DC Cookie

New Site

2007-09-04T11:08:00.000-04:00

www.streamofjessica.blogspot.com

They Were Right...

2007-02-03T12:19:00.000-05:00

It's not that I have lost interest in writing my fleeting thoughts and witticisms on my beloved DC_Cookie; it's just that with overtime, love and an exercise regimen, I don't have the time to commit to the blog like I used to.

Once a blogger, always a blogger, however. I'll be back...

Before Considering Marriage

2007-01-29T08:27:00.000-05:00

We know the statistics related to the likelihood of divorce in this country is upwards of 50%. One of my best friends on the verge of marriage to her fiance spotted this article in the New York Times which, put simply, highlights the top things couples do not adequately discuss before saying their vows; the most common marriage deal-breakers.

1) Have we discussed whether or not to have children, and if the answer is yes, who is going to be the primary care giver?
2) Do we have a clear idea of each other’s financial obligations and goals, and do our ideas about spending and saving mesh?
3) Have we discussed our expectations for how the household will be maintained, and are we in agreement on who will manage the chores?
4) Have we fully disclosed our health histories, both physical and mental?
5) Is my partner affectionate to the degree that I expect?
6) Can we comfortably and openly discuss our sexual needs, preferences and fears?
7) Will there be a television in the bedroom?
8) Do we truly listen to each other and fairly consider one another’s ideas and complaints?
9) Have we reached a clear understanding of each other’s spiritual beliefs and needs, and have we discussed when and how our children will be exposed to religious/moral education?
10) Do we like and respect each other’s friends?
11) Do we value and respect each other’s parents, and is either of us concerned about whether the parents will interfere with the relationship?
12) What does my family do that annoys you?
13) Are there some things that you and I are NOT prepared to give up in the marriage?
14) If one of us were to be offered a career opportunity in a location far from the other’s family, are we prepared to move?
15) Does each of us feel fully confident in the other’s commitment to the marriage and believe that the bond can survive whatever challenges we may face?

Interestingly enough, as I read through the list I realized Special K and I have discussed everything on it in detail, save #7 (which by default is already a no, since neither one of us care for TV very much), and we're only in our 4th month of couple-dom.

How is it possible that these topics don't automatically make it to the forefront of a communication agenda with a serious significant other? It boggles my mind...

Scarletta in a Blanket

2007-01-25T19:20:00.000-05:00

After a lazy Sunday with the blinds shut, my sweetheart and I emerged in the early evening to discover my car subdued by a thick layer of frozen powder [thick, of course, being a relative term for Virginia]. I took a deep breath and admired the paralyzed landscape. The soft snowflakes pacify my every worry.

I suspect I must have been born during a halcyon Québécois snowfall. At the pinnacle of every temperate white blanketing of winter I morph into a breezy state of absolute inner serenity.

It's the snow-capped exuberance I feel with each flake melting on my eyelashes that reminds me [thankfully] I will always have a gracious, pure Canadian heart.

Gandhi

2007-01-23T01:09:00.000-05:00

There is only one way I know how to fight. With kindness.

Hence, why I sit on the sidelines and shockingly observe these monstrous, scathing, verbal battles that ultimately get labeled 'blog wars' and wonder how my creative acquaintances and friends are capable of existing in that state of up-in-arms that I will never comprehend. How traditionally jovial and pleasant women can become so rapidly venomous and enflamed (at what seemed to me an ambiguous, innocuous offense) that claws are bared and skin is slashed in their ireful, slandering diatribe of a riposte. How the male character, who I spent the summer fondly unmasking to reveal a sensitive, loving, gentle soul, could retort with an equally unpleasant dose of vitriol so glaringly contradictory to his nature.

The reasons are simple. Insult, whether intentional or not, breeds that illogical desire for a grandiose and spiteful revenge. It's natural to want to defend one's honour via the means of personal attack and merciless verbal slaughter.

He's a cocky, douchebag, poser, steroid-monger of a wannabe with no life
She's a porky, psycho, attention-seeking, delirious sloth who can't handle rejection
He's not gay

Whatever the cheap shot, the real question I ask is...how does fighting injury with fire help to assuage the injustice? A scathing defense will garner plenty of attention but will not elicit sympathy nor guilt from the offender. Is a weight truly lifted when you turn into someone more odious, in the name of justice, than the person who insulted you in the first place; or does the burden just grow heavier?

