Dec 28 2008
Some random-ness and a heartfelt apology
So, first up–some random stuff that’s been tweaking me. Irritations that I can just no longer let slide because my life is small and I’m getting old and intolerant 
Random-ness 1--I’m an Xmas whore–I love every stupid second of it. I watch Fa-La-La-La-Lifetime non-stop. Go ahead and snicker–I don’t care. I love all those cheesy Xmas movies because I’m a sentimental, old hag. I also watch the Hallmark channel, and I have a complaint, people. What up with the crappy, distracting advertisement on the lower right hand corner of the screen? Do I seriously need to have the title of the movie that’s on NEXT WEEK covering some poor actors face for the entirety of the cheesy movie when you show me the commercial for next weeks movie eleventy billion times during breaks anyway? No. No, I don’t believe I do. There is such a thing as overkill, and you’ve cornered the market.
Random-ness 2–Same thing goes for Celeb Rehab on MTV (yes, I watched that, too. Mock if you will, but folks, it’s riveting). They have this advertisement with SOUND, and they put it again, in the lower right hand corner of the screen. It’s a reality show for horror movie scream queens or something. So I’m right in the middle of a now sober Tawny Kitaen’s bitter revelation about her life, lack of proper product for her luscious mane, and why she drugs and out of nowhere, a chick SCREAMS, all high-pitched and like someone’s peeling her skin off. Dude’s–so not coolio. First time it happened, I nearly fell off my sofa. Who’s running MTV these days? Kindergartners? Why would you do something as heinous as ruin a tender, heartbreaking moment about someone’s struggle with da hootch while some big hootered blonde exercises her lung capacity? It’s unseemly and disrespectful to the rehabilitated.
Random-ness 3–Starbucks. Ya know, I love you people and your fancy coffee like Hugh Heffner loves a bathrobe with a busty blonde strung up on the fuzzy cloth belt, but I’m really hacked-off at you. Here’s why: Xmas Eve Rob and I are going to go see Xmas lights at this place that lights up a town square and plays music while the lights dance to it. Fun, fun, fun. I think, wouldn’t it be nice to have an Expresso Truffle from Starbucks to sip whilst I watch? We go to Starbucks. The lights are on–people are inside ordering–I go in to order, too. They tell me the people at the counter are their last customers. So basically it was a GET OUT kind of thing even though the doors weren’t locked, and the “closed” sign wasn’t flipped over. Oh, and have a merry Xmas was tacked on–for which I wanted to yell, “I’m an atheist!” But I didn’t because good manners dictates I shouldn’t, and well, I’m NOT an atheist. LOLLOL. Nonetheless, would just ONE more Grande Truffle have killed you in light of the fact that no less than 5 people were getting them, too? Do you have any idea how many coffee’s in a year I buy from you? If you saw my back end naked, you’d know you’ve contributed to the coffers of my cellulite. So instead, I settled for a cruddy Race Track coffee. Oh, and no offense to anyone who works for Starbucks–mostly, I like you. Xmas eve? Not. So. Much.
Random-ness 4–Dear Guitar Hero World Tour people–the red pad on my drum broke and I saw my world, as I know it, tip on its axis. Do you have any idea how CRUCIAL the red pad is when you’re playing Everlong by the Foo Fighters? It’s like as important as putting yeast in bread. It’s like Ben needing Jerry. I couldn’t breathe from the fear I wouldn’t be able to play the drums yesterday. Thankfully, my man tore open the drums and found that the wire wasn’t hitting the thingamajig and he soldered it together. But had it not been for shoddy workmanship, I never would have had the ten new grey hairs I now sport. Turns out, lot’s of people have had the same problem because whomever put them together did so carelessly. So in the future, to avoid a messy scene where I go freaking out on the nearest Game Shack employee, do me a skinny, huh? Pony up more than a buck fifty an hour to your manufacturers employees so they’ll produce quality drums instead of doing a half-assed job of gluing that shit together because they just want to go home, thus causing me undue stress, m’kay? And I’m only sort of kidding. When I read the slew of complaints on the website about my very prob (thanks to Qwill), I was shocked. That shit costs money. 279 shekels, and you guys use some Play-Doh like stuff to put it together, mistakenly thinking my mindless thrashing around won’t knock it loose? Thass just crazy. Not to mention, if not for some very entrepreneurial-ish-like folks and my genius of a man, I’d have had to send my drums back to you and wait 3-6 weeks to have you fix them. By the time I got them back, I’d have been in celeb rehab for withdrawal. Well, okay, not celeb, maybe Z-list rehab, but STILL…
And now, my apology. Here’s what happened. Couple of weeks ago my mom skips in from her babysitting job with a plate of cookies, slaps them on the counter and my crew, including Rob, inhales them before I even get the chance to read the lovely index card that came with. The green index card that tells you what kinds of cookies they are and why this lovely family, The Bayliss family, if you’re interested, likes them. People, these were some yummy, yummy treats from folks I’ve never heard of. Of course, I don’t know many of my neighbors because I hardly ever go out. Yeah, it’s true. I lay low because being the single chick (or unmarried) on the block makes for some awkward barbecue invites to meet my neighbors’ lovely, single cousin Malachai who just loves kids and animals. So I avoid.
Anywho, I’m all thinking the cookies are from people who were moved by the holiday spirit and have shared da love by dropping cookies at random peoples houses. Or, they’ve met my mom who’ll talk to anyone given the merest wiggle of a finger in her direction.
Later that night, I go out to turn on the Xmas lights and I see a card on the doorstep. A card my mom, in her zeal for freshly baked, sugary goodness, DROPPED, and it’s addressed to “The Aiken’s.” Er, I don’t know who the Aiken’s are…I’m not an Aiken… and then I realize, we ate the Aiken’s cookies! Jesus. What kind of hogs are we? I’m mortified. To make matters worse, it was a picture card and now I can see all the lovely faces of the Bayliss family as they cheerfully smile, thinking they gave cookies to the AIKEN’S! I mean, maybe the Bayliss’ were trying to score major points with the Aiken’s by making them cookies? Maybe Mrs. Bayliss needs new tutu’s for her gorgeous little girls ballet class and one of the Aiken’s was a possible donor and she was just greasing an Aiken’s palm for cash? Maybe you guys had a fight, and as we know, cookies heal all wounds, and now the Aiken’s will continue their vow of silence against you because they have no idea you made them cookies as a peace offering because my ANIMALS ate them ALL! Then you Bayliss’ will grudge that much harder because the Aiken’s are colossal buttwipes who won’t accept an apology gracefully. Oh, the guilt I’ve suffered–the nights of sleep I’ve lost. So much so, that I even looked up those two names in the directory for my sub-division. But to no avail, neither name is listed… And I’m really not kidding about the guilt. I really do feel all wonky about it :(
So, my deepest, most sincere apologies–we truly had no idea we ate someone else’s cookies, and I’ve chastised my mom for being so ruthlessly hasty in rushing to get those discs of yummyliciousness inside, that she forgot to actually LOOK to see if the plate came with a card. I swear, if I had the time and the energy, I’d make you twelve plates of cookies, Bayliss family–especially the chocolate/chocolate sprinkle ones, cause they were the shit
With my head hung in mortified shame,
Dakota CASSIDY–not AIKEN
