Handtaschen-Potpourri

Am meisten suche ich den Autoschlüssel in den unergründlichen Tiefen meiner Handtasche, oder besser formuliert, meines Ausgehsackes. Handtaschen, die mein Herz höher schlagen lassen, sind immer zu klein, besonders wenn ich sie nicht nur auf dem Weg in die Oper spazieren trage. Mit den Jahren gewinnt der pragmatische Teil in mir die Oberhand und um nicht mit diversen Einkaufssackerln durch die Gegend zu marschieren, besorge ich mir eine große Handtasche, die, lässig über die Schulter gehängt, auch Schweres trägt. Damit ist das Chaos bereits vorprogrammiert. Die Hersteller haben die Notwendigkeit von schnell auffindbaren Handys erkannt und dafür gesorgt, dass eine kleine Seitentasche für dieses unverzichtbare Utensil vorhanden ist, hat man Glück, gibt es auch noch eine Seitentasche mit Reißverschluss für Pass oder Geld. Das ist dann schon maximaler Komfort. Alles, was sich sonst noch in dieser Tasche befindet, wird zu einem riesigen undefinierbaren Knäuel, aus dem ich nur mit viel Fingerspitzengefühl die Dinge ertasten kann, die gerade gebraucht werden. Damit wären wir wieder beim Autoschlüssel, der befindet sich sicher immer dort, wo ich gerade nicht grabe. Dass ich dabei aus Versehen mit den Fingern in einer matschigen Kiwi lande, die seit mindestens zwei Wochen hier ihr düsteres Dasein fristet, macht mir klar: Die Tasche gehört wieder einmal ausgeräumt, geputzt, sortiert. Nach dem Kiwi-Anschlag habe ich alle meine Schlüssel an ein Leuchtband gehängt, das so lang ist, dass es mit Sicherheit immer irgendwo aus der Tasche hervorlugt und seitdem sind die Schlüssel jederzeit griffbereit. Für den restlichen Inhalt wie Spiegel, Nagelschere, Lippenstift, Wimperntusche, Taschentücher etc.etc.etc. bleibt nur die bereits angesprochene lästige Suche. Eines Tages, kurz vor Beendigung einer Shoppingtour, beginnt es in Strömen zu regnen. Um meine Einkaufssackerln nicht in den Pfützen vor meinem Auto platzieren zu müssen, presse ich sie mit dem Knie gegen die Seitentür, einen Teil halte ich mit der linken Hand hoch und versuche, mit den Zähnen das Leuchtband mit den Schlüsseln herauszuziehen. Unhandlich und zu schwer beladen rutschen die Sackerln aus der Kniepresse und fallen in den Dreck, ich versuche das Desaster noch aufzuhalten, verliere dabei ein weiteres Packerl aus der linken Hand und der Inhalt meiner Großraumhandtasche ergießt sich breit gestreut vors linke Vorderrad, die Wimperntusche kullert davon, ich verliere den Überblick. Schnell schnappe ich mir den Schlüssel, öffne mein Auto und fange an, meine Trümmer zusammen zu suchen. Plötzlich hinter mir eine sonore freundliche Stimme: „Entschuldigen Sie bitte, ich glaube das gehört Ihnen!“ Ich drehe mich um und was ich sehe, ist wirklich sehenswert. Ein Bild von einem Mann, mir wird warm ums Herz, aber richtig heiß wird mir erst, als ich sehe, dass er meinen Reservetampon, der ihm offensichtlich direkt vor die Füße gerollt ist, wie eine freudig erhaschte Trophäe zwischen seinen Fingern hält. Jetzt vermischen sich bei mir Scham mit Gereiztheit und anstatt mich bei ihm für seine Hilfsbereitschaft zu bedanken, zische ich: „Haben Sie nichts Besseres zu tun, als sich in die Angelegenheiten anderer Leute einzumischen?“ In seinen Augen erkenne ich den Kampf zwischen Beleidigtsein und Verständnis, doch dann lächelte er mich an und sagte: „Wissen Sie, meine Frau hat auch so ein Potpourri in ihrer Handtasche!“ drückt mir den Tampon in die Hand und geht einfach weiter, als wär das alles ganz normal. Seitdem kaufe ich nur noch Handtaschen, die ein weiteres verschließbares Fach für sehr private Untensilien haben.

28.11.2009
Gerti Münnich

As I left the grocery store, a red strobe came from every wall, sending all other shoppers into grand mal seizures. An auto tuned Morgan Freeman impersonator asked me to wait for an employee to assist me. A giant steel cage slammed down over me, separating me from my cart full of foodstuffs. I asked to be taken back to the security office so the ex-marine-looking gentleman eyeing my receipt could search for the stolen merchandise in my ass. But they wouldn’t do it. So I guess this Vizio LCD is mine.

What pisses me off about shoplifters is not that they violate social norms or contribute to the overhead that fuels price increases. It’s that they think they deserve some kind of dignity when they’re caught. You took a pack of Rolos, cock flap. You don’t get to walk to the back with a jacket over your hands and your head held high. You get to be tackled by seven cart-pushers and dragged, weeping, through the produce aisle, while they announce your legal name and address over the loudspeaker. You’re not taking a loaf of bread or a pair of baby shoes. You get no pity, queef whippit. Actually, even if you were, I’d still point and laugh because you’re fucking poor.

Even better: the fat bitch who tries to fight the security guys off. She’s always screaming something trashy, like “he’s trying to get down my panties!” or “Fuck you, man! I brought that chicken in with me!” or “Kick him in the nuts, Kenny!” She rolls around, pseudopods of corpulence stretching outward and covering onlookers with a yellow, pube-garnished paste before sliding back into the vicinity of her Tweety Bird tube top. She is the complete opposite of the “don’t draw attention to me” breed. She wants everyone to know that she’s the kind of nasty whore who hides crack rocks and stolen makeup in tampon applicators.

