I Basically Sold My Soul for These Cookies

The way I hone in on cookies that interest me is the dessert equivalent of a tracker jacker. And, y'all KNOW how I lose my GD mind for pumpkin anything. So, you can imagine that when P-San tagged me in a photo of these on Instagram last Thursday night...

...I practically bashed my head into the ceiling fan with excitement.

I had to sleep, but I had plans. Oh, did I have plans. Friday afternoon as soon as I was out of class, I was on the phone.
I called the local grocery store. Had them check. Nope.
Called another grocery. No dice.
Target? Nada. Next Target? Uh uh.
Keep in mind these aren't quick calls. No one just KNOWS if they carry a seasonal cookie, you know? there's a lot of, "Huh...what kind? Uh...okay...let me call over...okay, let me go look....cheese what?" Lots of phone being put on counter, a panting person responds, "No, ma'am."
So. Then. I call them.
That devil I boycott.
I dial Walmart.
This is the most frustrating call because 1) I am imagining my spirit being sucked out of the receiver and emptied into some jar on a clearance shelf and 2) somehow the person I first talk to has never heard of "Pepperidge Farm" and walks to the bakery, comes back and says, "They don't make pepper cheese cookies." I explain they're on the shelf. I get transferred somewhere. I say cookie, and they transfer me to the bakery. The bakery is confused. I say, transfer me back. The person walks to the aisle. They come back with an answer: Yes. Yes we have the cookies.

This morning, it happened.

Breakfast of champions.

It went something like this:

 And finished off with almond milk in the mug I got my last day in Chicago this summer.

Cookie Review: "A" & worth soul-selling.

"Back in My Day, a Text Message Used to MEAN Something!"

It did though! It used to be ten cents! And it felt like a genuine little communication. I loved getting a good text message. I would keep the best of the best. I got an iPhone a year and a half ago, and I do love it, but it keeps all my texts ever, which you'd think would be more fun, but it's not. It's more helpful for certain. But, fun? I'm sure my elders would disagree--but there was a romantic aspect of an impermanent screen of text. I could scroll through the greatest hits and feel all loved and good-humored.

When I traded my cellular I had a collection of maybe 50 undeletable (according to moi) texts from the five year period I had my ol' phone. I typed them out, and I just found the doc today. They're all gold, but I'll share a few bests from my sistah:

12.20.2009

“How’s Texas, Sweatpant Princess?”

6.1.2010, 12:34 AM

“You were so great tonight! Surprise for you on your bed!”

8.19.2010

“YAY! Meant to go for a run but ended up at the _____ for sodas. Kisses!”

10.8.2011

“Muffler gone. Call comm. safety.”

12.24.2011

"I love you too you little punk."

1.6.2011

"Look Who’s Talking Now has held up remarkabley well. Did you know Diane Keaton was the voice of the poodle?"

Pooks in Germany 2011.

Look forward to more entires like dis, y'all.

Successes & Failures of Saturday

Success: Waking up at 6:30 on a Saturday to read and exercise.
Failure: Did a half-aced job of a Jillian Michaels work-out like twenty minutes before I had to run out the door because I spent the previous two hours answering e-mails. And not reading.
Success: Feeling positive about the play call-back I went to this AM.
Failure: If I get cast, my life will implode. I do not have time for this ish.
Success: Doing my laundry this afternoon.
Failure: Not grading a single paper all afternoon.
Success: Grocery shopping supes efficiently, so I can finish all my new play edits tonight.
Failure: Stopping in at a rando bakery to snoop/waste time.
Success: Lady gives me a free cream puff. And it's legit. Plus, still plenty of time to do my work.
Failure: Accepting dinner invite from Ro.
Success: A delightful meal of good conversation, glass noodles, and Thai iced tea.
Failure: I have dinner plans with Pinto for later. Boop.
Success: Very joy-filled day.
Failure: Do I need to say this again? I have done zero reading, writing, or grading for the entirety of today. Good job, me.
Success: I have three hours before I head out again.
Failure: I'm writing on my blog. So.

Bold but True Statement of the Week & Labor Day

Human History trembles, buckles its knees, and crumbles in terror if you force it face your Potential.

On Labor Day I enjoyed a cone of pear and gorgonzola ice cream. Photo with Shells here. Snapped by Bug.

You can't stop today as it comes speedin' down the track,

Child, yesterday is history, and it's never comin' back,

'Cos tomorrow is a brand new day,
and it's don't know white from black!

Turning into the Skid

When your car spins out of control on ice, you're supposed to turn into the skid. It's the only way your tires get a grip and can straighten out, but no matter how many times you repeat the sentiment in Driver's Ed, your first (and second...and third...always?) skid, you cut away from the ice as fast as possible, scream as your car 360s before remembering "TURN IN." And then you're fine.

We're supposed to turn gently in to what others' problems are. But it's so difficult. If someone craves attention, for example, refusing to acknowledge them only makes things worse. You must give them positive attention, communicate honestly, and love tenderly. If someone lashes out for lack of confidence it's tempting to dislike him/her. If someone is irresponsible because of stress, we should attempt to relax them to garner better results. But it is just. So. Hard.

Turn into the skid. Turn into the skid. Turn into the skid.

La Croix Makes Everything Better

La Croix: for Head Counselors, June 2012

20s

Spandex shorts in public. What. I'm not a professional yet. It's fine.
My new all-lady improv team sees Celeste and Jesse Forever.
I give 4 out of 5 stars and exactly 25 seconds of tears
because love is so hard.
It's 9 PM. We go to an empty park and run two sets.
We're at a middle school sleepover and my character gets her period.
I tell Bug my real menstruation began in 2002. A decade. I remember
at the time my life consisted of Poms practice, Britney's third album,
and preparation for dissecting a dogfish shark.
I looked up at the blue moon
and wondered if I would remember this night when I'm 34.
I still can't believe I'll be alive then.
I was up until 4 AM. I've also kept a diary for a decade,
and it's for nights like these. Decisions were made, self-contracted.
In the morning they were forgotten.
I do what Jillian Michaels tells me. I watch One Tree Hill.
What. It's sentimental. It's fine. I bike to a crummy
taco shop for a breakfast burrito.
Life is so good. Green sauce is so good. Refried beans are so good.
I am playing a troll in a friend's new play reading. It's not humiliating.
I'm young. I'm over it. I like how in a room of theatre people,
someone always starts soft shoe tapping.
And I like walking up and down the aisles at CVS
instead of going to a party. (Parties are a dime a dozen in your 20s.)
And I like coming home to an empty condo
with a brown paper package from Heart on the table.
He made me chocolate cinnamon shortbread cookies. Dinner.
I call a stranger about buying his scooter.
I dab acai clay face mask on.
Complain to my sister on IM about my scooter woes--dramatically.

POOKIE: I want your scoot crisis solved.

ME: MY LIFE IS A JOKE.

POOKIE: It's a funny one though.

And she's right.

I could go to sleep. Or I could stay up texting like a tween.

What. It's fine.

In 2022 I will think this girl is a freaking moron. I just took this picture yesterday, and already kind of think that girl is a moron.

Top down, on the strip.

I'm lookin' in the mirror and I'm checkin' out my lipstick.