Cookiebitch

OUR HOUSING CRISIS

2011-03-01T14:01:34-08:00

So I got a new job. After a year of downers at my current place of employment, including having to let my entire staff go and becoming pretty much insignificant, I decided that my husband shouldn’t be the only one to start fresh and learn something new.

Besides, it would be nice if we were in the same zip code again. As one of my loyal fans pointed out, I’m much less bitchy when I’m getting laid on a regular basis. Although I would venture to say that world peace would be within all of our reach if everyone was knocking it out. It’s just not as easy to bomb people right after an orgasm.

My new gig is as a communications manager at a high tech company. It’s a great opportunity for me to learn new things, not to mention I get more money, more vacation and something I never have heard of before – STOCK OPTIONS. I thought they were an urban myth, but apparently real people get them sometimes. And I didn’t even have to blow anyone. YET.

I’m still in shock I got the job – and that I got it so quickly. Usually the 6-inch hooker shoes and my aversion to talking to people are major road blocks during the interview process. But I think I’m just good with nerds. For the most part, they don’t like to talk to people either. And the shoes just make them blush and stuff dollar bills in my pants. So it’s a good match.

I gave a months notice to my old job, and now we are facing the daunting task of packing all our shit, finding a house to rent in the Silicon Valley, renting out our house here, and trying not to have a nervous breakdown in the process.

Where we currently live there is a flood of rentals available, meaning you have to give wads of cash away and offer free hand jobs just to get someone to even look at your place.

On the other hand, just 90 minutes down the freeway where we are moving there are no rentals available. The handful of landlords with houses that are for rent can pretty much get anything they want and have herds of people begging to do anything to be able to move in. I had to show a guy my boobs just to see a 2 bedroom condo the other day. Actually, he still wouldn’t let me see it. Gravity is a bitch and the girls ain’t what – or where - they used to be.

My husband and I spent the weekend looking at rentals with the hope of finding a small older home for around $2,500 a month. Out of six homes, we didn’t even go inside of three. It may have been the gang graffiti on the fence, or the drug dealers on the lawn. We’re just pussies I guess. But I had packed my Uzi in my other purse.

We did go to one home in a nice neighborhood built in the 1940s. All the other homes on the block had been upgraded and were really cute. This one looked like not even a paint brush had been used since the foundation was poured. The lawn was dead, the fence half falling down.

The landlord was late to meet us, and my husband wasn’t feeling well. He was pale and his lower intestines were rumbling – probably from the fear of getting shot at the last place we went to. But we didn’t know where the nearest gas station was, and it came on him suddenly.

“I’m not going to make it!” he announced, grabbing a box of tissue from the car and running into the overgrown bushes in the corner of the front yard.

I stood on the sidewalk, trying to think of witty one-liners in case the landlord appeared just as my husband was wiping his ass. Would this affect our credibility as tenants, I wondered?

Fortunately, my husband was able to do his business before the landlord showed up. As we walked up to the shabby front door, the landlord asked us to take off our shoes before entering the house.

I had new cowboy boots on. If you have never owned a pair of real cowboy boots, it takes at least a half dozen wearings to break them in so you don’t need a crowbar to get them off your feet. It’s worth it because they will be the most comfortable footwear you own. But in the meantime, you need a stick of butter and a half hour to get through airport security.

I looked inside the threshold. The carpet was the indoor-outdoor kind many people use in garages. My boots were way cleaner – and probably more expensive – than that piece of shit carpeting.

My husband, afraid to bend over to untie his shoes lest he stir up some more bowel action, was not happy either.

“Really?” he growled in my ear. “What could we possibly do to that carpet that wouldn’t be an improvement.”

“Well you did shit on his lawn,” I whispered back.

“Yah, but he doesn’t know about that.” My husband countered, unhappy that I would bring up such a delicate subject.

“But you look guilty.” I said. “He probably suspects something.”

The house was a disaster. The original 1940s wall heater – the only source of heat in the house besides the stove – looked like it would spontaneously combust. The bathrooms were less appealing than the bushes outside, making me think that my husband made the right decision.

The landlord was also an asshole. He told us he wanted first, last, deposit, and we better hurry because more people wanted it too and it was a first-come, first-serve situation. What was our credit like, he asked. What was our combined income? Would we be willing to give a blood sample? Was I a real blonde?

My husband walked outside with the landlord, feigning interest in seeing the “property.” He came to the spot at which he recently relieved himself and looked down.

“What kind of place are you trying to rent to us!?” my husband cried out, pointing at his own feces. “People are taking dumps in your lawn! Is that the kind of neighborhood you want us to live in? We aren’t going to live in this shithole!”

