Filed under: Food/Drink, Middle Age, Misc. Humor | Tags: adulthood, Ben & Jerry's, capitalism, Food, free markets, health, humor, ice cream, Marriage, nutrition, shopping, subourbonmom
I’ve got a serious issue with Ben & Jerry’s. Twenty-five years ago, Hubby and I spent a lot of our college dating time riding around in the shuttle he drove for extra money, eating Ben & Jerry’s Coffee Heath Bar Crunch. This year, on our 20th anniversary, Hubby went out for some Coffee Heath Bar Crunch, and came home with…Ben & Jerry’s Coffee Toffee Crunch.
It was NASTY.
We Googled why they changed, and apparently they were feeling guilty about the state of America’s health, and of developing country’s economies, so they changed to a healthy version from a free trade country.
Um, news flash, Ben & Jerry’s: if I’m eating Coffee Heath Bar Crunch, chances are I’m not too worried about my health. And just for you capitalists out there, Ben & Jerry are missing a major point: if it tastes nasty (and it does), people won’t buy it. Then you’re not helping anybody.
Hubby sent a nasty-gram to B&J, and they kindly sent us some coupons. But what we really want is our flavor back–so please, Ben & Jerry, stop researching ways to make “Fish Food” flavor out of salmon for those good omega-3s, and bring my Coffee Heath Bar Crunch back.
Filed under: Food/Drink, Middle Age, Misc. Humor, Posts | Tags: adulthood, Christmas, Crockpots, family, Food, Holidays, humor, lingerie, Lobster, Marriage, Middle-Age, news, ohio, reporting, south, southern, television, thelapine.ca
In the days immediately following Christmas, I turned the national news on and saw that the scrubs were in for the usual anchors. I should have known right then to just turn it off, but like a driver passing a wreck, I couldn’t look away. I watched as some intern’s work went out over the air, and I cringed.
The anchor was reporting on the delays UPS and Fed-Ex experienced during the holidays, explaining that bad weather, a shortened shopping season and the massive on-line purchases contributed to the delays. Naturally, it followed that they would interview someone who had been inconvenienced. Unfortunately, they chose to interview one of their employees, who was complaining that the dozen or so fresh lobsters she’d ordered for her Christmas Eve dinner were delivered after the event, and her Christmas was ruined.
I’m sorry…a dozen fresh lobsters?
Wow. Her life is HARD.
Nice choice, editorial staff. Way to make a point.
Disgusted, I turned off the news and continued to avoid the holiday clean-up ritual by incessantly playing Candy Crush and Pet Rescue Saga.
A few days later, I was surfing FaceBook (more procrastinating), and I came across the following news report:
Ohio Wife Torches Husband’s Truck After Getting Crock Pot and Cheap Lingerie for Xmas (thelapine.ca)
DAYTON — Police arrested 34-year old Tracy Waters yesterday morning after she allegedly set fire to her husband Dave’s 2013 Chevy Silverado Crew Cab in a rage over her Christmas gifts.
“He gave me a slow-cooker and these red nylon crotchless panties with a push-up bra,” Mrs. Waters told police.
“The bra had tassels for fuck sake. Tassels.”
Police have charged Mrs. Waters with arson, assault with a weapon (“a 4-gallon ceramic crock pot with corn-on-the-cob pattern”) and using foul language in public.
Mr. Waters told the Dayton Daily News that he was excited about his gifts for his wife and doesn’t understand why she became angry and turned violent.
“Good food, good lovin’, and a good truck were all I wanted for Christmas,” said the 37-year-old warehouse worker sporting a swollen-shut right eye.
Seriously, you can’t make that stuff up.
These are the people I want to see being interviewed on the national news. When I read the article out loud to Hubby (before thinking it through that our daughters were also in the car), nobody asked why nylons would be crotchless, or why anyone would want tassels. I was grateful and horrified at the same time.
Hopefully, they also now know that a crockpot counts as a deadly weapon.
