Below are the 7 most recent journal entries recorded in Cookie's LiveJournal:

Monday, February 23rd, 2004
11:14 pm	FU When I first bought my mobile phone/answering machine set at Circuit City three years ago, I thought it was beautiful. Sleek, wireless, intelligent; perfect for my new dorm room at my new college. I was psyched. This leads me to believe my intentions weren't bad. Over time, though, my relationship with this mechanical device has deteriorated, ending in an intense hatred and and sense of painful vindication at this point. It may have started with the hippy roommate, or maybe the mildly retarded one, it doesn't ultimately matter. The more mis-treated the phone, the more broken. I realize this sounds like a simple concept, but I assure you it goes deeper, deeper into the unexplained and paranormal. Personally, I think the phone just likes to spite me, taking advantage of the power it holds over my communication abilities. For example, my roommate and I used to argue a lot about who should answer the phone, and so one day the phone stopped letting us answer it at all. It would ring, we would press the "talk" button, and nothing. More ringing. And one summer I just never checked my messages, ever. When I finally went to check them, the machine wouldn't let me delete any of them, leaving my mail box full for eternity. Another roommate used to talk on it until the battery would run out, and she would do this regularily. Normally, just put it back on the base and it will charge. After a perticularily talkative night, though, it stopped charging completely. It remained un-chargeable until ,honest-to-god, my roommate moved out. Now, ever since I started keeping the phone on the floor, the screen has been flashing "F" and "U". Permanently. All day long, F then U then F then U. There is no reason why a phone machine should ever flash these letters, as far as I know. It's purely spite. He's all "But I'm just a little mobile phone/answering machine set bought at Circuit City three years ago! I'm harmless!" and I'm all "I see through your innocent facade and into your heart of pure evil! Let's exhorcise the demons!" and he's all "No! Don't unplug me! I'm your phone!" and I'm all "Damn. It has a point.". It also just started doing the annoying clicking thing when dialing out, like one of those old-timey clicking phones with the dial. So I'm in a situation. And my machinery is swearing at me. Anybody have any suggestions or holy water? (18 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, February 4th, 2004
1:19 am	... And I'm back. Neat magic trick, huh? So who here watched the Superbowl? Lord knows I did. There isn't anything better in life than watching 2 teams of highly dedicated, highly trained, highly muscular men going head -to- head in a game of strategy and skill, fighting for the champion title, wearing all spandex. The throws, the catches, the ass-slapping, it's nearly too much for a simple girl like to take in all at once. Even better, the team representing my home area won, which inherently means that I, too, am a winner, evidently. I nearly feel inclined to go out and purchase my own inflated piece of pig skin and then turn over a car. Maliciously. The only sport I am momentarily enjoying more than football replays is - kidding aside - bull riding. Seriously, there's nothing sexier than droves of sweaty young men wearing tight James Dean shirts tucked into tight butt-accentuating jeans under tight fringed leather chaps, all eagerly getting the shit kicked out of them by some pissed-off cows. They go out there on these things, well aware that the only way to get off is to get thrown, and celebrate when they managed to hold on for over 8 seconds and not look too gay doing it. Not only do I call that pure entertainment, but I also call it evidence of the gender mental gap. Sometimes it helps to be reminded of the proof that women are indeed the smarter half of the species. Before you argue, just consider the purpose of and mental capacity needed for the top three guy-oriented activities: 1) playing video games, 2) eating things, and 3) spitting off of high places. BTW, if you vote for Bush, you shall be disowned. If you vote for Bush anyway, I shall unleash upon you a political rant the likes of which have not been seen since the boobie rant of 2000. Ph33r the rant. (13 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, October 29th, 2003
