Filed under: Food/Drink, Middle Age, Misc. Humor, Travel | Tags: adulting, bars, beach, crime, drinking, fun, girls, hot tub, lifeguard, north carolina, Outer banks, relationships, rental, vacation, Virginia
Dear Rental House Owner –
Thank you so much for your nice letter and for helpfully providing your lawyer’s name and address, although I don’t think it will be necessary. We had a great girls’ weekend staying in your beach house, and everyone was so friendly! It’s nice when a bunch of middle-aged women can get together for some relaxing quiet time at the beach. I hope you saw that we replaced the wine glasses and re-stocked the liquor cabinet. The combination for the replacement padlock is written on a sticky note by the phone.
And thank you for asking if we got home okay after our night out. We had no idea that your friend Jim owns the _________________ Bar – he was very sweet to escort us personally to our car after Sarah twisted her ankle on the stage. It was also very kind of him to kick that married guy out after he said, “I like your rack” to Lisa. Those drinks the married guy sent over for us that tasted like liquid Skittles were nasty – give us good wine or bourbon any day – what was he thinking? Please tell Jim we hope we didn’t drive too many of his younger customers away with our dancing. Those millennial girls just don’t have the moves we do, and I think they were embarrassed at how much better we were. (They sure do know how to roll their eyes though.) But one nice girl came up to Cheryl and said it must be nice to trust your friends enough to let them hold while you hang upside down like that.
Your next-door neighbor was also very nice, letting us come up on one of his balconies to watch the sunset. When Terry fell and broke her wine glass because she miscounted the steps, he asked if she was okay and didn’t even comment on her speech impediment (it’s often confused with slurring). We cleaned up the wine and broken glass for him, but he had already gone inside so we couldn’t say thank you in person.
You must have a lot of crime in that area – that explains all the cameras. We would greatly appreciate it if you would please tell your other neighbors we were only trying to be helpful when we checked that their hot tub was clean and the heater was working (it was). You might also want to pass on that the cleaners didn’t do a very good job. There was lots of sand in the bottom of the hot tub and two bottles of Fireball had been left on the porch rail. We didn’t want the cleaners to get into trouble so we finished the Fireball off – hence the empties. There wasn’t much we could do about the sand. But if your neighbors find a diamond stud earring, they can put that towards the next cleaning fee.
We noticed that things were a bit dry in North Carolina, so we decided to save water for you by bathing over there. Lisa’s suit color tends to run, so she thought it might do better in the pool. Oh, and by the way, the neighbors also might want to have their pool deck leveled out. Apparently, what they saw on the camera was Lisa falling on the uneven pavement as she was putting her clean bathing suit back on. She must have bumped her head, because she put it on upside down and inside out. We still haven’t figured out how that’s even possible, but that’s Lisa for you. But don’t worry, she says she doesn’t have any interest in litigating the injury.
Yes, we did have one extra person stay overnight. The nice lifeguard we met at Jim’s bar offered to drive us home, and it’s a good thing he did because there aren’t a lot of Ubers around on the off season (none seemed available that late at night – we kept getting declined). I wonder if you know him? There can’t be that many lifeguards who also have a degree in tribal mating dances – that’s probably what you saw on your cameras. But it was extremely fortunate he was there because Cheryl must have had some kind of reaction to the food at the bar – she required mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. The lifeguard was very concerned for her privacy so he took her into the other room and managed to revive her after several minutes. After that, it was late and he was tired, so the least we could do was let him spend the night. He was a real gentleman – he even fixed us all breakfast the next morning.
If you find the following items we would appreciate it if you would return them:
2 black bathing suit tops
1 pink thong
1 blue bathing suit bottom
1 floral eye mask
3 pairs of readers – black, navy blue and hunter green, varying strengths
Thanks again for your letter of concern, and as you can see, no lawyers will be necessary. We are happy to pay for any damages we didn’t already repair, but I don’t think the tire tracks in your front yard were from us. Sadly, there were a lot of drunk people out that night – some people just can’t handle themselves on vacation. Even the nice police officer who stopped us on the way home said the lifeguard was just driving a little fast. After looking into the car when Cheryl starting yelling “Don’t slur your driving!” and seeing that Lisa was a bit green around the gills, he decided to let us go. What an understanding young man! He even fist bumped the lifeguard. Your beach town is such a friendly place! You must feel so proud to have a house there!
