Filed under: Exercise, Misc. Humor, Sports | Tags: clothing, Exercise, fashion, fear, health, smell, sports, underwear, working out
Warning – this one is completely tasteless….read at your own risk…
I recently had a lengthy debate with some girlfriends over whether women should “vent the furnace” or wear underwear at night.
For those who said yes, that sleeping without underwear was their preference, the most common reason was because a long time ago, their mothers had said it was healthier. My mom never said that, so I’m perfectly happy to be wrapped up like a Puritan every night. Maybe the fact that I’m not going “nonederwear” explains why I have so many hot flashes at night – all that heat must have to go somewhere.
But apparently the idea that it is healthier to go without underwear is the same for whether or not people wear underwear with their exercise shorts that have the lining in them. It seems that I am the only person in the universe that doesn’t go spongebob nudiepants at the gym. But I have reasons:
- I’ve seen the sweat puddles in the exercise machine seats, and I don’t care how many wipes you use, once you see it you can’t get it out of your mind. I don’t want my stuff lathered up in someone else’s body butter.
- Men should double bag because no one wants to see the mouse get out of the house when it’s time to stretch. Women should do the same thing, because, let’s face it, sometimes a little landscaping might be amiss, and nobody wants that distraction either.
- And finally, I have a (completely unfounded) fear of Cooter Stank. I’m not the only one – have you seen the multitudes of products out there to prevent it? And, weirdly, I’m not worried about it the rest of the time – I only freak out about it at the gym. Even that doesn’t make sense because, let’s face it, morning workouts in the gym can be overwhelming to the olfactory senses. Every day in the gym, no matter which gym you go to, it seems like there’s Man Who Ate Garlic Last Night, The Coffee Breather, and Please Use Deodorant As A Courtesy To The Rest Of Us Guy.
So, here’s an actual conversation in our house about wearing underwear under your shorts at the gym:
D1: “Mom, you wear underwear to the gym?”
Me: “Yep.”
D1: “Why?”
Me: “I’m afraid it will smell.”
D1: “What will?”
Me: “The Cooter.”
D1: “Wait…what? Who calls it that?”
Me: “Me.”
D1: “I know somebody who has an ‘I Love Cooter’ magnet on their fridge.”
Me: “You know that’s a political magnet, right?”
D1: (Eye Roll) “Yes, I know, Mom. I get the joke. But seriously, you know everybody in the gym smells bad, right?”
Me: “I know, I just can’t help it.”
D1: “You’re weird.”
Me: (In my head – “You’re half me…” – secret smile)
Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor, Posts, Travel | Tags: dermatologist, health, silence of the lambs, skin, sunburn
Today I went to the dermatologist for my annual visit, which always makes me temporarily look like I fell headfirst into a vat of liquid herpes virus. Blisters are on my forehead, nose and cheeks from where she froze a bunch of questionable freckles and moles. I also requested to have a skin tag removed so I don’t have a weird, skinny pinky growing out of my neck – but when she froze it off, it blistered, and now it looks like a I have an abnormally small third nipple growing there instead.
One of the things that is supposed to separate us from the animals is our ability to postpone gratification. We can wait to eat that chocolate bar in the bin at the grocery store checkout when we know there’s a huge anniversary steak waiting for us at Ruth’s Chris. The flip side of that is our ability to understand that not all consequences are immediate. The fact that you hung your little brother in the closet all afternoon by the back of his shirt may not have incurred parental wrath until Dad got home. Then the beatings would begin.
Sun damage is the same. When I forgot to flip over as I basted my teenage self, there wasn’t any immediate regret, just the tingle of a mild sunburn or the occasional blister. Aaaah, but the punishment has begun. These days, I can see lines that are soon going to make me look like a dried-up prune, or one of those muppets in the movie Labyrinth.
The movie Something About Mary also comes to mind – and not the Cameron Diaz character. 
I’m pretty sure that Botox won’t help either – making my face immobile might take away the lines, but it will also make it impossible for anyone to know if I’m being sarcastic or just super bitchy.
My skin may look 20 years older than I am, but there’s always a silver lining: I don’t have to worry about Hannibal Lecter or Buffalo Bill anymore (Silence of the Lambs). I think my skin has finally started turning into leather while I’m still wearing it. It’s not quite saddle or boot material, and no amount of lotion is going to make it into a good skin suit (don’t ever Google that – trust me).
