Friday, December 30, 2005
Thursday, December 29, 2005
Put aside the fact that I adore her first name, I wonder what exactly it is that I'm drawn to. Because she's sexy and likes pictures of herself too? Maybe. Because she ass-humped an old guy for money? Not so much. That she's made a name for herself out of talking about it? Hell yes. It boils down to an honest-to-goodness respect that I've developed for her through my innocuous envy. I don't have any remote desire to emulate her lifestyle, but that's exactly the point. I CAN'T do what she's done because I'm shrouded by a protective layer of moral fiber that holds me back. What would make me uncomfortable, she can do six-fold and brush it off to absolute normalcy. Not only that, she has the uncanny ability to make her haters look like grade-school assclowns when she spits back an even saucier, tranquilizing response to their comments. THAT is power, and I'm fascinated.
One can always dream about being something she's not...
Jessica, if I ever have the pleasure of making your acquaintance, the first round of X-Rated martinis is on me...
Friday, December 23, 2005
And This Is Your House on Christmas...
In the entrance way, there are 6 wreaths, 4 miniature Christmas trees, 20 garden candy canes, a 'Merry Christmas' flag and 9 snowmen. As you enter the house, there are at least 200 more cuddly holiday creatures to greet you, the most noteable of which are clearly the snowmen. I have counted 87 in the house so far (the 53 Santas were a distant second).
I mean, what better place for a snowman than beside...the knife block?
When you run out of room on the Christmas tree for the plethora of ornaments, what would you think to do with the extras? How about...hanging them in the household plants?
You know those little holiday prizes you take home from golf tournaments? Our house is full of them. Mrs. Cookie apparently doesn't do that whole 're-gifting' thing.
I'm not kidding when I say, Christmas literally came in the door, drank a few martinis at the wet bar with the 5 Santas hanging out there...
took a big phat crap in the bathroom...
and then tossed his Christmas eggnogg all over the house. There is not a single door handle, wall, nook, mantle, lamp, chandelier, banister, window, appliance, or piece of furniture unscathed.
Yes, those are golfing Santas
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Successful Late Night
So how does one avoid the coked-up leeches and enjoy herself without being harassed?
1. She befriends the DJ (and/or the DJ's friends).
2. She surrounds herself with a circle of like-minded girls who give her a viable excuse to ignore the skeeze-balls.
3. She knows the Bathroom Lady is her escape ally.
4. She hangs out near a female bartender wearing something like this. Chances are, the bartender is garnering most of the sexual attention.
5. She dances near a blatantly obvious, attractive club chick (see reasons above).
6. And if she suspects none of these will work, she forcefully drags along a Charming Fellow. Tall, protective men usually do the trick to ward off the parasitic hosers.
Happy late night...
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Dads Need Guns
Moms have it tough trying to raise their daughters, but once they're raised, I honestly believe Dads have it tougher. It's a hard job protecting your sunshine.
Here's to the NRA.
Monday, December 19, 2005
You're Getting Called Out - Part II
First, I laughed. 'Compensation' for my enormous nose? What the hell does that have to do with Evolution? The comment doesn't make sense. Yes, I have a schnoz, but if I were remotely bothered by it a) I would just get a nose job, and b) I certainly wouldn't post pictures of myself showing the world just how 'enormous' it is. I love my nose. It's my Grandma's nose. Totally fine with it. I also have an enormous ass, enormous teeth, enormous hair, an enormous brain, enormous toe nails and an enormous heart. None of which I would ever want to alter.
Second, I postulated. Would my site be improved were I to post pictures of random people instead? 'Here's a story about myself, but for you to get a better understanding of my experience, let me show you this random picture I downloaded of Martha Stewart making apple pie.' Idiot! Gosh!
Third, I rolled my eyes. Are you serious? If you're going to [weakly] attempt to say something nasty about me, get the balls to come say it on MY site, not someone else's. Anonymous coward.
Please note: I didn't disagree with the phrase drunken slut. Why? Because it's more than evident that I'm a lush. What the hell ever, I'm also fun. Deal with it. And slut? Well, we all know that white girls are easy. Which has nothing to do with ability to commit. I'd much rather be a monogamous slut, keeping her man content, than an unadventurous, prude. So, in essence, this comment wasn't really offensive at all.
Go back to insult school, you unintelligent asscorn.
Oh, and here, I took a picture just for you. Smooches!
Friday, December 16, 2005
You know you've had a crazy night when your text message outbox includes the following messages:
- To Kathryn at 1:28am saying "Soggy. You up? I owe you a drunk apology." (I believe for cutting her off on a previous call and not calling back).
- To Charming Fellow at 1:28am saying "On my way home finally. Had to beat new hires. Shit im the bomb." (Yeah, the bomb for losing two car bomb races in a row to someone who I will clearly never beat but insist on trying every time we're out; and then proceeding to get shit-canned. The bomb? Not so much. Bombed? Definitely).
- To Lil Sis at 1:33am saying "No, seriously. I went young kids buoy firm." (Does that mean I went out with the new hires in my firm? Not exactly sure).