Until next year,
The Girls.
Filed under: Food/Drink, Middle Age, Misc. Humor, Spring Break, Travel | Tags: college, cruise, gym, health, men, physical, royal caribbean, Spring Break, travel
Lots of people have asked me if there was any eye candy on the spring break cruise we took, which apparently had most of the University of Georgia on it. I hesitate to say yes, because a) the “men” were the same age as my daughters and b) eye candy is only fun in this situation for someone my age as long as you have your headphones on. As soon as you actually hear the eye candy speak, it’s all over – it’s like getting what you thought was a caramel chocolate out of the candy box, and it ends up having that nasty pink creamy stuff inside.
But while I waited at the back of the pool crowd (see photo above) for the waiter to bring my next boat drink, I did notice that there are essentially 5 main male college bods:
- The football player who will eventually be a real estate broker or work in his Dad’s car dealership. This guy has already peaked – in fact, he may have peaked in high school but is riding the wave until the bitter end. His bulky size is beginning to go or will go to fat as soon as he stops working out in the gym, although he may re-acquaint himself with his neck when that happens. He always enters the belly flop contest and does the beer yell while dancing like Uncle Kracker. He also has some of the worst sunburn because he doesn’t have a girlfriend, and guys generally just aren’t that helpful to each other with sunscreen application.
- Dad-Bod. This guy has already achieved that settled look that usually comes after baby #1. You can already see what he’s going to look at when he’s 40. He’s wearing the pastel button-down shirt (probably unbuttoned) and a university hat. But he is someone who might be able to hold a conversation, and his sunscreen is evenly applied because he has a girlfriend (or potential girlfriend) who cares.
- The Gym Rat. This guy, no matter how tall or short, spends the same amount of time in the gym that Oprah Winfrey spends telling people how to live their lives better (BTW, I’m still annoyed that one of Oprah’s “favorite things” was a pair of slippers for $300, as if we’re supposed to be able to afford them – bitch, please). He has perfected the flex-and-scan, which involves – you guessed it – flexing his pecs and abs and scanning beneath his $200 sunglasses to see who noticed. This is usually followed by a smirk if he’s spotted a fan, or a frown if he hasn’t.
- The Head of the Back (a-la Michael Anthony Hall in 16 Candles). These leaders of the non-Ken Doll contingent tend to lurk around the outskirts of the big crowds, drinking as much as the rest (or more), but never quite make it to the inner circle. They may not spend as much time in the gym or in the girls’ dorms as the other guys, but they have an amazing assortment of professional sports-related clothing to choose from, such as baseball and basketball jerseys. Sunburn? See Bod #1.
- Baseball player bod. These guys aren’t necessarily baseball players – they just have that naturally athletic look to them, without all the gym work. They either are already in the military (hence the look), they’ll work 20-hour days on Wall Street, or they will climb some other corporate ladder quickly with their combination of looks and charm (and probably smarts as well) – unless they go the opposite direction and do something interesting/noble like joining the Peace Corp or becoming a Wilderness adventure leader in the Rockies. Their sunscreen is applied evenly by pretty much anyone they ask.
At the risk of being accused of body-shaming, these are generalizations only. I don’t know these people and haven’t spoken to them except to ask them to please aim their vomit down the stairs and not down my front (just kidding). And no, I’m not going to talk about the girls’ body types because…I’m not stupid.
And yes, I was jealous of them for a bit, but then I had a revelation:
College kids don’t have cash, and pool wait staff like cash. A lot.
Grownups have cash.
So, we grownups grabbed some chairs first thing in the morning while the partiers were still sleeping, and camped out all day enjoying the partiers’ annoyed looks. We tipped the wait staff each time they took our orders. Soon we didn’t even have to ask – they just brought. No standing in line amongst the sweaty, rum-breathing hoards, vying for the bartenders’ attention among the belly button rings and thongs. Just drinks on a tray when we needed them.
It’s good to be a grown up.