If a group of people publicly lynched you for being a contemptible imposter, would under-handedly seeking out their private information for the purposes of retribution really prove that group of people wrong about you, regardless of the validity or insensitivity of the original defamation?

Didn't we learn anything from Gandhi's formidable example? The only way to eliminate injustice is to fight it with virtue. Basting a rash with lye; sealing a broken dam with a band-aid; masking a pungent odor with Drakkar Noir; treating frostbite with icicles; the initial problem will only be exacerbated ten-fold.

Can anyone count the number of enemies of DC Cookie?

Exactly.

Playette or Poseuse

2007-01-16T10:09:00.000-05:00

Woman, it's winter. Enough with the lace, neon-infused tube tops, especially in January. That was so 1988. Can I offer you a few small pieces of advice? First, square earrings don't match oval necklaces. You might want to consider shopping somewhere other than Claire's for your jewelry. Second, you may think you're 'the shit,' sticking your sizeable amount of junk out for a picture that the photographer wouldn't have taken had you not surrounded him with force; but honey, that good-looking man beside you is double-fisting; he'll talk to anything... Poseuse!

This post was inspired by the dread of finding horrible club photos of oneself online...and Roosh.

Assistance With Your New Years Resolution

2007-01-10T18:54:00.000-05:00

One of my best friends is a personal trainer. She doesn't just teach you how to lift weights effectively, she teaches you how to alter your lifestyle. I've taken her program before (with fantastic results). She just started her own business so she's looking for new clients. I've signed up, and in one week I already notice both a physical and mental difference. Not only does my body feel better post-holiday, but she's literally on the phone and up my ass (as she is for each and every one of her clients; friend or not) to set my targets and discipline me into meeting them. She's an amicable fitness Nazi.

She's hosting free trial classes until the 17th of January. Her strength training sessions are held in residential buildings in Arlington with a maximum of about 8 people in each class. I wanted to throw that out to the blog world to see how many of you want an inexpensive and effective method for sticking to your wellness resolutions.

Added bonus? She's exotically attractive.

If you want more information, e-mail me!

Un-Fashionably En Retard

2007-01-08T21:50:00.000-05:00

There's a difference between being fashionably late for an event and inexcusably delayed. I am the latter - always. When I tell my friends I'll be somewhere at 6:30, I typically don't arrive until a quarter to 8. A 7:00 dinner reservation is simply a suggestion for when to leave my house. It never fails that I'm 5 minutes late for important meetings, 15 minutes late for lunch dates or beauty appointments, 30 minutes late for gala events, work, or group dinners, an hour late for happy hours and upwards of 2 hours late for open-ended social engagements.

Although my friends and family have learned to deal patiently with my consistent and abhorrently dilatory arrivals, that doesn't resolve the fact that tardiness is a frightfully annoying habit. Procrastination is among my most signficant character flaws. I loathe being the last one to find a seat at a theater, but I adore the abundance of diversions with which I can distract myself so extensively past the required time of departure.

I wonder sometimes if my dawdling is the necessary, evil byproduct of my pensive tendencies and natural introversion (of course by introversion I simply mean my need for alone time). Because by no means are my actions torpid or sluggish. I'm eternally occupied and overbooked; but consummately fulfilled as a result. Unfortunately, that frenzied fulfillment comes at the expense of those who are perpetually wondering at what ungodly hour I'm going grace them with my audacious appearance.

I apologize profusely on a daily basis for my laggard soul, but there is absolutely nothing in the world that will change me. I'm going to be late for my own funeral...

Social Ass-et

2007-01-03T08:09:00.000-05:00

The question of what men are seeking [albeit hapazardly] and why they take so long to settle down with one woman was answered this weekend so plainly by Special K that it was as if I heard the hallelujahs amidst all unanswered female dating woes. To paraphrase, he said to me, "You know, all me or any of my friends have ever wanted is a woman who is a social asset."

And by social asset he means a woman he feels entirely comfortable bringing around his friends - all the time. The asset is cute enough that his friends want to flirt with her, but she is not egotistical about it. The asset does not whine or pout when her man disappears for a moment to have an aside with a rugby friend; instead she strikes up a discussion with someone else until he returns. The asset is outgoing, friendly and independent enough that she can handle herself graciously and confidently in a room full of amicable strangers.

