Subourbon Mom


Dr. Fauci – The Personal Touch
September 23, 2020, 5:00 pm
Filed under: Misc. Humor | Tags: , , , , , ,

I don’t know about you, but lately I’ve been receiving personal voicemails from Dr. Fauci, or at least someone who does a damn good impression of him, offering helpful hints about how to handle the virus. My college-age child also received one of these calls, and frankly, they’re just too good not to share. Of course, the real Dr. Fauci doesn’t have time to make personal calls, but boy do I wish he could…so hit the play buttons and enjoy – you’re not going to hear these on CNN.

I was able to track down Dr. Fauci and arrange for a rare – ok, it’s never happened before – Subourbonmom interview. Ok, calm down. I know this blog is outrageously popular, but it’s not the real Dr. Fauci, and I am clearly no Dan Rather or Barbara Walters. However, I would LOVE to conduct an interview with him for real some day.

No matter how you feel about Dr. Fauci, respect those around you and wear a mask – you don’t know what issues they may be facing or what people they have in their lives that would suffer catastrophic results if they contracted the virus. We flattened the curve – now let’s keep it that way until we have a vaccine available for everyone.



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.

 

 



Crossing the Shaky Bridge to Middle Age

Women of a certain age joke about menopause all the time.

“If I had a dollar for every time I get distracted, I wish I had some ice cream.”

“I don’t have hot flashes, I have short, tropical vacations.”

“Menopause – it’s a thin line between love and homicide.”

This happens…that stops happening … and thank God THAT doesn’t happen anymore (you can Google the symptoms – it’s not secret knowledge, despite what our mothers’ generation thought).  I always thought that knowing those things made me have a pretty good handle on it, mentally.  My kids are grown and I’m definitely ready to kiss the whole period/PMS thing goodbye.

So, when mine stopped happening, I diligently started counting down the months until the magical 12-month mark with no period – then it would become official.  I’d be in a new stage of life that didn’t involve trips to the store because I ran out of tampons and packing extra underwear to take to work and on vacations (just in case).  I was looking forward to emotional stability, sleeping through the night and becoming the wise old matriarch I am destined to be.  I was even getting used to this new, fatty swim ring permanently hanging over the top of my pants, no matter how many sit-ups I did.

And then, at 11 months and 3 weeks – I got it again.

Are you freaking kidding me?

I was at the finish line, looking official Middle Age in the face and she laughed, said “Bitch, please,” and drew another 365-day line in the sand.

A couple of nights later (and one emergency trip to CVS for supplies), I dreamed I was pregnant (I’m not).  And in that dream, I was very upset.  I cried and wept, feeling angry and betrayed and trapped. I remember wailing “I don’t want to be 70 when my kid graduates college!”

50b

It took me a few days to process what was  happening with that dream. I finally realized that even though my body decided to have a last laugh or last gasp, whichever way you want to look at it, in my mind I had already moved on.  I’ve raised my two wonderful daughters and experienced  the joys and agony of watching them go through the ages and stages. I am ready to start a new phase of life.

That’s something the OBGYN, memes, Facebook and even your friends probably don’t talk about – the mental and emotional adjustment of menopause. I’m sure most women feel it is liberating, devastating, or some combination of the two, but we just don’t talk about that part of it.

Memes are way funnier, let’s be honest.

But eventually you either embrace or resent this new phase of life, this new you. You come to terms with it, or if you don’t, society will most likely not be very kind to you. There will be a lot of pursed lips and head shaking when you show up in your Daisy Dukes, 4-inch wedges and bikini top at age 60, no matter how in shape you think you are.

On the surface I was annoyed, but deep down getting my period again shook the fragile estrogen bridge (made of HRT pills and a secret stash of Midol) I was clinging to, as I tried to cross the chasm between youth and middle-age.

Bridge1When I look behind, I see a thinner version of me chasing my children, arranging play dates, juggling work and parenting and a busy social life, and generally burning the candle at both ends without a thought. I see Hubby working hard and picking up the slack, leaping into the chaos when he got the opportunity, and juggling the same crazy things.  It’s a busy, almost frantic life back there, and I get tired just watching them. When I look forward, I can see the other side, at least what we’re told is there: great, worry-free sex, wisdom, acceptance of certain physical flaws and changes that actually celebrate the life of a woman.  I see Hubby and I standing together watching our girls make their own way in the world, their own families, their own memories.  I see us figuring out this new existence together and connecting in a new way.  I see us being the team we were in the beginning.

And I realize that I’m looking forward to getting over this bridge, despite the bottles of Aleve, the moments of missing what used to be, and the memory losses that are already starting to peek around the corner at me.

So, another 365-day countdown begins. Now, if only I could remember where I put my calendar….

