Cookiebitch

YOU'VE COME A LONG WAY, BABY

My fellow-blogger and friend Marie is one brave woman. She's expecting her third child and is doing so with grace and dignity. She also recently found out the sex of the bun currently in her oven - so she can stop calling it an unbaked dinner roll and start calling it "dude" or "dudette" instead. To find out which it is, click HERE.

Grace and dignity are not the traits I would possess if *I* were expecting a child, let alone my third. Although I respect motherhood, it scares the living shit out of me. I kill plants just by looking at them. My idea of a home-cooked meal is using the microwave to heat up leftover Chinese. I feel queezy and come close to passing out whenever I think of my nipples as a feeding device. So if I were to find out I was pregnant, instead of grace and dignity there would be hysteria and panic.

So you can understand that even a pregnancy SCARE is enough to have me curled up in the fetal position just like the baby I might be carrying.

Thanks to a co-worker "friend" who absolutely loves to tease me about having babies - because I am steadfast about my reproductive organs remaining unused and my uterus remaining barren - I had one such panic attack a few years back. It wasn't that I was late, really, if you call 24 hours being late. But ask any woman, and she will tell you these 24 hours add up to a big pile of paranoia.

My "friend" added to this paranoia, teasing me every time I saw her about "how much I glowed." To take a hormonal woman and play on her innermost fears of having a baby is much like throwing gasoline on a fire. The flames of paranoia leap to epic proportions. I sat at my desk thinking about what the heck I would do with a baby, how I could possibly take care of one, and went down the list of possible people to whom I could give it to, including my "friend."

Finally, realizing I would get nothing done until I knew for sure, I resolved to go buy an early pregnancy test at lunch. That way, I would know if I should spend my afternoon rejoicing about my barrenness or sobbing uncontrollably.

But I wasn't about to buy the test at my neighborhood grocery store. I knew all the clerks there, after all. In my fragile state, I would not be able to endure that knowing look as they scanned the test and gave me a smile - or worse yet, a wink. That would surely send me over the edge.

So this formerly secure woman instead drove 10 miles to a neighboring town and to a grocery store she had never stepped foot in before. Hopefully, there would be no one I knew here. But I donned sunglasses and scrunched down in my jacket just to make sure. I slunk from aisle to aisle, throwing items I didn't need aimlessly into my shopping cart so as to camouflage the test and make it less conspicuous. When I went into the aisle that held the item I was looking for, I actually started to whistle nonchalantly as I scanned for witnesses. Then, quickly and stealthily, I knocked a box into my cart and covered it with a six pack of Ensure and a frozen package of Flan.

As I approached the check-out line, I tried to calm myself. I'm a married, responsible woman. If I buy a pregnancy test, it's no big deal, right? There's nothing to be ashamed of! Then why did I expect my mother, who lives two states away, to suddenly leap out from behind the potato chip display and call me a slut?

I could feel myself breaking out in hives as the clerk started scanning my items. I prayed there wouldn't be a price check on the test, and she wouldn't notice it among the $218 worth of groceries I was purchasing but didn't need.

I made it out unscathed and seemingly unnoticed and drove the 10 miles back home. I was shaking and unable to pee because of performance anxiety. But after several deep breaths, I was able to take the test. One line was my goal. Two lines meant my life as a selfish childless woman was coming to an end. I'd have to curb my shoe habit to pay for diapers and things called "binkies." God help me!

I'm sure my neighbors wondered why in the middle of the day I would be dancing around my yard and whooping like I had just scored the winning touchdown in the Super Bowl. But at that moment, one line was the most beautiful thing I ever saw, and I had to celebrate.

I know many women out there like Marie will make great mom's and their kids are lucky to have them. Me? I am not ashamed to say that I am happy to be an aunt, a step-mom, and a shoe whore, but that I know myself well enough not to be a mom. And that's worth celebrating, too.

SHOE WHORE SUNDAY

FLOWER POWER

Mom's day is next weekend. Instead of giving her the traditional bouquet of flowers - which die in a week - how about giving her some flowers for her feet - which will last the whole season?