4:10 am	Hoozay! So I got a job for some reason. I decided that since I only study for 20 hours a day, the extra 4 hours I could use to bartend at the new hip joint in town. If I can schedule my sleep into the ten minute intervals between classes, I figure I'll get at least 20 minutes of sleep a day, which should really be quite adequate. Any more than that and I might start eyeing other pretentious luxuries like clean underwear or canned milk. This, as we all know, would only propel me further into a world of evil temptations full of reckless frivolousness like seat belts and bar soap. Pretty soon I would be requesting 2 ice cubes with my pop instead of 1, and the $10 lady-boy with titties instead of the $2 retard with rickets. Unnecessary, I tell you, unnecessary. So now I mix margaritas. At least, that's what I call them. My boss has a few other choice words to describe my concoctions, but I prefer to think of my margaritas as creative visions of alcoholness brought to fruition, innovative refreshments selflessly borne of my sweat, blood and tears, priceless glimpses of a culinary genius's polymorphic inner psyche. Unfortunately, I think my boss is incapable of truly understanding just how revolutionary and completely brilliant I am in my diverse applications and interpretations of mixed drink recipes, preferring instead to focus his attentions on comparingly insignificant issues like "pending" lawsuits and "alleged" fatal allergies. But hey, I'm sure the first few times Aristotle declared the world was round his boss probably called him a crackhead, too. I'm just so ahead of my time right now it hurts. In order to remain favorable among the locals, though, I decided it was time to retire my overwhelmingly underappreciated margarita (1 part Mr. Boston, 1 part lime juice, 1 part Diet Sprite). After feverishly tinkering with the recipe, I fell upon what I securely deem to be the perfect compromise of customer satisfaction and spirituous excellence: 1 part Mr. Boston, 2 parts GHB. Already customer complaints are rapidly declining, and with the rate our patrons are leaving with each other, we've been able to turn over the bar at least twice as quickly as usual. While logically it would seem like I would now be next in line for a raise, of course my boss is only focusing on the negative, like it's somehow my fault that people are getting raped in the bathroom and passing out while driving home. Personally, I think he should talk to the cooks about those issues. Never could trust those shady characters in the kitchen, what with all of their "spices" and "special sauces". Speaking of professional wrestlers, wouldn't you know I drooled on one the other day. I'm not really the type to usually get starstruck, either cause I'm too hopped up on the cocaine cigarettes to even realize who I'm talking to or because whatever celebrity in question is such a big moron I'm not impressed either way. I barely batted an eye when I chilled with Rock Steady, hardly flinched when DJ Funk asked for my digits, nearly chortled at Michael Jackson when he called to borrow my little brother. This was different, though. I mean, this was a professional wrestler. And not just any professionaly wrestler, mind you, but the SOUTHERN HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION. And this wasn't just any southern heavyweight champion, mind you, but the SOUTHERN HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION WHO IS WRESTLING JERRY LAWLER IN TWO WEEKS AND BRINGING ME BACKSTAGE AFTER TO PARTICIPATE IN ALL SORTS OF ILLIGALITIES AND DEBOUCHERIES THE LIKES OF WHICH HAVE NEVER BEEN SEEN ELSEWHERE BEFORE EVER ANYWHERE. That's right, young pups, Jerry Lawler and I will be having butt sex. There shall be much rejoicing. And t-shirts, depending how much press I get. I'm thinking the shirts will read "My friend went to see Jerry lawler and all she got was naughty monkey ass loving", but I'm afraid it may be a tad presumptuous. Perhaps I'll take out the monkey part. Before I go finish waxing my sideburns, I'm announcing a mini-contest to come up with the best mixed drink recipe. The hitch is that you must have honestly had this drink, and the recipe needs to be completely accurate. The winner will receive not a dead baby in their email. As for the losers, I make no promises. You have no idea what I'm capable of. (14 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, October 17th, 2003
