Dear adverb, I miss you. Terribly.

I keep looking for you, but you are nowhere to be seen.

By cropping tight around the subject you eliminate the background "noise", ensuring the subject gets the viewer's undivided attention.

I want to crop tightly, but can only crop . . .  tight. Crop tight . . . what? Crop tight pants? It feels unfinished, unsatisfying. Unsatisfactory.

From girlswithslingshots.com

See, now, he would've lost me with the "I want you so bad" text. Surely he wants me badly. Unless . . . he wants me to be bad? Oh. I may have misjudged this one.

From Twitter

Does he mean that it's always a fake attractive love triangle that ends in murder? Ugh. I just don't know.

Twitter, of course, is not the best place to find examples of good grammar. In fact, I went there specifically looking for examples of adverb abuse for this blog post. I was not disappointed.

From FML

In the case of this tale of woe, I think she (or he?) got what she deserved, because of two errors:

1. he may snore loud snorts, but if the word "snorts" is missing, he must snore loudly; and 
2. he doesn't lay on his side, he lies on his side. Either that, or there is a noun missing: he lays [his arm] on his side.

Oh, adverb, you are as fleeting as spring snow, as elusive as a rainbow. Bravely you struggle against grammatical entropy, valiantly will I fight for your cause.

More Bathroom Drama

In my previous installment, I shared the story of someone in our office building who felt entitled to store her personal stash of tampons in the shared bathroom. In the end, I spoke with her (by phone), and she agreed to keep her personal supplies at her desk.

It also turned out that she was, indeed, the same woman who periodically blow-dries her hair and does her make-up in the washroom. While that is not totally out of line (she doesn't leave her grooming equipment there), it still is unusual, as this is not a change room.

Anyway. Things are under control there.

As we shared this story with our male colleagues, we learned that there was a similar problem going on in the men's room: there was a man who was fastidious about NOT touching the door handle after washing his hands. But, instead of using the paper towel to open the door, then disposing it in the garbage can (either in the restroom or at his desk), he would drop it on the floor.

Wha'?

Through surreptitious means, we have deduced that the culprit is from the same office as the offending woman. They must have an interesting culture there. Kind of "OCD meets dorm room," I'm thinking.

I was feeling pretty curmudgeonly about all this until I came across this article, about the "Top Ten Poop Bandits." Yup. There's a list. And we have NOTHING to complain about.

Perspective, folks, it's all about gaining perspective.

Airing Dirty Laundry

It may come as no surprise to you that I can be a little OCD about laundry, given how (manageably) OCD I am about so many other things in my life. I'm just a wee bit . . .  particular.

As our household has gotten smaller (our two daughters have now moved out), I have finally taken back the chore of doing laundry. During the years when it was one of the children's chores, I tolerated a more "normal" standard of laundering.

Bringing out the passive-aggressive monster in me

Update: the culprit finally called. She was defensive, of course, but agreed to stop keeping her personal items in the restroom. I wussed out and asked our admin to carry the bag of tampons over to the woman's office so she and I still don't know what the other looks like. (I suspect she's the same woman who occasionally does her hair and make-up in the bathroom instead of the shower-bathroom-locker room in the basement. Frankly, I don't care if she lives in her car; if I catch her washing her armpits or shaving her legs, I will draw the line.)

Last week, I walked into the bathroom at work.

 A very stylish place, actually.
(I do wish they had a bench suitable for naps.)

I noticed a garish box on the corner of the counter. I took a closer look.

The note says, "Please do not remove."

Excuse me?

What makes you so goll-darn special that you get to keep your personal supplies in the shared restroom?

Every woman who has ever menstruated knows the joy of trying to discreetly tote sanitary products into the bathroom. In fact, the manufacturers have come up with all sorts of packaging to make it easier. Attractive little plastic containers, quilted pouches, tins with funky prints.

They're all quite silly, really, because the things fit into a pocket or purse with no trouble at all.

