Kijiji: Citrine

I love .. LOVE Kijiji.

I actually think it is better than sliced bread (which is pretty great too.) but over my fervent use of Kijiji has lead me to some interesting experiences – I thought I would share them with you.

I thought it would be good to point out that I am an amazing buyer – I am courteous, punctual, communicate well and haggle fairly (for the most part). I say please and thank-you and I drive (so no deliveries are required) I am also fearless when it comes to going to peoples’ houses. I know my parents don’t really want to hear that, but the fact that I will go somewhere without telling anyone with cash to someone’s place is a tad terrifying – but that’s the name of the game I suppose.

I am a sucker for hand-me-downs, which is why it’s unfortunate that of all three of my sisters and none of us can share ANYTHING. Emily is shorter and her feet are much smaller. So, unless I’m preparing for a flood with sore feet after packing them into her midget shoes – she’s out. Krissy’s legs are much longer than my own, and her waist is shorter than mine, and on top of that (or.. below that I guess) her feet are bigger than mine, so she’s out. Lauren is also much taller than me and out of the country so – she’s also out (unless of course you’d like to mail them to me.. then I’m so in!). This leads me to Kijiji for the seconds of others. And good deals, obviously.

It’s a great outlet to try out styles that may also be outside of your comfort zone as well, and not spend crazy amounts of money to end up not liking it or something – and also for things that are incredibly expensive such as Lulu or Bench stuff – I mean people are guilty of buying it at full price and then wearing and washing it once. You’re going to wear and wash it anyway, so might as well get it at a 60% (often even greater) discount for something you’re going to do to a new garment anyway.

Of course it’s also good for everything else too – furniture and crap too, so it’s great. But then there are the not so great (or hilarious) encounters.

I left my Mom unattended: 

Once I was selling a sweater that I no longer wore (but I bought it on Kijiji to begin with, so not guilty of the buy-new-and-wear-once scenario). While I’m average sized, the sweater was a small-medium. So, a bit tight but whatever. So I received a response and they agreed to come over at the set time to check it out (the price was 35 bucks) and take it if it pleased them. At the last minute, work called and asked me to come in so my Mom agreed to take charge of transaction which was supposed to be very straightforward. So, this MASSIVE woman shows up at the door and exclaims that she is going to try on the sweater before buying it. After struggling she gets herself mostly in the sweater and suggests that she will pay 20 bucks for it. Because there had been no previous mention of a potential haggling, I had not prepared my Mom in the event that this should occur. (My bad.) So, my Mom politely declines and makes it known that she is a third party and apologises for my unexpected absence, and that the price is the price. With a few grunts and groans, she pulls out some wrinkled bills from a fold of skin somewhere and haughtily barks “Well, we had to pay to get here you know!” and promptly pays my Mom and leaves. I’m glad I wasn’t there to mention that I only paid 20 for it and was making a tidy profit from this massive human. I also apologised to my Mom for the experience with a large quantity of coffee.

And he was on the floor naked:

I’m not one to care too much where you live – we all need a place to stay so whatever. As long as the thing I’m buying is relatively clean – we’re good to go. One time I went to try on a dress (which I do frequently because of the amount of Army functions we attend that have a formal attire requirement) and I showed up to this bachelor apartment that was a basement of someone’s house. And as I was invited in and wall of Satan’s fire hit me right in the face – I mean, this place was HOT. And I would live in a sauna if it wasn’t weird, but this place was incredibly hot. And when I was lead around the corner to the bathroom, (it was a tiny place) there was a mattress on the floor, and a guy lying on the mattress wearing just some undershorts. I get that it’s hot.. but stand up.. and put some pants on. I didn’t end up getting whatever it was, but seriously – I had to STEP OVER him to get to the bathroom. I also worked up a sweat just getting up enough step to get over him.. bleck.  So, as a note – please have clothes on when you’re expecting guests.