3:31 pm	Well hello again! Please forgive me. I feel I have been a terrible hostess. Here, let me take your coat. Why don't you have a seat in the study, while I go fix some snacks. Oh, I apologize about the boxes everywhere; I'm just an exceedingly dirty person. Disturbing, isn't it. Okay, here we go. Wait - lemme get these beer bottles outta here. These tequila shooters too. And can't forget those Absinthe carafes. Heh...heh.... heh.... .... OOOkay, Now that's better. So, what did you wanna talk about? Yes, I know I kinda disappeared for a while there. Almost two years, to be precise. What was I doing, you ask? Masturbating, mostly. Well, in between classes, really. Well, the classes I went to. When the game wasn't on. Of course, last summer I was working. I always stop partying once summer starts and take these insane jobs where I work 20 hours a day, 6.5 days a week. Well, I'm a cook, you see. A damn good one, too. At least, I assume I am, as I've never been able to actually taste anything I've ever cooked. No, silly. I'm just freakishly allergic to almost everything edible. I end up eating a lot of carrots and soy pork rinds and stuff. See that green glow I emit in my profile picture? Yeah, I really look like that. It makes me feel pretty sometimes. So what have I been doing these days? Hibernating at the library, mostly. And listening to a lot of early Salt-n-Peppa. When I hit 20 I had this horrific half-way-to-mid-life crisis when I woke up one morning next to a chinatown hooker, smelling of pork and Captain Morgan. It was like, a really ugly chinatown hooker, too. With confusing genatalia. At that moment, I decided I'd had it with my wily ways. Someone needed to stop me, and I was just the woman to do it. I did the last of my coke, tipped the last mexican lady-boy, and started studying the neurophysiology of the cerebral cortex. So now that's what I do. I want to be a neurobiologist. Figure out memory and stuff. Maybe even put out a couple pop cd's if I have time. Eat a lot of cake. That's all I ever really wanted in life. (15 Comments |Comment on this)
Thursday, October 16th, 2003
1:03 pm	HOHOHO So's here's how it went down, my children. my pretties. my saltyness. This is exactly what happened, in alphabetical order, starting with #1. There was awkwardness, as we met at twilight on the varanda of my beachhouse. I wore a red gown, and he borrowed my blue one. We were stunning. He did his best to pretend like girlies don't completely disgust him, as he looked deep into my eyes and called me Daddy. I think I might have liked it. I reached for the nipples, playfully at first, then somewhat viciously. I was bloodthirsty for some homo after my two martinis. I was rebuffed. By a knee in my crotch. I called him gay. I think he might have liked it. we proceeded to make out during the ensuing sexual confusion. now discuss! (18 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, October 15th, 2003
4:55 pm	Whoa there buddy SUPERNOVA. So I'm waiting to hear back from this gay guy that I'm supposed to go on a date with. He's fabulous. Even more fabulously, he doesn't know that he's gay yet. I've been thinking about being the one to tell him, as he's very gay and all, but then I realized that after I told him, I wouldn't be able to tweak his nipples any more. And this, of course, is the ultimate dilemma. Do I notify him of his orientation and proceed with the no-more-sexoring, or do I continue being scandalous with a hot piece of homosexual? And it's not like there's really a question of where he hangs his hat, ever since he said that boobies "are a nice accessory" and that "every girl should own a few pairs." While I agree with him 110% on this topic, he's still very, very gay. So how do I upload pics to this business, anyway? http://www.worldbeardchampionships.com/index.html (20 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, October 14th, 2003
1:38 pm	OMGOIMGOMHG)MHMH)MGOMG!!!!11 HOLY FUCKING CRAP, BIZZNATCHES!!! ROLFOLROFLOL!!!!11111 I am very quite hungovover from the heavy drinking associated with pirate appraciation day. Yes, every year, I take pirate appreciation day to fondly remember all the past year's deboucheries and suaveness by doing everclear fireballs before taking a ride on the Night Train, aaaaall niiiiiight loooooong. Granted, p.a.d. isn't nearly the type of national holiday that "boobie appreciation day" is, but hey, I'll take what I can get, especially in the way of Canada. I feel I've learned a lot since last time we talked. No, no really, I'm not being modest. I learned valuable life lessons, like how to not get stalked, what made so me intolerably not funny, and how to avoid giving "A's" the heisman. Unfortunately, my lack of not getting stalked while nosediving down my classes had a great deal to do with how much people laughed at me, ie. my funny, meaning that now I am not the funny with the laughing. I am still the fattness with the crackness, but I am not sure if that is enough. We shall explore this together. So come on back soon. And wear that dress that I like. to email: unlovelycookie@hotmail.com (18 Comments |Comment on this)