Cookie Logic

…Logic That's A Real Treat…

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13 Jul 2011
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Welcome to Cookie Logic….Logic That’s a Real Treat…

The Cookie Logic Website is a combination of  uploaded episodes of The Cookie Logic TV Show, Cookie’s stories and insights, and video skits to entertain.   The Cookie Logic TV Show airs on WHNT Channel 19, the CBS affiliate in Huntsville, Alabama which serves the Tennessee Valley.  We are currently on a Summer hiatus and will return in the Fall of 2011..  View our shows for a real cliffhanger!  Check out our website weekly for new updates of Cookie’s stories, videos of some of our favorite talents and where you can find them, and list of the best sponsors around!  We want to keep you entertained and want you coming back for more!  We are in the process of retooling our website to make it easier to navigate.  Thank you for joining us for …Logic that’s a real treat…

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12 Jul 2011
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It’s Facebook Official…

It’s Facebook Official….I have temporarily deactivated my Facebook account. I decided a few weeks ago to concentrate on writing and just spending some time with my inner circle. This wasn’t prompted by anything more than I just didn’t want the distraction.  When I was active on Facebook I worked effectively on my laptop, but I did have to take a break every few minutes to see who was planking where, what had happened last night that was on Facebook today, who was no longer in Facebook Official relationships, or try to figure out WHO the hell had de-friended me causing my friends number to decrease!  Actually I didn’t Facebook Stalk people, I was too busy using my status to get a laugh.  My FB status was my theatre for online standup…my very own open mic each time I posted a new status. If you bomb, instead of getting rotten tomatoes thrown at you…your “friends” will hide you.  It’s much easier on the ego.

I only learned about “hiding” someone when some of my girlfriends mentioned in a post on our “private thread” that they had “hidden” someone who was driving them nuts.  “HIDE” someone?  Who and why would you do that I thought?  How do you do that?  Then, I loved the time a “friend” went to great lengths on her WALL to post a status about de-friending someone for his differing and obnoxious political views.  Obnoxious….uuumm….the pot or the kettle?

When I first got on Facebook I loved that an old friend had posted on her wall her fondness for an old friend….a guy friend.  We told her everyone could see her post.  “What?! Do you think he SAW that?”  Well, as a matter of fact, he did.  I LOVE the rush to change a relationship status when a couple gets together or breaks up.  It goes like this.  Sitting with our friends to see who makes it official first.  YES!  Now, you can post it!  In a relationship with______!    We are now Facebook Official!!  Or, the jerk broke up with you!  Relationship status….SINGLE!!  NOW it’s time to bash him in your status.

What is most fun is the Facebook War.  Someone has hurt your feelings.  Maybe you didn’t get invited somewhere….so….you make sure you get lots of friends together except for the person who excluded you.  Then you take lots of pictures documenting all the fun you had and post them ALL over Facebook!   That will surely show the offender!  This war can be waged by all people…rich or poor…male or female…young or old.  Yes, everyone can play this game of…war. Facebook can be a playground and even adults can resort to childish behavior.

I am amused by the Facebook Stalkers.  Though, harmless, they are the people who say, “wow, you sure are on Facebook a lot….you are the Facebook Queen!”  Now, correct me if I am wrong, but if they see me on Facebook a lot…then aren’t they on Facebook a lot too?

I first heard of Facebook when my children graduated from Myspace.  I never had a Myspace, but a young friend of mine encouraged me to join the Social Networking Age.  I told her that I was (at the time) 46 years old and that I was too old to be on Facebook.  But, when my daddy and 80 year old aunt joined Facebook that sealed the deal.

