There is a small pile of Oreo skins in front of me here at my desk.
The skins being the yucky dirt-flavored cookie portion of the Oreos.
All I really want is a tub of that lardish middle frosting part.
Do they sell Oreo middle in a tub? They so should.
Anyway . . . can you tell I am here alone at the moment?
Alone with my pile of Oreo skins.
OK, guess what?
If you pull your lips in over your teeth and pretend that you are an old woman who has forgotten to put in her dentures?
It is almost impossible to scrape the frosting off of an Oreo.
Plus also? You will giggle hysterically.
I did mention that I am alone, right?
Here’s another way you can tell I am home alone . . . I spent perhaps 20 silent minutes this morning watching an enormous spider fill our dining room window with intricate webbing. He was outside, in case you were wondering.
If he had been inside, I would have whammed him.
And I turned on the TV and watched 30 minutes of The Pussycat Dolls in concert, because I was too lazy to get up and find the remote control.
The Pussycat Dolls? Here’s my review . . .
Mean looking strippers lip-synching horrendous suggestive lyrics while pantomiming sex.
Not that bad.
My point here is that I am all fucking accomplished today.
Shut up.
I am not inclined to set the world on fire today.
Although if I were so inclined, I have enough matches to do the job.
Huge piles of small wooden matches, dumped out by the girls so that they can craft tiny decorated boxes in which to house small treasures.
And so I have matches and nothing against which to strike them.
The other night, the girls emptied more small boxes of matches and stared at the growing pile of red-tipped kindling.
Kallan was filled with plans, “Can we have the matches?”
What am I, a complete idiot? “No, you may not have the matches. You can have the boxes, but I get the matches.”
Maj was curious, “But what are you going to do with them?”
Hmmmm, “I’m going to build a little house. A little house of matches.”
Kallan was all sassy as she and her sister left the room with their arms laden with tiny cardboard boxes, “Yeah, that’s a genius plan!”
And then she whispered to Maj, “Mom’s going to build herself a house of matches and then? She’s going to set the house on fire.”
Snort!
I called after her, “Yes! I will set the house on fire and roast marshmallows!”
Ooooh . . . speaking of roasting marshmallows . . .
We went to a wedding reception not long ago, and there was a chocolate fountain. Lots and lots of items to impale on long wooden sticks and then dip into the flowing chocolate. One of the items available for dipping was marshmallows.
A huge hit with the kids.
But then the kids got bored.
And soon there were perhaps ten children all gathered around the fire-lit tiki torches that lined the yard. Roasting marshmallows.
I watched as a little boy, perhaps a bit more than two years old, reached high on the chocolate fountain table for a marshmallow. And a stick.
And he walked over to one of the tiki torches.
I watched him. I realized no one was paying attention to him. So I got up out of my chair to go supervise the marshmallow roasting. But I wasn’t in a big hurry. He was staring confusedly at the marshmallow and the stick he held, unsure how to bring the two items together. So cute.
But just as I approached him? He solved the problem for himself.
He simply lifted the marshmallow into the flames with his hand. No stick required.
I felt pretty crappy for not having seen that coming.
He wasn’t hurt. Just surprised and pissed in that way two year olds get when they realize that there is yet another big dangerous thing in this world that no one has seen fit to mention before now.
So I examined his hands and reassured him and then stood with him for a few minutes, and we stared at the fire together.
He ate his marshmallow.
And we stared at the fire.
Fire is all hurty if you’re not careful.
So no . . . I am not inclined to set the world on fire today.
Although I have plenty of matches with which to do the job.
It’s raining, anyway.
I wonder if I could build a house of Oreo skins?
Ooooh!
I am all geniusy when I am left alone.
Funny, I was going to pop on here & wish you a happy Thanksgiving, but, since you think I’m weird…
I think that Turkey on a Thursday would be a little bizarre, so right back at ya!
I’m going to stay right here where our spiders stay smallish because we have nasty winters to kill them. They don’t get enough time to grow huge and that’s perfectly alright with me!
Of course, that’s why I don’t live in BC either, too warm & rainy there, much like Oregon actually.
If you want to come over for turkey tomorrow I’ll set you a place at the table.
Love & Martinis!
OHHHH firstys!!!!!! Yay me!!!!
Hee hee!
Even when you are preparing for Thanksgiving, you still took the time to visit.
Thanks, you!
Snort!
I only think a Monday Thanksgiving is weird because Thanksgiving is a Thursday holiday for me.
Duh.
And thanks for the invitation, you!
You are all lovely.
And our spiders?
Fucking huge.
