Subourbon Mom

The Weeper
August 12, 2018, 7:39 pm
Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor | Tags: , , , , , , , ,

I was recently invited to a friend’s house to watch the finale of The Bachelorette. Seven women of various ages and relationship stages were there, from college to middle-age, from single to married to divorced to “talking”, or whatever they call it now. I’ve never actually seen more than 5 minutes of any episode (because I think the whole show is any Saturday night at a bar but extended for 15 hour-long rides on the Drama Train).  This time, I decided the girl time was much needed and maybe I could figure out why the show is so popular.

Let me just tell you, I had a GREAT time.  I was yelling and groaning along with everyone as the drama unfolded.  So yes, friends who are rolling their eyes, I can be open to new things.

Now keep in mind while you’re reading this that I still watch Survivorand American Ninja Warriors, and I’m aware that I’m standing in the middle of a huge glass house.

When I arrived, I was ushered into a Bachelorette wonderland:




Each guest had to pick which bachelor “team” they were on.  Since I knew nothing about either of the two finalists (Garrett and Blake), I chose Blake based on the pictures stuck into the team cupcakes.


And then the drama train started huffing down the Bachelorette tracks.

Or should I say weeping down the tracks. Oh my God, I have never seen so much weeping on one show.  Mostly by Garrett. And let me tell you, Team Garrett lapped it up, goofy, salty tears and all.

“He’ll make such a great dad!”
“He’s so sensitive!”
“Why can’t I get a guy like that?”
“Why can’t I get a guy at all?” (Note – these girls were all gorgeous and in their 20’s – huge eye roll)
“He just seems so genuine!”

I wanted to hurl myself in front of the train, if only to make Garret stop crying every time it rained (often) or when he saw Becca (also often).  What sealed the deal for me and Blake was when Garrett played his trump card – he told Becca he felt like her deceased father was with them. Becca melted, he cried (again? seriously?), she cried, and I finished another glass of rosé to get the taste of throw up out of my mouth.

Now, before all you Team Garret people FTFO, you need to understand something about me – I’m not a weeper, at least not where people can see me.  When our 15-year-old dog died, my kids later told me that was the first time they’d ever seen me cry – that was three years ago, and they are eighteen and twenty.  The Fam constantly makes fun of me for not crying when we watch sad TV shows. Clearly, I also have issues.

Obviously, watching Garrett the Weeper made me uncomfortable. All I could think of was: She’s going to be raising man-child along with her actual kids.  poor thing – she’s always going to have to be the Bad Cop because he’s too emotional to do it the other half  ofthe time.  Plus he smiles when he’s crying and its creepy.


There was more weeping from Team Garrett, and gnashing of teeth from Team Blake.  But the best (and most important) part of the whole night was the dialogue that emerged during the event: What makes a good marriage, or a good boyfriend?  When and how often should you be crying in a relationship?  What kind of man makes a good father?

The show is still ridiculous, but it sparked these cell-phone-free conversations for straight two hours, and that, my friends, almost brings tears to my eyes.

(To hear another version of this night, check out my friend Alex’s blog. )








My Cups Runneth Over

The other day I heard someone say “my cup runneth over.” The expression (which comes from Psalms 23:5) means having more than enough for your needs.  Well, I’ve begun to think we all have cabinets full of cups, but not all cups have good things in them—some of them are delicious, and some are just nasty. Too bad those things aren’t kept in shot glasses.

We all have the cup of good luck and good times, which I like to picture as a flute of champagne, bubbling over the rim onto a dinner jacket or down the front of a cocktail dress, especially at weddings and celebrations (for celebrators on a budget, make it pink Asti Spumante). It makes us happy and laugh a lot, and dance inappropriately at weddings—best of all, it rarely leaves a stain.

The cup of jealousy is a no brainer–crème de menthe. It’s a vile shade of green, and can even ruin something as sweet as vanilla ice cream.

The cup of anger can be filled with lots of things, but my choice would be beer. There might be some arguments, but hear me out.  Beer makes people loud, and sometimes aggressive. If beer drinkers don’t get aggressive, they get tired and go to bed before the party’s over. When someone’s red solo beer cup is too full, the beer slops out over the edge and onto someone else’s flip flops, pickup truck, or stadium seat.  It leaves a sticky residue that stays around for a long time (have you ever smelled a fraternity house?) and makes your shoes squeak, reminding you of what happened.  And when you try to empty your red solo cup by drinking it, beer makes you feel bloated inside, and keeps you up all night when you finally break the seal and try to let it out.


The energy cup is filled with…what else? Coffee! When your coffee mug overflows it’s annoying–probably as annoying as you are to those whose cups are only half-full. It’s even more annoying when you spill a $4 cup from Starbucks–then you’re annoying and out $4.

The cup of youthful sex is filled with peach schnapps or Boones Farm. Lots of people drink it when they’re younger, and never really get over the experience. Their stomachs still curdle at the memories.

The cup of mature sex is bourbon, in a highball glass—sometimes it makes you laugh, sometimes it makes you loud, and sometimes it makes you sleep when you’re done emptying it.

We also have the cup of love, which for me would be filled with hot chocolate—it’s warm, sweet and makes you feel happy and full inside. It also helps you sleep at night.

Everybody has a cabinet full of cups, and at one point or another, they all runneth over. When it happens, choose wisely who you spill the contents on—friends don’t mind a little beer every now and then, people will laugh and grab you into a giddy hug when you spill your champagne, and most folks will be okay when your hot chocolate runneth over, because even your residual chocolate tastes good when they suck it out of their favorite shirt.


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