Cookie and the Geese

August 20, 2008

So, sweet internet, I'm sorry it's been a while since my last post, but we've been busy beavers over here. And that is because last Friday, our awesome, adorable Cookie turned 30! Thirty! Which constitutes a milestone, and in my book, milestones are heralded in by making sure the celebrated party is completely divorced from any relationship she may have had with sobriety. Sobriety, we spit on you! And then, we sing.

Consequently, Cookie's milestone was celebrated with a three day party at my parents' lake house. The itinerary for this event included drinking things, eating occasionally, and then drinking more things. And, of course, it also included singing. Oh, the singing, and despite the fact that I can't even whistle in tune, something about copious amounts of wine makes me believe that, hark, I am an undiscovered songbird, and I must share my gift with the People. This problem is compounded by the fact that I seem to know all of the lyrics to every song ever made, from Toto to Tupac, something else which I feel compelled to share with those less fortunate. And so it goes, and so I wake up the next morning and ask Senator/Sasquatch/we-still-haven't-decided-on-a-name-over-here whether I serenaded the masses, and he is forced to gently admit that, indeed, I stood on the kitchen counter and performed a medley of M.I.A. to Metallica before someone finally put the iPod back on shuffle, thereby ending my "M is for Misery!" world tour. And then I swear off drinking forever. Until it is time for mimosas.

But, so! Singing happened. And because I cannot share that particular humiliation with you, or offer you a cocktail, or a bite of my soon-to-be-famous Fettuccine Alfredo [which will kill you dead, DEAD in a bite because it contains three parts heavy cream to every one part pasta (shh)], instead I figured that we could all celebrate this milestone by me finally, FINALLY telling y'all the story of Cookie and the Geese. Which is even illustrated! Just like a cautionary fairytale should be.

But first, we must begin with back story. The whole business began last year at our annual firm retreat. I don't remember the month during which the retreat was held, but I can tell you that the particular weekend of the outing contained Friday the Thirteenth. I can also add that we were staying in cabins in the woods. On Friday the Thirteenth. In the Georgia mountains. Where Bigfoot Deliverance lives. So there was a general sense of horror for everyone, but mostly me.

And mostly Cookie, even though her horror had to be secondary, because up in them thar hills, Cookie caught the most explosive, awful sinus infection that has ever been suffered by a human person at any time in the history of the world. I feel comfortable making this pronouncement, because I saw Cookie. And...people, Cookie is a beautiful woman. Truly. And yet, this sinus infection made her into a scary, gooey creature, which caused her eyes to swell shut, and forced random fluids to leave her various orifices and go shooting across the room without provocation, in the manner of a mucus-based sprinkler system, and as a result, we all spent the better part of the weekend running the hell away from her. She was like a geyser of disease, and she clearly felt like walking fucking death.

As soon as the retreat ended and we returned to a town where doctors do not suggest 'bleeding' as a treatment, Cookie took the day off work and went to see a professional. And so there I was, sitting at my desk and believing that Cookie was finally getting the medical attention she deserved, when one of the partners came into my office and said, "Cookie was just in a car accident! Have you heard anything?"

Obviously, I was immediately concerned, and my head filled with images of Cookie sneezing and the windshield blowing out with the gale force of her projection, or possibly, strands of mucus actually leaving her nose and, proboscis-like, seizing the steering wheel and heading out for the open road. But before I could ask any follow-up questions about her condition, or to clarify just how, exactly, snot forces you to wreck a vehicle, my phone rang. And I saw that it was Cookie, and so I answered, and this is what occurred:

Self: Dude! Are you okay? I heard you were in a car accident!

Cookie: [Snort. Sniff] I wad id ad assidend!

Self: I know! Are you okay?

Cookie: I tink so. But I wad ID AD ASSIDEND.

Self: I know! How's your car?

Cookie: ...Car? Oh, carss FIIIIINE. Is PERFIC.

Self: I...good?

Cookie: Becods I wad dot ID a car ad de time.

Self: You were in an accident without your car?


Self: You were in an accident without your car...ON THE HIGHWAY.

Cookie: Jes.


Cookie: Georgia four hunnerd.



