Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor | Tags: bachelorette, Blake, emotions, friendship, Garrett, Quinn, relationships, romance, tv
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.
AND THEN SHE PICKED HIM!
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. )
Filed under: Misc. Humor, Sports | Tags: ambulance, cars, crime, friendship, fun, horseback riding, Horses, humor
(Names have been changed to protect…well, you be the judge.)
Recently my friend Amy’s daughter Grace was taken to the hospital after a fall from her horse during a horse show. Don’t worry – she’s fine. But what happened on the way to the hospital just shows that there’s humor even in frantic and scary situations.
As the EMTs were loading Grace into the ambulance, Amy called out to Grace’s boyfriend to take her car and follow the ambulance. Eager to help, Dominic raced across the showgrounds, found the car and was soon trailing the ambulance on the highway.
Meanwhile, in the ambulance, a clearly concussed Grace keeps squinting out the back window. Noticing her daughter starting to strain to see through the rear window she asked, “What, honey?”
“I – I think that’s Dominic behind us,” Grace mumbled.
Amy looked out the back window and, sure enough, it was Dominic following them – but in the wrong car.
Amy tried in vain to get Dominic’s attention by waving her arms, making a “cut/stop” motion with her hand across her throat and mouthing that’s not my car! Dominic had no idea what she was doing – he was busy changing the preset radio stations from gospel to country and rock.
When they got to the hospital, Dominic rushed to Grace’s side.
“You ok, babe?” he asked.
Grace chuckled softly. “Uh-huh. But You’re a criminal.”
“What?” Dominic asked.
“You’re a criminal – that’s not my mom’s car.”
Amy added, “You have to go back to the show and get my car – it has my purse and ID in it!”
Because he’s a good boy, Dominic promptly freaked out. He jumped into the borrowed car, drove back to the showgrounds and did what any red-blooded American would do – parked the car in the same spot and used his t-shirt to wipe the steering wheel, radio buttons and door handle for fingerprints. As far as we know, no one was the wiser for his mistake.
All this is funny by itself, and typical of my friends. But here’s what I still makes me laugh:
- I still wonder what the owners of the “stolen” car thought when they got back in at the end of the day – the radio stations were different and the car seat was in a different position.
- What did the other drivers behind the ambulance think when they saw Amy waving and mouthing words from the back window of the ambulance? That she was a psych patient that needed more meds? That the ambulance was secretly a rape van and she was being kidnapped? Or that she was celebrating because England beat Sweden in the World Cup?
- Grace and my daughter (D2) look out for each other at these events. One time, Grace and Dominic raced to our house to get D2’s rescue inhaler while she sucked on oxygen at the end gate. D2 has accompanied Grace to the hospital a couple of times now, and each time she takes a selfie. It’s what friends are for…keepin’ it real…
Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor, Parenting | Tags: adulthood, adulting, Facebook, friends, friendship, guilt, Middle-Age, relationships, social media
I’m tired of FaceBook making me feel like a crappy parent, an uninvolved citizen, an un-inspiring adult, and someone who is only marginally good at weird visual puzzles. Mostly, I’m tired of feeling guilty about things I didn’t realize I’m supposed to be doing to be a good person, according to the Facebook Junkies.
Brace yourselves – I realize I’m probably going to offend some of you – but I’ve never been accused of holding back or using much of a filter, so here comes the hurricane…
First, stop with the chain posts – Share this with 10 people who need a hug today. If you send me one of those, consider it dead when it reaches my page. Adding a task to my already overloaded shit-I-have-to-do-today list does not make me feel more loved. I need an administrative assistant, not a FaceBook hug.
I also need a break from all those pseudo-inspirational messages like, Who did you inspire today? Or, my personal non-favorite, How are you bringing your AMAZING to work today? Seriously? How about “Congratulations! You didn’t punch that person in the throat today!” Or maybe, “Hang in there – they can’t all be that stupid.” Or, if you don’t like the heavy sarcasm, how about “Try to be nice to people today – yep, even them.”
