This needed to be said

Dear Feminine Product Manufacturer,

 

I am a woman, therefore I’m forced to use your products on a very regular basis. While I am grateful for the availability of these products, there are some issues I’d like to bring to your attention.

 

Again, I am a woman and typically pink is the “woman’s color”, however the entire aisle containing your products need not be pink. I’m pretty sure the pastel glow of that aisle scares men away, and makes them even less willing to buy these types of products for their wives, girlfriends, sisters, and mamas. It’s already bad that he’s holding a box of Super Maxis with Flexible Wings, but the pink on the box is like Kryptonite to him; it slowly degrades his manhood. So because he won’t buy them, I’m forced to change out of my comfy sweats (that I was wearing because they’re the only things that stretch over my bloated behind) and go to the store to buy them myself. Strike one.

 

Continuing on about the pastels, who told you that women enjoy having to sort through a million easter egg-colored boxes to get the stuff we need? It must have been a man with a mean streak. There may as well be a disco ball over the aisle because everyone knows when you’re in the light blue, yellow, and pink section that Aunt Flo is lurking. Seriously. And lemme tell you something, when the crimson tide is at high tide, the last M-effin thing I want to see is a sea of pink. Why not make the boxes a nice muted shade of gray? Cuz that’s how we feel. Gray, bloated, and kinda evil. And gray is the color of those comfy sweats we had to change out of to come to the store—remember??

 

Oh, and your slogans. Your slogans dammit! “Have a happy period”. Must you taunt us like that? Two maxi pads, three tampons, and some Midol don’t make for a good day, and most certainly do not make for a happy period. I know a woman didn’t come up with that. There couldn’t have been a woman on your advertising team either cuz I know she wouldn’t have allowed that kind of fuckery to get past her. The only time my period is happy is when it’s over. Having cramps that feel like my uterus is turning inside out and saluting Satan…that’s not happy. And not knowing if I want to laugh, cry, or commit homicide for three days…that’s not happy either. Strike two.

 

And if I see another commercial for your products where the women are running around in meadows and valleys, I might have a breakdown. Who are these people? Are they human? Most women I know are lucky to make it to the gym during those days. And we will NOT be running around in a meadow in white pants. Not a good idea. “Ooooh, girl you might want to put this jacket around your waist. Red spots are not a good accessory”. That would be the result of running around like that…with your leaky azz product nonetheless. Steeeeriiikke three, you’re out.

 

Next time you want to do some market research for your product lines, come find me. I’ll be the one in the sweats, looking rough, with an attitude and a glass of wine.

 

Menstrually yours,

Tasha

Ironic?

On Sunday, D and I went to a new church and on the way home while at a stop light, we saw a woman with a sign asking for money, food, shelter, and a “God Bless” thrown in for good measure. We didn’t pay too much attention to her, since we didn’t have cash on us and I’m pretty sure she doesn’t take credit or debit cards. But then we heard a phone ringing–loudly. It wasn’t me or D, and the other cars at the intersection had their windows up so we knew it wasn’t them either. So we look over at the lady, and she pulls out her phone and silences the call. She tried to do it on the slick, pulling the phone out slowly and kind of hid it behind her sign. We caught a good look at it, and we saw that it was a gotdamned Blackberry. She saw us looking at her and turned her back real quick. Umm, yes lady we saw you. But really? Can you afford that monthly plan? Why are you texting people while you’re holding an “I need money” sign?

We got stuck at the light because of a jam up in the turn lane, so we got the chance to check her out a little better. She was wearing a black peacoat with jeans and cute pair of Pumas. And she was rocking a dye job that was beginning to show roots. Ummmmmmmmmm. I own the same pair of Pumas and they weren’t cheap. But I have a place to live, food, and positive cash flow.

I know things can go bad in anyone’s life so I’m not trying to say that she wasn’t legitimately in a rough spot but she’s got to understand that her being dressed so well and having such a luxurious phone doesn’t lend her any type of credibility. At all. Period. I always hear stories about panhandlers who are actually millionaires or make a better living than I do by standing on the corner with a sign, and it makes me so skeptical about helping people out.

Growing up in NY I saw all kinds of ish on the side of the road, so I’m kind of desensitized to it, but I still will give a dollar here or there if I get a feeling in my gut that the person really needs it. My instincts may be wrong, but I believe in paying it forward for the most part. Do yall ever give to panhandlers?

What in the holy vending machine hell?

So I fell victim to the vending machine at work the other day, and I saw this mess and I had to find out what it was all about. 65 cents later, I had them on my desk, and couldn’t bring myself to eat them cuz I just knew they wouldn’t be right. I mean damn, fast food shouldn’t be that fast. If I can’t wait till I leave work to get to the BK for some fries, it may just be time to barricade myself in the gym. Ketchup and Fries potato chips? Seriously? I know the only way the company is making money off of them is from people like me who are curious as hell about seeing something like that in the vending machine.

Since I couldn’t bring myself to try them and I knew D wouldn’t even entertain the thought, I did what any curious person at work would do. I asked the NAOWL (nosey azz old white lady) who’s always asking what I have for lunch and trying to get me to share some. Well according to NAOWL, they taste just like fries with ketchup. I guess there is real dehydrated ketchup on the chips.

What the fugg? Just nasty. Some things you just don’t put in the vending machine.

This is why I love D so much…

We decided on a location for the ceremony and reception in Frederick, MD.  It’s only 40 minutes from here, and would make for a nice lil getaway type weekend in conjunction with our wedding. But of course, you know people had to complain about that. You know how we can get–not wanting to drive a long distance to a wedding, not wanting to be in a rural-ish city. And worse, hearing stupid shit like “Yall should get married in DC or Baltimore. Why you gotta have it all the way out here? It’s a lot of white folk out there, we’s might get lynched” and other miscellaneous mess. We started hearing things like that from the family after we told them where we wanted to have the wedding. That’s just how things go with them–keep it in the hood I guess.

