Cookie Monsters
Ooooh, holeEey niiIIIght—
A clatter from the kitchen interrupted my shower serenade and made me drop my microphone loofah. What the —?! Another crash, followed by what sounded like someone digging through my breakfast cereal looking for the prize. Ha, ha muthafucka! I already took out the prize! It was a Lego toilet or something. And Dingo Girl already chewed it into a pulpy wad of plastic! You FAIL, chump!
Wait!
I was home alone. I was in the shower. The ruckus from the kitchen could only mean one thing — zombies.
Trapped in my bathroom, my only hope for survival would rest on how resourceful I could be. I needed a weapon. I looked around. I could concoct a Molotov cocktail in my empty mouthwash bottle with Nyquil and a wash cloth. But the wash cloth was wet and I had no matches. Nyquil alone would certainly knock out someone who is a zombie even before they take it, but how would I get him to drink it? I couldn’t even find the little plastic cup. I needed something foolproof. I could squirt shower gel in the zombie’s face. If it didn’t close its eyes, that would sting like hell. And zombies don’t blink all that much. I had about half a bottle of Aveda Rosemary Mint Hand and Body Wash. But it’s a small bottle and, serious, it was almost $20. It should cost less than $10 to blind a zombie. I needed a cheaper weapon.
I did have morning breath, a known WMD, and no mouthwash. I breathed into my cupped hand. Oh yeah, I thought. Locked and loaded. But, you know, no need to rush into anything. Besides, I hadn’t yet washed off my oatmeal-honey scrub mask. Maybe hiding out in a steamy shower covered in breakfast was the appropriate way to deal with the zombie hordes. Kind of like how Governor Arnie handled those aliens in Predator.
No. Dingo Girl and Not a Dingo were out there. I had to make a move. I was carefully and oh. so. quietly sliding the shower curtain aside when I heard the dishes by the sink clatter to the floor. Innernetz, this was serious. There was really something in the kitchen. I may or may not have peed my birthday suit.
I stepped carefully across the bathroom floor. It was probably not a good idea to apply the oatmeal-honey scrub mask to my entire body because it was really hard to move with ninja-like stealth with my butt cheeks stuck together. I pressed my ear to the door. The sounds were definitely coming from the kitchen. I really needed a weapon. The plunger! Grabbing Excalibur from behind the toilet, I gave a few practice thrusts and put on my mean face. “Don’t come any closer, asshole!” I whispered. “I have e coli and I’m not afraid to use it!.”
I was ready.
The door creaked open on its warped hinges. The kitchen went silent. Damn! Had I lost the element of surprise? I eyed the living room through the quarter-inch crack. I didn’t see Dingo Girl. She was probably protecting me from under the bed. Into my peripheral vision strolled Not a Dingo. Evidencing the fearless mien of her leonine ancestors, she mercilessly stalked a sunbeam. And then got bored. Yawing and stretching, she plopped down in the middle of the floor, hiked her hind leg over her ear and began to slurp her cooter. I remembered reading an article about a cat that saved her owner from an intruder and another one about a cat that dialed 911. I knew I could count on Not a Dingo. “Run, Not a Dingo! Go get help!” I thought. I could tell the moment Not a Dingo received my instant mental message. She looked up from her cooter slurpin’ for just a moment and messaged back, “Hey! Look what I can do!”
There was another crash from the kitchen. Damn, damn, damn! I thought. It sounded like the cookie jar. And then I got mad. Oh, no you din’t! You did NOT come to my kitchen and steal my cookies. The front door was just inches away from the bathroom and I was confident I could make it. But there was no way I was going to leave Dingo Girl and Not a Dingo in the apartment with a killer. And I knew it had to be a killer. Anyone with enough balls to sneak into my apartment and touch my Snickerdoodles had to foresee the potential need for deadly force.
One hand on the door, the other holding Excalibur, I had to make a decision. And then I heard it. tich, tich, tich. I knew that sound! tich, tich, tich. But in the kitchen? Drying oatmeal flaked off my trembling body and crumbled to the floor. My feet left wet tattoos on the cold hardwood as I snuck to the kitchen. Every Law and Order episode I’d ever seen flicked through my brain. I could see Ice-T standing over the chalk outline of my body shaking his head saying, “Ah, here! See this footprint? This is where the victim did something really stupid.” I took a deep breath that never quite reached my lungs and peeked into the kitchen. Pots, pans, dishes, and cookie crumbs were everywhere. And there, in the middle of it all was the black-eyed fiend.
“Pinky!” I yelled. “You scared the shit out of me!”
Pinky’s bushy tail waved at me wildly as she dove into the tub of nuts by the fridge searching for the walnuts that warm her squirrel heart. A cold breeze alerted me to the open window. “Get out of here,” I hissed. “Do you know what will happen if Not a Dingo sees you?”
