C IS FOR COOKIE...
...That's good enough for me.
Confession: it is way way way too much for me!
A cookie isn't nourishment; it's an "extra," a sweet little nothing that, lately, has become a sweet big something. I eat a cookie; I lose control. And then I think to myself, "Don't eat any more cookies! Not for a little while, at least! Hold back, you greedy little bitch."
But this weekend it was Cookie All The Time. Which wound up being a Great Time. But that Time has passed and left me with a bellyache.
Because, for me, it never stops at just one cookie. (I like to think my appetite is well-expressed and well-appeased, but, in fact, according to these cookies, my appetite is a dormant beast just waiting for some chemical signal so it can go to Chow Town and terrorize said Town.)
On Friday I was on some sort of Fun Rampage, and I was fortunate enough to have a partner to indulge my every whim. We shared a bottle of wine. We shared a Cookie. We drank margaritas. And chips. And guacamole. And two big platters of Mexican Food comprised of some sort of rice/bean combination and perhaps there was some meat in there, for Protein's Sake, but I don't remember! I was WASTED! Then there was a rooftop party, and everybody knows that parties include Party Snacks. Which I ate. And drank. And I looked at my friend through bloodshot eyes, and I said to my friend, "Have you ever been to Schiller's? We must go there now." And my friend said "Okay," and once there I squinted at the waiter through bloodshot eyes and said "We will have one thing and one thing only: Sticky Toffee Pudding. Two spoons!" Because even WASTED I know what is Good Eating and Schiller's Sticky Toffee Pudding is basically a Mouthgasm On A Plate. Buttery toffee sponge cake, with warm buttery toffee sauce melting vanilla ice-cream. You could almost hear the silent screams of ecstasy as we ate this Lower East Side Manna. In order to keep the scream from leaving my throat I was absolutely forced to drown the sound with more cake/ice-cream, which, thank god, seemed to do the trick.
Saturday was supposed to be better. But here's a psychic tip from me to you: Life brings the UNEXPECTED. Honestly, Saturday was not "better"; Saturday was much worse. In that I ate MORE cookie, this one homemade and diabolically potent. I only had a tiny bite, but it DESTROYED me. Meaning that my Fun Rampage (with TWO Funtime Partners) took me all the way to Central Park where I purchased the most phallic popsicle ever invented. It's called The Bullet and is supposed to be a "Patriotic Pop With Flavors Worth Saluting: Blue Raspberry, White Lemon, and All-American Cherry" but it was really an "Invitation For Sexual Harassment: As It Looked Like A Clown's Penis". Hey, I'm a Classy Lady, so I ate the thing as quickly (and as uncomfortably) as I could, completely ashamed of myself.
With blue lips and red eyes I walked with my associates to JG Melon's where, for DINNER, we ordered cheeseburgers and fries. Actually, I ordered. My Funtime Partners had eaten an entire cookie each, and were so toasted that their respective eyeballs were rolling into the backs of their respective skulls. I took advantage of their blindness by eating all of the fries before they could get their dreamy, twitching hands on them. I like french fries! I will betray you for them!
Later, in an attempt to "stop the cookie" I drank two iced-coffees and a Red Bull. And then I met some friends for ANOTHER DINNER at my favorite Chinese restaurant, Grand Schizuan. "I already ate," I said, as if that truth would somehow prevent me from eating again. "Maybe I'll just order a steamed pork bun," I said, as if that would somehow prevent me from eating ALL OF MY FRIENDS' FOOD.
It did not.
I arrived, later that night, at chez moi feeling uncomfortably full. "You know what will help me," I thought, thinking my thought was rational, "ice-cream. That will settle my stomach! Dairy is ALWAYS a good idea for aiding in digestion! I am a GENIUS!" I kissed my biceps to celebrate my awesomeness (like I always do), and made way for the newly-purchased tub of Breyer's.
And you know what?
I slept like a baby!
A colicky, cranky, crampy baby!
Now we do penance. We being me. So now me do penance, so me don't turn into Monster.
