DC Cookie

Friday, March 31, 2006

Mr. Cab Driver

No matter how many times a taxi driver tries to charge me $35 to get home from Adams Morgan, I still swear that the drivers have one of the toughest jobs in DC. It's a city chock full of 'entitled,' rich bitches, and cabbies get paid a pittance to cart their spoiled asses from bar to bar. At night, intoxicated frat boys pile in - voices at earplug-necessary decibels, pizza grease dripping onto the seats. And just half an hour ago, I watched a 'professional' man in a suit kick the side door of a cab because the driver 'came too close' to him as he marched into the street...in front of the driver who had the right of way. Jackass!

You couldn't pay me enough to take that kind of indifferent abuse 12 hours a day. That's why I over-tip and always say "Thank you so much; I really appreciate the ride." Because somebody should...

Wednesday, March 29, 2006

Ducks Mate for Life

I’ve always hated the rationale so many people use when they are unable to sustain a relationship commitment: “Being with one person for life is not nature’s way.” Tell that to a duck! Although dating can be as hectic as a buffalo stampede, or as bleak and arduous as a penguin march, I don’t believe we’re all fated to a life of monogamous misery just because we don’t follow the same social mating habits as the hippo. Yes, it’s in our animal nature to be attracted to multiple potential suitors, and yes, it’s in our animal nature to desire to spread our seeds, but coming from the family that I do, I would also argue that it’s human nature to yearn for the mutual, supportive, unconditional companionship that only monogamy offers.

The dilemma is, how do you know when you've found that? It's absolutely inevitable that we are going to be attracted to other people no matter how strong the bond we have with our significant other. We're mammals first; we ooze pheromones from our pores. We should never feel guilty about the nomadic physical desires we experience for fine specimens of the opposite sex, provided those feelings are fleeting. That's how you know you've found the right partner. When your boyfriend's smile makes you instantly forget the name of the gorgeous bartender who was buying you shots, or when his voice sends more shivers down your spine than a Ryan Reynolds nude scene, you can rest assured that it's the mallards, not the cows, who hold the key to animal kingdom happiness.

Monday, March 27, 2006

Rocker Hair

I can count the number of times I've been attracted to a man with long hair on one hand. In fact, up until yesterday, the count had been exactly one time. It was one of those shameful early-90s crushes, and I carried that torch for Nuno Bettencourt from Extreme. Don't ask. Although I have a wide variety of taste in men, there are a few things I do prefer outright. One of those things is hair cut. The man I date is one who frequents the barber monthly and whose locks are too short to reach his un-popped collar.

But when Rob Zombie jumped on the stage platform at the 9:30 Club last night and began shouting and gyrating like a possessed horse, my lifetime count of long-haired-male-crushes immediately increased to 2. Maybe it was his voice, or his significant...belt buckle, but I'm star struck.


Thursday, March 23, 2006

When We Like You

There are things that women do when we like a guy. Things that most of us will likely never admit; because we fear that the object of our affections will presume we're crazy. Well, guess what. We are. We're over-analytical, pensive, dreamy, demanding, sensitive, quirky little creatures, and I, for one, am not ashamed to wear that skin with pride. So, what kind of things am I talking about?

Well, there's the requisite "what does my first name sound like with his last name?," cursive-writing in a notebook to practice our future signature, ga-ga foolishness we pull immediately following date number one. Cookie Fellow. Yep, he's perfect for me. Not to mention the thoughts that run through our head when we see the first kiddie picture of our crush. We're always thinking about the future. Enough said.

We absolutely adore attention. When our heart's desire is too busy to give it to us, we search for it via other means (::pulls mind from gutter::). Hence why we rarely delete a sweet voicemail message or an endearing e-mail. Like the message that is currently housed in a safe place for the next 30 days on my cell phone that says, "Hey, it's Charming Fellow. I'm just getting the tires rotated on my car and I was bored, so I thought I'd call." Swoon! I've listened to it five times.

We like spending quality time with our men of choice. And for some reason, we require that time to be fully and completely documented. We have a box full of letters, cards, concert tickets, bowling scores, movie stubs, dried flowers, the label he peeled from his beer bottle on our third date... That, and we cuddle up with that t-shirt he left behind at our house, in an effort to cling to his special, lingering man-scent just a little bit longer.

And last of all, we think our beau is handsome, which means lots of photos. Pictures on our nightstand, pictures on our computer, pictures on our cell phones, pictures on our blogs. All of which are ogled, stared at and admired on the daily; even moreso than pictures of ourselves (and that's saying a hell of a lot coming from this narcissist).

