SC Johnson's customer service department gives me warm, fuzzy feelings. I sent them yet another email pointing out the ridiculousness of their previous response to my complaint/question. This time, I received a heartwarming email letting me know that, so sorry, they're not offering the refills at this time. "At this time..." like maybe, just maybe, someday in the future, my request will be granted and a major corporation will start filling country-wide refill orders based on the whims of a library science major from Connecticut. I'm an optimist.
Oh, and I got another coupon in the mail. This time it's for $3.00 off any Glade product. I doubt I'll actually find a reason to use it, but hey, it's the thought that counts.
Not only did I get a nice email and a couple of coupons, judging by my stats, my little corner of the blogosphere here has become quite interesting to the folks at SC Johnson. *wave* Hi guys. Delurk. Comment or something.
Speaking of SC Johnson, who makes Glade products, which can be found at grocery stores, one of which I was shopping in this morning... (nice segue)
One of many reasons I don't read tabloids was displayed all over the checkout line at the store today: Tabloid #1 claims they have in her own words why Angelina will never marry Brad. Tabloid #2 has wedding pictures of the happy couple on the front cover. Tabloid #3 proclaims "It's a Girl!" incubating currently within Jolie's womb. Tabloid #4 proclaims "It's a Boy!" and not only that, they've got the sonogram pix to prove it.
I saw my crush today. Not my today crush, my yesterday crush. My crush that lasted from Grade 2 through high school. Despite his premature thinning hair, he's still adorable. Big smile, bright eyes... he's grown up to be a way better man than I'm sure any of his girlfriends' mothers ever predicted.
Back in the day he was sort of a wannabe bad boy. He's Mormon though, so the badness didn't sink further than the epidermal layer. No matter how many of the wrong sorts he surrounded himself with, he could never really be bad. Maybe that's why I always liked him; he had the rebel image without the actual sociopathic tendencies. We were always friends, but he never liked me back the way I liked him. My angst-filled teenage years got a jumpstart when, in middle school, the object of my crush dated two of my best-friends consecutively. In 7th grade, he gave me a sort of compliment that soothed my tattered 12 year old ego. Seeing me in a fitted dress instead of my usual black, breast-hiding, baggy clothes he asked, "Hilary, are you sucking it in?" "Uh, no?" "Wow, you're not fat."
He's got his own business in town now and is married with kids. I waved to him this morning as I pulled out of the coffee shop parking lot and he waved back in a "everyone-knows-me-so-I'll-wave-back" kinda way. Then I saw his eyes light with recognition, his smile widen, and his wave become a bit more animated. No, I didn't stop to talk to him. It's been too long. I'd rather he live in my memory unfettered by current reality. The wave was just perfect.
posted by hilary at 12:22 PM |
7 comments |
links to this postWednesday, January 25, 2006 Thanks.
I caught Scrubs last night and it got me thinking, do I require appreciation from those I feel I've helped? I'd like to think that I don't, but in all honesty, it does irk me when I help someone and they don't thank me - or thank someone else.
Example: A new student is lost at school. She has a room number, but doesn't know how to get there. I give her clear directions on the building location, which door to use, where the stairs are, which way to walk down the hallway, and she says, "Thanks." Then someone else adds, "It's the door on the left," and she smiles and fawns, "Oh thank you SO much! You're SUCH a big help!"
Are normal people not bothered by that kind of thing?
And on a completely different choo-choo of thought... I've never understood pageant culture, but I do find it a teensy bit entertaining that one of the biggest human pageants is flanked closely in date by the two biggestdog pageants. I wonder if I'm the only one who sees any comparison in the way that both the ladies and the dogs are primped, shown, and judged? There is humor in that for me.
posted by hilary at 8:25 AM |
5 comments |
links to this postSunday, January 22, 2006 Scent.
I'm not a candle person. Give me some Febreeze to freshen up the upholstered furniture, and I'm happy. Simple, flameless - I'm not going to burn down the house with a squirt bottle. This past Christmas Eve, however, I hosted dinner. With people coming over, I usually rely on whatever I'm cooking/baking to welcome my guests with a particularly pleasing scent. This time, there was no cooking. Everything I got from a local caterer, which means no mess, no fuss, and no scent.
That's how I got lured into spending $7.99 on a Glade Scented Oil Candle. The premise appealed to me: light a "candle" which almost immediately melts into warm, scented oil, and remains contained in a little metal bowl until it burns itself completely out. Pretty neat. More importantly, they had a scent called Holly Evergreen which didn't smell gross. It wasn't amazing, but it definitely didn't suck. I bought.