Filed under: Food/Drink, Middle Age, Misc. Humor, Parenting | Tags: adulthood, country clubs, exclusion, family, humor, kids, Middle-Age, parenting, south, southern, subourbonmom, teens, Virginia
The other night I had the dubious honor of being invited to a corporate reception/wine tasting class at an exclusive, men’s-only club Downtown. The day before the event, we received an email detailing suggested arrival times and dress code: coat and tie for the men, no dress code for the women.
Did this mean the members don’t care what the women wear? Doubt it. Did it mean they weren’t going to touch that topic with a ten-foot-pole? Probably. Or, did it mean they secretly want the women in attendance to dress like Julia Roberts from Pretty Woman in her high heels, mini-skirt and tank top? Bingo—that’s my guess. But, in the interests of keeping the peace, I threw on old faithful—the black cocktail dress and heels.
There is something about the smell of a men’s club (that being the only the men’s club I’ve been in) that reeks of exclusion. The scents of old cigar smoke, office breath, and bourbon were in the walls, carpets and the few uncomfortable chairs provided in the lobby. Portraits of the Great White Fathers hung from the walls—of course, special preference was given to our Confederate leaders.
As I perused the volumes of “Harvard Classics,” prominently displayed in aging china cabinets, I had the almost uncontrollable urge to strip out of the dress, breathe onto the highly-polished bar counter and draw smiley faces in the condensation with my finger. Thankfully, they opened the buffet, so everyone was spared.
While we didn’t stay for the wine tasting class due to our kids’ sports commitments, for me the evening was an experience in observing a social era passing by. In an age of excessive bullying and rabid discussions over tolerance, exclusion should no longer be a privilege, but it was pretty cool to get a glimpse into that world.
Later that night, when I was trying to explain the event to Daughter #2, I was preparing to finish my story with a moral lesson on exclusion, racism and misogyny, when Daughter #2 broke in.
“Mom?’ she asked.
“Yes,” I said, waiting for my moment to launch into a teachable moment.
“Let me get this straight,” she said. “They were teaching a class on how to be alcoholics?”
Sigh…
Filed under: Food/Drink | Tags: adulthood, bourbon, football, humor, Middle-Age, south, southern, subourbonmom
I don’t know how it escaped me, but I recently learned that September is National Bourbon Month, celebrating bourbon as America’s “Native Spirit.” How ironic–because of genetics, America’s true natives can’t hold their liquor. In 2007, Senator Jim Bunning of Kentucky sponsored the bill that was, not surprisingly, unanimously approved.
So, to honor this most sacred of months, I decided to celebrate in my own ways:
Whereas Congress declared bourbon as `America’s Native Spirit’ in 1964, making it the only spirit distinctive to the United States; To honor the Native Spirit, I decided to have a drink or two while sitting on the lawn with a couple of other moms at an Imagine Dragons concert, supervising our teenage daughters as they navigated the creepy world of older boys and men playing “guess how old they are.” It was how I imagine a Native American story-telling evening might have been spent (because I watched Dances with Wolves way too many times) if they had massive speakers, electric guitars and huge screens so the neighboring tribes could complain about the noise for miles around. We didn’t smoke pipes, but we did sit with our fellow elders, solve most of the world’s problems, and clap and dance along with the music. However, unlike our Native Sons, my European genetics let me hold my liquor all too well, until I got sleepy. I believe I snored most of the way down I-95.
Whereas the history of bourbon-making is interwoven with the history of the United States, from the first settlers of Kentucky in the 1700s, who began the bourbon-making process; To honor our bourbon-brewing forefathers who left the east coast for the freedom to brew tax-free in the mountains, I recently sampled some bourbon that was dis-“stilled” far, far away from any liquor store. I like corn, and I like water, the two most important ingredients in bourbon. Unfortunately, what I drank tasted like these were the ONLY ingredients—with maybe a cup or two of rubbing alcohol thrown in. But it was tax-free!
Whereas bourbon has been used as a form of currency; This one was easy—I had a bottle of Woodford Reserve with a Kentucky Derby label on it made into a lamp for my mom for Christmas—so much better than a gift card!