I joined Facebook and soon connected with old friends I hadn’t seen in 30 years, former work colleagues and many family members I did not keep in touch with on a regular basis.  I enjoyed staying in touch with neighborhood friends who I did not see if not for a glimpse on my news feed or a comment on a post.  Facebook has also come in handy when I needed something.  Status:  Does anyone near me have a USB cable?  Result:  A neighbor came to the rescue!  Or, when I needed someone to send my daughter, Camille, an outfit to Tuscaloosa.  Status:  If anyone is headed to Tuscaloosa and could take Camille an outfit please let me know!  Result:  A neighborhood friend whose daughter is also a student at the University of Alabama was in town for the night and she took the much needed outfit to Tuscaloosa.   Facebook has also been the bearer of sad news.  Several friends have used their status to notify friends that loved ones have died.  We were able to give our condolences and come together to support our Facebook Friend.

Of course my favorite pastime is Facebook Hijacking…..but, I only hijack my son, Ben’s status.  Status:  I want to marry a girl as beautiful as my mommy, Rhonda Davis Stoner!  Or something like this.  Status:  I can’t wait until the Justin Bieber concert!  Of course both of these mortify a 15 year old boy.  I’m not sure who started our FB Hijacking duel, but it has intensified.  At first when he hijacked my FB he would write something rather benign.  Status:  I think I’m so cool.  Then, he upped the ante….raised the stakes.  I think it started with this.  Status:  I’m pregnant!  My cell was deluged with texts!  What?  You are?  I had no idea what each text meant.  Then, a friend of mine who was indeed pregnant clued me in on my status….my announcement!  Apparently, my precious son had picked up my cell and just easily clicked on my Facebook and voila!  Updated my status without my knowledge.  Being a teenage boy he thinks he’s quite cute when he sees my FB on my laptop and posts something like this.  Status:  My butt is big!, Status:  I have butt acne!,  or  Status:  I have hairy armpits!  The comments pour!  The ball is then in my court where I then post something quite mature on my status like….Status:  Who is Ben Stoner?  I don’t have a son named, Ben!  My Facebook friends now know all of the signs of the Ben/Cookie Stoner Facebook Hijacking Duel!  Even though I cringe to think anyone would think I have any blemishes in unsaid places, don’t shave my underarms or that I am announcing a new edition in my middle age I actually enjoy this game of Status Badminton.

My decision to temporarily deactivate my Facebook account was to give me time to focus on writing and working without distraction.  Friends, family and acquaintances also known as my Facebook friends have called or texted me expressing concern and wondering if I have de-friended them.  My daddy said he just liked knowing he could make sure everything was ok and my whereabouts by keeping up with me on Facebook.  My son even told me he missed me being on Facebook, though I think he just misses our little game.

Of course Facebook for me is an apolitical, light and fun place.  A stage to perform quips, thoughts and celebrate my friends and family.  My Facebook is not a place to tell the world that my child is really pissing me off with back talk or that someone has wronged me.  But, that is my Facebook.

The one thing I have realized is that each person’s Facebook page is a lot like their personality.  Some of them are really lively and over the top, some stay the same not posting much because they are sitting back watching others and some just… exist.  Even if my Facebook friends are Single, interested in boys, girls or both, Protestant, Catholic, Spiritual, Buddhist, Atheist, Liberal, Conservative, fluent in French, Spanish or Pig Latin I enjoy connecting with people. I celebrate statuses which proclaim, my child made the A honor roll!, my child made the football team!, my child made cheerleading!, my husband got a promotion!, I got a new job!, vacation here we come!  I enjoy seeing people in their photos enjoying life and sharing it with their network.  Yes, Facebook can be an exercise in good manners.  We shouldn’t be envious, scrutinizing, judgmental angry or negative. We should treat people the way we want to be treated.  Yes, even on Facebook.  But, if they really get on our nerves at least we can always “hide” them.

