Filed under: Misc. Humor, Posts, Sports | Tags: adulthood, airports, Breakfast Club, Energy, health, humor, Middle-Age, office etiquette, Running, south, southern, sports, subourbonmom
Going from teaching to sitting in front of a computer all day has caused some weird side effects—one of which it that I sometimes have the almost uncontrollable impulse to run short distances in inappropriate places. I think this has to do more with expending extra energy than any kind of office-induced physical Turetts.
In case you have any of these urges, here are my top fave places to run inappropriately (yes, I’ve done most of them):
- The office: racing your colleagues to the bathroom is just fun—sorry Kelly, had to do it.
- Church: there’s something exhilarating about sprinting down that plush carpeted aisle where most people creep in on Sunday’s, heads bowed—but only during non-service times. I know many people will think it’s disrespectful, but I think Jesus would smile, knowing someone was having so much fun in a place where so much serious thought happens.
- Outside in rain puddles—especially if your friends don’t see you coming and you splash in a puddle as you breeze by, getting them soaked; it’s even better if you don’t like the person you just splashed.
- Through sprinklers in the summer, outside stuffy office buildings—definitely fun and worth the chilly air-condition-induced cold you will have later.
- Down a middle or high school locker-filled hallway a la Judd Nelson in “The Breakfast Club.”
- Down the aisle in a store that has framed posters hanging on one of those carousels, letting your hands graze each frame as you go buy;
- The office again—this time pushing an office chair in a modified office Olympics.
- Hotel hallways—this one is better with two people racing and hip-checking each other as you careen down the hall. If you slam into a hotel room door, even better. Usually this seems to happen late at night, but it also occurs when children are present.
- Hospitals—I’ve been binge-watching too much Grey’s Anatomy. Haven’t done this one yet, but I’m “dying” to do it, yelling “Code Blue! I need a doctor Stat!”
- Airports—on the fast-walker thing. That’s just super-fun, and nobody will look at you too hard, they just assume you’re late for our connection.
Working as an adult is necessary and often rewarding, but when you have that crazy urge to expend some extra energy, run with it!
Disclaimer: Subourbonmom and its author or affiliates (i.e. Hubby and Daughters 1&2) are not responsible for any repercussions that might happen to you if you do any of these activities.
Filed under: Misc. Humor, Posts, Travel | Tags: adulthood, Bermuda, Caribbean, diversity, humor, islands, office etiquette, parties, south, southern, speaking skills, subourbonmom, tourism, travel
Nature has balances: night and day, sunshine and rain, Quiet Talkers…and me.
For whatever reason, I am “blessed” with a loud, scratchy voice, and a Woody Woodpecker laugh that reverberates around a room somewhere near the decibel level of a Who concert. Oh don’t get me wrong, it’s come in handy a few times, like when I was coaching and lifeguarding. Now, however, it’s a little bit of an issue.
We were recently in Bermuda for a work event, and I realized I’d forgotten how quiet Bermudians can be. I understand why Bermudians talk the way they do—softly, leaning in slightly, as if someone might overhear the conversation and report it to the Royal Gazette. Actually, that is exactly what can happen when you have 60,000 alcoholics, er, residents, clinging to a rock in the middle of the Atlantic. That’s a lot of folks on a 20-square-mile island with something to say, which they do with a wit that is funny and brutal at the same time.
I used to live in Bermuda, so I know how loud we Americans can sound to the untrained ear. Eventually, after three years or so of being there, I got pretty good at lowering my voice, but that skill has clearly been neglected since we moved.
When it comes to social events, my friend Bruce has a favorite saying: “If you’re at a party and you can’t find the asshole, it’s probably you.”
Um, I’m pretty sure the people at the event last week in Bermuda thought it was me. There were about 40 Bermudians in the room, and I’m fairly certain everyone turned at one point or another in the evening and tried to figure out one of three things:
1) how they could rescue the poor Quiet Talker stuck with me;
2) who that woman was with the man-voice was and why wasn’t she wearing her hearing aide? OR
3) who let the Southern version of Fran Drescher into the party?
At first I was annoyed, and toyed with the idea of talking in my fake Long Island accent that makes my Southern skin crawl. (“Oh my Gaawud, Vinny…would you look at this gaawbage? I could get this at home for ‘tree daawllahs.”) But I was at work and had a professional image to maintain, so I decided to study the Bermudian Quiet Talker technique instead.
I have to say you Quiet Talkers have a way of drawing people in to listen to you that I envy. I never did figure out just what it was, except possibly my natural American inferiority complex, or maybe my American penchant for British accents, but either way I remained captivated.