I thought she brought a dog:

One time I was selling some dining room chairs for my step-Dad and had an older couple come over to take a look at them. They seemed lovely but as the interaction continued it kept getting weirder. The woman inspected them quite thoroughly but while she was going about her inspection she made like, weird crying noises. You know, when the dog wants something, and he just makes an annoying whining noise to get your attention.. yeah? That! She wouldn’t stop! I thought she had actually brought a small dog.. but nooope! It was her the whole time! And don’t get me wrong, she bought the chairs, which is awesome, but I couldn’t get over the strange inspection noises she made the whole time.

She didn’t live there:

When I was in North Bay I learned the city by picking up some stuff on Kijiji. This one time, I went to a house to pick up a Volcom Sweater (which, as most of you know, I own 4) because I love them so much. Anyway, so I got there at the appointed time and knocked on the door and the people who answered the door claimed she didn’t live there.. and then got around to admitting they knew who she was but that she was working and they didn’t have any idea what I was talking about when it came to picking up the sweater.  It was a bit embarrassing so I emailed her when I got home and she gave me some broken story about.. something. Anyway, I got a new address and picked up my sweater, but still. The whole thing was weird.

I thought about calling 911:

I went to a really nice place on the outside of town a few weeks ago to look at some stuff and they had a super grand staircase (the kind you see in the movies) that wrapped its way up the whole entrance way. It was amazing. Anyway, so at the top of the stairs was the bathroom and blah blah, so when I came out the girl who had let me in came flying up the stairs and tripped on the hardwood and smashed her face on the way up. It happened so fast that I made a weird noise and dropped what I as holding – it took her a few minutes to move and slowly get herself up, but I was worried when she did say something she had knocked out all of her teeth or something horrid. She giggled a weird and kind of broken giggle and said she was okay.. but I had dialed 9-1 in the phone already and was glad I didn’t have to call her an ambulance. I offered to help her out with a ride to emerge if she wanted it, but she declined and I left awkwardly. It was seriously so weird.

She wished me lick:

I was selling a Bench jacket once and had it priced for like 70 bucks or something. Anyway, I got an email asking if I would let it go for 20 – I politely declined and received an angry response claiming that the jacket was being sold in the store for 25 and I am ridiculous for suggesting it was worth any more. I thought it was a bit forward, (I guess they’d never been told no before) but what I don’t understand is that if they’re being sold in the store for that why not .. go to the store? I mean, for the sake of 5 bucks you’re going to argue with me? Anyway, so I told her that in fairly polite words and she responded: “Well, when you realise your mistake, I’ll give you 20. But good lick anyway.”

Good lick to you too.. I suppose? Rude.

I think I may have a small addiction to the ease and practicality of Kijiji, but it has certainly been an outlet for picking up things I need or some new threads or whatever. So, don’t be an annoying buyer who doesn’t show up or is wicked late or.. rude or whatever. And seriously.. have clothes on when you answer the freakin’ door.   

This post gets the colour Citrine, because Kijiji is mostly yellow.     

Ecru: A is for Adult.

Sometimes, I hate being an adult.

Sure, I like all the things that come with being an adult, you know: R rated movies, driving, being able to make my own decisions about stuff.. blah blah.

There are a few things I hate about being an adult, which I suppose could be summed up by suggesting that I hate the responsibilities of being an adult. For instance: I hate buying groceries and paying the internet bill. I also hate getting my ass out of bed at a ridiculous time so the neighbours can watch me chase down the garbage man in my footie pajamas and I hate buying things to clean my house with. In fact, I don’t even mind cleaning the house – just buying the shit to do it with. This brings me to today.

Today, I set about cleaning the house like a good adult, I cleaned the bathroom, ran the dishwasher, wiped down the counters and cleaned the sinks and then as my final task for the day (before sitting down to copious amounts of eggnog and the BBC) was to vacuum. (Or, after all these hours of the BBC - hoover the place from top to bottom.) 