That's it. That's all it takes. You can't win the man without also winning the friends' approval. Be good-natured; be fun; don't cling; be open-minded; be assertive; smile often; and engage his amigos in conversation without requiring him to hand-hold. Make it impossible for him not to want you around.

Happy New Year - This Blog Has Been PG-13d

2007-01-02T16:21:00.000-05:00

Because I don't ever want to look back and think "I wrote...that, in public?"

I was meandering the beaches of Santa Barbara watching the sunset for my new year. I'll be back in DC tomorrow and ready to blog again. Because I miss you all...

Controversy Thursday: Ban Soy

2006-12-21T02:54:00.000-05:00

I've always been under the impression that homosexuality is not a choice, but a genetic composition; in much the same way a person is born athletic, or intelligent, or black. There is nothing one can do to change her sexual preference, whether or not society deems that preference deviant or acceptable.

Thank goodness this guy has so scientifically and convincingly persuaded me of the errors in my thinking...

Save DC Cookie

2006-12-18T09:38:00.000-05:00

My blog is in a state of serious disrepair. For a multitude of reasons, this Cookie has not been able to commit as much time to the effort as I would have in the era pre-beau (despite my continuing love of verbal, narcissistic expression). However, it seems my precious 'DC Cookie' at wanderlust year-end has sputtered into something virtually un-readable. The signs have been evident to everyone but me...

Red flag number one: Roosh shakes hands with my Special and says "pleased to meet the man who represents the demise of DC Cookie's blog."

Red flag number two: DC Cookie is nominated "most likely to stop blogging in 2007."

Red flag number three: Webcowgirl, during a phone conversation over the weekend, mentions that her and her husband had caught up on my blog and she was noticing how 'schmoopie' (euphemism for disgustingly vomit-rendering) it had become. That a newlywed could find my blog 'schmoopie' was the final straw.

Thankfully, the need for an overhaul has come to this writer's attention with just a few sparing moments before extinction...

www.curiosity.com

2006-12-13T19:05:00.000-05:00

I don't understand the saying "curiosity killed the cat." I would argue an uninquiring mind insinuates an absence of drive, or ambition to learn. Augmenting our brainpower by unearthing things yet undiscovered is the foundation for the destruction of ignorance. In which case, the saying should be "lack of curiosity killed the cat."

This, my friends, is how I justify the internet-stalking addiction I have. I am curious. People interest me. Hence, I am not afraid to google names, to frequent blog links or to click generously on the myspace pages of friends 6-times removed from my own. I recall an entertaining e-mail exchange between me and my sweetheart just prior to the substantiation of our relationship. I began by showing him the picture that I discovered immediately after having google-searched his name. He responded that he wasn't sure which was more frightening: that such a picture existed in a public domain, or the way in which I had discovered it. Thankfully, he remains humoured that I am so gifted at exhuming little web-nuggets of bitterness, playfulness, intellect, train-wreckage, joy, forgiveness and introspective revelation that keep my curiosity burning. I mean, how else would he have encountered his fur-cladden, photographic likeness if it weren't for my not-so-secret habitude?

As bloggers, aren't we all internet stalkers by default? A term, I argue vehemently, should we adorned with pride.

The Beau Needs A Blog Name - Part III

2006-12-12T11:35:00.000-05:00

As a blogger always considering her work, I have entertained enough nicknames for my sweetheart to write a screenplay.

James Dean

Sweetness Express

Clark Kent

James Bond

The problem is, absolutely none of them inspire me. Each identity is fitting (except for Archie Andrews), but I have no desire to implement any of them. Similar to the scene in Mean Girls when Gretchen is pathetically and desperately attempting to promote the word 'Fetch' as part of her high school's vernacular, the only nickname that will do my sweetheart justice is the one that I exhale without hesitation - naturally. For now, that special term of blogging endearment continues to elude me...and perhaps there is a solid, predetermined reason for that (although certainly not the reason many of my blog friends have surmised).

