Tag Archives: humor

Pumpkin Gets a Bum Rap

8090618619_b575d24139_z

Our old friend the pumpkin. Is it just me, or does anyone else here think he’s getting a bum rap?

I mean, sure things have gone a little overboard in the last several years. By the time September rolls around, we’re deluged with so much pumpkin that we don’t know which end is up.

Just to clarify, it’s the stem end.

I get it; we’re just one Venti pumpkin spice no-foam latte away from excruciating exasperation, but you gotta admit, it tastes so good going down. I don’t know about you, but I go all weak in the knees when I cross the threshold at Yankee Candle.  As soon as I smell the pumpkin pie votives. I scoop those babies up like the free cashews at the neighborhood bar. I realize they are tainted by the unwashed hands of humanity, yet, I can’t resist their allure.

Maybe it’s just that I have an addictive personality. Too much of a good thing is never really too much for me. I’m binge watching Orange Is the New Black while the sweet aroma of pumpkin incense surrounds me in a heavenly cloud, as I reach into a bag of pumpkin spice granola until there’s nothing left but pumpkin dust and unwatched Breaking Bad episodes.

So yes, I will have another slice of pumpkin pie.  And thank you very much, I would love a pumpkin whoopie pie, pumpkin bread, pumpkin pudding, ice cream, soup served to me inside a festive pumpkin bowl. I will happily go all Martha in fashioning a fleet of Pinterest worthy decorative pumpkins for my front porch. Hell, just to show you I’m serious, I’m going out now to get my hands on a pint of chalkboard paint in order to go all rogue on my happy orange harvest of pumpkin friends, so as to scribe my affections onto them forthwith.

I’m a go-against-the-grain kinda gal.

I guess what I’m trying to say here is, don’t blame the pumpkin. Don’t smash all his little pumpkiny hopes and dreams. He comes to the party but once a year, so he’s gotta get the glory while he can. He’s not hanging out all year with the apples and bananas. He gets the shaft the other ten months. He just wants our love and attention now, in so many varied configurations. Who could blame him? He’s carved out a nice place for himself on the societal landscape.  Perhaps we were all just taking the pumpkin for granted and suddenly realized how much it meant to us, so much that we iconized it to death. Nobody gives the Kardashians this much grief. Or maybe they do, but at least the pumpkin has done something to earn our adoration.

Why do I feel so strongly about this, you ask? What’s up with the pumpkin lady that she feels it necessary to type out a 500 word missive in defense of one of the world’s most overblown fruits?

Consider me a pumpkin advocate. If nobody stands up now, what then? Will we start taking pot shots at egg nog? If we don’t do something now, by the time February rolls around, it might be a full on war with chocolate.

So don’t be afraid to stand up and profess your love of pumpkin. It may have taken on a plethora of roles, but it truly is the Jack o’ All Trades.

Photo by Bunnyrel / CC BY  

Meat Mountain: Now I Can Quit You Arby’s

I’ve decided to walk away from my relationship with Arby’s.

Yes, it’s true. After a lifetime of this on again-off again love affair that can only be listed in the “It’s Complicated” category, I’m calling it quits. For real this time. Sure the mystery meat masquerading itself as “beef” was the red flag throughout our courtship, but I was able to mask that by hitting the sauce pretty hard. I always knew the relationship was doomed, but I refused to pay heed to the realization. The feeling was always the same; I’d go in full of heightened expectations, optimism, an ever increasing sense of hopefulness, only to come away feeling cheap and dirty. What had I just done? The lure of the 5 for $5 was too great a temptation to deny.

But now? Now I can’t look away from what my object of desire has become. It’s just too much – on so many levels. The sense of betrayal I feel at the emergence of Meat Mountain after all these years, has left me feeling empty when I know if I would only allow it, I could be so full.  But I won’t. I won’t allow myself to stoop so low.  I can’t stand to look myself in the mirror anymore.

Have you not heard? The fast food chain decided it wanted the world to know it wasn’t just about the beef anymore. No. They’re playing on all teams now, baby. So they began running ads featuring a salacious, lip smacking image of proteins piled high to illustrate the oh-so-many meats one can encounter at their establishment.  Little did they know that people would begin asking for it. “I’ll have one of those sandwiches with all the meat on it” they cried.

Just what does “all the meat” entail? It’s no less than roast beef, roast turkey, ham, bacon (because of course), 2 chicken tenders, brisket, Angus steak, corned beef, topped with cheddar and swiss for good measure. It’s a tall order. Literally. And it will cost you, like any risky relationship would. This one however, will be $10, thank you. Of course the price paid is immeasurable down the road of artery hardening regret.

I can’t in good conscience go on like this. Not anymore. I can’t turn a blind eye to what Arby’s is doing to my family, my sense of propriety, my waistline. So I say to you Arby’s, “I quit you! Not even if you offered to supersize me would I take you back. I will not take that dangerous chance of falling from so much grace as from the slippery slope of the veritable potato cake cliff.”

Goodbye Arby’s it was swell while it lasted. But I don’t know you anymore.

I thought you were different.

Featured image

Fond of Fondue

Well, I did it. I finally bought a fondue pot.

I was in the Crate & Barrel outlet the other day, and that shiny red fondue pot that usually sells for a cool $50 was marked down to a mere $16. I had to have it. I had to, I tell you. Never mind the fact that my husband Kevin and I keep vowing to lighten our loads. A fondue pot is one of the things my gadget laden kitchen is missing.

Continue reading

Deciphering a Small Fortune

Image-7

I say: He who order Chinese food…still have to order dessert. Because the fortune cookies suck.

Everybody knows the fun is in the fortune. But what the heck do they mean?

I got one that said “If you’re still hungry…order more food.” How prophetic. It’s Chinese food, people. Of course I’m still hungry.

I save my fortunes. My kids love ’em, I love ’em. I put them on the fridge door and I save the rest in a box. I’ve got hundreds and I like to think I’ve picked up a little insight from them over the years.

fortune

So as a public service, I’ve decided to take some of the mystery out of it so you can look like a regular Confucius at your next shitty take-out dinner party.

You’re welcome.

You enjoy giving gifts of yourself to others. You will be rewarded.

Beware of STD’s.

Your efforts have not gone unnoticed.

When you set up your best friends and they get divorced, that shit stays with you.

Think like a man of action and act like a man of thought.

How to feel like a woman on steroids.

Patience is one of the hardest virtues to master.

Yeah…get to the point, asshole.

Your infinite capacity for patience will be rewarded sooner or later.

Be patient because the rewards usually come later.

Well done is better than well said.

Unless you’re a writer.  Then you’re screwed.

Getting together with old friends brings new adventures.

Unless your ex shows up. Then be prepared for a fist fight.

A small house can hold as much happiness as a big one.

Invest in storage space. Because you still need someplace to dump all your shit.

Your home will be visited by good health and wealth.

Put on a pot of coffee. Richard Simmons and Ed McMahon are coming over.

A good friendship is often more important than a passionate romance. 

You’re gonna need your friends when your main squeeze stops squeezin’.

Made in the USA.

That explains the Kung Pao Chicken.

Good clothes open many doorsGo shopping.

Fortune cookies can also be tiny infomercials.

Inch by inch life’s a cinch. Yard by yard life is hard.

Size does matter girls.

A mile walked with a friend contains only a hundred steps.

Your friends don’t exercise? The walk will be from the fridge to the couch.

You cannot run away from yourself; you’re always right behind you. 

You’re paranoid and your shadow is out to get you.