So, I get out the vacuum and spend the first few minutes brushing the dog and cutting his nails (so I can just suck it all up and not even worry about the 14 lbs of dog hair in the living room) and being to assemble the pieces together to get on with my adult responsibility of not living like a hoarder. 

The next portion of my time is spent taunting the dog a little bit (because I have to have fun too) and then get on to the actual vacuuming part. Plug the sucker in, turn on the switch and the vacuum begins to make terrifying noises, which not only terrify the dog, but also scare me. Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re expecting me to tell you some hilarious story about how the vacuum exploded and there were not 14, but 25 lbs of dog hair everywhere and we all had a good laugh and so on.

No.

The vacuum that I inherited has always been a bit scary – and temperamental to say the least. Sometimes it would suck.. and awkwardly, sometimes it would blow. (That’s what she said.) Usually a good kick and we’re off to the races, but for the most part it does the job and sits in the closet for another week. Today, I gave her a kick and she is still making scary noises. Alright, at least I left this part last – so, for the most part people would think I’m an average house keeper, minus the dog hair that creepily looks like I’m saving to make myself a new dog. So I turn it back on and look at it, somewhat expecting it to just come out and tell me exactly what’s wrong with it, when I notice that the vacuum as a ‘Performance Indicator Light’ – whatever that means. So, I note my performance with it, thinking I’d get myself at least a 9.8 in the Hoover Olympics when a thought occurs to me that there may be something stuck in the tube to prevent it from sucking. (That’s what she said.)

I decide to pull the stupid thing apart, and figure out what on earth could be preventing massive amounts of dog hair from being tornadoed into a small bag, made of material I can’t quite put my finger on. After pulling apart the vacuum, getting down on the floor to get a closer look (I guess my eyesight isn’t what it used to be) the dog has his nose in it (‘What a grand adventure!” Dog thinks excitedly, “She’s conquered the roaring Beast!”) and we discover that the bag is simply full. 

FULL. 

How is this possible? I mean, when I was less than an adult the fridge would fill itself, and the bathrooms would clean and organise themselves, and the vacuum would simply vacuum upon command.. no maintenance required. Alas, being an adult means changing the vacuum bag. Alright, I can fix a toilet I broke; I can fix a vacuum I filled. 

I wander over the supply cupboard and pull out the plastic bag that contains the weird blend of crap the vacuum bag is made of to discover, to my dread – the bag is empty. We have no vacuum bags. And I have some serious vacuuming to be doing. Noting the price tag on the empty carcass of a container, I pack the plastic bag into my purse, pull on a coat and avoid looking in the mirror as I head out into December bitterness just to avoid scaring myself with the state of my hair.

I pull into the parking lot, only to discover that I forgot that it is ‘Holiday Season’ and people are at the mall en masse. Much like my Father, I hate everyone and everything when it comes to shopping – other than shopping itself. I would shop at Wal*Mart at 2am all year round to avoid the hordes of people shopping. Alright, I will prepare myself to fight off enthusiastic-holiday-sweater-stretched-over-massive-humans to get the bags and get the hell out. 

I begin by parking in Narnia, because frankly – parking at the mall at 2pm on a bitter December Sunday is impossible. After I fight frost-bite, dehydration and a pack of angry wolves I come through the wardrobe and arrive at my destination: Sears. I hate Sears (but we can talk about that another time) and with shoulders set back, elbows out and line-backer mentality I prepare to elbow old-ladies and tackle their elderly husbands who can’t hear my when I say ‘Excuse me’ or see my when I wave my arms at them and finally get up the oddly small escalator (What is this, an escalator for ants?!) and make it to the vacuum section. 