Filed under: Food/Drink, Middle Age, Misc. Humor | Tags: 80's, bars, cover bands, dance, Dancing, dating, Dirty Dancing, drinking, Enzos, guys, Johnny castle, Middles, rail drinks, Roadhouse
There are very few things scarier than a bar full of horny, sweating 40–60-year-olds. Unlike college kids and 25-year-olds who are up front about what they’re doing there – drinking and trying to get laid, Middle-Agers (a.k.a. Middles) try very hard NOT to look like that’s what they’re doing. Oh, some put it all out there, with their backless turtlenecks (not a good look on anyone over 30), or the open-necked shirts showing off all that non-millennial chest hair. But for the most part, when you look around a bar full of Middles, its full of copious amounts of eye liner and hairspray, missing wedding rings, annoyed spouses who hate dancing, and lingering (but squinting) glances that border on being creepy because Middles don’t realize they are old enough now to look like rapists and pedophiles.
A couple of weekends ago we were invited to go see a great local 80’s cover band at one of the bars in our area, located in a Food Kitty parking lot. Usually the music there is geared towards the older crowd (think Carolina beach music), and when we go, we are the youngest by at least 15 years. This time, there were Middles like us happily re-living their high school and college years, but with better drinks and an Uber app on their phones.
While there are a few differences between going to bars in your 20’s and bars as a Middle, there are still the same bar guys – they’re just a little older:
Roadhouse is either an ex-Frat Guy or a Redneck just out looking to start shit. He looks like he reads Maxim and goes to the gym more than he reads social cues. Roadhouse is the guy who will start a fight with the smaller guy in your vicinity by looking your way and saying things like, “This guy bothering you?” or giving the guy a shove and saying “The F*&K did you say?” The beauty of being a Middle is that this is no longer impressive. In reality, it means I’m probably going to get a drink spilled on me, and frankly, I’m not drinking rail drinks anymore, so that’s going to piss me off.
About 15 minutes after the band started up, Johnny Castle (Patrick Swayze’s character from Dirty dancing) started dancing…or at least some guy in his mid-50s who thinks he looks like Patrick Swayze. Johnny Castle sports a form-fitting black vest (no short underneath) and skin-tight black pants, and a black fedora on his shaven, balding head. And, he is clearly on the hunt. Johnny Castle spends the entire evening gyrating, twisting and generally trying to grind on anything female that moves. He thinks the empty circle of space around him that appeared while he put on his Michael Jackson moves was created out of sheer awe, not from fear that he might grab one of usand pull us in for a Dirty Dancing grind.
Several feet away from Johnny Castle is Colonel Sanders. At least 70 years old, Colonel Sanders is also on the hunt, lurking around the edge of the dancers, looking like an old Rutger Hauer (see above reference to pedophiles). An 80’s cover band event it really isn’t his scene, but the alternative of watching pat Sajack is too depressing for him. He eventually either finds someone age-appropriate or hangs out with the bar owner in the corner looking cynical and hopeful at the same time.
Of course, no matter what bar you go to or what age the patrons are, there are the Wall Props. These guys don’t like dancing and are usually too drunk to do more than hold up the wall near the bathroom and hit on women as they wait in line. They might slur and try to cop a feel, but they’re easy to slide past. But ladies, if you want a free drink – that’s your guy. No expectations on either side – he’s just happy to be there.
And last, every bar containing Middles has “married-guy-on-the-prowl.” This guy looks harmless, but has the suspicious white skin band around his wedding finger where he just took his ring off. His posse of married guy friends are sheepishly drinking craft beers in the background, having given up on deterring him from his mission: to hook up with someone other than his wife. Usually this guy is from out of town, but sometimes he is stupid enough to go poaching in the local forest – inevitably he will be caught by his wife’s network of friends, and the drama that ensues is fodder for suburban cookouts for weeks to come.
And like any good night at a bar with a band, there were groupies, a fight, a guy who stood like a stone doing the head nod while his girlfriend twisted and swayed around him, and at least three couples who left in a huff.
So, after two bourbons and three straight hours of dancing, I had somethings confirmed:
- Rail drinks are not my friend – I’m better than that now
- I still suck at dancing – Hubby’s got the moves, not me, but the beauty of being a Middle is I don’t care anymore;
- The White Man’s Overbite is alive and well
- I’m grateful I have Hubby to go home with – the Middles’ dating pool desperately needs some chlorine; and
- Blister in the Sun is still crazy-fun to bounce in a circle to, like one of the characters in A Charlie brown Christmas!