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09 Jul 2011

I Want To Have A Drink, Dinner, And Hang Out With Linda Holmes

Linda Holmes writes NPR’s entertainment and pop-culture blog, Monkey See. http://www.npr.org/blogs/monkeysee/2011/06/30/137525211/going-going-and-gone-no-the-oxford-comma-is-safe-for-now
After reading her post about the Oxford or Serial Comma as it is also known,  I wanted to call her for lunch.  I remember when I learned in a journalism class that I shouldn’t use the Serial Comma or the Oxford comma.   You know the comma I’m talking about.  The one before a coordinating conjunction.  I was in a class where I was learning AP style.   I am certain this was when I realized that I could not be a news reporter.  The kind of person who could write a concise “who, what, when, where, why, and how” article.  I wanted to write alliterative stories with ample appealing adjectives.  The kind of stories which painted pictures for my readers.  Once I decided I was not going to report news stories I welcomed back that petite punctuation mark.  It is great to know that the folks at the University of Oxford are keeping our comma.  Yes, “our” comma.  It must be “our” comma because since reading Linda’s post, “Going, Going, And Gone?:  No, The Oxford Comma Is Safe…For Now”  I have seen countless (I could probably count them I just don’t want to) articles about the survival of this stout little character.

There is even a Facebook group dedicated to preserving him and a song by Vampire Weekend (I’ve never heard of them either)  aptly named, “Oxford Comma.”   I feel like this little guy needs to be more than just an it.  I now think of this petite purveyor of order as a small friend…almost like a pet rock.  Of course my little friend actually does more than just sit there like a rock.  He can make a list a little clearer or as Linda explained the Serial Comma can actually create life (you will actually have to read her post to understand this one).

I’ve read the arguments for the survival of Blip (I always name my pets…yes, even the rock) and the arguments for why we don’t need him.  It seems to be a pretty even debate.  Irregardless (I’m just kidding, Linda) I will continue to honor Blip by including him in my notes, letters, and my blog.  Even if Blip doesn’t make things clearer, Linda seems like she would be a great friend.  She would tolerate my fragments, my occasional placement of a preposition at the end of my run on sentence, my…, and any infinitives that I might happen to split.  And, we would share our fondness for Blip!  Yes, I hope to make Linda’s acquaintance someday because I do like a writer who starts a post with a confession.

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08 Jul 2011

Going, Going, And Gone?: No, The Oxford Comma Is Safe…For Now

http://www.npr.org/blogs/monkeysee/2011/06/30/137525211/going-going-and-gone-no-the-oxford-comma-is-safe-for-now

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08 Jul 2011

Cookie Showing Her “Work A Corner” Ethic

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08 Jun 2011
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Dia-RRhetoric of The Mouth

Dia-RRhetoric of The Mouth

Why is it that as a 45 year old woman I can still transform into middle school insecurities? The other day I was in the post office when a local well-known interior designer walked in. I could just tell you her name and what happened, but that would not paint this story for you. This lady is perhaps 60 years old, but she is the reason that 60 is the new 40. She is beautiful-always well dressed and has a charismatic
personality to complement the package. When she walks in the room it is like the cool girl has just appeared. Now, I see myself as a fairly confident 45 year old woman. At this point in my life there is not too much that really intimidates me, but on Wednesday I was off my game.

The day began as “just one of those days.” You know the day. We woke up late. I had a sick child that I had to take to the doctor. I had to get taxes and bills in the mail and I did not get my hot tea or breakfast that morning. In other words-I started the day off on the proverbial wrong foot. When she glided into the post office in her coral colored coat covering her sleek pants and blouse which had the hint of coral—–her hair was perfectly coiffed and she had the glow of a well-rested 2 weeks in her Honduran condo on her lovely face. I, on the other hand, got up-threw on a pair of running pants, grabbed a spandex top, hoodie and threw my hair in a pony tail. I don’t think I matched, but I did have on lip gloss. I always wear lip gloss. I suppose I think the sheen on my lips will deflect from the bags under my eyes. The only memory on my face was a late night at the office figuring how much Uncle Sam and everyone else was getting from our latest personal injury settlement and consoling a child with a sore throat at 3 a.m.

