Wordless Wednesday: Mmmm, cookies!

(http://www.sweetambs.com)

(Wordless disclaimer: Not a sponsored post. The website has videos so somebody can make these cookies and bring them to my Thanksgiving dinner. Maybe practice first. Thank you.)

Words of wisdom for cookie-lovers

“Sex is like a Chinese dinner. It ain’t over ’til you both get your cookie.” ~ Alec Baldwin

Oh, Alec Baldwin. Wise and handsome and wearing a suit. Sigh. I've decided you're going to be my imaginary boyfriend from now on. It's probably best if we don't meet in real life though. I'd hate to find out that you're just like all the rest.

Wordless Wednesday: Mmmm

I'm not licking that

Somebody sent me a link to an article about a new app that got me a little excited. Not for myself so much as for my male friends.

lickthisapp.com

It's an app that teaches men people men how to lick. You know right where my mind went, don't you? Good licking makes for good cookies, I thought. This is brilliant .... and I definitely should have thought of it first. I'd be every woman's new best friend.

I started to make a list of men I've known in the past whom I wanted to share this new technology with. I'm sure any judge would agree this is more important than following those silly restraining orders. I thought I would compose a message that was sensitive and encouraging, not critical or blaming. In fact, I planned to encourage all men to download this app and start lapping their screens immediately. Who can't use more practice? Fuck Words with Friends.

Then I decided to make beating this game a prerequisite for dating a guy. Just in case .... you know. I thought if I ever joined an online dating service, I'd say right up front I wanted proof of proficiency with the licking app. Oh, I had plans for this licking app.

Then I read an interview on Fast Company with the developers, and disappointment set in. "Do we think you'll be a better lover because of it? No," says co-creator Chris Allick. "Do we think it's an interesting approach to human computer interaction and making people think about their sexuality and maybe start a conversation? Totes."

Does that suck a big green weenie? Totes! (That's the one and only time I will ever write "totes." Make a note, Toots.) Really, Chris, who wants to start a fucking conversation? We woman want those tongues wagging without all the talking.

If it won't make men better lovers -- I'm assuming men, because I haven't heard any lesbians complain about lack of attention to detail in their licky licky -- what the fuck good is it? If it won't make men better cookie bakers, why would we want to watch them slobber all over their phones trying to flip a light switch or roll a virtual beach ball around? They could just as easily practice drawing the ABC's with their tongues on the tip of their pinkie fingers.

When I saw the name of this app, I expected to see a cartoon version of the lady bits (I'd say vagina, but somebody will surely correct me ..... again). I expected the player would get points for locating the sweet spot and staying on it long enough to win the game. I expected an explosion of cookies on the screen or at the very least a series of satisfying ah .... ah .... ah ... ah .... AAAAAAHHHHH sounds. Or both!

I must confess, I didn't download the app to taste drive it. I could come up with reasons not to get it, but no good reason I should. For example, google "cell phone poop," and you'll learn that 1 in 6 cell phones have poop dust on them. Anderson Cooper's phone has poop dust on it, for fuck's sake. The creators of the app suggest people use plastic wrap over their screens to avoid contamination, but grilled cheesus that's a lot of work for something I really don't need to practice. And anyway .... ick!

I did click over to the developers' website and saw Club Sexy Time has several other silly apps, like a stare-down app, a pencil-arranging app and a booby trap app. Oh, that last one was tempting, but my time is valuable. Someone might have posted a new meme or a photo of a cat on my Facebook feed. Booby games on my phone appeal to me almost as much as licking my phone does. And since even the developers admitted the licking app would be of no use to pretty much anybody ... I decided fuck it. Which is not the same as lick it.

Once again, a potential good idea goes down .... in flames.

Cookies for redheads!

Someone -- not saying who -- baked a special batch of cookies just for me yesterday. (No, not that kind. More's the pity, right?) They were hand-delivered right to my front door in a small paper bag.

They were, I was told, special cookies because I'm a redhead, and these cookies are a classic recipe made from ginger and molasses known as ginger snaps. Ginger snaps for a ginger! Yummy!

Classic ginger snaps

I confess, the last thing I need to eat is more cookies. (Notice I said eat more cookies. I did not say I don't need more cookies. I digress.)

Coraline and I went to a cookie swap Tuesday night and swapped 5 dozen lime-in-the-coconut balls and salted dark chocolate shortbreads for 5 dozen assorted other cookies. We came home with a ton of cookies to go with the rest of the balls and shortbreads I had here. A few of them made it into the freezer.

So my ass really does not need more cookies. But I am a ginger, and I do love me a good, fresh ginger snap, so I reached into the bag and pulled one out. It was delicious. I reached in again, but this time I didn't pull out the round cookie I expected. No, this one was ..... this one was .... OMG, I thought. Is that what I think it is? No! Yes! Could it really be a .....?

