Shopping

In Which We Get New Outdoor Furniture & Ally Embraces Social Media, Part 1 of 2

/ Ally Bean / 36 Comments

{Sub-titled: Nothing Is Ever Easy, But Darn This Furniture Is Pretty}

SUNDAY, Day 1 – The Beans place an online order with a reputable catalog company for a wicker furniture set, consisting of 1 loveseat with cushions + 2 lounge chairs with cushions.  They also order an ottoman with cushion.

TUESDAY, Day 3 – The happy duo receives a phone call from reputable catalog company, and agree that Ally will be home on Friday morning to take delivery of wicker furniture with cushions because someone must sign for these items.

WEDNESDAY, Day 4 – Ottoman with cushion is dumped on stoop by front door of home in late afternoon.

No one signs for anything.

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FRIDAY, Day 6 – Ally waits at home for wicker furniture with cushions to be delivered by third-party delivery service.

Truck Man shows up on time, but is confused by all the gibberish on the cartons:

  1. factory-printed name of product different from reputable catalog company name for furniture;
  2. arbitrary hand-written markings scribbled hither and yon;  +
  3. multiple official shipping labels.

Ally is also confused by this mess.

Together, over the course of an hour, Ally and Truck Man determine that 5 of her 6 cartons of wicker furniture with cushions are here.

Truck Man talks with Guy On Dock who admits that Carton 2 of 6, which contains cushions for one lounge chair, is sitting in front of him, and that it’ll be delivered to house that afternoon.

Ally must wait to sign for it.

SATURDAY, Day 7 – Ally, who waited but did not receive Carton 2 of 6, tells husband, Zen-Den, Esq., to call reputable catalog company.  He does so and is told to expect Monday delivery of Carton 2 of 6.

MONDAY, Day 9 – Carton 2 of 6 does not arrive at house, although Ally is at home all day ready to sign for it.

TUESDAY, Day 10 – Z-D again calls reputable catalog company, and speaks with someone who says that on Wednesday Guy On Dock will call him back with a Carton 2 of 6 location update.

WEDNESDAY, Day 11 – Z-D doesn’t get a phone call, Carton 2 of 6 does not arrive at house, so Ally, tired of waiting around the house, takes matters into her own hands.  Which is to say she uses social media to get some attention from reputable catalog company.

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What will happen next?  Will Ally and Zen-Den get their last two cushions from reputable catalog company?

And if so, how will it happen?

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TUNE IN TOMORROW TO FIND OUT HERE ON:

AS THE WORLD BEAN TURNS.

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Y Is For Yolk, You Gotta Wonder

/ Ally Bean / 51 Comments
Screen Shot 2016-03-21 at 11.05.10 AMThe yolk’s on you

… is a saying that means the joke is on you, you’ve been taken advantage of, perhaps in a kind way, perhaps not.

It is a play on the similar pronunciation of the English words: “yolk” [the inside of an egg] and “joke” [a trick played on someone].

This is funny.  I guess.  In context, maybe.

WHATEVER.

eggThis saying sums up the way I feel about make-up. It’s all a yolk joke.

Allow me to explain.

I’m not a shopper so once I find a make-up product that works, and does not irritate my skin, I keep on buying it because it saves me the stress of shopping for, and experimenting with, something new.

Plus, genetics are amazing.  Meaning that through no fault of my own my complexion is what it is, and I need the make-up colors that I need, because I am who I am.

Obviously, right?

Getting to my point here, since the beginning of the year THREE of my favorite color-perfect make-up products have been discontinued.  They would be a Nars lipliner [Tonga], a Maybelline eyebrow pencil [Light Blonde], and a Revlon powder blush [Rose].

These colors? Natural. Basic. Pale.

Colors that flatter a middle-aged, rosacea-challenged, graying-blonde woman.

Sure, the companies still exist, but they’ve replaced my perfect colors with something else.  And the new something else colors are too bold or too shiny for me.

The customer.