The "candle" worked, and this consumer was pleased... until I returned to the store for a refill. Apparently, Glade sells refills for three of the scented oil candle scents - dewberry, rose & vanilla, and orchid - which all smell like the interior of an oft' used public bathroom. I think I've already gone over how I feel about public bathrooms. Where was the Holly Evergreen refill? The full $7.99 candle set was sitting there, but I already had the glass base. I just needed the melty candle thingies. And not for $8 thank you very much.
I went to Glade's website. They don't even make Holly Evergreen refills! So basically this whole set is useless now because I can't get a refill, unless I buy something that I don't want? Why don't they make Holly Evergreen refills? They had a Contact Us link, so I contacted them with my questions and was promised a response within 24 hours.
The response came in the mail yesterday. No letter, no answers, no acknowledgement from a human being of my query. Just an envelope and a coupon for a FREE pack of Glade Scented Oil Refills. According to the picture on the coupon, I get to choose from Dewberry, Rose & Vanilla, and Orchid.
posted by hilary at 9:21 AM |
9 comments |
links to this postFriday, January 20, 2006 What?
So I'm getting a cup of coffee at the Green Mountain self-serve island at my local convenience store, and there's this guy in a fedora getting a bunch of cups too. He carries his stuff to the register about 30 seconds before me, and I arrive at the counter in line behind him. Something shiny caught my eye and I was staring off into space as usual, not paying much attention. Suddenly, I realize I'm being talked about by the guy and the lady at the register.
"Is she yours?" "Oh, no. Maybe, if she wants to be. (har har)" "Oh, you were staring at her. I thought maybe she was your daughter or your wife." By this point, I'm looking at both of them with my eyebrows raised. "I think she's blushing."
It went on like that for about 5 minutes - they joked with each other about how he would be in trouble if he left his wife to be with me, and oh isn't that cute my face is turning red. Hello? I'm in the room. I CAN HEAR YOU.
After they got their guffaws, the guy handed me a coupon for a free coffee he'd earned by buying so much coffee. "Thanks for putting up with me."
Uh... 'kay. I think that's the first time I was ever flirted with in the third person.
posted by hilary at 11:12 PM |
7 comments |
links to this postWednesday, January 18, 2006 Laundry Clerks.
I'm cautiously excited about Clerks II (aka The Passion of the Clerks). The first one is such a classic, I'm so afraid that the second one is going to be too... Hollywoody. I mean, they've got Rosario Dawson (from Josie and the Pussycats and RENT)in there and her billing is only topped by Dante and Randal. Part of the genius in the original Clerks came from the no-name actors. They got more commercial with Mallrats (and then Chasing Amy, and etc etc etc), and that was fine, but I'm so worried my original view of one of the best movies ever is going to be skewed by the hollywoodization of its sequel.
Randal and Dante are back, albeit a bit heftier. In the original original Clerks, Dante actually gets killed in the end, so I guess we're all just going to pretend that didn't happen. Confession time. Some women fantasize about pretty men like Brad Pitt (ugh) or Colin Farrell (retch); I claim Jeff "Randal" Anderson as my daydream guy. He's so fricking cute! Even 10 years later. *girly sigh* I'm going to cry if he ends up with Rosario this go 'round.
Jason Lee makes an appearance, as does Ben Affleck. They aren't credited in the cast, but check out the teaser and you'll catch them in a few frames. Who is the blond chick with Dante? What happened to Veronica? So many questions.
• no segue exists for this change of topic •
So yesterday I heard someone talking about doing laundry in a way that implied they were somewhat anal retentive. What was alarming was that her description was much LESS involved than the way I do my laundry pretty much every day. Please tell me... is this not normal? I separate whites and colors. Whites are then separated into Whites Bleach and Whites No Bleach (certain fabrics, or t-shirts with printing). Colors are separated into Darks, Mediums, Lights, and Brights. If I have room for a whole load of them, I will also wash all Reds together, or do a whole load of nothing but Denim. Sometimes I have a load of just Khaki too. Doesn't everyone do it this way?
posted by hilary at 10:11 AM |
12 comments |
links to this postMonday, January 16, 2006 Sniffly.
It sucks to be unwell.
When one is so sick that one presents such universally-accepted symptoms as Fever, or Vomit, or Hideous Rash, then one may lay down in bed and moan and swear that death is knocking on the door, and everyone else nods and says, "Shhh, she's sick. She needs to stay in bed. Let's make her some lovely chicken soup and fluff her pillow."