Pinky was unperturbed. A quick glance over my shoulder revealed Not a Dingo oblivious to the gamey morsel just within her reach as she practiced the Licking Your Own Belly With Two Outstretched Legs In The Air yoga routine that still gives me a sore neck when it’s just about to rain.
“Get back outside,” I said to Pinky. “I’ll bring some walnuts to you.”
Pinky ran to the window, pausing briefly to scoop up a piece of Snickerdoodle. She waited impatiently while I sorted through the tub of nuts. I presented her with the largest walnut I could find. Without so much as a “thank you,” she grabbed it from me and scrambled away. I closed the window. I had twenty minutes to get to work.
Although I managed to wash off most of the oatmeal and honey, the areas I missed formed an insoluble binding agent between my clothes and skin. Walking to work like a drunken hula girl in an attempt to dislodge the resulting denim wedgie was a painful reminder not to miss my waxing appointment later that afternoon.
But the day was not through fucking with me yet. Alone in my office, frantically printing out the day’s lesson plan, the lights suddenly went out. It could only mean one thing — zombies.
******I have a new post up over at The Greenists. It’s about food!****
Posted on Friday, December 18, 2009 at 12:53 AM.
Tags: City Wildlife, Dingo Girl, La Vida Loca, Not a Dingo, Oh the Horror!
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Comments & Trackbacks
It is damn near impossible to read the phrase “slurp her cooter” and not laugh because waking up Mr. POSSLQ would be a very BAD thing. I believe I may have caused myself internal injuries.
Good Lord, Ms. Dingo… marauding squirrels and cooter slurpin’ kitteh… plus oatmeal honey slather.... quite a morning!
Whew! I’m SO glad you’re ok! Thank GOD Not a Dingo was there to lick her cooter and protect you!
P.S. I had NO idea you showered in your boots. I think since your feet never get washed, when the zombies show up, take OFF the boots and put your feet in their faces. I mean, it has to have been YEARS, right? I bet your toenails are WMD!
P.S.S. Your workouts are REALLY working! No flab ANYWHERE!!! Way to go, Girl!
Well ... there’s some interesting mental imagery for the train ride to work today.
My, my. Zombies, squirrels, obscene kitty behavior, and denim wedgies ... an epic morning, truly.
you know, i was getting worried that you were attacked by zombies since you haven’t written in so long. i’m very relieved that the only potential danger is a possibly-rabid squirrel and an overdose of body scrub. perhaps you should keep a butcher knife taped behind the toilet for just such emergencies.
Okay, so being naked in close proximity to a squirrel seems REALLY dangerous to me.
Naked zombie killer you! If I had a squirrel friend, I’d want them to live in the house with me and be my pet.
Between the squirrels and the pidgeons, you are amassing a vermin army which, I am convinced, could repel even the deadliest of zombie attacks. You are like the survivalist Snow White.
Keep up the good work.
I just can’t stop laughing.
I’m sure the plunger would have been sufficient enough to knock some zombie block off.
BTW: I’m so jealous that you have a squirrel pet that eats out of your hand. All I have is a raccoon that molests my deck furniture.
Ah, the cooter licker. We have lesbain dogs, I believe, becuase the basset really likes to lick the wiemeriner (I know that isn’t how you spell it but I have tried three times and there you go)and then leap up for a deep tongue kiss. Kind of sexy, really.
Clearly I need to come visit YOU for more excitement in my life.
I, too, reflect upon Law & Order or Criminal Mind episodes when some shit goes down.
You are quickly becoming my favorite story teller. I don’t even know you and I was telling a friend about your horrible survelience skills at Starbucks just the other day. I almost wish it were zombies because then I bet the story would have been a little longer and I would have laughed even more.
Is that Brangelina playing the parts of Zombie #1 and Zombie #2? Angie’s looking rough, but Brad looks a little cleaner than usual.
You are way too funny, lady!
I’m glad it wasn’t a zombie, because if it was, and they zombified you, I’d really miss your posts. I think when your fingers turn into decaying zombie flesh, it gets really hard to type.
MsDarkstar — Maybe you should at an easy-to-rinse oatmeal-honey slather to your bath fizzie repertoire.
Jules — I wear my boots EVERYWHERE! I’d hate to be caught in a zombie invasion without them.
Mr. POSSLQ — You’re talking about my boots, right?
inkpuddle — Most mornings are not this slow.
blakspring — Pinky is not rabid! Unless, of course, I’m late with her breakfast.
LesleyG — I don’t think I would’ve had a problem. Mr. Dingo on the other hand. . .
k8 — Pinky is quite demanding. This is not the first time she’s come into the apartment after nuts but it is the first time she’s come into the apartment and wrecked the place looking for them.
saratogajean — Pinky and McJagger are takers, not givers. If there were a zombie invasion, I would have a cowering dog and a cooter slurping cat as my only help.