Who thought she had this whole make-up nonsense problem solved, but finds that the yolk is on her… which, it turns out, is not a good color for me!  😉

A Is For Artichoke, A Good Place To Begin

/ Ally Bean / 25 Comments
Screen Shot 2016-03-21 at 10.35.03 AMOkie-dokie, artichokie

… is a slang phrase that I’m guessing everyone has heard, read, or said.  It’s one of those goofy ways to communicate agreement without committing to too much interest.

I use the phrase from time-to-time because there are moments when it is appropriate.

For instance, when your husband is telling you a detailed analysis of his current sock situation, and you would prefer that he get to the bottom line of this sock soliloquy, because if he wants you to buy him some more socks, just say so.

But there he is staring into his sock drawer, reflecting upon his hole-y, muddled mess-o-socks, while you stand by patiently, not caring at all about the finer nuances of his sock preferences, but pretending that it matters to you.

That’s when a wise woman says “okie-dokie, artichokie,” then goes to Kohl’s and buys him whatever socks are on sale that day.

• • •

{ SOMETHING TO DO FOR FUN }

Take the Can You Identify These Vegetables? Quiz.  Helpful hint: the first answer is artichoke.

• • •

Shopping For Tile: A Tale Of Snobbery & Comeuppance

/ Ally Bean / 51 Comments

In and of itself what happened when I went shopping at the fancy tile store, where we bought all of our tile for this house when we had it built years ago, was no big deal.

I’m not unfamiliar with snobby sales clerks in the big city.

But this particular indifferent, snobby sales clerk, who I shall call Gumdrop, was sixty years old, if a day, and she went out of her way to ignore me.  She said “hello” when I walked into the store, then before I could reply she went back to looking at her smart phone.

I did not exist.

# # #

I started walking around the lovely, well-organized, upscale tile store, hoping that when Gumdrop finished not helping me, she’d help me.

I dream.  What can I say?

Eventually, after I’d explored the drawers, shelves, and wall displays of tiles on my own, I went over to Gumdrop and forced her to listen to me.  I told her we were going to replace the tile around our fireplace in the family room, a room that is open into the kitchen.

Did she have some suggestions?

# # #

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# # #

Without a single word, and this is where it gets interesting, Gumdrop took me to one small display of khaki/tan ceramic tiles, and said “this.”

She didn’t ask about our color scheme, the size of the room, the scale of the fireplace.  She didn’t ask about our style preferences.

She just told me to buy what she was pointing at.

# # #

In what I can only describe as a delightful irony of ironies, the inexpensive ho-hum tile that Gumdrop pointed to is what we have on the floor in the laundry room.

The floor, people.  THAT’S THE TYPE OF TILE SHE ASSUMED WAS APPROPRIATE FOR ME TO HAVE AROUND THE FIREPLACE IN MY HOME.

I mentioned that I was familiar with the tile she was pointing at because I walk on it every day.  Then I asked her to show me something else.

She did this while grumbling that I could easily pull out any of the tile displays from the wall.  And I agreed that I could, but I wasn’t going to.  That was her job.

So do it, Gumdrop.

# # #

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# # #

I believe it is at this point that it began to dawn on Gumdrop, who works on commission, that she might have screwed the pooch with me.  Suddenly she was inquiring about the details of our project, but I was no longer interested in dealing with her.

So, mentioning that money was no object but obviously there was nothing in this store for me, I politely left the store, discouraged that I’d bothered to drive to a fancy tile store in the middle of an industrial district on a snowy afternoon, to be snubbed.

Humph.

# # #

But ultimately the joke is on Gumdrop and the fancy tile store because my small little fireplace project was just the beginning.  Yep, we’re going to be redoing our 14′ x 12′ master bathroom sometime in the next few years and there’ll be lots of tile involved.

Oodles of it, which up until this incident I would have purchased at the fancy tile store.  But now?  Not going to happen.

Big mistake, Gumdrop.  Big mistake.