My favorite cookie, and a contest!

Gentle readers,

You probably don't know that my first coherent word was "cookie." This is an amusing but horrifying fact to me, a fact that speaks volumes about the sort of thing I am wont to eat.

Hopefully you've heard of the company Harry & David? No? Well, most people are familiar with their fruit delivery service, because somehow they manage to procure the tastiest fucking pears and apples you will ever eat. They are UPSed from Utopia. Unfortunately most of their products are very expensive. For example, my favorite cookie in the world, the Galette, is $32.50 for a tin, which probably holds thirty cookies (they don't specify). That's $1.08 per cookie. Not bad, right? Um...how do I break this to you gently...each Galette has about the same diameter as a regulation yo-yo (regulation? like I'd know!) but only half as wide. Yes. A small cookie. I'd only pay a dollar for a cookie if it was as least as big as my hand.

But friends. The Galette is The Perfect Cookie. Therefore, there is no price too high.

I first became acquainted with Galettes when I was young and my aunt would send us the Harry & David Cookie Book - it was a box shaped and designed as a huge book (reference-section huge) that was filled with all the varieties of H&D cookies. There were three stacks of Galettes, and I'm pretty sure no one got ahold of more than one, because I was on that shit. One year my aunt decided enough was enough with the Cookie Book, to my great disappointment. My favorite moment with Galettes was when my mom sent me a whole tin during my freshman year in college. I think I cried.

I'd like to direct your attention to the Galette description hot off the Harry & David website. I'll be analyzing these declarations point by point.

"Sometimes our bakers show no mercy." These H&D people know that their bakers have devised the perfect cookie. They know it is impossible to eat just one. Shit, try stopping at five. Won't happen.

"Tender and buttery on the outside, spread with delectable fruit fillings on the inside." This filling they speak of? Utterly delightful. In no way, shape, or form does it resemble jelly or any equally disappointing substance. (Don't get me wrong, I love me some jelly, but if they attempted to put it in a Galette it would be wrong. WRONG!) The filling is fruity, light, and extremely smooth. And damn, are they understating the truth when they say "tender and buttery." There is nothing more tender and buttery in all the land.

"We bake these delicate cookies gently to prevent browning or crisping." This is perhaps the best part of the Galette concept. This technique is spot on. It is everything a homemade batch of chocolate chippers is not. Because, come on. We know you forgot about the cookies because Flavor Flav was seriously considering that crazy bitch New York. Harry & David never forget.

"Five flavors: Raspberry, Blackberry, Apricot-Pineapple, Oregold® Peach and Orange-Cranberry." Well shoot! Even I was surprised at this one. I've never tried Orange-Cranberry! Hm...maybe I should tell my mom the only thing I want for Christmas is a couple tins of Galettes. Not really a fan of the Apricot-Pineapple, but the Oregold Peach is very nice, a delicate flavor. The absolute best are Raspberry and Blackberry. I love them so much I want to line up everyone I know and hand them a Raspberry Galette, because then they'll really know how much I love them.

Aren't you just dying for a picture? I thought you'd never ask.

My loves, meet the Galettes!*

*I would just like to say that I feel Harry & David have misrepresented the Galettes in this photo. The filling does not run and sag out of the cookie like that, because it's not present in such copious amounts. The filling is very discrete, like your S&M habit. You barely notice it's there and then WAH-ZOW, it adds all the excitement you needed from a cookie.

------In Other News-------

I am conducting a contest! With PRIZES! (Don't ask. Not sure yet. But you'll be happy you got it. I'm not going to give you my nubbified wool socks.)

Rules and Guidelines

1. There will be one question at the end of every post this month. Today there will be two to make up for yesterday.

2. The questions are completely arbitrary and can cover any topic. Some might be trivia, some might use pictures.

3. You should answer only on the day they are asked.

4. Obviously I can't stop you from hunting answers on the internet or wherever. Since I won't know if you did or not I can't punish you. Just remember nobody likes a cheater.

5. Comments will be moderated so that you can't "share" answers. Please put your initials or some other obvious identification with your answer. I will post the comments to the blog the following morning so you can see the other answers.

6. At the end of the month the person with most correct wins the prize.

Any questions?
Onward, then, to the first questions! Consider these a warm-up.

1. What is this?

2. The first McDonald's restaurant was founded in 1955 by Ray Kroc, in the suburbs of which city?

My favorite month

November! Welcome! Doesn't it just sound good? Rich but crisp, like hot apple cider with a cinnamon stick. I think the word is pleasing to the mouth and ears, and the actual month itself is just fantastic. Why am I all gushy about it? The beginning of the month is decorated with the final and most glorious turning of color in the trees. Though there are still plenty of leaves on the trees, if you walk around outside you're ankle-deep in crunchy leafy goodness. By the end of the month all the leaves are gone; winter has made itself known. The plants are preparing for a new beginning, just like the humans.