Before any sales person attacks me with perfume, or pots or candle holders I should buy my dear Aunt Mildred, I whip out my empty vacuum bag bag, and aggressively show it to the sales man:

“This! *points at bag* I need these. I don’t know where they are, but I am prepared to pay you handsomely for them if you give me exactly what I want and let me purchase it right now without asking me any ridiculous questions or trying to sell me any warranties. I guarantee to you that I will be your best customer. I will even leave quietly. If you do not help me, next time I will come unprepared, try to describe to you my need for vacuum bags, show you a vague hand motion about how big they are and what a strange shade of beige they are - I will then tell you I can’t remember the kind of vacuum cleaner I have but will insist it’s a company that doesn’t exist, or exists and doesn’t make vacuum cleaners. I will then tell you the colour of the vacuum cleaner because that should directly indicate which bag I need, and THEN I will demand to speak to your manager about how unhelpful you are. Give me the bags, and your day will end well.” 

He looks at me and shuffles away quickly to return with my desired vacuum bags and then looks at me squarely in the face and says to me: 

“Would you like one package or two?” 

WHAT AM I GOING TO DO WITH 20 VACUUM BAGS AT THIS VERY MOMENT IN TIME? NO, I DON’T WANT TWO PACKAGES. I DO NOT HAVE THAT MUCH VACUUMING TO DO THAT I AM GOING TO REQUIRE TO HAVE ON HAND, 19 BACK UP BAGS JUST INCASE I FILL THE FIRST ONE. I WANT TO PAY FOR MY 10 BAGS AND THEN LEAVE THIS AWFUL PLACE. 

I quietly pay for my bags, come home and finish the vacuuming.

The point of this (other than avoiding ulcers that I mentioned in my earlier works), was to suggest to you that I hate running out of supplies and then having to buy them to clean my house. What I hate more than that, is running out of things I need in the Christmas Season and then being required to hip-check old ladies buying their kids slippers and stocking stuffers just to buy 9 more vacuum bags than I needed in the first place. Because I’m not here to ask you about the quality of this bed-in-a-bag, or whether or not you think my Niece would like this cat sweater – no. I want to park reasonably close to the door, not stand in a line-up where we wait long enough to have picked each individual dog hair up by hand faster and then to avoid stupid questions about my plans for the holidays. I’m doing what every normal person is doing:

 Eating-Napping-Eating and Family Time.

Needless to say, I finished vacuuming and I am now sitting, comfortably filled with Nog and pictures of the BBC are dancing in my head.    

Today I chose the colour ecru, because if I had to pick what colour the vacuum bags are.. that would be it.    

Labs with Abs: Ginger

Wow! Sorry about the long delay, apparently getting a new face using a Treadmill is not as glamorous as Pintrest makes it out to be.

Anyway, I’m back now – so let’s talk about weird things. My suggestion? My Brother: Paul. He’s probably the weirdest person I ever met, next to the big guy who shares his name and his genetics (Our Father just to be clear). 

So, PC (Which stands for Paul-Christopher.. so we can tell him and our Father (Paul) apart) and I have made our relationship consist of various text messages containing mostly awkward Office quotes, small updates on our Parents and instructions on where and when I need to bail him and his delinquent friends out of jail.

We’ve also made it a tradition to get each other weird gifts – PC always wins, because I’m the sibling that errs on the side of practicality – so he gets a coffee cup with Dwight Schrute’s face on it or weird books I pick up here and there. Last year he gave me a taxidermied (I know that’s not a word.. but ‘Stuffed’ hardly describes the terrifying thing) Epauletted Bat tacked to a board with a pissed off look on its dead-little face. (I’d be pissed to be stuck to a board behind glass and stink of Moth Balls too, I suppose).

Anyway, this year for my birthday he gave me a small book entitled ‘Labs with Abs’ which consists of drawings of Labrador Retrievers with 6-pack abs doing various things (like peeing on fire hydrants or playing Frisbee) which again, wins for weird gifts. While laid up with a broken face I got to thinking about why it would be weird if people were dogs. For obvious reasons such so not being able to open canned food (lack of thumbs will do that to you) or driving the car (I can hardly reach the peddles with my human legs, let alone little stumpy dog ones.. and I’d probably rather chase the car than drive it anyway) but what about the other doggy things? 

