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.

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.
.

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?

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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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.

`

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.

`

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.

.

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.

.

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!

The Changling

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.

`

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.

`

Sadly, I could not have been more wrong.

`

`

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

`

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.

`

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.

`

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 it's soulless eye.

`

`

First they came for the Thin Mints, and I did not speak out—because I was only lukewarm about the Thin Mints;

`

Then they came for the Tagalongs, and I did not speak out—because I think the Tagalongs are kinda gross;

`

Then they came for the Do-Si-Dos, and I did not speak out—because, to be frank, I don't know what the hell a Do-Si-Do is anyway;

`

Then they came for the Trefoils, and I did not speak out—because, honestly, who orders Trefoils? Really?

`

Then they came for the SAMOAS . . .

Suprise filling

I love the Cadbury Mini Eggs. I really do. It's just that I wish they didn't look quite so authentic.









Specifically, the white speckled ones that look remarkably like sparrow eggs.

`

Years ago when my dad gently placed in my hand a white egg with chocolate colored speckles, I should have thought, "what a lovely little sparrow egg, I wonder where this came from?" What I actually thought was "Yum, a mini egg! I love these things."

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I will never forget that terrible crunch and the nauseous moment of realization that Cadbury Mini Eggs do not have runny, slimy cream filling.

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That was about ten years ago; I still gag a little every time I think about it.

Picky eater

I was starving, I didn't have time leave the office to grab lunch. My Doritos got caught in the vending machine and repeated kicking and punching would not dislodge my would-be-high-sodium-lunch. That left me with the snack of last resort: carrot cake.

Why do bakers find it fit to put vegetables inside of a desert? Carrot cake makes about as much sense as mixing broccoli into chocolate cupcakes. I am also not a fan of the raisin, which I regard as the chewy ruiner of otherwise yummy oatmeal cookies.

By the time I navigated the carrot and raisin landmines, and ate the morsels of iffy cake in-between, this was the the carnage left behind:

I am beginning to understand why people don't take me in public to eat anymore. You should see what I do to a supreme pizza.

Meatloaf has a valid argument

It's tricky coming up with masculine Valentine's day gift ideas. One year I just bought Matt a pair of shoes that he liked, stuffed them full of flowers and called them sporty vases.

This year I thought I was on to something clever, a cookie bouquet! True, it is mushie like a bouquet of posies, but that mushiness is tempered by its high caloric snackiness. This is perfection. What could possibly stop me from making this purchase?!

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The answer to that question is a price tag of $73.98!

What the hell? We're only talking nine cookies here sister! NINE!

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In quoting the great Meatloaf, as I am often wont to do, I would do anything for love . . . but I won't do that.

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(Or suck toes, I won't do that either).

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HAPPY VALENTINES DAY! May your homemade cookies be tasty and affordable.

What a girl wants to hear

Ah . . . it's February again. Time to start making plans for Valentines Day.

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Here's a nifty gift idea: custom candy hearts. How cool would it be to receive these little candies printed with a personal messages just for you?!

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Below I have provided a list of suggested sweet sentiments that my husband might consider having printed on candy hearts for me this year (hint, hint):

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`

` `

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`

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And the message I most want to see on a candy heart . . .

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What's the catch

We were in Saratoga, Wyoming for the holidays a couple of years ago. When Matt went to the Doughnut Ranch to buy some breakfast, he had a peculiar exchange with the Doughnut Ranch pasty associate .

(Have you noticed that everyone is an "associate" these days? Weird.)

`

MATT: Hi, I'd like to get a dozen doughnuts.

PASTRY ASSOCIATE : Okay. Would you like fresh doughnuts or day-olds?

MATT: What is the difference in cost?

PASTRY ASSOCIATE: They're the same price?

MATT: Does anyone ever get the day-olds?

`

(That's not the kind of logic that will help her make Pastry Partner)

Geoducks

I had never heard of a geoduck before last night. I'll be honest; I was far more comfortable with the world I knew before I became aware of the existence of geoducks. Dear GOD those are disgusting little bastards.

This freaky little creature, my friends, is a geoduck:

Looks a bit like a clam gnawing on a unwell phallus, does it not?

Here's what little I know (which, if you ask me, is too much) about the geoduck, or panopea abrupta for you fancy book-learnin' types.

The geoduck (aptly pronounced "gooey duck") is the world's largest burrowing clam. When fully grown they weigh approximately three pounds. Even more disturbing is that geoduck has a life expectancy of up to 150 years with the oldest recorded at 163 years.

THAT'S TOO LONG!

Apparently . . . . and this is awful . . . people eat the geoduck.

Sweet Jesus why?!

This "delicacy" reportedly has a sweet flavor and crunchy texture that is best appreciated when eaten raw. I've often wondered, is the word "delicacy" synonymous with "incredibly creepy?" I have perused the internet and found recipes.

RECIPES!

Do me this one favor, if you ever find yourself in a restaurant, and happen to read Geoduck Sashimi on the menu, slowly back away from your table and RUN!

Never before have I actually wished complete extinction upon an entire species . . .

I'm fairly sure whatever sicko made children pose with geoducks should be required to keep his address up to date with some sort of offender registry.

Soylent Pink

Generally, I feel a bit like a big phony when I quote movies I have not actually seen. That being said, I really, really need to see SOYLENT GREEN so I can feel better about myself when I quote:

"It's people!
Soylent Green is made out of people.
They're making our food out of people!!!"


This is what I was hearing in my head last night after I looked up from my menu at a kitschy barbeque restaurant to see a seven-foot PIG in a chef's hat greeting patrons

THIS IS OUR CHEF?!

Dear God, has he no soul?! Grilling up his own?

Contrary to appearance, this is not a smile on my face. This is me deciding against ordering the ribs.

Words to live by . . .