Now when she got in line behind me we exchanged pleasantries. She was trying to get back in her groove. She and her husband had just returned from a two week vacation. I know how it is getting acclimated after being out of town. I suppose looking back it was the combination of running late, no caffeine, doctor’s appointment at 10:30, another appointment at 1:00 and not eating breakfast, but I just couldn’t just say, “hello” and be done with it. I had to say exactly what I was thinking. After she told me about her day I proceeded to comment on the stack of brown envelopes in my hand. “Well,” I said, “money comes in and it goes out in the mail to freakin’ taxes.” She just smiled probably mentally checking off her list of things she had to do. That is what I normally do in the post office line. But, you see, I couldn’t stop there and let it go. I realized that “freakin’” may have sounded sort of offensive and I wouldn’t want this poised lady 15 years my senior to think I said such a thing. So I announced, “I said freakin’ and not F***KING.” As soon as I saw her wince and look around I realized that the quality that makes me well-heard as a public speaker or on the stage was at the top of my game in the main Decatur Post Office. F**********ING echoed off the post office walls. The man standing at the counter behind us stopped and stood at attention.

I just stopped. I didn’t say another word. Thank God it was my time at the window to mail my “freakin’”mail. Before I left the line I turned to her and apologized for my lack of discretion. She graciously smiled and scoffed as she told me it would take a lot more than that to offend her. Of course I felt like an idiot for the rest of the day. I had to share this story with my sister and my friend, Kate. They both laughed and told me it probably wasn’t as bad as it seemed. I knew better. It was bad, but I could laugh at myself.

The next night the lady in the coral coat with the perfect hair and I attended a get together at a mutual friend’s. We all laughed and had a great time. I left earlier than most of the girls. As I was walking out she told me she hoped I had a “freakin’” good night. Just like middle school it wasn’t as bad as I remembered.

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08 Jun 2011

The Conditioning of Cookie

The Conditioning of Cookie
When I was three years old a housekeeper locked me in the bathroom so she could go into the neighborhood to sell tickets to a church bazaar. This story is not about my mental decline from this incident. It is about Maw Maw Bartlett and classical conditioning.

As a young child I had the privilege of living within close proximity to both of my grandmothers. There were lots of cousins, aunts, uncles and friends always around. My grandmother also had a dear lady, Lois Mae, who was phonetically called Loey Mae- kind of like Louis and Louie- who helped raise my mother , her siblings and all of the grandchildren.
My grandmother wasn’t at the country club having tea while Loey did this; she was either pickin’ peas or working. My nana was a working mother before Gloria Steinem told us it was ok to do so.

My mother, like my Nana, was also an independent soul who did not expect her sisters or her family to provide childcare. So mother very carefully or so she thought selected a lady to stay with me and keep our home in order while she and daddy were at work. Family lore has it that my mother received a call at work from a neighbor who said he could here me crying from the bathroom window. Of course my mother rushed home swooped me out of the locked room and then proceeded to find the housekeeper on the other side of the neighborhood cheerfully doing her volunteer work.

This is how my family met Maw Maw Bartlett. She looked out her window only to see a young mother of twenty-one chasing a lady down the street with a broom. As the neighbors gathered outside it was apparent my young mother and daddy needed a sitter for me and Maw Maw was just the person. She kept children in her home from time to time and she was known as a loving, but firm sitter. After Mother and Daddy got to know Maw Maw, her husband Papa Dave and their children, I had a new family to care for me and spoil me.

What I remember the most about Maw Maw’s house are fond memories like kool-aid and buttered toast (a childhood favorite) and the fact that she had coffee every morning in her home with her neighbor. My only unpleasant memory is seeing the image on the TV screen with the ocean crashing the rocks, the title in scary letters and the man announcing-”The Secret Storm!”

Mother and Daddy remember the loving and safe environment Maw Maw provided and- the word shit.