So in response to the moans and groans from the family, D came up with that invitation idea. Hell, if they want to keep it hood, we can do that. It’s even done by hand. No nice invitations for you dammit.

I’m here

I’m still here, but I haven’t really been reading or writing in blog world. I’m not sure I really want to do this anymore.  I’ve gotten to the point where I’m censoring things I write for the sake of the people who read, and partially for my own feelings because anonymouse commenters have been rough on me (I don’t publish those comments, and I also know who the commenters are. I could flame them, but the thrill is none).

I started a blog to write about my life, so I can air out my issues in a more personal way. There was something kind of interesting about saying whatever the hell I wanted, and getting feed back from the cyberworld. All less painful than getting feedback to my face I suppose.  A lot has happened to me since December, and I’ve wanted to write about it, just to get it off my chest, but I haven’t because it’s not all humorous and ‘blog lite’ material. Sure some of it is, but some of it’s not and based on some previous comments, and observation people don’t like to read about the bad and the ugly. I’ll take good for 100,  Alex.

I’m disappointed in myself for only waiting for something funny to happen to write, or writing about something that happened last week when I really wanted to write about what happened today. So, if I come back, which I probably will cuz you know I love yall like play cousins, things might be a lil different. My life ain’t easy, but it’s not death and destruction either so don’t expect to need kleenex every day. I’m happy, but there’s always another side to it, and I’ve been neglecting to write about both sides. Ehh…kinda like listening to Side A of a casette in the car, and fast forwarding through side B cuz your passengers may not like what’s on that side.

Ok, now that I’ve sufficiently dated myself (for real, I don’t know the last time I saw a casette tape), I’mma get up from the keyboard. I’ll probably be back. Maybe this week, maybe not. Smooches.

Why’s It Gotta Be One of Us?

A few weeks ago, I moved up to a new position at work with more money and a move out of the cubicle farm. Best of all, the position is in a different office only 5 miles from home. Good stuff, but it left me in a really awkward position. I was “called up” to take the place of an employee who was going out to have surgery. Typically this would be a short-term thing, but this is the second surgery fo rthis woman in a year. After her first surgery, she was out longer than expected and ended up using all of her allowed FMLA leave, so with this surger she wasn’t guaranteed the position’s availability upon her return–the company can’t afford to leave the position unstaffed for a long period of time again.

This is where shit went wrong. Ol’ girl had to train me on her duties in just a few weeks’ time. I understand tha tin her situation it could be nerve wracking to train your replacement, but she didn’t have to punk out the way she did. Rather thatn use every available minute to show me the ropes, she complained. And complained. And complained. About everything and anything, down to the fact that her (supposedly ex-) husband called to say that he loved her during the day. “I have a bachelor’s degree, they need to respect ME!” or “I used to be a manager, this position is beneath me” was all I heard. Yeah, she showed me enough to get by, but it wasn’t ideal.

I was out sick with Pleurisy on her last day, but of course she showed her ass. 2 weeks ago, boss lady told her that she could take Thursday and Friday off before her surgery the following Monday. (Mind you, she isn’t technically terminated–her status is “on medical leave” for 90 days so she can have some type of benefits, and she can apply for an open position upon being cleared to return to work). Rather than act nice and go, she got to cussin, banged her cane on a manager’s door, and started insulting people’s kids. She apparently told one lady that she hopes her daughter gets molested by a pedophile. Yup, she got escorted out of the building. Now she has no hope of being able to return to an open position. The switchboard girl was told to hang up on her if she calls.

Well if that weren’t bad enough, two days after surgery, she calls my *direct* line at work (bypassing switchboard) and starts harassing me. She keeps telling me that I wanted her job so badly that I made up stuff on her so she would get fired. Shiiiiit, I didn’t have to make anything up, she effed it up for herself. Then she started emailing me at work, with more harassing messages. I can’t get into everything she said for legal reasons, but they were some EXTREMELY off-color, unnecessary, personal (in some instances) insults. Before the harassment started, I sent her a get well card. She kirked out cuz of that too. She dug up my phone number (it was listed, but that has since changed), and called me at home with some stupid sounding laughter. She’s done it for a few days now. I guess she’s bitter about her situation. But damn, I’m just doing what I’m told. I didn’t kick her out. The company can’t have a position open like that. But this shit is out of control now.

I had to take it legal once she started calling my house. I know she’s crazy because she didn’t even hide her number from showing up on caller ID. I had to take the situation to boss lady, and now she’s gotten the corporate HR attorney involved. I’ve also had to get a no-contact order through the police, and she knows D’s a cop. You’d think she’d refrain from calling me at home. She knows that type of harassment/stalking is illegal.

It seems like I always get the crazy azz people to deal with. I asked a few people, including my boss, why I always have to deal with some off the wall shit and everyone said it’s because I’m sort of softspoken when you first meet me and also because I’m nice to a fault. I’ll be nice to most anyone unless they cross me wrong from the jump. I need to work on that, lol. I know everybody handles stress in a different way, but there is no reason for her to act like this. I’m embarassed for her, not just because she’s lost the opportunity to stay with the company, but because she’s one of us. Why does someone always have to keep the stereotype of “unprofessional black folk” alive? We need to do better people. Ugh.

Doesn’t Get Much Better…

How else can I put it:

won

Life is good!! Go Giants!!!