Oh, Oops!

Y'all remember my two consecutive rants about apartment living, right? Imagine my distaste when I'm on my way to take Toby outside this morning in my getting-ready-for-work haste, and there's a never-ending puddle of pee on the floor infront of the elevators. Needless to say, this little scenario resulted in a letter. (Surprised?)


Nothing's worse than when you write a letter in a rush and have a typo that you don't notice until you're looking at a picture of said letter. Blurg.

What this letter SHOULD have said was:



Correction: Nothing's worse than making yourself look like a jackass by posting a letter to your neighbours that unknowingly should be addressed to yourself.


Speaking of letters - I finally got something in the mail from Crest! And then a week and a half later, I got the same thing again! Oops! That's what I get for writing Crest this e-mail:

Hi Amy & the rest of the Crest Team,

If you will recall, about a month ago we were engaged in a dialogue about your product packaging after I wrote in regarding concerns about having repeatedly had your product in an orifice it was not meant to be in - my eye.
Granted, I was a little insulted when I went through mild pains to provide you with photos of the packaging in question, as well as editing those photos to include my commentary and ideas, only to find out that your company treats consumer attachments like biowarfare, and thus you weren't aloud to open them. But I digress.
More recently however it was brought to my attention when discussing the grocery list with my husband that we are due for a new back-up tube of toothpaste (if you believe it, I was never a Girl Scout - but I'm always prepared! I think it's because I'm a virgo - I'm betting your a cancer?)...anyways, since we buy Crest products, it made me think of your company, and I realized I have yet to receive anything in the mail from you. When I looked back at our correspondance, I notice it said 2 to 3 weeks, and yet it's now been 4. I'm curious as to what went wrong here as well as the progress on my issue??? I am an active problem solver and would like to be kept abreast on the matter at hand.
Looking forward to your response,

Although when I found out what they sent? Well....

"Dear Loony,

Thank you for contacting P&G about Crest.
I'm sorry you experienced a problem while using this product and I'm forwarding your unusual report to our Health and Safety Consultants. We appreciate your bringing this matter to our attention.
I want to assure you, all of our products are evaluated to ensure they're safe when used as directed. If you have questions or comments in the future, please call the toll-free number on our poduct package. I hope you enjoy using the enclosed coupon the next time you shop. Thanks again for getting in touch with us.
Sincerely,
Amy
Crest Team"

Attachment: One coupon for a free tube of Crest toothpaste.

So needless to say I was a little relieved when a second envelope came in the mail. I was thinking "okay, so here's the real gift". False alarm. Just more of the same.
Fully planning on cashing in both coupons (I mean, I did take pictures with elaborate commentary that they didn't even look at) I figured I should ask first to make sure this wasn't some sort of test.

Hi Amy,
Either the second coupon came quick, or the first coupon was just slow because I find myself with two coupons now. If I use them both, is Crest going to come after me for theft or fraud or something?

Looking forward to your response,

To which I got the following response:

Hi Loony,

Thanks for writing back to let us know you received both Crest coupons. Please feel free to redeem both coupons - we would be pleased for you to do so.

Thanks again for following up with us!

Karen
Crest Team

Amy is so over me. Either that or she's off on a mental health leave after having to deal with my correspondence.

Also? Mazda has not yet responded to my grand-slam marketing strategy. Ryan seems to think that Mazda and P&G talk. I'm starting to think he may be right.

Naturally in the course of the dog fight, it's the bitch who gets hurt

Last week I was trying to take Toby for a walk, but he was incredibly hyper and behaving in a way that earns him the occasional title of "Devil Dog". Upon giving up my efforts, we turn around to head back home when some punk teenager from across the street walking some little terror/terrier thing (see below) crosses over towards us. Since we can now socialize Toby with some of his canine friends (or foes), I told the kid that my dog was a little too hyper to listen properly, so this was going to be a quick hello for the pups and then we'd be on our way. So about three seconds of nose-to-nose action happens and I decide that now's the time to leave...except little-black-terror-on-the-retractable-leash decides he hasn't had enough of Toby yet. Before I know it this thing is all over my puppy (who's about 4 times his size, but a complete wimp*), and I hear one dog barking and one dog crying and neither noise sounds like my dog. At one point The Terror finally shuts up for a second so I can discover it's my dog crying. Of course by this point I've been trying to get the dogs separated (with no help from the teenager, thankyouverymuch), but their leashes are all caught up with each other, and now that I realize it's my dog crying, I'm in a near-panic trying to get him away from this black ball of teeth. I reach into the chaos to grab Toby's leash as close to the collar as I can get it, and that's when it happens. The Terror strikes, and I get bitten. Fortunately it was a cooler night and I was wearing a jacket which I thought had acted as suitable protection from the rambunctious, vicious beast....however, I was a little wrong. He didn't break the skin, but one of these:



...managed to do this:


That would be a bruise about the size of the palm of my hand. I didn't even think the dogs mouth was that big.

Of course by the time I got them separated (again, no thanks to the other human involved in this little scenario), I got Toby the hell away from The Terror - not thinking twice about the dog bite since it didn't hurt and I thought I had been 'protected'. Naturally Toby was okay and promptly resumed his Devil-dog ways, as my arm started to throb. By the time I got in the apartment the beginnings of a bruise had formed, but it wasn't until the next day that I discovered the true wrath of The Terror.
Now that I've taken one bite for him, I think my dear Toby has the impression that I am his protector. When we take him to the off-leash dog park and a dog chases him, his ears flatten out, his tail tucks between his legs, and he bolts for cover behind my legs.

