pssst...got cookies?

Has the world ended and I didn’t get the memo?

I mean…it’s less than a week until March and I haven’t seen a single Girl Scout selling cookies. Isn’t it about that time? Has my internal clock reset itself? I distinctly feel the unshakeable craving for a line of Thin Mints, fresh from the freezer.

I can almost hear the familiar crackle of the clear wrapping as I tear it open with my teeth, and the snap of the first cookie as I bite into the cool, minty goodness. Just thinking about it starts the tingle at the tip of my fingers as I long to rip open a brand new box!

Can someone please tell me if I should be having heart palpatations at the mere memory of the taste? I keep checking out that picture right there and I’m seriously considering taking a bite out of my laptop! Does anyone know a Girl Scout I can talk to? Or an addiction counselor? I knew I had a thing for chocolate, but since when does a picture of a cookie send a person into withdrawl? The addiction is real people…real, I tell you!

Ok…I need to get a handle on this. I’ve done an internet search to see if they’re selling cookies in my area, and I’ve come up blank.

Yeah…I know. You don’t have to say anything. I can feel an intervention coming, and I haven’t even touched my first cookie.

It’s going to be a long spring.

Until the next time…I’ll be calling my local Girl Scouts to pre-order a case.

"doing a line" of thin mints

Every year, I tell myself…I won’t buy them this time. This time I’ll walk right by the little crack peddlers with their cute little uniforms and their sad little faces, and I won’t buy a single box of those unimaginably addictive cookies. And every year, I end up searching the internet for a twelve step program for Girl Scout cookie addicts.

This year will be no exception.

Not only did I fail to avoid them…I sought them out. Went looking for them. Driving around town, cash in hand, hoping to score a box or two.

My grown son was in the car with me when I saw the first group of Girl Scouts, standing in front of the grocery store, waving a sign. And thank goodness for that sign, otherwise I might not have seen them from the road.  The familiar tingle hit me right away, and I think I let out an evil laugh.

My son looked at me funny, asking me, “Did you drive all the way here just for Girl Scout cookies?”

“Of course not,” I lied, the money burning a hole in my pocket as I searched for the closest parking spot. “I came for…milk…no eggs…no…” I couldn’t think of a single thing I needed from the grocery store. “Yes…I came for the cookies.”

He shook his head. “That’s just sad.”

And he was right. It was sad. I only had enough cash for five boxes.

After a tense couple of minutes in line where the stack of thin mints was dangerously depleted, I loaded up my five boxes (four boxes of thin mints and a box of samoas to keep the kid from talking) and headed back home to toss them in the freezer.

But not before opening a tube.

I shoved the first cookie into my mouth with an audible groan and the resulting tingle ran all the way to my toes.

“Can I have one?” my son asked, but I pointed to the box of samoas.

“I bought you cookies…stay away from mine,” I growled, dragging the clear plastic wrapper until it was out of his reach, like a wild dog.

“You need help,” he said, shaking his head.

And he was right. I needed help stashing my cookies where no one would find them. The freezer was public domain. The whole house has access. I had to think of something quick.

I parked the car in the driveway and tucked the cookies under my arms to run into the house. I pulled open the freezer, digging around for the perfect hiding place.

I stashed two boxes under the frozen vegetables, another under a package of fish. The last places anyone would search for cookies, I was sure. The forth box (or what was left of it after I savaged the first tube on the ride home) went with me into the bedroom where I hid it under my decorating magazines. The one place I knew my husband would never look.

Then I settled in for the night.

I can feel my fingers twitch every time I think about the dwindling cookies near my bed. I reach over, telling myself I’ll just have one. But one leads to another, and another, until I’ve done a whole line of thin mints without even realizing it. I’m afraid I might even sneak off to the freezer for another tube in the middle of the night.

I’ve entertained the idea of taking up drinking just to kick the cookie habit…but I honestly don’t like liquor that much. Unless they come up with a thin mint drink…in which case I might need to go to rehab for real.

Until the next time…I’ll be “doing a line” of thin mints!

attack of the girl scout cookies

Today my willpower was tested like no other day in recent history.  The little cookie dealers in their innocent looking Girl Scout getups were camped outside of the bank pushing their crack biscuits again.  It was like a sucker punch to the gut when I saw them.  It knocked the wind straight out of me, backing me up a few steps from where I stood in the parking lot. 

I wasn’t at the bank when they arrived. I was at a meeting offsite, and when I came back, there they were.  The crazy thing is…it was my idea.  I’m the one who got them permission to hawk their goodies practically on my doorstep, but that was weeks ago—before I discovered I had a problem.  I didn’t expect to see them today—cases of Thin Mints at the ready—so close to where I keep all of my money. 

I’d given them up, the Thin Mints.  Gone cold turkey weeks ago.  But there they were in all their minty goodness, staring me in the face like a bad nightmare.  I even had a wad of cash in my purse just begging me to spend it. 

It didn’t help that the little cookie peddlers were totally not shy about running up to everyone they saw, waving the damn things under my nose until the saliva glands kicked in, making me drool like Henry Chow in a fish market.  If only my legs could carry me faster, but as we all know…I don’t run.

