So, I don't know if anyone was aware, but it's been a rather cold and messy winter. So much so that George hasn't been washed in almost 2 months. For those who don't know me, George is my Jeep. Remember that. Anyway, for quite some time George had been covered in a thin sheath of dried salt remnants and winter dirt. It had been in the 60s lately, so I decided it was a good time to maybe get that stuff off, since it's apparently bad for cars or something. Anyway, on my lunch break earlier this week I decided to stop by Tiger Wash and give George some soapy love! I pull up and convince myself that I will NOT be the sucker that buys the most expensive wash because it has fancy features like "foam soak" and "hot wax rinse" and "Armorall polish." I'm such a sucker for extra features. Anyway, I'm firmly set in my mid-level wash. That is, until the attendant mentions that if I buy the super fancy wash I get a free SCRATCH-OFF ticket that has great prizes! At those little words, my resolve melts away as I envision the possibilities on the little scratch-off card. So, I cave in. I feel guilty for a second, but it's only a 5-dollar difference, and the oopsy is quickly replaced by my child-like excitement about pulling into the little tire track thing where I can sit back and enjoy and ride. I remember in high school, I went to a car wash and I was SO distraught when I had to get out of the car and watch from inside the waiting room. What's the fun of the car wash if you can't even sit in the car?! Anyway, I slowly roll through the spraying jets and multi-colored foam and swirling jets, and, yes, even at 26 years old I still eagerly anticipate each new phase. Pre-soak? Ooo. Pressure tire wash?! Awesome. Shine foam brushing?! Sounds tingly. Hot wax treatment?! George looks so clean!
I get through the high-powered dryer (which by the way, is quite similar to those new-age hand dryers in bathrooms that I honestly believe are going to rip the skin off my hands), and drive over to the vacuum area. Another thing about winter, it makes the floor of your car ridiculously disgusting. So I get out and yank the vacuum hose out of its suction tube and get to work. But, I don't get far. I open my back right passenger door, and am shocked to see that my back seat is SOAKING WET. I'm talking seats soaked, the coat in the seats soaked, puddles on the floor, in my cupholders, and in the little handle on my door. What. The. Hell. I'm immediately pissed that the seal on my window is obviously defective. That's the only logical explanation. Until I realize that my back right window is open just a little bit. Obviously enough to create complete chaos in the backseat. How does that happen? (1) Why is the window open?! It's WINTER! It's been in single digits for the vast majority of the past month. What reason could I possibly have for opening my window? And (2)...how did I not notice the perfect storm of thrashing water, soap, and wax going on back there? What if I had a kid? And I washed it too because I wasn't paying attention? I mean I know babies need baths too, but I don't think high-pressure washers and hot foam is the way to go. So I've heard. I don't have kids, but I know I don't often see them being wheeled through car washes.
Despite the fact I highly doubt the car wash vacuums are meant to dry cars, or anything else, I am able to get most of the water out of the back seat and off my coat. And, I haven't noticed anything wrong since it dried! But, I will always make sure my windows are CLOSED from now on. You should as well. And that's my tip of the day.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Lately...
Ok, loyal reader(s), I'm back in business. I've had a wee bit going on lately. First of all, we packed up our trendy, chic downtown loft and set up shop in a less trendy, but far more comfortable and convenient 3 bedroom house in Columbia. We're renting for a bit while we look for a house to (hopefully) purchase this year. Big doings going on here! We're also getting married at some point. Those details are still a bit hazy since my new job took over my life. It's unfortunate for those of you with Blogger Fever (far less severe than Bieber Fever from what I understand), that I spend that majority of my days doing things that I can't broadcast over the interwebs, much less really talk about at all. Suffices to say I've REALLY enjoyed my first few weeks, and I'm excited to continue learning and getting better. We've also had SnowMYGOD take over Columbia. Over two feet dropped, with giant snow drifts that our poor doggies fell into. It was quite the mess. That was 2 weeks ago. Today it was 73 degrees. Talk about a swing.