A new classic

Yes, it was exactly what I thought it was. A vagina! A vagina-shaped cookie called ..... wait for it ...... a ginger snatch!

Early Merry Christmas to me! Sometimes it doesn't suck at all to be a ginger.

Inside the fortune cookie

A bunch of us were out at our favorite bourbon bar tonight -- although none of us were drinking bourbon. Several orders of Chinese food crowded the big table we'd commandeered in the back of the bar. Everybody was getting full, and the meal was down to the fortune cookies.

Smooth Jazz opened his cookie and  ..... nothing. Not even a blank slip of paper. Nothing. He crushed his cookie in his hand and dumped the crumbs into a paper bag in frustration. What a disappointment! You get to the end of the meal, and there's not a fucking fortune to set you off into the future? Fortune cookies are about the fortune, right? The future. What the fuck are you supposed to do with no fortune?

Several other people broke open their cookies. Alex's new girlfriend read hers first.

No shit, that's the exact piece of paper that was inside her cookie. "Some fortune cookies contain no fortune."

It's true. I've been thinking a lot about relationships lately -- loss and the acceptance of loss, inevitability versus the effort to maintain, love versus convenience -- for various reasons, both because of events in my own life and because of stories others have told me. The empty cookie and this fortune seemed especially poignant, especially relevant.

Some fortune cookies contain no fortune. No matter how much we want to find a happy, optimistic slip of silver-lined, hope-filled destiny inside, there really is nothing there.

And all our expectations, even our fervent beliefs, can't change the fact that nothing is inside that cookie. Or that nothing ever was. Our faith that something was in there doesn't change a thing if nothing is there.

Sometimes we'll eat the cookie and be happy enough for a dry bit of hard, sweet biscuit. It's better than nothing. Other times we say "fuck it," crumble the cookie and toss it in the trash. The cookie without the fortune just isn't enough. Sometimes a cookie needs to try a whole lot harder than that.

These days, I'm with Smooth Jazz: If there's no fortune in the cookie, I don't want the fucking cookie. From now on, I only eat the cookie with the fortune in it. I've cracked open enough empty cookies and ignored their deficiencies; I'm looking for the fortunate one.

Or maybe I just need to write my own fortune and forget those dry, tasteless cookies.

If you could write your own fortune cookie, what would you write? I know what I'd write, but I'm a little afraid to put it out there tonight. Vulnerability and all that. Tell me yours and I'll tell you mine.

Hysteria Preview: Cured by cookies

I've been eagerly awaiting Maggie Gyllenhaal’s new movie Hysteria. One reason is because Gyllenhaal is an amazing actor. (OK, I didn't much like her in The Secretary, but she was fearless in Sherrybaby.) But there's a second reason somebody posted the trailer for this movie on my Facebook wall today and asked if I wanted to go see it. Take a look and you'll see why.

Yep, it's about the first vibrators. I'm not as much interested in the vibrator aspect of the movie as I am the premise that women get "hysterical" because they need cookies, and at some point a man decided he had just the cure.

I first heard about this movie months ago on Violet Blue's blog Tiny Nibbles. (NSFW. You've been warned.) I didn't hear more about it, so I thought it went the way of so many movies about women's rights -- into the straight-to-DVD crapper -- but I'm delighted to see that it's back again.

I've written here fairly often about the phenomenon of men trying to control women through their vaginas. Who hasn't noticed that struggle in the political arena in the past few months? As quaint as the idea of curing women of "hysteria" through womb massage is --womb massage! -- I don't think anybody can deny women are still fighting for our rights to control our own vaginas and vulvas and labias and, yes, our wombs too. Not enough has changed since the Victorians. 

I'll be back to review the movie as soon as I get a chance to see it. In the meantime, Gyllenhaal gives a decent interview in the New York Times. It's worth reading.

If it leaves you feeling hysterical at all ...... you know what to do. Hitachi to the rescue! Buuuuzzzzzzzzz. Ahhh. Ahhh. Mmmmm. 

There now. Doesn't the little lady feel calmer?

Literary Cookies

A dedicated reader sent me this book excerpt just for night like this when I've stayed out too late singing karaoke listening to other people sing karaoke ..... OK, I sang one song, but I mostly listened. Anyway, for your literary pleasure: a cookie. Enjoy.

From Ceremony in Death by J. D. Robb, a writer who obviously knows her cookies. (J. D. Robb is a pseudonym used by Nora Roberts, but who really gives a shit as long as there are cookies, right?)

Who doesn't love cookies?

