Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor, Parenting, Posts | Tags: acting, adulthood, Cats, children, drama, entertainment, humor, Jamie Frazier, Middle-Age, movies, Outlander, parenting, romance, Sam Heughan, teenagers, teenagers humor, television, wedding
Once in a while I manage to get the house to myself and have a chick-flick night. Nothing’s better than settling down after a crazy week with a glass of wine, a warm, fuzzy blanket and 2 hours of watching a hot guy seduce a woman in the most unrealistic ways.
So the other night I had a little bit of alone time (Hubby was out of town, and the Daughters had plans), and settled in to binge watch my new favorite show “Outlander.” And best of all, the episode I was on was going to be the climactic wedding.
Jamie MacKenzie, the hot Scottish Highlander character in the show, explains how he has somehow remained a virgin in his mid-twenties in the 1740s (yeah, right), and is staring at his bride Claire with smoldering eyes and perfect dimples.
One of the cats walks in front of the TV screen. It’s ok – I can rewind. I have that power. I start over, and take a sip of wine.
Jamie and Claire finally put their whiskey down and have sex, the first time for Jamie. It’s not pretty, but Jamie’s auburn curls and charming smile amply make up for the lack of finesse, although he certainly had more finesse than one would have thought. They lay on their backs in the candle light, breathing heavily –
Cat walks across my lap, stopping to put Old One-Eye in my face.
Shove cat to the floor. I rewind again, take another sip of wine.
Jamie and Claire relive their wedding day, with smoldering looks, tentative touches and candlelight everywhere. He carries her to their room –
The cell phone rings. I put my wine glass down.
“Mom?” Daughter #1 asks.
“Yes?”
“Is there any way you can bring me the concert tickets I left in my backpack? I’ll meet you close to the house.”
Seriously? I think.
Sigh… “Ok. I have to pick up your sister soon anyway. I’ll be there in 10 minutes.”
45 minutes later I bring Daughter #2 home, where she disappears into her lair, not to be seen again until morning. I get a glass of water to balance the wine, pick up the glass of wine, ignore the water and settle back under the blanket and rewind.
Jamie lets Claire see him in all his glory, scars from English torture showing his vulnerability and flawless musculature. Claire reaches up to caress the scars –
Cat sharpens claws on back of the couch near my ear. Shove cat to the floor, spill some wine. Go to kitchen to get towels and clean up the wine. Rewind.
Jamie and Claire, after an agonizing amount of carefully orchestrated removal of layers and layers of clothing, finally make non-virginal love, loudly and with gusto.
The back door slams. Daughter #2 comes in, cautiously yelling, “Hellooooo?”
Sounds of pleasure are blaring from the TV. I hastily try and find the pause button in the dark but only succeed in turning the volume up. I finally manage to hit the power button and turn the damned thing off completely, but drop the remote somewhere in the blanket and cushions.
“Hello! Mom?” Daughter #2 calls again.
“What?” I bark.
“I can’t find my learner’s permit and I have Drivers Ed tomorrow.”
“Did you look on the floor of your room?”
“Yep.”
“Car?”
“Not yet. I’ll go look.”
I sit in the dark, waiting. The door slams again.
“Find it?”
“No. I’ll go look on my floor again.”
“Ok.”
Search for the remote, and find it on the floor under the couch. A cat paw grabs my hand as I retrieve it, drawing blood. I try Attempt to unsuccessfully stomp on the cat paw.
Rewind – watch the love-making scene again – because you can’t stop half-way through. Just sayin’.
Jamie and Claire reach their climactic finish again, and Jamie is asking if she liked it. (Um…really?) How could she not? Like I said, unrealistic. Claire says she did, and Jamie –
Cell phone rings.
Heavy sigh….I not-so-gently put my mostly empty wine glass down.
“What?”
“I found it.”
“Good girl. Now please go to bed.”
Claire decides to show Jamie what making love can be like when the woman is in charge. Jamie is clearly enjoying himself, looking at the ceiling and groan—
Cat walks across coffee table, spilling the glass of water.
“Oh my God!” I yell. I clean up the water and settle down to try one more time to get through just one entire romantic scene. But seeing the spilled water made me have to go to the bathroom.