The good news is, this overdose of crushing helps keep our creative and romantic juices flowing fresh. Trust me, when the honeymoon is over, he'll thank his lucky stars that we still find ways to surprise him.

Tuesday, March 21, 2006


Whose big idea was it to order drinks with the words 'car' and 'bomb' in them? Oh yeah...mine.

Spending time in a bar that my boyfriend has been frequenting for 12 years means that there is bound to be some serious history associated with the location. And by history, I mean, ex-girlfriends. I expect that when I wander the photo-plastered rooms with my vodka tonic in hand, that I'll spot his handsome face on display more than once. During a lazy Sunday afternoon at said watering hole this past weekend, I was chatting with a new acquaintance when a photo of Charming Fellow and his most recent ex popped up onto the revolving photo screen behind the main bar. I pointed out the picture saying "Hey look, there's Charming Fellow and his ex." My drinking buddy said, "Wow, does that bother you?" to which I replied "Not at all!" He was shocked.

But think about it. Why on earth would something like that phase me? "Oh my god, you mean, I'm not Charming Fellow's first girlfriend?" Good! First, neither of us are exactly what you'd call spring chickens, and all the issues and pitfalls that prevented any of our last relationships from working have, thus far, made us strong enough to succeed at the one we're in.

And second, his ex is a beautiful woman. I know a lot of chicks who would probably feel intimidated or insecure by that fact, but I find it flattering. If Charming Fellow committed to a woman that pretty in his past, and now he's committing to me, in my books it implies by default that I'm of the same physical caliber; an honour that is both humbling and confidence-boosting.

Besides, I'm already well on my way to making a significant mark on the walls myself. My life and dating philosophy? That was then, this is now. Period.

Here's to many more pictures just like these...

Monday, March 20, 2006


As my mother raised me, I'm sure she thought "one day, I hope my little girl's chest and backside make an appearance on the internet..."

Friday, March 17, 2006


I have known from the beginning that I'm not Charming Fellow's number one girl, nor will I ever be. But I'm okay with that. First, because his primary love lets me tag along on their dates (although she gets so many more glances and whistles than I do - something I'm not used to). Second, because she still lets me have him at night. Third, because she's irresistably beautiful.

Meet Charming Fellow's favourite lady. Sexy beast. A debutante, a temptress, an innocent coquette. She's the Shug Avery of the highway and I'm hooked.


Thursday, March 16, 2006

Why I Had To Leave Early

Courtesy of a little party favour Charming Fellow found in a bush following the Shamrock Festival that provided us with a few hours of entertainment until I left Mr. Champ Bear behind in the ladies bathroom at the Ballroom; here is a pictoral representation of what happens when you take a group of narcissistic, creative, dorky writers on a Wednesday night and add alcoholic beverages:

Champ bear boozing 2
Here we are, somewhat shy and apprehensive, purchasing drink number one and meekly shaking hands with some strangers.

Champ bear boozing 3
Here we are, three drinks in, creative juices (and mouths) flowing, apprehension thrown from the window.

Champ bear passed out
And here we are at midnight on a weekday, cursing the day we ever started writing in the first place.

Despite my late entrance and early departure (what happened to Cookie? Did she like, get a boyfriend, or something, and become lame?), I managed to wander the room long enough to offer a few thoughts on the night. After all, it's practically a sin not to post about the blog happy hour the next day, right?

  • I finally had the pleasure of meeting one of my favourite bloggers in person. She initially mistook RoarSavage to be me, which I found flattering. RoarSavage is a bona fide hottie.
  • Jerry Springer, damn dude...you might want to think about hitting the gym. Your chest and arms need some work there (okay, okay, so that was Donahue's joke that I just stole).
  • If Barbara weren't around to regulate, I suspect the blog-ette birds (including myself) would overpower her son with vampish coquetry. He's delectable and precious.
  • DCB made a very good choice with his intern. She has that innocent vixen allure. Little Red Riding Hood meets Carmen Electra. I'm looking forward to her posts.
  • Hey V, give me a few weeks to find a good time, and it's on like donkey kong (see picture 3 above).
  • Apparently the Dirty R just doesn't make 'em like they used to (ahem...weak sauce no show).
  • Thank goodness for date nights, because my girl and I never get more than 10 seconds together at any of these events.
  • I tried to be slick and give DCB a flirt-tastic cop-a-feel goodbye, only to end up with his mojito straw embedded in my curls. God, I'm a goof.
  • I'm curious - how many blog-ettes did Kevin the bartender introduce himself to by saying "Wait, I didn't catch your name?..."