There's this illness threshold one crosses where it becomes acceptable to lay down and do absolutely nothing. It's out of your hands; you're Sick In Bed. Sure, it's not pleasant, but the lack of responsibility is comforting.
What sucks is when you're just sick enough to step right up to the responsibility threshold, but not past it. When you're siffling constantly, and you're filling up wastebaskets full of Puff's Plus, and your head hurts, and your throat feels icky, but you're not feverish or throwing up and, besides the gross sniffling, there's nothing outwardly wrong with you. Then people roll their eyes when you complain how terrible you feel and think to themselves, "Oh just get over it you complainer." Everyone expects you to accomplish your daily tasks, and god forbid you have a sneezing fit and snot flies out of your nose. Trust me, there is NO SYMPATHY.
A friend of mine recently gave me a blinkie that proclaims my anime addiction. While I thought the gesture was very sweet, and I'm flattered that people think of me in their spare time, I don't think that I classify as a true anime addict.
For one thing, I really only care about a few anime series: Naruto and Avatar come to mind as two I'll readily watch if I'm in the mood. As far as animation in general, my current favorite series is not even anime at all, it's The Boondocks, which I'd watch regularly if the Cartoon Network showed it on any consistent basis. Back in the day, I was watched Daria, The Maxx, Tick and Aeon Flux, and as a kid my favorite by far was Voltron.
As far as full-length anime movies, my knowledge is limited to such pop favorites as Princess Mononoke. Hardly a connoisseur's top choice. When it comes to comics and graphic novels, I'm much more likely to get into Gloomcookie (see blogroll link) or The Sandman than anything remotely anime.
Not wanting to waste time waiting in line at the post office with the angry mob demanding $.02 stamps, I decided to fire up my usps.com account and ship from home. I entered my login and the password I'd written down for the site, and was denied access. Maybe I entered it wrong? Denied. Maybe I wrote it down wrong? Denied. Giving up, I clicked on the Forget Your Password? link.
What's your favorite food?
I was in! As I clicked around, preparing to fill in a shipping label, I suddenly realized that my last name is not Hoffman, and I don't live in Los Angeles. Erm... Yes, so apparently, I'm not the only one who enjoys raw fish wrapped in seaweed now and again. Oopsie.
Lesson learned: From now on, instead of answering the password question with a topical answer, I'm going to respond as if I'd been asked my favorite domestic animal.
What's your mother's maiden name?
What's your favorite food?
And to Ms. Hoffman of the west coast, my sincere apologies. I didn't realize I was such a 1337 h@x0r.
posted by hilary at 5:05 PM |
3 comments |
links to this postThursday, January 12, 2006 Stalled.
I'm not a fan of public restrooms. Something about them just screams at me, "Germs! EVERYWHERE! Don't touch ANYthing. Don't even breathe!" Outside, I'm not by any means a germophobe (I've even been known to occasionally subscribe to the 5-second rule), but inside the den of fecal microbes, I'm like pre-vacation Bob.
Still, if one is to leave one's house for any significant length of time, there will be moments when one must rely on the restrooms of strangers. Unfortunately, the issue of equality for women has not trickled down to public lavatories. Given a similarly equipped men's room and ladies' room, the men will enter and leave with ease while the women do the pee-pee dance in a 45 minute line.
Having reached the end of such a line once, I recall hearing the complaints of a woman who was obviously the caretaker of a mentally handicapped (challenged? retarded? what's PC here?) middle-aged woman. The caretakee was not wheelchair-bound, but was obviously unable to care for herself, which likely required the use of a larger stall. Fortunately (or at least thanks to the ADA), there was a stall reserved for handicapped lavatory users. Unfortunately, it was in use by a presumably non-handicapped person. The caretaker was complaining loudly, under the guise of speaking to her charge, "Yes, Milicent. I know, it's TERRIBLE when people use the special stall! They're just BAD people who don't care about others! It's not right that they use the handicapped bathroom when they're not handicapped!"
Here are my thoughts on the situation: Is a handicapped restroom stall like a handicapped parking place? Should one avoid the stall at all times, even during times of heavy bathroom use? Should the stall remain open and clear for any handicapped people that might want to use it? Should handicapped people - be they wheelchair bound or otherwise - automatically get a free pass to skip the line and use the bathroom set aside for them? Or is it just a stall that can accommodate them, but can also accommodate anyone who waits in line for it?
