Subourbon Mom


Hydro-automentia and Other Driving Syndromes
June 16, 2020, 5:00 pm
Filed under: Travel | Tags: , , , , , ,

hydroAs pandemic restrictions are loosened and people start to emerge like moles into daylight, I am reminded again how normally intelligent, capable people – people who are doctors and lawyers and engineers outside of their cars – often drive like they’re living the Mario Kart dream or on the antique car ride at King’s Dominion. And God forbid it should start raining – holy shit – it’s like some kind of collective amnesia or processing disorder takes over.

I call this hydro-automentia or, forgetting-how-to-drive-when-it-rains syndrome.

Let me give you an example.  It’s raining, but not too hard – summer rain that finally cools the road off enough so that your dog stops pulling to get onto the grass and stop frying his paws like four little eggs. If you’re driving in this type of rain, a traveler with hydroautomentia in front of you slows WAY down, switches on his hazards and proceeds as if the rain is made of acid and any splash-up will disintegrate his car.  These are often the same people who ride their brakes no matter what the weather.

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Then there are the people who suffer from auto-identitatem syndrome, or car identity syndrome. The symptoms can vary and may be exacerbated by disproportionate amounts of testosterone, narcissism and Karen-itis.  Here are a few symptoms:

  • Jersey slashing (If you’re from the south, it’s identity confusion over your place of origin; if you’re from the north, you think you’re just being efficient.)
  • Owning a car that resembles a current or past police vehicle model so that is scares the Bejeezus out of everyone you creep up behind
  • Having a personalized license plate that is either indecipherable or only means something to you, the car owner – either way, you’ve made me look at your car for way too long without getting it and now I’m annoyed
  • Having any kind of “_______ on Board” sign suction cupped to your window – I don’t care and it’s usually not true anyway. Plus, if you have a baby on board you’re providing free advertising to pedophiles.
  • Having any version of the family member stickers on your back window – unless it’s the one where the dinosaur/shark has eaten one of the family members (that’s just funny). Again, you’re advertising to pedophiles, but now they also know exactly which sex and approximate age is in the car and which sports fields to go to.

The last syndrome folks need to be aware of is mergus-icognita.  This syndrome manifests in two primary ways: not using the blinkers/turn signals at a stoplight, and not indicating if you are merging onto an off-ramp. I’ve written about this one before, so I’ll just say that I don’t need a mystery when I’m driving. Life provides me with enough unexplained stuff, like if money is the root of all evil, why do they ask for it in church?  The point is, I don’t need to play “Guess Which Way I’m Going” when I’m at a busy intersection or trying to get on a highway.

So, in addition to the symptoms of COVID-19, the flu, allergies, anxiety and depression that we are supposed to be mindful of right now, please monitor yourself for the symptoms described above. If you do have them, try home remedies first, like removing the offending signage or practicing using your turn signals in your driveway before venturing out and infecting the rest of us.

Oh, and don’t forget the #1 Rule:

Be Kind.

 

 



Thanksgiving – It’s a Greatness, You’re Lateness
November 15, 2016, 2:47 am
Filed under: Misc. Humor, Travel | Tags: , , , , , , , , , ,

unknownThanksgiving is a time for families to get together, eat too much, drink too much and share WAY too many opinions.

Many folks (usually what I like to call “the Middles”, aka the sandwich generation) try to juggle seeing several crooked branches of the family tree during the holidays without offending anyone. To accomplish this, we end up driving all over creation with our kids texting in the backseat, picking up our assigned foods at the grocery store on the way or juggling a pan of some sort of casserole on ourr knees.
And don’t forget to grab that extra bottle of wine because, frankly, Uncle Jack is going to start in on (fill in a political topic here), and one of the cousins already declared “this time I’m not gonna just sit back there and let him say that shit just ’cause he’s a thousand years old. It ain’t right.”

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It’s what we do.

It’s also why we’re often late (although sometimes that’s by design).

But I will never be able to top my brother’s excuse for why they were late one year.  My brother’s known for being late; in fact we used to plan for it. We would tell him to get there at least an hour before we needed him. One year, he and his family were pushing two hours late for Thanksgiving dinner, and I finally called him on his cell phone to find out where the Hell he was.

“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”

(What follows is the best excuse ever):

We were getting ready and heard the cat meowing like crazy. So I followed the sounds into the garage, and there was Jackson (their large calico cat) with a sticky mousetrap stuck to his face…and the mouse still on it!

Jackson had seen the mouse wriggling in the trap and tried to bite it. The cat got his cheek fur stuck on the trap glue, and was running around howling, with a trap and a mouse about a half-inch from his eyeball.

We caught Jackson and tried to pull the trap off – not a good idea.

Then we tried hot water – in 30 seconds we had an extremely pissed off, wet cat and lots of scratches.

In desperation, we tried cutting the mouse free from the trap, but Jackson was struggling so hard we cut the mouse’s tail off. Blood was spurting everywhere, and the mouse was still stuck.

Finally, cold water did the trick. We got the trap of and put the mouse out of his misery.

“So,” he said, “we’re going to be a little late.”

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Why I Drink–Or Actual Conversations in My House

Wow–times have changed in our house.  The conversations have moved from questions like, “Mommy, are unicorns real?” to “Mom, did you ever smoke weed when you were in high school?”

