Cracking the Code of Conduct

No, I didn't just use that title for the clever alliteration.

Today I received an intra-office email.
Do you know what that word means? It's when you get an email to your office email address from a party within your office.

I'm so glad I went to college and got a bachelor's degree. I would have never been able to use such a word.

Anyway, I digress. I opened my inbox yesterday to discover that I was wanted--for participation in an online course about our company's code of conduct. Apparently, someone had gotten wind of my lewd comments and penchant for sharing company secrets.

I jest.

I don't even know what my company does.

All employees were required to take the online training course, which was scheduled to take approximately 40 minutes.
W. T. F?!

Why in the world should it take 40 minutes for me to take a computer course to learn not to hire family members and/or grab the mail guy's ass? Mama didn't raise no fool!

After my anger subsided, I decided to alter my perspective--look on the bright side, as the therapist says. This was not simply THE MAN, forcing his will upon me. This was 40 minutes of company-sanctioned procrastination!

I clicked the link wholeheartedly, and prepared to tuck in for a hearty helping of repetitive information fitting a mentally disabled foreign child.

I was not disappointed.

I had to read through 5 scenarios, and then take a quiz at the end. I thought I'd beat the system by clicking straight through to the NEXT button at the end of each scenarios, but the company was ready for my laziness and disrespect. A giant pop-up window came up when I clicked the button prematurely.

The computer, it's thinking.

This is how the movie "I, ROBOT" started--only I'm no Will Smith.

I put on my headphones and began to read the scenarios.

What I immediately discovered shocked me unlike any realization I'd ever had: I think our Code of Conduct "training course" was written by Carrot Top.

Here's an excerpt from a scenario titled "Pam Gets an Eyeful"-- needless to say, it has to do with lewdness:

GlobeCo's Business Development Department had a different culture than the rest of the company. Many people who worked there enjoyed telling dirty jokes, and one employee, Ken, often downloaded new screensavers from lingerie catalogs.

[Um, what? What kind of "culture" does the Development Department have that would lead someone to tell a dirty joke and/or download a screensaver from a lingerie catalog? I didn't know Business Development was such a raunchy area of major corporations--what was I think entering a creative field?

Oh, and PS-- when did lingerie catalogs start making screensavers?]

Ken is about to show the newest pictures to his coworker, Tim, and they're about to be interrupted by another employee, Pam, who doesn't find the pictures funny.

Ken: Hey, Tim, check out this new screensaver! These things get better every week.

[Do they really get better, Ken? Do they? Who is this guy? He sounds lame. This is the second hole in this "story" for me. There's no way this guy--who is clearly socially awkward and flirts inappropriately with the interns--would still be employed at GlobeCo, or even have an office friend who'd want to "check out his new screensaver."]

Tim: What's the theme this time?

Ken: I think it's Nations of the World. See the little flag?

[Who added this touch of color? I think this is my favorite line]

Tim: Oh yeah, I see it now. And on the other girl, too. You know, that is probably the tiniest flag I've ever seen! (they both laugh)

Pam: Hey Ken, hey Tim. So I've been going over the—Oh, no. Those screensavers again?

[I don't have a picture of Pam, but I don't think she's cool like Pam from "The Office." I imagine her to be bloated and whiny, and probably eats Lean Cuisines while looking longingly at Tim's sandwiches from SUBWAY. ]

Ken: No, Pam, it's not what you think! Tim and I are studying...uh...engineering! You know, things like wind resistance.

[Now, if Ken really is this pervy, wouldn't you think he would have a better cover line than that? I mean, this can't be the first time he's been caught with his pants down and his fingers on a mouse]

Tim: Yeah, and maximum fabric load. See, this fabric right here has just about hit its breaking point. (laughs)

Ken: Luckily yours is well within its safety margin, Pam, if you know what I mean... (laughs)
[By that, he means that she is wearing more clothes than the lingerie model. Get it?]

Pam: Look, I've told you guys before to knock it off. These screensavers are really offensive. And I'm tired of overhearing your dirty jokes.

Ken: Oh, you're just jealous.

[Yes, yes she is.]

Ken and Tim's comments to Pam are offensive and violate GlobeCo's Code of Conduct, as do the screensavers they're displaying. Unfortunately, it sounds like this kind of behavior has been going on for a while, despite Kim's complaints. Kim should discuss the situation with her manager or HR immediately.

AND SCENE.

Why did they assume this would take me 40 minutes?
And why did they make me take a quiz afterwards?

What I learned from this Code of Conduct training is threefold:

1. The Business Development Department at the imaginary GlobeCo is really effed up.
2. Pornographic screensavers are not okay.
3. Working in a cubicle the size of a veal pen makes you do dirty things on company time.

