DC Cookie

Tuesday, May 30, 2006


When you see something blatantly obvious and incredibly offensive (and possibly even laughable) on the internet that involves a person you care about, and when the first draft of an angry and frustrated e-mail response starts off with the phrase "eat shit you insensitive, pathetic, douchebag excuse for a human being," you're probably better off to wait 10 minutes to calm the fuck down before allowing yourself to hit send. Because mature adults don't actually say those kinds of things out loud.

Monday, May 29, 2006

How To Train For A 10-K: The Break-Up Diet

Who knew that all I needed to do to prepare for this 10-K that I'll be running in mid-June was to suffer a painful emotional loss? Based on my success this holiday weekend, I bring you Cookie's 15-steps to training for a distance race:
  1. Force feed yourself a bowl of cereal in the morning, and then don't eat for the rest of the day.
  2. Travel to a location for the weekend where your ex will be so you are guaranteed to run into him 15 times. Be sure to surround yourself with no less than 8 of your best girls, and maybe even a few of your boys too. They are excellent diversions and roadblocks.
  3. Drink a handle of Grey Goose on an empty stomach. For kicks, mix in a few shots of Grand Marnier.
  4. Dance your tail off and then shovel a slice of pizza to absorb some of the alcohol. This is the only time you'll actually be able to eat more than 200 calories.
  5. Cry.
  6. Go to sleep at 3:30 am. Wake up at 8:00 am. Your energy won't be coming from adequate sleep anyway.
  7. Drink 12 ounces of water, pop 2 Excedrin, and suit up for a jog.
  8. Bring a sympathetic running partner, and a fully-juiced ipod (however, be sure to skip past 'Incomplete' by the Backstreet Boys, because that would just be self-torture).
  9. Run past your ex's beach house. This will help you set a faster-than-average pace.
  10. Feel the endorphins kick in and realize that you just can't stop running. This is the best you will feel all day.
  11. Pass some gardners to get hosed down and stay cool while you emulate Forrest Gump.
  12. When your legs finally give in (this won't happen for at least 80 minutes), stretch, shower, and sit out in the sun for a few hours.
  13. Force feed yourself a liquid smoothie and more water. Don't eat again for the rest of the day.
  14. Cry again, get your girlfriends to make you laugh, shake it off, then take your time getting ready for a long, fun day.
  15. Repeat steps 3 through 14. Twice.

By the end of this intensive weekend training process, you will never want to see another vodka drink or slice of pizza, but you will absolutely be ready to race. And it might help, temporarily, to take your mind off what it is that you're missing so terribly. Besides, you know that in a few weeks, you'll be just fine...

**Oh, and on an unrelated note, thanks to Maureen (I think...because I was at least 5 drinks in when I met her) for having the guts to introduce herself to me and ask me if I was DC Cookie. It's encounters like those that keep me wanting to write. Hope to see you at the next happy hour.

Thursday, May 25, 2006

I Have Loved A Gentleman

There are men who come into your life who are sweet, tender, and treat you with the sort of gentle kindness that a woman deserves. There are men who come into your life who are reliable, safe and trustworthy. There are men who come into your life who make you laugh and help you take yourself less seriously. There are men who come into your life and physically blow you away, so much so that the thought of another man’s touch never enters your mind. There are men who come into your life whose embrace makes you feel as secure and warm as you did in your mother’s womb.

Jess, Chris_cropped

And then…there is Charming Fellow; the kind of man who is greater than the sum total of all the other men who have tried to win my heart before him. A man who stands so far apart from the pack that the minute he entered my life, I became a better person. I’m stronger. I’m more patient. I actually shave my legs now.

I have adored Charming Fellow since the moment we met, in a dusky bar, at the most inopportune of times. When the dust of previous lovers settled, we managed to find each other. After our first un-date (we both swore we were just friends), I came back to Namaste’s humble cottage and jumped around like a squealing teenager. When our first kiss left me in a puddle of speechlessness, I instantly stopped considering anyone else. When a few reckless, unguarded tears streamed from both of our faces during a heartfelt conversation, and I understood for the first time that I did, in fact, make the same lasting impression on him that he has made on me, I fell in love.

Jess, Chris at Cloud

The clouds this morning were a welcome relief. In all my months of denial, even the electron-infused emotional connection that we so tenderly shared in those aching moments of hopeless expression does not change that I am vinegar and he is oil. Our desires are polar. There are more than one hundred things I would do to change this, but for now, the effort would be futile.

With nothing but the most honest admiration, Charming Fellow remains securely steadfast on the pedestal on which I put him from day one, and a piece of my heart will always belong to him. I would never ask for a single second of our time back. He is, without a doubt, a gift from above.

