Dumonsters

We went to the rooftop yesterday for aperatifs with friends but, surprise! surprise!, there were other people on our spot -- and they had a DJ! The people there were giving off a snooty vibe, and it really got on the nerves of some of our friends. (Je m'enerve!) One of them invited us over but H felt an aloofness, so I preferred to stay on the other side of the roof.

So there we were in our leather jackets and hoodies, sipping alcohol in plastic cups, looking every inch like outcasts, while on the other side the "in crowd" swigged their champagne... But once the sun set we unleashed the Party Dumonsters! H took my hand and I grabbed on to the whisky and we crashed their party.

I thought we would be home by ten pm, but we had too much fun that we had to bring the party back to H&M HQ. I don't remember what time they left, but H had a bad hangover and we struggled to get our butts out for fresh bread and fruits this morning.

Downstairs we ran into the people who threw the posh party, and they looked so well rested. But then, they're not natural party monsters. Unlike these freaks I met around France:

Nutjob

Pundit Cherry

Ms. Vuvuzela

Treebeard

Super Wan Tu Tri

Bella Pepper Flores

Mrs. Cookie Dumonster

Nothing much to report today, I baked cookies after school and that's it.

The hubby opened the front door just as I was pulling the cookies out of the oven. Me. Wearing a dress. Under an apron. With a tray of cookies. When did I become Lucille Ball?

Photo comes from Rachel Held Evans

If you told me last year I'd end up in a kitchen making cookies I'dve slapped yo bitch ass.

But hard as it is to admit, being a housewife can be really... fun. Even though the battle against female stereotypes has become cliche (in fact even the anti-stereotype is now cliche, just turn on the TV!) I still find it hard to openly admit I like being in the kitchen. I may not be great at cooking, but my husband can't tell because he never had Pinoy food before. Poor guy. Heh heh. 

I used to call him the "Dumonster", a playful dig on his last name. And after taking his first bite of my soft and chewy cookies he turned into the Cookie Dumonster!

Pre-oven. Taken ten minutes before H arrived.

Post-Dumonster. Some cookies disappeared before I could take a pic.

We ate more than we should've. H munched on some with coffee, me with chocolate milk, while we sat on the sofa and decided whether it was better to take a helicopter over Paris or bungee jump over a cold river. And then we finished them all off after dinner! If it helps, we only had green salad and crabsticks, and hot tea.

I am Mrs. Cookie Dumonster.

And, um, yeah, we're jumping off a bridge on Monday next. Will the elastic cord snap from our weight? Abangan.