Drip Drip Drop There Goes a Cookiegasm

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Are you there God? It’s me, Abe Vigoda.

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Finally, a book for me about MY problems!


Srsly, MF Diary. It was a busy weekend. There were cookies coming out of our [insert preferred orifice here]. It was fun, but tiring. If you think you deserve cookies and you didn’t get them, please know that there was some post office/shipping jackassery (my fault).

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Espresso Snowcaps.

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Cooookie Mountain.

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Gingersnap leavings.

We had a good time. On Saturday we made the doughs and chilled them, and then on Sunday we baked all day. Companion made panettone again. Hell to the YES.

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Strudel versus Peanut Butter Cookie=Muppet Face

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And then, frowny face. Gingersnaps are a hard act to follow, I know.

An aside: people have been calling me “Martha” a lot lately. Why do men who enjoy cooking get mad snaps, but women who enjoy cooking get called “Martha?” Now I’m going to go WAY off the deep end here and say why is being called “Martha” some kind of begrudging slam? You’re derisively calling me by the name of a successful woman who is in charge of so much stuff it’s called omnimedia. Eh. Being a girl is FUN.

It’s raining, I’m trapped in the house, and I’m too lazy to develop an eating disorder. Let me have my crafts, PLZ.

Anyway, the real reason I’m irritable as hell is because Christopher Hitchens is still drawing breath. Done with you, Vanity Fair, you punkass dickbags. This month you ran Hitchens’ article “Why Women Aren’t Funny.” Next month, perhaps, you will run, “Fucking Kittens: Not So Cute After All.” Actually, I think the real article they’ll run next month will be “And No One Had Sex With Bitchass Hitchens Ever Again. (Not even Pity Sex after Four Margaritas! p. 241).”

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My interwebs retort: Hitchens, YOUR DUMB.

Also, I am on the fence about general assmittentry. My oldest is reading a poem at her holiday pageant/party thingie this Friday, just like last year. I talked to her about it yesterday and she said that Seattle Federline, HRH Federline, Federline’s mother, and MY mother were all going to be there. UGH. It’s like some non-awesome squad of…non-awesomeness. That’s all I got.

SeaFed’s mother is fine, I was on fine terms with her for years, but she was sliding into dementia a couple of years before I left him. During the divorce she was convinced I was calling her and harassing her, and SeaFed actually told me to knock it off. This is a woman I knew for eight years, spent holidays with, and even spent a week alone in New York with.

Damn! He was on to me. I’ve moved on from calling demented grandmothers. Now I just stand at the 44 bus stop and push people into traffic when the light goes green. And you know what? I sleep better at night now, I really do. It’s the motherfucking exercise and the fresh air.

I got him on the phone after talking to Franny to talk to him about xmas plans and he was all, “Did you think any more about that plan I proposed?” A couple of weeks ago he was agitating to change our custody schedule and I shut it down after saying no twice and here he was bringing it up again. Every time I talk to him on the phone I feel like I have to fight to keep it pressed up against my ear, like my body wants to rip it away from my head. I can hardly get through saying “goodbye” before I snap it shut.

When we were married I used to watch him hound various people who had said “no” about this or that and I was ashamed. I couldn’t watch, then–I had to literally avert my eyes to avoid seeing them squirm. He knows people want to say yes to things and to please other people. Now he’s trying to do it to me. And let me tell you, the only thing that comes into my mind is the sad, sad picture of a teeny little dog trying to hump a great big dog. The big dog doesn’t even notice.

So now I’m like, do I suck it up and take Le Strudel and go do this? I am a little afraid I’ll vomit. I tend to vomit when I’m outnumbered by people who bring on varying levels of nausea.

I am trying to assess how scarred I am about the plays and functions my parents missed and the answer I am coming up with is “not very.” It makes me laugh a little now to think of the other parents who would come up to me and say, “Oh, where’s your mom and dad?” and I’d say “At bingo,” because they weren’t there to defend themselves. I would watch the other moms look all sad and nod slowly. My entire high school career was like a bad afterschool special. I was the kid who the protagonist would either try to help or be advised to stay the hell away from.

It’s a good thing I have my life as a successful post-op podiatrist to console me now.

Anyway, I am thinking about this. Whippet will be there, but I don’t think she’ll let me hide in her purse. I can’t do small talk with these people, because I tend to come up with blurty things like “Remember when we got high together and you said you almost aborted me? What? Well, it was kind of a buzzkill,” and, “How do you find clothes if you’re shaped like an endtable, anyway?” and “Remember in court when you said that I forced you to crossdress? That was AWESOME. Also, what the fuck was up with that?”

I am Teh Angst this week and it’s totally blocking my creativity chakras n’ stuff. I want to write and cartoon but…I can’t even tell you how wound up I am. If you were here I’d just be shaking you by the lapels like some kind of bad cartoon and going BLEARGH. And you would say, “Don’t eat two pieces of tiramisu before bed, Asshole.”

In Other News

Someone left a comment on one of my old Strudel YouTube video for naming my child “Strudel.” AWESOME. Thank you, Internets. He just jelus cause his parents named him “SIKBALZ.”

Anyway, DUH, I would never name my child “Strudel.” Her real name is Cherry Popover. Shh, it’s our secret.

And on another entry:

SIKBALZ:
If you named your kid “Strudel” you both deserve the beating of your lives. You fucking people giving your kids these bullshit names are condemning them to torcher when they go to school. What the fuck is the matter with you fucking assholes???