Unfortunately, your verbal sparring is wasted on Loud Talkers. When you zing that witty insult at us, we often aren’t sure if we heard you correctly…so most of the time, we’ll just keep on plowing ahead, oblivious to your skills.
Yes, we are clearly two very different social species, but if nature didn’t provide some balance, and there were only Loud Talkers like me, the world would sound like a forest full of crows (or a tree full of Kiskadees, for you Bermudians), cawing and squawking at each other all day long. If there were only Quiet Talkers, the world would be filled with misunderstandings, because someone misheard someone else, rednecks would have to find some other way to communicate after a beer or six, and sports stadiums would sound like churches.
So in the interest of peace, diversity, and keeping sports teams employed, let’s keep the conversation going–we Loud Talkers will keep leaning in to hear what you have to say, and you Quiet Talkers keep leaning back and listening.
If the conversation stops, the silence will be deafening.
Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor | Tags: adulthood, Bathrooms, children, human resources, humor, kids, office etiquette, office humor, preschool, subourbonmom, toilet paper, toilets, work
Working at my Big Girl’s job has brought to my attention the fact that preschool bathroom rules are not the same as Grown-Up Office Bathroom rules. While we recently moved offices and now have private bathrooms, our previously public bathrooms illuminated several differences (and some creepy similarities):
- In a Grown-Up Office Bathroom, you don’t need to worry about someone who is 3-feet-high squatting down, looking under the stall door and talking to you about her Hello Kitty Halloween costume.
- Grown-Up Office Bathrooms do not have step stools tucked under the sinks so you can reach the soap.
- It’s not cool in Grown-Up Office Bathrooms to chat with your co-workers while you pee; in preschool bathrooms, this is usually the ONLY time you can chat with your co-workers about what’s going on.
- Grown-Up Office Bathrooms do not have signs reminding you to sing the Happy Birthday Song the entire time you wash your hands—weirdly (and often incorrectly), it’s assumed people will wash their hands without reminders.
- In Grown-Up Office Bathrooms, it is assumed that everyone knows what the little wastebaskets on the side of womens’ stalls are for. In preschool bathrooms, many things can be found in these baskets: Legos, Tinker Toys, Barbie heads, and pretend cell phones, to name a few)…
- In Grown-Up Office Bathrooms, no one will ask you to help them wipe—if they do, it’s definitely time to get to know your HR Department.
- In Grown-Up Office Bathrooms it’s also not cool to take the stall immediately next door to the person who’s already in there—apparently not everyone is comfortable with the knowledge that the person next to them is probably evaluating how badly they had to go. (You can’t un-think it, can you? You’re always going to wonder now if that’s what they’re thinking as you let it go.) In preschool bathrooms, you rarely get to leave the room, so when you pee like you’re a miniature Niagra Falls, everybody knows why.
- Which leads me to similarities: all public bathrooms have the thinnest toilet paper on the planet, that breaks off square by square. After several frustrating tugs, you’re left holding what looks like handful of lottery tickets with the consistency of peeled skin, instead of a satisfying and reassuring wad of toilet paper.
- Sometimes, your body is kind enough to forewarn you that things are about to get pretty nasty. Most workplaces, whether it’s for adults or children, have at least one bathroom that is far enough away from the others that you can go (run) to when that unfortunate day happens; however, re-entering the world often involves a walk-of-shame, especially if the hidden bathroom had someone else waiting to use it.
- All women’s public bathrooms, no matter what the median age of the users, seem to have at least one toilet that all of the women use who can’t aim when they squat.
Whether you’re five or fifty-five, bathroom rules are simple:
Clean up your own mess (that includes the seat);
Give others their space; and
Provide and/or properly use the right tools for the job.
If we all do this, no one will have to put up signs like these:
Filed under: Misc. Humor, Posts | Tags: adulthood, Beauty, chest hair, hair removal, haircuts, health, humor, manscaping, mens health, razors, sex, subourbonmom, tweezers, wax
The other day a group of us were discussing a fashion trend that some of us find…interesting: Manscaping. I don’t just mean a little mowing the yard after a shower–I’m talking serious, no-hair-anywhere Manscaping that leaves most actors in the 35-and-under category weirdly hairless—like pre-pubescent boys.
Now, I’m all for not seeing Sasquatch peeking out from under the collar, just as I imagine no one wants to see a fig leaf bikini on the beach with palm fronds growing out of it. But one guy in the conversation (which was started and dominated by women, so kudos to the guys there for holding their own) finally asked, “So if a man is hirsute and he’s trying to do this, exactly where does the carpet stop and the tile begin?”