Self: ...

Cookie: Ids JUR FAULD.

Self: What?! How my fault? What'd I do now?

Cookie: Dere. Wad. Geetz.

Self: I...Geetz.

Cookie: GEETZ. GEETZ GEETZ GEETZ. Birs thad hong, like 'hong hong.'

Self: Honk?


Self: Wait, geese?

Fuggin GEETZ. Das whad I said.

Cookie: JES. A momba goots an a bunch ob baby gootses.

Self: A momma geese and a bunch of babies on...Georgia 400?

Cookie: JES. Ad we were id traffics, ad I wadn't gonna led dem ged hid by a car.

Self: got hit by a car instead?

Cookie: PREDDY MUSH. I got oudda da car to try to walk dem offa da road.

Self: Uh-huh. On Georgia 400.

Cookie: De traffic was mossly stopped, so I pulled ober, ad I started runding adda geetz, wabing my armbs.

STOP GEETZ! Whad da hell id da MADDER WID YOU.

Self: Oh, no.

Cookie: Ad I wad screambing, "GID OFFA HIGHWAY GEETZ BABIES!" and dey were honging ad me ad runnding all ober and FREEGING OUT.

Self: Jesus Christ!

Cookie: I DOUGH. Ad fidally I wad gedding dem back to de side ob de road? Ad I wad habby.

Aw, dere you go to safedy, you stubid stubid geetz.

Self: Aw!

Cookie: Ad DAT is when I god HID BY A CAR.


Cookie: JES.


Self: On GEORGIA 400.


Self: How...I mean, are you dead right now?

Cookie: No. She waddn goin very fasd. I jus kide ob tumpled ober.

Self: Holy SHIT.

Cookie: I dough!

Self: Holy...shit!

Cookie: Dude, I DOUGH. Id hurd my ankle!

Self: How did she not see you?

Cookie: I wad leanin ober, tryin to ged on de geetzes lebel, so I could...herd dem.

Self: You were leaning over in the road?

Cookie: I wad on all fourds.

Self: On the highway?!


Self: I...Jesus, that's, like, the best Karma ever, though. You saved those geese!

Cookie: Indyway. Thid id your fauld.

Self: Me? But!!

Cookie: SDILL. Sdill, dis is EZZACDLY the kide of STUPID SHIT YOU DO ad den dat makes me tink, 'Oh, dis is de normal response to wild GEETZ on de highway, I'll jus ged OUDDA DA CAR and den RUN AROUN DA ROAD, IN DA RAIN, WABING ad SCREAMBING AD FUGGING GEETZ.'

Self: But....

Cookie: Ad THED do you DOUGH what HABBEND?

Self: You...


Self: ...but....

Cookie: HID, Leigh. By a car.

Self: But....hee?

Cookie: I hade you.

Self: Not nearly as much as you're going to hate me when I write about this for the whole internet!

Cookie: (silence)

Self: I....kidding?

Cookie: Cad you call me 'Mudder Goots?'

The following weekend, a noticeably-less-congested Cookie -- who is a very good sport -- agreed to reenact the scene in her yard and on her street, which is how we are lucky enough to have such vivid illustrations to go along with our story. Of Cookie. Being hit by a car. While trying to save a gaggle of geese, in the rain, on the highway, with a fever of 102. And if you ever wondered why I worship the everloving spit out of this girl, then that story should resolve the matter entirely.

So, happy birthday to you, awesome Cookie! I hope your next 30 years are filled with all the love and laughter you could want, that the errant geese of the world are kept firmly in check, and that you never have to endure my enthusiastic rendition of Enter Sandman ever, ever again.

And with that, I'm headed out to the beach today with the wonderful Senator Still Unnamed for a long weekend. So I'm sure I'll return with more stories of debauchery, wild birds, and painfully embarrassing singing for everyone. In the meantime, y'all take care, and if you happen to spot any confused geese wandering out on a highway near you, I'm confident that you'll know exactly what to do.

Ad den dey libbed habbily eber abter. Until dey god eadden by a Bigfoot bear.

Posted by doxie in Times My Friends Fell Down | permalink | Comments (173)