Image via Sarasota Coffee Company

Halloween is over – thank god – but the piles of candy remain to taunt me. For most of the year, I can ignore all those delectable favorites of my childhood. Most of the brands I like best don’t get huge marketing budgets attached, which means I truly forget they exist for about 358 days of each year. But for some reason, during the seven days after Halloween, they come back to haunt me – all those retro brands that kids today eye suspiciously when they empty their overflowing pillowcases at the end of their night knocking on strangers’ doors, and then toss off to pushers parents, who then carry them to offices and let loose to seduce hapless “adults,” like me.

I have no power to resist the pull.

Which is why I’m currently suffering from a sugar crash of magnificent proportion… If only you could see me now!

So you can understand how I was caught unaware, here’s what happened…

I was at an event last night. With tons and tons and tons of candy. So much candy, in fact, that we were told to take some home with us. And who am I to refuse a direct order? Particularly when said candy is the good stuff – Sugar Babies and Pop Rocks and Tootsie Rolls and Nerds and– well, you get it. Besides, it was free and we’re in a recession and I have to spend the weekend in New Jersey. So, really, it’s remarkable I didn’t leave with the entire supply.

Instead, I thought it would be a good idea– and here, as any addict can tell you, is when I should have walked away but, alas, did not– to take a handful, or three, of Sugar Babies packets to accompany me on my lonely and long-ass-with-a-lay-over plane ride today. Security really should have stopped. I was PACKING, I’m telling you!

Then, it got ugly. I’ve eaten destroyed the seedy evidence of my debauchery. But I was not at my most lady-like today. And now, even though the trail of tears wrappers is gone, I am left feeling like crap and needing to mainline some protein STAT.

At least this only happens once a year.

Maple-Bacon Lollipops

Made with chunks of organic, cured bacon and pure Vermont maple syrup, there is no way these lollipops won’t send your pleasure receptors, not to mention your taste buds, into overdrive.

Made by Lollyphile.com

Go hog wild, people! And let me know what other uses for bacon get you giddy, or at least drooling like a Mastiff.

Disclaimer: Unless otherwise noted, I am not affiliated with any manufacturer or retailer of products highlighted in Pleasure Finds Friday posts, nor do I receive any compensation for endorsements.

1) I work in a dildo factory. Well, actually, I work right next to one. The windows of my office overlook the wet-pour line. Now, before the one conservative who reads this blog starts freaking out, let me clarify that I do not do porn. I work for a toy company that just happens to make toys for adults. I help them out part-time with press releases and white papers and branding strategy. Yes, sometimes I even have to come up with names for new sex toys. It’s an entertaining challenging job. And somebody’s got to do it. One of these days I’ll do a photo essay, but first I’ll have to figure out how to use my digital camera.

2) I am a thief. Or, more accurately, I was one. When I was 10. Let me explain…I used to take a public bus to school, and walk 8 blocks home, by myself, past the neighborhood grocery store. Now, my mother was/is a diabetic. She had a stash of candy in the cupboard for whenever she had insulin reactions. However, I was not allowed to have any of that candy. So I decided to get my own. And I knew just where to go to get it. The neighborhood grocery store.

In the back of the store, shelf upon shelf was stacked with bags of candy. I would nonchalantly walk back there, passing the candy bars and point-of-purchase York Peppermint Patties. I would stealthily tear open a bag of CANDY CORNS – the best candy ever because it takes three bites to eat one, if you consume it by color, carefully aligning teeth-to-borderline on each delectable pyramid. I would steal ONE candy corn. And I would pop it in my mouth, overcome by the adrenaline rush, which would quickly be replaced by a sugar rush.I got caught, of course, but that’s another story.

3) I broke my collarbone when I tried to be a Jew. I was 13 at the time. It was the beginning of summer. I had suffered through a few years of Catholic school. My parents were both vainly searching for answers to the eternal questions that lead some people to religion, others to science, and the rest to drugs. It was decided, by a family member who shall remain nameless – primarily because I have no idea whose idea it was, that I should get in touch with my Jewish heritage – on my father’s side – by going to a sleep-away camp the local Jewish Community Center sponsored. The camp had horses. I liked horses. And I jumped at the opportunity to get out of the house learn some Hebrew.

On the 2nd day of 7, a group of us kids was playing capture the flag. And that’s when it happened. I reached out my arm in a half-assed attempt to grab the ball. Someone brushed against me. POP! My clavicle simply snapped. And the worse part? No one at the camp thought it was broken! Try getting a horse to stop galloping when you have a broken collarbone. Not fun! Needless to say, the next summer I got into Ouija boards.

4) I once had lunch in a Turkish harem. That may be overstating it a wee bit, but I’ll let you decide…I had just graduated from college, and coerced a friend to join me in Mersin, Turkey. A family friend had generously offered to let us stay in an empty apartment he owned in one of the working class neighborhoods of this large port city. He even escorted us there, with plans to stay and help us find jobs teaching English. Little did we know that his plan translated into him spending most of the day at the local tea house, to which we were not invited because of our gender.