The box, on the other hand, is an eyesore. And it is STILL THERE. Also, she evidently has a very long menstrual cycle. There is no "Free to a Good Home" sign on it, so I assume the woman who stashed them intends to keep these to herself.

Today I talked with a female colleague about The Box, and she was as ticked off as I was. We tried to think of what to do. We came up with these:

• Take the box and use or give them to whoever wants them.
• Leave a passive-aggressive note on the box asking the woman to please keep her personal supplies in her purse or desk.
• Hold the tampons hostage.

I prefer the last option and plan to bring a Ziploc bag to work tomorrow and replace the tampons with a sort of ransom note saying only, "Please call 613-nnn-nnnn." (I seriously debated prefacing it with "If you ever want to see your tampons again," but decided not to. She might not take me seriously.

If she calls me, I'll ask her either to get an attractive, dark-brown basket and enough supplies to share or to keep her stuff in her own personal space. 

I would not object to this basket. Only $13 here.

Is that too much to ask? Well? IS IT? I don't think so. 

I HATE feeling ripped off.

(This post will not be going into my Gratitude Journal.)

I hate dealing with customer service. I hate telephone trees. I hate paying for one thing and receiving something quite inferior in value.

(Yah, I know: first-world problems.)

Remember my frustration trying to order flowers last December?* Well, I ended up looking for local florists in each of the three locations I was sending flowers.

It's always hard when you order flowers: will the arrangement be as nice as I hope? The photographs online are always so lovely, but the actual item may be quite different. And they all reserve the option of "substitutions," which begs the question of whether the end product will in any way resemble the promised item.

My in-laws thanked us and then sent me a photograph along with a very warm, heartfelt thank you.

I looked at the picture and felt very disappointed. Here is what I ordered.

FTD Season's Greetings Bouquet

Elegant, monochromatic, compact (so you could use it on the dinner table but still be able to see the other guests), modest, but still festive.

This is what they received.

Also, purportedly, an FTD Season's Greetings bouquet.

A gangly, foliage-heavy, red and white arrangement in a garish vase. Yes, I realize that on a checklist, they match:

• A few white roses: check
• Mums and carnations: check
• Wintry foliage: check
• Christmas baubles: check
• Christmas-ornament-shaped vase: check

But you cannot convince me that they are comparable in aesthetic appeal. The sales picture was created by a true floral artist. The delivered product was created by someone with as much skill as I: I am very good at plunking flowers into a basic vase and arranging them using the "lift and fluff" method.

I, however, do not charge for my floral services. I have sent them an e-mail.

I am grateful that my in-laws were happy with what they received, but they are gracious people, so it doesn't surprise me. Besides, who doesn't enjoy receiving flowers? It's always such a pleasant surprise.

*Follow-up on the Sears fiasco: Sears has not responded to the letter I sent them. I did go into a store and, after much frustrating time over the phone with the credit card department, reactive my card and cash in my Sears points for $160. As soon as I get the statement with the $0 balance, I am closing the account.

How many accounts will Sears Canada lose this month?

I'm home. I'm sick. I'm cranky.

I just spent 20 minutes on the phone with Sears trying to fix my broken credit card so I could send flowers to my family at Christmas.

Apparently they sent out a letter, in response to a new government directive, stipulating that customers had until December 5 to present government-issued photo identification or their accounts would be closed.

Two points:

1. I am positive that I gave photo id when we opened the account a year and a half ago, when we bought appliances for our new home. At the time I was irritated to be opening  a new account. Our original Sears account shut itself down while we were in Colorado, which ticked me off because I still used it to buy appliances for our rental property in Ottawa and gifts, such as flowers, for family.
2. They likely DID send a letter, but have you noticed how much JUNK Sears sends with their bills? Digital clocks, Franklin Mint kitsch, and high-tech snuggies: you will find ads for all of them tucked in with your bill. They may even have sent this very important mailing as a separate letter. (If they'd made a promotion out of it, like "Earn 150 Sears points when you reactivate your card with photo id," I'd have done it, and remembered.) 