Excellent question. I went to that trustworthy source, Google, since asking my friends was doing nothing but causing hysterical laughter as we talked about waxing and trimming horror stories and mistakes.
There a lot of how-to sites, most concerning the techniques of using razors and wax and laser removal. But here are a few tips from Esquire magazine (and a couple of other sites) that I agree with:
- For the chest that does not see a lot of gym time, a layer of hair can be a blessing. But if you do choose to show it off, make sure your chest hair is in proportion to your arm and leg hair. You can trim them all, but the key word here is TRIM. The character Schmidt on the television show New Girl is the perfect example of things not matching up. The guy has a crazy-thick head of hair and 5-o’clock shadow, but no hair anywhere else that network television will show. For the chest, waxing or using clippers is recommended to reduce ingrown hairs and shave-rash.
“Schmidt”
- Back hair—it’s gotta go; and the neck too. No matter how much you rock your partner’s world, no one needs that extra something there to hold onto. As for the neck, any decent hair stylist should be taking care of it anyway.
- The buttocks—back to the carpet/tile question: “No one wants hair shorts,” says Esquire. Maybe trimming is the compromise?
- Nose and ear hair—really? Is that still even a question? And no, there isn’t an age limit on when that should stop being an issue. I view nose, neck and ear hair as the weed whacker areas. Get the proper tools and it’ll go quickly, while making everything else look better.
- The undercarriage: Word on the street is that trimming up the undercarriage can make the muffler look bigger; however, you can’t run around in your tighty-whities anymore afterward. Hair on any part of the body acts as a moisture wicking device, as well as a friction reducer. Tight underwear can cause rashes, itching and chafing.
- Trimming your chest/body hair into cute shapes is a no-no (see below).
- The Boyzilian—I’m not touching that with a 10-foot pole (that’s probably trimmed to look like 12). A man getting that done–that’s an image I DO NOT want in my head. If it’s something you want to try—good luck to you. Your partner should spring for the Advil and the bag of frozen peas.
Now that summer is over, waxing season has begun. Start now, and it will be less painful and less frequent by next summer. Christmas is coming up (according to most stores you’d think its next week. It’s only October, people! Can’t we get through Halloween first?), so that might be a good time to ask for that trimmer. Whatever you choose to do, you might want to make sure it’s not permanent. Just look at all those women out there with eyebrows like a pencil line; that style’s out now, and thicker brows are in. They don’t make chest hair pencils—yet—just sayin’.
(And after looking for all of these pictures, there are now about a dozen images I can’t ever un-see…you’re welcome.)
Filed under: Misc. Humor | Tags: adulthood, humor, Internal Revenue Service, IRS, marketing, news, phones, scams, south, southern, subourbonmom, telemarketers
Hi there, y’all—my apologies for the recent hiatus, but we had a death in the family, and it has been a grueling time for all of us. Now that things are settling down a bit, I can come up for air and share with y’all some of the other craziness that’s been going on outside of all of that.
The other day, my friend Gail received a phone call from a number she didn’t recognize. Against her better judgment, she answered it. A heavily-accented, female voice said, “Hello, my name is Julie Smith and I am from the Internal Revenue Service.”
Gail: “No you’re not. Take me off your call list and don’t call me again,” and hung up.
Ten minutes later the phone rang again. Annoyed, Gail answered, ready to put a stop to it.
Caller: “Hello, this is Julie Smith from the Internal Revenue Service.”
Gail: “No it’s not. Do you know that calling with a scam is illegal in the United States? Now take me off your call list. ” She hung up again.
Another ten minutes goes by and the same number calls her again. Gail picks up the phone.
Caller (male this time): “Hello, this is (something unintelligible) from the Internal Revenue Service.”
Gail: “No, you’re not! Do you know that making scam calls is a terrorist activity? And that terrorist activity in the United States is punishable by death?”
Caller: “No, this is not a scam. This is the Internal—“
Gail: “No, you’re not!” She hung up.
Gail waited about twenty minutes, then called the number back. A new voice answered. “You have reached the Internal Revenue Service—“
Gail (in a very stern voice): “This is Homeland Security. Identify yourself.”
Caller: “I-I-uh-…this is not a scam!”
Gail: “This is Homeland Security. Identify yourself.”
Caller: “This not a scam! It’s not a scam!”
Gail: “This is Homeland Security. We have identified your location. I suggest you identify yourself.”
Caller: “I’m so sorry! It is a scam! It is a scam!…I LOVE YOU!”
The caller hung up.
I wonder if that would work for the political calls we will be getting from now until November…
20 more ways to get rid of a telemarketer….
http://www.blippitt.com/20-lol-ways-to-get-rid-of-telemarketers/
Subourbon Mom 