It was 120 degrees. My friend and I made the best of the situation by playing pinocle on the shaded balcony which, since it was six stories above ground, got a gust of breeze every few hours. Until the local women’s council put a stop to it, that is. Playing cards, you see, was considered a shameful activity for women in that neighborhood. Our neighbors were concerned that the entire building would be tainted by our behavior if someone walking by on the street caught sight of our activities. Did I mention that we were SIX STORIES ABOVE GROUND?  To take out the sting of their rebuke, the council invited us to a luncheon. We had nothing better to do and, besides, we were there to embrace the culture.

Upon arriving at the apartment of the council’s self-appointed Queen Bee, we were instructed to take our shoes off and sit on the floor in front of the most amazing spread of savory and sweet I have ever encountered, laid out on newspaper, in communal bowls. Twenty women watched as we dipped our hands into the food and tasted our first bites. We smiled, nodded – delicious. Then, all hell broke loose.

The window shades were abruptly drawn. The liquor came out. The other women plunged their plump hands into the bowls of meats and spices. And they started comparing breasts and genitalia, asking to see ours, laughing uproariously, and emitting rapid bursts of Turkish. I don’t remember what happened next.

5) I love brussels sprouts. Actually, there are very few vegetables I do not like. But brussels sprouts are particularly cute. I think it’s because of their diminutive size. I’ve always been a sucker for the runts of a litter, and I like to think of the brussels sprout as the runt of the cabbage family. They also have such a Dr. Seuss-inspired look to them on the stalk – very fanciful. Unfortunately, I do not eat them often because I am not much of a cook, at least not at the moment.

6) I prefer table games to video games. I grew up watching my great-grandad play dominos and spit tobacco into a coffee can on the screened porch of his farm. My parents taught my brother and me our vocabulary via competitive Scrabble games. We didn’t get Nintendo in the house until I was old enough to be into boys, so I never did catch the video-game bug. Sometimes I wish I had. It would have saved me a great deal of youthful heartbreak.

7) I only return phone calls while driving. It’s not that I’m a compulsive multi-tasker, but rather that I feel guilty just lounging on my bed, gabbing like a teenager. When I am in my house, I need to concentrate on the dishes, or fashion decisions, or the latest episode of Mad Men. I am too distracted to carry on a coherent conversation. When I am driving, however, my attention can be split between the road and, well,  anyone with a Verizon plan. I live in Los Angeles, after all. Seventy percent of my time is spent in my car. The traffic rarely moves. What else am I supposed to do? Text? I do that too. But shhhh – it’s now against the law.

Okay. That’s it. 7 Things About Me. Seven Secrets to give you a little insight into my special brand of crazy. Hope you have enjoyed the experience.

I will now tag seven lucky Tweeters, as that is how this damn thing spidered its way into my life. They are: @naturallygeeky, @girlfrisky, @livitluvit, @michellefabio, @califmom, @hollyjahangiri, and @kat_taf. They are entrusted with continuing the saga. Check them out to see how well they do. If you are not one of them, please feel free to tell me 7 things about yourself in the comment section, or at least one!

whimsical (adj.): given to fanciful or unpredictable notions or actions.

Now, I am not licensed in any way, except to drive, and even then the DMV won’t let me maneuver motorcycles or 18-wheelers. I leave hangover remedies to those more qualified. And there are already enough sources out there for those wishing to be introspective. Instead, I offer the following celebration of GUMMI BEARS so you may start out 2009 with a smile on your face.

Gummy Bear Anatomy by Jason Freeny

There is something about Gummi Bears, or Gummy Bears, that brings out the child in everyone. Sometimes that child is homicidal, but this is what happens when you feed children candy.

Gummy Bear Homicide by ELogan Photography

This may explain why some people are actually scared of Gummi Bears, and announce this fact to the world.

Gummy Bears Scare Me

Now, I completely empathize with those folks who shake in terror upon seeing a clown, but Gummi Bears? They’re so cute and squishy! And they expand in water!

Sadly, sometimes only a 13-year-old girl just discarding her Barbies can truly appreciate the full appeal of Gummi Bears.

Bracelet from Luster Studio

Well, 13-year-olds and comic book geeks. In fact, Hans Traxler from Germany dedicated an entire comic to “The Life and Times of Gummy Bears.”

Ivan the Terrible vexed by Gummy Bear

Well, 13-year-olds, comic book geeks and hipsters. Yes, all those folks who collect metal lunch boxes and attend Viggo Mortensen’s art openings are sure to just cream over Gummi Bear lamps and such.

Gummy Lamps by Jellio

Aw, hell, they really are funky-cute, don’t you think? Check out Jellio’s cupcake furniture too! Never too early to start a wish list for next Christmas, right?

And never fear, there is Gummi Bear furniture to be found as well.

Gummy Bear Rug by Yaya Chou

No one is immune to these little gelatinous guys. Clearly an international movement – I dare say, a revolution – is under way. The radicals involved are not content with the odd lamp, earring, or YouTube video. No. They mean to take over the world. And their leader is obviously Yaya Chou. It is just a matter of time before Yaya and Frank Gehry get together to create the next architectural wonder.

Gummy Bear chandelier by Yaya Chou

What is it, exactly, that makes people so passionate about Gummi Bears? You tell me.