Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor, Posts | Tags: adulthood, bars, bourbon, Dancing, drinking, elderly, Enzo's Chop House, humor, Middle-Age, parenting, parents, sandwich generation, sex, south, southern, subourbonmom, Twerking, Viagra
Being part of the Sandwich Generation is more than just taking care of both your parents and your kids—you’re also the ground wire between those two high-voltage groups.
Now y’all, I am well aware that I have lately slipped into a routine of going to work, coming home, fixing dinner, and mindlessly binge-watching Grey’s Anatomy. Somewhere between the patient being diagnosed and the amazing procedure that miraculously saves her, I fall asleep. I know my mouth is hangs open and I probably snore, but no one has made it into a Vine yet (that I know of).
Until the other night, I assumed my flagging energy is a sign of age—then I was proved oh, so wrong.
A week or so ago, Hubby and I broke the mold and went out at eight o’clock on a Wednesday to meet some friends—we hadn’t seen them in a while, and they were going to Enzo’s Chop House.
Enzo’s is known for three things: great food, stiff drinks, and fun dance music from the 60’s and 70’s. We’d been there before, and knew there would mostly be older folks out having a good time before going home and bathing in Ben Gay—we were confident we would outlast them.
This time it wasn’t just an older crowd—it was a scene out of the movie Cocoon.
Our mere speckles of white hair and ability to walk without hitching one hip up on one side were not the only things that set us apart — was the dancing.
As I said, Enzo’s is also known as a fun place to dance to the oldies—and by that I mean Motown and good ol’ Southern Rock. (I’m not sure exactly when it happened, but Southern Rock is now classified as “classic.” When I was growing up it was just “Rock.”)
Usually, when Hubby and I dance, we do the high school sway back and forth thing, because the one time we took dancing lessons, it was pointed out (to me) that both people can’t lead. So while we shifted our weight back and forth, the rest of the crowd was doing the Shag, the Swing, and the Two-Step, and even throwing out some disco moves that would make John Travolta look bad.
It was humiliating.
And if the dancing wasn’t enough, watching those reliable social lubricants, Viagra and Bourbon start to take affect was just scary. Like any bar filled with 25-30-year-olds, the bourbon goggles eventually came on, and couples that had begun the evening together started mixing it up. Men in their 70’s shuffled over to tables occupied by younger women and began chatting them up. Eventually, one of the women would stray from the herd and find herself out on the dance floor shuffling and kicking her feet to Al Green and Lynyrd Skynyrd. Hands sometimes wandered a little lower than they should, and meaningful, myopic stares stretched across the dance floor from table to table.
It was almost like watching your parents twerk.
By ten o-clock, the Highball Shuffle took over as the dance move of choice. The music wound down, and Styrofoam water cups began to replace bourbon glasses on the tables. By 10:30 we were done with a capital “D”. We were sober, and I’ll admit it—a little jealous—we left those rascally retirees to their own (sometimes medically required) devices and went home to the next generation of bar-hopping, dancing romance-seekers.
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: 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.
Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor, Posts | Tags: adulthood, brains, Eyes, humor, memory, menopause, Middle-Age, National Geographic, news, Patrick Dempsey, Science, sex, south, southern, subourbonmom, television, vision
I was looking through our latest copy of National Geographic (I think I am one of the dozen folks in the world still getting it–thanks Mom!), and I came across a couple of articles I couldn’t resist commenting on.
A recent study from Canada’s McMaster University tracked the way men and women moved their eyes as they scanned pictures of faces. In a nutshell, women made more eye movements between the features then men, generating a more vivid picture in their minds. I would like to know why women scan faces more—does this mean we’re naturally more critical of each other? (“Oh Lord, she’s got a glob of mascara on her left eyelid, Bless her heart.”) 
Or is it just part of our enhanced communication skillset? (“Caveman Bob looks like he would be a better mate than Caveman Steve—he’s got laugh lines.”)
I would also like to know if the same holds true for other body parts—say, breasts, for example. I would love to see a study done that determines if men spend the same amount of time scanning breasts as they do faces, or if it is more. 
To be fair, a study should also be done to determine if women scan men’s bodies as much as they do faces. I’m betting they do—I like big…feet as much as the next girl.