My 12-year-old Boyfriend

I have gotten many responses about a certain scorned ecard, which features a young Magic-card playing tyke. With his blinged-out orthodontia and the Band-aid on his elbow, perhaps he seems a little young to scorn a blacktress. One reader commented: "I bet your fights are adorable!" To which I say: Yes, they are!!!

I then went on to have a 20-minute gchat conversation about what I imagine a relationship to be like with my imaginary 12-year-old boyfriend. I have pasted it below for your reading/procrastination pleasure:

me: our fights ARE adorable--but he always hangs up to "go to bed"
K: haha!

me: and/or "watch pokemon"
K: haha!
me: and i'm like, "don't you walk away from me, jimmy!"

me: and he's all like, "i dn't want to kiss you, i just got my braces tightened"and i'm all like, "you used that excuse last month"
me: and he's like, "Well, i took my rubber bands out, so you should be happy"
K: at least he's done with headgear
me: then i'm like, "well, you can't touch my vag cause i have my period"and he's all like, "what's a period?"
me: and i'm like, "don't play dumb with me, jimmy!!!!"

K: then he cries and says that he's doesnt want to spend the night and his mom drives over in her robe to pick him up
me: HAHAHHAHAHAHA--PRExactly.
K: but then you make him pizza bites and he's ok
me: well, like, sometimes it's really hard when he takes his anger out on me. he comes home after a game of wiffle ball and he's all yelling at me, like i fucked it up and i'm like, "i have nothing to do with your little league"
he can be so moody sometimes
me: then, he wants to get all frisky, and i'm like, "jimmy, you haven't even discovered deodorant yet, could you please back up?!"

me: Um, should this conversation just be a blog post?

Look at that smile. How can I just walk away????

Things I Learned While Babysitting a Two-Year-Old in Queens Last Night:

Outer-boroughs have amenities. There's a post office, a movie theater, and tons of restaurants to choose from!

Jack Johnson, Nick Drake, and Ryan Adams make a great “sleepytime mix” on your iPod. However, Bjork can induce nightmares.

Dora the Explorer isn’t actually exploring anything. She was, like, looking for pigs in a barn. That's not ethnic at all!

It’s very important to know the address of the home in which you are babysitting. It is impossible to order food otherwise.

A sloth moves very very slowly. Say it with me. Slow-ly! Muy Bien!
(damn you, Diego—you make me learn whether I like it or not)

You can’t trick a kid into falling asleep. There is no such thing as the “game where we sit in the rocking chair and are really, really quiet.”

Y is for young Yolanda Yorgenson yelling on a yellow yak. Dr. Seuss, what can't you alliterate?!

Never separate a growing boy from his trucks. You will live to regret it.

Cartoons aren’t what they used to be.
Okay, I need to explain this one. Has anyone seen this show on Noggin called “Max and Ruby”? It’s about two rabbits who are brother and sister—Ruby, who is 7, and Max, who is 3. As in real life, the younger brother is always getting on Ruby’s nerves but in the end there’s a comical resolution. What struck me as odd about the show was the following:

Max and Ruby have no parents. You never see or hear any sort of grown up rabbit, telling them to behave.

As a result, Ruby ends up taking care of Max, doing everything from bathing him (4 times in one episode!) to tucking him in at night (see the “Max’s Bedtime” episode for more details). This makes Ruby sort of like a single mother. Is she a welfare rabbit?

Why do they give this little 7 year old so much responsibility? I mean, just watching it, I felt bad for her. Where were her friends? What about Ruby’s personal time? She couldn’t even practice “Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star” on the piano without Max interrupting.

Ruby's just trying to get her Mozart on when Max rolls up all needy-like.

Is this show supposed to be some sort of subliminal birth control, showing kids the dangers of taking on parenthood too young? It worked for me, and I’m a grown-ass woman!!

I also found the need to bathe Max 4 times a bit excessive and bordering on pornographic. Why does he have to be naked so much? How does that move the plot forward or flesh out the character? It was gratuitous animal nudity unlike any I've ever seen.

Nothing's Right, I'm SCORNED

Um, guys, I can't stop making e-cards. If you missed the first 4 in the series, scroll down to the post titled "OURecards.com."

My name is Sojourner, and I am a Photoshop addict.

Or, to quote the great poet Natalie Imbruglia,
nothing's right, i'm scorned...
i'm all out of faith
this is how i DEAL
i'm sitting here at work
and I'm blogging about pain....


Here are the latest e-cards:








Wait, is this one too personal????

OURecards.com

For those of you who follow the blacktress blog religiously, you already know from previous posts that I’m really into the website someecards.com. They have an ecard for almost every occasion, from April Fool’s Day to Black History Month, and for any situation. And I love their tag line: for when you care enough to hit send. SOO TRUE!