I have been bought to the conclusion that chocolate fountains are up there in the top ten most incredible things to ever be invented.. They are pretty damn good with a fruit kebab stuck in them too..
On the Oreo front, I am with you all the way on having a tub full of filling (Not that Oreo’s are huge in the UK anyway, but they are huge enough for me to sympathise with the dirt-like taste the biscuit bit has..) I am a layer by layer biscuit eater if ever I saw one.. KitKat chunkies were made to be disected.
Chocolate-covered fruit is way yummy!
And I do tend to dissect treats if there is a way for them to be taken apart. Even if I intend to eat all of the pieces.
Because every part of a KitKat is delicious . . . but better separately.
High-fives on the layer by layer biscuit eating!
Hee hee!
You called cookies biscuits.
Hee hee.
I love when you pretend to be all random. Like you don’t know where you’re going.
Me? I never know where I am much less where I’m going.
Marshmallows make me want hot chocolate.
Hee hee!
I love you, noticey one.
You know what would have been funnier?
If I called biscuits cookies..
Oh wait..
:-D
Snort!
You what’s really funny? (Or funny to me, anyway.)
When I was a kid and I would read books in which a character took out a “tin of biscuits” or asked if someone wanted a biscuit with her tea.
I always wondered why these stupid people just didn’t eat cookies.
Snort!
Haha!
I just posted about language barriers.. Check it out, it’s short and sweet as to not bore you for to long!!
Umm . . . I am all American over here.
What else does thong mean?
We’d make a good pair…I don’t like the cream of the oreo and LOVE the cookie. And marshmallows with chocolate.also, the 2 year old clearly has crappy parents.
Agreed.
Except for that last point.
My daughters got into trouble when they were two years old. And they hurt themselves when they were two years old. I was not always there to be sure that nothing bad happened.
So if the parents at that reception are crappy parents?
Then so am I.
That sounded all sassy.
Sorry about that.
I respectfully disagree with the point you made.
There. That’s better.
Oh, my almost 2 year old gets into trouble and certainly hurt when I’m not always paying the best attention…but if he was not being watched long enough for a stranger (you) to notice and for him to stick his hand in a flame something was not appropriate. I know things happen fast, but I’m kinda helicoptery in that I don’t let D too far out of my sight. You, however, were and are not a crappy parent. At all.
I’m glad you came back.
It was a wedding reception, filled with friends and family of the newly married couple.
And as often happens in that sort of setting, there is a sort of community parenting of all the children. Children run around and play with one another outside of the view of their parents, trusting that other parents will step in if there is an issue.
There are different parenting styles in this world, and there is no best one.
I guess I just objected to the word “crappy.”
Much love to you.
You know what? You’re right. I have this sort of community too and I did not think about it like that. So I take that back. I am glad he didn’t get hurt and that you were able to comfort him. Also? I always come back, and appreciate when someone calls me on my sometimes closed mind. Much love to you also.
OK, seriously . . .
Now I love you more.
For reasons that have to do with having an ass the size of the Florida Everglades I am currently being denied Oreo skins.
And fillings.
And rib bones, and spleens.
Basically, all parts of the Oreo are off limits.
Because I would like my ass to be the size of a much smaller natural wonder.
PS – One of The Rules is that if it doesn’t have chocolate, it is not a cookie, it is a cracker. Oreo’s sneak in by the skin of their teeth. They have no fudginess, but they do have cocoa and I am nothing if not strict about adhering to my own rules.
Oreo teeth are also currently off limits.
Who is making these rules?
I hope it’s you.
Because if Mark were to announce that I was not allowed to have Oreos?
That would be the one thing in this world that I would need to eat immediately and in great quantities.
So what about shortbread cookies?
Those are crackers?
Yes. Shortbread, oatmeal, vanilla wafers, peanut butter… all crackers.
Delicious, yes.
But still crackers.
Also, Rule Number 2: if it doesn’t have chocolate, it’s not cake, it’s bread.
Guess what, though?
I have different rules.
Because except for a regularly scheduled hormonal need for chocolate?
I am not a big fan of chocolate.
And I hate chocolate cake and chocolate ice cream all days of the month.
So there.
Much like Renee?
I love when you meander to your point.
I’m never fooled. I know you’ve got one.
As for the Oreos? I like to dissect them, but I love both parts equally, so I will have to build my houses from the discarded bit of other treats.
Or matches.
Sometimes I need to meander a bit.
Especially after recently having made a few sharp points.
Especially then . . . a gentler journey is required while I catch my breath.
Thanks, you.