The eleventh month is a time when people start anticipating the holiday season. A feeling of merriment creeps in, right after the urge to put on gigantic sweaters and cozy socks. It's not bitterly cold like January, but cold enough to make you shiver just thinking of going outside. You start to think about what to get people for Christmas (unless you're my mom, in which case you finished shopping in July) but it's too early to get ansy about it, because you have time.

Summer clothes are stored away - gone are the occasional 70-degree fluke days. December is also one of my favorites because of the holidays, but I find it tends to move slowly because of the anticipation, whereas anticipation propels November. Are you with me? I like November so much I'd name my future child after it. Can you really argue against the coolness of Nova as a nickname?

(Chill. I'm not really going to name my child November. A future dog, perhaps?)

---- In Other News -------

Yep, I'm still going to try to post once a day during this, my favorite month. I have ideas, images, and enough spare time to make this happen. I'm hoping to start each day with a favorite and then leave myself some space to ramble like a Gab Labber should.

The wedding reception is just days away! I'm starting to get a bit jittery about it, and I found out Micah is more nervous than he's been letting on. He's met my parents and a handfull of relatives, but there are approximately 70 people coming that he's never met, whereas I know everyone coming except one of Micah's sisters and two of his work buddies.

This might come as a shock to some because generally I'm not at a loss for words, but I actually consider myself a bit antisocial. I HATE small talk. I HATE trying to find something interesting to say to people that only see a couple times of year. "So, yeah! Go Cards, eh?" will probably escape my mouth more than once. How funny that the most cliche small talk topic will actually be the hottest topic of the night. So there's that.

One dear friend has offered to finagle me a Xanax before the event, but I'm not so sure that's a good idea. I plan on getting my drink on, which might not coordinate so well with a pharmaceutical like Xanax. Sure, I'd be feeling good, but maybe too good. Micah, however? Might be good thing.

my boxes: the conclusion

I've had a lot of time to myself today. What did I choose to do? Well, let's see. I watched Laguna Beach at 8:30am, so that pretty much cleared up my schedule for the day quite early. Micah is working. To be honest, I cherish time alone. That might sound bad, but I think it's entirely healthy.

I was feeling bad about the state of the box closet/pantry. Micah has done some major cleaning lately (and lest you think I'm a lazy schlub, he's been off work because of the constant rain and I clean on the weekends. Also, I clean A LOT more than I used to) and I'm not a total bitch. I can see when I'm wrong, see the effort he's put into making our apartment look great, and that maybe this time a compromise is in order.

So I pulled every fucking box out of the closet/pantry.


You guys, that wasn't even all of them. I found two behind the towers after the picture and realized I forgot to pull out about 5 that were nested in other boxes. (I am so lame that I laid down on the floor to get this shot so the towers would seem taller. What is wrong with me? Like I'm proud or something.)

(Maybe a little.)

These are GOOD BOXES. The one with the blue stripe is as tall as my waist, and there are two of those bad boys in my collection. That brown box in the front on the floor? I think I've had that box for approximately five moves. The microwave (the sweet, sweet new microwave*) box contains the unbroken styrofoam for convenient repacking.

The manner in which these boxes were put into the pantry could be best summed up as willy-nilly. I wasn't practicing good box nesting, and I hardly attempted to keep the boxes on the shelves. I decided early on that the cavernous pantry was going to be my scary closet, the one I warn people not to open. The disaster zone needed to be dealt with.

I am making a compromise, you see. Newlywed 101.

So I cleaned. I pulled some things out of that closet that I had completely forgotten existed, including my holiday wrapping paper (nice timing, me!) and the sad remains of some "art" Noles and I created when we were roommates in Chicago. It involves bamboo poles and tissue paper that's all I'm saying about that.

Ok, fine, I found some boxes that weren't worthy. Survival of the fittest. My five-move box has moved, proudly dangling layers of packing tape, a sixth time. Can you guess where? This afternoon approximately 30 boxes were banished to the cold and rancid darkness of our dumpster. I don't really want to talk about it. I'd rather remember the good times.

After the boxes were abandoned, I moved the fridge! I have been wanting to move the fridge for months! The kitchen has been reborn.

When I do get off my ass and clean, I go tits to the wall. I see one spot, then another, and after five hundred tiny distractions, rearrangements, and wafts of my own pit funk, I realize those dishes are DONE, man, and when I say dishes I mean you could safely eat off any surface in the fucking kitchen. I feel proud of myself when I clean all day. My standards are shifting, I guess.

Here is the pantry's new look. Half boxes, half empty shelf space (not pictured), which is mighty apropos. Compromise is the word of the day.

*Our microwave, it gleams. It glistens. The handle, which happens to be a she, is spunky and dynamic. The appliance gets shined with a soft dish towel and inpected for spots daily. I love it and am ever so grateful to A & H for bestowing her upon our humble home. Thank you!

my boyfriend's back

His name is Justin. Timberlake. I didn't realize how much I missed him until recently because he has a new album out. That man is just the cutest. I wanna booty dance with him.