But that's not why I'm writing. Today is the second installment of Animal Control: Columbia. I could fill up at least a show with my antics. Today it wasn't a half-dead bat, but a completely live and rambunctious dog. Scott called me when I was on my way home to inform me that there was a friendly-looking female dog sniffing around our yard. When I got home, we went to find her because she had wandered off down the street. She didn't have a collar or tags, so we put her in the backyard, and Scott leaves to go study for the bar. I make the call to friendly animal control, and discover this dog (who by the way looks like she literally just had surgery and babies- she has parts of her body shaved and huge dog droopy dog boobs) has not been put on any lost dog lists in the city. She asks me if I want to have someone come pick her up, and I say sure. So I call Scott, and he doesn't want to do that because he wants to give it some time and report the dog found so I call Debbie at animal control back to tell her I was just joking, and I have her fill out a "found dog" report, and I agree to keep the dog overnight. At this point, Floppy Teats (that's how I've decided to refer to her) has started barking uncontrollably in the back yard. She had already eaten (which included spilling food ALL over the porch and eating it like it was trying to run away from her), and had some water, so the only thing left to do (obviously) is get Truman and Cherry to a state of extreme excitement. She's barking and pawing at the sliding glass door with such intensity that I'm concerned she might have an aneurysm. I go outside to try and calm her down and she just starts jumping all over me with her muddy paws on my work clothes. She jumps up, and I reach to push her down to sit and she tries to bite me! What a bitch. Here I am trying to feed her and find her home and she goes and mouths off to me. I don't put up with things trying to bite me...dogs or otherwise. So I call Debbie...again, and tell her what just happened. She recommends that animal control comes to get the dog just to be safe. Shortly after the phone call ended, the incessant barking and pawing led me to take Floppy Teats to the garage. That required me trying to lasso her like I was an effing cowgirl in my own ridiculous "business casual" rodeo because (a) she doesn't have a collar, (b) she won't sit still for me to slip the leash over her head, and (c) I'm foolishly still wearing my clothes from work, including stilettos. I finally wrangle her into the leash and lead her in, which leads to sheer chaos inside because I had also brilliantly forgotten to put my own dogs somewhere so they couldn't mess with Floppy Teats. Fortunately it's all excited and friendly chaos and I lead Floppy Teats to the garage, where Cherry takes initiative for herself and takes off out the door into the garage, where I've left the door open for some reason. So Cherry is now running around the yard and Floppy Teats is literally about to choke herself trying to join. I decide to worry about Cherry later so I pull Floppy Teats back into the garage and close the door. I then manage to squeeze back inside and go try to find my actual dog. Lucky for me she's actually waiting by the front door. So we wait patiently for the animal control guy, all the while Floppy Teats is pretty much about to break down the garage door trying to get inside. Finally a guy who barely looks old enough to drive shows up and Floppy Teats runs to him as soon as I open the garage door for him. She actually jumps excitedly into the back of his truck. He explains to me that Floppy Teats will be brought to the Humane Society, where they will try to find her owners by posting her as found. If no one claims her, they will try to prepare her for adoption. I ask him about the biting and he says that's something that will have to be considered while they try to train her. That prognosis sounds far better than my poor half-dead bat buddy Bruce Wayne. She seems like a sweet dog, I just didn't know how to handle her energy, especially around my already ridiculously hyper dogs. So, my hope is that Floppy Teats finds either her current home, or if she doesn't have one, I hope she finds a new home.
The End.
But that's not why I'm writing. Today is the second installment of Animal Control: Columbia. I could fill up at least a show with my antics. Today it wasn't a half-dead bat, but a completely live and rambunctious dog. Scott called me when I was on my way home to inform me that there was a friendly-looking female dog sniffing around our yard. When I got home, we went to find her because she had wandered off down the street. She didn't have a collar or tags, so we put her in the backyard, and Scott leaves to go study for the bar. I make the call to friendly animal control, and discover this dog (who by the way looks like she literally just had surgery and babies- she has parts of her body shaved and huge dog droopy dog boobs) has not been put on any lost dog lists in the city. She asks me if I want to have someone come pick her up, and I say sure. So I call Scott, and he doesn't want to do that because he wants to give it some time and report the dog found so I call Debbie at animal control back to tell her I was just joking, and I have her fill out a "found dog" report, and I agree to keep the dog overnight. At this point, Floppy Teats (that's how I've decided to refer to her) has started barking uncontrollably in the back yard. She had already eaten (which included spilling food ALL over the porch and eating it like it was trying to run away from her), and had some water, so the only thing left to do (obviously) is get Truman and Cherry to a state of extreme excitement. She's barking and pawing at the sliding glass door with such intensity that I'm concerned she might have an aneurysm. I go outside to try and calm her down and she just starts jumping all over me with her muddy paws on my work clothes. She jumps up, and I reach to push her down to sit and she tries to bite me! What a bitch. Here I am trying to feed her and find her home and she goes and mouths off to me. I don't put up with things trying to bite me...dogs or otherwise. So I call Debbie...again, and tell her what just happened. She recommends that animal control comes to get the dog just to be safe. Shortly after the phone call ended, the incessant barking and pawing led me to take Floppy Teats to the garage. That required me trying to lasso her like I was an effing cowgirl in my own ridiculous "business casual" rodeo because (a) she doesn't have a collar, (b) she won't sit still for me to slip the leash over her head, and (c) I'm foolishly still wearing my clothes from work, including stilettos. I finally wrangle her into the leash and lead her in, which leads to sheer chaos inside because I had also brilliantly forgotten to put my own dogs somewhere so they couldn't mess with Floppy Teats. Fortunately it's all excited and friendly chaos and I lead Floppy Teats to the garage, where Cherry takes initiative for herself and takes off out the door into the garage, where I've left the door open for some reason. So Cherry is now running around the yard and Floppy Teats is literally about to choke herself trying to join. I decide to worry about Cherry later so I pull Floppy Teats back into the garage and close the door. I then manage to squeeze back inside and go try to find my actual dog. Lucky for me she's actually waiting by the front door. So we wait patiently for the animal control guy, all the while Floppy Teats is pretty much about to break down the garage door trying to get inside. Finally a guy who barely looks old enough to drive shows up and Floppy Teats runs to him as soon as I open the garage door for him. She actually jumps excitedly into the back of his truck. He explains to me that Floppy Teats will be brought to the Humane Society, where they will try to find her owners by posting her as found. If no one claims her, they will try to prepare her for adoption. I ask him about the biting and he says that's something that will have to be considered while they try to train her. That prognosis sounds far better than my poor half-dead bat buddy Bruce Wayne. She seems like a sweet dog, I just didn't know how to handle her energy, especially around my already ridiculously hyper dogs. So, my hope is that Floppy Teats finds either her current home, or if she doesn't have one, I hope she finds a new home.
The End.
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