humor

Tossing the Rulebook

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I’ve always played by the rules. I’ve always done what I’m supposed to do in the order in which I am supposed to do it. College… Work… More work… And continued work. But in a couple of weeks I am going to embark on a journey I never thought I would.

With no job waiting in the wings, I gave notice yesterday at my current place of employment. YIKES! That’s right folks. In this crazy, unpredictable world, shaky political climate and moody economy… I am packing up my house and heading south (only about 140 miles south) to start a brand new life and adventure with the man I love. And I couldn’t be more thrilled!

I am not leaving just any old garden-variety job and home behind. Which is why, perhaps, this leap into unchartered waters feels so foreign to me. The current job is a good one that came complete with a decent title, five zany suite mates/co-workers, a nice office and interesting work.

The home—100 years old, cozy, loaded with character and decorated just the way I want it—sits right across the street from my childhood home, my beloved parents, my “little sister” (their golden retriever) and a mere two blocks away from my big sister and seven nieces and nephews.

But as with everything… there is a trade off.

What I am gaining in the deal is a partner and a friend with whom to share the rest of my life. And I could just stop right there as it is more than a fair trade to spend forever with my best friend. But there also is a new home, which I am told I can decorate any way that I choose. Though we’ll see about that… He didn’t seem super thrilled when I actually told him how I felt about the lamps in his living room. And a “job” that will allow me to play Little Betty Homemaker (at least until I find one with a real paycheck).

The new “career” in and of its self should be pretty interesting since I know I have mentioned before that I tend to be a bit domestically and culinarily-challenged. I figure now is as good a time as any to learn… Provided I don’t burn the house down by leaving a stray oven mitt on a burner or something random like that. (It’s been known to happen.)

Of course, if nothing else… the transition should provide some fairly good fodder for this platform here. I’m sure they’ll be some interesting stories about my Glamour mags taking over the stacks and stacks of Sports Illustrated currently perched on the back of the toilet. Or baskets, candles and picture frames replacing biographies of Howard Stern, “Shoeless” Joe Jackson and Ernest Hemingway. (OK, Hemingway can stay… but the other stuff just might be gettin’ bumped by Pottery Barn.)

There’s bound to be an adjustment period to the Lifetime channel being on by default when he flicks on the tube looking to watch Sports Center. Sometimes there’s nothing quite like a poorly-scripted, horribly-portrayed, exaggerated, cheesy, over-the-top tale of a woman scorned… even if it IS Bowl Week (which by the way, lasts for THREE weeks… NOT ONE as the name suggests).

In any event, I hope you’ll stay tuned while the adventure unfolds and I try something I’ve never tried before by taking a great big step right off my “map” … into the glorious unknown.

It doesn’t get any better than this…

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I always knew I had certain “tendencies” toward the doing of absolutely nothing. But nothing quite confirms that suspicion like a nice, long holiday break.

It has been exactly one week since I’ve been at the office and four days since I had any obligation of any kind. And it feels great.

There is a little part of me (notice I said little) that feels I MUST be doing something… I SHOULD be doing something. And yet, I don’t. I’m sure this enjoyment of doing nothing will eventually wear off.

Perhaps I will tire of staying up until 2 a.m.—laughing and imbibing with friends—then sleeping until 10:30 a.m., getting dressed at 4 p.m. and doing it all again. Perhaps not.

Either way, come Monday I will have to get up and get back into the game.

Until then… there is a perfectly good spot for me… on the couch.

Mini-Resolutions for 2012

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With Christmas right around the corner, one’s mind turns to that of the New Year. Now, I have never been one for New Year’s Resolutions… probably because I believe that by actually declaring my plan aloud I am pretty much sealing the deal on whether or not I will succeed. And yes… you guessed it… my rate of success usually winds up being a big, fat ZERO. So why then, would I ever consider ADVERTISING my impending personal failure by confessing my “New Year’s Resolutions” to family, friends and co-workers?

Additionally, it has been said by a good many people that declaring a “New Year’s Resolution” isn’t a great idea anyway. This is often due to the fact that said “Resolution” is ultimately too lofty or too complicated for one to actually achieve. Therefore, as an alternative, it is advisable to set smaller, more attainable ”goals” for oneself.

