Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor, Parenting, Posts, Sports | Tags: adulthood, apps, condoms, football, hormones, humor, libraries, Marriage, Middle-Age, mom, NFL, parenting, sex, sports, subourbonmom, teenagers, teens, WiFi
As promised last week, here are a few inventions I would like to patent but never will, because I am lazy, can’t do math or chemistry, and don’t want librarians or activists to hunt me down. Football coaches, I’ve seen your physiques–good luck catching me.
1. Condoms with the words “What Would Jesus Do?” printed on them. It’s the perfect compromise, people—pro-choice, and yet discouraging at the same time. For the non-Christians among us, substitute whatever deity you believe in. For atheists and religions that don’t worry so much about sex as much as Christians do, change it to “Do you like changing diapers?” If you are more worried about disease than pregnancy, or if you work for the CDC, change it to, “Do you have your $50 co-pay ready?”
Puke Pourri:
Spritz our smelly stuff about,
And the puke smell’s gone
By the time you check out!
2. A spray that makes library books stop smelling like vomit. Daughter #2 always asks me, “When we can go to Barnes & Noble?,” (we are not electronic readers) and I always reply that the library books are free, so we should go there instead. “Not thanks,” is her reply. When I asked her why she never wanted to go to the library, Daughter #2 said, “They always smell like throw-up.” So of course, I went to the library and amused myself (and others I’m sure) by smelling lots of books in the children and teen sections. You know what? She was right. They do smell like vomit. So, in the same spirit as the incredibly wonderful Poo-Pourri spray (sold at Hallmark–thanks Debra!) that eliminates poo odors in the bathroom, I would invent “Puke-Pourri” spray, conveniently sold at all libraries. It could even be a fundraiser for our national libraries!
3. A remote, phone-specific disconnection timer app that would disconnect certain phones in my house from the WiFi for certain periods of time during the day, like 7:00-8:00am, and during scheduled homework times. This would make getting out the door in the mornings with teenagers easier, and the process of getting homework done much faster. This app would be controlled by specific phones (mine), so the teenagers could not turn it off. I Googled it–so far all I saw was a list of sites complaining about phones disconnecting all by themselves…
4. The hormone alert wristband. If only humans were as straight-forward as cats when they want to have sex. When a cat is in heat, she will meow incessantly, sending out her mating call for all the tomcats in the area to hear (It’s only finny if it’s not your cat). If only men and women could send out signals like that in a bar, or, even better, after a decade or three of marriage. The hormone alert wristband can be made for both men and women. The woman’s band would determine estrogen and progesterone fluctuations, alerting her partner that her emotions might be running high, or that her estrogen levels are low, so trying any hanky-panky is most likely futile (unless you want to keep pestering for some pity sex, in which case I say good luck to you–keep trying and you might draw back a bloody stump). The men’s wristband would detect testosterone levels, alerting his companion to the fact that he is more likely to be aggressive; and it would detect vasopressin levels which, according to a Men’s Health article (http://www.menshealth.com/mhlists/understanding_sex_and_the_brain/printer.ph), are involved in regulating sexual persistence, assertiveness, dominance, and territorial marking. High vasopressin levels could alert his partner to the increased likelihood that the man will want sex, or might be inclined to wander. Either way, if a woman’s estrogen levels are low at the same time, put the basketball game on–he won’t bother you or anyone else.
Photo courtesy of ajc.com
6. An NFL coach that teaches players how to tackle.
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: Misc. Humor, Posts, Sports | Tags: fantasy football, football, grieving, humor, NFL, Redskins, south, southern, sports, tailgate, television
I’m a Redskin Fan, and have been since I was barely a two-glasses-of-bourbon suggestion one night. That makes me an eternal optimist (what fan of a losing team isn’t?).
We’ve had our moments in the sun–who could forget John Riggins calling Sandra Day O’Connor ‘Sandy Baby?’ Or watching the super-fan in the stands waving his tomahawk and head dress in a touchdown celebration? Or laughing as the Hogettes paraded through the parking lots in dresses and pig noses? Or watching Gus Ferotte slam himself into the end zone and give himself a concussion? Ah…the Glory Days!
The Hogettes, photo courtesy of ESPN.com
For years, these types of things were the highlights of my Sunday afternoons. We spent hours agonizing over bad calls, yelling at the television, and listening to the scratchy sounds of Sonny and Sam slur their way through the broadcasts. Beers were drunk and spaghetti was gobbled off of t.v. trays.
When the Redskins won, we viewed our entire week through burgundy and gold colored glasses, riding around with flags on our cars, and wearing our Redskins hats, sweatshirts and jerseys everywhere. When the Skins lost, we listlessly slogged our way through work and school until the next possibility of glory…six long days away.
Now, there is no week of second-hand glory.
There is no mourning period.
We are no longer allowed to grieve–and this is going to do damage to the football fan psyche.
In 1970, Pete Rozelle wanted to have a football game broadcasted on a weeknight, in an effort to create more exposure and popularity for the newly-merged NFL. ABC was the only taker. Forty years later, Pete Rozelle should be thrilled–we have football on Thursday nights, all day Sunday, Monday nights, and sometimes on Saturdays. For some, this is like scoring a touchdown on 4th and 1 in OT.
But I miss the grieving process.