All that, and I was still able to celebrate Pi Day. Suffice it to say, I won't be skipping HH without a very good reason the next time around.

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

Reading About Myself

I couldn't help it...

On 3/7/2006, Virgle Kent wrote [and Cookie added]:

"Deep into my blackout period I ran into an 'A' list DC blogger [who is even better looking in person than she is in her pictures] at Sign of the Wale [the humour of that particular typo is lost on everyone but me]. Another gay [small, crowded, annoying] midtown bar. Anyway I saw the A list blogger celebrity walking through the bar and I was like hey that’s that one blogger that 95% of other female bloggers try and imitate and stuff. I should say hi. It seemed like a good idea at the time. So I introduced myself, Hey you’re you and I’m Virgle Kent. Then before she said anything I got paranoid and started thinking to myself, 'what the fuck are you doing?' An interior dialogue was going on in my head of the possible scenarios that could possibly come of this [impossibly possible situation].

Scenario one: She has no clue who the fuck I am, so then I come off looking like one of those horny internet stalkers that have nothing else better to do with their life than read troll the internet. Hold up I am one of those horny internet stalkers. Shit!

Scenario two: She does know who I am and finds my material completely inappropriate and sexist. Then out of the fear of possibly being sodomized she pulls out her can of mace, sprays me in the face burning my retina and then kicks me in the balls. Shit maybe I should be nicer to girls on this blog. Nah, fuck that. [You forget, I'm friends with DCB. There is little you can say that will phase me.]

[Actual Scenario: On her way out the door of the bar to grab dinner, Cookie is stopped by a stranger who touches her exposed shoulder and says 'Excuse me.' Cookie thinks 'Ugh, another wasted guy trying to dance with me and get my number,' (these things happen frequently at bar crawls). Despite that, Cookie pauses for a second, because she's a compliment whore. V.K. had her at 'Are you DC Cookie?' Because that, my friends, was better than a 'you're hot' compliment any day, and definitely worth pausing for. Although Smash holds the title for first random sighting, this second recognition by Virgle Kent (and subsequent posting of the details) just inflated Cookie's narcissistic id into unchartered territories].

Instead I think she said that she actually has read my blog and she thought it was funny [confirmed]. Or she said that she read my blog and thought I was a dummy, or she might have even said cash rules everything around me, cream get the money. Dolla dolla bill ya’ll. In either case she was nice to me and didn’t spray me with mace. Her perfume was strong though [yeah, we're working on that]. Note to self drinking and making a good first impression do not mix. I truly hope I am not that drunk when I meet Brooke Burke."

[Kent-ster-ific - Hope to see you out at the happy hours sometime soon. I suspect the girls might have a thing for you... Although, in weak form, I won't be in attendance at this one, because I'm bailing for a hockey date. Priorities...]

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

Dear Annoying Concert Goers:

Here are a few pointers to keep the people in front of you at the show from losing their shit, turning around, and belting you in the eyeball:
  1. Do not be a man screaming "I LOVE YOU JAMES" 15 times at full volume throughout the show. It was barely humourous the first time. The next 14 times were just...annoying.
  2. Do not sing at the top of your lungs when nobody else is. We paid money to listen to James Blunt, not you.
  3. Do not light up a cigarette and hold it below your waist (and out of your view) while dancing. You burn holes in people's pants, and that just isn't cool.
  4. There is plenty of space so there is no need to stand so close that you're practically ass-humping me. Move back 1/2 a step.
  5. As a super tall couple, please stand one in front of the other to canoodle, instead of side by side so your big siamese-esque heads aren't blocking half the stage for the rest of us.
  6. Do not bring a giant, knit, hippy purse full of your crap and flail it around so it hits the ass of the people in front of you 200 times. Leave that shit at home. You're at a 2-hour freakin' concert, you don't need the kitchen sink with you.
  7. Draft beer is a bad idea at a crowded concert. Stick to bottles so it doesn't spill on me.


Monday, March 13, 2006

I Can't Say No To Eminem and Nate Dogg

I'm going to see a concert this evening with my girl, and I honestly couldn't even tell you one song the artist sings. The tickets for the show are currently selling on ebay for $200, so maybe I should feel bad that there are big fans out there whose place I'm taking up. Someone asked me this morning why I'm even going, when I'm not familiar with any of the music. Two reasons:

- A date night with my girl is a very difficult thing to pass up.
- I. Love. Dancing.