Minutes later, I rewound the scene and tried again. But going to the bathroom made me start thinking about UTIs, and how no one ever seems to have one in romantic shows, despite the fact that they had sex all night long, and no one ever had to pee. I’m pretty sure cranberry juice wasn’t available in Scotland in the 1740s. What did they use? In fact, where did they go to the bathroom? What did they use for toilet paper?
So I missed most of the last love scene, thinking about UTIs.
And that’s how I spent my romantic night with Jamie from “Outlander,” — plus one glass of wine, the cats and two intermittent teenagers.
Filed under: Misc. Humor, Travel | Tags: adulthood, art, Chicagi Art Institute, Chicago, culture, Dionysus, Hipsters, humor, modern art, pop art, pop culture, southern, subourbonmom, travel, Worhol
I recently went to Chicago to visit a close friend, and we decided to get a little culture and go to the Chicago Art Institute. Back in the day, I took an Art Appreciation class, and have always liked losing myself in a painting or sculpture, letting my imagination run wild – kind of like when I people-watch in airports. There’s always an interesting story line in my head, and I love how everyone reacts viscerally to various artists and styles, how some works resonate with the anger, sadness, joy, fear or any other emotions we have. But I swear if I ever wear a beret in public, somebody lock me up.
At the museum that weekend there was a Degas exhibit and an exhibit on the artwork from the last 2000 years celebrating Dionysus, the Greek god of fertility and partying. I quickly realized a few things. True Blood and the special effects folks for Lord of the Rings must have also seen the exhibit – the orgy scenes from True Blood could have come directly from some of those drawings and engravings, and there as a sculpture of a creature that looked eerily like Golum. I also noticed that most of the art pertained to the hedonism and exploits of men. The only women in the scenes were either being used for pleasure or were maenads, Dionysus’s female helpers – regular women, as usual, were not considered to be big partyers. My, how things have changed – can we say “Girls gone Wild?”
Since I also occasionally like to pry open my mind and do something that makes me uncomfortable, we went to the Museum of Contemporary Art. The people there were a little different from the visitors at the more traditional Art Institute. There were skinny jeans everywhere, coupled with ski hats shoved half way up Hipsters’ heads, and an assortment of folks meaningfully staring at walls filled with household objects dangling from strings or just glued there. Some, like me, were racing through the exhibits in a mild panic, trying to find something recognizable as art.
Of course it’s probably due to my lack of education, but I just don’t get Modern Art. I understand that the genre turned traditional art on its head with new ways of looking at objects, social norms and politics. But there were three exhibits at the museum that made me question the, er, validity of modern art:
- I thought the Pop Art exhibit would be cool. What I didn’t expect were the baby dolls stuck on a piece of wood and painted solid white, hanging on the wall – WTF? Or the multiple canvases portraying Campbell’s Soup cans and logos – um, Hello, People, there were a lot of other iconic food labels around – why puck on Campbell’s? (Yes, I know it was Andy Worhol, but I don’t care who painted them. It’s soup cans.) At one point, I was walking through the exhibit and saw a woman in regular street clothes standing there staring at a blank wall…for at least two minutes. I actually thought she was part of the exhibit until she moved left to look at a mirror on the wall next to her. She’d been staring at a tiny plaque, which I later realized explained that the mirror had a bullet casing on it from a James Bond movie. Um….yeah. I don’t get it. I would just call that a souvenir.
- The next exhibit was in a small room. The walls, ceiling and carpet were all painted black. In the room were several pieces all painted black. According to the accompanying sign that was way too dark to see without squinting and wishing I could shine my phone light on it without embarrassing myself, each piece represented how we function in society – the velvet ropes apparently signified how we keep people in and out of our lives; the wooden sign that said “Here” signified that we are always seeking to establish our place the world. I never found out what the other two pieces were symbolic of because as I was reading, two young men walked up to read the plaque too. They both had the requisite black skinny jeans and ski hats, but one had on a distractingly vibrant, purple-feathered cape. I couldn’t look away, and I definitely couldn’t look at my friend because I knew I would start laughing. David Bowie may have been able to pull that off because of his innate coolness, but that 20-something hipster looked like a pterodactyl Barney.
