Filed under: Misc. Humor, Posts | Tags: adulthood, book review, books, fantasy, fourth wing, humor, romance, sex
It’s been a long time since I became obsessed for a while with Outlander, which was and still is a years-long session of girl porn. (For more on the girl porn part, read Chick Flick Fail). I needed something new. Sometimes a girls gotta find a steamy romance novel, get yo the hood parts and look up panic-stricken in the middle of reading it to see if anyone can tell you’re reading girl porn (they can’t).
So, I was on BookTok the other week (for you non-TikTok people that means I get a lot of people recommending books in my TikTok video feed), and a woman in her 30’s was recommending various romance novels. I was intrigued.
One of the books she recommended was Icebreaker by Hannah Grace. She did say up front that the cover was misleading, and that the back cover summary sounded like a young adult romance: a college Olympic-bound ice skater had to have the ice hockey team captain step in to be her partner, and of course they hated each other on sight – until they didn’t. Pretty cheesy, right? How, I thought, is someone actually recommending this book?
Even the cover had a young adult style to it (see below). Not a raised, cursive letter or barely covered breast in sight.
She also said it was the hottest thing she’d read in a long time….like 50 Shades of Gray hot. I thought, ok, this lady clearly is not as well-read as I am and doesn’t know good girl porn when she reads it. I’ve read dozens of raised-letter, Highland/Pirate/Cowboy romances with lots of heaving and throbbing body parts. I read the True Blood series, and in between some historical fiction and very dry non-fiction I’ve read other erotic-ish books that occasionally had a plot worth following. Despite my better judgement, I bought Icebreaker to take on vacation, figuring that if I didn’t like it I’d leave it in the hotel.
Sweet Jesus.
I hope no high schoolers buy it, thinking they’ll get a glimpse into real college life. Aside from completely unrealistic descriptions of dorms, college athletic programs and schedules, when I was in college none of the boys knew a tenth of the female anatomy this guy did. Not only could he find it on the first try, he had a level of restraint no college boy has ever had, at least according to every college girl I talked to.
I also bought another book currently #1 on the New York Times Fiction Best-Seller List, called Fourth Wing by Rebecca Yarros. I love a good fantasy novel, and this one has dragons, star-crossed lovers, lots of magic, poisoning, violent death and epic battles. For those of you who aren’t fantasy readers, these books are usually plot-driven and have minimal sex in them. They might have a romantic sub-plot, but it often involves a chaste kiss or is only there because in the past it was the driving force for why two kingdoms are fighting.
Fourth Wing is different – it has both a fast-moving plot and explicit sex. I can see why it’s on the best-seller list. In fact, I can’t wait for the movie to be made – it will be SPECTACULAR and you’ll want to see it on the big screen. But again, not the young adult fantasy I thought it would be.
I was about half-way through the book, and there had been a few teasing, steamy almost-kisses, the kind where you know it’s going to be epic at the end when they get together, but you won’t actually read about it. You know, like Aragorn and Arwen in Lord of the Rings.
Holy shit.
There wasn’t any waiting until the end of this book for the off-screen romantic union. Xaden and Violet had back-against-the-wall, break-the-armoire, light-the-curtains-on-fire sex half-way through.
Five times.
In one night.
With explicit descriptions straight out of the old Hustler “Readers Letters.”
Oh, and like all romance novels no one had to pee…ever.
And I was listening to this book on the way to visit my 86-year-old mother.
I had to drive a little extra to reach the climax, er, end of the chapter before I got to her house.
Let me tell you, nothing will kill that rush faster than seeing your little, old mom waving at you from her front door. Xaden and Violet had to take a mental cold shower so I could focus on showing Mom my vacation pictures.
I’m not sure what’s happening in the publishing world, but don’t choose your books by covers and back-page summaries. And don’t listen to the reviews, either. Despite some negative reviews (and their points were legit), I loved Fourth Wing and am waiting for the sequel to come out in November.
