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Thursday, February 14, 2008
Random Dumb Sh*t Better than sex?
Posted By Natalie Howard on Thu, Feb 14, 2008 at 4:00 PM
It's that time of year again.
No, not the dreaded V-day -- though it's here, rearing its ugly corporate Hallmark holiday head. (Speaking of: Anyone else sick of the insipid jewelry store commercials playing in a syndicated lope? He went to Jared's? Fuck him. If he has that much disposable income, he can pay my cable bill. That shit is expensive. And, all kidding aside, those commercials are no good for any of us: Guys are made out to be cheapskates unless they throw away their rent money on a bauble and women are made out to be money-grubbers hungry for shiny, ethically-questionable rocks. No thanks.)
And, no, not cold and flu season either. (And while a kind, well-meaning friend or co-worker may inquire "Are you sick?" with the utmost polite concern after listening to you hack out a lung, try your very best -- and I know it's hard -- to refrain from making a smart-ass comment in return. 'Cause no one wants to be around a sick and crabby person, no matter how much you want to say, "No, I'm not sick. Cosmo said that wearing your lungs outside your chest makes your boobs look bigger and your waist look slimmer. It's the new black!")
No, friends. It's worse.
It's Girl Scout cookie time.
Samoas? God yes. Thin Mints? Keep 'em comin'. Trefoils? Tre delicious! All Abouts? All about it.
I've snuck a box of Samoas -- the top shelf of GS cookies -- into the office, but it's hard to keep it hidden here in cubicle land. (CL employees are notoriously hungry.) Even as I limit myself to one or two at a time, the box is running low. Yesterday I tried to go without, and found that I start uncontrollably itching for a fix like Amy Winehouse five minutes into rehab (sometimes, you do have to say "yes, yes, yes").
The Wal-Mart parking lot has become a hunting ground. There is always some soccer mom with an entrepreneurial spirit, a card table and a handful of freezing little girls selling their souls to capitalism for a fabric badge. And as a former Brownie, I know. I keep trying to get out, but they pull me right back in.
If you really love someone, skip the heart-shaped box of chocolates. Go with the cookies.
And if you're really lonely this V-day, send some to me.
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