No excuse for this cookie.

Eight years I have been out of college this spring. Still, every December and May I continue to have the final exam dream. You know the dream. You suddenly realize that you enrolled in advanced organic chemistry but never bothered attending class. Now it is too late to drop the class, you only have a couple days to cram, and you are a freaking political science major.

Then you bolt awake in a cold sweat.

Girl Scout cookie season is again upon us! Last night I had another chilling dream. I went to pick up my Samoas, only to learn that they had substituted Carmel deLites. They didn’t think I would mind, as they are “pretty much the same thing.”

If you know anything about me, anything at all, you can predict that I was blue with rage when I woke up choking and gasping.



Like the final exam dream, I predict that this one will reoccur year after year. The stress and trauma of having been maliciously ambushed with the Carmel deLite substitution has left too deep a scar.

I really, really need some rest. Really.

Molly is teething. I am desperate for sleep. So, so desperate for sleep.

Alternately, I am abusively surly and in the next moment obnoxiously silly. It really depends when you catch me. I almost look forward to random phone calls today; I am often surprised and delighted to see what comes out of my mouth.

I managed to take a break from my zombie trance this morning to fill out a survey from LexisNexis, who had the audacity to ask me to rate them, and then justify my rating. I tried to skip the latter step, but Lexis had to press the issue.



What is the single most important reason for giving Lexis.com this rating?
'I suppose a rating of 6 would indicate a slightly more favorable recommendation than merely neutral or indifferent. That seems rather intuitive on a 1-10 scale, but it may be just me. There are only two meaningful choices for legal research, Lexis and Westlaw. If a colleague, associate or friend were to ask me, "hey, should I go with Lexis or Westlaw?" I would answer with a solid, "Meh. My office uses Lexis. No complaints, it's been a few years since I used Westlaw, so I don't really know what I am missing at this point. Eh, what the hell, I say give Lexis a shot." That is the single most important reason for giving Lexis a 6. You sorry you asked now? I bet you are. Look, I tried to leave this space blank, but the survey required my input. I kinda feel like you forced this rather ambling and prolix response. No one to blame but yourselves LexisNexis. No one to blame but yourselves.'

You gave is a score of 6. What do we need to do for you to score us higher in the future?

One word: schwag.

I'm thinking fountain pen, or one of those nifty travel mugs that look like a take-out paper cup. Those are awesome!
I think I need at least a quick nap as a stopgap against additional douchebaggery.

The Grossest Job You'll Ever Love

While out to lunch this weekend Max had a productive and slimy sneeze. Matt and I scrambled for napkins and raced to clean up the child before Max could take care of it with his customary lingual wipe (I gagged a little just typing “lingual wipe”).

Relieved that none in our lunch party would be consuming mucus, Matt was yet a little shaken, “I have seen some really gross stuff in my time. I have seen what it looks like when someone shoots themselves in the face with a shotgun; I have cut open a man who had been decomposing for days in the river. But nothing could prepare me for how gross kids are! I have seen things eaten that should never be eaten, disgusting things that had to be cleaned out of horrible places, and the snot! The constant snot …”

I couldn't help burst out laughing when Tough Guy closed his eyes and gave in to a full-body shudder.

Like Manna from Snark Heaven

I am sure you, like me, have spent considerable time pondering the perfect descriptor for those cooler-than-you chain smoking beatniks nouveau. They are so tortured, so creative, so ... French (even when they are not). To find a suitable term that perfectly captures these people and all their gritty on-trend splendor is a difficult task, to say the least.
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I was supremely delighted when, while browsing Zulily for overpriced baby sundries, I came across THIS:
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It is sublime in its perfection!
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I am only saddened that I didn't think of this on my own.

Well, this shoots my week all to hell ...

Back in the office this morning, planning my week, and clicking through my email when I spot this in my inbox:

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My lifetime charter membership is ending on Friday? Sweet Mother of CRAP! Elder Care Matters is threatening to kill me!!!