OH NOES! I’m condemning my child to “torcher!” OH NOESSSS!

28 thoughts on “Drip Drip Drop There Goes a Cookiegasm”

  2. It is to laugh. If someone actually asked me if I’d have my name changed forever and always, past and future, from my own to [insert pastry], I might consider it. I really like pastry, and there are 56,789,234.3 people walking around with my name.

  3. Sikbalz needs to take a happy pill and perhaps get some exercise. Releasing endorphins and getting a life will hopefully bring the realization everything one reads is not to be taken so literally. Really, I wonder just how wide Sikbalz’s ass has become from all the sitting and criticizing. Do you think a giant butt pimple has formed? Perhaps that is what makes Sikbalz so cranky.

  4. I got a resume once from someone named Cherry Pie. Naming your child after a pasty is no laughing matter.

  6. I often wonder how unpleasant my life would be if everyone who made the first half of it so miserable hadn’t had the good grace to die or just fuck off forever. Sometimes I imagine calling my mom after eight years, just to see how she is, and her being like, “What? You’re married? I have to meet her!” And me being like, “Uh, no you fucking don’t. If she wanted to have the experience of talking to you she would rent The Butcher Boy more often. Which, since she’s never rented it, I’m forced to conclude that talking to paranoid schizophrenics isn’t her idea of a good time.”

    But I never have to have that conversation, because I moved eight years ago and didn’t give her my forwarding address or my phone number. And Dad’s dead, thank fucking god. So that’s all pretty good.

    As far as your sitch, the good news is that if all the women I’ve known who’ve had to dodge bullets from their fuck-up ex-husbands are any indication, eventually you’ll stop caring about most of this shit. Once Franny gets to a certain point, you’ll stop feeling like SeaFed can fuck her up just with his Retard Aura and his antics will matter less. And as far as your mom goes, just pretend she’s an ex-boyfriend. Like, you had this unpleasant experience with her but now she just doesn’t matter so when you run into her at parties and she wants to talk to you you can be, like, “Uh, hi. Nice to see you. How’re things? Hey- look! Crab dip! Excuse me.”

    Meanwhile, the best revenge is blah blah blah.

    Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here handing out unwanted advice and trite aphorisms all week.

    PS re Bitchass Hitchens: I didn’t know you were Jewish.

  7. What time is the pageant? I’d go with you! After all, I have yet to use my fabulous new kickboxing skillz…

  9. Man, poor Strudel, the torcher is the WORST!!

    Sikbalz and Hitchens = fucktards.

    Also, those snow-capped espresso thingies look damn fine! Can you catch a buzz from one?

  10. Ok, I tried to read Mr. Hitchens article, it was so full of non sequiturs, and spurious logic, (not to mention misogyny and an unhealthy fixation on ethnicity) that I couldn

  11. I thought Amanda from Pandagon tore into Hitchens best, so all I could do was take on the bad photoshop tip. That’s how we rollz.

    About the cookie buzz: I don’t know. Maybe if you didn’t have Seattle-like levels of caffeine tolerance. (If the room is quiet I can hear my kidneys gently weeping.) One batch (18 cookies) contains 4 tsps. of “espresso powder” which is great for baking.

    Supa: I am seeing her later that day, so I think I’m going to have my sister tape it. I don’t think I can hang.

  13. I hate. HATE my MIL, and many many many school events the old tub of guts has ruined for me by being present; I finally got with the program and now send the husband armed with digicam (two-minute snippets of joy! Preserved forever on video!) to cover any and all school events. The girls don’t seem to mind, because then they get my clever commentary as they watch their big moment with me.
    And as I may have said before, they still think I’m funny because they haven’t heard all my material yet. Heh.

  14. Ha! I love little kids. Yesterday I told a four-year-old that when I get sad lobsters come out of my ears, and then I have to spend hours rounding them up. He was really hassling his mom, so I was glad to be a distraction. His eyes bugged out of his head, and his older sister, who is six, rolled her eyes at me.

    Then he asked what I was serving for dessert, and I told him “lobster.” His eyes bugged out even more. Ahh, sometimes I miss the literalness and weirdness of four. Franny is SO on to me now. I used to be able to wind her up for twenty minutes at a go.

  15. SJ, where do you find espresso powder? I hate tweaking recipes that call for it by substituting shots for oil or eggs. They always come out a little off.

  16. Hi, I just got it at my local (good quality, but not Whole Foods) grocery (baking aisle). I don’t know how far into BFE you are, or not, but if there is a Whole Foods/Wild Oats they should have it for sure.

    You may know that King Arthur is a good brand for flour, and it looks like they make a powder you can Interwebs order. I haven’t tried it, but I would trust the brand.

  17. kids and their ex-families, i swear. i’ve had to sit with the ex, who was her stepdad, the ex’s girlfriend (who’s now his wife and mother of 2 little kids) (who incidentally all have the same haunted, haggard expression i once had, hmmm…), the ex’s mom, dad, step dad, step mom and a host of others at my daughter’s school functions. diving alone into that whirling vortex of hell is either incredibly brave or incredibly stoopid. but the kid knew i did my momly duty…

  18. I’ve used Medaglia D’Oro instant espresso powder in milkshakes, cakes, brownies and on camping trips! It’s pretty reasonably priced and you can find it in nearly any grocery store (well, in Portland anyway).

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