So that’s my Public Service Announcement – wear your sunblock and your 100 SPF t-shirts, and please, please, please go see your dermatologist regularly. Not being afraid of Hannibal Lecter and Buffalo Bill is a silver lining, but don’t put yourself in a position where you have to look for one.
Filed under: Exercise, Posts | Tags: 10k, Exercise, fun, marathon, monument, race, Running, sports, sportsbackers
- In all of your race pics (at a purchase price of a mere $18 each), there’s no thrill of victory or agony of defeat – you just look irritated, like your headband is too tight.
- You get super-annoyed and embarrassed when the guy running in the inflatable T-Rex outfit passes you – and yet you just can’t muster up the energy to try and catch him. Grandmas doing that weird run/walk thing also pass you…you know the ones – their upper bodies look like they are running, but their legs are just walking.
- You pour water on your face so you look sweaty just before you run past your gym’s sponsor tent, then walk the rest of the way.
- Every hill feels like Mount Everest, and nothing like level 10 on the tread mill.
- You consider stopping to see if the nice first aid people need any help in their pretty red tents; then you find the port-o-john with the longest line and stand in it.
- You don’t care at all what your race time is – you’re just happy you finished without needing a trip to the orthopedist and a bottle of Aleve.
- You own the cool Bluetooth headset but still carry your phone in its ridiculous mom-phone case.
- You seriously consider taking one of the beers those college kids in the togas are handing out, but you know it will end in guilt, a handful of Tums and maybe vomiting stealthily on T-Rex guy’s shoes from behind.
- Your special running socks don’t do shit – your hips, legs, and even your size-A boobs hurt after mile one. People who actually achieve nipple chafing seem like they’re another species.
- …and yet you sign up repeatedly for “races” with misplaced optimism:
- “I know I can do more than one mile this year…”
- “This year the weather will be warmer/cooler/sunnier/cloudier so I’ll do better…”
- “Wait…you put me in which flight?”
- “I’ll just start running with you guys and walk when I need to…”
- “Next year I’m going to start training earlier…and dress up as a Velociraptor.”
Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor, Parenting | Tags: adulthood, adulting, Facebook, friends, friendship, guilt, Middle-Age, relationships, social media
I’m tired of FaceBook making me feel like a crappy parent, an uninvolved citizen, an un-inspiring adult, and someone who is only marginally good at weird visual puzzles. Mostly, I’m tired of feeling guilty about things I didn’t realize I’m supposed to be doing to be a good person, according to the Facebook Junkies.
Brace yourselves – I realize I’m probably going to offend some of you – but I’ve never been accused of holding back or using much of a filter, so here comes the hurricane…
First, stop with the chain posts – Share this with 10 people who need a hug today. If you send me one of those, consider it dead when it reaches my page. Adding a task to my already overloaded shit-I-have-to-do-today list does not make me feel more loved. I need an administrative assistant, not a FaceBook hug.
I also need a break from all those pseudo-inspirational messages like, Who did you inspire today? Or, my personal non-favorite, How are you bringing your AMAZING to work today? Seriously? How about “Congratulations! You didn’t punch that person in the throat today!” Or maybe, “Hang in there – they can’t all be that stupid.” Or, if you don’t like the heavy sarcasm, how about “Try to be nice to people today – yep, even them.”
But the ones that REALLY get me are the posts that say something like Share this if you have an amazing son/daughter. Wow – those are annoying on so many levels.
First, I’m pretty sure my kids know I think they’re amazing. If you don’t, D1 and D2, please be confident that I’m well aware that you both are already better people than I am, that you inspire me every day, and that I brag about you to the people that matter. When I criticize you, it doesn’t mean I think you’re stupid – it means I’m trying to protect you, and enable you to function as a kind adult in an unkind world.
Second, if I were a person struggling to conceive, or who’s child had passed away, I can only imagine that it would break my heart a little every time one of those little brag posts popped up.
And finally, I noticed there are precious few posts in the same vein saying, Share if you have an amazing husband/wife/partner/grandparent/parent. Hmmmmm….what does that say about us?
The Share this if you love your son/daughter/grandchild posts are almost as bad. So are you saying that if I don’t share it I don’t love my kid? Seriously? I would be more irritated with this one if I thought a lot of kids were actually on FaceBook and fretting that their parents didn’t love them since they didn’t share that post. But, since most of them are on every platform other than FaceBook, maybe these aren’t so bad – just mildly guilt-inducing for us dinosaurs who don’t speak in pictures and acronyms.
