Refreshingly Nothing

I think I’ve mentioned in the past that I’m a BzzAgent. It means I’m a consumer member of a company who provides samples and coupons in exchange for product reviews.

The goal is to incentivize (positive) word-of-mouth marketing in order to sell more products. It’s honest.

The latest product I’ve received, however, isn’t honest at all. Or, rather, it lies by deletion.

Welche’s Refreshingly Simple™ juice proudly boasts in all-caps:

• NO HIGH FRUCTOSE CORN SYRUP
• NO ARTIFICIAL SWEETENERS
• NO ARTIFICIAL FLAVORS

And that all sounds wonderful. However, the listed ingredients are:

• Filtered Water
• Sugar
• Apple Juice Concentrate
• Grape Juice Concentrate
• Citric Acid
• Natural Flavor
• Mango Juice Concentrate
• Peach Juice Concentrate
• Beta Carotene

Here’s the deal about product labels. Ingredients must be listed in order of what is most present to what is least present. Therefore, this product contains more sugar than juice.

I love me some sugar; I don’t deny it. But I like my sugar honest. If these were Welch’s Refreshingly Simple™ Ice Pops, I’d be down. But it’s juice. It’s supposed to be what I give my kid with his breakfast or in the afternoon as a little pick-me-up.

Juice isn’t really healthy in the first place; all of the healthy parts of the fruit get removed. But that doesn’t make it evil. Marketing sugar water as juice, however, is just a fucking lie.

I had an ice cream sandwich for lunch.

I haven’t been blogging a lot this week, and I apologize to the three of you who give a shit.

I could throw excuses at you all day about how I’m so busy, I barely have time for lunch (which I always eat lunch), so I had to pick eating over blogging for Yummy Awesome.

Blah blah blah.

But I am taking a moment to tell you about my lunch today. My inner five-year old got her wish and had ice cream and cookies for lunch.

Because Dallas finally got a Cool Haus truck, and I just couldn’t resist.

Just to give you the basic idea of what they sell, you pick a cookie and then you pick an ice cream. Then you gorge.

I had  chocolate chip cookies (my favorite) lovingly cradling Nutella and almond ice cream. It was almost too decadent. But since it’s all that I ate, I managed to lick the last bit off of my fingers without being disgusted at myself.

Don’t tell my doctor.

The only time I looked happier was on my wedding day … probably while eating pie.

What I Ate Over My Pre-Summer Vacation

Last week, I took time off from writing.

That’s a half-truth. I did a little writing. But I did way more eating than working, trust me. Because that’s what time off is for, enjoying food again.

I probably ate my weight in Newman’s Own cookies. Are they healthy? Fuck no. No cookie is good for you, no matter how much cookie-diets tell you they are and how much non-dairy ingredients are subbed in.

I emptied a few containers of  coco dusted almonds. Enjoyed a bag or two of  sun-dried tomatoes from Natural Grocers. And made a mess around me with rice cakes (say they taste like nothing all you want, I love them).

I made margaritas. Real margaritas, not shitty margaritas you get from mix. I squeezed at least thirty limes and emptied a bottle of tequila into a pitcher and mixed it up with love (Contreau). They were exactly what margaritas are supposed to taste like. I even salted the rims of my fancy-pants margarita glasses.

And you know what? I got very drunk. And I’m okay with that.

I also mashed up some avocados for homemade guacamole. And I lovingly added a hint of garlic and salt. And more limes. Man, there were a ton of limes.

I’m having flashbacks now of great meals I had over my hiatus. But there was some icky food in there, too. But I’m going to focus on and release the good. And start writing again. I guess.

Release the good.

Chocolate Jelly Bellies taste like Tootsie Rolls. I hate Tootsie Rolls.

I love Jelly Bellies. They’re the best jelly beans I’ve ever tasted.

I hate Tootsie Rolls. They’re supposed to be chocolate caramel, but they neither taste like chocolate nor caramel.

Chocolate flavored Jelly Bellies taste like Tootsie Rolls.

Therefore, I hate chocolate flavored Jelly Bellies.

If a = b and b = c, a = c.

There. You got a fucking math lesson today, meaning this blog wasn’t a gigantic waste of your time.

 

The Dangers of a Chocolate Fountain

Cockatiels love them the fuck out of some chocolate.

I saw this picture on Comixed and, no joke, laughed so hard I started crying. And then I had an asthma attack.

I could have died, I laughed with such passion.

Cause the little bird is all like, “Fuck it. I’m going to drink some fucking chocolate from the fountain like a boss.”

Homebird just checks it out, assesses, and then goes for it.

Holy shit. It’s awesome.

 

UPDATE:

Turns out this is a cropped series of images from the movie “Jack and Jill” with Adam Sandler. The video isn’t as funny as these screencaps, though. So let’s pretend it never happened.

This is the funniest thing that has ever happened ever.

V-Day has nothing to do with vegetarianism.

Valentine’s Day is all about love, right?

Love between lovers. Love between friends. Love between man and candy.

I have the first two covered, but the third one breaks my heart. Because many of the best Valentine’s treats are not veggie-friendly.

Cue the saddest fucking violins to ever play music.

One of my favoritest (yep, it’s a word now) Valentine’s candies is Necco Sweethearts. You know the ones with little saying on them. They’re also called conversation hearts.

Well, they’re chock full of gelatin.

I haven’t had a Sweetheart in years. And I miss them like an old friend. Especially the white ones because they had a hint of mint flavoring.

