Filed under: Food/Drink, Middle Age | Tags: adulthood, entertainment, health, humor, music, self-care, travel
Last weekend I was lucky enough to go see one of my favorite bands, Carbon Leaf. Not only are they talented musicians and great performers, they also went to college with Hubby and I. So, shout out to Carbon Leaf for still living the dream, even though we have kids, wear readers and pay mortgages.
When the time came to get ready, I was paralyzed with uncertainty. What does one wear to a concert when you’re 50, and the band is 50, and its 35 degrees outside but you know its going to be 80 inside? I texted my helpful friends and these are the answers I got:
- Slippers
- Leg warmers
- A banana clip
- Esprit or Benneton sweater
But the most helpful was “Jeans, boots, cute long-sleeved shirt over tank top with a jacket you don’t care gets beer spilled on it so you can tie it around your waist when you have a hot flash.”
So there’s that. Now I have to factor hot flashes into my wardrobe choices as well.
In the past, we would have forgone food and just pre-gamed at somebody’s house. That usually ended with someone holding someone else’s hair and running eye makeup. As grown-ups, after a dinner and a couple of bourbons later we arrived at the concert walking straight and smelling like fried food.
Once inside, I was relieved to see we were age appropriate. See, the thing about being 50 and going to bands and other places is we either tend to be the creepy old people who get side-eyes from the youngsters, or we’re the youngest by 20 years getting side-eyes from the Q-tips. This time, there were two generations present – us, and our children. Carbon Leaf plays music both sets can enjoy. In fact, the younger crowd knew more of the sings than we did.
So, we danced and sang along, and I was secretly smug that I was getting my steps in, when I noticed something glinting on the floor. I picked it up – it was a pair of readers.
Omg. That’s who I am now.
I used to find money on the floor at concerts, or maybe even a tiny bag of weed. Now it’s readers, and the woman in front of me was just as grateful I found those as she would have been back in the day if I’d picked up her bag of weed.
When the encore was over, my jeans were covered in spilt beer and bourbon, and I had in fact stripped off my jacket because of a hot flash or two. We headed out to get our requisite CD (yes, we still listen to them) and t-shirts to support the band. Unfortunately, all I was concerned about when I selected my t-shirt was that it was soft, gray and had the band’s name on it. I didn’t really pay attention to the actual design.
Once you see it, you can’t unsee it. If you don’t see it, you are a better person than me.
Because I am super immature and have a 12-year-old sense of humor, this will forever be a sleep shirt, not for public.
The bottom line is, going to that concert reminded me of how much we need connection to our friends, our past, and our sense of fun and adventure. Stomping my feet not only got my steps in, it also reminded me of how much I love live music and, like the band members who are still living the dream, sometimes you just have “live a life less ordinary.”
Enjoy some Carbon Leaf – The War Was In Color (possibly their best song):
And “Life Less Ordinary”
Filed under: Country Living, Misc. Humor, shopping | Tags: Christmas, Holidays, humor
After watching a Hallmark holiday movie complete with fake snow and a friendly, small town with one bitter man who needs saving, I stealthily crept up into the attic yesterday when Hubby wasn’t home. I was only up there to count how many of those cracker things we have that you put on the table (you know, they look like a wrapped toilet paper tube, and you pull the thingy in the middle and it pops?). While I was up there I couldn’t help touching all the Christmas boxes, peeking into a few like a chocolate addict who just wants to smell what’s in the bag, but who’s not ready to commit to eating the entire bag until Yellowstone comes on.
It made me happy…and it made me start looking forward to Thanksgiving being over, which is insane because that’s also an awesome holiday for pure gluttony and wallowing in family drama.
Then I went down an online rabbit hole looking for Bourbon advent calendars (they exist but OMG they’re expensive). I almost bought more garland, but I realized I have no plan for decorating, and dammit, this year our house is not going to look like I get all my stuff from Goodwill.
Y’all, I’ve become a Christmas meme.
But I’m not the only one thinking about decorating early. One of my friends decorates her modern-style home with a different theme each year. This year, she was really thinking ahead and decided she would use a lot of amaryllis flowers, and through a delivery fluke ended up with 80 bulbs. For those of you wo aren’t familiar with the amaryllis, they start as a large bulb about 2-5 inches wide. The stalks grow to about 3 feet tall, and they produce one or two beautiful, huge, Easter lily-looking flowers.