Working out the kinks

I've been invited--along with a few hundred other people--to an industrial goth birthday/fetish party. No big deal. I've been to dozens of fetish parties. Former Girl Scout leaders are really popular at fetish parties because we know our knots.... Awww, fuck it. I admit it. I've never been to a fetish party. Not one. And now I feel like I'm sitting by myself at a long table in a crowded high school cafeteria reading my English lit textbook.

Believe it or not, I haven't decided if I'll go yet for three simple reasons. And if you'll please bear with me, I'd like to share them and get your advice.

1. I hate to admit this because fetishes are so hip, so trendy, even I'm invited to a fetish party. Not that I'm a complete innocent. I read Dan Savage and I also .... ummmm ... (maybe I shouldn't overshare.... this isn't my secret sex blog, after all) I don't like to get too personal, so my former, private experiences aside, the problem is I don't think I have a fetish. There! I said it. Unless maybe chocolate could be considered a fetish, but I'm pretty sure it's not. So before I can RSVP in the affirmative, I think I should adopt a personal fetish ..... ..... ..... I'm thinking. .... ..... Writing is a process of discovery, so please be patient .... I've got it! I do have a fetish after all! Cookies! Cookies will be my fetish. Cookies can be a fetish, right? Even if everybody loves cookies? Anybody else have a cookie fetish? Anybody?

2. Next, I'm not sure what I'd wear to a fetish party because a) this mamma doesn't go out dressed in a tight corset and garter belt like trailer trash ... a 'ho' ... a really needy middle-aged trailer trash 'ho' ... shudder ...I'm not 21. Those clothing items I save for someone who has earned his way into my inner boudoir. I don't waste that good shit on strangers. So if I'm not going to wear underwear lingerie, what would I wear? Rubber, I've heard, doesn't breath. I'd worry about excessive sweating. I'm not into kitties or bunnies. My feet are ticklish, and I can't stand up walk very far in 5" heels anyway. Duct tape? No. Unless I dress like cookie monster and risk a costly trademark violation, what the fuck would I wear to the fetish party?

Get your own, Elvira. You can't borrow mine.

3. Even if I did knock off numbers one and two of this list, number three is a serious impediment to my fetish party enjoyment: I don't have anybody I want to go with. And since I started this, I'll be specific. I not only don't give out my number, I don't date, so I don't have anyone to go with, and I sure as hell am not going alone. Sure, I could take any number of friends -- hell a whole group of friends, definitely some family, and probably even a couple of enemies -- but in my perfect world, an adventure like this -- the story I'd want to tell -- would be more fun if I went with someone with whom I intended to share my fetish -- that would be cookies, of course -- later. A romantic partner. In my ideal world, I suppose I would choose an adventure buddy (or two, hee) from my stable of booty calls* gentleman friends, someone who would accompany me to the fetish party where I'm sure Miss Serendipity would prove a delicious and entertaining hostess. I mean, one wouldn't want to over-plan the first fetish party. Alas, I don't date .... although this is one of those times I almost wish I did. This puts a serious kink in the works.

OK, Dear Readers, these are my concerns. The invitation sits on my Facebook events page, awaiting my click. And I just can't decide. Should I go? What do you think? Tell me: would you go?

* Booty calls may apply at reticulatedsecretsexblog.org. Remember it's only $39.95 per month to join. A bargain you won't regret. Or if you're too cheap to join, you can email me, but I will certainly mock you.

The Secret Ingredient in Cookies

This was a mistake?

December 4 is National Cookie Day!

I never know what people will text me these days.

So, dear readers, did any of you enjoy cookies today? Did the cookie baker in your life surprise you with a whole batch of hot, moist cookies? Better yet, did you have a cookie fest, invite your best friends and good neighbors?

One of my fellow Scrooge cast members (who is also an Octette sister) baked peanut butter cookies just for me today and brought them to our four-hour tech rehearsal. They were so yum.

Later backstage a couple of other readers, my sister and I had a good giggle when one of the male cast members said he ate a sandwich but he had his cookie first. Just like a man to have his cookie first, we said, but he didn't get it. Not my fault he doesn't read my blog.

I hope you all enjoyed cookies today, whether you knew it was a day of celebration or not. As for me, I'm looking forward to a grueling week of rehearsals and opening night Friday night. I'm looking forward to getting my van back, because it broke down Friday night after rehearsal and I'm relying on the kindness of a friend who's been driving me around. And I'm looking forward to the start of the holiday season: parties, shopping for my kids, planning Yule and Christmas dinners.

What about you, any good cookie stories*? Hee. Looking forward to anything fun in the next few weeks?

* C'mon now! You know I'd tell you!

Nov 26: Yes, Virginia, you can be a virgin again...and again...and again....

My vagina used to look like this.