Whatever.

Coincidentally, I used my Sears card on December 3 and was asked for photo ID, which I presented. The clerk mumbled something about not having had it when we opened the account. (Which is rubbish; it may have been Colorado ID, but it was government-issued.) The clerk also noticed the old Colorado phone number on file and said she updated our account.

I thought nothing more of it until I tried to order flowers today, figuring that is a simple enough task for the bedridden. [Fail-buzzer.]

So, despite feeling like the bottom of a compost bin, I called the credit card service desk.

For the first ten minutes, the chap struggled to confirm my identity as they still had my old Colorado cell phone on file, despite my having updated it at the store in person as well as on my online account profile.

Five minutes after that, the fellow chirpily told me, "The account is closed," as if that is what I had wanted all along. He insisted it was because of having the incorrect phone number on file.

What?

My eyes welled up and my throat tightened; I was about to cry, which is what I do when I'm frustrated and angry at the same time.

I have, in the past, spent hours (no exaggeration) with these poor front-line help-desk underlings. Today, I went right for the manager.

The guy ignored my request FIVE TIMES, asking me if I would like to open a new account! (How can one do so over the phone if photo id is required, hmm?)

"No. I would like to speak to a manager," I said, a little snippily, I grant you.

Finally, I spoke to an "expert," who informed me of the whole government edict/letter/photo id issue. I told him about my December third transactions (which the previous guy had insisted I look up as part of verifying my identity), and that I had shown ID at that time.

"Well, did the sales clerk phone us?"

It's Christmas season, my biggest shopping season of the year. No, I don't recall if she picked up the phone, but having been a Sears clerk myself, I know that the system would not have allowed the transaction to go through without an authorization code.

"It's not too late," he added encouragingly, "you can still bring in photo id and reactivate your account."

This is a step in the right direction, especially given that I have a good deal of redeemable points still on the card. And it's probably what I will do, but not without a fair bit of grumbling. And I will close the account as soon as I redeem those points.

Sorry, Sears. You lose.

On a related note, here is Seth Godin's rant on the topic of customer relations.

Seth Godin at Gel 2006 from Gel Conference on Vimeo.

Commitment

I had an interesting conversation with a young man the other day.

He mentioned that he was eager to start a family with his girlfriend — wanted her to "start popping out babies" — but had no similar urgency to get married.

I expressed (gently, I hope) my shock at the lack of commitment, and he took my comments in stride and said it was probably just a generational thing. He and his peers do not see the value in the formal commitment.

"You're probably right," I said. And we left it at that.

But, obviously, I didn't stop thinking about it.

Flash back to 28 years ago. I told a cousin about a friend who was excited to be pregnant. The mother-to-be was in a loving live-in relationship with the father and the baby was planned. My cousin asked, "Are they going to get married?"

"Oh, I suppose so," I replied. The question honestly had not occurred to me.

The couple did get married (before the birth). Though they gave it their best, it didn't last. But they both loved — and love — the child who is a bright, talented and secure young man in his own longstanding relationship.

So what has changed in me in the intervening years that I now think parenthood without a public commitment is a bad idea?  In this age of Kardashian 72-day unions, why would I feel that public vows and legal documents still matter?

Here's why.

A legally binding, public commitment, when made with your whole heart and not just as an excuse for a really expensive narcissistic party [cough]Kim Kardashian[cough], removes a whole world of possibilities from the table. Things that are no longer part of the equation include:

• infidelity
• selfishness
• short-term thinking
• letting one partner take all the responsibility (financially or even in terms of housework or childcare)
• giving up easily

I readily admit that there are many non-married couples for whom most of those things apply - perhaps even most couples. And obviously there are married couples who flout every last one of those before the wedding reception is over. 

