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: 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/
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: Middle Age, Misc. Humor, Posts | Tags: adulthood, ATMs, breasts, business, entrepreneurs, health, humor, libraries, mammograms, menopause, Middle-Age, mom, south, southern, subourbonmom, women, women's health
I was reminded the other day that I am way late on getting my mammogram done—y’all, getting older sucks. Seriously, there’s got to be a more comfortable way to look at our mammory masterpieces. Thanks to Obamacare (which I think has done great things for people with pre-existing illness, by the way), I’ve been counting my pennies and choosing carefully which medical events are most important. In my field research, I’ve found more inexpensive ways to get a mammogram done.
The best way is to drive to your local library and use the mechanized drop box that looks like an ATM. Our county’s libraries recently got new ones—here’s how they work. When you drive up, the shelf is exactly at the wrong height, no matter what kind of car you’re in.
If you’re in an SUV, you have to hang your body half way out the window because you have to be so far away to accommodate the return book conveyor belt. Then you smush your chest on your window as you reach for the buttons to operate the damned thing. If you’re in a sedan or God forbid, a hybrid, you have to climb like a monkey up to the right height, squishing your chest on the drop box ledge to get your books up there.
Side note: Someone please tell me—why is it an option to get a receipt at the library? Are there people who don’t want a receipt in case there is secret information that someone might use against them to rack up a bunch of late charges? Just print the thing off without making me hang my torso out of the car like a crash-test dummy to press another button.
Another good place to do this is at your local ATM. Same principal applies, but the reverse is true for cars—ATMs seem to be made for SUVs. I was driving Hubby’s sedan (excuse me, he would emphasize it’s a SPORT sedan, even though it has 4 doors), and realized the car mirrors are at exactly the wrong height–they would smack into the front edge of the ATM if I got any closer. I had to back up and pull in again (much to my mortification) so I wouldn’t hit the machine. Then, I had to stretch up to reach the buttons and grab my stuff, once again smushing my chest exactly like they do in a mammogram.
If mammogram folks were smart, they would partner with library drop offs and ATMs to do a combo-service, taking a picture as you went about your business. A week after you visited the ATM or library drop-off, you would get a notice in the mail informing you if your mammogram was normal or not–receipt optional.
Subourbon Mom 
