Tag Archives: food

Where’s My Cookie????

Its that most wonderful time of the year again.  Girl Scout Cookie season!  This is my favorite season.  Winter is wonderful.  Spring is spectacular.  But Girl Scout Cookie season is glorious.  Its no coincidence to me that they come around the Easter season because they are the epitome of God’s graciousness.  Tag-a-longs and Jesus.

Every year I order at least 10 boxes.  At. Least.

A lot of people go for the Thin Mints.  Those are pretty good.  But I’m partial to the Tag-a-longs myself.  Crunchy cookie, creamy peanut butter, all wrapped in a milk chocolate hug…

tagalong-clip-art1

Sorry, I blacked out for a minute.  Where was I?

Ah, yes…  Tag-a-longs.  I also really love the Somoas, and the great thing about those is that Chris doesn’t like them so I get the whole box to myself.  Wanna see what the end of the world looks like?  Try interrupting me when I’m chowing on some Somoas.  I dare you.

girlscout_samoas

This year, however, I made a colossal mistake.  Huge.  I forgot to order cookies.  I remembered one morning a few weeks ago, but when I asked my dealer (a.k.a. the guy in my office who sells them for his niece) about his supply, he said that the sign up sheet had come and gone.  I about lost it.  Right there next to the office water cooler.

How would I live?  How could I go on?  I had missed Girl Scout Cookie season!  Life was not worth living.  Not at all.

Fortunately, my quick-thinking husband ordered them at his office from a co-worker so we were covered.  The only downside was that he’s cheap and skinny and so he only ordered something lame like 4 boxes.  But that’s 4 more boxes than I ordered, so I didn’t complain…for long.

But it has been MONTHS now.  MONTHS.  And the cookies have not been delivered.  I keep asking Chris when we’re supposed to get them, but all he says is that I need to settle down.

Settle down?  How am I supposed to settle down when everywhere I turn someone is eating a Girl Scout Cookie?  How am I supposed to settle down when I have visions of Tag-a-longs haunting my dreams?  How am I supposed to settle down when I’m settling for Oreos in my cookie jar instead of Somoas?  HOW, CHRIS?  TELL ME HOW!

I finally convinced him to at least ask the guy at his office when they were supposed to be in, and the guy said this week.  But are there Girl Scout Cookies in my hand?  No.  Are there Girl Scout Cookies in my lunch?  No.  No there are not.  And this is completely unacceptable.  I tried to get Chris to call the guy again today, but he won’t do it.  I said he should explain to him that his wife is pregnant and unstable and in desperate need of a Girl Scout Cookie, but he still wouldn’t do it.

“Fine,” I said.  “Then give me his number.  I’ll place an anonymous phone call.”

“I don’t think so,” Chris replied.  “I think you need to chill out a little.  They are just cookies.”

Clearly, Chris is not 6 months pregnant or he would know what a stupid comment that is.

Time are tough, people.  Really tough.  I’ve got bills to pay, children to make, husbands to tame, and eyebrows that seriously need waxing.  All I’m asking for is a cookie.

Is that too much to ask?

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I Bake, Therefore I am

Don’t these cookies look delicious?

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I made them myself.  They are peanut butter oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.  Here – have a closer look…

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(Pay no attention to the blue M&M’s.  They are Spiderman M&M’s.  Only thing I had.)

They look so yummy, don’t they?  They make you want to pour a cold glass of milk and cozy up with a blanket and good book.  Funny thing about these cookies though.

THEY TASTE LIKE CRAP.  Total crap.  Like baked crap.  And I just don’t get it.

You know when you go to the beach and you get back in your car with sandy feet and your floor mats get all gritty and nasty?  Well, I imagine that if you were to pick up that floor mat and chew a little bit on one of the corners, you’d probably get a similar taste to these cookies.  Something tasting like sand and concrete.  And feet.

