Filed under: Exercise, Middle Age, Misc. Humor | Tags: adulthood, breaking up, breakups, couch potato, couples, dating, family, gym, health, humor, love, Marriage, Middle-Age, narcissist, reachers, relationships, settlers, sex, subourbonmom, Twilight
Daughter #1 recently informed our family that on the TV show How I Met Your Mother, they talked about how in every relationship there’s a Reacher and a Settler.
Reachers are in a relationship with someone who is out of their league. Settlers are with someone they believe may be inferior to them, either intellectually or physically – think Christie Brinkley and Billy Joel, or for those of you under the age of 40, Jason Sudeikis and Olivia Wilde.
Ok, ok, if you want to be intellectual about it, it could be anyone of normal intelligence who has married a genius of any kind.
So I started wondering: If this is true, what relationships would work better and longer?
Reacher + Settler: A lawyer once said, “You know 10’s don’t date 2’s, right?” Well, in my opinion, if they do it’s most likely not going to work, for two reasons:
1. There rarely are 10’s. Some people may think they’re a 10, but chances are they’re not. I’m not just talking about looks here – you can be a 10 in the personality department, or a be a 2 (a total D-bag). Either way, it probably won’t last.
2. These relationships are doomed from the start, unless the Settler (the 10) is a narcissist and the Reacher (the 2) has absolutely no self-esteem whatsoever, and they stay that way. In this type of relationship, Reachers will let their well-being be dictated by their desire to be needed by the Settler.
Think of Bella, the character in the Twilight movies. She is the Reacher (a young girl who is completely attracted to the all-powerful vampire), and Edward, the vampire, is the Settler. (Yes, I know what happened in the books at the end – more on that later). If their relationship had stayed the same, she would eventually have become just a blood supply to him.
Settler + Settler: This would appear on the surface to work, except that the relationship will become toxic. Eventually, both Settlers’ feelings of superiority allow them to convince themselves they are right, or at least that the other is wrong. In a relationship between two Settlers, each thinks the other must be a Reacher, and therefore must be inferior/wrong. “Asshole”, “arrogant” and “egotistical” are a couple of favorite words for two Settlers to sling about when they fight. Try to imagine what would happen if Kanye West or Taylor Swift got together, or even better, Hillary and The Donald.
Toxic.
Reacher + Reacher: This is the best combination. Two Reachers will be convinced they don’t deserve the other person, and will treat each other well. Back to Bella and Edward – by the end of the series, both become Reachers. Once Bella is made into a vampire, their unique vampire abilities put them on equal footing. Plus, both are so screwed up emotionally (she’s horrifically repressed, and he’s got some bizarre emotional need to be with a girl one tenth his age) they will never consider themselves Settlers. That said, most of the marriages I know that have lasted a long time have done so because both people are self-aware enough to know they are flawed, and that not many people in the world could put up with their shit the way their spouse has for the last decade or two.
But what if the dynamic changes? What if one of the two Reachers turns into a Settler? It happens. Think of the Couch Potato-turned-Gym Rat. The Couch Potato, who is in a relationship with another Couch Potato, should be happy (according to my theory) – until the Couch Potato decides she no longer wants to be a Couch Potato (because she watched the Twilight series too many times), and begins working out in the gym. Soon she’s rockin’ the six pack and has a whole new set of Gym Rat friends. She starts to look down on her Couch Potato, and becomes in her mind, a Settler. So, we are back to the first scenario: Reacher + Settler.
Does this mean people aren’t allowed to change and grow in their relationship? Of course not. It does, however, mean that both people have to communicate, and never stop growing and trying new things. Children try new things every day and grow exponentially. It’s one of the reasons they are so interesting to watch. Adults have a harder time trying new things, out of fear of looking ridiculous of being uncomfortable. But not trying anything new means not growing.
Trying something new doesn’t have to mean hiking the Appalachian Trail or learning to pole dance at age 50; it can be something as simple as taking an online class about underwater basket weaving, writing a blog, or starting a business from your home. When one person in the relationship stops growing and trying new things, they automatically become a Reacher. If both people stop trying new things, they become…Al Bundy.
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: Parenting, Posts | Tags: adulthood, driving, family, humor, kids, Marriage, Middle-Age, mom, parenting, south, southern, subourbonmom, teenagers, teens
Wow–times have changed in our house. The conversations have moved from questions like, “Mommy, are unicorns real?” to “Mom, did you ever smoke weed when you were in high school?”
That question alone has sent many a parent into a tailspin. Add to that the following recent family conversations, and you begin to see why bourbon’s calming effects are…welcome.
Yesterday, my newly-minted driver, Daughter #1, went to Whole Foods after soccer practice and got some chocolate milk for herself and her sister. After deciding it tasted good at first, like butter or melted ice cream, apparently it wasn’t so hot at the finish.
Daughter #2: “It tasted kind of like udders.”
Hubby: “How do you know what udders taste like?”
Me (to myself…): Oh no…
Daughter #2: “I harken back to my youth.”
An actual, recent road trip conversation:
On a road trip in the car, Hubby decided to pass the time (briefly–he learns quickly) by beating out the rhythm of a song on the top of my exposed thigh.
Me: “Just so you know, it’s really not cool to play the drums on your wife’s thigh fat.”
Daughter #1 (in the backseat): “I know! He does it to me too!”
Hubby (to Daughter #1): “Yeah, but yours is all muscle. It makes a different sound.”