 

 



We’re Breaking Up
January 6, 2019, 8:40 pm
Filed under: Misc. Humor | Tags: , , ,

images

I’m in the middle of a break-up.  But, like a lot of my break-ups in the past, the guy has no idea we’re calling it quits.  But I’m not telling him until I get my stuff back.

“I don’t deserve you.”

Why am I breaking up with him?  First, he’s always late.

Always.

I get the late thing once in a while, but every…single…time? The last time we were supposed to see each other, I waited for over an hour.  I finally left.

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“I really don’t need the two of you in my life – you and your drama.”

Second, he’s pretty bad at communicating.  Even the people he hangs out with have a hard time letting people know what’s going on. That’s fine for them, but when it starts affecting my relationship, that’s a problem.  Before I left the last time, one of his “friends” told me I wasn’t a good listener.

“You need to be a better one before you can be a two.”

Third, we don’t talk anymore.  When we’re together, he spends most of his time staring at his computer.  I try to tell him how I feel, but he never seems to have time to listen to it all.

Don’t worry – I’m not breaking up my 25-year marriage.  I’m breaking up with my doctor.

I waited too long for too many appointments in a room filled with a blaring TV and geriatrics talking at full volume.  The last time I was there, after I’d waited 45 minutes, the receptionist informed me I’d been called ten minutes before, implying I wasn’t listening.  She also said there was an emergency, and they had know idea how long I would have to wait.  Um, yeah…I left.

“You only love me for my body.”

As for looking at the computer most of the time, that’s fine.  Even waiters have iPads now.  I’ve got WebMD and I only go into the office when I need a physical or a real diagnosis. What bothers me is that when I get my blood tested for my physical after the meeting with the doctor, I don’t talk to the doctor afterward.  I am sent a piece of paper with my blood test results.  There are columns with the numerical results of each test, which are meaningless to me because I’M NOT A ADOCTOR; there is also column that has recommendations based on the numbers, but unless I make (and pay for) another appointment, I don’t get to talk in person with my doctor about the results or the recommendations.  How do I know he’s looking at everything as a whole, or that he looked at it at all?

So we’re breaking up. My time is just as important as his, and I am more than just an amazing body.  I need someone who can meet my physical and emotional needs.  If he can’t understand that, well, he’ll never get it.

“Maybe we should take a break.” 

 



Spongebob Nudiepants at the Gym
May 30, 2018, 6:00 pm
Filed under: Exercise, Misc. Humor, Sports | Tags: , , , , , , , ,

Warning – this one is completely tasteless….read at your own risk…

I recently had a lengthy debate with some girlfriends over whether women should “vent the furnace” or wear underwear at night.

For those who said yes, that sleeping without underwear was their preference, the most common reason was because a long time ago, their mothers had said it was healthier.  My mom never said that, so I’m perfectly happy to be wrapped up like a Puritan every night.  Maybe the fact that I’m not going “nonederwear” explains why I have so many hot flashes at night – all that heat must have to go somewhere.

But apparently the idea that it is healthier to go without underwear is the same for whether or not people wear underwear with their exercise shorts that have the lining in them.  It seems that I am the only person in the universe that doesn’t go spongebob nudiepants at the gym.  But I have reasons:

  1. I’ve seen the sweat puddles in the exercise machine seats, and I don’t care how many wipes you use, once you see it you can’t get it out of your mind. I don’t want my stuff lathered up in someone else’s body butter.
  2. Men should double bag because no one wants to see the mouse get out of the house when it’s time to stretch. Women should do the same thing, because, let’s face it, sometimes a little landscaping might be amiss, and nobody wants that distraction either.
  3. And finally, I have a (completely unfounded) fear of Cooter Stank. I’m not the only one – have you seen the multitudes of products out there to prevent it?  And, weirdly, I’m not worried about it the rest of the time – I only freak out about it at the gym.  Even that doesn’t make sense because, let’s face it, morning workouts in the gym can be overwhelming to the olfactory senses.  Every day in the gym, no matter which gym you go to, it seems like there’s Man Who Ate Garlic Last Night, The Coffee Breather, and Please Use Deodorant As A Courtesy To The Rest Of Us Guy.

So, here’s an actual conversation in our house about wearing underwear under your shorts at the gym:

D1:  “Mom, you wear underwear to the gym?”
Me:  “Yep.”
D1:  “Why?”
Me:  “I’m afraid it will smell.”
D1:  “What will?”
Me:  “The Cooter.”
D1:  “Wait…what? Who calls it that?”
Me:  “Me.”
D1:  “I know somebody who has an ‘I Love Cooter’ magnet on their fridge.”
Me:  “You know that’s a political magnet, right?”
D1:  (Eye Roll) “Yes, I know, Mom.  I get the joke. But seriously, you know everybody in the gym smells bad, right?”
Me:  “I know, I just can’t help it.”
D1:  “You’re weird.”
Me:  (In my head – “You’re half me…” – secret smile)

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