Sure, I could probably cheat and eat them in my closet when my husband is away and no one would ever know. But I can’t do that. Because the guilt would consume me quicker than I could down a box of those tiny, sugary hearts.

It’s okay, though. This tiny box of gelatin-free chocolates will have to sate my sweet tooth for now. And at 10 AM, I’ve already eaten five of those.

Gelatin ruins every holiday.

I’m a grown-ass woman. Which is why I eat peppermint sticks like a kid.

I bought a box of soft peppermint sticks this past weekend.

And every time I eat one, I can’t help but pretend that it’s a cigar or a big cigarette.

I’ve been able to legally smoke for ages now (which I don’t). Yet I still childishly fantasize about smoking with my candy.

So this weekend as I offered my box of peppermint sticks to my husband or friend, I never asked if they wanted a peppermint stick. I always offered them a cigarette.

Why? I can’t explain it. But every peppermint stick will cease being candy just long enough for me to hold it between two fingers and place it like a Marlboro between my teeth. Then after that initial taste, it will once again be peppermint and not tobacco.

And as if on cue to justify my behavior, not an hour ago while a peppermint stick dangled from my lips—sans smoking pantomime, mind you—a co-worker said, “Looks like you’re smoking a cigarette there.”

I was, good sir. I was.

I wonder if someone makes a peppermint patch.

Adenine. Guanine. Cytosine. Sucrose?

It’s like a spoonful of heroin just sitting in front of a junkie. The junkie can’t help herself.

If I see a piece of candy nearby, I must have it. I’m totally helpless.

I blame my parents.

This past weekend, as I sat at the breakfast table and devoured a snowman-shaped cookie, dropped two or three truffles into my mouth, and snacked on various chocolate drops, my mother-in-law masking her disgust asked me, “Where do you get your sweet tooth?”

And I went back in time. To my dad’s car where I always knew there’d be several of those plastic containers full of Tic Tacs hiding in the console. To my kitchen as a little girl, where Mom always had M&Ms in the freezer, because they’re way better cold. To our first house, where I would stand on our dog’s back and get down the candy jar. Then sit on the linoleum floor and play one-for-you-one-for-me with the bull terrior. I was maybe 2.

“Do you get it from your parents,” I hear my mother-in-law ask from another time as the ten year old me and my mom pull an unopened bag of Wint-o-Green Lifesavers from out of her purse in the dark theater. Then nearly eat the plastic, too, as we crunch down on them and make them spark green before the movie starts. I’m 11 and I’m at Dad’s house and he lets my sister and me have one of those tiny chocolate bottles filled with liqueur. Dad would never approve of us having any kind of alcohol, but this was candy!

I was trick-or-treating, a five year old She-Ra, and I got some Red Hots (or Cinnamon Imperials, depending on the brand), and Mom snatched them from my plastic pumpkin because she wanted them NOW. I’m back at home with my treats strewn on the floor and Dad grabs an appropriately named Sugar Daddy and greedily eats it.

“Yes,” I tell my mother-in-law, through a dusting of cocoa powder, cookie crumbs, and gobs of creamy truffle. “I do believe I get my sweet tooth from my parents.”

“It’s in my DNA.”

“Potable Calorie Bombs” or “No Shit, Sherbet”

I just came across an article about the top ten holiday drinks to avoid based on calories and fat.

And my response is basically: Uh … how about all of them?

Because if you’re a functioning human being, you should know even the basics about calories and fat and what makes your heart clog. And you should know that pretty  much everything that tastes good and sweet is terrible for you.

Cookies are fucking fantastic, and are therefor bad for you. Twix bars are heavenly, and will kill you before you wrinkle. Ice cream deserves a shrine, but it will turn you into a fat, gooey mountain.

So DUH! If you’re sucking down a double egg nog latte with chocolate shavings and extra whipped cream, you’re basically drinking a boiled ice cream sundae … which is fattening!

Save yourself the time and just eat a scoop of shortening, you idiot fuck.

To pretend that any frothy, foamy holiday drink is any different from a melted milkshake is telling yourself a fucking lie.

It’s as if the straw magically makes it healthy. But the straw doesn’t magically make it healthier! If anything, it makes you more pathetic. BECAUSE YOU’RE TOO GODDAMN LAZY TO CHEW!

This shit makes me so mad. Do we really have to tell people that something called the Pumpkin Pie Shake will definitely be loaded with fat? IT’S CALLED A FUCKING PUMPKIN PIE SHAKE! Pumpkin pie is fattening! I fucking love pie, I love it more than anybody, and I know that crust (butter and flour), pie filling (sugar and sugar and sugar) are on the get-bigger-pants-now list.

It’s the old joke about the person at the McDonald’s counter who orders a Big Mac, fries, Super Sizes it, then gets a Diet Coke. You’re not fooling anyone except for yourself.

I heart gingers.

It’s true. I heart gingers. And although I’m really speaking of the candy, I’ll have you know that my beloved King of Awesome just so happens to be a glorious manly red head … yes, they do exist.

Anyway, my partner preferences aside, I am a ginger addict. When getting sushi, I will eat every shaving of ginger on the table. I would swim in a pool full of ginger ale. And I absolutely can’t get enough of Original Ginger Chews by the Ginger People.

Sure, their cartoon mascot is horrifying. And yes, perhaps the candies are extra sticky and cause my jaw to do that annoying lock thing it does when my food isn’t mush, but who gives a shit! I certainly don’t.

I can’t get enough of these things. And my husband hates them, which works for me because I don’t have to be sneaky and hide them in the toilet tank.

I just close my eyes when I eat them.