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I'm going to go rough up Grandma Grace right now as a show of my defiance.

'Tis the season for disappointment

I haven't even started shopping yet, but I feel confident that I'll pick out all the wrong gifts. Again.

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One thing I always get right, though, is the wrapping. I am a world class gift wrapper. Really! But I am starting to worry that the more beautifully wrapped the gift is on the outside, the more crushing the disappointment with the item inside. So this year, I have made up some gift tags that will help manage recipient expectations.

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You should have heard the shriek of terror on that night

When we got our Halloween photos processed, we found some eerie images.

(For purposes of this post, let us just ignore the reality of digital photography, shall we?)

Care to venture what you are seeing in this image? Ectoplasm particles? Electrical disturbances? Ghostly artifacts ?
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Terrible guesses, all.



Matt and I made cupcakes to take with us to a Halloween party. They were frosted with an absurdly delicious whipped meringue icing to look like brains. Some with vasculature and some without (for the squeamish).


I am not terribly practiced at piping icing with a pastry bag, so it took me a lot of time to make our macabre little morsels. I was pretty pleased with how they turned out.
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You know where this story is going, right? You surely have to know.

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Oh yes.



This story ends up with brains splattered everywhere. It was very much like a scene from Pulp Fiction. Poor Marvin.

Yum!

Did anyone else get super carried away after watching Pan's Labyrinth?

Couple of words make a big difference

Matt and I were upstairs while Max was entertaining himself downstairs. He called up to us, "I got it! I got it!"

We shouted back down, "Yay! Good work Max."

It occurred to us that we need to be more attentive parents when Max clarified, "I got it ... all over !"

The cleanup was just as unpleasant as you might imagine.

The Old Distract & Redirect Tactic

Did I mention that I am dieting? World’s least exciting topic it very well may be. That notwithstanding, I shall forge on to bore you with another diet-related post.

I have been nearly fasting all day in anticipation of a deep fried Twinkie at the State Fair. It has been three years since my last deep fried Twinkie, and I intend to end that slump TONIGHT!

Despite its despicable suggestion that I set a weight loss goal of 200 pounds, I continue to track my calories over at the Livestrong site. Out of curiosity, I typed in “deep fried twinkie” into the Livestrong calculator. Fortunately, entering the words "deep fried twinkie" into a fitness website did not cause my computer to explode. I did get some subtle redirection, though.


The folks with Livestrong wouldn't even dignify my query with a response. Rather they cheerily suggest, "Won't you enjoy a wholesome peach. We think you should probably just have a peach."

You calling me fat, Armstrong?!

Like all mothers of a new baby, I am starving, angry, and just a bit lightheaded. Ah, the joyful post-natal ritual of calorie restriction ...
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I have been using the calorie tracker application available on the Livestrong website to keep tabs of every tasteless morsel that passes my lips. I logged on this afternoon to dutifully report my quarter-cup of cottage cheese when Livestrong challenged me to a fun little game of Truth or Dare.
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Well, not so much Truth, more like Wildly-Insulting-Dare.

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Oh yeah. Livestrong just suggested that I lose two-hundred pounds. Believe it.

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Screw you, Lance Armstong, and the bike you rode in on.

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Don't you shush me, Lefty.
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An offer I could refuse

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As part of the continuing legal education requirements for the Utah State Bar, attorneys must take courses on ethics and civility.

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A recent exchange with opposing counsel has me concluding that we need to dial back the civility just a notch.
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OPPOSING COUNSEL: How's the new baby?
ME: Great! Thank you so much for asking.
OP: So, are you nursing?
ME: Uh . . . yeah . . .
OP: Is that tough now that you are back to work?
ME: [shifts uncomfortably] I am able to send bottles of milk with the baby.
OP: Man! Those breast pumps are expensive!
ME: I guess.
OP: My wife had really nice ones.
ME: Excuse me?
OP: Breast pumps.
ME: Oh!
OP: If you want, you could have one.
ME: Thanks, I'm set.
OP: It would be good to have one at home and one at the office though, right?
ME: They are portable.
OP: Seriously, do you want the pump?
ME: No thank you, really.
OP: Why not?! It is in perfectly great shape.

