Another journal

So, I did not miraculously turn our apartment into a perfect, finished home in one month. I AM NOT MAGIC. All I have been told are lies.

However, it is pretty much at a point where people I know and love can come over and I know they aren’t judging me. I am not where I could host, like, craft night or something yet because I was raised a certain way. And that way means that a house with a pile of unshelved books and not enough hangers for the coats so a bunch are still in a box or whatever is something that you should be ashamed of. Ongoing house goal is to get it where I can have a birthday party. The Ikea trip for a million bookshelves will happen by then.

But! I sewed the things I bought the fabric for!! Which is awesome. I did not meet some of my secondary sewing goals, but one of the whole points of this damned focus month exercise is to remind myself that I am not a machine. Just because I have more time in my day from not commuting does not mean every minute must be spent doing. I just sat and watched a show yesterday afternoon. On my day off! I wasn’t even like, sewing buttons at the same time.

ANYWAY. The house. The first room done was the bathroom, because a lot of time is spent in there and you are a captive audience for all the little things that are yet undone. (all these pictures click through to Flickr, where there are notes and more commentary and more images).

Then I sewed and installed the curtains. Which? Made all the difference in the living room. I like my curtains. They are sexy. Do not mock me.

The kitchen is what I focused on next, since I realised the living room still had a ways to go. I like our kitchen a lot. I’ve been cooking in there like a person in a movie. Being in the kitchen does not fill me with hatred because there is no space!

So, things I didn’t get to, and will be poking at as I go over the next month:

• Linen napkins, but not my fault, they were out of the fabric I ordered!
• Reupholstering chairs, for both time reasons and because I keep losing my hammer.
• Drapery over the bed, because we will have a princess bed, dammit, but I’m waffling over approach.
• A holder thing for arm warmers. I have a lot of arm warmers.

So, really, I did good! I’ll post tomorrow with April’s focus. So excited.

Mirrored from Journal of a Something or Other.

There is this guy I know. Dogs cross the street to get pets from him, and even the most hateful cats love him, because he exudes some sort of “nah, I just want to romp too” vibe.  He will spend literally hours learning about a breed of animal and is now full of more facts about bizarre wildlife than most public television.

He is a ridiculously good photographer with an even pickier sense of self-confidence than I have, which is saying a lot.  He has a job in a dying industry and gets into godlike rages at the pitiful excuses for first aid his superiors half-heartedly attempt. I can’t understand how he is such a good photographer, every time I see a snippet of a new project of his I am floored.

For various reasons he has stopped eating grains and feels about a million times better.  For breakfast he has “bear cereal”, which is berries and nuts with cream poured over.  He yells at crows out of the car window.  He has the prettiest hair and likes to have his toenails done.

When I want to buy something particularly ridiculous and glam I just need to ask him if I should and he says yes.  He always goes for the sparkliest thing.

I’ve known him since he was nineteen, but I don’t want to think about that too much because we’re both twenty-seven now and that is kind of a long time.

Mirrored from Journal of a Something or Other.

Mirrored from Journal of a Something or Other.

All these boring words.  Not enough pictures!

I’ve been doing my nails every week, but utterly failing to remember to document them.

Our yard is getting springy. I am in love with our rampant dandelions.

I keep plugging along at Project Runway Play-Along.

Mirrored from Journal of a Something or Other.

So, I ordered from Bliss Soaps during their big sale this winter, and it took forever to get here, etc.  Now, because I use the soap I got regularly, and have an object-cued memory, I remember the crap customer service I got whenever I shower.  But, because it is during my shower, I never remember outside the curtain, since shower time is also time for imagining how poised one would be during magazine interviews and whatnot.

But! Finally remembered.  Here is the email I sent after receiving my order.

Hi,

As I also work for an thriving online business, I understand how difficult it can be when unexpectedly slammed with orders and the problems with balancing customer service, quality and not going crazy.  However, I was pretty disappointed overall with my recent Bliss Soap experience.

The word I’ve heard is that you all were overwhelmed with responses to your recent sale, which is wonderful in a way, as I realise how finacialy boned you were after dealing with that large client order that didn’t pay.   This made me give some leniency to the surprising distance in time between seeing my order go from processed to shipped.  I will admit to becoming rather worried, then annoyed, as the time after my order was marked “shipped” (I first noticed it November 17th) stretched to a week, then two weeks.  As I’m in Portland, just south of Seattle, a straight shot mailing-wise, I expected the order to arrive much more quickly, especially as it you ship flat-rate priority.

It wasn’t until hunting around on your main site, that I found the small link and notice to the delay in shipping that could take about two weeks.  I’d been keeping an eye on your actual store site (http://stores.blisssoap.com), as not only was that where I ordered and expected online store related updates to be posted, but the basic backend of that site design is clearly more easy to update with important notices than the graphics-heavy, crowded “About Us” and brick-and-mortar info page that is http://www.blisssoap.com/.  Though my order was listed as “shipped” by November 17, the shipping label was printed (or dated) November 25, I’m just going to note that I think I would have been happier overall to have not seen my order marked as “Shipped” until it actually was.