Pooping in the Yard: 

Aside from this being really weird for people to do (although, I know people who drunkenly have..) People would not be very good at it. From experience camping, I can’t even pee in the woods without getting my socks wet. We are simply not designed to easily go in the yard, and what of winter? I mean sure, Tucker (my Black Lab/German Sheppard Cross) has a fur coat on and relishes winter time – but people? No way. I understand long underwear with the butt flap, but that’s a risk I’m not willing to take! I can’t say I know a lot of people that would fit through a dog door either – so figuring out finding someone to actually let you in the yard is almost as much of an issue as going in the yard.

Staying Clean:

I know this is gross to think about, but Tucker does a pretty good job about being a neat and trim pooch – as well as being fairly self-sufficient (no grooming required per se) although a good brush once a week saves me from vacuuming up enough hair to make myself another dog. But people? I mean, I know people who won’t eat food that touches other food on their dinner plate, let alone lick a hand or foot clean. Aside from being horribly inflexible for those.. *ahem* hard to reach.. places, it’s probably not something people really want to think about anyway.

Dog Food: 

I have a feeling that almost everyone I know (aside from my Mom, who has pretty much eaten the same thing for breakfast and lunch for the last 35 years) eats a fairly good variety of food – could you imagine restricting yourself to food that was just handed to you and having the inability to ask for seconds and/or eating the exact same thing for your entire doggy life? Sure, kibble is great, but it’s literally the same exact thing in the bag every time. No sauce, no garnish, no presentation – nothing! Just sits in a bowl on the floor .. and you don’t even get to use your hands to eat it. Aside from that, only water to drink. Apart from drinking something that has spilled off the table, or the occasional adventure into toilet-land, all you get to drink is water. And usually it’s luke warm and has stray bits of floaty kibble in it. 

Dog Beds: 

My Tucker is a big boy, so finding a bed was hard for us, so we settled on folding a twin sized comforter over to it would be easy to wash and he could fit entirely onto it. Problem is, Tucker enjoys pulling the innards out of his toys and then racing around the house with the carcass and completely ignores the stuffing. Same goes for his Tucker-sized bed, two days and it was de-stuffed. (stupid git.. ate his own bed.) Anyway, so the idea that dogs lay around on the floor their whole lives (well, Tucker does anyway, we are a strict no dogs on the furniture household) would also not go over well in people land. I mean, we have more kinds and styles of mattresses than there are Teen Moms on MTV - so to lay around on the floor would not bode well for selective and spoiled human.

Barking:  

Sure, we’ve all seen those movies about feral children raised by dogs who only bark and stuff, but could you imagine if your girlfriend is yelling at you about something and all she could do was bark? Yeesh. The neighbours would probably show up with a shot gun thinking there was a rabid dog on the loose. As well as if humans were that excited about someone being at the door? If humans barked at the door I’m not sure anyone would ever come calling ever again.

Sniffing: 

   

I try to discuss this need to smell everything with Tucker, but he just looks at me with a queer look on his face and then tries to smell my breath. Could you imagine if people smelled everything the way dogs do? Like mailboxes and cats, the carpet.. each other? What a weird hello that would be “Hi!” (7 minute sniff) *end of interaction* I mean, as a human who spends an alarming amount of time in Walmart I’ve had my fair share of smelly people, but to actually be excited and to take the time out of my day to smell these un-bathed and poorly dressed people is not really my ideal.

Playing Fetch:

I suppose we have this.. it’s called Golf. Or in large groups, Football. Nevermind, bad point.

Sweating:

We all know that dogs do not sweat, they pant instead. And while I have seen the videos of Feral Children just as much as anyone else, it’s a weird concept for humans. Think of how dry and gross your mouth would get, and the amount of drooling you may do. And to counter that, what if you get cold? I mean those dog coats only cover the dog’s chest and neck, could you imagine if you had to poop in the yard only wearing a vest in the dead of night, in the middle of winter? Yikes.