I think Fourth Wing will be like when Daughter #1 called me after watching the first season of Outlander:
“Mom,” she said, “I love it, but I will NEVER watch it with you.”
Same girlfriend, same.
Filed under: Exercise, Food/Drink, Middle Age, Posts, shopping, Spring Break, Travel | Tags: adulthood, Exercise, fitness, humor, mental health, Middle-Age, travel
Ok, so Imposter Syndrome (see my previous blog) doesn’t just happen in sports – it happens as a parent, and even worse, in the mirror.
I don’t know when exactly that it happened, but at some point I started feeling like an imposter in my own body. I would walk by the mirror and catch a glimpse of some person I didn’t recognize, who now has more gray than blond hair, a less curvy body and wrinkly hands,. Then I’d realize that person is me.
WTF? I would think. That can’t be me. After all, my brain hasn’t changed that much since I was 25. I still think poop jokes are funny, that I can do way more physically than I actually can, and I still laugh inappropriately at funerals. My brain also still thinks I’ve got my 25-year-old body – until I go shopping for a bathing suit. Then, I have to deal with my current “beach body.” (Oh, and if I see one more TikTok with some lithe, 18-year-old worrying about getting “beach body ready,” I’m going to…ok, I’m just going to swipe up again in a really, really irritated way.)
Here’s the truth, though: no one else on the beach gives a shit that I didn’t lose those extra 10 pounds, or didn’t go to the gym an extra session a week so I could have a flat stomach.
NO ONE.
And even if they did notice or care, they sure as hell don’t know my body’s story, that the lines on my face are laugh lines and worry lines from years of soccer games, horse shows and family vacations, or that my stomach, with it’s new shape and distribution, housed two other human beings and somehow still supports my spine so I can work at my computer to pay bills.
Appreciate the story your body has to tell. Nobody wants a story that has no plot, no twists and turns, no growth for the main character. Those stories are boring. Be your favorite story and embrace the cover.
Filed under: Misc. Humor, Posts, Sports | Tags: adulthood, funny, Horses, humor, mental health, self aimge, sports
Have you ever felt like you have no business doing what you’re doing? Like you are in no way qualified, and that any minute people will see right through you? It’s called Imposter Syndrome, and most of us have all felt it to varying degrees.
“I cannot believe people are actually trusting me to take care of a real, live newborn baby. What are they thinking?”
“I am in no way qualified to do this job – these people really need to work on their hiring process.”
“I have no business being in this competition. Everyone else is better than me. I’m just going to suck, then have a meltdown in my car and go home.”
(By the way – despite my fam calling me “Dr. Libby” because, let’s face it, I like to diagnose – sometimes correctly – people based on totally sketchy things I’ve read, I am not actually a doctor and am using any actual medical terms pretty loosely. I am also not in any way trying to minimize real mental health issues.)
I don’t often feel that way – probably because of a very misplaced, innate sense of self-confidence, or because I take great care to keep people’s expectations low…I mean LOW…so they (and I) aren’t disappointed. But lately I’ve been wallowing in it – with my sport and my appearance.
Let’s talk about Imposter Syndrome in sports – I’ll follow up with appearance in the next blog. Most of you know I love riding horses. The smell of the barn, the necessity of being present, and of course the partnership that comes with hard work and trust. But the last few months have been a mental struggle, feeling like I’m not accomplishing anything and that I really don’t deserve to move on to the next level.
In the horse world, feeling like you don’t measure up happens A LOT. At some barns, people can be judgmental about the horse you own, the quality of your tack or your clothes – like Mean Girl judgmental. Even the very nature of horse shows is judgy – you are literally paying someone to judge you.
But I’m not showing right now, and I don’t belong to a barn where people are competitive with each other – in fact, it’s just the opposite. We are incredibly supportive, even when we see the train going off the rails. So why do I still sometimes feel like I don’t deserve to be riding the horse I am leasing?