But the ones that REALLY get me are the posts that say something like Share this if you have an amazing son/daughter. Wow – those are annoying on so many levels.
First, I’m pretty sure my kids know I think they’re amazing. If you don’t, D1 and D2, please be confident that I’m well aware that you both are already better people than I am, that you inspire me every day, and that I brag about you to the people that matter. When I criticize you, it doesn’t mean I think you’re stupid – it means I’m trying to protect you, and enable you to function as a kind adult in an unkind world.
Second, if I were a person struggling to conceive, or who’s child had passed away, I can only imagine that it would break my heart a little every time one of those little brag posts popped up.
And finally, I noticed there are precious few posts in the same vein saying, Share if you have an amazing husband/wife/partner/grandparent/parent. Hmmmmm….what does that say about us?
The Share this if you love your son/daughter/grandchild posts are almost as bad. So are you saying that if I don’t share it I don’t love my kid? Seriously? I would be more irritated with this one if I thought a lot of kids were actually on FaceBook and fretting that their parents didn’t love them since they didn’t share that post. But, since most of them are on every platform other than FaceBook, maybe these aren’t so bad – just mildly guilt-inducing for us dinosaurs who don’t speak in pictures and acronyms.
So, like many of my friends have from time to time, I’m going to take a break from FaceBook. My blog posts will still appear because they automatically push to it, so don’t worry – you’ll still get your doses of Subourbonmom wit. Of course, it will help my chances of getting them published in a an actual book if you follow the blog by signing up to receive it via email. (Okay, that’s my very rare marketing plug.)
And don’t worry, Family, I’ll still be stalking you on Instagram and SnapChat, and yes, I know y’all have Finstas and other places where I’m the subject of many a meme. Have at it – the fact that you’re posting anything about me means I’m making an impact on your life.
Share this if you love sharing FaceBook rants.
Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor | Tags: adulthood, adulting, attitude, bullying, clothing, dating, fashion, friends, friendship, Middle-Age, relationships, women, women's health
I’d rather be hit on by a woman than by a man.
Let’s face it – a lot of women, when it comes to the fashion choices of their peers, are judgy sometimes downright bitchy.
Yep, I went there.
Maybe men are too – I just don’t know enough about that species, even after living with one for decades, to make that call. (I have my suspicions, but I figure this post will irritate enough people in one go.)
You can go ahead and get uncomfortable and deny that you and your friends are like that, and that it’s a sexist thing to say. But I’ll bet you’re denying it while wearing some kind of socially acceptable clothing that isn’t made strictly for comfort. If you’re naked or wearing a onsie, I apologize for lumping you into this ridiculous generalization and salute you.
Now, if you’re out hunting in your local bar and your Cha Cha is hanging out there for all to see, then by all means, get those kudos from the guys – you probably don’t give a crap what other women are thinking anyway. Fist bump for setting a goal and going after it.
But let’s be honest – most of you have been out with your friends at one time or another and some girl walked by looking slutty, overdressed, underdressed, dressed too young/too old or just too different. Take your pick. And, someone in your group shook her head, pursed her lips, and said something mean about that girl behind her hand. If you’re in the South, she might even say something backhanded, like, “It must be nice to have enough confidence to go without a bra after nursing four kids.” So yeah, mean and bitchy. (I have no doubt there are men who do this too, and women who don’t – but if I talked about them, this wouldn’t be nearly as much fun.)
Don’t get me wrong, I like having men hit on me, too. It’s good to know that if all the rules in the world, my ethics and my love for Hubby were different, I could get a piece of that – it’s a powerful feeling. And having Hubby hit on me after 25 years of marriage is super-gratifying – I mean the man has seen me throwing up and giving birth to two kids. There’s not a lot of glamour left. Having a woman hit on me simply carries a different kind of weight – the same way someone telling you your dog is cute at the dog park might not be as satisfying as having an American Kennel Club judge tell you your dog could win the next championship. There’s a level of knowledge that makes the compliment mean more.