These cookies turned out like all my other baked goods do.  They look edible.  They smell edible.  They feel edible.  But when you bite into them – dirt.  Pure dirt.  They are gritty and dry and these particular cookies have a funky texture to them.  I think its the oatmeal.

And I just don’t get it.  I follow the recipes perfectly.  I measure carefully, preheat my oven, use room temperatured butter.  And nothing.  I get nothing in return.  This is not a new problem for me either.  I had this issue in our old apartment.  At the time, I blamed it on my oven but now I live in a new house with a new oven and I still get the same old results.  I’m starting to think its a user error.  But I honestly don’t know what my error is.  Any monkey can follow a recipe…  right???

I made Chris try one.  He kind of chewed it and then smiled painfully and made a “MMMmmm…” noise.  I’m sure he meant it to mean, “MMMmmm….Yummy…” but it came out more like, “MMMmmm…I want to throw up.”  And I can’t even get mad at him because I had the same reaction.

And its not everything in my kitchen that turns out like this.  I can cook pretty good.  I’m a Crock Pot Queen.  I can bake a hell of a muffin.  And chicken breasts fear me.  Its just cookies.  No cookie has survived my kitchen yet.

OH, COOKIE GODS!  WHY HAVE THOU TURNED FROM ME?!?!?

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Filed under Marriage, Random, Suburbia

Busted by the Belly

Normally, I try to vary my blog topics every day so that you don’t have to read about the same thing over and over again.  But my belly is the only thing on my mind lately.  It is growing exponentially and I am completely fascinated by it.  Sure, the little guy growing in there is pretty cool, too, but the sheer size of my belly these days is spectacular on its own.  Let me see if I can explain the size of it…

I had this past Monday off of work for MLK Day, and since Chris didn’t, I spent the whole day by myself.  I love those days actually.  I can eat where and what and when I want.  I can shop.  I can take long leisurely showers and wear fun clothes.  Heaven.  Absolute Heaven.

On this particular day, I decided that I wanted Taco Bell for lunch.  Now, I have cut way back on my junk food intake since my first trimester ended.  When you feel that sick, you eat whatever sounds appealing in an effort to keep it down and if it’s Taco Bell you want, then its Taco Bell you should get.  But now that I’m in my second trimester, I haven’t been sick at all and I am able to eat anything.  So I’ve sort of run out of excuses to eat like a college kid on a midnight binge and I’ve been forced to make better food choices.  But on this particular day, nothing would do except a Mexican Pizza from Taco Bell.  MMmmm….  So, I grab one through the drive thru, smother it in Fire Sauce and head off to the mall, munching as I drive.

Mexican Pizza.  You know you want one.

Mexican Pizza. You know you want one.

When I got to the mall though, I continued to smell my Mexican Pizza everywhere I went.  Standing in line at Macy’s I started casually sniffing the woman next to me to see if by chance she had also had a Taco Bell craving that morning.  No such luck.  Browsing through Barnes and Noble, I smelled it so strongly that I was sure the teenage kid standing next to me had bathed in Fire Sauce, but I’m pretty sure he just smelled like cigarettes.  Finally, the only logical explanation was that I had spilled something on me in the car and was still carrying it around on somewhere.  But I gave myself a good once over and couldn’t find anything.  I was stain-free.

Where was that heavenly Taco Bell scent coming from?

Finally, after 3 hours of sniffing strangers, I found a restroom.  I stood in front of the mirror and gave myself a good once-over again.  Nothing.  But then….wait…was that?  Could it be?  Had I really?

Yes.  Yes, it was and yes I had really.  In the car I had apparently spilled some of my Mexican Pizza on my shirt under my belly and since my belly is so enormous these days, I couldn’t see what was going on down there.  Standing in front of the mirror, I could see a large clump of refried beans and taco sauce in the shadow of my oversized-baby-cooker.

Must escape.  Must escape now.

I booked it out of that restroom and straight out to my car, where I threw it into gear and flew home.  I was mortified, but I was also satisfyingly full.  And so I celebrated my large belly and good lunch with Oprah and a nice long nap on my couch because sometimes in life you just have to stop and smell the beans.