When children are involved, I think they deserve to have parents who will declare their intention to be faithful to each other, to be selfless and equal partners and to push through difficult times. The public declaration is important. Just ask Alcoholics Anonymous or Weight Watchers: we are less likely to succumb to our weaker selves when we have made our intentions public.

Yah. I'm an old square now. Possibly because I now know exactly how hard it is to maintain all of that in the face of parenthood! 

As a final thought, the issue of gay marriage has been on my mind throughout this particular meandering. It is ironic that while some couples struggle for the right to declare their union, others take it so much for granted that it has no value to them. I think this picture shows so much beauty it is inspiring.

Brad Altman and George Takei waited 21 years
for the opportunity to publicly declare their commitment.
Source

Day in, day out: Golden Rules for Living

The office where I work has a closet for employees to stow their jackets and boots. It is located along the corridor to the kitchen. I pass it at least twice a day and it is invariably partially open. I pause slightly and gently nudge it closed, then continue on my way.

And each time I do this, I ponder, "Now, why on earth couldn't the person who last opened that door have closed it?"

I reach the kitchen where, as my coffee drips, I close the cutlery drawer that someone left partly open, put the dirty spoon and mug that someone had left in the sink into the adjacent dishwasher, and tidy the canisters of sugar, salt and stir-sticks that have been placed haphazardly on the shelf.

And each time I do this, I ponder, "Well, who in heavens did they THINK would do these things?!"

Such behaviour is just inconceivable to me, it is so inconsiderate.

Recently, in the interest of my own mental health, I've made a slight, conscious adjustment. Now, as I close the door or drawer, I add the following thought to my little inner grumble: "Well, I guess it doesn't bother them as it does me, so I'll just do it and stop complaining." I hope some day to reach the inner comment, "Ah, that feels better."

I do wish all of my colleagues cared about orderliness as I do, but they don't. So be it.

In the meantime, I will propagate Ann Landers' Golden Rules for Living, in the hopes that others may benefit:

If you open it, close it.
If you turn it on, turn it off.
If you unlock it, lock it up.
If you break it, admit it.
If you can't fix it, call in someone who can.
If you borrow it, return it.
If you value it, take care of it.
If you make a mess, clean it up.
If you move it, put it back.
If it belongs to someone else, get permission to use it.
If you don't know how to operate, leave it alone.
If it's none of your business, don't ask questions.
-- Ann Landers

Ah, that feels better.

Regiment, regimen, regime, regimental

I just started using Twitter. And let me just advise you that if you find the grammar, syntax, and spelling on Facebook (and various blogs) to be preposterous, you will find Twitter that much more so. Here's the tweet in question:

See, now, I can't retweet that because, there really is no such thing as a workout regiment.

THIS is a regiment.
Source

What he really meant to write was regimen. Wikipedia defines it nicely.

A regimen is a plan, a regulated course such as a diet, exercise or medical treatment, designed to give a positive result. A low-salt diet is a regimen. A course of penicillin is a regimen.

I've also heard the expression, "workout regime." Nuh-uh. It is not a thing. I won't let it happen. Most often, the word regime is used in reference to a political structure that kicks humanitarian rights in the teeth. Wikipedia does give other uses for the word, but, trust me on this, none of them has to do with improving your physique.

This is a picture showing the results of a totalitarian regime in Uganda.
I've never heard anyone use the word "regime" in a positive sense.
As in, "He wielded gentle justice in his kindhearted regime."
Source

Now, just to leave you smiling, I include this picture of someone "going regimental" in a kilt.

In this context, it means according to the rules of the regiment.I have not asked, nor have I checked, so I do not know,
whether Steve went regimental when he wore his kilt.
Source

[I was going to write that he was going sansculottes, but learned that this word has all sorts of overtones and implications, though its literal translation is "without pants."]

[And, no, I did NOT write this entire post, just so I could use that last picture.]