We hustled to the car, trying not to burst out laughing and give ourselves up before we could make our getaway.

The rate we’re going, there’s a good chance we may be homeless. But by god, we’ll still have a good time.

MY SINGLE LIFE

2011-02-19T21:06:34-08:00

Three to four days a week I am single again. My husband leaves Monday morning for his new job, where he stays until Thursday or Friday night.

At first, I thought this would be a good thing. I'd get a break from having to come home and consider his feelings and communicate about our day. Because when you are married you have to do those things, I'm told. ALL THE TIME. Which, let's face it - can be EXCRUTIATING. I mean, didn't we talk about feelings last week? Or maybe it was last month, I'm not sure. But it sure seems like we JUST DID IT, because I remember being EXTREMELY uncomfortable. Besides, I've talked to people all day - most of them morons. My job, technically, is to communicate. So why would I want to do it when I come home? Why can't I just have a beer and watch television until it's time to have sex?

So I thought it wouldn’t be so bad coming home to an empty house where I didn't have to be nice to anyone and could sit in my underwear and eat microwave popcorn or cereal for dinner. I might even be able to watch a Project Runway marathon without having to deal with my husband’s constant eye-rolling.

This would also give me a chance to go out drinking with girlfriends, or take an exercise class, or anything else that I kept saying I wanted to do more of, but made the excuse that I couldn't because I needed to be home with my husband when in truth I was just too damned lazy. In fact, my husband would probably RELISH having me out of the house more often so he can watch the Military Channel without me rolling *my* eyes. Maybe he could also surf internet porn without having to listen to my constant commentary. Why are the men in porn flicks always so fucking ugly, by the way? Can’t they find guys with big dicks that don’t look like their parents were related and possibly marsupials? Women like porn too … give us something to look at that won’t make us want to become lesbians.

So the first week, I made plans with a couple of friends and signed up for a Zumba class. And I came to a realization. The reason I don't do this shit is because I hate it. I love my friends - don't get me wrong. But if I don't even like talking to my husband about our feelings after work, why would I want to hear about their feelings? I was exhausted by the end of the evening having to talk to TWO women about their feelings and pretend like I care. I thought at one point I’d have to call 911 as my brain might explode from all the SHARING. To make matters worse, they both hugged me at the end of the night. REALLY?

Zumba, with its shiny happy instructor, peppy music and complicated dance steps made me look like an uncoordinated, angry cow in a herd of Stepford wives. Who the fuck came up with this shit? Why do people try so fucking hard to make exercise FUN? It’s exercise … it isn’t supposed to be fun! All those smiling women in that class have to either be drunk or on a shit load of mood stabilizers. And the bitches didn’t give me any!

So the second week I decided I was just going to sit at home in my underwear and not talk to anyone or do anything. This was better, but also not ideal. No one was making fun of me for not shaving my legs, or stealing the remote out of my hands, or laughing at me because my boobs had flopped under my armpits. And I had no one to mock in return. Where could I direct my pent-up angst? Would I have to go outside and start beating up neighborhood children again?

Also, while microwave popcorn is a very tasty snack, it pales as a substitute for dinner three nights in a row. I missed my home cooked meals, and got wayyyyy to familiar with the acne-scarred “sandwich artist” at the Subway down the street. When he invited me to his winter formal, I knew I was in trouble.

I found myself not sleeping well either. Which pissed me off. When did I become one of those women who couldn't sleep well without a man? Was I that big of a wuss now that I needed the security of a penis in the house? Unless the penis could fire bullets, I doubt it could do more than I could if someone broke in. In fact, I’m betting in a rage, I could probably insult a burglar to death. Yet there I was, wide awake half the night thinking that a California King bed felt like the size of a football field when you were by yourself.

All this has given me a bigger appreciation for marriage. This week, my husband is home because he’s taking a class that’s closer to our house. During this time, I will watch the Military Channel without complaint and listen to him talk about his day with rapt attention. I will savor every home-cooked meal like it is my last. Hell, I might even shave my legs. But only if he promises to put out.

The good, the bad, and the ugly

2011-02-17T11:01:09-08:00

First of all, I'd like to thank anyone and everyone who is reading this. I'm sure you thought I was dead. At least that's why I think I received that enormous cross-shaped floral arrangement with the card that said "Karma finally bit her in the ass." I appreciate it. Although I'm sorry to say it spontaneously combusted when I touched it. I'm pretty sure the florist fucked up on that one.

A lot has been going on in my life - both good and bad - which I will go into more detail about later. But here's a breakdown:

Bad: My husband got laid off in October, forcing me to give up buying shoes and midget strippers in preparation for being poor white trash. I even bought a tube top to look the part.

