Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor, Posts | Tags: adulthood, clocks, family, glasses, humor, malls, Marriage, menopause, Middle-Age, REI, shopping, Sleazstaks, south, southern, subourbonmom
Many of you know I’m not a gadget girl. I am missing the shopping gene that Daughter #1 has, which enables her to spend hours in a mall, touching everything that is for sale. However, recently I was in our local REI store, killing time while the family roamed around, and I found something that was so cool, I almost spent the $14 just to wear it once into my classroom:
That’s not me: it’s my big brother…you can’t say I never made you famous!
How could you not want chameleon-vision glasses? I would LOVE to spend one afternoon driving around in these, watching people’s reactions. Of course, since the glasses enable you to see behind you and to the side, I would be an even better driver than I already am (my insurance agent Stephanie would agree, saying something like you can only go up).
Despite the cool glasses (which I opted not to buy), I’m still not a gadget girl. I don’t need the latest and greatest bells and whistles on everything I own—but I married someone who does. Most of the time this works to my advantage—my dishwasher is super-quiet and my car has heated seats and intermittent wipers, things I never would have bothered with. The fact of the matter is, it’s a pretty safe bet that if something ever happened to Hubby, I would be living in a shack with nothing but a CD player and a black and white t.v.
About a month ago, Hubby bought a gadget that might cause our entire marriage to implode. Apparently, he has always wanted one of those alarm clocks that shines the time on the wall or ceiling. Yes, the man who claims to not be able to sleep if I have the bedside light on, or if my book light is too bright, has purchased an alarm clock that projects bright blue numbers a foot high on the wall opposite our bed. All night long, the room is bathed in a Poltergeist glow, and I keep waking up, expecting to see Drew Barrymore in her white nightie sitting in front of out t.v., saying, “They’re heeeere…”
As a woman in her 40’s who finds herself awake in a puddle of sweat for no good reason, having a giant blue announcement that it’s 3:00 AM is unbelievably annoying. It’s even more irritating when, as I turn over for the twentieth time and crack open my eyes, it informs me it’s 3:10…3:13…3:42…4:00.
So I’ve decided on my revenge. I’m going to put on those glasses (looking like a Sleazstak from the old Land of the Lost show), and wake Hubby up. I’m pretty sure they don’t have alarm clocks like that in the hospital. No matter which of us ends up there, I win.
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 | Tags: adulthood, Ducks, Fears, humor, Office Parties, Phobias, south, southern
This year, one of my favorite presents was a bathroom book filled with trivia. In addition to the myriad useless facts stored in the depths of my brain that prevent me from ever finding my keys, I now have even more ways to annoy my family and friends. One of the facts I came across was this:
Anatidaephobia is the fear that somewhere in the world, a duck is watching you.
Just to be clear, I looked up the definition of a phobia. A phobia is an overwhelming and unreasonable fear of an object or situation that poses little real danger…is long-lasting, causes intense physical and psychological reactions, and can affect your ability to function normally at work or in social settings.
So there are actually people who cannot get up and go to work because they are terrified that somewhere in the world a duck might be watching them?
I could see it, maybe, if someone during duck hunting season was suddenly attacked in an act of aviary revenge; or, if someone lived near a pond during duck mating season and was mistaken for a female mallard. Duck sex is violent (I live near a pond and have witnessed the attacks), and because of that I am glad I am human and have opposable thumbs. Mandy Mallard must fly faster and learn aerial acrobatics that rival super sonic jets in order to get away from her “partner.” I just have to be able to activate my taser with my thumb (and remember to bring it with me).
But there’s two things about this phobia I really don’t understand—first, Anatidaephobia isn’t just a fear of being watched by a duck. It’s the fear that ANY duck ANYWHERE in the world might be watching. In my head, all I can picture is one massive duck eye floating in the sky, watching us, like Saron in Tolkein’s Lord of the Rings trilogy, or for you non-fantasy geeks, picture the unblinking eye that floats over the pyramid on our dollar bills.
Second, people with Anatidaephobia can’t function normally in their work or social settings. Picture this: You are at your office Christmas party trying to make small talk with Bill the accountant who is rarely out of his cube, and who pops some kind of pill with every Coke he swills all day long. He is sweating profusely, staining the bright green shirt he put on for the occasion, and constantly glancing out the windows.