- So we left that area, and went upstairs to a room that resembled those student exhibits you see on airport walls or in other public places. There were un-labeled pieces that could have been done by a preschooler or a high-schooler – the pieces had no labels to identify anything, so you couldn’t tell. This room was also painted black with a little bit of ambient lighting. On a screen at the back was a movie playing, perhaps explaining all of the artwork on the floors below, but I wouldn’t have known because it was all spoken in very soft, slow German. Two men dressed in black sat amid the 20 chairs, arms crossed, watching the movie. I looked at my friend and said, “You have to be high to understand what was going on here.” Of course I got glared at, but maybe it was because they were thinking, “How are you NOT?”
I wish someone could explain Modern Art to me so that I could truly appreciate what was happening. I like Picasso and Munch and sometimes even Pollack, but the babies on the wall thing? And the plastic chairs from the 1960’s just sitting in a room? Um…I got nothing but creeped out and annoyed. Now, I understand that the Pop Art exhibit was meant to visually be snarky about our culture (at least that’s what the brochure explained), but I can tell you it was the best $12 I’ve ever spent to be verbally snarky for a straight 45 minutes.
Filed under: Misc. Humor, Posts | Tags: adulthood, bathroom, business, entrepreneur, entrepreneurs, family, fresh assist, health, humor, hygeine, start ups, subourbonmom
It’s not often these days that I see commercials that make me pause. Usually I’m skipping through them because I can’t ever seem to actually watch a TV show live, or because I’m too cheap to get the commercial-free version of an app, and I get so irritated I actually shut off the app or turn down the volume until its’ over. But every now and then one makes me stop.
The commercial for Fresh Assist, a spray that you put on toilet paper before you wipe to keep you “clean in between” was pointed out to me the other day, and I have to admit that I haven’t laughed so hard in a long time.
The commercial, like the product, is a little tongue-in-cheek, but it’s hilarious! It’s actually funnier than all the synonyms I found for laying cable in Urban Dictionary. To appreciate the rest of this blog, please take a look at the commercial:
My favorite part is the tiny, creepy smile on the actor’s face when he gets clean, right before the window shot. That was some delicate acting right there. Even creepier then THE SCENE in the movie Deliverance.
To be fair, I know the guy (Howard Deskin) who developed it, and I have to hand it to Howard for finding a marketing hole that’s between TP and those baby wipes for grown-ups. In fact, I never knew this was an issue until folks at work started talking about it. Apparently, dealing with muddy cheeks and having something called “Monkey Butt” are real problems, albeit mostly for men.
(I had to Google Monkey Butt – again, I need to stop Googling things like this: “The uncomfortable result of your ass sweating or sharts. A wet, painful and irritating condition of the butt, causing it to swell and turn red like a monkey’s butt. Can be caused by prolonged wear or wet clothes… lack of wiping, and sweat.”
But no more, my friends. Now, there is an environmentally-friendly solution to this brown pickle.
A local radio show called Elliot in the Morning recently interviewed Howard, and they came up with soooo many puns that I won’t even try. They asked a question I never thought of – so there is proof that there are people sicker than me. Elliot asked Howard how he came up with the final product. Howard explained that he and his wife had tested many different types of products on themselves – that’s right, PETA people, no animal testing for this guy – including shampoo, hand sanitizer and shower gels. Um…hand sanitizer? That would wipe the creepy smile right off Commercial Guy’s face. But even more disconcerting is that because I know him, I now have a vivid picture of all of this happening. I can’t get that image out of my head. But his poo-severance is commendable.
Another thing to note – in addition to the two current flavors (Soothing Lavender and Cooling Chamomile), they are also developing “Refreshing Rosemary” and Vanilla. I’m not sure I want my backside to smell like the roasted chicken I make. But as for the Vanilla, I would love to hear any snazzy brand names they could use – I could only think of “Vaguely Vanilla.”
Fresh Assist. You can even get it on Amazon, and I’m sure it could be delivered to your bathroom door in under an hour using Amazon Prime. In fact, if you’re in the bathroom that long, you probably really do need it. Here is a $1.00 coupon from Amazon – use the coupon code NN8T5Z7B. For more information about Fresh Assist, visit the website at www.freshassistspray.com.