However, I did get my order, yesterday, November 30.  I was bummed to open the mailer and see the Styrofoam container one item came in jammed and broken and open (luckily all soap arrived whole!), the receipt completely crumpled.  Whatever, it’s soap.  I have attached an image of one item, as I’m not sure if it is in fact the Tea Tree Shampoo Bar I ordered or something else.  There was, after some searching in the corners of the mailer, a paper slip that explained how to use a solid shampoo bar, so I’m guessing this is the right item?  Unlike the other soap, which was very nicely labelled and wrapped (though none of the bars were dated, how long before they’re off date?) this is the one that had broken free of its container, which wasn’t labelled anyway.

So, I don’t think I’ll order from you guys online again, but I do want to visit your storefront sometime, as I am happy with the products I got, I just don’t want to deal with the way you handle your online business.

There was also an attached picture of the soap in question.  This is the email I got back:

B. Zedan,

I am [redacted], Phils partner in Bliss-Soaps.  I’m over the production and shipping dept.  I take care of 95% of the shipping orders for our company.  When I send packages to our customers, I can assure you that I give the utmost care and concern that the order I’m dealing with each time is checked off, wrapped properly, packaged securely, and I send with the product a note telling the customer how appreciative I am for their support and love of our product.  No matter what I read, I care more than the majority about the customer and their experiences with our product and customer service. I will defend this whether it be the wrong or right thing to do in the seller & buyer relationship, or if it sounds like I’m to sensitive and overreacting.  It is the way I feel and I only know how to be honest with my customers and anyone I come in contact with. We all have different personalities and this is mine. It just is how it is with me and this is a good thing in my life.\
I am extremely impressed with your thorough and very well explicit and direct comments on your experience with us. I am very saddened by what I read.  This is in no way exceptable to me and I am not happy about it.  I would like to ask if you could please try to find time out of your busy schedule and call me to discuss this further.  My cell number is [redacted].  If you would rather e-mail a phone number where I may reach you so that the phone call isnt at your expense, that probably be better.  I am extremely concerned with what I have read and I will get down to the bottlom of this and correct those areas which you have indicated right away. This is unacceptable to me and you didn’t need compounding issues on top of the length of time it took to get your order.  I would rather explain to you my feelings actually with you on the phone.  If you feel this is acceptable to you, then I will be anxiously waiting on your phone call or e-mail with a contact number.
I do sincerely appreciate your honest straight & forward critiqueing and the professionalism it radiates.  I also feel concern and desire for the growth of Bliss-Soaps.
I know we will be able to recify this issue, besides learning & growing from this unfortunate situation.
Thanks so much for your e-mail.  I really hope to hear from you.

Now, my questions were answered regarding the off dates for the soap and if that was the shampoo bar were not answered.  I’ve got a paranoia about phones and strangers, and combined with the 12+ hours I was away from home, working longer days during holiday rush, there was no way I was going to call this guy.  Also? My phone number is accessible from my customer account on their site.  So my response, sent on the 6th of December:

Hi,

I apologise for the delay in reply, the rush of the holiday season has me either at work or commuting to it for most of the day.

I am much easier to get ahold of my email, if you have any further questions or an answer to my query if the soap I attached a picture of is the Tea Tree Shampoo Bar, please let me know.

And, a little over a month later, nothing back.

As far as the soap goes, I love, LOVE the smell of “Dragon’s Blood”.  And Chase is digging the soap with silk in that I got him.  The unknown soap that may be a shampoo bar has not been tried yet.  Both of us are disappointed with the body of the soaps, they’re very soft and have worn out quickly, sometimes dropping clumps off while scrubbing, like rotting zombies.  While we’ve been using the Bliss Soaps a bar of our regular stuff from FG Soap has been sitting next to them, getting just as much showerhead run-off and not shrinking.

So, overall a lame experience, but it fired up our love of fancy soaps, so I’ll be looking to Vilainess next.

Mirrored from Journal of a Something or Other.

    When I’m at home alone I’m rather careless about where I kick off my shoes. I figure, if I trip over them, it’s my own damn fault. So when the front door eased open a few inches before hitting my little Miami Vice slip-ons, my first thought was, “Oh shit, Chase is trying to come in and I’m an ass.” But instead of barrelling though and pushing them aside, the door suddenly jerked closed and I heard a lady stranger’s voice.
    “Oh.”
    Our building is the result of a particularly unique house reconstruction. In another era our apartment and that of our closest neighbour would be the servant’s quarters, accessible by side stairs and situated above the garage and the expansive two-bedroom flat below. It makes pizza delivery difficult, trying to explain how to find the side door that opens into a narrow, knotty pine panelled stairwell. So I figured this lady, whoever she was, had to be lost.
    Trotting over to the door, I kicked aside my shoes and opened it just enough to poke my head out and lean a shoulder against the jam. It’s not so much that I’m paranoid, I just really hate people.
    At the sound of the door opening, the woman in our entryway-mudroom spun around, in an off-putting mix of surprise and mild terror.
    “Oh!”
    Her easy-to-care-for short hair was plastered down from the rain, matching her coat, which was so saturated it might as well have been black. She had a little damp scarf peeking from the collar, one of those frizzy, foofy things seen around the necks of middle-aged coffee shop knitters. Quiet clicking nails brought my attention down to a small dog at her feet. The two of them had been out in the rain for a while.
    “Can I help you?” I tried out my nice voice. I figured, the lady got turned around or something, no reason to pull out the solicitor sternness, even if she’d attempted to open my door.
    I did not expect what she said.