SHE HAS 80 OF THEM.
So, she artfully planted them around the house in every container that would work, including a sieve that rests on the sink. In a few weeks they will be stunning – definitely a statement piece.
Right now, though, they look like containers full of green Shrek penises. And the best part is that when we do video calls, they are sitting in a pot right next to her. A garden of penises that, once you see it, you can’t unsee it. I laugh every time I see them because I’m 12 and super immature.
I don’t have the balls…or bulbs…to make a statement like that.
I did have a Santa face toilet seat cover for a couple of years (thanks Deborah T!) that was a statement piece of sorts, albeit a disturbing one.
Bottom line – I try to remember it’s about who you spend the holidays with, not how the house looks. But if how your house looks brings you happiness, then by all means, do your thing. God bless those of you who can pull it off. I know I will never have an immaculate house with all-white furniture and decorations that will appear on Instagram. I love the tacky, miscellaneous ornaments and decorations we’ve collected over generations, including Hubby’s Romulan bird-of-prey that lights up.
In light of all this pressure, I think I’ll stick with my theme of “I buy shit I like, fantasize about what it would look like in my fictional home that has no clutter or pets and all white furniture, then take it home and realize I live in a normal house and I’m not a theme person.”
Filed under: Misc. Humor, shopping | Tags: advertising, anxiety, commercials, doctors, health, medicine
We’ve all heard about how big data algorithms use everything you do to determine what ads you’ll see, from the kind of toothpaste you use to the kind of toothpaste your friends use. The purpose is to drive how you shop, travel and communicate. And yes, I turned off the tracker stuff on my phone.
So, if big data can target so specifically, can someone please explain to me why I have to sit through so many commercials for prescription drugs that don’t apply to me? How have mass communications platforms not embraced these algorithms? I don’t have psoriasis, I don’t have diabetes type 1 or 2, or any kind of cancer (knock on wood).
But here are my real issues with these commercials:
First, they’re depressing and anxiety-inducing, reminding me of all the shitty diseases that I could get, while also preparing me for an amazing list of side effects that I could get from taking these drugs.
Second, these are PRESCRIPTION drugs – who is the target audience? If it is consumers so they can go to their doctor and say, “Hey, ugh, I was watching football last night and saw a commercial for Fuckitol – should I be taking that?” Um…if doctors didn’t originally prescribe these meds, but then are prescribing them because their patients are asking for them, based on a commercial they saw, that is a very large ethical problem. Patients are now marketing to doctors on behalf of the drug industry.
Also, if I was a doctor and doctors are in fact the target audience, I’d be pissed, seeing that stuff on my TV at night. There’s nothing I would want less than to come home from treating people and then be bombarded by commercials telling my patients to ask me about a drug I didn’t prescribe for them on purpose because it isn’t the right fit.
Third, these commercials contain a lot of Doctor-Speak and acronyms like “if your PGFD546 Cells are less than 40,” and other phrases that don’t mean anything to me because I haven’t recently been to an oncologist for that very specific, rare throat cancer they’re talking about. I suppose if you are the target audience you know what these mean, but for the rest of us it’s like being left out of a conversation, and now we have to go back to WebMD to do some research and lose an hour that we’ll never get back.
And finally, who was dumb enough to take a prescription drug they know they are allergic to, so these commercials have to say OUT LOUD, “Do not take Fuckitol if you are allergic to Fuckitol or its ingredients?” These people are the reason we need to stop labeling paint cans with “Do Not Eat.”
Now my fingers are tired, I’m anxious and annoyed. I’m think I’m going to ask my doctor for that Fuckitol prescription I just saw.
I was recently at the bookstore flipping through magazines the other day, and I was startled at how many articles were about how to have a better sex life. Most of them had pretty straightforward titles, like “How to Jump Start Your Sex Life” or “How to Tell Him/Her What You Really Want.” But there were also a few articles that went beyond the usual suggestions, offering meditations and all kinds of exotic positions. All I could think was, people…relax.
We’re pretty basic, even with all the social complications we’ve added on top of it all, compared to the banana slug.
For starters, all banana slugs have penises, although some appear to be mere stumps, as opposed to growing the length of the slugs body. That’s right – the banana slug’s penis is 6 -8 inches long, the length of its body…so yeah. If I saw that on a human, I’d run. I know we can do a lot with prosthetics, but….no…just no.
