Filed under: Food/Drink, Middle Age, Posts | Tags: adulthood, alcohol, alcoholic, Beer, bourbon, drinks, family, health, humor, liver, love, Marriage, Middle-Age, rum, sex, south, southern, subourbonmom, tequila, wine
There are a lot of body organs that can be equated to types of people. My heart is the parent of teenagers – steadily working to keep things moving forward and occasionally feeling like it can’t keep up, and skipping a beat when exciting things are happening. My brain is definitely the five-year-old of the body family, with the ability to be shockingly accurate and annoyingly obtuse at the same.
But the most interesting body organ is my liver – she’s a slut – or at least she used to be. She would take in anything, but like a lot of older sluts, doing so now comes with a lot of consequences.
I think the history of alcoholic drinks my liver has filtered also reflects the relationships (and I use the word “relationships” loosely) I’ve had.
In the beginning, there were the sweet early-years boyfriends, who felt good at the time, compared to, well, nothing much else yet… but who left me in the end with monster headaches and an upset stomach. For my liver these years were marked by avid consumption of your staple redneck beers, occasionally spiked with an unusual combination of vodka and whatever else was available.
Of course, everyone has a tequila story. Let’s just say I still can’t even think about it to this day without gagging…and that was just that one guy…(Daughters 1 & 2, be smarter and better than your mom…please!)
Like many people, my liver and heart were indiscriminate for a while, trying to find a basis for comparison. You have to know the bad before you can appreciate the good, right?
Eventually there was the first reciprocated love – and the introduction to wine. Sweet white wine was delightful and full of promise. Unfortunately, I still hadn’t tried a lot of other drinks or relationships, and needed to branch out to truly understand what my liver, er, heart thought was best. European beers with their fancy labels had always been a draw, but in the end they made me sick at heart and in the toilet.
And then my liver and I discovered rum – a drink traditionally from the islands, with a bite that will cut through too much sweet and not leave me with the dreaded wine headache/hangover. That lasted for years and years, and is still a favorite.
But as I’ve gotten older, my liver is thankfully starting to show her age, getting more and more picky about what spills inside, creating all kinds of side effects when I make a bad choice. Beer leaves me feeling tired and fat, wine gives me hot flashes, and vodka just eliminates any mental filters I have – none of these are desirable side effects in my body or in a relationship.
I have now switched from rum to bourbon, and before anyone freaks out and thinks something is wrong between me and Hubby, we are fine. But after 27 years, relationships change. I no longer need the flash fire and overt sweetness of rum drinks. Instead, I prefer the steady burn of bourbon, warming me from the inside. It keeps the hot flashes away, and I rarely have a hangover. Same with Hubby – he’s my Blanton’s, my Basil Hayden, my Jefferson Ocean.
So there you have it, folks. Whether you are in the Boones Farm stage (or, God forbid, never got out of it), trying your first sweet, white wine or still throwing back those nasty shots of tequila, think about what it might be telling. My liver was a slut – but thankfully she held up long enough so that I can now ingest quality.
Filed under: Misc. Humor | Tags: adulthood, doctor, doctors, employment, gynecology, health, humor, jobs, manufacturing, medicine, Middle-Age, OBGYN, occupation, occupations, sex, sex toys, subourbonmom
Every once in a while I have a great business idea, and if someone ever acts on them, just throw some of your millions my way to say thanks.
The other day I made my sort-of annual visit to the “girl doctor.” Now, I know that we all have to check our dignity at the door for that particular visit. my way of coping is to stare at the annoyingly cheerful pictures of kittens and tropical beaches taped to the ceiling, willing myself away to my happy place while they do whatever they have to do.
Which brings me to my question about OBGYN visits: With all of our medical knowledge and scientific advancements, why does visiting the OBGYN still have to be so awkward and uncomfortable?
Spas have heated massage tables – why must we lay on a cold, vinyl-covered table in a chilly room wearing a tissue paper “robe?” How about a heated table and some steamy towels instead?