Kristina P — You wouldn’t be laughing if you had to face a horde of zombies in your Snuggie. Zombies love Snuggies. It’s like eating a wonton.
Toe — Your raccoon is gettin’ it on with your deck furniture and he doesn’t even leave money on the nightstand? Ingrate.
Kori — Do you kiss the basset back?
Summer — I should’ve watched those shows instead of going to law school.
bretthead — Zombies at Starbucks? I see them all the time. They’re the ones getting their first coffee of the morning at 7am.
flurrious — Sorry, no. That’s Courtney Love and Dane Cook — notice the slack-jaw and vacant eyes?
Allie — But zombies are earth friendly! They’re biodegradable.
I hate to leave a comment that has nothing to do with your post, but I hear from Jules that you know Terry Bradshaw. As a lifelong “Stillers” fan, I’m intrigued.
I LOVE the way you write. You’re so firetrucking hysterical, I can’t stand it! I mean, seriously. How does somebody write such brilliant gems like “it was really hard to move with ninja-like stealth with my butt cheeks stuck together”....that’s gold, baby. Gold!
BeckEye — She didn’t mean “know” in the biblical way, did she? Jules lies. But if by “know” she means that I was an extra in a 30 second commercial in which he starred, well then, she may be right.
Ms. H — That one was easy. I was trying to move with ninja-like stealth but my butt cheeks were stuck together.
Out of all the funniness in that picture, the Wellies did it to me....
yup them zombies are here leaving footprints in the snow…
Some of my best friends are zombies. They have horrible PR, which is a shame because once you get to know them they’re really not that bad. They’re people-oriented, they always stick together, and you know if you’re in trouble, they’ll always be there for you.
Much better than Dingos if you ask me.
Are you sure it wasn’t a zombie squirrel? Cool shower cap.
You are such a good writer. I loved this. 
haha!! that picture!
OMG, This is great, I love it, def needed the laugh after the week I’ve had!
Ok, my therapist says I’m well enough to respond to this post. The whole zombie nightmare, you know? Not usually enough to set me off, but when combined in the same post as cooter licking cats, I guess, well, I guess I need more counseling.
Mrs. Chili — Wellies are essential zombie ass-kicking attire.
rosie — Not as soothing or aesthetic as deer prints in the snow—especially if they’ve eaten all the deer.
Josh Almighty — The only good zombie is a dead — oh.
Tara R. — That would be nuts!
jane — Thanks, Jane. Do you think the kids would want a squirrel for Christmas?
maggie may — Not a Dingo was so difficult. She wanted me to get her good side but she wouldn’t stop her cooter slurpin’ long enough to pose.
Alternative Me — Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!
Unindicted Co-Conspirator — Xanax and Valium, my dear. Xanax and Valium.
I <3 you. Just the thing I needed to get me going on a Monday morning!
My aunt and uncle had a collie named Cooter in the 80s. No joke. I think that was back when it only conjured images of the mechanic from Dukes of Hazzard.
You really let a squirrel in your house? That’s dangerous. A friend of mine was lying by the pool at her condo one day and a squirrel cornered her and ran up her bathing-suit-clad body while she was screaming for help. If the squirrel had done that to you, would you have plunge-flung it back out the window?
People always wonder why I shower with my sawed-off leaned up against the shower door… this is why!
“It should cost less than $10 to blind a zombie.” Hilarious AND true. Although, I think you are still aiming too high. $5.00, my dear, $5.00.
Why in the hell did you buy $20 body wash?
That’s the most bizarre part of this story, if you ask me.
Crazy woman.
You’ve gotta hate Zombies. They can screw up even the best days.
John Cougar Melancamp’s song “hurt so good” comes to mind when I read your posts. Well, not the song so much as the name...if that is the name…
Couldn’t I just have written “ha ha ha” or something? GEEZ!!
This is fucking hilarious! I LOVE the picture!
You have a gift, a gift for putting pictures in my head that make me want to pee in my pants! Is that marketable?
Oh, I forgot to say, Happy New Year!
Wow. The mental imagery is just murderous! Lol.
I started a new blog and didn’t have your email to send you the new address. So this is my way of alerting you. Keep up the funny work!
Awesomely funny.
Totally had a similar experience recently in my pantry. I swear to GOD, it was a bird, who managed to get in via the crawl space opening (?) or something, I’m not sure, that’s just what the maintenance man from the apartment told me when he rescued it. So funny.
Funny stuff.
I might have to stick around here awhile.
I love your site the photoshoped photos are unbelievable. And some of the terms you use are new to me. I’ll be coming back for sure.
I don’t even know you and I was telling a friend about your horrible survelience skills at Starbucks just the other day.
Thanks! I sooooooo needed a good laugh!!!
I always thought I was weird when I heard an odd noise and was all alone I’d think crazed killer.. a la Micheal Myers. Zombies are good - the pic was amazing too!
M