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I was able to finally communicate that I wasn't really all that interested in a second-hand breast pump before I made my escape.

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My point is that civility can go too far. Uncomfortably, skin-crawlingly too far.
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Just a concerned customer

Dear Brothers-All-Natural,

First off: I love your products, specifically the fruit crisps. Yum!

Okay, now you are aware that I come to you out of love, you will hopefully not begrudge me for playing grammar cop. On the back of your packaging it states:
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We take great care to insure the quality and food safety of
our products … All raw materials and finished products are
tested daily to insure 100% purity and the best possible quality.

I appreciate and admire the guarantee on the package, but I am 99% certain you are misusing the term insure when you mean ensure.

I say 99% sure, because I suppose it is possible that you are actually referring to some sort of financial liability policy that would pay you for any damages resulting from a less than quality product (in which case the usage here would be correct). I strongly suspect, however, that you are making a specific promise of a quality or condition (ENSURE) rather than referring to limiting financial liability (INSURE).

Sorry to even write this email. Frankly, I disgust myself a little bit for bothering you. I only want good things for you and your tasty products, Brothers-All-Natural! I would hate for your magnificent product to be shunned by grammar-whackos – and you know they are out there.

With warmest regards,

Kerry

Par for our course

Why I Love my Husband

We welcomed our baby girl Molly into our family in May. With the blessed event, however, comes exquisite sleep deprivation. I am prone to pining for the rest that eludes me, even on facebook.

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Perhaps it is my out-of-whack serotonin levels, but Matt's response triggered a violent gigglefit. Sweet Sassy Molassy, I love that man!

Mood Swings

Baby is coming in precisely ONE WEEK from today. I am variably delighted and terrified about the prospect of a new baby in our home.
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I have put together a crude diagram that I just tap with my pen whenever people ask me how much I am looking forward to the big day.
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It's nice to have the arrow back on the right after several horrifying days in the red.

Catchy, catchy irony

I have had this song stuck in my head since the BP spung it's cute little leak in the Gulf of Mexico.




You are whistling right now, aren't you?

Why? Why would I like any of these things?

I read an article about the increase of babies born to highly educated mothers, and mothers over the age of 30. Based upon that reading, I was presented with the following recommended articles featuring terrible things:

Ew! What?!

I get a weekly pregnancy email from the American Pregnancy Association which include tips for the poor sucker stuck cohabiting with a gravid woman. The tips are usually something like "let her take a nap while you make dinner, and perhaps she won't threaten to cut your break lines." Helpful common sense type stuff.

This week's tip made me deeply uncomfortable.

Massage my perineum?! That's the tip? Well that just sounds horridly awkward.
"Honey, grab that shoe tree and come help mamma stretch out the old hoo-ha!"

That's actually kinda accurate

Amazon has a nifty new feature where you enter a specific PayPhrase that gives you a shortcut to spending your money even faster. If you have shopped there recently you noticed that Amazon will provide you with a suggest PayPhrase which is usually some random bit of word salad.



I was shopping for some baby products when spotted this proposed PayPhrase.

Kerry's Utter Responsibility

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Did they mean udder responsibility? This gave me a hearty chortle, and reminded me that I need to register for some Bag Balm.

Lack of sleep is hindering my professionalism

Pregnancy has a way of disturbing one's sleep. The consequences of sleep deprivation can be unfortunate. For instance, one may find one's self more funny than one actually is.

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Case in point, in responding to a ridiculously detailed discovery request, I may have included the following item:

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In response to request No. 24, [CLIENT] respectfully declines to describe the undergarments of the witnesses of this case, as such information is immaterial to a DUI prosecution, the discovery of which is unlikely to lead to admissible evidence. At this time I intend to call only the arresting officer. If at deposition Officer [LAST NAME] has no reservation to describing his unmentionables, however, I will not object.