That question alone has sent many a parent into a tailspin. Add to that the following recent family conversations, and you begin to see why bourbon’s calming effects are…welcome.

Yesterday, my newly-minted driver, Daughter #1, went to Whole Foods after soccer practice and got some chocolate milk for herself and her sister. After deciding it tasted good at first, like  butter or melted ice cream, apparently it wasn’t so hot at the finish.

Daughter #2: “It tasted kind of like udders.”

Hubby:  “How do you know what udders taste like?”

Me (to myself…):  Oh no…

Daughter #2: “I harken back to my youth.”

 

An actual, recent road trip conversation:

On a road trip in the car, Hubby decided to pass the time (briefly–he learns quickly) by beating out the rhythm of a song on the top of my exposed thigh.

Me: “Just so you know, it’s really not cool to play the drums on your wife’s thigh fat.”

Daughter #1 (in the backseat):  “I know! He does it to me too!”

Hubby (to Daughter #1):  “Yeah, but yours is all muscle. It makes a different sound.”

Me:  GLARE

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And finally, after Daughter #2 owned up to lying to one of her teachers last year, Daughter #1 couldn’t stand it:

Daughter #1: Mom, you laughed when Daughter #2 told her teacher she had a disease so she could wear her short shorts to school, but you got mad when I told my teacher I couldn’t turn in my homework because the printer was broken when it wasn’t. That’s so not fair!

Daughter #2:  It wasn’t a total lie–I was still getting tested.*

Me: There’s a big difference between lying about not doing your homework and wearing shorts that are too far above the knee, when you’re legs are a mile long.

Daughter #1:  (Sighs…)  I guess either way you’re going to end up a hooker.

Hubby:  True, true.

 

*(Daughter #2 does not have a disease.  She’s fine!)



Jesus Would Have Used His Turn Signals


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Driving around with brand new teenage drivers, or soon-to-be-drivers can be like hanging out with an alcoholic at a party who’s just gotten back on the wagon.  There is an enormous amount of self-righteousness packed into one place.

“Mom, you’re going over the speed limit.”

“Mom, the light turned green. Put your phone down.”

“Mom, I think that policeman is trying to wave you over….mom?  Mom? Why have your eyes gone black??”

One of my biggest driving pet peeves is people who don’t use turn signals, especially at stoplights.   FYI People—they are not optional or just a courtesy!  They are required by law!

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I can’t tell you how many drivers have seen me yelling and gesturing (with my windows safely up) as they paused in the middle of the intersection, looking bewildered as everyone waits for them to go straight because they forgot to put their turn signal on.

Daughter #1, our newest licensed driver, is now beginning to understand my frustration, and has come up with some of her own creative descriptions of these drivers, none of which can be printed here.

Daughter #2 however, has more fun pointing out the times when I myself forget to use my signal (as if!), or when, according to her, I wait to long to use it.  The other day, we were getting ready to turn onto our street when apparently I didn’t use my signal until too late.

Daughter #1:  “You didn’t use your signal, Mom.”

Me: “Yes, I did.”

Daughter #2:  “Well, you waited long enough.”

Me:  “Don’t mess with me today. It’s too hot.”

Daughter #2: “Why? What are you gonna do?”

Me: “Just–don’t. It’s not worth it.”

Long pause…

Daughter #2: “It’s worth it a little bit.”

Sigh……so please, in the interests of keeping people safe, and because playing chicken in the middle of an intersection isn’t cool, use your turn signals. IN the words of one of my youth group leaders back in the day, WWJD?

 

 



Sadness Brownies and other Spring Quotes

As many of you know, spring is an especially crazy time of year in our house: sports seasons wind down (“Has anyone seen soccer my jerseys? They were due yesterday…”) and start up simultaneously (“What do you mean none of your riding pants fit?”); prom (“A new dress is going to cost How Much???”) and general hormonal mayhem ensue (“I’m going to put all my projects off until I stress-cry”); and preschoolers finally start losing it with each other (Teacher: “Why did you poke him?” Child: “I don’t like him anymore.”).

So, my apologies for not posting for a while. I haven’t started stress crying yet, but it’s only because I don’t have time. Even now, you’re only going to get what I like to call a window post—I’m just going to give you a peek through the window of my life, so you can see what I’ve been hearing over the last couple of weeks…

Daughter #2: “Mom, if you hadn’t married Dad, we’d be ugly.”

 

Daughter #2:  “I’m going to make sadness brownies.”   A week later: “I’m going to make sickness brownies.”

 

Daughter #1 (driving) to Daughter #2 (behind her in the back seat): “Stop pressing on my seatbelt with your toes!”

Daughter #2: “You can feel that?”

Daughter#1: “Yes. It’s pressing into my ovaries!”

 

Me to Daughters: “The dishwasher makes things smell because you don’t rinse your dishes. Eggs turn into cement of you just throw the plate in the sink.”

Daughter #1: “Well, why did Dad get that dishwasher?”

Me: “It’s super-quiet and has a delay setting.”

Daughter #1: “It’s super-quiet because it’s not cleaning anything.”

 

Next post….”Underwear and how many pairs women supposedly have” (working title)…seriously, that’s the next one…enjoy your week beneath the fine powder of pollen.

 




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