Stealing is wrong and hilarious. Seriously… is the cost of petty theft so high that it justifies the camera systems, security guys, electronic anti-theft systems and those little tag things that cum ink and battery acid? I have a great idea: smaller stores where inventories can be monitored by the people who actually work there. If you want one-stop shopping, go to the mall, shithead. Besides, they have corn dogs there. And corn dogs rule.

Panty shields up, Captain! We’re rebooting the Ovarian Operating System . . .

I know, the title of this blog alone makes you want to click fast and away. But I have to tell you a tale of consumer eco-angst removed from the simple and often expensive decision to buy local, organic products and food. But first, a little herstory . . .

There’s already been enough shame, secrecy, and taboo surrounding “that time of the month” and all the other fine euphemisms invented to be humourous or circumspect about the mystery of menstruation. There are countries where tampons weren’t and still aren’t sold because you’d have to “touch down there.” There are women who follow this practice willingly, even in forward thinking countries. They build huts and red tents and spas for this exact purpose. To wear pampers or to be pampered. Elsewhere.

But it’s moved beyond that to a place where we’re supposed to celebrate and “have a happy period,” a campaign from a company that stupidly chose their brand name to be “Always.” As in, “I’ll ALWAYS bleed, and I’ll ALWAYS wear these things.” At least Kotex, Tampex, and Playtex (all with –ex as a suffix to mean “out, from or away”) sound almost medical or medicinal. And it’s not ALL feminine hygiene, even wounded soldiers are prone to use a tampon (French for “plug” or “stopper”) to halt bullet wounds from weeping. “Always” doesn’t seem to imply medical or even chronic, instead, it implies a life sentence. Doesn’t your uterus protest? Well it should. War is hell and there’s a war in your drawers and the sick folks at Always were also responsible for aerodynamic pantyliners and pads. That’s right – they got your code red covered in homeland security and you can feel secure each month knowing there’s a little, white F-16 in your pants.

It’s not just a troubling war at home either . . . it’s covers many land masses and miles of ocean.

Spastic Plastic

Your average lady uses 16,800 tampons in her lifetime, that’s 250 to 300 pounds of tampons and applicators. Tag on a few thousand pads and panty liners, and your ecological footprint is looking more like Sasquatch. Of particular offense are the plastic applicators some tampons are encased in. They are casually tossed into wastebaskets where they later escape the curb trash or landfill, trotted off by animals, resurfacing in parking lots and playgrounds and a host of other locations you’d rather not see them appear.

They come back from the watery depths to haunt you, too.

Plastic tampon applicators from sewage outfalls are one of the most common forms of trash on beaches. Yeah, you thought food wrappers and glass bottles and needles were the only gross & hazardous materials washing out to sea and coming back in with the tides. You flush them and that’s just the beginning. For building owners, pads and tampons that are flushed down the toilet are the most common cause of plumbing problems. Further down the flow, they end up the sewage treatment plants and surf into a lake or onto a river, and on into the ocean where they pool with the rest of the plastic detritus at the Great Pacific Garbage Patch. There it all sits and breaks down into ever smaller particles until they are the size and color of plankton or worse, are pelletized high-density polyethylene (HDPE) white “nurdles” that resemble fish eggs or food to sea creatures. Then the birds and fish ingest these hormone disrupters and concentrated toxins like PCB and DDE and the circle of life gets a big kick in the nurdles.

But it’s not just the animals somewhat removed from you, you’re an animal too, and guess what it’s doing to you by directly inserting it? Your conventional feminine hygiene products contain a mixture of rayon and cotton. Rayon is in your blouses, dresses, lingerie, linings, scarves, suits, ties, hats, socks, the filling in Zippo lighters, blankets, window treatments, upholstery, tire cord, yarn and diapers. It’s highly absorbent but no good at retaining shape and as far as biodegradability goes, it’s a real loser. Most importantly, synthetic materials like the Rayon used in tampons show an increased risk of toxic shock syndrome (TSS), particularly for superabsorbent tampons. So if you’re a bleeder, you’re a feeder.

And sweet, white cotton isn’t much better up in there. Cotton is highly pesticide-intensive; 25% of pesticides used globally are devoted to growing cotton. To achieve that lily-white look, pads and tampons are bleached with chlorine, a process which creates dioxins, a known carcinogen and those bad boys shouldn’t be placed anywhere near your reproductive organs. And you swear you never smoked a cigar in your life. Especially in a donkey show.

Think Outside the (Tampon) Box

It’s getting easier to select tampons, pads, and panty liners made from organic, unbleached cotton which is cultivated without the use of pesticides, fungicides, herbicides, sewage sludge, irradiation, petrochemicals, or genetic engineering. All of which we now have think about when looking at the towering isle of soothing, pastel colors, reminding us that yes – we’ll be back out there swimming, riding ponies, surfing at the beach and smiling while playing miniature golf in NO time.

O.B. tampons: small box, no applicator. Compact, simple cellophane wrapper covering them, easy to use, and take up very little room in your purse. It is unfathomable, but some women simple aren’t down with getting that up close and personal with their own lady bits and maybe getting their finger a little spotty. Come on darlings – this is no time to be prim and squeamish. If you haven’t seen it in a mirror to understand how it goes together and pushed the buttons to see how it works, you don’t deserve to have sex and should just hang an “Out Of Order” sign over your girdle loop. Get over it. Get into it. It’s yours. Deal.

