Cookies 'n Crap

Quick: You’re famous. Which product do you endorse?

For me, it's Charmin Ultra.

It’s noticeably softer than regular Charmin.

Kinda like the difference between original Oreos and those evil imposters, the fat-free ones.

Yes, I just compared toilet paper with cookies.

It’s gonna be a great day. Anything can happen, I’m tellin’ ya.
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Speaking of cookies, it is cookie day at work.

Get a toaster oven. Bring in those simply wonderful Nestle frozen cookies. Bake.

It’s a small thing, but I think it makes people happier with where they work.

I’m in line at Jewel this morning picking up said cookies, and the lady in front of me is chatting it up with the check out person. At first I was slightly irritated because it seemed like it was taking longer than it should, but then I heard:

“We had all these big retirement plans and then we only had 18 months. The last four were awful,” said the cashier.

“I can only imagine,” replied the woman ahead of me.

Two things: first, after saying that very nice thing, the customer went on to totally fucking blow it by talking about a distant acquaintance that she knew who died of melanoma, the worst kind of skin cancer.

C’mon, lady. This sad, sad person obviously wanted to share what happened with her husband – she’s talking about it in the checkout line at the grocery store for Pete’s sake – and you, the selfish moron, turned it into something about you.

I hate that.

Secondly, “I can only imagine” is very nice. But nicer still is “I can’t imagine.”

Because to be honest, you really can’t. And it is very likely you won’t.
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Speaking of toilet paper, I am a Connoisseur of Toilet Paper.

Yes. I just did it again, mixing food with shit. Isn’t it just fabulous?

I like the Good Stuff. And a lot of it, if you please.

Don’t give me any of this thin papery crap paper, it’s nothing but thick and soft, bordering on fluffy for my ass.

Anyway.

A while back in our old house, we had a Major Backup Crisis.

I originally wrote “Major Backup Problem” but problem didn’t quite do justice to the whole shit-water-in-the-showers situation.

We called The Septic Guy and he arrived tout de suite. This man was tenacious. In what seemed like 10 minutes he had dug the hole and was sprawled on the ground with his head thisclose to the vile brown goo, I’m assuming to get a poop’s eye view of the predicament.

“Ya gotta tell yer ol’ lady to cut back on the shit paper,” said the movingly eloquent Septic Expert.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m a big fan o’ shit paper myself, but she’s really gotta cut back,” he continued.

Since then, I have taken the man’s sage advice and become more judicious in my shit paper usage. There's nothing more humbling than being lectured on your bathroom habits by a man who quite literally Knows His Shit.

Still, Charmin Ultra. It’s the way to go. Seriously.
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And certainly not least: two of our dearest friends were over last night to christen the new bar.

Judy revealed that this little blog has become part of her morning ritual. She checks her e-mail, reads this, and then checks a daily devotional web site on her computer.

That is a serious and supreme compliment. Because I am quite certain that reading about cookies and crap will not get you into Heaven.

However, I am also quite certain that Judy doesn’t need anybody’s help in the
Getting Into Heaven Department.