Me: GLARE
And finally, after Daughter #2 owned up to lying to one of her teachers last year, Daughter #1 couldn’t stand it:
Daughter #1: Mom, you laughed when Daughter #2 told her teacher she had a disease so she could wear her short shorts to school, but you got mad when I told my teacher I couldn’t turn in my homework because the printer was broken when it wasn’t. That’s so not fair!
Daughter #2: It wasn’t a total lie–I was still getting tested.*
Me: There’s a big difference between lying about not doing your homework and wearing shorts that are too far above the knee, when you’re legs are a mile long.
Daughter #1: (Sighs…) I guess either way you’re going to end up a hooker.
Hubby: True, true.
*(Daughter #2 does not have a disease. She’s fine!)
Filed under: Food/Drink, Middle Age, Misc. Humor | Tags: adulthood, Ben & Jerry's, capitalism, Food, free markets, health, humor, ice cream, Marriage, nutrition, shopping, subourbonmom
I’ve got a serious issue with Ben & Jerry’s. Twenty-five years ago, Hubby and I spent a lot of our college dating time riding around in the shuttle he drove for extra money, eating Ben & Jerry’s Coffee Heath Bar Crunch. This year, on our 20th anniversary, Hubby went out for some Coffee Heath Bar Crunch, and came home with…Ben & Jerry’s Coffee Toffee Crunch.
It was NASTY.
We Googled why they changed, and apparently they were feeling guilty about the state of America’s health, and of developing country’s economies, so they changed to a healthy version from a free trade country.
Um, news flash, Ben & Jerry’s: if I’m eating Coffee Heath Bar Crunch, chances are I’m not too worried about my health. And just for you capitalists out there, Ben & Jerry are missing a major point: if it tastes nasty (and it does), people won’t buy it. Then you’re not helping anybody.
Hubby sent a nasty-gram to B&J, and they kindly sent us some coupons. But what we really want is our flavor back–so please, Ben & Jerry, stop researching ways to make “Fish Food” flavor out of salmon for those good omega-3s, and bring my Coffee Heath Bar Crunch back.
Filed under: Middle Age, Posts | Tags: adulthood, boxers, dating, humor, Marriage, menopause, Middle-Age, mom, Panties, sex, sexy, shopping, Soma, south, southern, subourbonmom, thongs, underwear
Recently I was in the “library,” thumbing through my Bathroom Book of Facts, when I came upon one that sparked my interest:
“The average American woman has 27 pairs of underwear.”
I thought, that can’t be right. There’s no way we have that many, even if you include Date Night panties, the inevitable Granny Panties, and the “Hell no, I’m not wearing those. I don’t care if you got them in Vegas.” Since I like to do research, I decided to
1) survey my own stash of underwear;
2) survey how many my friends have; and
3) see if there’s a difference in the number men and women have, since the book didn’t mention it.
Surprise! I have exactly 27. Nice to know I’m perfectly average. But when I counted up the three categories, I was surprised to find I only have 8 cotton everyday Jockeys, and 2 Granny Panties; but, I have 17 Date Night pairs (I’d already gotten rid of the “Hell No” panties years ago). Very strange (and depressing) since I pretty much only wear the cotton Jockeys every day.
Taking the advice of many women’s magazines, I made a decision to try and wear a Date Night pair every other day and see if I felt sexier, even though nobody else would know. (I didn’t say anything to Hubby, since I knew he’d never leave me alone if he knew what I was wearing). The result? I didn’t really feel sexier, since I instantly forgot about them unless they started crawling up, which they inevitably did. Polyester and Lycra are not my friend. (Side note: The Hanky Panky thongs are still the only ones I will ever wear, and they didn’t crawl up, since they were already there.)
When I asked my friends about their supply, I learned four things:
1) most of my friends are around the 25-30 mark—I like to think of this as a sign of optimism, unless the Granny Panty pairs are outnumbering the Date Night Pairs;
2) the younger the women, the more they had (teens-25 had pairs numbering in the 40’s)—I attribute this to the number of times they change clothes in a day;
3) men have significantly fewer pairs—also attributed to the number of times they change in a day, and the fact below;
4) men and women categorize their underwear very differently.
Apparently, most men only have about a dozen, no matter what their age or athletic/work habits. And they categorize them into Regular and Exercise groups. No mention of how they want to look in front of the ladies…hmmmm…no Date Night pairs, fellas? Just a shave and some cologne and you’re all set? Well, at least you’re not being presumptuous.
So, I’ll continue to wear the Date Night underwear, if for no other reason than now I won’t have to do so many loads of whites to keep the cotton stash at the ready for gym days. For those of you with a disproportionate number of Granny Panties, don’t give up! Just because your hips have spread out to balance your bottom, which dropped somewhere below Antartica in recent years, it doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to wear sexy underwear. It does mean you need to get properly-fitting underwear with the sticky stuff along the edges to hold it in place—check out Soma for those in regular woman sizes.
For you men, thank you for keeping the laundry loads down with your minimalist purchases; and thank you for buying that “Hell No” underwear a few years ago, even though our bodies were clearly past looking good in them–it might have made us mad initially, but secretly, we were pleased you still saw us that way at all!
PS–when I was looking for pictures of underwear online, I came across some that were hysterical, but that I could never publish here. If want a giggle, just search for funny underwear pictures.
Subourbon Mom 