OG-style Tampax: wrapped in paper, cardboard applicator that breaks down relatively quickly if they happen to get loose in the environment. Preferable to the Pearl brand, which has an indestructible plastic applicator strong enough for shotgun shell casings and is then further wrapped in coated paper. Awesome. Go ahead. Try running them over with your car. You can’t destroy them. They’ll only get dirty . . . and more angry. That plastic rocket launcher is just one more wasteful obstacle between you and your nana. I don’t even want to go into the perfumed varieties. Now on top of your plastic fetish, you’re going to open a vapor-impermeable pouch and stick this vulcanized, alcohol soaked albino vampire into your hoo-ha where no one and nothing but your senseless cervix can smell it? Well it doesn’t work and now you smell of lightly talcumed meat. Fail. p.s. Talc is closely related to the potent carcinogen asbestos and talc particles have been shown to cause tumors in the ovaries and lungs of cancer victims. So hey – go easy on sprinkling the Johnson’s about your leaky basement. It’s a safety hazard. You’ll slip and fall. No need to announce “clean-up on aisle one.”

Natracare and Seventh Generation: chemical-free, non chlorine-bleached, simple packaging which means even less waste. Eco-conscious enough with all the key ingredient and disclaimers including no animal-testing and skin-tested only on fellow humans. You can sleep well in the knowledge that no bunnies had to hop about with a maxi pad strapped to their fluffy bums and instead, some nice lady in a lab got itchy a few times. This is still within the normal scope of your monthly cycle.

Jade and Pearl Sea Sponge: natural tampons inspired by the traditional use of sponges by menstruating women of ancient times. So if you want to bleed like Cleopatra, this is your bag. The Egyptians invented the tampon too – so you can thank them for that little wonder. Sea sponges are available in Teenie, Regular, and Large and you precision(?) fit to size by trimming the sea sponge and experimenting with insertion. Wow. Try not to think about doing dishes or wiping counters or a nice hot sponge bath because really, I can’t see how this is either sanitary OR relaxing. So Sally, if you’re worried about sullying up the seashore, (welcome to my new menstrual tongue twister) this is all the rage amongst mythological aquatic creatures. Apparently, sea sponges are what mermaids use.

Menstrual Cups – i.e.: Diva cup, Mooncup, Instead Softcup, Lunette, Keepercup, LadyCup, Femmecup, Miacup: Ok. Here’s where I drawn the line. This ain’t a Dixie Cup, or a Sippie Cup, a Tommee Tippee Cup or an Ice Cream Cup. This is none of those fun, sweet, childlike associations. But I trust you probably got over that the first time you sprung a leak and wrecked your favorite Underroos or your expensive lingerie for failing to count the days. Maybe I just haven’t been brave enough to go with a new, miserable experience, but let me get this straight . . . i fold a plastic, rubbery cup into a jelly roll, insert this, it pops open like a tulip, i “stir” it around to make sure the umbrella’s been fully deployed, which may take some coaxing and pushing and twisting, and then I pull it out by its dangling tail at intervals, wash it and reinsert it like tiny, portable Tupper Ware?!?!

Oh, hell no!

i am not about to wash my snatch basket in the sink (and carry special, mild, perfume-free, hypo-allergenic fem soap) in between classes or you know, when i take a restroom break to freshen up while out to dinner. i mean, how does one do this discreetly? Oh, and once a month, i get the distinct displeasure of a 5-minute boil for my little traveling jellyfish at the end of the cycle in some dedicated kitchen equipment that never sees food. Or, hey, i can use rubbing alcohol (and not hydrogen peroxide) to sterilize it. But I have to be extremely careful not to soak it too long and allow it to dry completely and not degrade the integrity of the plastic and rinse the residue so I don’t fuck up my vaginal pH.

O.B. tampons sounding better all the time, huh? Can you imagine wringing out your sea sponge? Wouldn’t you rather “touch it” now?

Go With The Flow

There was a time when i worked at a place so uptight, they wouldn’t allow the female staff to carry in a purse. Whether this was for security or to keep outside worldly distractions such as cell phones to a minimum was unclear, but the idea completely incensed my friend Nicole.

“What?” she snapped. “Where are you supposed to carry your tampons, up your ass?”

i explained to her how bad the work environment sucked and how tension and impossible precision reigned, thus, the topic of anal retention seemed a very fitting description. The job had me so upset, i couldn’t poop for a week. Then i quit.

And many light flow days from then, here i was on a Wednesday nite, standing there in the supermarket isle, paralyzed by too many choices and horrible, far-reaching consequences of those attempts at informed decision. There i was: hungry, cranky, wanting ice cream and a heating pad at the same time, thinking about plumbing, and ocean waters and marine life and cancer of the Yoni.

i turn to the woman next to me who is clicking and sucking at her teeth in audible consternation, just like me, and we both smile nervously, amazed at the mini internal crisis over what we’re going to buy. Neither of us will move first, both seem to be wondering how the other will select, looking for a brave trend to follow. Somehow, there’s a preposterous sense of worry over being judged, like bringing a film or a music cd or a book to the checkout clerk, the fear of choosing poorly, unwisely, without taste or sensibilities. “Hmmm,” she says. “Yeahhhhh,” I mutter slowly and drawn out. And we both start giggling.

My cup of joy is overflowing

I consider my internal flowchart for assessing absorbency needs:

junior – aww, isn’t that cute, you inked!

light – Miss Kitty has a nose bleed.

regular – oh, yay. my period’s back.

super – omg that’s a lot of blood.

super plus – jesus, maybe you should go to the hospital!

ultra – uhh, i think that blood clot just asked for a cigarette.

i am looking for regular. Just something in between, just a few tampons, a starter pack, a holdover since i don’t see any of my normal go-tos. And all they have is “a mere scratch” or “Carrie – Prom Scene.”