So go get clean in between with Fresh Assist. I just hope Howard doesn’t get too far in the hole on this venture.
Filed under: Misc. Humor | Tags: adulthood, Cannibalism, Donner, Food, game, hannibal lechter, health, humor, hunting, subourbonmom
DISCLAIMER: I AM IN NO WAY CONDONING THE ACT OF KILLING ANOTHER HUMAN OR ANIMAL. SO ALL YOU PSYCHOS OUT THERE, TAKE A STEP BACK AND OWN YOUR OWN CRAZY. I’VE GOT PLENTY OF MY OWN, AND THIS IS NOT PART OF IT.
First let me say I am not a hunter – I know I could never look an animal in the eyes and shoot it, unless a) I was starving, b) the animal was suffering, or c) it was attacking me. (Hubby disagreed and said I couldn’t even then.) With deer hunting season in its final throes, there’s been a lot of discussion where I live about the different tactics for hunting and cleaning deer to keep the meat from tasting gamey. The same day as one of these discussions was going on, while in the gym I saw one of those documentary channels feature stories on cannibalism – it must be the impending cold weather that makes producers think people are considering it. So, as I was listening to yet another dissertation on hunting, the two subjects merged in my weird brain, and I wondered if the same principals of keeping meat form being gamey would apply to cannibalism.
I have the answer to that particular problem, and it could apply to both regular hunting and Cannibalism – not that I’m taking part in a Donner dinner, or planning on hangin’ with Hannibal.
To be brief, I learned that to prevent gaminess in your meat, the animal should be killed quickly, and not chased for long – too much lactic acid builds up and creates the gamey taste. My solution? Road kill.
It’s the perfect solution – it offers the element of surprise, no chasing (unless you’re a really bad driver), and the convenience of having carcass transportation at your fingertips.
Note to self: Just because you are thinking about something doesn’t mean you should Google it.
BIG MISTAKE.
I now have images in my head that can’t be erased. This must be how Daniel Tosh feels after a season of Tosh.0.
First, there was a link to “Why Cannibalism is Bad for You.” Um…were enough folks actually considering this that someone had to write an article on it? The main reason that stuck with me (and there were quite a few), of course, is that Americans as a culture are not a lean protein. In fact, I think we’re probably the bacon of the Cannibalism diet.
Second, I had it confirmed that there are some sick, sick people out there. Apparently, one guy in Germany put out an ad for another male, 18-39 who might be interested in having him eat him. Now maybe it was a colossal miscommunication, but somebody answered it – AND AGREED TO IT. Maybe it’s just me being naive, but wasn’t there a point in that evening when maybe it was time to say, “Hey man, I don’t think this is what I signed up for?”
And finally, there was an actual recipe site. I won’t print it here because I have to draw the line somewhere. But it was actually pretty funny.
So what did I really learn from all of this? Stop watching cheesey documentary channels while I’m at the gym, and get to work losing some weight – I definitely do not want to be bacon.
Filed under: Misc. Humor, Posts | Tags: adulthood, Christmas, decorating, family, holiday, Holidays, humor, kids, Middle-Age, south, southern, subourbonmom, tradition, trees, Virginia, winter
This year I made it my mission to convince our office manager Lacy that she should get a real Christmas tree instead of using the same old plastic one she’s been using for the last few years. After an hour of nagging and convincing her that a real tree smelled better and was a better way to enjoy Christmas, Lacy gave in and got one. When she explained to the folks at Lowes (she went to a store, not even a place outside – mistake #1) that she had never picked a live tree before, and asked who had the most experience with picking out live trees, a German man said “I don’t” and immediately walked away. I don’t think he got the irony that the live Christmas-Tree-in-the-House tradition comes from Germany.
What I didn’t realize was the amount of basic Christmas Tree Knowledge I have accumulated over the years, and that I probably should have passed on:
PICKING OUT A TREE:
Size Matters: Decide what room you’re going to put it in BEFORE you go shopping. A fat tree in a little room is like Donald Trump’s ego in an election – there isn’t room for anything else.