And for that matter, since we end up waiting interminably for the doctor to arrive once we’re scantily clad, why not add cup holders and a minibar so we can relax a little bit? If they can add stirrups, they can add cup holders.
We have medicine to eliminate pain, repair skin and counteract venom. How have we not developed OBGYN instruments and examination rooms to make an awkward situation less…awkward?
So, while I was in the waiting room, I started Googling on my phone. For those of you that know me, this is NEVER A GOOD THING.
I learned that medical instrument sales and manufacturing is an estimated $133 billion industry. The sex toy industry, pre-Fifty Shades of Gray, was about $15 billion, and estimated to reach $52 billion by 2020. So how is it that these two industries have not gotten into bed together and made gynecological instruments that are more comfortable? To me, mating these products should be an obvious business decision.
The main tool that’s used looks (to me) pretty much like a curling iron with a light attached to the end. When I looked at the ones for sale (because for some reason you can just buy these on eBay – exactly who is buying this stuff?), they were all metal or acrylic. Why not make them out of the same latex-free materials that (I hear) are on sex toys? In fact, why stop there? Why not put a heater in there too? Our body temperature is 98.6 degrees – why on earth are we using instruments that feel like an icicle?
If these two industries could just swipe right and meet in the middle, I guaranty women would be more likely to come.
In fact, if all those crazy sex toys ads that clutter up our email are even remotely true, by using their technology OBGYN medical instrument manufacturers could change how women view going to that particular kind of doctor – in fact, they could revolutionize the industry. Preventative OBGYN medicine would become the norm as women no longer dreaded their visits, but actually looked forward to them. Disease rates would decline with early detection. Jobs would be created as new product lines are developed and manufacturing could return to the U.S.
So their you have it folks – how I would bring the “O” (I mean “occupations”, you gutter-minded people) back to the dreaded OBGYN visit.
Filed under: Exercise, Middle Age, Misc. Humor | Tags: adulthood, bra, clothing, Exercise, gym, health, humor, Middle-Age, sports, sports bras, sportswear, subourbonmom
As I continue my journey back to moderate fitness so I can flail around in an inner tube all summer with my cup of bourbon, I have come to the realization that my old school sports bras are holding me back – not up.
Everyone moans and groans about the hardships of exercising – the exhaustion, frustration, injuries and limited food choices, but women don’t usually address one of the most difficult post-exercise struggles that many of us face:
Removing that sweaty sports bra.
Let me begin by explaining that I’ve had my four sports bras for at least 5 years, which is longer than I’ve stuck with most t.v. shows and celebrity crushes. And I’m told it’s probably not a good thing – they are designed to keep The Girls contained, and to prevent the pain of all the independent jumping about they like to do. I’m pretty sure at this point those old sports bras are not doing much more for me than keeping everyone from realizing it takes me at least 15 minutes to warm up when the gym thermostat is set to “arctic.”
Oh they’re comfortable enough, like my fave pair of sweat pants – soft and stretchy. But they also have that irritating habit of turning into a boa constrictor-like leviathan I can’t remove once I’m done punishing myself for eating that entire pan of Rice Krispie treats.
And if you’re changing in a gym locker room, it’s even worse – there are witnesses to the absurdity that happens after every workout.
After every session I try to let myself cool down as much as possible before turning myself into a pretzel in order to get that stretchy monkey off my back. It never works, but I do have a system:
Step 1: Try in vain to pull the sports bra over my head by grasping the sides, like you would a t-shirt.
Step 2: Succeed in twisting the bra into a tourniquet, where it becomes stuck, wrapped around my upper chest like my own hand-made mammogram.
Step 3: Proceed to thank God for my inhaler that allows me to breathe during this most difficult part of my workout.
Step 4: Bend over at the waist and scrabble at the back of the sports bra with two hands to try and pull the damn thing off.