So i think of the dolphins and the salmon and the seabirds and i grab the 10-pack with the small, recyclable cardboard box and no applicator with the green looking package and eco-claims to fame and the woman next to me does the same. Just enough to soldier on.

It’s all i can do, really. If i don’t want to leave with anymore acronyms. Say, add PTSD to my PMS. Christ Almighty in a hybrid – i can’t even BLEED with out feeling guilty about it in my new sustainable world concept! i leave with my chlorine-free, biodegradable, non-applicator, no plastic, rayon-free tampons and my razors (which are free from animal testing) and a pint of, yes, sorry, blood orange sorbet, and it’s a good thing. While i’m happily eating my cool treat, i don’t need to imagine poor, naked bunnies hopping around with razor burn and nicks with only a maxi-pad to keep them warm. And after all this guilt, i just want to sandwich a washcloth and tuck it in my drawers or just sit on a sock and call it good.

Museum of Menstruation and Women’s Health

for all your bleeding needs . . .

Over the past month or so I went to some real neato deato smeato concerts. (Are we still calling them concerts? What are the hipster losers calling them these days? Rawk shows? Gigs? Smegma?)
First up was Thursday and Far at Bowery Ballroom. Oh yeah and the terrible opening band, Midnight Masses. Some of the most boring music I’ve heard in a long time and their performance was even more boring. This is exactly the kind of crap that Pitchfork is going to tell you is so hip right now. It was kind of sad actually because all six members sang but they did the most boring harmonies and background lines possible. It’s really a waste to have that many people in a band that can sing and just have them doing “ahhhhhhhh” on one note for a whole song. So I’m sure this time next year this band will be huge and having Carrie Underwood open for them.
Far was amazing as expected. I’ve been listening to them for over ten years and it was great to finally see them live. They didn’t play any new material from their upcoming which was good idea I believe. I was surprised that at least half of the audience seemed to know the songs and that some mini pits broke out. It’s too bad that the only shirts they had were youth small since I clock in at over 500 pounds.
Thursday played their “breakthrough” album, Full Collapse, from front to back. Personally, I would have preferred to hear War All The Time instead but Full Collapse translates better live than the recording. Geoff, the singer from Thursday, had also joined Midnight Masses and Far each for a song so that was something that happened. After playing Full Collapse Thursday played about six more songs including Jet Black New Year, which is scientifically their best song for sure. I’ll be seeing them again in December and hopefully they’ll play some of the better songs off of Common Existence. Also playing that show will be Dillinger Escape Plan(!), Glassjaw(!!!!!!) and United Nations(?!). When we got flyers for this while waiting in line we thought it was a joke because the lineup is almost too good to be true.

Sorry ladies, take your tampon napkin somewhere else!

Cockaoke.

Japanese princess?

Thanks again for agreeing to “protect” me. But my period actually doesn’t start till next week, so you’ll have to live in my purse till then.

The lack of urinals should’ve been my first clue, but no, nothing clicked.

It had been a few years since I barely graduated high school.  It was time to make something of myself.  Time to go to college.

I visited several colleges throughout the state.  During my dozen tours, I learned that universities stay under construction.  There’s always a new building.

As one the tour guide walked my group through their campus’s construction zone, we passed the former gym.  A new fitness center had opened across the campus.  This area would become the cafeteria.

I left my group and took a quick detour to the restroom.  I walked in and saw something I never expected … a couch.  However, the couch would become my least surprising find.

In the four years I spent in high school, I successfully avoided the locker room.  In fact, I avoided it too well.  To this day, I’m the only person I know who flunked gym.  Jocks picked on me and the locker room would’ve been a death trap.

Since I had no personal reference to a men’s locker room, I assumed the couch was used for jocks to rest.

I entered a second a door.  On my left I saw row of showers.  On my right I saw several stalls, but no urinals.  Because of my limited locker room experience, I figured jocks peed in the shower … and possibly on each other.  No need for urinals.

I dropped my pants, sat down and noticed a metal box attached to the wall labeled, “Napkin Disposal.”  I knew this area would become a cafeteria, but I couldn’t understand why jocks needed a special box for napkins.  So, I opened it.

Inside, I found what I believed was taco sauce soiled napkins and little strings.  I snapped my hand away from the box.

My head popped up.  I rushed to button my pants.  The couch?  Lack of urinals?  Tampons?  This wasn’t a special jock restroom; this was the women’s restroom.

I needed to sneak out.  I walked quietly to the exit; my left ear faced the door.  I needed to hear if someone came in.

After I reached the main door, I cracked it open to peak out.  No witnesses.  I stepped out of the restroom at the same moment my group turned the corner.  With my dignity gone and my eyes linked with tour guide’s, I said the first thing that came to my mind.

“Now … I’ll check the men’s.”

]]> http://nekocika.wordpress.com/2009/11/16/copilul-tampon/ Mon, 16 Nov 2009 11:37:27 +0000 NeKociKa GratZian http://nekocika.wordpress.com/2009/11/16/copilul-tampon/ http://designslush.com/2009/11/14/funny-to-me-at-the-time-40/ Sat, 14 Nov 2009 06:17:44 +0000 bigtweed http://designslush.com/2009/11/14/funny-to-me-at-the-time-40/

‘Tis a fine line we kept men must walk. Keeping your woman happy while keeping her fat checkbook open. We know we’re preaching to the choir. While the FTMATT cartoon have brought worldwide fame to leebert and tweed, it is not a high-paying gig. So therefore we must rely on the well-to-do estrogen set for our well beings. They like to have us around as conversation pieces, like their very own Truman Capote or Andy Warhol, only not gay. OK, not as gay.

