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Jett Superior laid this on you on || April 22, 2008 || 11:12 am

UN. FAIR. (and totally predictable)

So, right about the time my tags were due for renewal, Tess tells me about how Brandy (who, you may recall, is The Hottest Lesbian In DeKalb County) has been driving with an expired license plate since two-thousand. THAT IS EIGHT YEARS, YOU PEOPLE, or darn near thereabouts. I remarked that I might just let my own tag renewal slide and see what happened.

We had this conversation around the beginning of October. That would be –for my fellow mathtards among you– a scant six months ago. Six months which, in the phenomenal cosmic scheme of things, is barely a mitochondrial-size block of minutes. Less than that, really, but I don’t want to boggle your minds with the infinitesimalness of time and space and all that lot. We are just here to navelgaze, not blow up craniums. Yes? Yesss.

Here is where I tell you that Brandy drives –every. single. workday.– approximately fifty minutes to and then from her job. She’s never gotten so much as pulled over for her EIGHT YEARS-EXPIRED tags, much less ticketed for them.

By this point in my little yarn you must surely know that I was the proud recipient of a ticket for not having those shiny little oh-eight stickers. It seems that all teh stars were lined up in the exact opposite of the configuration known as ‘My Favor’, because the cop that issued the citation was one of the three or four I don’t know well (or even at all). The most rich part of the joke is that I was approximately one-point-five blocks from my very lovely and cozy home, which I’d had to leave at nine-thirty on a Saturday morning to take Scout to rehearsals. Just one more reason, folk, for me to not be out of bed before eleven ay emm on a Saturday, any Saturday. Publisher’s Clearinghouse? Please leave the gigantic check taped to the front door, or come back after I’ve gotten my customary Saturday morning brunchy Bee Ell Tee from Subway.

I immediately picked up my phone and dialed BOTH Brandy and Tessa’s numbers, being slightly shouty into their voice mails and professing hatred for their guts. This is because Brandy is STILL getting away with that business, and because Tess is the one who told me that story in the first place, tempting my definite and pronounced Socially Defiant Side to do ill all in the name of “Hm. Let’s just seeeee.

The best part of it all is that upon calling the appropriate office to find out the cost of the fine, I was informed that said fine would be a scant six dollars more than just buying my fucking tag stickers in the first place. So my tag is costing me double for the year of our Lord, two-thousand and eight. So very fun(nish). I have a friend in teh magistrate’s office, and she might be able to assist me in getting the ticket remanded to file if I show up with my tags updated appropriately.

I want the courts to kiss my ass on this one, because this endeavor was done in the name of scientific experimentation. Next time, oh next time, I should SURELY be held to my punishment, because then it will be all due to my stupidity in not honoring the laws of the universe that I’ve become acquainted with on this go-round.


::: :: ::: :: ::: :: :::

This morning Tess embarked on a long-winded explanation of how she ended up with tampons that are not her usual brand. About the time I was growing impatient with hearing that damnable story (“WHY ARE YOU TELLING ME ALL THIS, SHIT??”…I was typing; I have no patience when I’m typing) she whipped out the point of the tale in the form of physical evidence. Witness:

motivational pon
:: motivational pon ::

In case you can’t read it (and you likely can’t, as the lens on my camera’s phone is some kind of ass, let me tell you), it says ‘be passionate’. This is done in innocuous, lowercase letters so as not to appear bossy or sommat. Some chucklehead at Playtex thought this would be a good idea, and I’m betting that someone was male. I can’t believe that even one female that is employed with that partiklar male didn’t have the stones to stand up and say, “Look. This is stupid on a completely new level, and it may just get you shot, or even mocked by a female blogger who is so stone-age that she is still mortified by the notion of tampon ads on television some twenty-five years after she saw her first one.”

I think that if you MUST, if you ABSOLUTELY MUST write a motivational message on a tampon wrapper, it should be something like, ‘be stabby’, which is consistent with affirming the overall menstrual state of mind and body, as well as serving to make a girl not feel so fucking bad about being dragged along behind specific hormones that are entirely out of her control.

Really, though, if the Playtex Tampon Poepels were smart, they’d skip all the pepspeak-feelgood hooha and come out with a tampon whose wrapper is soaked in liquid klonopin and could be sucked on in states of emotional and hormonal emergency.

This is why I’m a Kotex girl. They are comfortable, reliable, and they don’t try to put a positive spin on large (but apparently disposable) chunks of my uterus falling out of my body like clockwork every month. Way to go, Kotex, good job! And your packaging is perfect; don’t ever change.

4 worked it out »

  1. MotherFury 4.22.2008

    I live for your tales of frustration… :-)

    I’ve investigated ALL of my Playtex tampons, none of them have messages, witty, passionate or otherwise. I feel cheated.

  2. Jettomatika 4.22.2008

    Apparently this is some fancy-dancy side project. ‘Specialty pons’, as it were.


  3. MotherFury 4.22.2008

    At least it’s not advertising…

    I do not believe that I would be inclined to purchase products that were advertised on items that come in contact with my um, what’s the new word for it? Va-jay-jay?

  4. Shamrock 4.22.2008

    These are by the same eejits with the “Have a Happy Period” ad campaign, I believe.


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