste (and quite seriously, he'll try and fight us for it when we try to beat him to the punch), and then he decides now would be the time that he wants to lick or mouth us, leaving behind residual poop and a very, very angry human.
What really has me concerned is how cunning he is. Every time we have company over, they are visiting the cute and cuddly version of Toby. When we talk about some of the not-so-cute things he does, they have a hard time believing it since this is what they're seeing:



This is not meant to be doggy porn. If you are aroused by this, seek help.

They find it next to impossible to believe us when we tell them that no, our puppy is not a Saint. Sometimes I think Ryan doesn't even fully understand what he's like when I'm alone with him. This dog? Knows how to play the game. Unfortunately, the people who we got this not-so-little guy from didn't get his first shots done and out of the way before we took him home, so that means we have to wait a few extra weeks before we can bring him into obedience classes or even socialize him with other dogs in the park. So essentially, we are his play toys. Being a Shepherd, this dog is smart(as evidenced by his 'act' when others are around) and he's going to be BIG....and he's already had a hefty influence in how I/we function day-to-day. Our discussions almost always include successful poops outside ("It was solid!", or "He didn't eat it!"), cute things he did ("He was running for the frisbee, went into a nose dive and his back end flipped up and over his head!"), or naughty things he did ("THIS DOG IS MORE EVIL THAN THE CAT!"). Most recently, he's actually kicked me out of the house. I have been reduced to one of those pretentious people that are ridiculed for bringing their laptops to their local Starbucks to write their book/screenplay/blog - as I'm currently sitting in the coffee shop down the street from the house writing this post.
Toby? You win this round....

...so I don't think it's anthrax and report it to the authorities...

If you'll recall, I recently wrote a letter to crest to which I surprisingly received a prompt response as seen below.



Okay, so I realize that the picture kinda sucks and for some reason it won't go any bigger for me, so FYI, it says: (NOTE: her typos have been left in for authenticity)

While it's great to hear you're pleased with Crest and find your mouth minty and fresh after each use, I'm sorry to learn some of the product got in your while brushing. We appreciate your bringing this to our attention and I'm sharing your report with our Health and Safety Division.

Many of our decisions to change or improve packages are based on feedback from concerned consumers like you. Please be assured I’m sharing your recommendations for with the rest of our Crest Team letting them know you'd like to see additional information added to the warning statement on the package.

Since the amount of help I can offer via email is limited, I'd like to follow up with you by postal mail. Please respond with your complete name and mailing address. Once we have that, you can expect to hear from us within the next 2-3 weeks. Meanwhile, please hold on to the package and any remaining product for two weeks in the event our Health and Safety Division needs to retrieve them.

For answers to medical questions, we recommend you speak with your doctor who will be able to give you the best advice.

Thanks again for getting in touch.

Amy
Crest Team

As I noted on the image of the e-mail response, they engaged in a bit of repetition. Let's review, shall we?

My original e-mail to them: "I love your toothpaste and find it leaves my mouth feeling minty and fresh after each use..."

Note their starting response: "...and find your mouth minty and fresh after each use..."

Ryan informed me that the whole repetition thing is a tactic used in sales. It is also used in hostage negotiations to calm and reassure terrorists. Thanks for making me sound like a terrorist Amy.

Also noted was the discussion on the Health and Safety Department retrieving my toothpaste. I immediately envision them showing up in bomb squad attire, or at the very least some hazmat outfits to take away my oral care products.

Finally, when they say "...we recommend you speak with your doctor...", I'm pretty sure what they're saying is "Seek psychiatric help. Immediately."|

So naturally I had to respond. My response to Amy and the rest of the Crest team is below, complete with images.

To: pg_naconsumerrelations@mailnj.custhelp.com
Subject: RE: Thank you for contacting Crest. [ ref:00D7JViV.5007Br5BE:ref ]
Date: Tue, 27 Apr 2010 00:50:43 +0000

Hi Amy,

Thanks for such a prompt response and for enacting so quickly on my concerns. I am pleased to see that Crest not only values consumers' feedback, but their eyesight as well. It's a very redeeming quality in a company as large as P&G.
For the benefit of yourself, your Health and Safety Division and the rest of the Crest Team, I have taken the liberty of attaching product photos. As you can see in the first photo, I was unable to adhere to your request to hold onto any remaining product as this photo is of an empty tube. Since I am from Canada (and not another Country known for having people with bad teeth...I think we all know who I'm talking about), boycotting any or all oral hygiene practices is not an option.
The second photo shows our new favourite Crest product (picture #2) - and the packaging of this product shows that it too advises, nay, dictates that the user must not swallow the contents, but fails to provide instruction should the paste make it into the eye.

Since we're talking about potentially changing product packaging, another time when I was brushing my teeth in a sleepy daze, I inadvertently got some residual toothpaste on my chin. Since I was half asleep at the time, I failed to notice this and went to bed. When I awoke in the morning I discovered that the zit that had laid claim to the better half of my chin had dramatically decreased in size (and redness) over night. How could this be? The toothpaste had effectively dried it out! Because of this, I'm suggesting that you include a statement about it's acne fighting powers on the packaging (see picture) - and/or re-package and re-market this product under the skin care departments of all suppliers. I may have just generated millions of dollars for P&G with this idea. You're welcome.