Going for Walks:

I know some people are into the whole, walk-your-partner-on-a-leash kind of people, but to do it so they can go in someone else’s yard while only wearing a vest is weird. And to stop and have humans sniff each other, or bark aggressively at each other to mark their territory or protect their humans.

Can you imagine people having litters of children too? I know there’s Octomom and stuff, but imagine people having anywhere between 2 to like, 12 kinds in one go, like every time. That’s incredible!

I think it’s safe to conclude that not only is my brother a weirdo, but people would obviously not make very good dogs.

Today I picked the colour Ginger because my siblings and Father are DayWalkers.

  

In West Philadelphia: Celeste

Creating Drama in the Neighbourhood: 

I spent the summer working for the Ontario Government in North Bay this year, and lived  with a guy who was renting a room.

This particular townhouse was in the middle of a row of town houses that was in the shape of an L. with this in mind, there are some residents who would sit outside and watch the world go by. They would sit, and smoke, for seriously days on end. I would leave for work at 8am, and come home after double shifting around 1130pm, and BAM. There are these women still sitting and still smoking, in the dark. I have no idea what they’re watching, I wouldn’t be surprised if they couldn’t see a thing because it was so dark, but hey. Not my place to judge.

The only thing that I hated about this, was that I felt like my every move was scrutinized, they never talked to each other while I was walking to my car, but would talk amongst themselves when they felt they were unnoticed. It was a bit unnerving, I mean – I can just imagine what they were talking about when I suddenly showed up and moved in to this place. And I obviously moved in, with all my crap and having them watch me to go to work every day. It was also weird, that in even in inclement weather, they were still out there and still watching, talking (and then not talking) and smoking. It was insane! 

Anyway, so I suppose it didn’t come until after I had been there a few weeks and they had seen me come and go incessantly, that the guy I was living with and I decided to hit up a restaurant that was just down the street. So, of course, I come home from work and we decide to go out for dinner and are seen leaving the house together and walking down the street in the direction of this place. And obviously I’m living there and so is he, so I can kind of see why this may be perceived in a certain way. So, while I’m still feeling awkward about these women and their smoking, I’m trying to forget about feeling uncomfortable about it walking to my car, and running outside every night and have them stop when I run home or leave the house to get groceries.

Anyway, so about 3/4s of the way through my stay in the North, Greg decides he’s going to come for a visit. Perfect I thought, I’m almost done my contract, it will certainly give them something to talk about when this tall mysterious stranger comes out of nowhere with an overnight bag. 

To my surprise, it couldn’t have played out any better. Here is how it goes down: 

Erin comes homes from work expecting Greg to show up in an hour to stay the weekend.

Roommate comes home from work, also expecting Greg, but because it’s Friday has made dinner plans.

Roommate leaves the house, waves good-bye and is on his merry way.

Not 6 minutes after he leaves, Greg pulls up aggressively and throws the car into park, and leaps out of the car in a fit of excitement.

Erin decides to run out of the house (in complete awe of these women) leap into Greg’s arms and furiously make out.

It’s at this point, that all smoking and talking has ceased and only the subtle sounds of the North can be heard. Greg then whisks me into the house, and comes out to get his suit-case later.

We go out for ice-cream, go for a walk and do other various annoying coupley things (and of course, being Friday night, Roommate is out having a good time with his friends.)

After spending the weekend, Greg returns home and I carry on my weekly routine as though nothing has changed, but have the sweet satisfaction that I secretly played these women who were making assumptions, and no longer feel uncomfortable about them watching my every move. That moment will seriously give them something to put in their pipes and smoke.

Celeste was my choice for this week. North Bay was a beautiful place to spend the summer – sure its far away, but I really enjoyed my time there. The sky there was really amazing, and so clear – the air was amazingly fresh. It was a brilliantly vivid place to be.