I never remember Maw Maw being mean to anyone or saying anything negative, but I do remember when the phone would ring she would say shit. Now she didn’t just say-shit. She would take the word on the first ring and begin to draw it out during each ring with-sheeeeeeeiiit! Then, she would answer in a nice voice -not like she was bothered-it was just the interruption of having to stop and go to the hall to answer the phone. There was no malice in “sheeeeeeeiiiit,” it was just what she said when the phone rang. As an impressionable three year old I thought that’s what one did when the phone rang. So it began. The “classical conditioning” of Cookie. At home the phone would ring, the stimuli in place, and out of the mouth of this three year old babe came-”sheeeiiiit.”

As a parent I can understand my parents’ dismay at this situation. Somehow they broke me of this bad little habit and I continued to stay with Maw Maw until I went to Kindergarten. I don’t think my parents ever even confronted Maw Maw with my Pavlovian conditioning. There was no need. I never had to see the inside of a locked bathroom again.

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07 Jun 2011

BEN-IS-THE MENACE

 

Yesterday I ran to look in the mirror to see if I looked weird, because wierd things always happen to me. I don’t have any piercings except for each earring hole I got in 6th grade. I don’t have any weird tattoos, but I still attract the craziest things.

What set out to be a normal day-my son playing in the yard with friends-my daughter hanging out with a girlfriend-my husband working at the office and me typing away at the computer-turned into a Saturday afternoon of-”do other people’s children do this stuff?”

I looked outside to check on the children playing in my yard-only to see my son up on the roof of our shed. I looked out and yelled to him-”what on earth are you doing up there?” “We’re playing hide-and-go-seek!”
“Well-you need to get down now, because you may fall and get hurt! Get down-NOW! I want to go back inside and continue writing!”

“I can’t.” he says. “I’m afraid!” “Ben, you had better get down now! I want to go back inside!” “Mom, I can’t! Remember, I’M AFRAID OF HEIGHTS!” “AFRAID OF HEIGHTS?” I yelled. “THEN WHY THE HELL DID YOU CLIMB UP THERE?”

“Because I wanted a good hiding place,” he answered sheepishly.

So, the children and I proceeded to coach him on sliding down on his bottom off the shed. He still thought it was too high. He then thought he would jump off the side-onto the berm topped with pine straw. I didn’t think this was a good idea because the berm looked to be too far from the side of the shed. I then decided to go up the ladder-hold it steady-and extend my arm for him to come down. “No, mom, we might both fall!”

By this time I was really frustrated. I went into what I affectionately call-Redneck Mother Mode. I yelled unabashedly-”Ben-dammit-you come down now or I am sending everyone home!” “Mom, please don’t yell! You are making me nervous!” So, I calmed down and told him with my sweetest voice that I was only trying to help him-that I wanted him to get down without getting hurt-and that I could not leave him out there because I was afraid if the children encouraged him he may just fall and literally break his neck. “So, Sweetie, come on down. Just take my hand. Mommy wants to help you.” He wasn’t coming down.

That was it. I had all I could take. He had to get off of the roof. If he could get up there he had to grow up and figure out how to get down. I told him that I was sending Leslie home and that I was leaving to take Luke home. I thought desire to play with friends would trump fear;I thought that he would come to his senses and jump or slide. He just sat there and cried. I still thought he’d come down. It really wasn’t that high. It was only about eight feet high. And, he had always climbed trees and he had never been afraid of heights when it came to tree-climbing so surely he’d come down.

I dramatically got in the car with Luke and slowly backed out of the driveway. I carefully cut my eyes to see if he would come down. He just sat there-defeated looking as if he might celebrate the coming holidays up on that roof top.

When I realized he wasn’t coming down-I was then committed to take his friend home. I couldn’t go back on my word. I then called my next door neighbor to look outside to check on him. I didn’t want him to get hurt while I was gone. She told me, “He’s just sitting up there.” He did seem to be yelling for someone to come get him down. But, he seemed to realize-he was stuck up there for the time being.