Also, as per your request, I have included my name and address below, however if you could provide some insight as to what sort of mail I can expect to receive from you, I'll be less likely to think it's anthrax and call the authorities. I don't want to go through that mess again.


Thanks for your continued interest in my concerns. Looking forward to your response.

Picture 1a

Picture 1b


Picture 2

I'm curious as to what they'll be sending along in the mail. I figured it's a 50/50 chance that it's either coupons/free stuff OR a restraining order. We'll soon find out.

This may make you vomit - and then you'd have to eat it.

I don’t quite know what it is, but I’m often spurred on to start weird conversations with Ryan in the mornings while I get ready for work. That’s not to say that weird conversations don’t take place all throughout my day…maybe they’re just prolonged in the morning? Maybe Ryan plays into the conversation more? Or maybe mornings are when I’m at my peak. Whatever the reason, rarely does a day go by when a conversation doesn’t take place that I’m sure makes Ryan beg the question “Why did I marry her?”
A prime example of this type of conversation took place a few days ago. To give you a little back story, we were both getting ready for work and Ryan had left a bun out on the counter and just sort of walked away from it. When I asked him about it, he said he was going to use it for his lunch, to which I advised maybe he shouldn’t bring a lunch that day since it was his last day at work and maybe his boss (who’s was actually a friend before he became a boss) would take him out to lunch as a “Thanks for doing a bang-up job!”. (Ryan was leaving on pretty amicable terms as he’s going back to school, so they don’t hate him). Anyways, the following conversation ensued…

Me: Maybe you shouldn’t bring a sandwich today. Because if you bring one, and then Sean takes you out for lunch, the sandwich is going to go bad.

Ryan: Okay?? (as in, what’s your point?)

Me: Well the thing is, when you chose to buy the 20 friggin’ pounds of lunch meat you promised that you were going to eat it all. And I know you keep your promises – so if you were to bring a sandwich today and don’t eat it because Sean takes you out for lunch and then the sandwich goes bad from being in a warm car for several hours out of the day and you eat it, it would probably make you sick and you’d throw up right away.

Ryan: Yeah, I probably would throw up if I ate a rotten sandwich. But I wouldn’t eat a rotten sandwich.

Me: BUT, if you bring the sandwich and it goes bad you’d have to eat it because otherwise you’d be breaking your promise. And then, when you throw it back up almost instantly you’d have to eat the vomit.

Ryan: ???

Me: Well, you promised to eat the meat, and it doesn’t count if you eat it and then throw it back up right away. I promised to love and to keep you forever, but if I throw you* up I’m not just going to leave you on the floor/in the toilet/in the trash recepticle/on the side of the road/in the back of the cab, etc etc.

Ryan: What’s happening here? I would not eat a rotten sandwich and I certainly would not eat my own vomit.

Me: Well, to be fair, you’d only have to eat the part of the vomit that contained the meat. You didn’t make any promises about eating the bun. But okay, what if you were stranded on an island that had nothing on it…no food to eat, no animals to catch and no resources you could use to build a trap to catch some water animals** ,but some weird virus invaded your body and you started throwing up. If your vomit was the only thing to eat to keep you alive the extra day it would take for rescue to come and get you, wouldn’t you eat the vomit?

Ryan: I’m not stranded on an island, so I don’t need to answer that.

Me: YOU WOULDN”T EAT THE VOMIT!? So basically what you’re saying is that you would rather DIE because you wouldn’t eat your own vomit than ever see ME your WIFE ever again?

Ryan: ….

Me: Maybe it’s better if you don’t answer that.

*this is a metaphor, people!
** also known as fish

Today’s entry has several valuable lessons:
1. Don’t buy the meat if you aren’t prepared to eat it. (even if it means eating the vomit-version of it)
2. Never make a promise to me unless you’re prepared to take it to an extreme (or rather, have me take it to an extreme on your behalf and then expect you to know what the hell I’m talking about)
3. Avoid me in the mornings. At all costs.

WIHBH: Why I Haven't Been Here

No, don't worry - I wasn't killed by an elevator. Although oddly enough, on a regular basis as I approach the elevators in my building one just opens up for me, completely unprompted. When I'd tell Ryan about this, I think that he just employed the "nod and smile" technique in an effort to shut me up, but today he witnessed it actually happen not once, but twice. He seems to continue being alarmed when I talk about how I think the elevators are plotting to lull me into a false sense of security so that I'll start trusting them, and then BAM!! That's when they'll drop me like a prostitute's panties. I think the most alarming part of this for him is my tendency to attach thoughts/feelings to inanimate objects - something I've been doing since child hood when I convinced my best friend one day when she pissed me off that the Gummi Bears were going to come off my wallpaper and attack her if she didn't cut it out.