It's a very rare occasion that there is music playing, and I'm not shaking my toosh in the center of the dance floor.


Or maybe even up on a podium somewhere. Really, it's pure entertainment.


Live music just gets me going. Whether it's a DJ, or a band, or a string quartet, I've never had a bad time at a concert. From Dubfire to Kanye West. From SOJA to Darude. From Aerosmith to Jill Scott. From Evanescence to Kenin. Every artist has something to offer my inner sense of rhythm. And thus, it is a rare occasion that I'll turn down a concert invite, no matter who the artist.

Friday, March 10, 2006


If you ever want to read some absolutely hysterical blogs, here is a sample from 4 of my favourites. These get me laughing virtually every time I read them. They are pure comedy.

1. "We danced for about 3 songs, and then all of a sudden, this big 6'5" ex-college football player looking guy with a dingy white polo shirt on came over and stood right in front of the girl I was dancing with staring into her eyes like he was either trying to hypnotize her or intimidate the Hell out of her. He then asked her to dance, while she was dancing with me. She politely declined, and looked back at me like "Help me!"I leaned over in her ear and said "What the hell is wrong with this guy? He's acting like I'm invisible or something! Talking 'bout 'can I cut in?' Bitch this ain't ballroom dancing. You don't try to cut in on folks in this day and age. That shit stopped being cool after World War II." Listen to Leon's post about some very pressed people.

2. "Sure it’s a pointless holiday were flower shops get to charge $75 to $85 for flower arrangements when you can just go to Arlington Cemetery and get them for free." Virgle Kent's post on Valentine's Day.

3. "Are you curious about the 'Fuck YU' that is spray painted on the wall and the sidewalk? No te preocupes con eso. That is just the way the neighborhood kids welcome you to their neighborhood. Your tax dollars will go towards funding the area schools. Who knows? With your help, in five years, that welcome message may just be spelled correctly." El Guapo's post about his 'barrio.'

4. "One look at the active ingredient in my current deodorant (Old Spice Red Zone) and, sure enough, there it is: Aluminum Zirconium Trichlorohydrex, which, if my high school chemistry still serves me, stands for “Aluminum with Zinc and three Chloriney Hydrogen things...Unfortunately, what the organic deodorant label doesn’t tell you is that while corn starch, candelilla wax, shea butter, and tea tree oil may be great for arts and crafts, they have no ability whatsoever to keep you from smelling like a pile of garbage. When I got home from work yesterday, the first day I tried the organic deodorant, and took off my sweater I almost passed out. Flashing before my eyes was a scene of paramedics finding me in my bathroom with a gaping head wound caused by my head hitting the porcelain sink when I collapsed. They were all wearing surgical masks and trying to get to me, but were routinely turned back by the horrible odor." The Belligerent Intellectual's post about switching to organic.

Best quotes I could find in a quick search. They have much, much better content than the samples I provided. Seriously worth checking out.

Canadian Car

No Wiz, this was not the car I got rides to school in as a child. But it IS kind of sexy... Please note, it's winter and the front windows are down. I love Canadians!

Canadian Car

Thursday, March 09, 2006

Sister Geekfest Part II

As a kid, I had the most beautiful hair. The curls were high maintenance, but my mom stayed home with us, and had lots of time to brush, blow dry, braid, curl, and clip in those homemade barrettes with the long strings of ribbon. It was rare that I didn't skip off to school looking like a raven-haired Princess Buttercup.

jess kristy nanny
Cookie as a princess-child with Nanny and Lil' Sis.

In grade 5, Lil' Sis arrived home with a note from her french immersion principal. There was an outbreak of lice in the elementary wing of Lil' Sis' school, and sure enough, she found a way to contract it. Mom spent that entire afternoon pulling bugs from Lil Sis' hair, and then handed her to Dad to rinse her blondes waves with pesticides. Then it was my turn. I sat on a wooden chair in the middle of the kitchen for 2 straight hours while Mom combed across each follicle with a magnifying glass and chopsticks. I had a lot of hair. She didn't find anything, and although the two hour ordeal had been a taste of heaven for me (imagine a hairdresser massaging your head during the shampoo phase for multiple hours), it was apparently pure torture for Mom (she had a backache for days following). Unfortunately, my sister's case of lice was the straw. The next day I was at the hairdresser, having my Rapunzul locks sheared from my head.

Because Lil' Sis got lice from someone in her grade 2 class, I was forced to spend the next two years looking like a boy.

ted jess jess spence 2
Cookie with a traumatizing boy bowl-cut, second from the left.

