Filed under: Misc. Humor | Tags: adulthood, computers, humor, Karma, kharma, laptops, Middle-Age, office, office etiquette, subourbonmom, Surface Pro, T-Rex, technology
My kids should be so proud of me. In my new-ish job, I’ve learned lots of things, including how to design a marketing trade show banner, conference call, video chat, and edit a website. I also recently learned that there is such a thing as office Karma.
As our company has prospered and our technology needs have grown, our computers have gotten progressively smaller – so small in fact, that I commented to my boss (because I clearly have no filter) that he looks like a court stenographer when he’s sitting there, hunched over his laptop. He has to squeeze his arms together so his hands can fit onto the tiny keyboard.
My observation was politely ignored.
Naturally, I was due for some Karma after that comment. In fact, I’m probably due for heaps and heaps of steaming, putrescent office karma thanks to my verbal diarrhea and 12-year-old sense of humor (apparently not everyone thinks poop jokes are funny ALL of the time).
So my old computer finally started to die on me, first by thinking for really long periods of time about how to find a website (for the record it was actually work-related, and had nothing to do with the “Listen Linda” YouTube video). My boss was kind enough to approve the new Surface Pro laptop for me, too.
Don’t get me wrong – the Surface Pro is really cool, and has a lot going for it, especially after I lugged my old laptop around a tech conference for 4 days. This thing is like carrying a tiny, literary magazine around – it’s small but self-important. And I’m well aware of how cool it is that my work was deemed worthy enough to get one – so thank you, Workplace. But of course I can’t just let it go at that.
The Surface Pro, which is slightly larger than the iPhone 6 Plus (a.k.a. the “ear pad”), is incredibly portable and weighs as much as a People Magazine.
And it was clearly made by and for pubescent boys. Here’s why:
- You can make the font/text bigger on the screen, but only in a distorted way, and certainly not big enough to compensate for my CVS 2.0 reading glasses. No one over the age of 40 can see what they’re doing.
- It will fit in my purse (not that I would EVER be so careless as to do that, Office/Security Manager) – not a great place since my purse houses pharmaceuticals, lotions and liquid soap. But it’s tempting.
- The keyboard is tiny – you have to place it on a table with your hands so close together to type that you look like a T-Rex, or a raccoon washing its food. For men with broad shoulders it must be awkward. For women, it squishes the girls like you wouldn’t believe – and my girls are, shall we say…petite. My heart goes out to my more endowed co-workers. In fact, here’s my million dollar idea – the Surface Pro could double as a mammogram. It would be a daily check– how awesome is that? What a way to save on healthcare costs!
That said, I know in light of everything in the news this week these are clearly first-world problems. Every now and then I have to remind myself that I now live in a world where computers fit in your purse, and we have isolated cancer genes – I was still using a typewriter when I went to college, and nobody talked about cancer – EVER. Hopefully, smarter folks than me will use these magic devices for good, and overcome some of the obstacles we have in this world that keep us from being the excellent species we have the potential to be.
Bless our hearts.
Filed under: Posts | Tags: adulthood, business, business etiquette, business travel, conferences, Exercise, gym, hotels, humor, office etiquette, seminars, sports, subourbonmom, travel
- Guys, don’t try and join the few women who actually attended the conference in the one section of comfy chairs we claimed as our own, and then ask whether sending flowers to your angry girlfriend is the correct course of action. Here’s why:
- We obviously want some girl time in a male-dominated environment;
- Your creepy designer jeans and big gold chain scream out, “I’m trying to hook up while I’m out of town” and troll in the Holiday Inn Lounge on a Tuesday night; and
- You clearly suck as a boyfriend, so why would we be interested anyway? (And by the way, creepy-guy-who-did-that, texting you’re sorry to your “girlfriend” doesn’t cut it either.)
- We obviously want some girl time in a male-dominated environment;
- The GYM, Part 1: When you go to the gym, remember that you’ll be seeing half those people again while you’re sitting in a lecture—that awesome pilates move where you throw your legs over your head? They’re going to remember that and look at you funny later.
- The GYM, Part 2: Wear yoga or sweat pants—and I mean everyone—I don’t want to see your junk hanging out of your swishy running shorts, Dude-on-the-Treadmill. I have to look at you later, too.
- Ask at the desk if there will be a karaoke night while you’re there—then make sure your room is not directly above the caterwauling.
- Make sure “just a couple of blocks” means the same thing in the conference city as it does in yours.
