Subourbon Mom


PSA – You Don’t Want Princess Leia Ears
October 22, 2019, 6:00 pm
Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor | Tags: , , , , ,

Like many middle-aged women I know,  I recently had to get yet another piece of my face removed because I used to lay out on the roof with tanning oil, sauteing myself for future meals made of  wrinkles and regrets.

This time, however, it was a basal-cell something or other, and not just a precursor to skin cancer.  And, since I’m vain and didn’t want my dermatologist to cut a Franstein-looking chunk out of my face in an effort that may or may not get it all, I opted for undergoing the MOH procedure. In the MOH procedure, the dermatologist/plastic surgeon numbs you up, cuts one layer at a time, bandages you, tests it to see if they got it all (this takes about 2 hours per slice), and repeats the process until they know it’s all gone.  This can potentially take all day.  It has something like a 99% removal success rate, and these surgeons also tend to leave less scarring.

The process for me was a one-shot deal – we didn’t have to repeat the excision, and it was pain-free. However, there were a couple of things I didn’t anticipate:

First, HOLY SHIT WAS IT EXPENSIVE!! Even with insurance…so investigate before you get your vanity on.

Second, I was the youngest person there by 30 years.  The only people my age were the ones helping out their parents for the day.  I felt like a toddler.

Third, it looked like a Leper colony had taken up residence in the waiting room. These folks didn’t just have a cute little bandage on the sides of their faces like I did.  The men had great, whopping bandages covering their ears, like old, weather-beaten Princess Leah drag queens.

tumblr_inline_nwhbsy2slF1td0hds_540.png.cf

And/or they had giant bandages over their noses and on top of their heads. It was like sitting in the aftermath of the best geriatric bar brawl ever. (I’d post pictures but HIPPA frowns on that, so I didn’t take any.  You can Google it, but it’s pretty gross.)

And finally, I had no idea what getting your face stitched up feels like.  For the record, it’s weird, and I felt like I looked like Heath Ledger’s Joker afterward (it actually looked pretty good).  Since mine was by my ear on my jawline, the internal stitches were deep and right by the jaw hinge.  As the doctor was tying the internal stitches, it didn’t hurt, but I could feel her tugging hard – MY WHOLE FACE MOVED.

I finally had to say something: “You know that’s my face you’re pulling on, right?”  She replied, “Yep. It’s the face lift you never wanted.” To which I said, “Well, just make sure it’s even.” Afterward, I has to ask:  “So is that my future sitting out there? I’m not a big Princess Leah fan.”

“Oh honey, no,” she said. “Those are the guys who’ve had a bump on their nose or scabs on their ears for years, and finally decided it’s not a cut or a bug bite.  or their wives finally made them come in. You come in every year, so you’ll be fine.”

You can imagine my relief…so consider this your Public Service Announcement: Go to your dermatologist, even if you think you don’t need to.  Chances are you won’t need to have this procedure done, but let’s face it – not everyone can look as beautiful as Ingrid Bergman with a face bandage.

A Woman's Face 1

 

 

 

 

 

 



I am NOT a Survivor – Sorry, Jeff

I don’t know what it is about Americans in particular, but we seem to like watching TV shows that make sporting events out of activities other people do in their daily life.  Off the top of my head, Survivor and American Ninja Warrior come to mind. American Ninja Warrior takes the obstacle courses military organizations used to use for training and makes it into a giant, high-tech jungle gym for middle-class gym rats.  Americans play Survivor on islands where people actually scratch out a living every day – not just for 40 days and then are flown back to their AC and Netflix.survivor

And I love both of those shows.

We still watch Survivor. I hate the people, and it makes me mad, but it’s a train wreck each season, and there’s been 38 seasons.  It seems I’m compelled to watch adults relive 8th grade by lying, backstabbing, deciding as a group who’s undesirable, and seeking revenge later on as an outsider.

