Sugar regret

Don't you hate when you're not even partly through a sweet and regret sets in? The pleasure half-life lasts roughly four seconds. So I was eating this miniature chocolate-covered donut and by the second bite I was no longer interested.

The chocolate was brown-colored wax. Minimal taste, fake texture. No bling whatsoever.

The culprit: Tastykake donuts. I think you can buy like 400 of these things for $2.99. But don't quote me on that.

Someone brought an entire box into the office and left them in the kitchen, otherwise known as the home for unwanted sweets. Dessert foundlings.

If only my office weren't eight steps from the kitchen. If only I weren't so fussy. If only I weren't too lazy to go out and forage for some good sugar. It's not like Dupont Circle (Washington, DC) lacks for amazing treats.

Just out the north exit of the Dupont Circle metro, you can get the absolute best brownie in all of Washington, DC at Marvelous Market (www.marvelousmarket.com). This is not a dainty sweet. It's like a deep rich chocolate brick, packing a serious wallop, and sure to keep you happy for hours. I would not, however, advise eating the entire thing in one gobble. Just up Connecticut Avenue and to the left, I love the ginger scone at Teaism (www.teaism.com), which has heavenly bits of candied ginger inside and is served with butter and apricot jam. Just east of Dupont Circle, and a nice walk if you've been indulging heavily, the yellow dip cupcake at Cake Love cafe (www.cakelove.com) has a divine chocolate frosting and a nice dense cake.

Kind of amazing I even make it to work some days, considering all the other things to do around the office.

When Snickers aren't enough

I've consumed an entire bag of fun-sized Snickers bars and I'm still in a foul mood.

It took enormous self-control for me not to swing my handbag at a car that came within a foot of me on the pedestrian crosswalk behind my building. The only thing that stopped me was that I had already clobbered a huge black SUV that nearly ran me over earlier in the week. It resounded with a very satisfying bang. The driver didn't even slow to see if she hit another human being. She had probably seen enough to know not to stop -- my fierce expression as she came barreling at me making her illegal left turn.

It doesn't help that the day hasn't cracked blue, not even once.

Truly, though, I think it's this campaign that's getting to me. I just don't understand how half the people in this country can favor W and his band of bungling sociopaths. And that so many churches endorse him.

Why are so many spiritual leaders fixated on gay marriage and abortion? How is it that so many ministers and priests in the United States no longer care about war, poverty, or debt?

I was watching this demonic television preacher in one of those stadium churches in Texas rant on about how gay people are an abomination, how they need to be condemned, blah, blah, blah. The stadium was full. People were clapping as this guy spewed. Of course he endorsed W straight from the pulpit.

So I called the church's prayer line.

And guess what. There was no prayer partner available for me. I got a recorded message asking me to leave my name and a message.

So I left a message. I told them John Hagee's (www.jhm.org/home-new.asp) preaching was divisive and hateful, when we needed unification and tolerance. That it was offensive for him to endorse George W Bush from the pulpit on the basis of the constitutional amendment against gay marriage. I asked which he saw the greater threat -- perma-war, and the enormous and tragic loss of lives, or gay people publicly affirming a lifelong commitment to each other.

Don't even get me started on how stupid it would be to make abortion illegal.

As I got going, my accent became increasingly southern. Not sure how that happened. I'm from Illinois.

It really depresses me that so many people in this country are fundamentalist and that their touchstone issues are gays and abortions. If Bush wins, he will be winning on a platform of hatred, bigotry, and fear. God help us.

Desperately seeking Monday night

I'm well into the bag when I notice the first two ingredients are sugar and corn syrup. Oh no, not again. But sometimes things can't be helped.

What can I say, people will eat anything that's left in our office kitchen. This is how I know that squid-flavored treats from the Philippines are truly rank.

I'm eating Cracker Jack (www.crackerjack.com/home.htm). It's left over from a going away party we had at the office with a baseball theme. Ever since, I have spotted popcorn husks and caramel bits everywhere, even in the restroom. Perhaps someone didn't want to share.

Some well-meaning colleague actually suggested the leftover bags should go to the children of fellow employees. Ha! The Cracker Jack was snatched up in seconds.

My feeling is that adults need this kind of sustenance more than children do anyway.

So I'm about to demolish a bag of this stuff. It is a large bag, much bigger than the small boxes I remember from my girlhood. I feel only the slightest twinge of guilt as the sailor boy mascot and his little dog smile at me from the bag.

But then I think, hey, this isn't good for children. One bag I eat is one less bag a child eats. Children should be eating vegetables, fruit, and protein.

Besides, I deserve this bag of Cracker Jack. Children don't have to do budgets or review strategic plans. And I'm old enough to make my own mistakes.

Anyway, it's just 120 calories per serving. Of course, the official serving size is one-half cup, the approximate serving size for a guppie. Not a full grown woman trying to make it through another afternoon at work with wide-open eyes and a big bounce in her step.

Give me sugar or give me sleep.

It's simply not possible to eat just one-half cup. I'll tell you why. Eating Cracker Jack is addictive; it sets up a pernicious dynamic you are powerless to stop. The large popcorn puffs give you only a mild and fleeting sugary sensation. So you seek out the tasty peanuts--the big sugar bling--in the bag. You are rewarded with a peanut every 10 or so pieces of unsatisfying popcorn.

So you dig deeper, faster, trying to get at the cache of peanuts. They just happen to be at the bottom of a bag that says it provides 3.5 servings. Before you know it, you have generated a mote of caramel bits around your chair. Your keyboard is sticky. You close your office door because there is something unseemly about an adult digging around a large bag of Cracker Jack, like a bear pawing through a campsite food box.