We made it to #40 without being horrifically murdered again. Next round’s on us.

tampon money

Menstrual Cup

I am a woman. I bleed. But that doesn’t mean I can endlessly pollute the earth with chemical sanitary products.

The most important thing I learned about bleeding is that there are alternatives. When I discovered menstrual cups, my life changed.

I believe this technology will revolutionize the way women manage their bleeding. My life feels different. It feels better.  My world is different.  It looks cleaner.

I’m starting an enviromental menstrual revolution. Care to join?

Just search ‘menstrual cup’ on google. See what you find.

I am a woman. I bleed. But that doesn’t mean I can endlessly pollute the earth with chemical sanitary products.

The most important thing I learned about bleeding is that there are alternatives. When I was introduced to menstrual cups, my life changed. I believe this technology will revolutionize the way women manage their bleeding. My life feels different. It feels better. My world feels different. It looks cleaner.

I’m part of an enviromental menstrual revolution. Care to join?

Just search ‘menstrual cup’ on google. See what you find.

Have you ever thought about how much life would stink if you were a disposable razor? Hear me out.

I sometimes try to figure out what would be the worst possible thing in the world to be. Currently, being a tampon is at #1.  A multitude of other items have made the top 10 list as well.  These things include toilet paper, coffee filters, toe nail clippings, disposable razors, Q-tips, dumpsters, floss, boogers, and thongs.

Seriously, think about it.  How awful would it be to be a piece of toilet paper or a disposable razor or a string of floss? Imagine it: you are totally and completely necessary to us (well, to most of us), but after you are used, you are tossed into the toilet or trash.  That’s it.  You do the job, and they are done with you. And to make matters worse, humans are grossed out by you even though they need you.

How horrid to have such an unappreciated (and generally ephemeral) life.

For the most part, we really need these things, but they disgust us after we use them.  As such, we just toss them aside with no thought to it.  And no appreciation! Have you ever found yourself thanking the inventor of coffee filters or thongs? Have you ever thanked your nose for forming boogers for without them you’d have dirt and debris flowing right on into your body through your nasal passage?

I really don’t know why I think about this.  This summer, a friend psychoanalyzed me. She thinks that maybe it’s some fear that resides in the deep recesses of my mind.  A fear that, like these things, I am actually disposable.

Anyhow, I’ve got to clean out this coffee pot and ditch this coffee filter. I just hate the look of wet coffee grind. It really grosses me out.

H, out.

I have to get back to work, but I HAD to post this.

I’m processing claims and I across across an individual whose last name is…dum dum dum….

Tampon.  TAMP-ON.  If it wasn’t a violation of our privacy act I would have taken a photo of the paperwork just to prove I’m not making this shit up.

I’m sorry sweetie, but if this is your maiden name, then your parents were assholes for not changing their last name the minute they had a baby girl.  I can only imagine how rough life was for you during your teen years.   And if you married a guy with this last name, then well…you asked for it.

Tampon…*snicker*

It takes a real man to wear pink

]]> http://harebrainedstories.wordpress.com/2009/10/30/yoga-class/ Fri, 30 Oct 2009 01:24:15 +0000 alison http://harebrainedstories.wordpress.com/2009/10/30/yoga-class/

“Well, a long time ago I was in a yoga class. Hahaha. Oh, it was actually really fun. I used to go on Tuesdays after work. I don’t know how I had the energy to do that. I used to have so much more energy, you know? Now it’s like I just want to eat dinner and snuggle on the couch. You know what I mean? God. Well, this one day, it was snowing outside, and I don’t know, if maybe it was a full moon or what, but, well, we were doing sun salutations, and everyone was in downward dog,” Beth explained with a proud smile spreading across her face, evident in her voice. “And I just got this urge to pull out my tampon and throw it at the yoga instructor. So I reached into my pants – while still in downward dog position — god, I used to be so flexible! Grabbed the string, pulled it out, and threw my bloody tampon at the teacher.” The moment was of course still very clear in her mind. It was a kind of pinnacle of a certain time in her life. She remembered how the room felt both warm and cold: cold air seeping in through the window; hot air coming in from the vent. The floor was cold. She remembered the faint sound of techno music heard through the yoga room’s ceiling from the gym’s second floor, the instructor’s shiny bald head looking towards the ground, and she clearly remembered looking down at her wrinkly blue yoga mat, her fingers brushing past her half grown out pubic hair and spreading her labia to grab hold of the string.

“What is downward dog?” Tyler asked.

“It’s a yoga pose, where you have your hands and feet on the ground, so you are kind of in a position like a dog.” for a second Beth considered demonstrating the pose for him, but thought better of it and instead just straightened her posture. “Oh, I’m too old to do those poses now. Ha, ha, ha, ahhh,” she said. “Well anyways, don’t you want to know what happened when I threw my tampon at the guy?”

“What happened?” he said with a drawn out exasperated sigh.

“Tyler! It’s not nice to treat your mother that way. Anyway, I hit him right on the head! Ha, ha, ha, ha.” Beth always laughed in this unnatural forced out way from her gut, regurgitating a rhetorical laugh of the worst variety.  “And he looked up, and I saw him in the mirror, but I just kept on doing my pose, and he went back to his pose. He had to have seen the tampon! But he didn’t say anything. Nobody even said anything! Everyone just finished the class like nothing happened! Ha, ha, ha, ha!” That part was kind of disappointing to her, though. A part of her had a very strong feeling that nothing would happen. She had come to regard that tampon as a metaphor for her entire existence.

“Mom, why are you telling me this story?” Tyler asked. “It’s stupid.”