I steeled myself against the temptation, and set off at a hobbled clip until they were on the other side of the glass door.  I could still see them.  It was still hard.  But I had done it.  I had walked away from my biggest temptation. 

And straight into another one.

Why the hell is it that working at the bank means I have to be in constant, close proximity to all things sugary?  In the break room at any given moment one will likely find boxes of cookies, bags of candy, loose M&Ms, a box of pistachios (healthy in small doses, but lethal if you eat everything your pockets can hold) and even an entire cake!  Is it any wonder I’m having such a hard time resisting the temptation of confections?  Can’t we have carrot sticks and celery once in a while?  Maybe some granola bars?  Some yogurt?  

No, because apparently bankers like sweets. 

There is most certainly a joke in there somewhere, and I can’t wait for my readers to draw it out and post it for me below!

To make matters worse, the minute I caught sight of the Girl Scout cookies, I started having an unnatural craving for Diet Coke.  I made a beeline for the bathroom and locked myself in to do deep breathing exercises, while chanting to myself, “I will eat a healthy meal today…I will eat a healthy meal today!”

Because healthy meals are what I’m all about these days.  My husband is adamant that I eat right and give up the junk food for good.  He’s taken to checking up after me in the bank account.  He was counting the frequency of fast food encounters and calculating my extravagant spending on the same.  It is quite sobering to have someone show you a spread sheet documenting how many times you’d been to Chick-Fil-A in a week’s time.  I swear it’s just for the lemonade.  They have the best lemonade, and it even comes in diet!

So I’m doing a bit of counter intelligence.  I’ve been getting cash back at the grocery store.  Cash is untraceable.   And my husband is quite pleased with me, because my fast food consumption has dropped off considerably in the last week.  So everybody wins!  And just for good measure, I have actually been eating healthier, and even cooking more at home.  I know…I may ruin my reputation, but it’s a risk I’ll have to take! 

I keep hoping that spring will eventually show up, and it if does, I might actually want to wear a cute skirt, or a pair of shorts.  I can’t keep putting off the groundhog diet, even if the groundhog isn’t holding up to his end of the bargain.  With only a few days of March left, it was still ridiculously cold in Atlanta today.  The story is, tomorrow will be warmer.  I’ll believe it when I see it.  I’m not taking any chances.  I’ll be sure to pick out two set of clothes for the morning, just in case. 

So it’s about that time again…time for me to try to grab a few uninterrupted hours of sleep.  I’ve been trying for years, and I’m determined to get it someday.

Until the next time…I’ll be dreaming of Thin Mints fighting carrot sticks in a food channel version of Rock ‘em Sock ‘em Robots.

do zombies like girl scout cookies?

I never seem to spend enough time with my kids.  They all have lives of their own now, and I don’t play that big a part on a day to day basis anymore.  Oh, I try.  I am very hip and cool for a Mom.  But they often give me the hint that perhaps I should make myself scarce.  The girls are a little more forgiving when I butt into their friendships, but then again, they still rely on me for rides, money and permission—and, yeah…I am just that cool!  My son on the other hand, is fairly self sufficient.  He still relies on me for some things, (a roof over his head, a stocked refrigerator, and free cable) but at twenty, he feels as if he is all the way grown up and does not need his mother joining in on his play dates—or his Facebook page, apparently—which is why I was so pleased to have spent some quality time with him stuck in traffic today. 

Our topic of conversation veered into the path of flesh eating zombies. 

My son is an expert on zombies.  He could write a book on surviving a zombie attack.  We have mapped out every escape route in our house, planned out the best places to survive, what supplies we will need to have on hand, and what weapons are best suited for self defense.  I have been well schooled on the zombie’s weak spots in the event I am forced to attack.  I have often said that I only run when chased by zombies, but according to my son, I wouldn’t get very far on foot, and should have a substantial vehicle to escape zombies. (It does more damage when you run them down.)   He has seen to it that we are ready for the imminent invasion!

But, we didn’t start the conversation talking about zombies.  We started talking about how stealthy he was.  I was somewhat skeptical—I am far too clumsy to be stealthy—and considering his gene pool, I was doubtful of his ability to be as sneaky as he claimed to be.  (He is over six feet two inches tall, and probably weighs close to two hundred and forty pounds.)

That was when he pulled out a yellow lollipop with a wide grin and announced that he had lifted it from my office.  Mind you, I was unaware that I even had a yellow lollipop in my office.  I was only aware of the two boxes of Girl Scout cookies (Samoas) that he hijacked from my desk this afternoon.  But there was nothing covert about that operation.  He just walked into my office, spotted the familiar purple boxes and announced that, “I’ve read your blog.  You don’t need any more cookies!”  He said this as he grabbed both boxes and spun on his heels to head out the way he came in.  I didn’t put up a fight.  I was at the bank—I didn’t want to alert anyone to the seriousness of my cookie addiction—plus I still had two boxes of Thin Mints, and two boxes of Do Si Dos that must have escaped his notice while he was lifting the yellow lollipop. 