Anyways, where was I? Oh yes - I disappeared for over a month, and it certainly wasn't due to death. Truth be told, there are two legitimate reasons (and a handful of half-assed & insulting reasons) why I haven't been around. The first is because I can't stop sleeping. Sounds like bullshit, right? But it's not. No joke y'all, I'd come home from work around 4:30 and manage to stay awake for about an hour before I'd fall asleep for an hour/hour and a half, then I'd wake up and it'd be time to make/eat dinner, followed by or in combination with the prime-time show of the evening. By the time this was all done, it'd be approaching 9:30-10pm, at which point I would fall asleep again until 7am the next morning. What can you take from this? Sleeping, eating, and watching tv rank higher on the priority list than entertaining you. I realize the error of my ways now.
"But Loony - there's a one-hour gap between your arrival home from work, and the start of your evening nap. Why couldn't you blog then?"
The answer to this question is one you're not going to like. My limited hours of consciousness have been spent here:


Note the topic highlighted in the top right corner, and my acronym highlighted in the center. Yes, this is where I've been spending my time. Please try to withhold judgment.


So you're probably wondering what this is exactly. Years ago I got sucked into this game called "Acrophobia" - where a topic is chosen and some random letters are put on the screen. Each player must come up with a sentence to suit the letters on-screen - otherwise known as an acronym. When the timer runs out, all player's answers are posted on the screen and each player votes for their favourite. The acronym with the most votes wins. This "Acrophobia" game was cancelled or something years ago, but I have recently discovered this cheaper-looking version called "AcroChallenge". I am confident that after learning that this is what I've been doing with my time, my level of awesomeness weirdness has increased exponentially in your eyes. (In hindsight, using math-related words like 'exponential' isn't exactly helping my cause). So, onto less losery things (I hope)...

Some recent letters written by yours-truly:

Dear Crest,
I love your toothpaste and find my mouth always feels minty and fresh after each use, however, I have a suggestion for your customer service and marketing departments. I would like to advise that on the packaging you include emergency response instructions should a consumer inadvertently get your product in her eye. Some of us seem to enjoy your product so much we get a little over-zealous with the act of brushing and the toothbrush gets away from us and shoots up to the eye like something out of a pornographic film. I have to say my concern intensified as I read on your product label that this toothpaste (which is designed to go IN MY MOUTH) is not meant to be swallowed, so I can only speculate as to the type of damage it could do in the eye. Now, MY initial instinct was to flush it out with water, but only AFTER I completed brushing my teeth. I figured, why flush it out now if it's just going to happen again, right? HOWEVER, if you included some statement regarding this scenario on your packaging, I may have felt the need to flush out with water IMMEDIATELY after, as consumers are often advised on other product labels. You may be thinking to yourself that this was a one-time occurrence, but I assure you, it was not. This has happened to me several times prior, fortunately however they took place late in the toothbrushing process when only a residual amount of toothpaste was present.
Please revise packaging ASAP.

Sincerely Yours,
Loony

*Note: Crest hasn't responded yet, but I'm hopeful that they'll send a draft copy of emergency response instructions my way before they send it out to market.)


A week or two ago on the way home from work, I was approaching a stop-sign right by my building. A guy coming from my right was also approaching the stop-sign, however he didn't feel the need to stop. In fact, he understood the stop sign to read "Hit the gas and peel around the corner like a maniac" - and so he did. Thinking to myself "What a douche-canoe", I continued on my way, not expecting to have much more to do with this individual. That was until I saw him turn into my building's drive-way (with no signal!). The driveway from the road to the back parking lot of my building is snake-like - several bends are involved in an up-slope which ends at a blind-corner into the actual parking lot. This guy in his ugly maroon pick-up with the "Back Off" bumper sticker and the skull & crossbone stickers on the back window just ripped through this driveway, wheels squealing at every bend. Having not had a good look at the guy, and judging by his stupid truck, I assumed it was some punk teenager who was trying to show-off. For a mere second I thought that maybe I should give the person the benefit of the doubt and that maybe, just maybe he was heading home so recklessly because there was some emergency or something.
When I got into the parking lot I was partially surprised to see a gino-looking guy in his early 30's wearing his sweatpants like he thinks he's LL Cool J, taking a slow saunter to the door of the building. The point? He was driving like an asshat for nothing. The next day when we arrived to his vehicle, he found the following:

Good Morning Jackass,
You need to slow yourself down when pulling into this parking lot and when driving on the residential streets in this area. No one is impressed by your squealing tires or your douchey bumper stickers, and honestly? You look like an idiot. I'm sure you weren't cool the first time you were 17, why you want to try again and fail so miserably, I'm not too sure. Rest assured however that if I see you driving like that again I won't hesitate to give your plate number and car model to some cop buddies of mine so they can keep an eye out for you.

Sincerely Yours,
Concerned Neighbour

**As an update to this letter, he has no idea who I am or who left the letter, but I'm kinda hoping he never finds out since today I discovered a pair of HANDCUFFS attached to his front dashboard. Since I'm pretty sure he's not a cop, I'm starting to wonder if he's an abductor who handcuffs his victims - and let's face it. A letter like that might make me a target for his vengeful side. So if I disappear again for another month or longer - you'll know where I've gone.