My brilliant colleagues at the advertising agency that I work in, inform me, based on their extensive studies and research into the dishwashing liquid’s consumers’ minds, that the women from India, Indonesia and Thailand, want to see themselves reflected in the advertising. They want to feel that their dishwashing concerns, hopes and dreams are being addressed by the advertiser. Yes while it may be true that their number one concern is “why the fuck am I doing the dishes again?”, this happens to be the one insights we don’t want reflected. Instead they apparently want to be told that if they buy our product, they are brilliant, geniuses. To do this, we must somehow say in the ad that the woman whose house this ad is supposedly shot in, and who supposedly uses our dishwashing liquid,  is a brilliant woman. In fact one of my colleagues who earns north of 150k pounds a year, adds that we should make sure we, and I quote, “that we celebrate the woman who bought the product” in the ad.  We must claim that she’s  a genius. He fails to see that by doing so we are really patting ourselves on the back more than we are her. She is a genius for buying our product ? Huh, had she bought another product she’d be a retard. Same woman, different product, retard. Right now if you offered me advertising or swine flu I would take swine flu without a moments hesitation. And then across the world of household cleaning products, there is the surface cleaner advertising which is abhorrent, and again we believe that woman give a shit. They don’t. They care if their house gets sucked into a mudslide or is hit by a tsunami, they don’t want AIDS, they don’t want malnourished children, and they’d like their husbands to stop raping the neighbour’s daughters,  but I just don’t believe they give a rat’s ass how thick their bleach is. They’d rather buy cheap bleach for the fucking toilet and with the savings buy themselves a lipstick or a fresh tampon. Why does the advertising industry continue to talk to consumers like it’s 1955 ? Why ? And why do I have to play a part in this ? Fuck advertising.

My spidey nutsack is tingling!

Species Name:  Areyouretardicus Dumbfuckius

Halloween, a time for sluts to embrace their whoredom and stupid frat boys to expect to get laid dressed as a “Free Mammogram booth.”  Real fucking clever asshole.  I’m sure no women think you’re going to try and rape them with a costume like that.  Halloween is filled with people who come up with really creative costumes that impress the shit out of you, but it’s also a time when you see costumes and all you can think is, “what the fuck was that person thinking walking out of the house like that?”  You know you’ve been at a Halloween party or two when the above guy shows up and you proceed to find someone dressed as Wolverine so you can have them gouge your eyes out with their adamantium claws.

To these people say I say, WHHHHHYYYYYY?!?!?!?!?!  You had the chance to wow everyone with a creative getup for Halloween but instead you chose to drive people to eat the dry ice out of the punch bowl.  These people not only shouldn’t be able to dress up for Halloween but also shouldn’t be allowed to be functioning members of society if they think these costumes are “cool.”  To make everyone’s life more aestically pleasing on Halloween, let’s imagine that the people in the following costumes didn’t exist to burn their image into your retina’s for all eternity.

In a world where these creepy fucks didn’t exist to leave innocent trick or treating children scarred for life:

• Dude!  Seriously?!  Nobody wants to see your placenta covered head emerging from any vagina, real or fake.  This dipshit should’ve been aborted.

• Aww…little Adolf…adorable!  Now that he’s finished exterminating that juice, he’s off to finish what he started with the Jews.  Mom, Dad, are you fucking retarded or just Klan members?  Or both?  Kid, I’m sorry but you’d be better off as an orphan than with the fucktards that call themselves your parents.

• Okay, just because you thought you were being clever embracing your fatness by dressing up as “Fat Girl,” that doesn’t change the fact that spandex was never intended to grace your flesh.  The material is only so strong!

• Hahaha, oh terrorism, why do you make such a great Halloween costume idea?  You don’t, and if you ask me, that little Timothy McVeigh looks way too happy to be dressed as a suicide bomber.  Someone call the Department of Homeland Security, stat.

• Dressing in blackface is never okay, not even for your Mr. T costume.  It wasn’t okay when Al Jolson did it, and it still isn’t today.  Although I have to say, it is a pretty good blackfacing job.  But I still pity this fool when he gets lost on his way to his Halloween party and ends up in Harlem.  Uh-oh!

• Why does Venom look like he’s about to crap out the baby he ate for lunch?  Imagine a fight between Venom here and the above Spider Man, his mortal enemy.  Enjoy that image in your head.

• Not only is the idea of posing as someone who enjoys boffing a sheep now and then not okay, but fuck does that costume look impractical.  Waddling around everywhere with your pants around your ankles, no thanks.  Have another PBR redneck and someone call PETA.

• Guys, costumes that highlight how big your penis is only translates to others that you’re hung like an infant.  I’d almost feel bad for the model in this picture if he didn’t look like such a douchebag.

• Guys, costumes highlighting the female genitalia are the closest you are going to get to said gentitalia.  Oh, and the tampon was a nice touch, you stay classy San Diego…

• If you see this sick fuck somehow maneuver his way into your children’s trick-or-treat group, call the police.  There are so many wrong things in this picture, I don’t even know where to begin.

• Do you think this guy was racking his brain over what to be for Halloween, and eventually decided, “Yup, I’m going to cover myself in dicks.  West Hollywood here I come!”

• Avoiding the obvious here, I’m more interested in what good friend put in the time and effort to create this Ass-0-Lantern.  I do not envy you sir/madam.

I don’t know what it is about Halloween, but it seems like a signal for people to let their freak flags fly.  That’s not okay, put some goddamn clothes on you fucking creeps.  It would be nice to know you could venture out on Halloween without one of these crazy bastards popping out of the bushes.  Alas, I fear people will only continue to get more bold with their Halloween attire choices and we will be forced to withstand projectile vomiting.