Oh, and did I mention that the penis grows out of its head? So actually, before I ran, I’d probably laugh because that’s just too damn funny not to try and picture on a human, especially someone you don’t like.
Second, when these slugs with complete genitalia have sex (not the ones with the stumpy penises – we’ll get to that in a second), they both penetrate each other at the same. I know we’ve made all kinds of toys that can simulate that, but banana slug sex goes on for HOURS. I don’t care how much Sting may brag about his performance (I believe he’s said he and wife Trudy had 7 hours of tantric sex); he’s got nothing on the banana slug.
And finally, after they’re done, one slug may get it into its “head” that it must chew off the other’s penis. So much for that moment of bliss. Why would they do that, you ask? I’m sure some women and men can think of some pretty compelling reasons why humans might do it. Scientists have come up with several theories about why this happens, including that the slugs may feel threatened by something in their environment and need to separate quickly. Can you imagine this happening every time human parents tried to get a quickie in without the kids knowing? There are other theories too, but I don’t really care. That’s just gross and rude.
So, people, relax about where you fit in the sexual world around you. Stop taking quizzes to see if you measure up – if banana slugs are anything to go by, none of us do.
Fall not only brings Pumpkin Spice Everything and Coffee Cooters; it also brings school shopping days. I miss those days of throwing pencils, pens, protractors, markers and binders into the cart like bread and milk when a snowstorm is coming. I also miss those days of trailing along behind Daughters 1 & 2 as they paraded through the mall, frowning and rolling their eyes at everything I pulled off the rack. One thing I learned from those excursions, though, is that there are three kinds of shoppers, and they’re all based on fear.
The Buckshot Shopper. Daughter #1 spends hours browsing through each and every rack, touching, pinching and holding up every piece of clothing in the store. Buckshot Shoppers must see each opportunity for fashion excellence available and understand what that will look or feel like after purchase. When the time comes to select an item of clothing, there is much agonizing over which to choose: What if I buy the wrong one? What if I missed something that would have been perfect? What if the other store has a better color?
Buckshot Shoppers cover all the bases by looking at and touching everything. Although this type of shopping may generally come from a place of FOMO (fear of missing out), there are advantages to being a Buckshot Shopper. These intrepid explorers find new styles they might not see online or by zeroing in on only one particular style or item. They find sales that others don’t see form the front of the store and have time to down their pumpkin spice Starbucks potions in a leisurely manner as they browse.
The Surgical Shopper. Daughter #2 begins her shopping journey knowing what she needs, knows it when she sees it, goes into the store or online to order it, and that’s that. The Surgical Shopper touches as few items as possible, most likely because they are either overwhelmed by the selection available or they lack the confidence to sift through all the options: What if I do all this and I still can’t find anything? What if I can’t afford the thing I want?
This fear is often couched as “I don’t have time for this crap,” or “I just know what I like.” There are advantages to being a Surgical Shopper, though. A lot of money is saved when you only buy what you know you need and when you don’t drink as many Starbucks pumpkin spice lattes. The time a Surgical Shopper saves can be spent elsewhere.
Meerkat Shoppers can usually be found lingering outside store windows or even cupping their hands around their eyes as they browse from outside the store. Online they hit the same 5 -10 stores they know and like, but rarely venture outside that comfort zone. They also can be found silently watching other shoppers, judging their choices as they come out of the dressing room, weighing whether this or that would fit or look good on them, without having to touch anything. Meerkat Shoppers don’t require as much tactile feedback as Buckshot Shoppers, but they also don’t want to miss any obvious wins. Nor do they keep their focus as narrow as Surgical Shoppers, so they have a better chance of finding something new and out of their comfort zone.
Meerkat Shoppers have a combination of the other Shoppers’ fears. They are afraid of missing out, so they watch Buckshot Shoppers as they go through the process (online, Meerkat Shoppers accomplish this by filtering by “Most Popular”). They lack the confidence of Buckshot Shoppers, and so are more Surgical when they finally do swoop in to make their purchases. On the plus side, Meerkat Shoppers often generate a sense of gratification from not making impulse buys and manage to stay somewhat current.
No matter what type of shopper you are, or what combination of these you might be, don’t shop from a place of fear. Buy the things that make you happy, that you can afford, and that what won’t get you arrested. You can always find me for more deep thoughts – I’ll be the one surreptitiously looking in the store window.
Subourbon Mom 