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Filed under pregnancy

We Came, We Ate, We Conquored

Well, we survived Thanksgiving.  The turkey was moist, the stuffing was spicy, the mac ‘n cheese was to die for.  There were no fires in the kitchen, nothing burned on the stove, and we were all still speaking to eachother when we finally sat down for dinner.  All in all, it was a great Thanksgiving.

One of the things I was the most thankful for this year was the outpouring of support, prayers, kind thoughts, and encouragement from you.  I must have read your comments 1,000 times.  And I might read them again today.  Thank you for reaching out to someone that most of you don’t even know.  Chris and I met with the geneticist on Tuesday and the news was very encouraging.  Basically, there is a 25% chance that I could pass along the genetic mutation.  Then, if I do pass it on, there is a 15% chance that it could result in a disability that you can see.  Now, there is a lot more to those statistics than anyone (except me) cares to know, but in a nutshell those are our odds.  And I feel pretty good about them.  I have a CVS scheduled on Monday, which is where they go in through my abdomen and take a sample of the placenta to see if the baby has been effected.  That means in one week I will know the health of the baby and also THE BABY’S GENDER!!  How exciting!  Bring on the Little Jack or Jill!!

And now, I need you to reach into the depths of your spirituality and pray for me again…  I’m going shopping today.  On Black Friday.  I must have a death wish.  Either that, or I am in desperate need of some sales this year.  So, send me your Christmas Lists.  I have Santa on speed dial.

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Filed under Around the House, Family, Money, pregnancy

The Worst Date Night Ever

This week I have been spending my evenings propped up in front of the television, taking my temperature and downing cold pills like candy.  The highlight of my nights have been trips to the bathroom.  So when I had one brief moment of clarity in between rounds of medication, I realized that yesterday was Friday night – date night, baby!

Friday night for me and Chris is date night.  We don’t really plan it, and I don’t even think I reazlied it until just now, but Friday nights are naturally reserved for the two of us.  If we go out with friends or something crazy on the weekend, its usually on Saturday night.  Friday is typically dinner out with just the two of us and either a movie or a trip to the bookstore or sometimes even a trip to the grocery store.  Nothing says romance like good produce and I don’t have to fight with the momiacs at the deli counters at 9:00 on a Friday.  I know.  We’re uber romantic.

Last night was no exception.  Even with my honkin’ big nose and my 90-year-old smoker’s cough, I dressed my sick self up for date night.  We went to our favorite sushi spot for dinner (shocking, I know), and then decided to see that new Brad Pitt movie, Burn After Reading (great movie by the way – really, really funny if you’re into oddball humor.  And I am.).  Because we are on this new Debt Diet from Hell, we only decided to go to the movies because we had a gift card to the movie theater (thank you, Alison!).  And this was our only time eating out this week, so we were still playing by our financial rules.

We get to the theater and I buy our tickets, and then we walked around the mall for a bit, laughing of the cute little gothic teenagers (why don’t parents love their children more?) and then we headed back to the theater.  We splurged on the smallest popcorn I’d ever seen.  Really.  It was tiny.  It was so small that Chris wouldn’t even carry it.  He said he was embarrassed to hold the tiny, bright pink bag of popcorn crumbs.

But when we got to the ticket taking guy, I couldn’t find our tickets.  Anywhere.  I KNOW I put them in the back pockets of my jeans.  I know I did.  Because I remember thinking that would be the easiest place to get them out of when we were ready.  But my pockets, they were a-empty.  So I force Chris to hold the tiny popcorn (which was actually a 10 minute argument itself, but not worth getting into because he was being ridiulous), and I start digging through my purse, my pockets, my jacket.  I retrace my steps, check with the popcorn counter – nothing.  I don’t know what the hell I did with those tickets.  And the whole time, Chris is just standing there, occasionally saying, “Did you lose the tickets?”  If our popcorn had been normal sized, I would have thrown it in his face.