Mirrored from Journal of a Something or Other.

(and any nails you missed while I craft-dumped are here)

Mirrored from Journal of a Something or Other.

And.

However I feel about any sort of thing where one does something daily in a group goal, NaArMaMo is a good excuse to maybe focus on what I am doing and making a bit while working in all that various media I know, because I seriously stagnate (ew) if I focus too long in a single one.  I personally call bullshit on “NOT NECESSARILY VERY GOOD ART. But a finished achievement of artistic endeavour.”  Because why the shit would I bother if that is the case.

So, we’ll see if life gets in the way, but the plan is this:

Saturdays: Embroidery/Fiber
Sundays: Assemblage-2D (also known as: collage)
Mondays: Photography, moving or still
Tuesdays: Sculpture
Wednesdays: Wearable
Thursdays: Assemblage-3D
Fridays: Painting/drawing

My “weekend” is Tuesdays and Wednesdays, so you see I put the more time-consuming stuff there.  I’ll not be participating in the LJ community, but will be tagging things on Flickr with that horrible sounding “naanarmo“.

Also, dudes, I picked up the latest book of City of Roses and finished it before the train got me home—hoovering it up like a stockbroker in my birth year.  And damn do I love it.  I am tired of hearing that Nick and I are the only fans.  We are obvious because we are rabid. Let the man know you care.

Mirrored from Journal of a Something or Other.

All the blogging I’m into lately.  Click through for more info, if you want.

Mirrored from Journal of a Something or Other.

We had this couch.  It was a great fucking couch.  Chase could stretch his full six-foot-plus length on it.  It loved when you napped on it, but was just uncomfortable enough to stop you from sacking out too long.  The nap couch.

We tried to get it up the stairs to our new place, but the stairs had too many sharp turns (a side effect of an old house being split into apartments), so we had to find it a new home.  So, like most people in the Portland metro area we took it to Goodwill.

First, a little back-story: Most of our favourite furniture and clothing came from a place called Saint Vincent De Paul.  They were like Salvation Army, big on helping in the community, they took most donations, decently priced things, had a great system of price lowering things that had been there too long, etc.  That one store in Hillsboro probably supplied most of the working poor, students and really pretty much everybody with clothes, furniture and whatnots for at least a generation or two.  It’s where the nap couch came from, in the beginning.  But it went out of business years ago.  It was such a big part of most folks’ lives that you still hear people bitching about it.  All there is now in the FG-Cornelius-Hillsboro area is Goodwill.

So, the couch is in pretty good shape.  There is one tear in the back cushion, it looks used and no longer has the liner on the bottom, because it tore years ago and was since removed, since the vacuum liked to eat the liner bits that hung down.  Other than that, the same condition it was bought for ten dollars in.

Onto the truck it goes and we pulled up to the donations area.  A little bell goes off as we pull up, like at a gas station.  We wait.  And wait.  And finally I saw a woman coming up through the windows in the swinging doors.  Already her face was beginning to screw up into practice denial expressions.  She’s barely out the door when she tells us they cannot accept something in this condition.  All she had seen and will see of the couch was the underside, with the liner missing, the two cushions tucked next to it under a rope.  She gives us no reasons beyond its “condition”.  Chase and I, innumerable swears and curses boiling below a layer of shocked silence, climbed into the truck and gunned out of there.

We’re pissed, because it’s a decent couch.  We don’t shop at Goodwill, because despite their cause, they’re still a big corporation that prices things with name brands higher, like assholes.  However, we went there because we want someone else to get some use out of the couch.  We don’t really have time or space to list the couch on Craigslist (for free, because we just want it to go to a home), so we turn to the dump.

They’ve raised the prices at the dump.  It is now $50 for our size vehicle.  We are not going to pay half a hundred dollars to waste something that is still useful.

Luckily, Chase remembers something as we drive away.  The ReStore.  The one in FG* just moved to a better spot and Chase had covered the story, so it was in his mind.  All we had to say to the guy was that we’d tried to move the couch into our new place and it didn’t fit.  That was the pedigree it needed.  So our couch gets to go help somebody else take awesome naps.

Super bonus level:  Later last night when looking for ice cream we turned around in a parking lot of what used to be this super sketch things-that-fell-off-the-truck warehouse.  It is now a Salvation Army!  Or will be on June 4th.  I know nothing will be as great as St Vincent De Paul at taking donations and pricing things as they should be, but I don’t think the Salvation Army is as mercenary as Goodwill. Which, in an area like this, really will help the people that live around it.

* PDX folks, the one in your area is a feeding frenzy.  If you can handle the frightening forty minute drive into the ‘burbs, it is worth coming to the one in FG, because not as many people go.

Mirrored from Journal of a Something or Other.