But one has to have dreams right?

I got this in an e-mail today and thought it was …………interesting. It makes sense. I’m surprised nobody thought of it before.

A Tampon Story You’ll Love
A TRUE STORY

Please read the whole thing.  You’ll love it.

I am reminded that “God Works in Mysterious Ways .”

Tampons to the rescue in Iraq !! Don’t worry, it’s a good story, and worth reading. It’s even humorous in parts. It’s from the mother of a Marine in Iraq .

My son told me how wonderful the care packages we had sent them from the ladies auxiliary were and wanted me to tell everyone thank you.

He said that one guy we’ll call Marine X, got a female care package and everyone was giving him a hard time. My son said, ‘Marine X got some really nice smelling lotion and everyone really likes it, so every time he goes to sleep they steal it from him.’ I told my son I was really sorry about the mistake, and if he wanted I would send Marine X another package. He told me not to worry about Marine X because every time I send something to him, he shares it with Marine X.

He said when my husband and I sent the last care package, Marine X came over to his cot picked up the box, started fishing through it, and said, ‘What’d we get this time?’

But my son said they had the most fun with Marine X’s package. He
said he wasn’t sure who it was supposed to go to, but the panties were size 20, and he said one of the guys got on top of the Humvee and jumped off with the panties over his head and yelled, ‘Look at me, I’m an Airborne Ranger!!!!’

One of the guys attached the panties to an antenna and it blew in
the wind like a windsock. He said it entertained them for quite awhile.

Then of course…….they had those tampons… When he brought this
up, my imagination just went running, but he continued.
My son said they had to go on a mission and Marine X wanted the
Chap-Stick and lotion for the trip. He grabbed a bunch of the items
from his care package and got in the Humvee. As luck would have it
he grabbed the tampons too, and my son said everyone was teasing
him about ‘not forgetting his feminine hygiene products.’

He said things went well for a while, then the convoy was ambushed and a Marine was shot.. He said the wound was pretty clean, but it was deep .. He said they were administering first aid but couldn’t get the bleeding to slow down, and someone said, ‘Hey! Use Marine X’s tampons!’ My son said they put the tampon in the wound. At this point my son profoundly told Me, ‘Mom,did you know that tampons expand?’ (‘Well….yeah!’)

They successfully slowed the bleeding until the guy got better medical attention. When they went to check on him later, the surgeon told them,’You guys saved his life. If you hadn’t stopped that bleeding he would have bled to death.’ My Son said, ‘Mom, the tampons sent by the Marine Moms by mistake saved a Marine’s life.’

At this point I asked him, ‘Well, what did you do with the rest of the
tampons?’

 
He said, ‘Oh, we divided them up and we all have them in our flak jackets, and I kept two for our first aid kit.’

I am absolutely amazed by the ingenuity of our Marines. I can’t believe that something that started out as a mistake then turned into a joke, ended up saving someone’s life. My sister said she doesn’t believe in mistakes. She believes God had a plan all along. She believes that ‘female care package’ was sent to Marine X to save our Marine.

Either way, our efforts have boosted the morale of many Marines,
provided much needed items for our troops, AND saved the life of
a Marine! God bless every one of you for your efforts and hard work, and God bless our Marines, Army, Navy , Air Force and all our military service personnel.

GOD BLESS AMERICA AND KEEP IT SAFE!

They also use condoms to keep sand and debris out of the barrels of their rifles.

Mush Brain Monday-

This morning, in the office bathroom I was washing my hands with swine flu, I mean with cheap bulk soap that does not lather (huge pet peeve). The lack of lathering forces me to use about a gallon of soap to feel moderately clean and refreshed. While I was scrubbing I noticed, on the feminine time-of-the month product dispenser it reads “belt-less feminine napkins”. It comforts me to know that my office bathroom has not been updated since the mid-1920s when the belted feminine napkin was all the rage. So much history in one room, I am going to rip it off the wall to see if I can sell it to the Smithsonian. After this belt-less discovery, I went back to my desk to sacrifice a few laundry quarters to see what these “belt-less” maxi pads were like (day in the life of cubical slave) They were out, the dispenser is only a decorative accent. Don’t come to me if you need belt-less maxi-pads.

Here are some fun facts about Maxi-Pads..

1. There is a menstrual museum (online) mum.org
2. The use of maxi-pads have been mentioned in history since the 4^th Century AD in Suda (Nepal) when some bitch threw her pad at an admirer in an attempt to turn him off. A technique I still use today.
3. Ben Franklin is a pervert. He is credited with the invention of the commercial Maxi-pad.
4. That’s all I have, disappointment.

It is funny how tampons and pads will forever make people uncomfortable. Daily, the American Consumer will see demonstrations on how a Tampon expands, through television advertisement. Plus, everyone learned in middle school- women and transvestites get their periods, its natural. But still people, men and women alike, get awkward when it comes to Tampons and Pads. Don’t you think it would be more awkward if women and transvestites just let it all flow, if people did that I don’t think that swine flu would be the only pandemic we would be dealing with. I wish BarryO would declare periods a national emergency.