He pulled the wrapper off the lollipop and went on to tell me he was as stealthy as a ninja.  To which I said, “ah…the ninja zombie hunter.” 

He immediately set out to clarify.  “Are you saying that I’m a ninja zombie, who hunts?  Or am I a hunter who hunts ninja zombies.  Those are very specific distinctions.”   

Of course they are.  I should have known.

I just stared ahead at the traffic.  I didn’t know which distinction was the right one.  I thought it would be sort of cool to have a lone zombie, roaming the Earth, dressed in a ninja suit…doing ninja things. 

“No, I would be the zombie hunting ninja!”  He corrected, as if he could hear my thoughts. 

“Ah.” 

I actually wonder sometimes where my kids get their quirkiness from.  And then I remember that I keep a spreadsheet documenting the frequency of wearing my underwear inside out.   (It is only for science, I promise!)

I’m really very lucky to have a twenty year old that is as bright as he is…and witty.  He gets the joke.  He knows that being a zombie encyclopedia is strange, but he doesn’t care.  He just likes zombies.  He will be the first one to poke fun at himself over the strangeness of it all. 

Sort of like his mother. 

Until the next time…I’ll be boarding up all the doors and windows!

f*#$%ing girl scout cookies!

After spectacularly beautiful weather in Atlanta this weekend, we were plunged back into winter today.  And I was just starting to get used to the nice warm weather too.  I had my all windows open enjoying the lovely breeze, we started a new garden in the yard, and I even have a newly built fire pit to roast a curried goat! (or not!)  Now, rumor has it that it may snow again tonight!  Snow…in Atlanta! Who would have guessed?

Just over a week ago, I was praying for another dose of snow, and another snow day.  But after only two short days, I’ve become spoiled by the sunshine.  It’s not that I mind the snow.  I mean…a little cold weather just gives me more time for my “six weeks of winter” diet, right?  And after all…spring is just around the corner.

One of the major drawbacks to the coming of spring is the arrival of the dreaded Girl Scout cookies.  This weekend ushered in the official Girl Scout cookie sales launch, so the wretched things were literally EVERYWHERE!  The girl scouts have been staked out in front of every grocery store and every shopping center in town.   I can’t even escape them at work!  Every hour or two a girl scout leader finds her way into the bank dangling a box of cookies on a stick to entice and torment me.  It’s as if they know my willpower is weak. 

There is, without a doubt, something unnatural about those cookies.  I swear to God that Thin Mints are laced with crack!  There is absolutely no other valid reason as to why I feel the overwhelming urge to inhale the entire box after tasting just one.  I don’t even have the patience to dunk them in milk, like with Oreos.  I’m not sure if I’m even tasting them or not.  I seem to lose all rational thought when I have Thin Mints in my hands.  And it’s not just Thin Mints!  If I eat another peanut butter Do Si Do, I think I might burst!

I know…I know…the solution would appear to be quite simple.  Stay away from them.  Don’t buy them.  Just say no and all that.  But those cult leaders trot out the absolute cutest kids to waive the signs, and to dangle the boxes of cookies…and who can resist those little faces?  It’s like running into Sally Struthers and her international children’s charity on every street corner.  I can almost hear Sally now, “Just three dollars and fifty cents for a box of cookies could feed 1 child for an entire year.”  And I can’t even make it through the hour with that one $3.50 box.

The problem is, once they’ve reeled you in they’ve got you.  I’ve already gone through four boxes of the damn crack biscuits and they’ll be back at the bank again tomorrow, I just know it!   Is it any wonder that the poor groundhog barricades himself into his burrow for six extra weeks every year!  He’s trying in vain to avoid the girl scouts and their addictive cookies.

I have tried storing mine in the freezer to slow down my voracious cravings, but damn it if they don’t taste better frozen!  So I decided to only eat one at a time.  I carry that one cookie all the way to the sofa and sit down before I eat it.  I thought, surely the extra effort to fetch more would discourage me—it didn’t.  I just made more trips.  A part of me thinks that might help to burn a few calories.  So I started putting them in a jar above the cabinets.  I have to climb a ladder when I want a cookie.  If I can’t give them up, at least I can make it a workout to get to them. 

I’m positive it isn’t just me who can’t resist the pull toward the temptation of the Girl Scout cookie. I have seen my coworkers scramble to the ATM to withdraw their grocery money just to spend every cent on cases of assorted cookies.  I just have to wonder what the hell the girl scouts are doing with all the millions of dollars in cookie money?  This has to have become a big business!  After all…they even have Thin Mint ice cream now!  I imagine a Girl Scout island somewhere in the South Pacific.  Samoas in Samoa.  Buildings constructed solely of shortbread Trefoils.  Their true leader?  A Willy Wonka like emperor.  The only other inhabitants on this island?  A tribe of Oompa Loompa like creatures dressed in ambassador sashes over tiny bikinis.  I imagine them running around, laughing and playing in the surf, living off fresh fish and vegetables.  What are they laughing at?  They don’t even eat the cookies!  Lucky bastards! 

Until the next time…I’ll be starting a twelve steps anti-cookie program!