With the idea of “smaller goals” in mind, I have decided to try something entirely new this year… I am hereby resolving to take a few teensy, tiny, baby-steps toward personal change. Some “Miniature Resolutions” if you will…

1. In the mornings, I hereby resolve to only hit the snooze button 2 times instead of 3. This should get me to work 6 minutes earlier each day, which would result in roughly 1,560 minutes or 26 hours annually that I do not feel rushed… hence significantly limiting my chances of receiving additional traffic tickets that I cannot pay or becoming a perpetrator of road rage and winding up in prison. Therefore: ONE LESS MORNING SNOOZE = ZERO JAIL TIME

2. For the remainder of winter, I hereby resolve to wearing snow boots (no matter how ridiculous I look in them) from my house to the office in order to keep from dragging my feet, socks and bottoms of my dress pants through the wet snow every time I leave for work, therefore eliminating the possibility of frostbite to my lower extremities, leading to inevitable amputation. Therefore: SNOW BOOTS = MAINTAINING THE ABILITY TO WALK UPRIGHT

3. During the workday, I hereby resolve to make the switch to decaf. This should enable me to still enjoy my morning cup of coffee but without completely and totally bouncing off the proverbial walls and acting overtly chipper toward any grumpy, hateful, definitely-not-morning-people-co-workers, thus causing them to cease asking me WHY I have so much freakin’ energy all the time… and possibly even preventing them from conspiring against me. Therefore: DECAF = AVOIDANCE OF OFFICE LYNCHING

4. Regarding my daily 3 p.m. ”Sugar Quest,” I hereby resolve to STOP eating snacks every afternoon whilst sitting at my desk. One snack can run up to roughly 200 calories, totaling 1000 calories weekly or 50,000 calories annually! One pound of fat is equal to 3,500 calories. 50,000 divided by 3,500 equals approximately 14 pounds!! Therefore: ELIMINATING DAILY MUNCHIE-FEST = FITTING MY @$$ INTO A SMALLER PAIR OF JEANS WITHOUT THE USE OF A SHOEHORN

5. With reference to laundry, I hereby resolve to wash, fold and put away my clothing on a weekly basis rather than allowing it to pile up to the point where I cannot find a clean pair of socks or underwear ANYWHERE IN THE HOUSE, thus causing me to do an emergency wash at midnight, losing precious hours of sleep and arriving at any given destination damp, disheveled, wrinkled and cranky with a high probability of rockin’ mismatched socks. Therefore: KEEPING UP WITH THE LAUNDRY = ALWAYS APPEARING DRY, RESTED, WRINKLE-FREE AND WELL ACCESSORIZED

There is no need for a major, ritualistic, annual overhaul of one’s lifestyle or choices. I believe the above examples adequately illustrate the point that even the smallest of changes can quite often lead to BIG results!

By being committed to these 5 minor alterations, it is quite likely that I will indeed transform my entire life. If all goes according to plan, 2013 should find me absent of any sort of criminal record, able to use all TEN of my toes, sufficiently-caffeinated yet amazingly-rested, 14 pounds thinner, less stressed, pressed and well-dressed. Who can find fault with goals like that?

Spanx: A True Holiday Miracle

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I don’t know how they do it and I don’t care. It doesn’t matter how they manufacture something capable of shaving 5 to 10 pounds off of my “lumpy places” — just so long as they keep on doing it. Forever.

Packing a little extra luggage in the trunk is usually inevitable this time of year what with all the gathering, merry-making and drinking to drown out the sound of your annoying relatives as they get all up in yo’ biz.

But the question then comes—as you try to stuff that trunk full ‘o goodies into your favorite sweater dress or skinny black skirt—what the hell do you do with all of this stuff that’s accumulated about your butt, thighs and tummy?

Enter my holiday BFF: Spanx. Trust me, if you aren’t already a believer… drag your own larger-than-normal trunk to the store and pick up a pair. Or two. Or three. I promise they’re on sale right now.

PROBLEM.

SOLUTION.

It’s a bit of a trick and little bit of torture trying to get them on and off… but the results are so very worth it. Just imagine slamming all the cookies, chocolate, cheese, brandy, rum and yummy treats made with real butter and heavy cream that your heart desires and still looking stellar for the office Christmas party or New Year’s Eve bash.

As soon as they’re over you can go home and—after about 90 minutes of cursing as you wrestle your way out of your own private sausage casing—slip into the warm, forgiving embrace of your sweats… and no one will be the wiser.

The Last Gift

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These tall, leather boots that look soooo great on and seemed like such a great and fashionable idea this morning… suck. My feet are killing me. My toes are numb and the balls of my feet are yelling curse words so loudly with each step that I take… I’m certain the kid stocking the shelves over there heard them call me a miserable whore.