Floral prints are the best way to make mom feel both feminine and flirty, and are really fun for spring and summer.

These Guess beauties definitely live up to their name "EMPOWER2."

With their beautiful but subtle lavender flower print (complete with bees), 4 1/2 inch gold stiletto heel, sexy ankle strap, and cute yet subtle bow detail, mom will feel like she owns any room she walks into.

Their neutral background make it easy to pair these with anything, from a breezy dress to favorite jeans. And she'll feel fabulous in both! And all for about $110. Use shoes.com coupon code "MAY100" for $20 off making them a more affordable $90.

For a more 60's feel, there are also these gorgeous Naughty Monkey's, appropriately called "FLOWER POWER."

The flowers are more whimsical, inspired by a tropical theme. Yet the 3 3/4 inch high heel and brushed metal rose still gives it an edge of sophistication.

Available in both this beige, and in khaki, they too can be worn with both jeans or a fun cotton dress. And at $65 they are also affordable.

Naughty Monkey has other floral styles - all with a tropical feel - you may want to check out too, and all at a pretty good price.

Finally, so as to not leave out those mom's on the go, here are some cute flowered flats called Actress Anaconda by Chinese Laundry.

These vintage-inspired  ballet flats are made of a unique snakeskin textured faux leather that gives them added interest. But a cushioning insole, flexible midsole, and flat-traction rubber outsole make them so mom's can run around and feel as fabulous as they look.

At at just under $40, you can afford to take her out for dinner too!

To all you mom's out there - Happy Mother's Day! And remember to spoil yourself! Because you deserve it :)

WHAT I LEARNED AT MANAGEMENT TRAINING

I had to take management training again today - an EXCRUCIATING experience equal only to having Edward Scissorhands give you a pap smear.

Today's topics were "How to handle performance issues" and "Giving constructive feedback." I don't think the teacher liked me from the get-go, because when she asked the class how you tell an employee they are not meeting your expectations, I told her that I tell them they suck, and that I'll fire their lazy ass if they don't improve.

Apparently that wasn't the politically correct answer. Go figure.

First, the instructor told us you need to ask them if there is a personal issue that is causing them to not be able to do their work. In other words, you have to pretend to care about them. I suck at this. I can barely stay awake when people I actually LOVE tell me about their problems. How did they expect me not to nod off when listening to people who I don't sleep with?

I'm so easily bored when things don't apply directly to me that I need someone to hold up the latest Neiman Marcus catalog to keep me focused or my attention will go elsewhere. I've been known to just wander off in the middle of a conversation because, to put it simply, I'm done. I don't need to know any more. Everything that is said at this point is just "BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH." In fact, I recommend if you want me to stick around that you throw some key words in there from time to time to capture my interest. Words like "TEQUILA" or "SEX" or "MIDGETS."

For example, frequent reader and overall awesome woman Kim once e-mailed me. Not wanting me to just skip right over her message and knowing of my low threshold for pretty much everything, she titled the e-mail "FREE SHOES." I read it right away. And even though I got a little violent when I found out it was all a ploy, I did pay attention to what she had to say. That was a smart move on Kim's part. Others could learn from her.

But now I was being told that to be an effective manager and to help people do their jobs better, I had to pretend to care about my employees and their personal lives. Shouldn't my employees be pretending to care about ME? Isn't that the normal organizational chart for sucking up? Why did I have to suck up to them? I've spent half my life working my ass off so I could finally be the boss and STOP sucking up. And now they're changing the rules? FUCK THAT!

The teacher went on to say that after we determined whether there was a personal reason keeping them from doing their job, we needed to come up with a plan for them to improve their performance, and get their buy-in for the plan. Are you kidding me? The fuck-ups have a say? When did that start? I didn't have a say when my boss told me I had to stop beating people in the back of the head when they didn't work fast enough. No one asked me about *MY* feelings when I was told to stop stapling people's privates to their desk if they were late for work.