I think it’s because Imposter Syndrome can also be caused by our own reception of kindness.
What I mean is, it’s easier to dismiss people who are judging you who don’t know you, don’t know your story, and don’t know your goals. It’s harder to live up to people who are being kind. It’s a whole lot easier to say, “She’s a bitch and doesn’t know me, so I can let her judgement go.” It’s a lot harder to say, “This person has invested an interest in me and is helping me work through my shit. I don’t want to disappoint them…but I know I’m going to. I don’t deserve to be here, doing this because I’m going to suck.”
Wow – so you feel bad when you think people are being mean, and you feel bad when people are being nice. You (and the nice people) are in a lose-lose situation.
So how do you break out of this? Someone probably has a dissertation about it, or a self-help book on how to deal with this…but here’s what I’m trying to do.
Recognize that real kindness comes from a place of compassion, with no expectations. The only expectations others who are kind are putting on me are fictional – my own brain is coming up with these all on its own. I need to remember to recognize it, own it and embrace what is being handed to me.
Practice talking positively to myself. I need to remember to not talk to myself any less kindly than I would to a friend or a neighbor. Part of that positive talk is keeping perspective and looking back on how far I’ve come.
Recognize that there are good days and bad days, and they’re both okay. Some great advice I got was from a Pilates instructor who said at the beginning of every class, “Do the best you can with what you brought today.” It’s important to recognize that I’m not going to kill it every day. And, on the days when I don’t and the whole ride is a shit show, I need to take a nugget of positivity – even if it’s “Hey, that was a shit show, but you didn’t die – look how strong your legs are now!” Or, “That was a mess, but what did you learn? You can use that next time.”
So, for the friends who are being kind to me, don’t feel bad and please don‘t stop – it’s a me issue. Plus, you get actual mental and physical health benefits from being kind, too. For those of you who are in fact judging me (when I haven’t paid you to), piss off. I know you’re an Imposter, too.
Filed under: Exercise, Misc. Humor, Posts, shopping | Tags: adulthood, clothing, fashion, humor, shopping
I have a solution to cut some emissions by limiting clothing return costs.
I’m tired of trying to figure out what size I am when buying clothes online. When clothing sites show me diagrams and ask if I’m apple shaped or pear shaped, rectangular or hourglass (who still uses one of those, anyway?), I have no idea which box to check.
How about asking if I’m chair-shaped? Because that’s probably more accurate. I sit in a chair for eight hours a day, then sit on the couch watching tv.
I think consumers would be better off if companies asked you what body issues you deal with – are your arms too long? Too short? Not fitting into sleeves the circumference of a paper towel roll? Does your stomach currently hang over your pants or is it still managing to hide behind your waistband? Is your waist small but your hips look like they could squeeze out a watermelon at a moment’s notice? Are your boobs playing permanent hide-and-seek or are they announcing to the world that they exist and then moving around all on their own? Are your love handles showing beneath your shirt? Are your man-boobs letting the world know what temperature it is?
If companies asked these kinds of sizing questions, we might have more success and cut our return shipping costs in half, thus helping to SAVE THE ENVIRONMENT.
I think office clothing should be described in catalogs by the kind of office job you do:
- Casual work-from-home, not client-facing, sits in chair 8-12 hours a day but has to pee a lot and has a sore neck from squinting at the laptop screen. You would most likely get joggers (comfortable, easy to get on and off), a collared work shirt or blouse with a secret heating pad built into the neckline because your neck is tired from jutting forward, and because people only see you from the waist up.
- In the office, client-facing, has hot flashes or works in office space with badly controlled heating/cooling systems. Non-wrinkle suit or tailored skirt and blouse (also with hidden heated/cooling neck pad). Secret pocket for stress ball or fidget or tiny voodoo doll of boss.
Even if you don’t work in an office the same types of “issue” questions would still apply.