Step 5: Curse my stiff shoulders and vow to do more stretching.
Step 6: Get one arm out, accidentally getting a whiff of my armpit and the nasty, sweaty bra at the same time.
Step 7: Gag.
Step 8: Pull bra over my head while exhaling and fling it across the room in victory.
Step 9: Swear (again) that I will splurge and actually buy a quality, zip-shut sports bra.
I can’t even imagine what it must be like for my friends who are more…buxom, and have to “double bag” The Girls every time they work out. Taking off two of these Lycra straightjackets would be enough to make me give up on the whole exercise thing together.
In case these struggles are preventing you from exercising, don’t worry – they make snap- and zip-front sports bras, an sexy ones, too. Apparently this is not a new phenomenon – others had these struggles as well, and shopped for sports bras more recently than 2005. But until I can get to the store, I’ll push (or pull) on, trusting that I’m building triceps every time I get undressed after a workout.
Filed under: Exercise, Food/Drink, Middle Age, Posts, Spring Break | Tags: adulthood, bikini, bourbon, Exercise, gym, health, humor, menopause, Middle-Age, mom, Running, Running Tourette's, south, southern, Spring Break, subourbonmom, summer, treadmill, Virginia, weight loss, winter
After walking around all winter grumbling about how I hate the way my stomach has started moving independently of the rest of my body, I finally realized I was actually going to have to do something about it.
I was going to have to start…dare I say it?
Exercising.
And even worse… Eating Better.
So I did what I always do when I realize Virginia winters don’t require the amount of extra insulation I’ve been building up. I tried a few things, and quickly realized my intentions do not match the reality of the situation.
Intention: I am trying to eat 5 fruits and veggies a day and limiting bread to get more good carbs and limit the bad.
Reality: My body went into a fiber-induced shock. Apparently, granola is not everybody’s friend, at least not at first.
Intention: I am limiting alcohol – and by that I mean I am only having drinks Thursday through Saturday. (Some folks asked me “why include Thursday?” Well duh…because Thursday is “Little Friday!”)
Reality: Middle Age takes care of some of that desire; I now have a whole list of drinks that make me have hot flashes, so I’m definitely weighing my choices more carefully – is it really worth having to change out of my sweat-soaked my PJs at 3:00am to have that glass of wine? Nope.
Intention: I bought a few Clean Eating and exercise magazines to give me inspiration and ideas.
Reality: They make me feel like I am being healthy without actually being healthy…until I look at the 20-year-olds in the pictures who clearly have never had children and don’t sit in an office cube all day like a veal. I also refuse to spend a lot of money on special spices and high-end oils that those Clean Eating magazines seem to demand. And, I have never once tried any of the exercises in the fitness mags – mostly because I couldn’t follow the diagrams any more than I can put together anything that says “some assembly required.”
Intention: I am regularly exercising at the office gym, mostly doing ab work and cardio to get the weight off as fast as I can.
Reality: Running on the treadmill comes with two hazards I wasn’t expecting:
1. Watching my reflection in the windows as I run makes me unbalanced – I had to grab the rails before I shot off the back of the machine like a sweaty, horizontal human waterfall;
2. I thought my new cheap headphones were mildly electrocuting me every few seconds, until I realized that in the winter treadmills acquire a lot of static electricity. So, every 3rd or 4th step I had to slap the metal rail with my hand to prevent the static zap from reaching my headphones and inner ear. I don’t know what the people walking by the gym window thought, but I’m pretty sure I looked like I had a case of Running Tourette’s.
Intention: I am going to look awesome in a bikini this summer.
Reality: I will once again spend too much money on a conservative tankini that my mother will approve of.
But in the meantime, I’m going to be burning those extra calories flailing at the metal treadmill rails – maybe those expended calories will turn into that bikini body I remember. Or maybe they’ll just let me eat that extra helping of summertime happy hour appetizers.
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.
Subourbon Mom 