Sooo… another woman is going to get what went in to making all this awesomeness happen:
- the hair products to make your locks smooth/curly/shiny/smelling good and every color of the hair rainbow
- the blow-drying/straightening/curling so it looks like you didn’t blow dry/straighten/curl it
- the makeup that’s just the right amount so it hides your flaws but doesn’t make you look like a ’ho
- the clothes that say you’re not on the pole, but that still show off all the good parts (which by the way, aren’t necessarily the same for men and women)
- the lengths you go through to not show panty lines – which leads to:
- no underwear at all, a la Britney Spears back in the day (Millennials, think Kim Kardashian);
- an uncomfortable thong that shows off all the cellulite; or
- Spanx, which pushes all the fat into one place and looks like your grandma’s undies
My guess is most men don’t really want to know how we Goddesses of Love and Lycra got this way. I love bologna, but I don’t want to know what it’s made of or how it got into those perfect, round slices of deliciousness. That’s what dating is for – to get beyond the packaging and, if you’re in your 40’s and lucky, the ingredients will be better than what’s in bologna.
Sadly, women don’t often openly and positively comment on other women, especially ones they don’t know. Shame on us. And, more often than not, it seems to me that women dress for other women, not for men – and it’s because we’re scared.
So the next time you’re out, no matter who you’re with or whether you know the person or not, send a genuine compliment out there – we are most critical of ourselves, and you never know what kind of day or week someone has had. Putting on a clean shirt or a bra may have been the best they could do that day. Saying “Hey, I like your shirt” or “Your hair looks good today,” or even better, “I think you’re funny/kind/smart,” may make someone’s day in a way you never expected.
Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor | Tags: adulthood, Douchebag, etiquette, friends, friendship, Middle-Age, New Girl, office humor, relationships, Roadhouse
I’ve figured out how I’m going to retire early. Stealing from the under-rated show New Girl, I’m going to start carrying around a Douchebag Jar.
In case you’re still scratching your head and wondering “What the hell is she talking about now?” here’s the deal: You carry a mason jar or whatever you have handy (depending on where you are it may need to be a full-on trash can), and whenever someone commits an act of douchebaggery, they must contribute a fine to the jar.
What is a douchebag? Urban Dictionary defines it as “An individual who has an over-inflated sense of self-worth, compounded by a low level of intelligence, behaving ridiculously in front of people with no sense of how moronic he appears.”
When can you point out that someone is acting like a douchebag? Well, that’s where it gets a little tricky. Generally, calling someone out for douchebaggery at work is not a good idea; after all, we are supposed to respect our colleagues and play nice in the sandbox, etc. Plus, it could get you fired:
Accuser: “You owe a dollar to the DB Jar.”
Co-Worker: “Why?”
Accuser: “Because you interrupted my client call to tell me you’re going to Bonaroo and MIGHT or MIGHT NOT be back on Monday.”
Co-Worker: “You’re just jealous. Going to Bonaroo doesn’t make me DB.”
Accuser: “No, but thinking your undefined availability while you’re at a concert matters more than my client call, does.”
Co-Worker: “You’re fired.”
Accuser: “You still owe The Jar, plus $20 more because you’re 50 and going to Bonaroo.”
Calling someone out that you don’t know, especially in public, can lead to violence (reference every bar fight ever).
So that leaves friends.
That’s right, sometimes you have to call out your friends. Most folks have at least one friend who periodically acts in a douche-baggy fashion and needs to be corrected. After all, isn’t that what friends are for? We are friends with people for lots of reasons, but one of the best is that they help to make us better people. Don’t believe me? When was the last time your friends gave you an eye roll or responded in a voice dripping with sarcasm to something you said? That’s your friends correcting your behavior, and in theory making you a better person. The Douchebag Jar is just another tool for correcting behavior.
Subourbon Mom 