I like Survivor because it has contestants that can do all the things I can’t in prolonged, difficult social situations. Here are 9 reasons why I would never win survivor:  

  1. Starting Fires: If I don’t have Fatwood from Plow and Hearth or a stack of old newspapers, I’m pretty useless.  (Voted Off – Day 2)
  2. Food-shut downs, or “The Hangry’s:” Based on people’s reactions to my food shut-downs, I’m pretty sure I would be voted off in the first three days. Apparently, I become unreasonable and just a bit bitchy. They would probably require my one item I could bring to be a Snickers. There is no way I would voluntarily eat sugar-free food (i.e. rice) for 40 days straight without being one of those contestants that gets all listless and weepy (Voted Off – Day 3).funfetti
  3. Hot flashes in the Jungle: I always feel superior as I watch these skeletal twenty-somethings running around wearing teeny-weeny bikinis in the heat and humidity of whatever island they’re dropped on. I dare them to try that with a muffin top while having hot flashes. (Voted Off – Day 4)
  4. Compete without injury: I’ve got bad shoulders, bad hips and I throw like a chimp. Not exactly your desired anchor man in most competitions. That said, you need some swimming done?  I’m your girl. (Voted Off – Day 6)
  5. Solve puzzles: Can’t. Never could. See this? slide puzzle I’ve never been able to do it.  Or this? Rubiks cubeI took those apart or smashed them, depending on my mood. I could proibably hide that deficit for a few days, but not the whole time. (Voted Off – Week 2)
  6. Sunburn: I have an appointment this month to get more pieces of my face taken off (again). I’m pretty sure living on an island for month without sunscreen would hammer that last nail in my peaches-and-cream coffin. (Voted Off – Week 2)
  7. Think logically when tired: Let me put it this way – people at work know not toracerback give me anything after 3:00pm because my brain is tired. I’m pretty sure logical, chess-like thinking is not going to be my strong-suit after being sleep and sugar deprived.  Also, I still can’t figure out how to put on one of those bra things that makes your straps into a racerback. (Voted Off – Week 3)
  8. Maintaining the Lies: One time in the airport I was looking disapprovingly at a girl with a tramp stamp and a thong hanging way above her pants as she tied her shoe; two men were staring at me and laughing at my expression, not even paying attention to the thong. Apparently, my face does not hide my feelings as well as I thought. (Voted Off – Pick Any Day I Look At People)
  9. Razors:  Seriously, people and after 40 days, people would run away from the Sasquatch that I have become.  And the guys who wax their chests on the show?  One of my favorite things ever is to watch it slowly grow back in on each episode. (Voted Off – Day 39)island hair

So sorry, Jeff Probst.  I’m only fodder for the first episode, where they winnow out the sick and old, like lions culling the weak water buffalo from the herd.  But American Ninja Warrior – that’s another story.  I’m going to get Hubby to build a Warp Wall so we can start practicing.



Outsourcing Your Body – Vendor Assessments
July 19, 2019, 5:30 pm
Filed under: Exercise, Middle Age, Misc. Humor, Sports | Tags: , , , ,

Most of them time, my brain and my body work together pretty seamlessly – but sometimes I wonder if that same body hasn’t become the worst third-party vendor ever. Especially in my 40’s.

I recently started horseback riding again – and by that, I mean flopping around on top of my daughter’s wonderful horse as I try to make muscle memory turn into actual muscle doing.

After hours and hours of watching her ride in lessons and horse shows, I have a pretty good mental idea of the mechanics of how it is done. And, I remember how to physically do some of it from when I used to ride as a kid – but now I have to outsource the job to my much older and out of shape body.  As a third-party vendor, my current body’s still the cheapest (and only) option, but the relationship has begun to take a turn for the worse.

So, I Googled how to improve vendor performance:

First, Measure Performance – I do this every day, and sometimes I surprise myself with how well I (and my outsourced body) are doing; other days, I’m horrified. Take sleeping, for example. I used to be able to read for an hour and sleep through the night.  Now I’m lucky if I can stay awake for two paragraphs and snore half the night. On the other hand, I can do sit-ups, push-ups and burpees, and like getting up at the crack of dawn because.

Measuring performance leads to:  Listen to Your Vendor“How often do you really have a two-way conversation with your vendors about their issues and the support they need to do a better job for you?  Ok, so I just expect my body, er, vendor, to do what it was hired to do…but when my expectations are too high, or my body hasn’t had time to prepare (i.e. horseback riding), it does still try to find ways to meet my needs. The result – I rode for 20 minutes without falling off, but I couldn’t walk the next day.  Perhaps my outsourced body would tell me that it needs more time in the gym, less bourbon and maybe a vitamin on occasion.