Or, better yet, you should be able to dress for the job you actually WANT to do. For some of you, that may mean dressing like a CEO, which is what we were all taught to do (“Dress for the job you want”). For many of us, it would make coming into work so much more interesting, like Halloween every day, and you get to guess what the other person’s real dreams are/were.
For example, I would love to be a successful author who sits by the pool with a glass of wine contemplating the next chapter of my novel. Or, my job would be to hike and take equestrian vacations, writing travel blogs and articles. If you wanted to be a firefighter, you could wear the whole outfit, or just the mask. Same for a scuba diver. Pirate? That would be awesome!
Professional poker player? Fighter jet pilot? Spy? The options are endless – and don’t just limit yourself to just one occupational outfit. Life is full of options, and your “dream” wardrobe choices should be too.
In the meantime, until the professional world allows us the freedom to dress for the jobs we REALLY wanted, let’s just see if companies can come up with something a little better than asking what fruit we look like.
Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor | Tags: 1980s, adulthood, humor, Middle-Age, mindfulness, music, songs, teens
Whenever Hubby and I go on a road trip we like to listen to podcast called “The Moth.” In this podcast regular people share true stories along a single theme. This weekend the theme was how music shapes or affects your life.
I started thinking and realized I have several pivotal memories that had songs associated with them. To this day, they can dredge up what I was feeling at that time.
When I was 12, I had a huge crush on a boy at my school named John. We were at that awkward age where we still wanted to play, ride bikes together and climb trees. But somewhere between pretending we were the Duke boys and the middle of 6th grade, things changed. By the time the first middle school dance rolled around, I was head over heels. On the night of the dance I shimmied on my Jordache jeans that were way out of my newly-divorced mom’s budget, smeared on some purple eye shadow because I read it accentuated green eyes, and drew what I thought were dramatic black circles around my eyes with eyeliner. I’m pretty sure I looked like a raccoon in drag.
When the first notes of Purple Rain came over the gymnasium speakers, I looked for John and my heart dropped into my shoes. My beloved was dancing with my friend Becca. Then they were kissing – French kissing, no less! I literally felt my heart break, and today I still hate Purple Rain with a passion.
A year later at a 7th grade co-ed party, several of us were sitting in a circle playing the obligatory game of Spin the Bottle (I have no idea where the parents were). I hadn’t had my first real kiss yet, and butterflies were jumping on a trampoline in my stomach. REO Speedwagon’s “I Can’t Fight This Feelin’ Any Longer” was playing softly in the background. Finally, I looked down – the bottle was pointing at me! A boy named David, who had braces just like me, came in for the kiss. It was just what you would expect: spitty, messy and completely unappealing. But I had crossed over some invisible threshold, and REO Speedwagon was with me. It’s also not a current favorite.
All through high school, songs and bands marked various events. U2 was a date with Colin; Echo & the Bunnymen played during rides to school in John McGarity’s car; Free Bird signified The First Time (of course it did); The Cars were a beach party; The Clash and Erasure carried me through summers lifeguarding; Blister in the Sun was every party in the woods; and, the Red Hot Chili Peppers were the summer after graduation.
Then I started thinking about what our song is. Hubby and I have tried a few times over the last 30 years to identify one, but no single song has ever really stuck. Bad Company drove with us on road trips to the mountains; PM Dawn carried us up and down 95; Poison by Bel Biv DeVoe kept us dancing ‘til the wee hours at the clubs in Bermuda, and Carbon Leaf has stayed with us from college to the present.
I realized we don’t have just one song that’s ours because we’ve changed and grown up along with the music we listen to. It makes sense now why my 50th birthday playlist was so long. That’s a lot of big moments, and music was more often than not a large part of them.
If you have a lot of songs that bring that old anxiety, joy, relaxation, or nostalgia back, consider yourself lucky – it’s proof you were in the moment. Choose your next songs carefully – you never know what feelings will become entwined with them.
Our memories may be faulty, but the songs stay true.
Thanks for indulging me on my trip down memory lane!
Subourbon Mom 