**I'm not exaggerating when I say my dog is a wimp. It's hard to tell if it's his nature or if it's just because he's still so young. I just took him out to the front of the building to do his nightly business-before-bed, and he got so freaked out by some shadows that he started crying (which echos off the building and seems to magnify), and practically dragging me towards the door in the pursuit of safety.

Leave it to me to bring home a dog that is quite literally afraid of his own shadow.

Jesus and Mary May Be After Me...UPDATED

On my drive to work this morning as per my usual custom I looked in my review mirror when approaching a red light (I like to have advanced knowledge if someone's about to plow into the back of my car). What I didn't expect to see was a modern day Jesus in the passenger seat of a Mazda...and I'm pretty sure Mary was behind the wheel. Below is an artists (see: "my") rendition of what this looked like:



Right away I found myself wondering where Joseph was, 'cause really, when do you hear of Jesus and Mary, but not Joseph? This was around the time I figured they had probably stuffed ole' Joe in the trunk. It makes perfect sense - technically he was Jesus' stepdad - and honestly, how often do you find a kid who actually likes their step-parents? And let's face it...Mary got knocked up when she was engaged to Joseph, leaving him to raise a kid that wasn't even his. If you ask me, that would leave a bit of a sore spot in that relationship which I'm sure came up on more than one occasion:

Joseph: Mary, can you please rub my feet? My donkey died of heat exhaustion and I had to spend the last 8 hours walking home.
Mary: I'm really not a foot person Joseph...
Joseph: Yeah, well I'm not really into raising my fiance's illegitimate children, but I did it just for you. All I'm asking is for you to rub my feet. That's small beans if you ask me.

A couple thousand years of having that thrown in your face would grow pretty old I would imagine. I'm thinking they both got sick of him and finally decided to do something about it. The problem is, I had these thoughts when they were driving right behind me, and I'm not sure if Jesus can read minds or not, but they looked a little on edge after my theory was mentally worked through. If I was in fact right, they may come after me once they dispose of Joseph. Yet again, if I happen to disappear, you all know what happened to me (either Jesus and Mary got me, the elevator crashed, or the guy in my building with the handcuffs finally caught up with me.)

FYI? I'm not the only one who's seen Jesus!

UPDATE:
After reading this post one of my coworkers sent the link to a friend of hers who owns a Mazda dealership. She then joked about me submitting artwork for their advertising. Since I've only been working here for 5-6 months, she hasn't yet learned that she needs to be cautious with her playful suggestions as some of us are crazy ambitious and will take it to the next level. Naturally, once she suggested me working with Mazda on their advertising, I came out with the following (which will promptly be sent to Mazda headquarters):

"Jesus drives a Mazda - why don't you?"
"Mazda - the Messiah's choice"
"Save your money and your soul when you buy Mazda!"

Mazda should totally hire me.

This Post May Seem Sappy....But It's Mostly About Balls and Vampires - UPDATED

Just a few ways I know my husband loves me (without getting too embarrassing for him):

1. When golfing last weekend, I felt a sensation that can best be described as having had a bug fly up and splatter on my face like a car windshield. When I turned to Ryan I asked "Do I have anything on my face?", without hesitation he responded "A whole lot of pretty."

2. Breakfast in bed on a fairly regular basis (and we're not talking a bowl of cereal here people...). On the morning's when it's not breakfast in bed he offers to make me something while I scramble to get ready for work on time.

3. When I have the occasional stressful dream where he is an ass or he cheats on me or something and I wake up in the morning with a chip on my shoulder, he apologizes for how the nightmare-version of him behaved instead of calling the men in the white jackets to come and take me away.

4. He's found a way to find the humour in the way my mind operates (as opposed to calling the men in the white jackets - which really? I'm still a little baffled about.)

5. He's still with me even though I sometimes have the maturity level of a 5 year old - especially when it comes to his mistress: golf. Observe.



On the box that my golf balls come in. It also says "Long and Soft" on each individual golf ball, so everytime I go to tee up I subtly giggle. I think this is why I choke so often on my tee shots. Thanks a lot Noodle.




On the cover of his golf magazine. I mean seriously - how does one not interpret this as testicular? Also - why do they just want to find you one? Aren't they kind of a matching set??


He has the golf channel on every chance he gets - and so in the background I'm constantly listening to shaft, head, balls, long and stroke (I apologize to my in-laws should they be reading this). I find it interesting that the sport containing the greatest volume of terminology that can be interpreted in the context of male anatomy, seems to be the one that is more popular among the women of just about any age bracket when compared to other sports. What does that say about us?!

**UPDATE: I have determined that women need to rally together and create a sport that revolves around terms applicable to the female anatomy or anything we as females deem appropriate. I personally feel "iffy" about some of the terms used to describe our anatomy, but feel that these would be better suited for capturing the male 'audience'/participants. If we used sterotypical words like 'purse', 'shoes', 'make up', 'nursing bra', 'flowers', etc etc...(random, I know), I feel the male population would be less likely to roll with it. Put on your thinking Santa Barbara caps ladies!!



6. Finally, he's still with me even though one day soon I'm likely to bite his neck and suck his blood since I'm pretty sure I'm turning into a vampire after discovering this:


I have to say that I'm impressed at how sly this vamp must have been because I didn't feel a thing...except maybe a little itching afterwards. Wait, kind of a lot of itching. Just a minute you guys - did I just get a vampiric equivalent to an STD??? I am so going to kill that blood sucking Huh. Touché you disease ridden vampire. Touché.

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!