I’ve taken to sending them to friends for any and no reason, just to share the laughter and the joy. They’ve reciprocated, creating a lovely chain of goodness. But today, when discussing the e-card possibilities with Katie Walsh, we realized someecards.com was missing a very important category: “rejection.” While they have a category devoted to break ups, they’ve left out the all important moment when you really need to send an ecard. That is, after you’ve only gone on a few dates or had a one-night stand with someone who then acts like you don’t exist. How do you handle this rage? How can you get back at your oppressor electronically?

Well, Katie and I put our heads together and came up with our very own set of ecards: ScornedWomanEcards (we're hoping to get it as a .org, or maybe even .gov--perhaps sponsored by Michelle Obama???). Until we get our website up and running, you can save the images below and send them to the foes and hos that have done you wrong. I think the cards will say far more than your heart ever could.

Mondays With Artists

As you know, I work for a major publication. This comes with many risks, such as: people assuming you know about art, geriatrics seeking your support for their cockamamie schemes (hello, plasticize board, anyone?!), crazy artists thinking you have some sort of control over their failing careers and marriages.

Oftentimes, this madness comes in the form of telephone calls, and in the last few months I’ve become like Naomi Watts in The Ring: when my phone rings at the office, I freeze in terror and refuse to answer it. When coworkers ask if I’m “gonna get that,” I tell them I know who’s calling and I can take it later—even when I don’t.

Recently, I’ve been contacted via postcard by an unidentified artist. The first postcard arrived at the end of BHM, and was this (click on image to enlarge):

Can you read that? It says "I draw sock monkeys"

What does this mean?! What is a sock monkey? Is it made with socks? Am I looking at a picture of a puppet, a painting, or some sort of mixed media piece?

Not only is the image frightening and unappealing, the one-word sentence (is it even a sentence if there’s no punctuation mark?) is almost menacing, with its tiny handwriting and lack of a signature.

I kept this postcard because it was hilarious—obvi—and felt no guilt, seeing as the artist left no way of being contacted and did not connect his/her/hir’s name to it. I thought nothing of it, but occasionally laughed at the idea of a sock monkey during moments of procrastination.

Then, three weeks later, another one arrived.



This time the sock monkey was dark brown—is this a racial thing? What was this artist trying to say? I flipped it over, hoping for a clue.

Again, with the sentence fragment! I began to get frightened. With no return address, and only a San Francisco postmark, I had to wonder: was this a San Francisco Treat…or Trick?????

I kept this one, too, hoping to piece together clues like Columbo when the time was right. Then, a week later (today), this arrived:


Oh. MY. GOD. There’s more. There’s an “and.” But what, gentle reader, is a “sock monkey fertility cult figure”? Why does this person keep sending me this information without any name or address attached???? This is clearly a cry for attention and/or help, yet they do not actually want to be located.

My fear is mounting.

You can’t see it here, but if you look very closely at this last postcard, there is writing around one of the images. I can’t make out all of it, but it begins with, “I prayed for you last night but you did not come true…”

Is this me? Is someone in love with me in San Francisco? Is my fertility at risk? Is this person saying that I’m no more than a damned dirty ape?

These artists are really starting to freak me out.

Celebrating a White Woman

Yes, I'm doing it.

29 years ago today, my office wife was squeezed out into this world. She grew up in the suburbs of New Jersey, where she cultivated a love of whole wheat and grains, physical activity, and positive thinking. She went on to work in advertising, and then magazine publishing.

And there she changed a blacktress' life.

As a woman of color and a writer, it is behoovy of me to express my appreciation in the written form, as I've done for so many others, from Harry Potter to Katie Walsh-- you know, the people who really matter. Below, I look back on the year that has been and celebrate the birth of Alli Mali.

From the very first day, you knew all the answers
Wielding your red pen like a sword, you showed me it's the deck that really matters.
From our first lunch time walk en plein air
I knew we'd be besties--especially when that bird pooped in your hair.
Halfway through the year we moved into veal pens
But, surprisingly, our tender office love did not end.
Now we lean back in our rolly chairs,
sharing our worries and cares
Then bitch and moan at Lemongrass on Fridays.
You have the youthful joy of someone a mere 18 years old,
yet you always know I have a date if I'm wearing my reflections in gold.
And when I'm a hot mess you don't judge me in any way.
I feel great joy when I hand you an article I think is DONE AND DONE.
Then I see your red marks and I know the learning has just begun.
You push me to be the best blacktress I can be--
But no matter what you say, I won't drink that damn algae.
You're so kind to everyone, the mail guys say you're hot.
Then there's that darn Sal, who's just waiting for you to give him a shot.
You're my nine-to-five soul sister, twenty-four seven, three-sixty-five
Except for those ten vacation days, and the fact that you're white.


Alli, remember that time you and I were working on an article (you know, every day) and you taught me new and exciting things? Well, I never told you, but you just treated me like such an equal, I actually felt white.