Everyone has their awkward period adventure. Mine happened on a subway…

My life is pretty hectic in the morning, but it is my fault because I sleep until 8:00 when I need to be out the door at 8:30. Small sacrifices- the time between 8:25 and roughly 8:40 are a whirlwind. I take the subway to work and through travel experience- I know that if I get to the station before 8:40 I will get on a train. If I wait until after 8:40 the trains come less often and my commute is much longer. One particular morning I was running down the subway stairs and I hear the train arriving in the station. So, I rummage through my adult diaper bag (which is my huge purse that still has Halloween candy in it from last year and my high school graduation cap and gown) to find my metro-card. Success got my card, swipe and run into the train doors as they are closing, smushing into a crowded car. I was flustered, but felt accomplished for making the train. Then it all happened. My strap slipped off my shoulder, and three super-plus tampons fell to the subway floor. It was one of those moments when you hear everyone in your head, gasp and gawk. My first thought was to pick them up. Then I noticed everyone was staring at them like they had never seen an UNUSED WRAPPED TAMPON. Why are you looking at them like they are small aliens that are going to attack?  I opted to leave them. As we went downtown the train went from crowded rush hour to a more intimate group of commuters. There my tampons lay in the middle of the subway car. I watched the rest of the way as people walked on and off and pointed and said “eww” to my run away tampons. I decided to join the bandwagon and pointed and said gross as I walked off the train, just in case someone thought they were mine.

I feel like I just submitted a “most embarrassing moments” to a Teeny Bop Magazine. Dream come true.

Dear Male Species,

PMS is real! Every month, before our cycle actually begins, us ladies experience PRE-Menstrual Syndrome*.. it may be 2 days before.. or it may be 2 weeks before.. but trust me, it exists..

We get cravings for foods just like pregnant women do.. stuff we haven’t eaten in years like stuffed shells and fresh garlic bread are suddenly the only thing we can think about.. We can and will eat anything we can get our hands on.. Why!? Our metabolism speeds up during this time, so we take advantage of it..

We DO have mood swings.. one minute we will be cool as cucumber in ranch dressing and the next minute we are going off because you sprayed too much Drakkar Noir.. we aren’t mad for no reason yes we are our hormones are just on overdrive.. we usually don’t understand where these mood swings come from.. YES.. they take us by as much surprise as they take you.. why does this happen!? Because our hormones are battling inside or something scientific like that (hey, I’m not WebMD buddy!)

We cry and don’t know why.. seriously.. when we bust out crying because we ran out of orange juice.. it’s real.. we are upset.. but we don’t know why we are THAT upset.. so when you say “boo, why you cryin?” and we say “I DON’T KNOW”.. wipe that stupid look off your face, wrap your arms around us and rub our damn backs until we stop.. is that so hard!?

We HATE it when you dismiss our emotional issues as “you just on yo period” or “you just PMS’in” NEGRO IS YOU CRAZY!??! DO NOT EVER SAY THIS TO A WOMAN!! You are devaluing and negating her very real emotions and upsetting her already retarded hormonal balance.. Just because the hormones makes a woman cry at the drop of a hat does not mean that her emotions should be brushed off.. DO NOT SAY THIS EVER AGAIN..

We don’t know how to control ANYTHING!! Don’t ask me any questions, do not try to get me to make decisions, hell just leave me ALONE!! PMS and the cycle are devastating weeks in a woman’s life.. we feel fat, we have cramps, we break out, we eat everything, we are emotional and then you wanna pop in talkin about “what you want for dinner”?! TAKE YO ASS IN THE KITCHEN AND COOK SOMETHING..

We really want to have sex.. it is probably because the point of the cycle is to get preggo at some point.. so when that time of the month comes around we want to have sex.. and we want it BAD.. if you deny.. prepare to be denied once the cycle ends in 2 weeks..

Lastly, we expect you to succumb to our EVERY wish.. Yes, I want you to go to the grocery store and pick me up a can of cinnamon rolls.. the kind with Cinnabon frosting.. Yes, I will be upset if they don’t have Cinnabon frosting because that is what I had a taste for all day.. Why do I want you to go to the store for me? Because I just do.. Yes, I would appreciate you bringing me midol because if I move these cramps will take over.. and if I have to get up.. it will be hell for you the rest of this week..

Fellas, do you understand?! Okay, let me reiterate.. PMS IS REAL, DON’T F WITH US, DO WHAT WE SAY AND YOU’LL GET SOME NEXT WEEK.

Sincerely,

m. lauren – Not PMS’ing but don’t try me anyway..

p.s. we don’t ask you to buy us tampons because we really want you to because you probably won’t get the right ones, we just want to see if you will do it.. okay I actually want you to

*these are generalizations mostly based off of myself and friends..

Other things men don’t freakin understand.. here

Organic, natural tampon, mooncup. Female health, menstruation and period care. The mooncup is a reusable menstrual cup, around two inches long and made from soft medical grade silicone. It is worn internally a lot lower than a tampon but, while tampons and pads absorb menstrual fluid, the Mooncup collects it. This means it doesn’t cause dryness or irritation, and also that it collects far more (three times as much as a ‘super-absorbent’ tampon’!). Because the Mooncup is reusable, you only need one so it saves you money and helps the environment, too.

The Mooncup is designed to be folded and inserted into the vagina, then removed, rinsed and reinserted up to every 8 hours. A light seal is formed with your vaginal walls, allowing menstrual fluid to pass into the Mooncup without leakage or odour. This seal is released for removal, allowing you to empty the contents, rinse or wipe and reinsert. Comfortable, convenient and safe: the Mooncup can be used overnight and when travelling, swimming or exercising.

Click this link to learn more or to buy the mooncup.

For me this is one of the best investments I have ever made. I bought it two years ago because I was going travelling to places where I wasn’t sure I could get hold of sanitary products. As it holds much more fluid than even a super absorbing tampon does, I can wear it all day without emptying it or worry about TSS. It is very comfortable and to maintain a high standard of hygiene I always disinfect it in boiling water between menstruations.

Instead of the supermarket sanitary pads I use reusable cottonpads that are even more comfortable  and soft, and they don’t dehydrate the intimate area causing itchiness.