But it’s OK, for I am almost done. There is but one item that remains on my list of gifts to buy for my near and dear ones this Christmas holiday. Being this close to the end somehow makes the pain worthwhile. Like the agony of the last few miles of a marathon I will push past it—vulgar feet stuffed into evil, leather boots and all—I can see the finish line.

This one item should be easy. It seems to be all the rage and everyone is talking about it. It’s been spotted at several stores. Thus it stands to reason that this particular purchase… my last purchase (did I mention that?) should be a relative retail breeze.

Ahhhh… more wrong I could not have been.

The item that everyone is talking about that seems to be one of the “IT” gifts of the 2011 shopping season… also seems to be the ONE thing that no one, and I MEAN NO ONE has ever even heard of. And I’m not talking about little, small-town, Mom and Pop village merchants peddling their wares to worn out Christmas zombies.

I’m talking about the Big Boys. The Big Box stores. The Gods of Greed… the Royalty of Retail… The Princes of Peddlers and Kings of Ka-Ching. You know, the ones who are supposed to have their sticky, little fingers on the pulse of every shopper?

Well, for some reason as this exhausted customer drug her potty-mouthed tooties from one shitty parking spot to another, fighting holiday gridlock the whole entire way… I was greeted with the same answer everywhere I went. It went a little something like this:

Me: “Excuse me, do you have any ____________?”

Oh, I should mention that I am purposefully NOT mentioning the gift until after it is given a week from now lest the recipient read this entry and either A. Feel badly that they are NOT receiving this “must have” item from their list, or B. Feel even worse that I had such a terrible time trying unsuccessfully to find the damn thing.

Big Box employee: “Any what? I’ve never heard of that. Let me check with management / some guy named Larry / this clueless-looking girl standing right beside me.”

Me: Silence accompanied by nearly-defeated-shoulder-slumping, followed by a huge sigh, followed by a prayer, followed by some hopeful breath-holding.

My feet: “You @!$%#. If you make us stand here or go to ONE MORE store after this, I swear by tomorrow morning I WILL TAKE YOU DOWN. And when you recover, you’ll be wearing flats until February. Do you hear me?”

Big Box employee: “I’m sorry. We don’t carry __________. We’ve actually never heard of that. Maybe XYZ Big Box Store will have them. Happy Holidays!”

Me AND my feet: “Already tried there, dumb @$$. Now shove it.”

But I was determined (as well as held hostage by my vital and angry appendages) that this store would be the last stop on our retail mission. The person on my list wanting ______________ would have to settle for Plan B. And that was all there was too it.

Merry Christmas and Happy Last-Minute Shopping everyone! My two bits of advice on locating that elusive last gift on your list: Have a back-up plan… and by all means… wear comfortable shoes.

A Festivus for the Rest of Us

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It’s that time of year again! But I’m not talking about Christmas. For most people, this time of year is all about Christmas. But for a dedicated (and perhaps obsessed) few, is also a time for celebrating the lesser-known holiday that is Festivus.

I, along with most of you, became aware of Festivus from Seinfeld, but it did actually exist before George’s father Frank Costanza (Jerry Stiller) made it famous in 1997. It was originally created by writer Dan O’Keefe back in 1966, who was the father of one of the writers for the show. So in this case, art really did imitate life.

I find 2011 a particularly good year to make note of Festivus because of the holiday’s emphasis on anti-commercialism. At a time when many people are having to “downscale” Christmas due to financial strain, perhaps it is even more important than ever to find “alternative” ways of celebrating.

One of the aspects of the Festivus tradition (besides setting up the aluminum pole and carrying out the Feats Of Strength) is my personal fave: The Airing of Grievances. Therefore, I have taken the time to compile a list of some of my own grievances. Truthfully, they are more like annoyances, but nevertheless, it was entertaining as well as cathartic to create this list. And I encourage all of you to do the same!