I was just at a cookie store and as I was checking out a lady behind me pointed to a shelf of regular-looking Sausalito cookies with a sign. "Why are those labeled, 'Canadian Sausalitos'?" she asked the cashier. The cashier thought a moment and responded, "I think the words on the package are written in Canadian."
So there's a show I like a whole lot on TV. It's been around for two seasons now, and I gotta say that so far, if the first season had been anything like the second season, I never would have started watching. Maybe it's the recently dismal writing - I actually threw my remote at the TV after a horrible cliche played out before my eyes - or maybe it's the fact that a new member who joined the cast this season is someone I know from high school. Someone I *cough* knew. One of the big drama moments of my Freshman year stemmed from an evening spent with this guy. So now whenever I watch my previously beloved show, I'm yanked forcefully from my suspension of disbelief as Mister Did-Nothing-To-Dispel-Awful-Rumors appears onscreen.
Allow me to preface this post with a disclaimer: These are the random kinds of things I ponder during the day. Don't ask.
What's the deal with those little plastic disposable teeth flossers? I'm not quite sure why they're necessary. What was wrong with simply wrapping the floss around your fingers? Are we such a consumerist society that we simply must develop new, totally redundant purchasables for greater waste capacity? I don't get it.
My dentist gave me a non-disposable flosser with a little disposable floss head that I'm supposed to change after each flossing. Great. More stuff for my medicine cabinet, and more stuff to remember to keep in stock. Not only that, but my experience with it has been less than enjoyable. I don't have near the amount of manual control over the floss-on-a-stick that I do when it's wrapped around my fingers, and I just think it's kind of icky to have to keep rinsing and reusing the same little 1" of floss over and over for each tooth. I create less waste by using 18" of regular floss, and I don't have to keep the water running either.
They make the little disposa-flossers for kids too. Maybe the idea there is to make the kids interested in developing a flossing habit by putting Disney characters on little pieces of plastic? I dunno. Seems stupid to me, but that's just my opinion.
posted by hilary at 11:24 AM |
8 comments |
links to this postTuesday, January 03, 2006 Clouds & Minestrone.
It's disgusting out today. Rain, sleet, snow - they call it a "wintry mix". How is it all coming down at the same time? I don't know; I'm not a meteorologist. All I know is that it's icky and it's bad for driving.
On clear days, I love looking up at the clouds. It probably comes from the same part of my personality that stops to smell flowers. There's an impermanent beauty up there that I just want to soak in and appreciate. I remember one Fall day a few weeks ago the entire bright blue sky was covered with these amazing cirrus clouds, as if God had taken a brush coated in pure white paint and just swept it back and forth over the heavens. Beautiful. Sometimes I'm afraid to learn too much in school. What I learn changes the way I see the world. Ever since my physical geography class, I've seen rocks in a whole new light. When hiking, I know the huge boulders we climb up are really called "erratics" and I know how they got where they are due to glacial activity thousands of years ago. It's not that I don't want to know such things, I'm just afraid that my "Ooh, pretty clouds!" reaction will be changed to, "Oh, high altitude ice formations. Must be a cold snap coming soon," which is decidedly less romantic.
[insert clever segue]
So here's what I'm eating for lunch on this blustery day. It's awesome; you should try it:
2 tbsp. olive oil 2 medium zucchini, cut in half lengthwise and thickly sliced 2 cloves garlic, minced (i use the frozen garlic cubes from Trader Joe's) 1/2 tsp. dried rosemary leaves 32oz. vegetable broth 1 can (14.5oz) diced tomatoes, drained 1 can (19oz) canellini beans, rinsed and drained 1 1/2 cup uncooked corkscrew pasta grated Parmesan cheese
1. Heat oil in saucepot. Add zucchini, garlic and rosemary and cook until tender-crisp. 2. Add broth and tomatoes. Heat to a boil. Cover and cook over low heat 10 min. 3. Stir in beans and pasta. Cook 10 min or until pasta is done. Serve with cheese.
posted by hilary at 12:43 PM |
3 comments |
links to this postSunday, January 01, 2006 2006.
With the exception of one which included some frenetic dancing and underage imbibing, pretty much every New Years' I've ever experienced has been disappointingly anti-climatic. I stayed up tonight for two reasons: to file some e-paperwork at midnight, and to watch the Naruto Year's Eve marathon. Even through my general apathy, I've managed to procure some champagne. Such a traditionalist I am. Woo, partay. /fingerwhirl