Tuesday, September 16, 2014

And Then Chicken's Mother Wrote a Letter

Dear Blogger:

I am writing to discuss a matter of great concern.

My Chicken is being bullied by someone in your organization and something needs to be done about it.  Bullying is not to be tolerated.  Ask Michelle Obama.  Or any of the 87 Real Housewives.

I am disappointed in you, Blogger.  Has this behavior been happening under your nose and you've chosen to ignore it?  Or am I giving you too much credit?  Perhaps you are simply so negligent in  your duties that you failed to notice?  Either scenario is deplorable.  If it were up to me, I would have removed Chicken from this hostile environment after the very first episode, but she's a fighter, my Chicken is, and she refused to give up her turf.

"It's just photos, Mom", she said. "I can always replace them."  Well, it wasn't "just" photos, Blogger, it was every photo she's ever posted in the last six years.  Gone overnight.  If only she'd started on Word Press, like we encouraged her to do.  But no, she found your site more user friendly.  Ha. That's a laugh, isn't it?  I watched her struggle to locate and replace each photo.

And then you took them again.  Then post delays started happening.  Links suddenly broke and people were blocked.  Good people.

And still, my Chicken put a smile on her face and kept going.  "Maybe I messed something up, Ma, it's no big deal.", she said.

But now it's gone too far, Blogger.  I can no longer maintain my silence.  At 7:52 PM this evening,  my poor Chicken logged onto her page and discovered the theft of her entire blog roll.  Even the gadget that supported her blog roll has disappeared. You've taken away her friends.  Who does such a thing?

You, Blogger, will address this issue immediately.  Future acts of bullying will be met with legal action.  And I'm writing a letter to Andy Cohen.  You heard me.   Prepare for the anti-bullying fury of 87 botoxed housewives.  I've heard those Australian ones are particularly agressive.  But that's what you get.  Nobody messes with my Chicken.


Chicken's mother

Monday, September 8, 2014

I am your sales representative...

Dear Colleague,

I am your sales representative and as such I represent our company's brand, services and employees in the public realm.  Every day, I meet with potential customers.  I  tell them about our company.  I convince them that if they have a need for a service we provide, that we (you and I), are better equipped than our competitors to deliver that service.

When I'm successful at my job, we all win. If I am not successful, we both lose our jobs.  Wait, you might be thinking, why should I lose my job because you suck?  Well, if we don't have any customers, we don't really have an immediate need for your services, do we?  Have you worked through that equation?  "X (me) + Y (customers) = Z (our jobs).

Let's recap, shall we?  I am regularly in public making first impressions on your behalf.   We both need those impressions to be positive.  Our continued employment depends upon it.  Therefore, it would seem to behoove you to alert me to anything off putting regarding my appearance.  Green things hanging out of my nose, for instance, or a skirt stuck in the waistband of my underwear, would be examples of things I need brought to my attention.

Do not tell me, dear co-worker, that you did not see the hunk of spinach in my teeth today.   I know you saw it.  How could you not have?  We stood face-to-face discussing your awesome social media skills for at least five minutes.  "I rule at twitter and by the way you  have something in your teeth", was all you needed to say. Were you waiting for me to leave so you could tweet about it?  #gross #shouldisaysomething? Yes, you fucking should. Must we now crowd source the merest courtesy?

Your lack of common sense is not going to keep us paid and laid.  I don't care how many twits follow you.

Thank you for your future cooperation.

Your sales representative

Friday, September 5, 2014

Let Twilight Come...

Let twilight come.
Let it settle, now,
gently over our shoulders
and between the pines.
Let it slide down
softly, now
flowing around fingers
entwined between our chairs.
Let it brush the backs of dragonflies
that swoop and hunt
so fierce
so fragile
above our heads.
Let it set the stage, now
for fireflies
and let me pin it
to the corner of your slow, sweet smile
with a kiss.

K.M. B. (aka Green Girl)

Awhile back, I said I would post my best friend's (award winning) poem once I had permission. I got permission but lost the poem.  I just found it again.  So here it is.  My friend is shy, so I haven't used her real name.  Around these parts, she is known as GG or Green Girl.  I'm not sure why she's so shy.  If I wrote poetry this good I'd be plastering my name all over it.  Then again, that's always been the difference between us and, maybe, why we work. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.

Chicken out