Trees are not naturally symmetrical. Even the trees trimmed to look like perfect cones will never be perfect. The fun part is finding the most perfect one you can. This can be difficult at the places where the trees are wrapped and leaning against the wall, like, say, your local grocery store. To get the full experience of arguing for 30 minutes in the cold over which tree to get, you must suck up the cost and go to a place where the trees are set up on stands, as if they are ready to decorate, or better yet, in the field where you must cut them down.
Trees Get Bad Haircuts Too – Sadly, the two-week rule doesn’t apply. Most live trees come with a bad side – that side where the branches don’t fall right and there’s a hole.
This is the side you turn toward the wall when you put it up, or if it isn’t going against the wall, you find your fattest, heaviest ornaments to make the branches dangle over the hole. (These ornaments, along with the most fragile ones, will be the ones the cat goes after.)
What About Bugs? Some tree vendors will do the Tree Shake, which entails putting the tree on a spike attached to a generator that shakes the tree so hard that it looks like Beyonce twerking, until all the loose needles and bugs fall out – of the tree, not Beyonce. If your vendor doesn’t do that, you can console yourself with the fact that the fallen needles will make your vacuum cleaner smell good for months.
Net or No Net? I recommend getting one, even though it might ruin your Norman Rockwell vision of a Christmas tree strapped to the roof of your car. The net is crucial to getting the tree through the door and easily sitting in its stand. Trying to get a tree through the door without the net is like trying to thread a needle with a sausage.
SETTING UP YOUR TREE
Size matters – again. Tree trunks come in varying sizes and diameters, and they often come with branches sticking out of the bottom. Trim the branches at the bottom – you’ve heard the adage, “trim the bushes to make the deck look bigger“ – well, we don’t need the stand to look bigger, but we do need the tree to glide into the hole smoothly.
Getting the tree to stand up straight in the stand is usually a deal breaker – worse than hanging pictures on a wall. This task is for the patient and determined. If you’re like me and not allowed to go into the car dealership because you get too impatient to sit through the deal-making process, sighing and rolling your eyes for the entire three hours, this may not be the task for you. Some tips:
Wear gloves! Christmas trees look and smell great, but their trunks are covered in sap that is harder to remove from your hands than the image of Miley Cyrus twerking from your memory.
When you’ve given up and decided that tree that leans is now “charming,” make sure the tree doesn’t fall by tying some part of it to the wall. If you have cats or dogs, this is a must – they will find a way to bring that big green monster to the ground, and then skitter your breakable ornaments over the floor for the next two days.
FEEDING YOUR TREE
To determine if the tree needs water, you have to see how much water is left in the stand each morning and evening. Checking the water level for a live tree requires freakishly long arms and a relationship with your tree. As Lacy said, “I feel like I’m feeling up my tree.” Would that be second base? 
Watering the tree requires the ability to slither along the floor and pour a pitcher of water into the stand without spilling any. I recommend placing a piece of plastic under the stand, hidden by your tree skirt to prevent any stains on the carpet from water spills. 
I also recommend getting one of the tree watering tubes that blend in with the branches, the top of which sticks out for easy access.
Check your tree for tree food – some vendors provide it. The tree food is the little white thing on a random branch that you thought was the price tag.
If all of this seems like too much of a hassle, and you want to go back to taking your tree bits and pieces out of a box each year, and putting it together like a Tinker Toy that’s fine. I totally understand. Nothing says Christmas like a plastic tree with “Sensicles” hanging discreetly among the branches so that the whole house smells like fake Christmas.
Perhaps Lacy said it best when she was describing the experience of getting a live tree vs. setting up a plastic one: “It’s like trying to pick an animal out from the pound, but it’s such a pain in the ass I want to give it back.”
Well, I’ll take my temporary, evergreen mutt with its holes, dropping needles and intimate watering/groping sessions. Just as people today decorate their homes during the festive season with pine, spruce, and fir trees, ancient peoples hung evergreen boughs over their doors and windows. Your plastic tree may make your house look like it was decorated by Southern Living, but my tree reminds me that life goes on, even in winter.
Subourbon Mom 