So with overwhelming and surprising sadness, forgive me if I disappear for a few moments to regroup. This Charming Fellow character has made quite the momentous impact on my sensory glands…



Wednesday, May 24, 2006

Controversy Week: Road Kill

I remember reading this post a while back, and feeling incredibly disturbed by the pictures and the related links, in much the same way I am disturbed at the sight of a dead raccoon on the side of the road with his head imploded by the pressure of a 5 ton SUV**. The images don't make me contemplate the issues at hand; in actuality, they just make me want to stop eating my lunch. I don't believe that's the reaction our protester friends are looking for, but it's the reaction they get. When I see their propaganda, I think "Get a life...and put that road kill where it belongs - in the soil."

Here is my issue with abortion protesters, dressed up in devil costumes, holding plastic babies and carrying pictures of a bloody fetus. Nobody gives a crap! Nobody going into the clinic, at any rate. People who linger outside of a doctor's office in an attempt to shock and frighten have little to no affect on the actual decision-makers themselves. When a woman enters a 'family planning center,' you can bet that she has taken a long time to think through her decision, no matter how many people are standing outside of her window praying. I roll my eyes at the pro-life argument that "abortion should never be used as a means of birth control." As if an abortion is some simple pill that a woman can take and never look back. Abortion is a complicated, emotionally draining, life-altering procedure that takes days of contemplation, and years of recovery. I know - I've helped multiple friends through them. Given the magnitude of such a decision, I believe steadfastly that it's something a woman should be allowed to contemplate, no matter how she became pregnant; irresponsible sex, rape, or monogamous, committed intercourse.

Protesters...go home. If you really want to make a difference, talk to your daughters. Openly. They're really a lot brighter than you think.

**Although I must admit, the sight of a Michelin-squashed opposum gives me an immense sense of pleasure.

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

Controversy Week: Hablo Ingles

If politicians vote to make English the official language of this country, that’s one thing. It’s really no different than having an official flag, an official bird, or an official song; all perfectly acceptable national identifiers. Frankly I’m surprised the matter wasn’t constitutionally settled in 1776 by the radical former Brits who penned the Declaration.

What really gets my blood boiling, however, is hearing the phrase “You’re in America, speak English!” Expressions like that just reek of entitlement. It’s basically the equivalent of saying “I’m too ignorant and lazy to learn how to communicate with you via any other tongue than the germanic one that my aryan dumb-ass was ever forced to learn.” You don’t hear Belgians bitching about foreigners not knowing Dutch. You don’t hear Italians shouting “Imparano Italiano, idiotichi Americani” Why? Because they can all speak four to six different languages fluently, and probably understand the basics of an additional three.

How embarrassing for America that, as one of the leading nations of the free world, its people have the ability to communicate only with themselves. Not to mention, this fact is virtually flaunted. I am personally humbled that I have gone from speaking and reading English and French effortlessly, as well as Italian with relative proficiency, to barely being able to utter a single coherent sentence in either of the latter languages. I don’t find the opportunity to practice, and hence, I find myself envying my friends who are so considerably multi-lingual that they even dream in foreign dialects.

For the love of education, stop being so self-righteous and enter your children into some foreign language programs. The only possible result from broadening our minds is an improvement to the American image and influence abroad.

Monday, May 22, 2006

Meet the Kids

Controversy Week begins this evening. In the meantime, meet the new banes of Charming Fellow and Lil Sis' existence (both of whom are chronically allergic).


I've always been a dog person, because that's how I grew up, but one snuggle from these friendly, cuddly, dog-like kittens had Aunt Cookie melting into a pile of driveling adoration.


Friday, May 19, 2006

New Roommate

Lil Sis and I tried to share a room when I seven and she was four. Mom and Dad moved my bed into her room, and every night was a slumber party. Problem was, I was so excited that I annoyed the piss out of her by talking all night. About my crush on Marlon Jackson, about how plump her tummy was, about our dog's flatulence... Each night ended with her squealing at the top of her lungs and my irate parents having to sit outside our door until I fell asleep. Our cohabitation lasted a grand total of 5 nights.

kristy, jess

As my maturity finally caught up with my age (I think it took until first year of university), my sister and I began to revisit the idea of becoming roommates again when we graduated from college. I couldn't imagine a better living arrangement. Me and my favourite person on earth sharing a roof without the constrictions of parental guidance.

Jess, Kristy

But alas, I graduated and moved to DC; Lil Sis graduated and moved to New York. She also had a very serious, long-term boyfriend, so I assumed the roommate idea would remain an unfulfilled dream.

Slowly, however, the obstacles have unwound. She left New York to go to grad school. She broke off her relationship. She got a summer internship in DC. My current roommates adore her even more than they like me. She moves here tomorrow...

For the next two months, I will be living out what will be, without question, the best summer of my life. Me and Lil Sis. Roommates for the first time since I was seven.

Thursday, May 18, 2006

You're Getting Called Out - Part Three

This guy is a moron. All that effort to terrorize 6 community banks for a grand total takeaway of $361,000 to be split six ways (assuming there were about 6 banditos). For those who need me to do the math for you, that's only $60 grand each. Not to mention the cost of the artillery, protective costuming, and getaway vehicle gas. Granted, robbing banks is tax free; but for the same amount this guy could have been making as a manager at a McDonald's for a year, he gets life in prison PLUS 95 years (you know, just in case he beats the odds and lives 95 years past the end of his life).

Clearly this guy didn't calculate the risk vs. reward correctly (shame on his finance teacher). Estimated ROI for six bank robberies? $60,000. Actual ROI for six bank robberies? $0 and a lifetime in the can. Hope he likes it up the...

Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Oil and Vinegar Debate Commitment

A commitment-phobe is not necessarily indicative of a man who is incapable of being in a relationship. I know many commitment-phobes who are perfectly content to have a significant other. What makes the monogamous commitment-phobe tremble is not the idea of loyalty, but the concept of change. The girlfriend in the relationship thinks about all the wonderful additions she has made to her man’s life: regular, safe sex whenever he wants it, companionship, conversation, a listening ear, compassion, cooking and ironing [unless she’s me], a boost to his already ample self-confidence, eye candy, an alternate perspective, energy, encouragement, warmth and laughter. On the other hand the commitment-phobe boyfriend, instead of appreciating his girlfriend for all her positive contributions (that in essence, he hasn't asked for), spends his time imagining all he stands to lose the closer he gets to his special lady.

The reality of commitment is really somewhere right smack dab in between the female’s idealistic, Pride & Prejudice-esque perfect, everlasting romance and the male’s innate anxiety that women precipitate upheaval, drama, unreasonable expectations, suffocation and a neutered identity. Relationships do require some effort, and they do force the participants to veer from the status quo, but the commitment-phobe cannot envision an ideal state outside the comfortable walls of his existing condition, and that stubborn perspective only hardens with age.

The question is, are there any female wiles enduring enough to entice a doubting alpha-male commitment-phobe to remove his phobic-lenses and view her in the same light that she sees him? Should the rare trillium* of a lady who represents the virtual antithesis of her commit-phobe boyfriend’s trepidation spend time attempting to allay his concern? At what point does her effort become futile?

*Please note the subtle significance of that flower as it may, or may not, relate to a particular female we know.

Tuesday, May 16, 2006


At a barbecue at our house for Mothers' Day in LA on Sunday, as I sat on the patio drinking a glass of viognier with the mother-of-honour (mine) and a few friends of the family, the conversation went from "Hey Mrs. Cookie, did you paint the living room recently?" to "Yeah, we did it after the Christmas holidays" to "Hey Cookie, remember when you had all those Christmas decoration pictures all over your blog? Are you still writing your blog?" to "What's a blog?" to "Um, that wasn't common knowledge among my family until...right now" to awkward silence.

Thankfully, Mom didn't ask how to find this blog. She was disturbed enough to know that I have a myspace profile. As entertaining as I can be at times, and as sentimental as I am about my family (she would love my ooey-gooey 'I love my sister' posts), I still maintain that there are things about me she would rather just...avoid?

At any rate, I lay awake for quite a while that night wondering if it's time to call it quits. Do I really want my Mom to read about my drunken antics one day when her curiosity gets the best of her? Would she laugh with me, or would she be embarrassed? The latter would be difficult to stomach, because I love to make her proud. Or worse, what about my co-workers? There are so many of them (at all levels in the firm) that know about my hobby, and check in from time to time. My colleagues appreciate my extra curricular lifestyle and embrace my social personality, but I certainly don't want there to be any misperceptions about my work ethic based on what I write. And what about boyfriends, acquaintances, friends, strangers? Is this DC Cookie image a burden that I really want to continue to carry?

The temporary answer is contained in the picture below...

Jess, Erica, Pushups

Now shut up already about this confederate flag guitar or I might really stop posting...

Thursday, May 11, 2006

If That Ain't Country

This guy rocks my socks.


His fans, however, are seriously questionable!

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

The Girls Come Out to Play [Lounge]

Play Lounge is a cheesy hell-hole. It's pretentious, it's expensive, it's humid, and it's SO last season. So why do I keep going back? After a day of drinking in the sun, then dinner and post-Gold Cup beverages in Arlington, when Namaste and I were debating where we wanted to shake our [significant] tooshies, my first and last thought was Play.

15 minutes later we were in line.


16 minutes later, we were ordering a tasty RBV at the bar.


18 minutes later we were in the middle of the dance floor.


Here's the thing. The reason I still like Play is because people who go there get really, really wasted. You can dance like this, and nobody notices. You can let loose like it's your job and nobody will remember (well, provided you leave your camera at home).

If that's not enough to entertain you, there's also delectable, security-guard eye candy (who will, in fact, dance with you...and let you play with his...flashlight),


Wasted, half-naked DIPs getting arrested outside the window,


and Julia's right next door, which kicks the crap out of Jumbo Slice any 3am of the week.


Yep - it's guaranteed. I will continue to frequent the place until it shuts down, much to the chagrin of some of my blogging compatriots.

Tuesday, May 09, 2006

Riding in Cars with Boys

Chris with car

When your boyfriend drives a sexy car, it's inevitable that he is going to be surrounded by women. Which is never a problem provided one of those women is me. Women have a thing for men who 'wrench on cars.' Expensive cars, even more than just cars. Antique cars even more than just expensive cars.


When Charming Fellow picks me up for a date in his classic saffron-tinted beauty, I froth at the mouth. She's an instant aphrodisiac. Bench seats, loud engine, manual windows, chrome. Swoon...

Jess and Car

She made her third annual appearance at Gold Cup this year, and 'illed out in the glorious heat while we all boozed and copped and boozed and copped and boozed and copped and boozed and copped and boozed and copped and...WHAT!

Ahhh, Gold Cup. And for the record, I knew it wouldn't rain. I just have good karma like that.

Monday, May 08, 2006


Sorry kids. A business trip and all-consuming images of Charming Fellow in that sexy cowboy hat he wore to Gold Cup are occupying 125% of my time at the moment. Debaucherous posts that will make their way to the big screen tomorrow afternoon (promise) can only be mentally conceived for now...

Lion Claw

Until then, you get the lion claw...

Friday, May 05, 2006

Google Me

These are always funny. How some people came to discover DC Cookie:
  • oil and vinegar homogeneous
  • beast debutante
  • Brad Pitt hygiene
  • hot woman cookies
  • cashews and gas
  • or will stay awake just to watch you sleep. ... The one who turns to his friends and says 'that's her'
  • scarlet johansson lookalike
  • what does fomo mean in a sandwich
  • "Britney Spears Flip Flops"
  • tom brady in las vegas october 2005
  • "for women" playgirl

It also appears that Europeans enjoy my photos. Please give me and Kathryn a round of applause for this picture, being featured on this french website under the caption "oops clips." Oh the pride. I also made this portuguese website under the caption "ass drunk" for this photo (in which, I really don't look drunk at all - they could have found something much better...)

I guess that's what you get for posting pictures on the internet. Wonder when I'm going to see my head photo-shopped onto someone else's nude body? Oh wait...

Thursday, May 04, 2006

Cat Call

It never fails. This morning I went for an extended run that took me past an active condominium construction site. The boys in the hard hats whooted from the minute they spotted me until I was out of view. How did I respond? I picked up my pace. Not because I wanted to get away from the cat calls, but because I suddenly felt obligated to impress the men who were admiring me. Same thing happens when I pass a hottie on the street, or a young professional in a parked convertible. This winter I jogged an extra half an hour on the treadmill after a good looking man stepped onto the machine next to me.

And don't think if Eric Bana were jogging beside me that I wouldn't run at a 7-minute mile pace until my legs no longer functioned... That would be a weight-loss plan that I could handle.

Eric Bana

Tuesday, May 02, 2006

Freedom Trail

Can I get a shout out for Boston? That city is alright...

Remember when I said I could spend every day just hanging out with Dad? Well, the same is true for my mom and my sister. Mom and I flew to Boston from our separate corners of the country this weekend to be Lil Sis' objects for show-and-tell in her MBA classes. I wore a 'Harvard Mom' sweatshirt for encouragement. Lil Sis received a standing ovation from the class no fewer than three times during our visit. She's just so wicked smaaaht (okay, it was planned, but she's still wicked smaaaht).

Prior to our show-and-tell debut, we spent the weekend doing so much walking that my feet went numb. I heart my family!

After a full year in Boston, Lil Sis still refers to her 'Boston for Dummies' guide.

What any sane person does prior to a multiple hour city walking tour...buys 5 pairs of shoes to lug around.

I agree with taxless tea, but did you really have to dump it in the harbour to make your point?

Me and my nice ass.

They wouldn't let me in to the Capital. They must know I'm Canadian.

Boston Common

And that's all you get. Because I yawn when people do a play by play of their weekend (unless they are incredibly gifted and humourous), and I've already bored you enough.

Brunch for 85, please. We're hungry.
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