TP Axiom

Listen. We have discussed this at length: the more bathroom tissue claims to be soft, the more abusive it is going to be to the business end of your digestive tract. Further adjectives are to be avoided at all costs when it comes to purchasing this stuff.

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For the foregoing reasons, I simultaneously winced and clenched when I read this article from the Consumerist discussing the new tissue manufactured in the UK which incorporates bits of cashmere (recall that cashmere is still wool).

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At any rate, the article is worth reading, if only for the delightful comments from like-minded readers.

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If you guessed this post was just a lame excuse to recycle my angry TP graphic, you are especially astute!

Designed by engineers who have probably never seen one in real life

Here's a disturbing little product I spotted over at Amazon:

This is a Microsoft Bluetooth Notebook Mouse, which was apparently designed specifically for trolling the web for hardcore porn.

I especially, especially like how easy the scroll wheel is to find on this model.

Feeling rather ecru today

Just read an article about how Different Colors Describe Happiness vs. Depression. It was a mildly interesting story about a study with predicable findings.

Happy people gravitate toward yellow. Depressed people feel grey. An affinity for light blue is acceptable, while a preference for dark blue indicates an immediate need for heavy medication. Pretty intuitive stuff, I suppose.

It was the end of the article that piqued my interest.

Whorwell is now testing the [color] wheel on patients with irritable bowel syndrome. He's hoping that color choices can reveal patients' attitudes and predict how well they will respond to treatments like hypnosis. Because people are embarrassed by gastroenterogical symptoms, Whorewell said, non-verbal methods of getting information are sometimes preferable to conversation.

I am just imagining how such research will ultimately affect the treatment of irritable bowel syndrome.

GASTROENTEROLOGIST: How are you feeling this afternoon, sport?

PATIENT: For the nineteenth time: BROWN! I'm feeling brown, okay doc? Dark. Ruddy. Brown.

REPOST! REPOST! REPOST!

I am about four months into my second pregnancy. I think about food now. A lot. Lately I have been ruminating on the subject of Girl Scout Cookies. Accordingly, I went back a couple years and found this post from spring of 2008.

How self-absorbed does one have to be to giggle at their own handiwork? You are looking at it, baby!

I have also included the comments because in the 3 or 4 years I have been blogging, this is the only negative feedback I have received to date. This is how I know that no one is reading my blog. Except for my mom. Because I told her to.

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The Changeling

It seemed like years ago I placed my order for Girl Scout Cookies. When I learned they had at long last arrived I began daydreaming about that first glorious moment in which I would tear open my box of Samoas . . .





Ahh . . . the texture, the aroma, the crunch . . . the happiness!


But my Samoas never arrived.

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Instead, I had unwittingly purchased a box of Carmel deLites. Since the packaging looked identical, I presumed that the Girl Scouts just changed the product name.

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Sadly, I could not have been more wrong.

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The Carmel deLite (shown above) is, at best, a sad and miserable excuse for a Samoa.

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This goes far beyond a mere name change, this is not the same cookie but an unholy abomination before God and my own taste buds.

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I have done a little digging and it seems that there is a slow and evil encroachment of the Carmel deLite into Samoa territory. Carmel deLites are the carp of the Samoa pond -- an insidious fish of a cookie that is pushing out the more tasty indigenous species.

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This affects all of us, people. Sure, you may be able to purchase the Somoa in your neighborhood today, but next year you may not be so fortunate. Then, instead of a delicious Samoa, you will find a Carmel deLite staring back at you with its soulless eye.

-----COMMENTS-----

Anonymous said...I was sad but for a much different reason. I ordered the same cookies and waited and waited and eventually forgot about them. Then, I started a diet and was very upset when my cookies showed up on my door step cause I can't eat them.

Amy

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Reluctant Kerry said...
Seems to me like you have some Samoas you can dispose of.