Confession: it is way way way too much for me!
A cookie isn't nourishment; it's an "extra," a sweet little nothing that, lately, has become a sweet big something. I eat a cookie; I lose control. And then I think to myself, "Don't eat any more cookies! Not for a little while, at least! Hold back, you greedy little bitch."
But this weekend it was Cookie All The Time. Which wound up being a Great Time. But that Time has passed and left me with a bellyache.
Because, for me, it never stops at just one cookie. (I like to think my appetite is well-expressed and well-appeased, but, in fact, according to these cookies, my appetite is a dormant beast just waiting for some chemical signal so it can go to Chow Town and terrorize said Town.)
On Friday I was on some sort of Fun Rampage, and I was fortunate enough to have a partner to indulge my every whim. We shared a bottle of wine. We shared a Cookie. We drank margaritas. And chips. And guacamole. And two big platters of Mexican Food comprised of some sort of rice/bean combination and perhaps there was some meat in there, for Protein's Sake, but I don't remember! I was WASTED! Then there was a rooftop party, and everybody knows that parties include Party Snacks. Which I ate. And drank. And I looked at my friend through bloodshot eyes, and I said to my friend, "Have you ever been to Schiller's? We must go there now." And my friend said "Okay," and once there I squinted at the waiter through bloodshot eyes and said "We will have one thing and one thing only: Sticky Toffee Pudding. Two spoons!" Because even WASTED I know what is Good Eating and Schiller's Sticky Toffee Pudding is basically a Mouthgasm On A Plate. Buttery toffee sponge cake, with warm buttery toffee sauce melting vanilla ice-cream. You could almost hear the silent screams of ecstasy as we ate this Lower East Side Manna. In order to keep the scream from leaving my throat I was absolutely forced to drown the sound with more cake/ice-cream, which, thank god, seemed to do the trick.
Saturday was supposed to be better. But here's a psychic tip from me to you: Life brings the UNEXPECTED. Honestly, Saturday was not "better"; Saturday was much worse. In that I ate MORE cookie, this one homemade and diabolically potent. I only had a tiny bite, but it DESTROYED me. Meaning that my Fun Rampage (with TWO Funtime Partners) took me all the way to Central Park where I purchased the most phallic popsicle ever invented. It's called The Bullet and is supposed to be a "Patriotic Pop With Flavors Worth Saluting: Blue Raspberry, White Lemon, and All-American Cherry" but it was really an "Invitation For Sexual Harassment: As It Looked Like A Clown's Penis". Hey, I'm a Classy Lady, so I ate the thing as quickly (and as uncomfortably) as I could, completely ashamed of myself.
With blue lips and red eyes I walked with my associates to JG Melon's where, for DINNER, we ordered cheeseburgers and fries. Actually, I ordered. My Funtime Partners had eaten an entire cookie each, and were so toasted that their respective eyeballs were rolling into the backs of their respective skulls. I took advantage of their blindness by eating all of the fries before they could get their dreamy, twitching hands on them. I like french fries! I will betray you for them!
Later, in an attempt to "stop the cookie" I drank two iced-coffees and a Red Bull. And then I met some friends for ANOTHER DINNER at my favorite Chinese restaurant, Grand Schizuan. "I already ate," I said, as if that truth would somehow prevent me from eating again. "Maybe I'll just order a steamed pork bun," I said, as if that would somehow prevent me from eating ALL OF MY FRIENDS' FOOD.
It did not.
I arrived, later that night, at chez moi feeling uncomfortably full. "You know what will help me," I thought, thinking my thought was rational, "ice-cream. That will settle my stomach! Dairy is ALWAYS a good idea for aiding in digestion! I am a GENIUS!" I kissed my biceps to celebrate my awesomeness (like I always do), and made way for the newly-purchased tub of Breyer's.
And you know what?
I slept like a baby!
A colicky, cranky, crampy baby!
Now we do penance. We being me. So now me do penance, so me don't turn into Monster.
posted by Megan at 11:58 PM
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