Filed under: Exercise, Food/Drink, Middle Age, Misc. Humor, Posts, Travel | Tags: Cats, dogs, drinking, Exercise, health, hiking, Middle-Age, Outlander, resolutions, Scotland, travel, yoga
(Not that any of you should even remotely care what my resolutions are this year, I thought maybe you could use some ideas.)
Dear Self –
Learn to pay in cash – not only will you save money, but the super-annoying “Remove Card” buzzer when using the debit card will no longer send you over the edge in Food Kitty
Do yoga in the living room – just because it humiliates you that Sting’s 
wife is 63 years old and can twist herself like a pretzel is no excuse for you not doing her yoga DVD that you spent $20 on
Sleep more – that means stop playing Candy Crush in bed – you’re the only person on the planet who’s still doing it
Stop playing games on phone…except at stop lights…and while watching tv…and while waiting for the fam to go anywhere…and while Hubby’s driving…
Write more family-friendly blogs
Start anonymous blog page so you can write about the fam
Save money for hiking trip in Scotland (a.k.a. satisfy Outlander fetish)
Run a 10k
Run a 5k
Walk every day
Walk once a week
Hike once a month to train for hiking trip in Scotland
Drink only on weekends…or when out socially…or after a really, really crappy day at work…or when the cats pee in the house…or when the recipe requires wine…
Stop cooking with recipes requiring wine
Be nicer to the dogs
Be nicer to the cats
Filed under: Food/Drink, Middle Age, Posts | Tags: adulthood, alcohol, alcoholic, Beer, bourbon, drinks, family, health, humor, liver, love, Marriage, Middle-Age, rum, sex, south, southern, subourbonmom, tequila, wine
There are a lot of body organs that can be equated to types of people. My heart is the parent of teenagers – steadily working to keep things moving forward and occasionally feeling like it can’t keep up, and skipping a beat when exciting things are happening. My brain is definitely the five-year-old of the body family, with the ability to be shockingly accurate and annoyingly obtuse at the same.
But the most interesting body organ is my liver – she’s a slut – or at least she used to be. She would take in anything, but like a lot of older sluts, doing so now comes with a lot of consequences.
I think the history of alcoholic drinks my liver has filtered also reflects the relationships (and I use the word “relationships” loosely) I’ve had.
In the beginning, there were the sweet early-years boyfriends, who felt good at the time, compared to, well, nothing much else yet… but who left me in the end with monster headaches and an upset stomach. For my liver these years were marked by avid consumption of your staple redneck beers, occasionally spiked with an unusual combination of vodka and whatever else was available.
Of course, everyone has a tequila story. Let’s just say I still can’t even think about it to this day without gagging…and that was just that one guy…(Daughters 1 & 2, be smarter and better than your mom…please!)
Like many people, my liver and heart were indiscriminate for a while, trying to find a basis for comparison. You have to know the bad before you can appreciate the good, right?
Eventually there was the first reciprocated love – and the introduction to wine. Sweet white wine was delightful and full of promise. Unfortunately, I still hadn’t tried a lot of other drinks or relationships, and needed to branch out to truly understand what my liver, er, heart thought was best. European beers with their fancy labels had always been a draw, but in the end they made me sick at heart and in the toilet.
And then my liver and I discovered rum – a drink traditionally from the islands, with a bite that will cut through too much sweet and not leave me with the dreaded wine headache/hangover. That lasted for years and years, and is still a favorite.
But as I’ve gotten older, my liver is thankfully starting to show her age, getting more and more picky about what spills inside, creating all kinds of side effects when I make a bad choice. Beer leaves me feeling tired and fat, wine gives me hot flashes, and vodka just eliminates any mental filters I have – none of these are desirable side effects in my body or in a relationship.
I have now switched from rum to bourbon, and before anyone freaks out and thinks something is wrong between me and Hubby, we are fine. But after 27 years, relationships change. I no longer need the flash fire and overt sweetness of rum drinks. Instead, I prefer the steady burn of bourbon, warming me from the inside. It keeps the hot flashes away, and I rarely have a hangover. Same with Hubby – he’s my Blanton’s, my Basil Hayden, my Jefferson Ocean.
So there you have it, folks. Whether you are in the Boones Farm stage (or, God forbid, never got out of it), trying your first sweet, white wine or still throwing back those nasty shots of tequila, think about what it might be telling. My liver was a slut – but thankfully she held up long enough so that I can now ingest quality.
Subourbon Mom 