When I was little, I used to watch my mom iron and I wanted so much to iron too. I was an odd little kid. I really liked the sound produced from the steam hissing out and the consistancy of the motion of ironing.
She found me a play ironing board and iron that you could put water in but I don’t think it plugged in or heated up. I remember being annoyed that my iron didn’t make that neat hissing sound, and I went to touch her iron to try and figure it out. She was standing right there, but it was too late. I got a pretty decent burn on my finger.
And my love affair with ironing ended at that exact moment. It got temporarily transferred to those Freeze Pops in the long plastic tubes that you squeezed up, I guess because that’s what she gave me to soothe the burn and it made a neat squishy sound when you sucked on it to get all the popsicle juice out after you finished the frozen part.
Don’t know quite why your post made me think about that. Huh.
I wanted to tell you that my cousin used to eat all the cream out from between the Oreo’s, then put vanilla tub icing on them and put them back in the bag. That used to piss off my Aunt. Heeheheeeee.
And now I will take us further afield.
When Maj was being tested for speech delays, they had her do a test in which she was to point to the pictures of various words that were spoken aloud by the test administrator.
Maj was two and a half.
The tester asked me to look through the test booklet before the test to remove any pictures of items that Maj had never seen.
I removed two items.
The first was of a snowman. Maj had never seen snow, and I was not confident she knew what a snowman was.
And the second was of an iron.
The tester suggested I leave the iron in the test, “Children notice a lot of things you might not think they notice.”
I laughed, “Trust me. Maj has never ever seen an iron.”
Snort!
She did very well on the test, by the way. She was silent but all kinds of smart.
And your cousin?
Also all kinds of smart.
That’s hilarious!
Plus also?
I love Otter Pops.
That is all.
Those would be otter pops…only the best use of flavored ice ever.
On this?
We agree absolutely.
Otter Pops rule.
Go to cold stone creamery…they have a new ice cream flavor. Oreo cookie filling. To DIE FOR!
Sadly?
I have weird requirements where ice cream is concerned.
Vanilla or Coffee.
That’s it.
And no toppings of any sort.
I am all weird.
Out of things that are not human, chocolate is my first love. Strangely though? I hate chocolate milk and chocolate icecream. I prefer banana icecream with kit kats mixed in…or mint chocolate chip. Strawberry is third.
OK, anything banana flavored makes me gag.
Except for bananas, which are delicious.
What’s up with that, you think?
you are all kinds of smart. fire is all hurty if you’re not careful. (and why wasn’t anyone watching that kid anyway?)this reminds me of my friend Coco’s wedding. she had a kid’s candy table (for kids only). so we bribed my friend’s son Marshall to bring us tons of candy. worked like a charm.
I think it’s way gross that you call the cookie part of Oreos skins. grosses me out. I may never eat the cookie part again, because now it makes me think of dead skin (I also might watch too much Bones). the cream filling is the best anyway, but I previously liked to dip the whole thing in milk. now I just think of dead skin. thank you for that.
The issue of the child’s supervision has been resolved in the comments before this one.
I love the name Marshall!
I have never seen the show Bones. But if I have tainted Oreos for you with icky skin references?
I am all kinds of pleased.
Yay!
hee!
about the s’mores…my daughter is all about making them but not so much eating them. But still she insists on them every summer. You should see her trying to seperate them..to get to the Hershey bar..I ask “Why don’t we just buy Hershey Bars”? “Cuz then we can’t make S’mores”!
And then I’m usually too tired to see the logic in all of that.
It is sometimes more fun to dig the chocolate out of the s’more than it is to eat the whole s’more.
I am your daughter on this one.
She is all geniusy.
Meh, I didn’t set the world on fire today either. And it was a pretty good day for a fire-setting round these parts.
and oreos? are all over delicious. reminds me of my grandparents.
I have been setting fires.
Today was calmer.
Oh, no fear no fear:
have you forgotten that you know me.
Your pile of oreo skins can be crushed as a topping for granola, ice cream, yogurt.
I’ll be back again tomorrow.
I hate toppings.
That is all.
See you tomorrow!
Plus also?
The cookies taste like dirt.
Why would I want to sprinkle dirt on anything and then eat it?
Ick.
The “dirt” adds a nice texture!! Maybe i have spent too long promoting the three second rue with principessa…that dirt has become acceptable. :)
Hee hee!
Oreo skins do not taste like dirt. But if that’s how you feel, I will totally take your dirt. i actually think the filling tastes like crisco with sugar.
Mmmmm . . . Crisco with sugar.
Yum!