You have my address.

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Anonymous said...
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Girl_Scout_cookie "Licensed baking companies can offer up to eight varieties of Girl Scout cookies [. . .] Each baking company names its own cookies." Furthermore,"Caramel deLites are also called Samoas."

They are the same darned cookies. Research next time. They only taste different in your head.

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Reluctant Kerry said...Hey Anon. Thanks for stopping by. Two things:

(1) if your are looking for well-researched writing and/or ranting, you have clearly come to the wrong place

(2) You seem quite knowledgeable regarding Girl Scout Cookies, could you hook me up with some SOMOAS (and not any of those gag-eliciting Carmel deLites) ???

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Anonymous said...
They are not the same cookie! They are made by different companies to different specifications and have different names accordingly. For example, Samoas use dark chocolate whereas the Delites use milk.

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Reluctant Kerry said...
Hello Anon, II. Thanks for visiting.

This post was a ridiculously long rant whereby I told YOU that that they are are not the same cookie. That's right. I. Told. You.

So the Carmel deLite has its own spec list? What is that list, pray tell?

(1) Produce product that looks similar to the beloved Samoas.

(2) Use milk chocolate in place of dark chocolate.

(3) Make these cookies as sad and abysmal substitute for Samoa as you can without violating any express provisions of the FDA.

I propose name change: Carmel dePress. They should come with a gooey Cymbalta filling in the center, that's what I say!

Validation!

I was puttering around to determine which search terms would yield this site as the first result on Google.

Oh yeah! I am the web's foremost authority on seepy buttholes.

Now I just need to see what all the buzz is about on the topic of sleepy buttholes.

Mmmm . . . fingers

I first encountered this admonition back at the 2006 Iowa State Fair.

Which made me wonder: whose fingers? my fingers? someone else's fingers? lady finger cookies?

Now that I have a child, it is comforting to know that this ambiguity has been cleared up.

YOUR fingers

Max was moments away from allowing a horse to eat his fingers off, fortunately he received the information he needed before it was too late.

Ahhh . . . Sometimes I Tickle Myself

I went to court today. After the conclusion of trial proceedings, the judge told a strange story of a shackled defendant who shocked the court by displaying a scar, which was located in an intimate area. My own sense of propriety failing, I made the following request:


ME: May it please the Court? Counsel would like to show the Court her C-Section scar.

JUDGE: Counsel’s request is adamantly denied!


I didn’t really want to show off my scar, but I always hate to lose a motion.

Instant Karma

I get bored from time to time, and when that happens I like to reach out and make connections with others. Quite often this means sending feisty, colorful, and sometimes blatantly obscene texts to Matt's pager.

As I send these, I imagine: Matt diligently working when his pager goes off for the thirty-seventh time that afternoon; he casually glances at the display, tries to not to react to my filthy little missive, and goes back to rendering excellent patient care.

It is truly one of my favorite things to do. At this point however, Matt has grown accustomed to my obnoxious prank and I really have to get creative to elicit much of a reaction. So it was that my last text to Matt was a well-crafted work of explicit literature. I will not tell you what the text said; suffice to say that I masterfully wove inside jokes with song lyrics with a healthy dash of crude profanity.

I giggled to myself as I sent off my evil text, and then returned to my work feeling quite refreshed and satisfied.

Then . . . my phone buzzed with a new message from my mother-in -law:

Oh. Sweet. Jeebus.

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While Matt may not have rolled on the ground laughing at my text, he most certainly did when he found out that I had accidentally sent it to his parents.

Who do you think you are fooling?

The item below may be sold in head shops, and the purveyor will swear up and down that it is intended for smoking tobacco . . .
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. . . but you and I both know for that this fine piece of hippie paraphernalia is intended for marijuana.
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Similarly, this interesting item is listed as a wig purifier, which is just insulting to this consumer's intelligence. Let us just call it what it clearly is:
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A DISPLAY BOX FOR SERIAL KILLERS!

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