Establish a Service Level Agreement – There was never an agreement, although it appears that as I age, my body is beginning to make the rules around what is happening, instead of me.

Vendor: You’re going riding again? Fine, I’ll do it, but you don’t get to walk anywhere for two days.

Me: I think we need to revisit our agreement. I’m supposed to be in charge.

Vendor:  I just made you pee a little.

Me:  That’s not funny.

Vendor: That’s just the beginning. Go ahead – eat that crabmeat again – I dare you.

Establish Routines and Be Predictable“It is much easier for vendors to better supply you when your ordering is predictable and consistent. Um, yeah, because life works like that. If I could be predictable, I would, but the best things in life usually aren’t in your routine…and if there’s a vendor cost for that, so be it. The 20-minute ride was worth it.

outsource1



College Orientation – You Had the Power All Along, My Dear

We recently attended college orientation for Daughter #2 at a large university, and to be honest, I was lucky it ended up on my calendar. Not because I don’t care but because, like everything with the not-the-first-kid, you are just a little more relaxed about it. Added to that, it’s very disconcerting to suddenly not have access to every detail of your child’s schedule after being in charge of it for eighteen years. I had to text her the night before and ask if there were any parking passes we had to print out, what the address was, or if there was anything else that needed to be done ahead of time – shockingly, there wasn’t. Daughter #2, like her older sister, had it all under control.

64b61db3848356d53155feb18883516e--photography-ideas-children-photography-poses

I like to think it was good parenting that made it happen, but I’m pretty sure it had more to do with me accidentally leaving them at restaurants or school, trying and failing to explain simple math, and letting them believe that many of the phrases I use are common phrases until their friends asked what they meant. I was clearly not to be trusted (I never understood algebra and I said “Fooped” instead of “Sharted” because I didn’t want them implying the word Shit…it sounds stupid now, but it made sense when I was tired and they were little).

The orientation started with the usual official school cheer, and we stood and made arm motions over our heads and yelled the appropriate things, like a bunch of sadly sober, not-quite-caffeinated-Village People.

At Daughter #1’s orientation, I paid close attention to Dean Somethingaboutliberalartsandgraduatinginfouryears, and Associate Dean of WhatdidshesayIhavetopee.  The second time around? Nope. I was busy feeling superior and counting blonds vs. brunettes in each row to pass the time.

And then they took our sweet babies to meet with their advisors, or hang out with the cultish, singing and dancing university groupies to get them acclimated to campus life. Some parents looked scared and bereft.

18CIRCANOW-facebookJumbo

Others looked around like plane passengers do when they’re trying to decide who would be worth having aboard if there was a crash on a tiny Pacific island. There were a few that I would not have trusted with the exit aisle…just sayin’.

The Deans of Random Departments spoke about how great the school is (yeah, the choir knows – our kids applied and we are writing a substantial check for them to go here – we get it), followed by lunch in the Dining Hall. That hasn’t changed, except that we never got to pick from a pizza bar, Mexican, a grill menu, a vegan menu, and a Chinese buffet. My school had one of those things as a theme, and God help you if you didn’t like flat burgers.  I spent many a dinner standing at the cereal bar, picking the stupid strawberry things out of Captain Crunch because…seriously, who orders Crunchberries instead of plain Captain Crunch?

The parents’ Resource Fair was okay, but the table I really wanted to see would have been called “Crap You Still Have to Buy.” Since we don’t find out until August what dorm Daughter #2 is in, I’ve already decided I’m going to buy every variety of drawers and basket in Target and start playing Tetris as soon as we get there.

And finally, there was a speech by the Mental Health Professional on how our roles as parents and children transition when they go to school, what to say and not to say, and things to watch out for. For that one, I put down my Candy Crush game (sadly, I’m on level 800-and-something) and paid attention. It never hurts to hear how this momentous change is affecting your baby, and what you need to do to make the transition easier.

sub-buzz-16021-1491256289-1.png

I made notes about what local delivery services were available (every college town should have Insomnia Cookies) to send things on bad days. I felt guilty about not writing more letters to Daughter #1, but realized that probably wasn’t going to get any better for Daughter #2, so then I felt extra guilty – I suck as a parent for not doing that for the first one, and suck even more for knowing I probably won’t do it this time, either.