Good: Three days after he got laid off, a new company recruited my husband to work for them, which allowed him to take some of his severence money and take me to Mexico to celebrate. I still wore the tube top though to get free shots of tequila.

Bad: His new job is about an hour and a half away from our house in good traffic, and there is no such thing as "good traffic" in the Bay Area. This means he has to stay in a cheap hotel three to four nights a week until we figure out "what the fuck we are doing." This also means that because he's the cook in the family, and I barely know what an oven is, I've been forced to eat soup from a can and microwave popcorn while he is gone.

Good: I have lost more than 60 pounds. This is not just because I am now forced to fend for myself in the kitchen - although that is a contributing factor. But I realized that at 42 I better not fuck around anymore or you really would be sending me cross-shaped flower arrangements. I also wanted to feel better. So I started going to the gym again and counting calories. I am not going to sugar coat it - it is really fucking hard work to be thin. Between running 3 to 5 miles a day and eating vegetables for lunch, I pretty much want to rip anyone's head off for eating a cheeseburger.

Bad: My company went through layoffs - which fortunately I avoided - but my entire staff didn't. Then they announced that in the next year they will be moving their headquarters to Dallas. I don't know if you aware of this, but I'm not allowed in the state of Texas. I think it's because last time I was there I took one of my favorite stiletto heels and shoved it through a cowboy's ball sack for telling me I'd look good in his stable where he could "break me" like his other horses. I never got the heel out either, which saddens me because it was one of my best pair of Carlos Santanas.

Good: Although for awhile I felt I had absolutely nothing to say as Cookiebitch anymore, all this has sparked a whole new volume of rants inside of me. And I feel the need to share them.

A few things will be different this time around, though. First, instead of writing lengthy posts like I used to, I'm going to be doing a lot more short posts via Twitter and Facebook. These will just be little observations I make throughout the day ... such as why people who wear red thong underwear with white pants should be imprisoned. These are life tips really - little nuggets of wisdom I like to share with the world. I will also be posting things I see on other people's Facebook and Twitter pages that I think are funny. And of course, being a shoe whore, I will post links to shoes that I think you should buy me.

I will still post longer rants on this blog - but unlike Twitter and Facebook, which I will attempt to do several times a day, the longer rants will be further apart. They take longer to write - and right now I need as much time as I can to figure out what to do with my life. I'll also be working on updating the blog site in the next month or so in my rare moments of lucidity.

So I appreciate you reading again. I hope we'll have some fun together.

Don't forget to check me out on FACEBOOK:

And on TWITTER.

No, I'm not dead. Just drunk.

2011-01-17T21:53:19-08:00

Miss me? I'm coming baaaaackkkk ....
Wait for my bitchy return coming in February.
In the meantime, become a fan on my Facebook page, or subscribe to my Twitter feed @bitchrants.

I'll make it worth your while.

THERE'S ALWAYS ROOM FOR BACON

2009-04-03T12:44:21-07:00

I found out today I missed the opportunity to realize my life-long dream of becoming a Bacon Tycoon.

People close to me have often heard me say that if I could do one thing to make a difference in the world - to make the earth a happier place - it would be to make everything taste like bacon.

Think of it. Everyone WANTS to eat bacon. But we all also know that if you succumb too often to that crispy brown goodness swaddled in a glistening coat of swine fat, you will most likely keel over from a massive stroke by the age of 35. So you try to eat celery instead, all the time FANTASIZING about bacon. Mmmmm ...

And then there are the vegetarians and vegans. Granted, they are freaks. Still, I feel sorry for them, for they have never experienced the pure joy of dipping a slice of perfectly fried pig's flesh into the yolk of an over-easy egg. Or watching a piece of prosciutto slowly curl itself around a sea scallop as they are barbecued in a lover's embrace. To give this up is like giving up sex, or laughter, or music. For a life without bacon, is a life without joy. But if you could bring that joy to the leaf-eating masses somehow, without asking them to give up their freakish values - well that would be the ultimate gift, wouldn't it? And to put bacon in a form that would not make your arteries harden or cause you to look like Jabba the Hutt - well that would be an accomplishment as great as putting a man on the moon!

But I am not a scientist. I am a dreamer. So while I have imagined this perfect bacon Nirvana, I have never known how to make it a reality.

Then the other day, my niece texted me this:

"I just listened to a presentation from the founders of Bacon Salt - their motto is 'Everything should taste like bacon.' Isn't that your dream?"