- And to Lil Sis at 1:35am saying "Why do I love puppies?"
Good. Lord. That last sangria was a bad idea...
The Benefit of Narcissism
There I was, ordering a round of shots for the 12 partners in crime I went out with, when a girl I didn't recognize approached me. She said, "Excuse me, I just have to ask...are you DC Cookie?" My eyes lit up. There it was! My 15 seconds of fame. Somebody recognized me from my website. Unbeknownst to her (well, at least, before I told her 8 times), she had just made my entire week. Being a narcissistic attention whore clearly has it's benefits...
Smash - you SO have to be at our next blog-fest.
**Oh, and in case it wasn't clear, I clearly like the world clearly.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Thankfully, I'm blessed with the good sense to know what is 'within reason' at this point in time. Regardless, I'm struggling for ideas. At the moment I have two possible options, neither of which I'm particularly excited about, and I won't have much opportunity to browse the stores and brainstorm. So I ask, what the heck do you get the new man in your life who freakin' HAS EVERYTHING?
Help me out here people...
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Complacency Has Its Limits
For instance, I despise shaving my legs. I'd much rather wax them and keep them soft and clean for weeks at a time. But when I start dating someone, I have to shave every day, god forbid he might think I'm actually comfortable with having a permanent 5 o'clock shadow (which I'm not). Shaving, of course, makes the hair become coarse and thick and just plain nasty. But since I've been shaving daily, I have to keep shaving, despite the fact that the razor is starting to burn me. UGH!
So what happens when you reveal your preferences to your new beau, and also inform him that the waiting period is at least a week? Does this indicate to the man that you've acquiesced to physical apathy? I mean, how is the poor guy supposed to react? With joy? 'Awesome! My girl is turning hippy (or French) on me for a week. HAWT! Maybe I'll grow a beard in support?'
And then what? Should we apologize for these imperfections, and admit we were hiding a truth about ourselves from the beginning? 'I'm sorry I didn't shave today.' Um, actually, no I'm not! I didn't shave because I didn't want to, and in my subconcious I determined that you'd just have to suck it up; because if you really like me, you'll survive the rough spots.
But you really can't adopt that 'whatever, suck it up' attitude with any permanence if you want your man to stick around. Let's take my Mom, for example. In her early 50s, she still moisturizes, waxes, wears makeup, maintains a lean, size 6, 5'9" frame, sleeps in silk and tweezes. Why? Because it doesn't matter how many years you've been married or how many kids you have, it's never cool to 'let yourself go.' Dad's been around for 33 years and counting. He's never had reason to look elsewhere. The way I see it, if one of your imperfections has to rear its ugly head for a short time, step up the presentation of your other attributes. Work out harder, take a longer shower, curl your hair... That way your date doesn't have to fear the bunny-slipper, hair-roller, cotton-nightgown, 300-pound, pasty, droopy-skinned alter ego that he might otherwise believe you're becoming.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Since I'd prefer not to blog about work itself, but work is on my mind about 90% of the time these days, I'm going to dig into the archives and share a distantly-related work story about a special visitor I had at my office one day last May (May 28, 2004, to be exact).
I found Pete the cicada wandering the floor of our office. At about 6pm, he was trekking along the carpet, minding his own business. I told him it was a little late for an interview. Lucky for him, I'm a sucker. I happily kill roaches, ants, earwigs, spiders, mosquitos, moths, gnats, flies, or any other such household insect pests. But cicadas, after waiting 17 years in fetal hibernation, had what - 9 days to live, max? I couldn't just stomp the poor critter, who had made it, through some miraculous feat, all the way to the 5th floor of an office building. That was trial enough, I'm sure he was nervous and tired. At the time of our encounter, it was nearing the end of the day, so I figured I'd just bring the little guy downstairs with me when I had finished up.
I put him on the stem of my bamboo plant, where he hung out for a few minutes; but it soon became apparent he was much more interested in what I was doing than any diversion the plant could offer. He only had a few days left to exercise his brain capacity before passing away. He offered to intern free-of-charge for the remainder of the business day.
Pete crawled over to my notepad and did a quick review of my meeting minutes. He corrected a spelling mistake, for which I was humbled and appreciative. Not only could Pete read, he was also a pretty solid data guy. When I showed Pete my struggle to get my numbers to tie, he did a quick data query to discover the outliers. Without Pete, I might have been at work for an extra hour. Pete and I gave each other a high-five.
When the day ended, I carried Pete downstairs and outside. I let him go on a little planter at the front of the building, only after he had whispered in my ear the location in which he and his concubines had buried their larva. Brains like that might come in handy 17 years from now...
And now...back to the grind.
Monday, December 12, 2005
How To Lose A Guy In 10 Seconds
Order something so spicy that you start to cry (habanera is a good choice). Keep eating it.
Suggest a double chin contest and show him how good you are at it.
Drink from your nose.
Spit out your food constantly and make gagging noises.
Bite at will.
Make hideous faces and hold the poses.
And if all else fails..
Good luck! (Aside: If Charming Fellow wasn't bewitched by my seductive allure already, I'm certain this post will seal the deal).