That Time of the Month

Why isn't there a red "ice cream truck" driving around selling ice cream + pads, tampons, chick-flicks, bonbons, tissue boxes, and heating pads??

... with a grand-motherly type that hands out a complimentary pack of chamomile tea, pats your hand and says "there, there, dear".

... and the driver would offer compliments like "smile girl, you look good today" even though your curlers are falling out of your hair, your face is tear-streaked with yesterday's makeup, you're all bloated and breaking out like you're 13 again.

... I haven't thought of a good jingle for the truck but someone needs to run with this idea. There's money to be made. I, for one, would throw money at someone if they drove up with chocolate ice cream and tampons.

... should the truck be red or pink? Red screams bloody emergency, which it IS ... but maybe something softer.

... there are no mirrors anywhere on the truck (the side-view mirrors point to the sky), but there a lot of inspirational quotes: "She ain't Shit" ... "You're curvy and beautiful" ... "Hit him with a phonebook" ... "We're at IHOP" (inside joke). OK, so semi- inspirational quotes.

... then neighbors would see you and be like, oh shit, better steer clear of that bitch this week ... she's at the period truck.

... it can't be a stationary location because think of the fights that would break out ... "what are you LOOKING ATTTT?" ... "the fuck did you say to me!?"

... it can't be driven by a woman during HER time of the month because she'll just be plowing thru people ... DIE, YOU DUMB BITCH! ... yeah, I got your tampon right here ... shoves it in the buyers' face ... buyer pulls her out the window ... fight..., well you know. This is a very vivid scenario in my head. LOL

#TheseFuckingCrampsAreKillingMe

Why ... ?

I used to have a diary. Someone from church, when I was younger, suggested I keep a journal. I don't remember why. Maybe he just saw I was quiet and didn't readily make friends. It was very therapeutic and tons of fun.  I'm secretive by nature and love to write, a diary was a perfect outlet for me ... then my mom found it.  I had written stuff I had never told ANYone ... and not only did she read it, she threatened to tell my dad everything that was in it. It stopped being fun. -_- I would still buy journals from time to time [[I have TONS of empty journals and notebooks]] but didn't write anything "truly" personal for fear of someone going thru it again.
So, here we are, no real name, I'm not even going to tell anyone I have this, I'm just going to rant my little heart out and vent my frustrations and hopefully look back in a couple of months (years?) and laugh my ass off. :)

Welcome to some little part of my mind.