I’m a football junkie. I’ve played different versions of fantasy football for years. I even love the idea of the NFL Sunday Ticket, especially since I lived overseas for a while—it was the only way I could watch my team. And football is better than melatonin for putting me to sleep on the couch three nights a week.
But by the time I’ve finished watching Monday night’s game, I have to turn around on Tuesday and start figuring out who I’m starting where in my Fantasy pool. I have to look at all of the games coming up, read the injury reports, and determine which games are important enough for me to watch. With only three days between weeks, time is of the essence. The pressure is more intense.
But more importantly, what’s going through my head when we lose, especially when we lose HUGE, like we did against Philly, never gets dealt with (puh—leeeease…the only thing worse would have been to lose like that against Dallas!).
These days, when the Redskins lose, there are only three days to let the anger I have at my own daily life safely filter into the venting I do about my team. There used to be six.
Monday through Wednesday, I rage at the Redskins and how much I hate Michael Vick, and argue that Tony Romo is a less than mediocre quarterback—and no one realizes how close to the edge I am, or how angry I got at something someone said or did to me. But if something sets me off on Thursday, everybody better just step off. On Thursdays, I’ve been forced to start thinking about the next set of games instead of working through the last ones. I have no safety valve to let off steam since I’ve been forced to move on—so I start taking it out on real people, like Hubby (see https://subourbonmom.wordpress.com/2013/08/19/fishing-frenzy/).
Just imagine how high the crime rate would be if everybody was like me, and needed the grieving process of the non-football days like I do. Thankfully, most people seem to have other outlets for their frustrations.
Like sexting, getting caught, and doing it some more, all the while running for Mayor of New York.
Or something like that.
So please, Mr. Goodell, please let us grieve. Give us our Thursday nights back. The world might be a safer place.
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!
Filed under: Misc. Humor, Parenting, Posts | Tags: adulthood, body language, communication, email, family, humor, kids, parenting, south, southern, subourbonmom, technology, television, texting
I recently read a book for my job entitled Brain Rules for Baby by John Medina. (Like my kids, I have waited until the last minute read it, and now I’m wishing I had some Cliff’s Notes.)
In this book there was a chapter on the use of electronics by young children–according to research, children spend years learning body language and facial cues, some of which happen in milliseconds–so fast we aren’t even aware that we show them. For example, the subtle straightening of my mother’s shoulders and slight narrowing of her eyes were tiny clues, a shot over the bow before the non-verbal onslaught began; her pursed lips meant she was really annoyed, and I would be dealt with later. As I got older, I got better at seeing the first body language volleys before we ever got to the pursed lips—it saved a lot of verbal effort for both of us.
One day, there was enough silent tension in the room between me and mother that my brother asked his wife what was going on. She whispered, “Can’t you tell? They’re fighting!”
Reading body language and facial cues was extremely important for our survival as a species. If a person could not read the body language of an enemy or angry tribe member, they had a high likelihood of dying (see pursed lips above).
There are also body language cues that indicate when a potential mate is interested (or not). When the guy in a bar doesn’t know that we are interested when we play with our hair, lean in close and bite our lower lips, he’s going to go home feeling a little…blue. If people had not learned how to read those cues, we would have died off as a species millennia ago.
You can’t learn how to pick up a girl by watching The Bachelor.
The author goes on to say that children must learn these things from interaction with an actual person, not a video or CD.
Which brings me to texting, emails and tv.
I’m a fan.
I love texting and emails because as I’ve gotten older, I like people less and less. Texting and email enable me to simply ask for the information I need without engaging in actual conversation.
I love television for the same reason—I can lose myself in the storylines because I don’t have to respond to them in an involved way. The directors of the shows even help me out by going in for close-up shots when there is an emotion I need to pay particular attention to (HBO’s The Newsroom is great at this—thank you Aaron Sorkin).
Using technology to socialize is so much less tiring—and it’s making me lazier than those people who circle the gym parking lot to find a space (I mean, really? You’re going to the gym! Walk a little–consider it your warm-up).
I used to love sitting around, chatting with my friends, family, and anyone who would hang out. I loved drawing people out, hearing their stories, and offering advice (often unsolicited and even more often un-used). It’s often how I got ideas for my stories and books. There is a reason Southerners love front porches—we can talk and watch the world go by, and get to know you. It’s also why Southerners are so good at the backhanded compliments. We watch and learn what makes people tick by spending time with them, then jab them a silver, sugar-covered shrimp fork.
These days, I am usually in the car and in a hurry. I have resorted to texting and emailing in the name of efficiency, and talking in a very distracted way on the phone as I multi-task at home. And so, it seems, does everybody else.
I miss sitting on the porch, solving the world’s problems, or hearing about a friend’s concerns, and even mine. I miss the clink of ice in a glass as the conversation ebbs and flows. I miss the puzzle that is a friend’s face as they try to convey something that happened, or work out a problem. The subliminal cues are the best part—they are what let other people into our inner sanctum, even when we don’t mean for it to happen.
But, don’t worry, I’m not giving up my electronics. I want my Candy Crush fix as bad as the next person.
People still irritate me, and I love my tv shows, but I think I’ll try to make more of an effort to have some meaningful conversations once in a while, just to keep my ability to read people’s social cues up to snuff. You never know when you might need them to survive—I’ve got teenage daughters. If I ever needed to be able to read subliminal cues, it’s now (yes, girls, I can see your eye roll from here!).
Subourbon Mom 