Here they are, in no particular order… My own personal Festivus Airing of Grievances:

  1. “I-see-London-I-see-France” extremely low-rise jeans
  2. The “Muffin Top” created by aforementioned “I-see-London-I-see-France” extremely low-rise jeans
  3. Twilight hysteria
  4. People on the road between 7 and 9 a.m. who aren’t going to work
  5. Bad grammar
  6. Low water pressure
  7. Bullies
  8. Celebrity “Baby Bumps”
  9. Anyone who calls a baby bump a “bump”
  10. People taking up the entire aisle at the grocery store and NOT budging even though they KNOW you are there and that you cannot pass
  11. Passive Aggressiveness
  12. Men who think women are second-class citizens
  13. Closed-mindedness
  14. Finding a garment that I absolutely love, only to discover that they are out of my size or color choice
  15. The one hundred million “talent shows” that are currently on TV. I mean seriously… enough with the singing and dancing already
  16. Michigan
  17. Dropped calls
  18. DVDs that skip or get stuck right at critical moments in the plot
  19. Claymation, stop-animation, nutcrackers, marionettes, ventriloquist dummies, puppets and clowns
  20. People who do not respect the importance (and necessity) of a good 12-hour sleep stretch
  21. Jell-o with fruit in it
  22. Internet pop-ups 
telling me I’ve won something when all they really want to do is give me a virus
  23. People continuing to call me Joann, after I’ve corrected them or they already know my name is Joanna
  24. Computer crashes
  25. Sarah Palin 
talking
  26. Michele Bachmann (with ONE “L” in Michele and TWO “N’s” in Bachmann)
  27. Donald Trump and his little hair pet
  28. Newt Gingrich mentioning his wife Callista by name 3,000 times in one sentence
  29. ALL of the Republican Party / Tea Party candidates AND the ones who refuse to admit they are going to run but hang around constantly (i.e. Sarah Palin and The Donald)
  30. The Duggar Family (sorry, I know they just experienced a very real and legitimate loss but why must we know every single detail of these people’s reproductive lives?) Why isn’t 19 enough? After all, eight was enough to entertain us in the 80s (If you don’t get the aforementioned 80s pop-culture reference… add yourself to this list)
  31. Drivers who don’t signal
  32. Products that don’t do what they say they’ll do
  33. Drivers who are slow
  34. The fact that ALL of the best TV programs are on at the same time on Thursdays
  35. Pre-existing conditions
  36. Magazines that are full of both airbrushed, anorexic models AND articles about why you should love yourself just the way you are
  37. Hidden fees
  38. People who don’t believe in birth control, but then bitch when… SURPRISE!!… They have another kid
  39. Radio stations that claim to play a lot of music and nothing BUT music, but in actuality have a 5 to 1, commercial to song ratio
  40. People who don’t understand or appreciate the cultural beauty and timelessness that is Seinfeld

Happy Festivus everybody! May you discover the joy and fulfillment of airing your own grievances this holiday season and all year long.

Poking the Chocolates and Trashing the Tree

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My mother was an elementary school teacher, now newly retired. And as an elementary teacher she received many, many gifts at Christmas time from her students. It was so much fun every year on the last day of school before the holiday break to sort through all of her loot with her.

She would drag what seemed like countless cardboard boxes into the house and my sister and I would help her dig through the stuff looking for buried treasure. Which, to us, was usually candy.

Every year we could count on at least two items being among the goodies: a box of high-quality chocolates and a glass Christmas tree full of Hershey Kisses. Finding these thrilled my sister and me, as we realized we could comfortably ride a chocolate wave all the way till Santa came.

However, along with the arrival of these treats came some… shall we say… behaviors that drove my parents nuts. The first one being that the box of chocolates, though stocked full of creamy, chewy goodness, was also full of a bunch of weird crap that neither my sister or I cared to ingest.

The fruity ones, nutty ones, coconut ones and bitter ones were all flavors that we’d just as soon gone without… but who the hell could tell what was what just by looking? There was only one way to separate the good from the bad. And that was to poke them. So we did. Or at least I did. I don’t know about my sister as she still—as of this writing—denies ever having done it.

When no one was around I would tiptoe over to “the box” (that usually sat in some communal area of the house) and carefully select a chocolate that looked promising. I dared not bite into it for fear of it being one of the aforementioned nasty-flavored ones. Instead, I took my thumb and poked the bottom of it until its guts began to squish out, indeed revealing what was hidden inside.

If I liked it, I ate it. If not… I returned it to the box and no one was the wiser. At first glance they still looked the same and when someone picked one up only to discover the horror that lay beneath, well… that was a risk I was willing to take. Besides, for all anyone else knew… my sister had done it.

The other “behavior” was not revealed until all of the ornaments were removed from our real, live tree and my father would drag the tired tree through the house to the back door and outside where he would throw it away.

Feeling like a couple of princesses as we lounged around in our new fuzzy pajamas for two weeks eating Hershey Kisses in front of Christmas movies, my sister and I developed this habit of using the tree as our own private trash receptacle. It all began one particular day when we just didn’t feel like getting up to throw our Hershey wrappers away. She looked at me and then looked at the tree and launched the little balls of red and green tinfoil directly into its branches.

Forget that this caused a giggling fit that would last well into the New Year… we thought this was an absolutely brilliant solution to our ever-having-to-get-up-off-the-couch-during-The-Sound-of-Music-again dilemma. Brilliant, that is until my father noticed a trail of tree trash that consisted largely of Kiss wrappers, empty chocolate cups and napkins following him all the way out the back door.

Needless to say, our cover was blown. Until Christmas rolled around again… and one of us took the initiative to say to the other—with a twinkle in our eye and a tinfoil wrapper in our hand… aimed squarely at the tree—“Hey! Watch this!”

Made in the USA or… Ode to my White Corner Shelf Unit

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In this troubled economy, it seems to have become popular here in the U.S. to “buy American.” Now, I think it’s ideal and patriotic (and all that crap) to buy stuff that says “Made in the USA” whenever possible… However, apparently the mere EXISTENCE of these words on the package of a product, does NOT necessarily ensure that the product is of better quality than something that says: “Made in China.”

Recently I purchased a white, corner shelf unit to put in my dining room. Ohhhh, White-Corner-Shelf-Unit, how I’ve longed for this day when you and I would be united and you would stand up for me in the corner of my dining room and I could place lovely little knick-knacks upon your surfaces! You will make my dining room look like a page out of ‘Martha Stuart’s Living’, and I, in kind, promise to dust you, and clean you and protect you from children, pets or vacuum cleaners that might color on, spill on, scratch, chip or ding you.

OK, sorry to be so dramatic, but it is imperative that you understand the extent to which I have pined for this shelving unit. I dream of it… how perfectly it will complete the room. It is my passion. It is my madness. The day finally comes. I find it! I have a gift card! I purchase it! I take it home! I can’t wait to put it together! I collect and purchase JUST THE RIGHT bric-a-brac in which to place on the shelves once it’s assembled! I open the box! I slide out the contents! I locate the pieces! I read the directions! I do not see all of the pieces! What the #@%$?!?! How can this be? How can it be MISSING pieces? I PAID for it, did I not?

It was enclosed in a box, on the shelf of a reputable store, IN AMERICA! This IS America, after all, land of plenty. Meaning, there are PLENTY of foreign-made goods for us all! Let me be honest… I don’t REALLY care where it comes from, just so long as I can decorate the rooms of my dwelling with calm assurance that the purchased item will look just like it does on the box. America: We want It = We seek It = We find It = We buy It = We have It! How can this be happening? It is an outrage. It. Is. An. Injustice.

This is really terrible. My parents are coming over later this evening to see this thing assembled and adorned, and for crying out loud… My mom made BROWNIES! Now I will have nothing to show them… nothing but an empty corner with a stray ball of cat-hair in it… sort of reminds me of a tumble-weed blowing down a long, lonely desert road.

Several heavy sighs and slanderous-remarks-about-the-incompetent-retail-chain later, defeated, and with slumped shoulders, I pack up the box with the pieces that ARE there, and start to re-calculate my game plan. As if peering into a crystal ball… I can see my future… an agitated phone call to customer service (waiting on hold for at least 10 minutes)… an angry rummage to find the blasted receipt (IF I still even have it!!)… A trip BACK to the store (wasted gas money)…

So I’m angrily SHOVING pieces back INTO the box, packing it up and calling my Formerly-Cherished-White-Corner-Shelf-Unit all kinds of nasty names and I think I happen to include the phrase “stupid-Made-in-China-piece-of-crap”… when I happen to notice stamped right on the bottom of the box: “Made in the USA.”

Christmas Catnip

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It has long been a great source of frustration and vexation to me that December and the time surrounding the holidays is dubbed “the most wonderful time of the year” because, well… I find it to be more like the most exhausting time of the year.

Don’t get me wrong. It does have its magical moments for sure. But truth be told… between all of the holiday preparations, commitments and gatherings, nieces and nephews in winter sports and fielding 100,000 questions from family and friends about any future wedding plans… finding time to write has been a little more challenging.

That is why—for this Monday’s post—I am sharing with you something Christmas-ey that I hope will make you smile…

Stanley, my little Christmas helper…

For you fellow cat owners out there you know that all the catnip in the world cannot compare to the sheer bliss found in the bottom of a paper bag… or on the inside of the leftover cardboard tube when the wrapping paper has been used up… or in a pile of crumpled tags, receipts, tape and ribbon scraps. 

And don’t even get me started on their magnetic attraction to the low-hanging tree ornaments. Suffice it to say that for at least one member of this household… Christmas truly IS the most wonderful time of the year.

Have a great Monday everyone… only 12 shopping days left. If you don’t have that special something for that special someone yet… My advice is to get out there and get it over with or else there’s a good chance it will wind up beneath someone else’s tree.

Hummus: The New French Onion?

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“Excuse me,” Lee asked the weary Wal-Mart worker, “where can we find the hummus?” She gave him a blank stare and then squished up her face like he’d just asked for pickled pig’s feet and exclaimed that she did not know. A quick survey of the store and a few more fruitless inquiries later and we gave up on Wally-World as a potential place in which to find the dip that’s sweeping the nation.

“Maybe Meijer will have it.” Lee said while secretly nursing a new hatred for the en-vogue, Middle-Eastern staple since it was now interfering with his ability to watch the Big Ten Championship game. “Whatever happened to good, old-fashioned French Onion? Why, now does it have to be hummus? What the hell IS hummus anyway but a bunch of shitty, random, ground-up vegetables that ‘we’ as a culture have branded as the ‘thing’ to eat now?” he grumbled aloud while pointing the car in the direction of the next big box grocer.

“That’s a good question!” I exclaimed, laughing at his colorful outburst. “What DID ever happen to a good old tub of French Onion dip and a bag of Ruffles to take to a party?” I took off on a rant of my own… “Now it’s hummus this and hummus that… and hummus here and hummus there… Have you tried the HUMMUS? Oh you’ve GOT to try this hummus it is TO DIE FOR. And these are the BEST pita chips around, by the way. Have you TRIED them yet?”

All of the sudden the world around me seems to have fallen in love with hummus. For me, my awareness of this seemingly new love affair started at the office this past summer when my boss began bringing in pita bread and hummus from a local farmer’s market. Everyone tried it and almost everyone liked it (myself included.) Then while visiting a friend in Cleveland this fall, she offered me a snack of what else but pita chips and hummus. Two months later at a tailgate party before the Ohio State / Indiana game, pita chips and hummus sat on the table between the burgers and buns and the cheese plate… right smack dab in the spot where the French Onion used to be.

Now, here I was preparing for our office Christmas party by volunteering to bring pita chips and hummus. That’s right, folks, I have boldly and unabashedly jumped on board the hummus bus. But being on board does not negate the fact that the sudden surge of hummus’s popularity still puzzles me. How did this chickpea, lemon juice and garlic concoction from the Middle East dethrone a long-standing, all-American party favorite? When exactly did this happen?

In 1998, a season 9 episode of Seinfeld was my first exposure to the word. George is troubled by the fact that Kramer and Elaine think his new girlfriend looks exactly like Jerry. Thus indicating that George is “secretly in love” with his best friend by dating a “Lady Jerry.” Kramer even refers to Janet (the girlfriend) as a “Femme Jerry” and a “She-Jerry” further antagonizing an already-tormented George. Seeking some solace that there truly was some chemistry that brought them together, George questions Janet about the genesis of their relationship:

  • GEORGE: You know what’s great about our relationship?… It’s not about looks.
  • JANET: It’s not?
  • GEORGE: No, Can’t be… For instance I remember when we first met, we had a great conversation.
  • JANET: I remember you said I was the prettiest girl at the party.
  • GEORGE: … But after that we really talked didn’t we?
  • JANET: Well, you told me how familiar I looked and that you must have seen me somewhere before.
  • GEORGE: NO! … This relationship has… has got to be about something and fast or I’m in very serious and weird trouble… hmmmm… What else happened?
  • JANET: You asked for a piece of gum because you thought your breath smelled like hummus.

So there is was. And like many a word before it, hummus came to be known by me (and probably many others) simply because of that show. It would not be until much, MUCH later that I would actually try (much less like and embrace) hummus on a personal level.

A Google search on hummus’s skyrocketing fame in America revealed some very recent and fun headlines such as: U.S. Dips Into Hummus and There’s a Hummus Among Us. (Titles, I for one, wish hadn’t already been taken prior to this writing.) The presence of the articles proving the point that some things are definitely shifting in our culinary culture… even going as far as to infiltrate a famed spot on the tailgate table.

So, I guess there’s nothing left to say but: French Onion, you had quite a reign there for a while and damn if we didn’t have some good times in the 80’s and 90’s. Welcome hummus! Enjoy your 15 minutes of fare fame before you get bumped by something even more exotic of which we’ve yet to hear.