“Is there something wrong?” you ask Bill.
Bill shakes his head, but can’t focus on you. He glances out the window again. You look behind you, but only see snow glistening off the bushes.
“Are you sure? Is there something out there?” you ask. Maybe Bill is afraid someone has reported his meager insider trading to the cops, and he’s waiting for them to show up.
“They’re watching,” Bill whispers urgently.
You decide Bill has definitely done something illegal, or else he’s smoked some bad weed and is having the worst trip of his life.
“Who?” you whisper back, playing along, hoping its just the weed.
The duck,” he answers, clutching his solo cup even tighter. A crack appears, but Bill doesn’t notice the white wine dripping down his hand.
You look out the window again but don’t see any ducks. There is only snow and other buildings. It’s an office block for God’s sake.
“What duck?” you ask, trying to wave Barbara from IT over. This one will go down in the annals of great office Christmas party stories.
Bill points a shaking finger out the window. “He’s out there. Watching me.”
“Where?”
More white wine sloshes onto the industrial-strength carpet.
“I don’t know,” Bill whimpers, “but he’s out there!” Bill scuttles off to the bathroom, hands shaking, his shirt soaked through. Ted from HR follows, cell phone in hand.
You can’t help but glance out the window one more time. You aren’t afraid of ducks, but you definitely are now a candidate for having Christo-anthropophobia, the fear of office Christmas parties. (Don’t bother looking it up—anthropophobia, the fear of social situations, is true a phobia, but I added the prefix.
I think I’ll go put it up in Wikipedia and see how long it stays…after I get over my Cyberphobia.
Filed under: Food/Drink, Middle Age, Misc. Humor, Posts | Tags: adulthood, Christmas, Crockpots, family, Food, Holidays, humor, lingerie, Lobster, Marriage, Middle-Age, news, ohio, reporting, south, southern, television, thelapine.ca
In the days immediately following Christmas, I turned the national news on and saw that the scrubs were in for the usual anchors. I should have known right then to just turn it off, but like a driver passing a wreck, I couldn’t look away. I watched as some intern’s work went out over the air, and I cringed.
The anchor was reporting on the delays UPS and Fed-Ex experienced during the holidays, explaining that bad weather, a shortened shopping season and the massive on-line purchases contributed to the delays. Naturally, it followed that they would interview someone who had been inconvenienced. Unfortunately, they chose to interview one of their employees, who was complaining that the dozen or so fresh lobsters she’d ordered for her Christmas Eve dinner were delivered after the event, and her Christmas was ruined.
I’m sorry…a dozen fresh lobsters?
Wow. Her life is HARD.
Nice choice, editorial staff. Way to make a point.
Disgusted, I turned off the news and continued to avoid the holiday clean-up ritual by incessantly playing Candy Crush and Pet Rescue Saga.
A few days later, I was surfing FaceBook (more procrastinating), and I came across the following news report:
Ohio Wife Torches Husband’s Truck After Getting Crock Pot and Cheap Lingerie for Xmas (thelapine.ca)
DAYTON — Police arrested 34-year old Tracy Waters yesterday morning after she allegedly set fire to her husband Dave’s 2013 Chevy Silverado Crew Cab in a rage over her Christmas gifts.
“He gave me a slow-cooker and these red nylon crotchless panties with a push-up bra,” Mrs. Waters told police.
“The bra had tassels for fuck sake. Tassels.”
Police have charged Mrs. Waters with arson, assault with a weapon (“a 4-gallon ceramic crock pot with corn-on-the-cob pattern”) and using foul language in public.
Mr. Waters told the Dayton Daily News that he was excited about his gifts for his wife and doesn’t understand why she became angry and turned violent.
“Good food, good lovin’, and a good truck were all I wanted for Christmas,” said the 37-year-old warehouse worker sporting a swollen-shut right eye.
Seriously, you can’t make that stuff up.
These are the people I want to see being interviewed on the national news. When I read the article out loud to Hubby (before thinking it through that our daughters were also in the car), nobody asked why nylons would be crotchless, or why anyone would want tassels. I was grateful and horrified at the same time.
Hopefully, they also now know that a crockpot counts as a deadly weapon.
Subourbon Mom 