In another article, Caltech and UCLA used pictures of celebrities to study how the brain processes what the eyes see. They found out that an individual nerve cell fired up only when subjects were shown pictures of Halle Barry, even is she was dressed up as Cat Woman. Apparently, we use very few neurons for every image we see, and this makes our brains super-efficient at storing information. But if I’m using one neuron for each image, tv must REALLY be using up my brain capacity.
Think of all the images we see every day on tv, YouTube, and SnapChat. No wonder I can’t find my keys or remember where I parked; I’m too busy assigning neurons to hotty actors like Patrick Dempsey and Ian Somerhalder while I Google people in the carpool line.
Since I am completely unable to pull up the name of the lead singer of U2 if I’m asked on the spot, or remember why I came into a room at any given time, my image storing capacity is clearly taking away my language and memory recall.
Maybe this is why in the 1950’s they called the tv “the idiot box.” I think they were on to something.
Now if only I could remember where I put the remote…maybe if I think of Patrick Dempsey holding it I’ll find it.
Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor, Parenting, Posts, Sports | Tags: adulthood, apps, condoms, football, hormones, humor, libraries, Marriage, Middle-Age, mom, NFL, parenting, sex, sports, subourbonmom, teenagers, teens, WiFi
As promised last week, here are a few inventions I would like to patent but never will, because I am lazy, can’t do math or chemistry, and don’t want librarians or activists to hunt me down. Football coaches, I’ve seen your physiques–good luck catching me.
1. Condoms with the words “What Would Jesus Do?” printed on them. It’s the perfect compromise, people—pro-choice, and yet discouraging at the same time. For the non-Christians among us, substitute whatever deity you believe in. For atheists and religions that don’t worry so much about sex as much as Christians do, change it to “Do you like changing diapers?” If you are more worried about disease than pregnancy, or if you work for the CDC, change it to, “Do you have your $50 co-pay ready?”
Puke Pourri:
Spritz our smelly stuff about,
And the puke smell’s gone
By the time you check out!
2. A spray that makes library books stop smelling like vomit. Daughter #2 always asks me, “When we can go to Barnes & Noble?,” (we are not electronic readers) and I always reply that the library books are free, so we should go there instead. “Not thanks,” is her reply. When I asked her why she never wanted to go to the library, Daughter #2 said, “They always smell like throw-up.” So of course, I went to the library and amused myself (and others I’m sure) by smelling lots of books in the children and teen sections. You know what? She was right. They do smell like vomit. So, in the same spirit as the incredibly wonderful Poo-Pourri spray (sold at Hallmark–thanks Debra!) that eliminates poo odors in the bathroom, I would invent “Puke-Pourri” spray, conveniently sold at all libraries. It could even be a fundraiser for our national libraries!
3. A remote, phone-specific disconnection timer app that would disconnect certain phones in my house from the WiFi for certain periods of time during the day, like 7:00-8:00am, and during scheduled homework times. This would make getting out the door in the mornings with teenagers easier, and the process of getting homework done much faster. This app would be controlled by specific phones (mine), so the teenagers could not turn it off. I Googled it–so far all I saw was a list of sites complaining about phones disconnecting all by themselves…
4. The hormone alert wristband. If only humans were as straight-forward as cats when they want to have sex. When a cat is in heat, she will meow incessantly, sending out her mating call for all the tomcats in the area to hear (It’s only finny if it’s not your cat). If only men and women could send out signals like that in a bar, or, even better, after a decade or three of marriage. The hormone alert wristband can be made for both men and women. The woman’s band would determine estrogen and progesterone fluctuations, alerting her partner that her emotions might be running high, or that her estrogen levels are low, so trying any hanky-panky is most likely futile (unless you want to keep pestering for some pity sex, in which case I say good luck to you–keep trying and you might draw back a bloody stump). The men’s wristband would detect testosterone levels, alerting his companion to the fact that he is more likely to be aggressive; and it would detect vasopressin levels which, according to a Men’s Health article (http://www.menshealth.com/mhlists/understanding_sex_and_the_brain/printer.ph), are involved in regulating sexual persistence, assertiveness, dominance, and territorial marking. High vasopressin levels could alert his partner to the increased likelihood that the man will want sex, or might be inclined to wander. Either way, if a woman’s estrogen levels are low at the same time, put the basketball game on–he won’t bother you or anyone else.
Photo courtesy of ajc.com
6. An NFL coach that teaches players how to tackle.
Subourbon Mom 