I had so many thoughts run through my head like-I tried to help him get down-what do I do now? Do I make my husband come home from the office, do I call my neighbor to come help, do I call the fire department? On the one hand he needed to learn a lesson, but on the other hand I didn’t want him to get hurt. I just decided he would need to sit up there and think about it for a while. When I got home he was still there. Just sitting calmly-not upset-just sitting relaxing up on the roof. My neighbor even came over to take photos so we could have a laugh when he grows up. He asked me if he could get him down, but I said-no-he needed to think about it. Ben posed for the photos; my neighbor encouraged him, but he still wasn’t coming down.

An hour and fifteen minutes had passed since I first looked out to see him up on the rooftop. The next thing I knew I heard him running in the door. “Mom! I’m down!” When I asked him how he got down, he said, “Tony said he would call 911 and they would get me down-I thought that would be pretty embarrassing; plus I was really hungry!” I then realized that the old saying-”You’ve never seen a skeleton of a cat up a tree-” also holds true with little boys. I realized that embarrassment and appetite always trump fear.

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06 Jun 2011

Sounds Like…

I love words. I love to study word origins. One of my favorite Christmas presents was given to me by my sister; it is a book simply titled “Word Origins.” This book is filled with words like Jingoism. I like the way it sounds-Jingoism. Then, when I hear it I play little games repeating it like a little kid saying, “jingoism and jingoisn’t.” I just think it sounds funny. It makes me laugh. Jingoist is actually a name given to British Patriots in the late 1800′s who repeated a little song with the words “by jingo” in it. Someone else liked the way it sounded; they made a word out of it.

It is also not lost on me that the word hysterical “comes from the Greek term ‘hysterikos’ which means suffering in the womb.” The Greek word for uterus is hystera. The decider of words said- ok hystera means uterus-women have wombs-women get crazy-we will now call this word-”hysterical.” Sometimes having a uterus can make you hysterical.

Then, my children sometimes ask me questions like- who decided that damn is a bad word? Or we all know that the word “ass ” is in the Bible, but we know that it is bad to call someone “an ass.”

Then, there are cruder terms. Terms that refer to sexual things. Things a lady should not talk about. I really don’t go around talking about these things, but they are there-in my mind and sometimes they come out of my mouth at the oddest times. Words are funny that way. It’s not like I am suffering from a neurological condition that prohibits me from having control over this-it just happens sometimes.

This was most evident recently when our car wouldn’t start. We had it towed to our mechanic and told him to let us know what the problem was. When I saw our mechanic the next day he informed me that it was not the battery ; it was something else. I told him that Allen figured it probably wasn’t the battery because when he had “jerked it off” it wouldn’t do anything.

Not many things embarrass me, but as I stood eye to eye with this man-one whose wife had home-schooled their five sons-I couldn’t believe what was escaping from my mouth. But, I couldn’t stop there. I knew I had said the wrong thing so I corrected myself, rather calmly I might add, and then told him I meant that Allen realized it wasn’t the battery when he had “jacked it off.” Still, he did not crack a smile. He just very casually helped me complete what I had wanted to say all along that Allen had tried to “jump off the car.”

By this time, I am trying to keep my composure- a very hard task for me, and my mind is racing -overcome with thoughts like-”there is no way I just said that.” When I did acknowledge my blunder he acted as if he didn’t even hear me and continued talking about the car.

Now this made me giggle. For God’s sake I had just told him that my husband had not only tried to “jerk off our car -he had also tried to jack it off.” How can you not laugh at that. When I began to giggle with embarrassment he still did not join me; he just said, “oh no it’s ok-hon.”

Well now I really got embarrassed because now it seemed like our dirty little secret. I just wanted to laugh about it and- get it out and over-apparently he did not. So, I bit my tongue, listened to him about my car and then got as far away from him as I could so I could literally roll around on the floor laughing at myself. I then called everyone I knew to share with them my eloquent way with words.

This man is still our mechanic and services both of our cars. But I swear I will never ask him for a lube job

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07 Aug 2010

Site Map

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