We then had to break off into groups to come up with three "methods" of motivating employees to do better. As we did so, the instructor looked directly at me and told me that we couldn't include any verbal threats, like "I will fire your ass" on our list. Fucking kill-joy.

It didn't take long for my group to complete the task, and I was touched when I was nominated to report back on our findings, although the instructor didn't seem nearly as thrilled about it as I was. These were the top 3 methods of motivating employees we came up with (well, I was the one who really thought of them, but my group agreed):

1. MACE

2. TASER

3. PUBLIC FLOGGING

I also wanted to suggest that for really bad employees, we strip them naked and make them dance like a chicken. But some of our employees I wouldn't want to see naked under any circumstance, so I kept that one to myself.

Finally, the class ended with an update on discrimination laws. The instructor made a point of letting us know that we could not treat pregnant women any differently because of their condition, or it was considered discrimination. This is also true even if the pregnant woman can't do her duties because she is sick, or uses the excuse that she's pregnant and therefore can't do anything.

"How about calling her 'PREGGO' or 'BUDDAH' and encouraging other employees to pat her belly," I asked her. "Is that wrong?"

"Yes, that's wrong, Cookie," the instructor told me, visibly upset that I was still in the class.

I put my hand up again.

"But what if the Preggo - um - I mean pregnant person - is at work and her water breaks on your new Manolos and you bitch slap her? I mean ... bitch deserved it, right?"

I don't know why, but apparently I have to go to "sensitivity" training now. I'm also not allowed to be alone with any of my employees anymore, for fear I may hurt them. But hey ... there are no performance issues in my department. Yet I see other managers continue to "listen" and "help" and "motivate" employees who just milk the system for all its worth and don't do shit. So whose methods work best, I ask you?

CHILL THE FUCK OUT

Okay peeps ... I never thought my last post was going to open up such a debate! Between the e-mails and the comments, I'm at a fucking loss as to how people can get their panties in such a knot over a joke. I've written WAY more offensive stuff, and I get shit over THIS? Seriously ... chill the fuck out.

And if this stuff offends you ... don't come back. Really ... that's the beauty of America. You have the right to read whatever you want, say whatever you want, and use your vagina any way you want. Just don't expect me to not exercise my right to make fun of it.

And just to clarify, YET AGAIN ...

No, I did not do research on this picture. Nor am I going to do research on every fucking joke and picture I post here. This is a humor blog ... not a political blog ... not a historic account. I was not saying THIS MAN IN THIS PICTURE is a polygamist. I didn't know who the fuck this family was when I wrote this ... still don't know. I saw the funny in an e-mail and thought I'd share ... and at the same time make fun of BOTH polygamists and people who have a lot of kids. Just in case you are wondering ... that's what I do ... make fun of people.

Okay, I'm done. You can post whatever pissy rant you want in response to my pissy rant, e-mail me what you want to e-mail me. I won't be responding. I won't delete your comments either. But I'm not going to argue over this stupid shit anymore. I have other people to make fun of, afterall, not to mention shoes to buy.

And to those of you who thought the picture was funny and aren't currently plotting to kill me, thanks for reading.

CB

AND NOW, AN IMPORTANT MESSAGE ...

For all you polygamist assholes out there ... this public service announcement is for you:

   

Now repeat after me:

"It's not all about my dick. It's not all about my dick."

Good job. I hope you learned something here today.

P.S. Yes, I know there is only one wife in the picture. That's because there was no way you could fit the second wife and THOSE 17 children in the same frame. I'm sure this same guy has about 12 of these photos - all with different wives and children - hanging around the compound.

And yes, I am judging. Because 1) Do you see how these women and girls are dressed? Can they get a GAP at the compound, at least? Even a Target? And maybe a Super Cuts?; 2) Do you see the drug-induced daze in the mother's eyes? She's gone absolutely stark raving mad from having so many fucking children; and 3) This is my hell people. I can throw stones if I want to.