I'm sort of worried about this blogging every dang day thing that's starting in a few days. I have no one to blame but myself. It's not like I'm contractually obliged to participate, I just think it's a fun challenge, but it's still a challenge. If it works maybe I'll try that write a novel in 30 days thing, though I'd have to do most of the writing at work and let's just say it's not the most creatively inspiring workplace, despite the fact that the company motto is "Imagination at work." Hang around and see what happens. Oooh maybe I could start a contest! With PRIZES! Would you participate? (If it's not totally stupid, Gabs.)

My box(es)

"Gabby," Micah said gingerly, "can we maybe get rid of those boxes?"

"What boxes?"

"Your boxes. In the kitchen closet. Otherwise known as the pantry."

"But...we need those boxes," I said, nostrils twitching.

"I know you think we need them, but we could get boxes anywhere. We don't need to save every box that comes through the front door."

"What, so, we're going to have to go to Schnucks and get stinky produce boxes when we move? That's nasty. I've done that before. Nasty."

"You can buy--"

"Oh, no! NOPE! That's why I save boxes. Not only do I not want to pay for something I get for free all the time, but I am totally saving a tree by reusing boxes."

"But they take up the whole pantry," Micah whined, "and I didn't know you were such an environmentalist. I want to clean it out and use it."

"All of our food fits in the kitchen cabinets. Why do you want to move the food into the pantry? So each can of soup can have its own shelf? Stretch its legs a bit?"

At that point the situation became extremely amusing to me, because there's no way in hell I'm throwing away those boxes I've been saving all year. I find it ridiculous that he even asked, because we had a conversation about my boxes a few days ago and I thought I had stated my case convincingly about why we need them. Perhaps not.

"We don't need all those boxes!" Micah was clearly agitated, and clearly not swayed by my brilliant reasoning.

"Yes we do! PLEASE let me keep them in there. When next summer rolls around and we have a house to move into you're going to be glad we don't have to go get boxes. They're already here! Big ones, small ones. We don't have to go buy them and we don't have to hope and pray we get paper towel boxes and not moist and smelly lettuce boxes because the Schnucks employee we happen to ask is feeling lazy and bitter about a customer asking him to get off his ass!" Then I take a breath so I can continue. "You're just on a cleaning rampage and you're determined to organize every cranny. I know how you get. It'll pass. Please let me keep my boxes."

Micah laughed a little, not because he thinks this is all just so funny, rather, but because he thinks keeping boxes is totally fucked up.

Then Lost came back on so the conversation ended. I'm pretty sure I won. I'm pretty sure my boxes aren't going to be orphaned.

Then, during the next commercial break, I realized something kind of horrific. Under my desk at work there are...more boxes. Because I might need them when we move. I think I have a problem. I think it's a low-grade version of post-traumatic stress disorder. They say moving is the second most stressful event in life, behind the death of a loved one. I know I have mentioned this before, but I have moved TEN TIMES in the past 8 years. That's a lot of stress that I probably internalize and rearrange so it resembles excitement. I used to love moving. It meshed well with my tendency to get bored.

Recently, that has all changed. It definitely had something do with Micah and getting married, but even before we started dating I had an overwhelming urge to put down roots. Screw this moving every year thing. My address is never my address long enough for important documents, like driver's license renewal notices, voter registration cards, and personal property tax bills to actually get to me. I'm tired of it. I want to live in a house that I can love and take care of, where years of memories are made, where Christmas trees always go in the same spot and I can have walls that aren't white.

But that is not an excuse to be what I have become: a box hoarder. Only one thing separates me from those crazy fucks you see on Animal Cops - my boxes don't defecate.

Really, though? Am I not just extremely prepared for something I know is inevitable in the forseeable future? Why is it so bad to hoard boxes? THEY WILL BE USED. They will ALL get love, unlike the feral prolifically breeding cats. You should see this one box Micah brought when he moved in - it's HUGE. With handles. And he is suggesting we throw it away?! I am quite obviously not the crazy one. One thing I've already learned about marriage is that it's basically one big compromise. For the guy. Even the minister that married us told him a joke about how from here on out it was "Yes, dear."

(They say the first step is admitting you have a problem. I already did that but I am retracting it, because pshaw!)
-------------------
Married Lady Bidness

Why is it necessary for every one of my coworkers to say "So, how's married life?" every time they walk past my ubicle?* I find this intensely annoying, but that's what happens when you're as antisocial at work as I am - people just keep repeating the same lone fact they know about you. This is almost as bad as when I first started working here and made the mistake of telling one highly clueless coworker that I liked Blues hockey. From then on he came to my ube almost every fucking day to talk about the game. The game that I didn't watch. Again. Nope. Leave me alone. (He says he's married, I'm thinking mail-order.)

*a ubicle is a cubicle with one side missing, which makes a U shape, and yes, I did just think of that myself because I am brilliant. (See also: Boxes, why I keep.)