- Ask the questions you think are too dumb to say out loud—chances are, you’re not the only one who feels that way or wants to know.
- You can tell the level of confidence the conference sponsors have in their speakers by how cold they’ve set the room temperatures: cold = snoozeville.
- Bring a travel mug—the tiny little dollhouse cups they provide hold exactly three swallows of coffee, and after sitting in a conference room the same temperature as, say, Boston this week, you need something warm with you at all times.
- Sometimes that $14 bourbon from the hotel bar (on my personal card and after classes were done, Mr. CFO) is worth it.
- It’s not cool to go back to work in the dead of winter with a tan on your face and arms–some people find that irritating.
Filed under: Misc. Humor, Posts, Travel | Tags: adulthood, air travel, airlines, airplanes, airport security, airports, Bathrooms, flying, humor, security, subourbonmom, travel
The day President Obama announced he was officially asking Congress for permission to actively combat ISIS, I was flying home from a work conference. The plane during the flight from Charlotte to home was one of those old, outsourced planes from Canada, or maybe some company called Metal-Tube-in-the-Sky Airline. There were two rows of seats (and those felt like the old plastic covered couches in Grandma’s house) with a very narrow aisle.
About halfway through the flight, the flight attendant came on the loud speaker and said, “Please do not form a line by the bathrooms. It is a security breach.”
A few of us glanced at each other and shrugged. There was some rustling, and I assumed people were returning to their seats. A couple of minutes later, the flight attendant spoke again, this time more urgently:
“It is a breach of security for passengers to congregate by the bathrooms. Please wait until there is no one in line before you come back to use the restrooms.”
Incredulous looks passed around the cabin. Security breach? At the bathrooms?
Here are a few of the thoughts that crossed my mind while I tried to decide how long I should wait before heading back there:
First of all, I’m pretty sure folks weren’t “congregating” around the airplane bathroom, just chatting each other up—after all, it’s not a bar.
Second, what happened to make someone think congregating by the plane’s bathroom could create a security situation so dire it must be forbidden? Have the FAA and Homeland Security folks ever used the bathroom on a modern plane? There’s barely room to get your pants down, much less withdraw a weapon; and, even if you did manage to extract some kind of weapon in the bathroom, having a line of people waiting outside would only hinder what you were trying to do.
If I were to have some kind of concealed weapon, I wouldn’t be getting it ready it at the back of the plane, far away from the two most important people on the plane, the pilot and co-pilot. There’s not much sense in drawing a gun, knife or explosive device and then having to charge down the aisle, tripping over someone’s feet the whole way.
If we follow the logic of the danger of congregating outside crowded bathroom areas to its logical conclusion, we would have to question every line at every sports and concert event ever. Good luck dispersing the six-pack-in throng around the port-a-pods at a Jimmy Buffet concert.
Perhaps someone at the FAA has gone back to the basics of physics—maybe they are worried that if you have enough people standing at the back of the plane, it could simply fall out of the sky. If you’ve ever flown on a tiny plane, you’ve been made aware of weight distribution. They put the luggage in the back, and people in the front and middle. Too much in any direction, and the plane is in danger of not taking off, or tumbling to the ground–like those GI Joe’s with the plastic parachutes we threw from 2nd-floor windows as a kid.
Really, a bathroom security breach sounds more like a blow-out after eating some highly-questionable tuna salad from the airport snack stand. So, to the FAA and Homeland Security, I salute your efforts to keep us safe in the skies—clearly there are dangers we haven’t even conceived of. Keep up the good work.
Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor | Tags: adulthood, End Zone, football, Gwyneth, Gwyneth Paltrow, health, humor, Middle-Age, mugwort, NFL, Paltrow, personal care, sex, spas, sports, steam, subourbonmom, vaginal steaming, women's health
Apparently Gwyneth Paltrow, life guru to…no one, really…is touting the energizing and cleansing effects of something called the “Vaginal Steam.”
Yeah, you read that right.
It seems there is a new spa option that allows women to sit on a throne-like chair, and let steam infused with an herb called mugwort…cleanse the End Zone.
I’m not a medical expert, and the research I did (which consisted of talking to some friends) raised a few questions in my mind.
First of all, according to WebMD, one of the many uses of mugwort is as an energy tonic, which I suppose is why Gwyneth thought it might be “energizing.” Among many other things, Mugwort is also used for “worm infestations” and to “stimulate gastric juices and bile.” For worm infestations and gastric juice production, I refer you to a professional—especially if they’re in your End Zone.