Knowing a good deal makes me hot, a lowdown, dirty rotten spammer one of my thoughtful readers sent me a coupon she thought I might be interested in. Or so she said. I, being a creature of low self-esteem and poor body image, saw beyond the superficial message she sent, which went something like, "here, just thought I'd pass this on because I got two and I can't use them both," to the real reason she sent it. She's really saying, "Honey, my vagina is already tight as a your mama's Spanx because I send it to the clinic on a regular schedule, so I don't need this. But when I saw it, you're the first person I thought of because everybody knows it and nobody wants to tell you: your vagina needs to be rejuvenated. You're always the last person to know these things and it's time somebody told you. You need  vaginal rejuvenation." She's right. I didn't know. They've never covered this one on Desperate Housewives. But now I wonder: Has Bre had vaginal rejuvenation?

I should have suspected something, I suppose. Lots of my friends get massages, sit in salt rooms, go to yoga retreats and gardening conferences and blogging conventions. These things are important for maintaining physical and mental health. But I didn't know a woman also needed to get her vagina rejuvenated. I feel like a freak now. How many people have noticed and not wanted to tell me? Would men in kilts people stand in line to bake me batches of cookies if I'd just maintained my vagina's health better? Would I be having a cookie right now if I had reinvigorated my vagina like other women do?

It's not the first time I let an issue go because I didn't realize I needed to hire a man to perform periodic maintenance. For example, I didn't realize I needed to have my transmission fluid changed every 30,000 miles. So a couple of months ago when I needed to have it changed for reasons I won't go into, the Goodyear shop refused to change it, because I'd driven 135,000 miles without doing it. I didn't rejuvenate my transmission fluid soon enough so the Goodyear men refused to do it at all. Not even for $185!

So if that can happen, is it possible it's too late to have my vagina rejuvenated? With my transmission I now notice a little slippage when I change gears, usually between 2nd and 3rd. Same with my vagina? Is it possible my vagina has relaxed into complacency, probably because I didn't know I needed to have my g-spot amplified? My hymen has been in tatters for decades, that I do know. I feel so stupid. Other women obviously sport designer labias while I'm still walking around with the same tired, rundown, gynormous labias I've always had. I'm not sure what else is missing under my hood in my panties because the page for other cosmetic procedures is under construction. Just like my vagina should be!

I need to go from this.....

And to think a couple of months ago I was worried about pubic hair.

OK, people, I need to fix this problem fast. Sure Dr. Jason is reported to be a "kind, caring and understanding" semi-celebrity of a pussy rejuvenator. He even says things like, "As a sexual biological organism, women are superior to men." Thank you, Dr. Jason. Please help me stay sexually superior because that's really working for me. I bet you've never left a woman wanting a cookie. But at what point would Dr. Jason--like the Goodyear guys--say, "Sorry. There's nothing I can do for you. You've driven your vagina into the ground. If only you'd come to me sooner ..... "?

I need to do something now! My vagina, and probably my other lady parts too, need immediate rejuvenation. This isn't something I can do alone, so I hope I can depend on you, my reticulated blog community, for assistance, because this shit is expensive and I'll need to go on a trip to New York as soon as possible.*

And thus from the wreckage of my ravaged vagina is born the Rejuvenate Reticula's Vagina Foundation. (Say that last sentence three times fast and then follow the directions below.)

Here's what you can do to help my vagina. Call this toll-free number:

1-myn-ewv-agina to donate with a credit card. Elvira and I Operators will be standing by. Or you can click on the Paypal button on the right sidebar over there to donate safely through Paypal. Or when you see me out some night, just slip me some cash, whatever you've got on you. Everything helps. Thank you.

Still not persuaded? Listen, this will be a life-changing procedure. Far more profound than learning to work a pole or vocalizing an orgasm on stage or even killing a turkey. You will want to read about this! You will want photos! You will want me to enjoy my new rejuvenated cookie-maker! You will want photos.

Your kids will forgive you if they have to miss one tiny Christmas. Look how happy the Cratchits were in spite of their meager existence. Aren't you always saying Christmas is too commercial? Haven't you threatened again and again to make all your gifts by hand or re-gift all those ugly sweaters your Aunt Lois knitted? This is your chance to finally do some good on Christmas. And unlike gifts to Heifer International, you will see immediate cookies! results when you send your donations to the Rejuvenate Reticula's Vagina Foundation. No waiting for the calf or the chick to grow up. Dr. Jason and I guarantee results in just weeks.

Please donate generously. My vagina needs you. My labia needs you. My g-spot needs you. We can't bake cookies without you. Thank you.
 

... to this.

* While I'm in New York, it would be crazy not to catch a couple of Broadway shows, so please keep that in mind when you give with your heart.


Disclaimer: I am not mocking women who really need the procedures done at this clinic for health reasons. I'm sure many of the surgeries Dr. Jason performs really do change women's lives for the better. This post is for entertainment purposes only.