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

Quick, Before You Get Married

I heard an interesting statistic on my morning radio show: Men, before they get married, will kiss an average of 24 women, and women, before they get married, will kiss an average of 17 men.

Who in god's name keeps track of these things? And 17 men? I had probably smooched 17 men before I even got to college. Did these poor women not play spin the bottle or 7 minutes in the closet as kids?

Tuesday, March 07, 2006

Public Service Announcement

Speaking of scents, can someone please tell me why there has not been a protest to remove Drakkar Noir from the market? I just took a 10 minute cab ride in a taxi that absolutely reeked (I'm talking, smelled like the entire bottle had been poured onto the velour seats) of the liquid, rancid musk. I had to open the window because I thought I might vomit.

The raw sewage wafting into the air from the recycling plant on the corner of South Eads and South Glebe smells better than the stench of Drakkar Noir. If you own the black bottle that attempts to pass itself off as cologne, and you're considering whether or not to spray it on one night, DON'T! That's all I have to say about that.

Monday, March 06, 2006

Scent of a Woman

I have a slight obsession with perfume, to the point where I feel naked if I don't leave the house wearing any. I love to smell like lilacs and vanilla. At the tail end of my showering and preparation ritual, I spray every exposed scent-zone with one of the 20 different perfumes that I own. Wrists, chest, throat, behind the ears, back of the neck, and sometimes ankles (scent rises). On Saturday nights, I'll even dust my clothing with my floral smell-goods.

Although my mother used to sneeze every time she hugged me following a fresh spritz (or eight), and my old roommate used to come in my room, sniff the air, and say "mmm...Cookie smell," I never considered my heavy perfume use a potential disorder. My scent choices are much lighter than the grandmas in the fur coats who leave elevators reeking of spiced musk.

But after this Saturday, I'm wondering if I need to re-learn the art of scent application. While lingering with a small group of new acquaintances, one of the men who was standing at least a foot away from me turned to me and asked if I was sporting Light Blue (I wasn't). He could smell me from that great a distance. Yikes! Then, several hours later I was seated on a bench waiting for the metro when the man at the polar opposite end of the bench asked me what scent I was wearing. Although both offered that I smelled delightful, I'm not sure that impressing men a block in the distance is the true intention for perfume.

Friday, March 03, 2006

Two Men

When the two men in your life meet and have more to talk about with each other than they do with you, you know it was a successful night.

Thursday, March 02, 2006

Skillz Part Deux

DCB's post today reminded me that I have some very random abilities that I picked up as I dabbled in every possible activity growing up. I know just about all the words to the musical 'Joseph and the Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat.' Why? Because I was part of the church production of the musical when I was 10, and I've just never forgotten it. But that skill is simple memorization; certainly not a jaw-dropper. So I started thinking. What exactly IS my most impressive talent? Quickest su-do-ku puzzle solver? Nah. Funniest Canadian? Too subjective.

Well, following much deliberation, the vote was unanimous (which it would be...there was only one voter). I have one skill that nobody else I know has, thus making it my most awe-inspiring ability. In grade 8 I was a championship jump roper who went school-to-school to perform. I can still do most of my tricks (I say 'most' only because it has not been confirmed in many years whether I can still do a cartwheel into double dutch ropes). Maybe I'll even bring a jump rope to the next happy hour. Impressed?

Almost as cool as knowing how to curl (sadly, I've only ever been a spectator of that skill)...

Wednesday, March 01, 2006


Inspired by a mortifyingly revolting couple swapping spit and tongue-diving for each others' uvulae in the middle of the dance floor for no less than 45 minutes at one of your typical, frat-boy style, pick-up bars in Adams Morgan this past Saturday... I bring you Cookie's Dos and Don'ts for public displays of affection:

Do: Kiss your girlfriend on the cheek, back of the neck, or hand.
Don't: Suck your girlfriend's tongue out of her mouth like a vacuum cleaner.

Do: Hold your girlfriend's hand.
Don't: Hold your girlfriend's breasts.

Do: Rest your hand on your girlfriend's lower back, waist, hip, or butt cheek.
Don't: Put your hand inside your girlfriend's clothing, or excessively massage her when you're touching her.

Do: Whisper licentious suggestions in your girlfriend's ear.
Don't: Say dirty things about you and your girlfriend's planned evening sex-capades in such extreme decibels that other people have to hear.

Do: Dance close to your girlfriend with your arms around her.
Don't: Allow her to perform a lapdance.
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