Finally, I accepted defeat and bought two tickets to the movie.  There goes our fancy financing.  And our free freaking tickets!

So we go into the theater and sit down.  I’m completely baffled and Chris is pissed.  I sit down, get myself all settled and then reach for our mini-me popcorn.  And what do I do?  I drop the whold darn thing on the floor!  Spilled our popcorn everywhere.  Chris looked at me and said, “Do we just need to go home?”

We stayed and thank goodness the movie was funny because if I’d gone through all that for a stupid movie, I would have had to hurt someone.  Like my husband.

But I guess that’s what date nights are like.  Even when you’ve been going on dates with the same person for 10 years, some date are good and some dates are awful.  If we were dating, I don’t think he’d call me.  Then again, I wouldn’t answer even if he did.

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The Cupcake Truck

One of the delights of working on a college campus is that there are food vendors everywhere.  Hot dog stands, burrito stands, Thai stands…  You name a food and they’ve probably figured out how to serve it out the back of a truck on this campus.  Personally, I think this is one of Yale’s greatest assets.  If it were up to me, I’d include the food trucks on the campus tour.

And I have done my civic duty by testing out as many of these meals on wheels since I’ve been here.  But the other day I spotted one that I hadn’t seen before.  Painted on the side of an old ice cream truck were the words, “The Cupcake Truck.”  Cupcake truck, you say?  That’s right, the Cupcake truck.  I mentioned this sighting to a group of co-workers later in the day, who all enthusiastically agreed it was the greatest piece of excellence that Yale University has ever produced.  It is exactly what it says it is – a truck that sells cupcakes.

(Pause for heavenly music and trumpets)

So this past week, I decided to see what this traveling sugar show was all about.  Oh.  Holy. Goodness.  Prepare yourselves for this:

On the side of the truck are three different categories – cake, icing, and toppings.  And under each heading there are at least 20 different options.  And you choose from each heading!  Its the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.  You could have red velvet cake with banana icing topped with red hots.  Or you could have strawberry cake with french vanilla icing topped with M&Ms.  Or you could have chocolate cake with peanut butter icing topped with Reese Pieces.  Or…

As I stood next to the massive line of students, faculty, staff, and one family with four screaming children, I found myself drooling on the person next to me.  Sadly, the Cupcake Truck violates both of my “I’m Fat” and “I’m Poor” campaigns, so I did not allow myself to partake of the goodies.  Instead I just stood there staring.  And then someone asked me if I was in line and I said, “No, but do you mind if I watch you eat that cupcake?”

That’s when I removed myself from temptation and left the scene.  But I’ll be back!  Oh, yes.  I will be back.  I don’t care if I sprout a fifth chin, I will eat one of those cupcakes.  Maybe I’ll have vanilla cake with peppermint icing and mint cookie topping…  Or pineapple cake with mango icing and coconut topping…  Or chocolate cake with marshmellow icing topped with strawberries…  Or…

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Filed under Random

Worth a Thousand Words

Tonight we had a roast for dinner.  A big roast.  Enough roast for both of us to eat tonight and take for lunch for two days.  It was a beautiful roast.  Chris cooked it with carrots and potatoes and celery, basted it with luuuve, and then sliced it up for dinner.  We fixed our plates and went to eat in the basement (where we eat like animals while we watch Everybody Loves Raymond).

About a half hour later, I take my plate upstairs and there is the plate with the sliced roast – but its empty.  Nothing’s there.

Empty roast plate

Empty roast plate

I come back downstairs, laughing.

“Oh my gosh, Chris.  Were you hungry, honey?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you ate that whole roast.”

“What roast?”

“That 5 pound roast that was on the counter.”

“I didn’t eat that.  I had two little slices.”

Silence.

So we kind of exchange looks like we’re crazy and the go back up to the kitchen together to investigate.  And this is what we find:

Bad Molly

Bad Molly

Our 70 pound lab ate a 5 pound roast.  And then she got her hiney spanked.

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