WebMd also says Mugwort “might stimulate the uterus.” Um…to do what? Unless I’m pregnant and days past my kid’s due date, I don’t want my uterus doing much of anything, thank you very much. When you’re in your 40’s the less End Zone upheaval the better.
As far as I know, most people steam their bodies for three reasons: to relieve a sinus infection, to ease sore muscles, or to try and reduce the signs of age, sun and smoke damage.
If your End Zone is having unusual drainage, steaming it at a spa is not going to help. Chances are, you’ve had a few too many touchdowns in your End Zone and you need to see a professional, who hopefully has a quick antibiotic-related fix.
If your End Zone has muscles so sore that they need some time in a sauna, you need to re-think the level of play you’re allowing on the field. And by the way, the End Zone is already kind of its own personal sauna, don’t you think?
If your End Zone has sun or smoke damage…I don’t even know what to tell you. Maybe steam cleaning will be your thing after all.
I have no idea what the signs of End Zone aging might be, other than the grass changing colors, 
but I’m pretty sure that unless you’re okay with altering your End Zone using Botox, lifts and chemical peels, you might not want to steam down there either. If you really are concerned with the visual appeal, you can always repaint the lines, and get a new team logo. 
So thanks, Gwyneth, for making me aware of something I now can’t ever forget exists.
I was at the gym the other day and was disappointed with my new office physique (which resembles a cross between Claire and Cam from Modern Family). I wallowed in self-pity for a while, until a friend of mine reminded me of a blog I wrote last year about being happy with the body you have. So for all you folks who’ve already given up on your Resolutions to exercise ore and lose weight, read this:
Like many women, I have toyed with the idea of “getting some work done.” There are so many options available! You can inject things into your face to get rid of the wrinkles. You can make your lips fatter, your bottom rounder and your thighs skinnier. You can even take fat from one part of your body and put it somewhere else. But none of those things has ever really appealed to me. I have found a much cheaper way to make myself feel better about the toll time has taken on my face and body.
I recently heard a speech/performance by Canadian poet Shane Koyczan, about bullying (you can watch it by following the link at the end of the post.) There were many phrases and ideas of his that resonated with me, but the one I want to share is…
“If you can’t find something beautiful about yourself, get a better mirror.”
So I did.
My new mirror isn’t anything special. I got it at the Dollar Store for, well, a dollar. It has a white plastic rim, and for the moment, doesn’t have any water or toothpaste splotches. The glass doesn’t really magnify anything, but it did show me some things in a much different light.
The crow’s feet around my eyes come from years of squinting at diamonds on turquoise seas and Virginia mountain sunrises, and from searching for the Daughters #1 & #2 as they shot a goal or cantered over a jump.
The bump on my nose that makes my glasses lopsided is a reminder of my love of sports, although playing soccer might not have been one of my better choices (I broke my nose by kicking the ball into my own face. Try it at home—I dare you). Running, jumping, kicking and throwing—what a way to celebrate the body I was given!
The wrinkles on my forehead are the marks of a mother who worries about her family—are they doing okay in school? Will we have enough money for college? Do I still make Hubby happy? It is a miracle to have those things to worry about. Why would I erase them?
Even the wrinkles on my upper lip are testimony to the years of clamping my mouth shut in twenty years of marriage. I finally learned that not every opinion needs to be voiced—even though mine is usually better.
The freckles and age spots on my hands come from hours of driving my children to and from school as we talked about our day, from driving across country with Hubby, and riding horses as often as I could. Sure, I could get them lasered off, but why? I don’t want to look like I never had any adventures.
My hips and stomach are no longer flat or small. They shifted and made room for two daughters. No, I don’t have the body of a twenty-year-old anymore—I have the body of a mother, of someone who has survived my babies’ colic, teething, first steps, tantrums, first day of school, and first dates.
None of this is to say I’ve totally accepted this body I’m living in. I still highlight my hair every two months to cover up the gray, and I struggle to fit into jeans that I probably shouldn’t. But when the mirror on the wall in my bathroom isn’t making me happy, I try to remember to get the other one out, the one that says “You’re beautiful because of those lines, and wrinkles and sagging parts. They are the result of living your life, of all the things that have made you who you are.”
The erosion of the walls of the Colorado River could have been viewed as a tragic invasion of pristine countryside—instead, we now see the Grand Canyon as a wonder of the world. Why can’t our bodies be the same?
To see Shane’s performance, go to www.ShaneKoyczan.com.
Subourbon Mom 