Damnit! These people stole my idea! Still, I was intrigued ... how did these geniuses harness the complex flavors of the bacon strip and compress it into itsy bitsy grains of salt? If this was possible, what was next? Teleportation? World peace? Comfortable panty-hose?

I started to research this magic pork powder and the men who developed it, and what I found out was AMAZING.

The founders of Bacon Salt - Justin and Dave (yes, just mere mortals - who woulda thought?) started the business with $5,000 Dave won on America's Funniest Home Videos for a movie of his son hitting a T-ball at his face. Brilliant! A man who isn't afraid to exploit his children for money already has my respect!

Justin and Dave's love of bacon led them to tirelessly research how to bring a better way to eat bacon to the masses. The result is Bacon Salt - a zero calorie, zero fat, vegetarian and kosher seasoning that makes everything taste like bacon.

This fairy pig dust seems just too good to be true. But the reviews on their web site offer overwhelming evidence of this bacon miracle. Here are just some of the testimonials:

"Thank you for organizing the party in my mouth."

"My savior has arrived and its name is Bacon Salt."

“I can't think of an individual thing you should try it on, because it belongs on almost everything. Heck, you could season one of your knit socks and suck out it out through the fibers.”

“When you put Bacon Salt on mashed potatoes, they try to eat themselves.”

“Epoch shattering invention.”

According to the Bacon Salt site, Bacon Salt has also been talked about on ABC News, Fox News, and Good Morning America - just to name a few. Groups have formed in this product's honor like "The Bacon Salt Society," "The Church of the Holy Bacon Salt," Bacontologists, and a Facebook group called "Bacon Salt: Because it was inevitable." People are even dressing up as 7 foot tall pieces of bacon to celebrate this earth shattering seasoning.

Bacon Salt also comes in a variety of flavors including original, hickory, peppered and natural. But they also have limited edition flavors like applewood, maple, cheddar, jalapeno and mesquite. It's like a crack house of bacon, I'm telling you!

The company also recently released another product called Baconnaisse. That's right, people. Bacon is now SPREADABLE. And if that even isn't enough, they also have come up with bacon-flavored lip balm to constantly remind you of the awesome power of bacon. Still, I'm concerned about the dangers this last product may pose to pet owners. Making yourself taste like bacon is a recipe for disaster that will either get you french kissed by your Poodle, or leave you without lips after your Doberman has them for lunch. And let's face it, if you are constantly licking your lips to access more bacony flavor, people will start to think you're weird, especially if you tell them, "I taste delicious."

But Justin and Dave aren't just bacon masters, they are bacon humanitarians, launching "Operation Bacon" - a program that delivers Bacon Salt to our troops who are serving in bacon-less countries. Because yah, it sucks to be in the middle of the fucking desert with people bombing your ass. But to do it without BACON???? That's just inhumane.

But why just stop with the troops? Why not drop cases of it into areas known to be frequented by terrorist groups? My theory is that the reason there are suicide bombers in the world is because these people don't have bacon and therefore have nothing to live for. Give them bacon, and world peace could be just around the corner. With Bacon Salt, they don't even have to break any religious rules about eating pork, because there is no pork in it. I'm telling you, this could CHANGE THE WORLD!

Believe it or not, though, there are limits to my love of bacon, and I think Justin and Dave have not just reached those limits, but crossed over them with reckless abandon when they announced on their Bacon Salt blog their latest idea for making EVERYTHING taste like bacon - baconlube. The motto of this product? "Keep it Sizzlin'." And folks, they are looking for volunteers to "beta test" this bacon-flavored love jelly.

Now I think we can agree that everyone loves bacon - but to "LOVE" bacon as you're loving your significant other? Well that's just a threesome I can't quite get into. I mean, wouldn't it be a little like going down on BABE or Porky Pig? "Thhhhhhhat's all folks!"

Plus, I want to know that I am being loved for me, not for my bacon-flavored vagina - although let's face it, that is a man's ultimate fantasy. Which brings me to my next point - In a love triangle that includes a man, a woman, and bacon, is the woman really going to come out on top?

Still, Justin and Dave seem to have appealed to a segment of the bacon-loving market. Just look at some of the comments left on their blog:

"...because my girlfriend has always said "baby, i wish you tasted more like bacon" when she was down there......"

"Perfect for Passover!"

"Is this still kosher? It probably depends where you put it. ;-)"

I guess I can't blame Justin and Dave for pushing the envelope. As long as it is bacon-flavored, of course. And while I won't be signing up to help test this new Baconlube in the traditional way, I may buy a jar once it is available in stores. I bet it's great on toast.

Check out the Bacon Salt movie above - and wait through the testimonials for some funny quotes and pictures.