I have also used bourbon drinks to trade for food and other drinks at tailgates. It is not unheard of for my voice to carry over the din of the football crowd rasping, “I’ve got an extra cup here if you’ll share your chips and salsa.” Bourbon can also be used as currency to punish fellow tailgaters who insist that women in their 40’s somehow lose their ability to do shots. For the record, we don’t lose our ability–we lose our stupidity. However, sometimes one must step up to the plate and prove, once again, that taking a bourbon shot in the Redskins parking lot is not just a man’s prerogative. With the bet announced, bourbon has occasionally cost a doubter some cash, or at least a few homemade cookies.
I’m also stockpiling bourbon and other bottles of alcohol (at least that’s what I tell people when they get a glimpse of my liquor cabinet) for the demise of the modern world. If the American dollar ever fails, I will be a survivor. My wounds will also be clean.
Whereas generations have continued the heritage and tradition of the bourbon-making process, unchanged from the process used by their ancestors centuries before;” The processes may not have changed all that much, but our drinking habits have. I’ve been known to drink out of a mason jar (now I have fancy ones with a hole through the lid for a straw), but I prefer Bourbon Slushies and the one I like to call, “Give Me My Figgin’ Bourbon” (see https://subourbonmom.wordpress.com/2013/04/19/mint-juleps-and-other-signs-of-spring/ for the recipe). Now that I’m in my 40’s, and antacids are a regular part of my diet, I have learned to be kinder to my body. I sip instead of slam, and regularly doctor my drinks up to fool my brain into thinking its just another form of dessert.
So enjoy National Bourbon month, and let me know how you plan to celebrate our Native Spirit!
Filed under: Food/Drink, Middle Age, Misc. Humor, Posts | Tags: adulthood, bourbon, drinking, emotions, family, Food, humor, Marriage, Middle-Age, red solo cups, south, southern, subourbonmom
The other day I heard someone say “my cup runneth over.” The expression (which comes from Psalms 23:5) means having more than enough for your needs. Well, I’ve begun to think we all have cabinets full of cups, but not all cups have good things in them—some of them are delicious, and some are just nasty. Too bad those things aren’t kept in shot glasses.
We all have the cup of good luck and good times, which I like to picture as a flute of champagne, bubbling over the rim onto a dinner jacket or down the front of a cocktail dress, especially at weddings and celebrations (for celebrators on a budget, make it pink Asti Spumante). It makes us happy and laugh a lot, and dance inappropriately at weddings—best of all, it rarely leaves a stain.
The cup of jealousy is a no brainer–crème de menthe. It’s a vile shade of green, and can even ruin something as sweet as vanilla ice cream.
The cup of anger can be filled with lots of things, but my choice would be beer. There might be some arguments, but hear me out. Beer makes people loud, and sometimes aggressive. If beer drinkers don’t get aggressive, they get tired and go to bed before the party’s over. When someone’s red solo beer cup is too full, the beer slops out over the edge and onto someone else’s flip flops, pickup truck, or stadium seat. It leaves a sticky residue that stays around for a long time (have you ever smelled a fraternity house?) and makes your shoes squeak, reminding you of what happened. And when you try to empty your red solo cup by drinking it, beer makes you feel bloated inside, and keeps you up all night when you finally break the seal and try to let it out.
The energy cup is filled with…what else? Coffee! When your coffee mug overflows it’s annoying–probably as annoying as you are to those whose cups are only half-full. It’s even more annoying when you spill a $4 cup from Starbucks–then you’re annoying and out $4.
The cup of youthful sex is filled with peach schnapps or Boones Farm. Lots of people drink it when they’re younger, and never really get over the experience. Their stomachs still curdle at the memories.
The cup of mature sex is bourbon, in a highball glass—sometimes it makes you laugh, sometimes it makes you loud, and sometimes it makes you sleep when you’re done emptying it.
We also have the cup of love, which for me would be filled with hot chocolate—it’s warm, sweet and makes you feel happy and full inside. It also helps you sleep at night.
Everybody has a cabinet full of cups, and at one point or another, they all runneth over. When it happens, choose wisely who you spill the contents on—friends don’t mind a little beer every now and then, people will laugh and grab you into a giddy hug when you spill your champagne, and most folks will be okay when your hot chocolate runneth over, because even your residual chocolate tastes good when they suck it out of their favorite shirt.
Cheers!
Subourbon Mom 