So, like many of my friends have from time to time, I’m going to take a break from FaceBook. My blog posts will still appear because they automatically push to it, so don’t worry – you’ll still get your doses of Subourbonmom wit. Of course, it will help my chances of getting them published in a an actual book if you follow the blog by signing up to receive it via email. (Okay, that’s my very rare marketing plug.)
And don’t worry, Family, I’ll still be stalking you on Instagram and SnapChat, and yes, I know y’all have Finstas and other places where I’m the subject of many a meme. Have at it – the fact that you’re posting anything about me means I’m making an impact on your life.
Share this if you love sharing FaceBook rants.
Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor | Tags: adulthood, adulting, attitude, bullying, clothing, dating, fashion, friends, friendship, Middle-Age, relationships, women, women's health
I’d rather be hit on by a woman than by a man.
Let’s face it – a lot of women, when it comes to the fashion choices of their peers, are judgy sometimes downright bitchy.
Yep, I went there.
Maybe men are too – I just don’t know enough about that species, even after living with one for decades, to make that call. (I have my suspicions, but I figure this post will irritate enough people in one go.)
You can go ahead and get uncomfortable and deny that you and your friends are like that, and that it’s a sexist thing to say. But I’ll bet you’re denying it while wearing some kind of socially acceptable clothing that isn’t made strictly for comfort. If you’re naked or wearing a onsie, I apologize for lumping you into this ridiculous generalization and salute you.
Now, if you’re out hunting in your local bar and your Cha Cha is hanging out there for all to see, then by all means, get those kudos from the guys – you probably don’t give a crap what other women are thinking anyway. Fist bump for setting a goal and going after it.
But let’s be honest – most of you have been out with your friends at one time or another and some girl walked by looking slutty, overdressed, underdressed, dressed too young/too old or just too different. Take your pick. And, someone in your group shook her head, pursed her lips, and said something mean about that girl behind her hand. If you’re in the South, she might even say something backhanded, like, “It must be nice to have enough confidence to go without a bra after nursing four kids.” So yeah, mean and bitchy. (I have no doubt there are men who do this too, and women who don’t – but if I talked about them, this wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.)
Don’t get me wrong, I like having men hit on me, too. It’s good to know that if all the rules in the world, my ethics and my love for Hubby were different, I could get a piece of that – it’s a powerful feeling. And having Hubby hit on me after 25 years of marriage is super-gratifying – I mean the man has seen me throwing up and giving birth to two kids. There’s not a lot of glamour left. Having a woman hit on me simply carries a different kind of weight – the same way someone telling you your dog is cute at the dog park might not be as satisfying as having an American Kennel Club judge tell you your dog could win the next championship. There’s a level of knowledge that makes the compliment mean more.
Sooo… another woman is going to get what went in to making all this awesomeness happen:
- the hair products to make your locks smooth/curly/shiny/smelling good and every color of the hair rainbow
- the blow-drying/straightening/curling so it looks like you didn’t blow dry/straighten/curl it
- the makeup that’s just the right amount so it hides your flaws but doesn’t make you look like a ’ho
- the clothes that say you’re not on the pole, but that still show off all the good parts (which by the way, aren’t necessarily the same for men and women)
- the lengths you go through to not show panty lines – which leads to:
- no underwear at all, a la Britney Spears back in the day (Millennials, think Kim Kardashian);
- an uncomfortable thong that shows off all the cellulite; or
- Spanx, which pushes all the fat into one place and looks like your grandma’s undies
My guess is most men don’t really want to know how we Goddesses of Love and Lycra got this way. I love bologna, but I don’t want to know what it’s made of or how it got into those perfect, round slices of deliciousness. That’s what dating is for – to get beyond the packaging and, if you’re in your 40’s and lucky, the ingredients will be better than what’s in bologna.
Sadly, women don’t often openly and positively comment on other women, especially ones they don’t know. Shame on us. And, more often than not, it seems to me that women dress for other women, not for men – and it’s because we’re scared.
So the next time you’re out, no matter who you’re with or whether you know the person or not, send a genuine compliment out there – we are most critical of ourselves, and you never know what kind of day or week someone has had. Putting on a clean shirt or a bra may have been the best they could do that day. Saying “Hey, I like your shirt” or “Your hair looks good today,” or even better, “I think you’re funny/kind/smart,” may make someone’s day in a way you never expected.
Subourbon Mom 