The Beau Needs A Blog Name - Part II

2006-12-11T07:46:00.000-05:00

Because I use the word "meow" so frequently, or because I take so many pictures like this, one might surmise that the pose is a Cookie original. Unfortunately, I can't take credit. It is my sweetheart and his Aussie pal who started the trend during a trip down under. They got me hooked on the concept during a wild weekend in Las Vegas two years ago and it stuck.

Before we were sweethearts.

Tiger claws are appropriate even at the most formal of settings.

Tiger claws among friends.

Hence, when Namaste made the acquaintance of my sweetheart and spent a few comradely moments in front of the camera with him, feline fingernails beared, she whispered to me "I hereby blog-knight this man 'Tiger Claw.'"

Namaste's first tiger claw.

This is choice number two...

The Beau Needs A Blog Name - Part I

2006-12-07T06:36:00.000-05:00

As a child learning French, I found reading the quebecois Archie comics to be far more entertaining than Asterix and Obelix. I became hooked. To this day one might even find a comic or two stashed in my bathroom magazine rack. Although I always likened myself more of a Betty Cooper on the inside, there is no question in my mind that Veronica Lodge was the superior-looking vixen (which inadvertently contented me, given my own brunette locks).

Archie and Veroni-cookie

It's no secret that I've been hunting for a blog name for my sweetheart since the moment we started dating; if for no other reason than it's emasculating to call a man 'sweetheart' so publicly on the regular. When I took this picture with the beau on a recent trip to Las Vegas, a lightbulb went off. Although he is not a redhead, he could be my 'Archie Andrews...'

Archie's undisputable preference.

So this is choice number one (the rest to be revealed in subsequent posts). In addition, all other thoughts and ideas are encouraged...

Name That Blogger

2006-12-01T13:33:00.000-05:00

Before I post the super-classy pictures from last night's blog happy hour, I feel the need to insert how blessed I am to have a sweetheart who prepared for me a high-end-restaurant-equivalent, gourmet meal for no reason other than he enjoys cooking (and he's VERY good at it). He loves to cook and I love to eat. It's destiny, I tell you. I digress...

Crab cake and remoulade, roasted spinach and beet and potato salad.

As you can see, last night's happy hour really was for lovers. I believe no further explanation is required...

Putting The Great In Grandma

2006-11-30T12:46:00.000-05:00

Besides being the location of my conception and birth, there are many reasons to spend an exorbitant amount of cash for non-spacious, inconvenient, regional jet flights to Montreal; the top being that it has long been the residence of Grandma Cookie. Lil Sis and I had not been back since our cousins were married (no, not to each other) two years ago, so we planned a Thanksgiving day excursion to spend some quality time with the eldest of the clan.

Big Cuz, Cookie and Grandma Cookie

Prior to shoveling some Montreal smoked-meat.

Lil Sis and Grandma bake the best shortbread in the universe.

Sadly, visits to Grandma are never close enough together, as they are so very necessary for the soul. Her house is a museum of comfort and her tiny hugs quench that indefatigable thirst for acceptance. What I adore about my trips to Grandma's split-level manse is that nothing changes...ever. Her book shelf holds a stack of Maclean's magazines written before I was born; her medicine cabinet is a functioning tribute to a 1950s pharmacy; her walls sport decades-old, tacky Christmas gifts from her grandchildren; and games of cut-throat cribbage are played using a card deck virtually as old as her.

I have often said that Grandma is one of my most notable idols. All of her fascinating tales of adolescent struggle are laced with a positive downplay. She is so much more than a minister's wife who has long outlived the minister. She is a humble, faithful Christian; a healthy, active community member (with, according to her cardiologist, a heart as strong as Lance Armstrong's in training); a doting, generous parent; and a simple, frugal businesswoman who converted a preacher's pension into a reasonable fortune purely for the benefit of her legacy. She is an iconic example of how to live and love in a world devoid of material possessions. Throughout her fiercely independent life she asks for nothing and gives everything.

Our 'great' Grandma becomes a Great Grandma at the birth of Lil' Second Cuz.

Her children, grandchildren, and now great-grandchildren are blessed to share in her continued wisdom and live according to her selfless example.

More Babies

2006-11-28T16:11:00.000-05:00

I can't help myself; I love babies. That statement could be frightening to a man who is not quite ready to fathom the transition from evenings of draught beer to evenings of infant goober. As such, a woman who utters the blanket statement "I love babies" without further clarification risks flaring the otherwise dormant fault line of separation between herself and her significant other.

To a woman "I love babies" means just that; she enjoys being in the presence of cuddly, giggly, warm, drooling little people who willingly indulge her nurturing instincts. To a man, "I love babies" implies an over-active, calculated and eager biological clock preying on his uncharacteristic submission to monogamy.

Cookie teaches Lil' Second Cuz all about narcissism.

Lil' Second Cuz enjoys a new play thing; Cookie's hair.

Auntie Cookie will have to work on convincing Little Timmy that dill pickles ARE the greatest.

Cookie sneaks a snuggle with a friend's sweet little meatball.

What Cookie's college roommate did post-Cookie.

Just be certain that when you're making googly faces over your best friend's six-month-old son in the presence of your man that you stress the word "eventually" throughout the conversation. That way he can rest assured that he's not alone in his desire to cling as long as possible to those late, champagne-fused evenings undisturbed by the wails of diaper-rash.

An Alpha In The Sheets

2006-11-22T06:53:00.000-05:00

Now that I'm off the market I've been reflecting on Roosh's theories about alpha vs. beta males. I've been hesitating to post recently because I'm all-consumed in that dreamy state of mutual infatuation and want to refrain from propeling my readers to vomit in their mouths. The occasional vignette would be relatively innocuous, but otherwise I am certain the beau would prefer that his romantic gestures remain our little secret.

Cookie gets a present.

The question I have been debating is this: What does society consider a man in love to be; an alpha, a beta, or a combination of both? If I understand Roosh's post correctly, the moment a man becomes enamoured of a woman, he is figuratively castrated. Of course, I disagree wholeheartedly. Women don't want to marry granola-eating, ballet-dancing, indecisive, driveling whipping-posts. A contented man is also a courageous man because he has that much more to defend.

The rest I will leave you all to debate amongst yourselves, as I have another rendez-vous with my tough guy.

2006 Cookie Trading Card

2006-11-16T07:31:00.000-05:00

Released a little bit later than last year due to lack of demand and personal, romantic distraction, here is this year's not-so-anticipated DC Cookie trading card:

Front:

Back:

Reflections Of The First Third Of My Life

2006-11-14T20:02:00.000-05:00

After the age of 21, many people begin to fear their pivotal birthdays. But my concerns about aging have always been allayed by the actuarial fact that every year of my life has been better than the last. On November 12th, I reached the first rung of my own downward-spiraling milestone birthday ladder and surprisingly, it felt wonderful.

At the last minute, I decided to host a small and subdued soiree to 'celebrate' (if one can consider a slower metabolism, noisy joints, grey hair and wrinkles worthy of rejoicing) my veritable entrance into adulthood. Upon arrival I grew immediately and blissfully breathless as I was engulfed by the sea of smiles and fervent embraces of 100+ people whose lives I must have touched along our journey. My request for 'nothing big' turned out to be anything but and were it not for my mascara I might have even shed a few tears of gratitude.

From my punk rocker cousin who drove all the way from Allentown to my very first American high school friends; from GQ who hopped on a train from New York to Lil Sis who flew in from Boston; from my co-workers to the ARL girls; from my college friends to many of my cool, classy, creative blogger amigos; from an age-old buddy who ventured from Ohio to surprise me to the reigning party kings of Arlington; from former flames to the love of my life; the lounge was filled to the brim with those I hold near and dear to my heart.

A disappointing reflection for those who might have been seeking a tale of woe, but turning 30 was not dramatic. In fact, it was the absolute opposite of the gut-wrenchingly abhorrent sensation for which I had built myself up. I feel more beautiful, more content, more stable, more adventurous, more blessed, more peaceful, more pragmatic, more poised and (most importantly) more loved than I ever have before.

For those of you who made my birthday the truly momentous event that it was, thank you! You know who you are and I adore each and every one of you.

Earning the Name GQ

2006-11-08T12:38:00.000-05:00

I have always adhered to the philosophy that there is no such thing as “falling out of love.” Despite the inevitable atrophy of a poorly functioning romantic relationship, if you truly love somebody, you will always have a place for him in your heart.

Since the inception of this blog I have consistently referred to my first post-college boyfriend as “the douchebag ex.” My relationship with him was turbulent, as many relationships are between a naive and blindly obliging young female and a stunningly handsome, magnetic, former NCAA athlete in their early 20s. Throughout the prime of our development into prudent and mature adulthood we tormented each other. Our passion was dramatic and intense, but unfocused; our trust was justifiably fleeting; and our uncertainties weighed heavily. In spite of the whole-hearted, unacceptable dysfunction, I loved the man. One day following a harrowing and sordid shouting match, I determined this instability was too much and I cut him out of my life entirely. Debates are one thing, but a love affair that tumultuous was draining, all-consuming and physically unhealthy. Just as we clapped for Ms. Britney yesterday, my friends applauded vigourously the decision they’d been dreaming I would make (and stick to) for years.

After I terminated our relationship, I never looked behind me romantically. I am much wiser and a much more suitable monogamous partner having left the dramatics and the baggage at the back door, but having carried forward an enlightened confidence and exponentially improved sense of calm. Regardless, my former lover had played such an influential role in my youth that from time to time in the period of silence that followed, I missed his friendship. Years later, when I was 100% assured that I could handle a constructive acquaintanceship, I began to converse with him again, slowly.

Our reunion occurred almost a year ago and our journey has finally brought us to the place of comfort that was intended; caring deeply for each other’s well being from afar and rejoicing in each other’s contentment. He told me in a conversation that we had just last week that he was happy to see me beaming about my new boyfriend, that he’d never heard my voice so giddy or my seen my face so youthfully blushed. I understand my ex almost better than his family, and I am certain his words were genuine.

I can finally say that I am thankful, proud even, to have him in my life. He has fought valiantly against his destructive demons to emerge on the greener side as a legitimate friend and as such, I am officially dropping the less-than-affectionate title of douchebag from his moniker.

The Many Packages of a Mate

2006-11-05T01:18:00.000-05:00

I have never been of the opinion that a soulmate has to sport a different combination of chromosomes than me. Kindred spirits can come in all sorts of parcels. I ran away from DC this weekend to spend some quality time in the mountains with a woman who has long sported such a title in my life. She's a best friend because every fiber of her being encapsulates the same inner harmony that I was blessed to have discovered early in life and when I'm with her I mask nothing; I don't have to, she doesn't judge.

Following our lengthy hike, we sandwiched ourselves into a well hidden neighbourhood dive bar for authentic Mexican grub and some eye-poppingly strong margaritas. In a cozy booth we spent time gossiping about old times and new men. Of course, I couldn't help but gush at length about the journey I have taken with my sweetheart, from long-lost friend to distant super-crush to beau, and I droned on with tens of examples to validate why I'm so completely enamoured of him.

After a short pause to sip our margaritas and contemplate all that I'd laid out on the table she said, "You know, Cookie, you realize you're basically dating me with a penis." I coughed on a salty ice cube as soon as she said it, partly because she's hysterical and partly because she's frighteningly accurate...

Cojones

2006-11-03T10:43:00.000-05:00

A girl can be nothing but blushfully flattered when a man is so fleetingly taken with her that after a handshake and a thank you he realizes he cannot let this be the last moment you converse. Despite the presence of 50 of her fellow recruits and colleagues lingering at the tail end of a private dinner, the upscale server throws caution to the wind and chases the girl down the block as she departs towards her car.

Server: "Cookie!"
Cookie: "Oh, hi. Shoot, did I forget something?"
Server: "No, no..." (catches his breath) "I wanted to see if you had a business card."
Cookie (surprised): "Okay. Sure, let me check..." (hands him card).
Server: "Thank you. I was hoping that you would be free to meet me for drinks sometime."
Cookie (uncomfortably blushing): "Oh, that's incredibly thoughtful! I'm so sorry, I'm actually engaged [artistic liberty, I will be soon enough] so drinks would be out of the question, but that's very kind of you and I'm sincerely flattered."
Server (awkward pause): "Yes, well, my brother is looking for a job, so perhaps I can e-mail you his resume?"
Cookie: "Okay! Please do." (Server returns to the restaurant).
Cookie (to the recruiting candidates watching the episode unfold): "Wow, yes, our waiter really did just ask me on a date...how hysterical?"

I must admit, that took a ridiculous volume of courage to race after me on the street like that. I wish more men in the world had those kind of cojones.