I was nervous and scared for my baby, until I remembered that I’d already had my chance to be an attentive mom…and I was. Aside from accidentally leaving them at restaurants or sports events (I swear, it was a mis-communication…OMG let it go!) and swearing a lot, I know I must have done something right because they’re ready. They are strong, independent young women, ready to try new things, accept new challenges, and let me know, “I got this, Mom.”

futiz1ztfvzxqyfbtvrr

 

 

 

 

 

 



Spam for Middle-Aged Women
March 6, 2019, 6:31 pm
Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor | Tags: , , , , , , ,

One of the things I do every day that brings me great joy is to look at the spam that comes into my email.  According to the non-retail emails that get filtered (thank you, awesome security keep-that-crap-off-my-computer software) I am a middle-aged man who:

  • is very helpful and willing to take lots of sketchy, unidentified meetings;
  • is very, very lonely;
  • is very, very horny;
  • is bisexual;
  • but can’t get it up;
  • has hard muscles;
  • is confident (according to my eyes);
  • likes red wine; and,
  • is dumb enough to go meet someone randomly with the promise of “good sex now.”

 

My favorites are the ones where the English is a bit…iffy:

“One doze is enough even for 60-years-old…”

“Your girl will really need a lotion!”

“With our pilules (that’s how it was spelled) you will have more energy”

“Perhaps you will come into a rage, but…”

 

And my personal fave: “Oh, it seems I’m ready to be yours today.”

Really?  It seems you’re ready?  That just sounds like you’re surprised that you would be attracted to me.  You also don’t seem to be in control of your body, as if your body has just let you in on a little secret. I can’t imagine going up to some guy in a bar and whispering in his ear, “It seems I’m ready to be yours today,” like I was hanging about, preparing myself for the day I’d finally meet him.  (Oh, I’d still get laid, because it would be said to a guy, but the slightly puzzled, matter-of-fact delivery just makes me giggle.)

Listen spammers, if you really want a middle-aged mom to open your emails, use phrases like this:

“I’ll just lay here and let you read until you fall asleep.”

“I’m the guy who’ll load the dishwasher.”

“Teenagers – WTF?”

“Mom, I’m sorry but they made me do it…”

“Cute dog pictures.”

“Free coffee.”

“Free wine.”

“You’re right – I’m sorry.”

“Outlander is coming to [YOUR TOWN HERE].”

“Huge Costco sale is on!”

thewayspamthink

 

 




Just 4 My Books

My own curious world about books and writing

1XPAD.COM

WHERE EVERY POST IS THE LAST POST

SKYLARITY

Paradigm Shift, Mindfulness, and Personal Empowerment

Love Exploring Scotland

Explore Scotland through my photos and experiences. She's a beauty!

Drinking Tips for Teens

Creative humour, satire and other bad ideas by Ross Murray, an author living in the Eastern Townships of Quebec, Canada. Is it truth or fiction? Only his hairdresser knows for sure.

Today's Author

Fostering a community of creative writers through articles, comments, writing prompts and a healthy, supportive environment.

Subourbon Mom

Life is like bourbon: sometimes strong, sometimes sweet, sometimes it makes you tired!

Energy Writer

A passion for writing and energy healing.

The Byronic Man

We can rebuild him. We have the technology... Drier. Hilariouser. More satirical than before.

Leila Gaskin

I Write. I Learn. I Dream. I Live.

Skinny Dipping

Life is like bourbon: sometimes strong, sometimes sweet, sometimes it makes you tired!

Enter The Laughter

Life is like bourbon: sometimes strong, sometimes sweet, sometimes it makes you tired!

Snoozing on the Sofa

Fatherhood's Finest Hour

I've become my parents

Things my son needs to know before he grows up to be just like me.

Ned's Blog

Humor at the Speed of Life

%d bloggers like this: