Filed under: Misc. Humor | Tags: adulthood, contests, English, humor, language, slang, south, southern, subourbonmom, words
The other day I opened my email and yipped for joy.
I’d won a contest!
I WON SOMETHING!
Okay, so I didn’t exactly win anything substantial, except some dubious recognition that I’m clever with words.
But still, I won something!
Months ago, I submitted a new definition for the word porcupine (a yearning for bacon) to my alma mater’s English Department newsletter. Since they didn’t print anyone else’s second- or third-place submissions, I think I was the only one nerdy enough to enter.
But I won!
So, basking in my success, I thought I’d share with you some of my other made-up words and definitions (beware—some of these are NOT kid-friendly):
Ho-rizen: A slut getting up in the morning after a one night stand;
Far Ho-rizen: A slut getting up after a one night stand who has to drive home; or, a pyromaniac slut getting up after a one night stand;
Lexit: The awkward act of trying to exit a sports car in a tight skirt (a la Brittany
Spears), legs first;
Skeezer: The creepy older guy who waterskis right next to the dock where your
teenaged daughters are basking;
Thongstipation: When you’re wearing a thong & it makes you feel like you have to go, even if you don’t;
Liarrheah: Chronic lying or the series of lies that build on each other after you tell just one;
Textual intercourse: Sexting;
Failienation: When your friends leave you by yourself after an epic social fail;
Highway eye-pass: The cool glancing over at the driver next to you, but when you realize they aren’t as cute as you thought, you keep your eyes sliding past them like you’re looking at something else;
Paddle Bored: When you are in a canoe/kayak and wish you were in a motorboat;
I Exam: The act of self-examination after a decision;
I Make-up: Forgiving yourself for the bad decision;
I Glasses: The multiple wine glasses/red solo cups claimed during a party that may or may not actually be yours;
Vagenda: Women on the prowl have one of these (I can’t remember if I made this one up or heard it somewhere, but I still think it’s funny);
Aunts-in-your-pants: Your mom’s cougar friend who thinks you’re hot; (pronounced ants-in-your-pants)
Cheetos: Using artificial means to achieve orgasm;
Out-of-the-box: When a man has been denied sex;
So, if you think of any on your own, especially during those long car trips this summer, let me know!
Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor, Posts | Tags: adulthood, Discovery Channel, family, Girl Code, humor, Middle-Age, My Strange Addiction, Naked and Afraid, news, parenting, southern, southern values, subourbonmom, surviving, teenagers, television
Recently, the news has sounded more like we’re on the cusp of Armageddon than usual. I watch a few days of it, get depressed over all the problems that aren’t getting fixed, and tune in to my standby shows that bring home to me those good ‘ol Southern values and messages I seem to crave: Duck Dynasty (family comes first and iced tea that looks suspiciously like bourbon), Arrow (a hot, I-never-wanted-this, comic book hero saves his city in every episode—courage and humility—did I mention he’s hot?), and The Newsroom (honor and perseverance). I desperately miss The GCB (Good, Christian B*&%$#$), because nobody can put you in your place with a polite, backhanded compliment better than Southern women—the world needs more of that, and less sarcasm.
TI’ve also gotten sucked into survival reality shows because they bring comfort to those of us who might feel a little out of control in this day and age.
Recently, as we were driving to the beach, my mind went right from thinking about Uncle Si (Duck Dynasty’s quirky uncle–everybody’s family has one) to a new show on the Discovery Channel, called Naked and Afraid.
The premise of this show is that a man and a woman trained in survivalist skills are dropped into a difficult climate to survive for 21 days.
Naked.
That’s right, this is on the educational Discovery Channel.
For an hour two naked people schlep through the jungle or desert, trying to protect their private parts while acting like it doesn’t matter. There isn’t any voting off the island, and Jeff Probst isn’t there to heckle them and stir the emotional pot. I like to think of it as Survivor–Light.
I was so distracted by the fuzzed out parts and the fact that I couldn’t see how men would ever win because all their junk is on the outside (and that’s a lot more to protect), that I’m not even sure what actually happened during the episode.
So much for educational television, Discovery Channel. I don’t think I’ll tape that one for my class.
Now, while we are driving on road trips, Hubby and I don’t usually share a lot of our thoughts anymore, because those conversations usually go something like this:
Me: “What are you thinking about?”
Hubby: “Driving. That guy in the black truck just cut me off, so I’m matching his speed.”
(Long pause.) “What about you?”
Me: (Long winded explanation for my train of thought for the last ten minutes.)
This time, I told Hubby what I’d been thinking about and wondered aloud how I got from Duck Dynasty to the whole Naked and Afraid topic. Hubby glanced at me and said, “You just want to see the Duck Dynasty guys naked.”
Eeewwww.
Okay, maybe Jase…ladies, am I wrong?
And it’s not just me.
Daughter #1 has started watching her own teen survivalist show: “Girl Code” (there’s also a “Guy Code,” but I haven’t seen it), in which three or four female actresses and comedians talk about all kinds of topics, from STDs to gossip to trying on bathing suits. The topics may be…low-brow, but the message is usually on target. For example, during the episode on STDs, one girl asked, “How do you stay STD free? Simple: Stop being a ‘Ho on the weekends!”
Not how I would have delivered it, but the message is still the same.
Even Daughter #2 has been watching some version of people just trying to cope in this crazy world. After seeing a show called My Strange Addiction, she told me about a woman who was eating her husband’s ashes, even though she claimed not to like the taste. I’m not even going to take a guess at the psychology behind it, and I won’t crack any of the tasteless jokes that ran through my head, but Daughter #2, ever the existentialist, did come up with a question that made me pause:
“If you eat a dead person’s ashes, do they start missing pieces of themselves in Heaven?”
Naturally, my brain took off and I wondered: If dead people do start missing pieces of themselves in Heaven in a situation like that, what happens to the people who decompose in a coffin? Do their Heavenly counterparts start looking like zombies, with pieces of their face sliding off? Is that where the whole zombie thing comes from? The same question could apply to those victims of cannibalism: would their Heavenly counterparts start missing pieces as their earthly bodies become somebody’s lunch?
Yep, that’s how the conversations in our house sometimes go.
So, maybe turning off the news is a cowardly thing to do, but how else would we have these discussions? I like those types of questions better than, “Mom, why do all the people in the Middle East hate us?”
Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor | Tags: 4th of July, adulthood, bourbon, family, humor, Lord of the Rings, Middle-Age, party, small talk, south, southern, subourbonmom
Someone told me this weekend at a 4th of July party that guests who go to Bill Gates’ house are asked to fill in a questionnaire about their likes and dislikes regarding music and art. The guest is then given a microchip on a necklace to wear, and when they go into any room, the music they like will play, and the art they prefer will be on the walls via computer screen.
At first I was marveling at the technology and thinking how cool that would be; however, I quickly realized three things:
- A home should reflect your tastes, not your guests’ (our tastes revolve around modern sculptures made from piles of flip flops by the door and piles of dirty laundry in the hallway);
- I like experiencing new things, including new music and art (how else would I have discovered Robyn Thicke’s peppy and weirdly cougar-ish song “Blurred Lines?”);
- It’s healthy and interesting to be exposed to new people and new ideas—you don’t have to like them, but it breaks you out of your comfortable bubble of consistency and familiarity (suburbia).
The third lesson was reinforced at this same party when I met a man named…let’s call him Frodo, to protect this man for reasons you’ll soon discover.
Courtesy of lotr.wikia.com
Within moments of arriving, Frodo stood out from the rest of the middle-aged parents/lawyers/accountants and their teenaged offspring that were sweating, talking shop, and drinking lager beer and wine. Wearing trendy eyeglasses and the requisite khakis and golf shirt, Frodo looked something like a hobbit with reddish wavy hair, big feet, and pale skin. He was younger than most of the adults and older than the teens, but had the energy and enthusiasm of a child—and most impressive, his voice carried even farther than mine.
After making our introductions, Hubby and I sat back and simply absorbed the energy coming off of this quirky weapons software developer. Our conversations ranged from the likelihood of anyone surviving a bad plane crash (He informed Daughter #2, who hates flying, not to worry–she would be instantly vaporized because her body is 97% water and water has a boiling point of 212 degrees—clearly he doesn’t have kids), to gravity and sugar rates in the distillation of various bourbons, to his garbled theory on why Merryll Lynch didn’t fail (hubby called him out on that one—Hubby is in finance and wouldn’t let it go), to what kind of people aliens are most likely to abduct. Several times Frodo mentioned doing “covert” operations, but I refused to bite on that one.
As he spoke, I kept envisioning the Ring of Power drawing him to the dark side—it wasn’t hard to picture this man disappearing into the night and arguing with Golem, or using his vast knowledge and imagination to fight an army of Orcs and trolls. However, by midnight I was exhausted and just hoping he would take it off and make himself invisible. I wanted to ask him if he’d been to Mordor, but thought better of it (he didn’t have a sword on him, but I’m pretty sure he owns one) Why ruin a good thing? He was manic, exhausting and fascinating all at the same time.
The best thing about meeting Frodo was that he reminded me how varied and interesting people are. His ideas and energy were a breath of fresh air, and gave us fodder for hours of discussion the next day. So thank you, Frodo, and hopefully the aliens won’t take you before I can ask you about your covert operations next year.
Filed under: Food/Drink, Misc. Humor, Parenting | Tags: adulthood, family, Food, humor, kids, mom, parenting, south, southern, subourbonmom, teenagers, teens, turkey
Ah, the end of the school year approaches, and with it comes the total loss of control over my schedule. Along with drooping peonies and humidity that makes me move around like an amoeba, comes the inevitable barrage of end-of-the-school-year-things-to-remember: sports banquets, teacher gifts, coach gifts, graduations, overlapping sports teams’ schedules, and the ever-popular “We-Must-Get-These-Done-Before-Exams-Projects” that require a dozen trips to the craft store and something called foam board. Add to that the end-of-year-things-to-remember as a teacher, and my brain just about exploded. (Even the hyphens are on overload this time of year!)
So, I did what any normal, southern mom would do.
I lost my mind on my family.
I’m a big fan of the phrase “control what you can control.” Apparently, what I decided I could control this week was the distribution and consumption of deli turkey meat in our home.
Historically speaking, every time I’ve bought it in the past, the family might eat a little of it, then leave it alone until it turns an odd, greenish hue, roughly the same shade as the sky before a tornado. Even The Dog turns her nose away. For months, I have refused to purchase anymore deli meat, and for months my loved ones would periodically remark that I never buy the “good turkey” anymore, and they would LOVE to fix more meals themselves if only I would provide them with the means to do so—the magic ingredient? Deli Turkey.
The other day, in a fit of generosity and optimism, I bought the Magic Turkey and announced that it was awaiting their pleasure in the fridge. Two days went by and I made another announcement. On the fourth day, the Magic Turkey still lay there, neatly wrapped and taped. Nobody touched it.
Finally, Hubby pulls out the Magic Turkey and decides to use it on a BLT, exclaiming, “Hey! I’m going to use this turkey. Does anybody else want to?”
Then he sniffed it.
“Are you sure you want to eat it?” I asked, arms crossed, a dangerous glint in my eye. “It’s been in the fridge for FOUR days. I know how you feel about leftovers.”
Hubby looked puzzled. “This is the first time I’ve seen it,” he said.
“Seriously?” I snapped. “I’ve been announcing that it’s in the fridge for the last four days, and no one could be bothered to use it.”
Sensing he’d messed up but not sure why, Hubby wisely went quiet.
From the couch came Daughter #1’s helpful voice: “You only told us two days ago. You never said four.”
And from Daughter #2: “You’re under-exaggerating it.”
I stomped around the kitchen, thinking how ungrateful they all were, how thoughtless when I was trying to work within a budget, and arguing out loud with them over when I informed them the Magic Turkey was purchased.
Trying to smooth things over, Hubby asked, “Does anyone else want some turkey on their BLT?” Daughter #1 raised her hand, and Hubby commenced making her one.
As I cleaned and wiped and slammed things around to make myself feel better, I heard Hubby say, “There’s only one piece left—anyone want it?”
I stopped and spun around and shrieked, “You can’t eat it all at once!”
There was a moment of silence—only Carson Daly from The Voice could be heard in the background.
Finally, Daughter #1 peeked over the couch and said, “What’s wrong with you? Do you want us to eat it or not?”
Daughter #2 chuckled, and the absurd moment was over. I still felt vaguely put-upon, as my mom would say, and swiped at the counters some more. What was wrong? Nothing. I was just overwhelmed and chose the wrong thing to try to control.
I recently told one of The Daughters that you can’t control what other people think or say about you—you can only control how you react to them. Next time, I think I’ll try to take my own advice and control my temper. After all, they’re the people I love the most.
Bless their hearts.
Filed under: Sports | Tags: family, French kiss, humor, kids, Kissing, Middle-Age, mom, parenting, parents, raising kids, sex, south, southern, subourbonmom, teenagers, teens, Valentine's Day
I’m beginning to understand now why my mom never talked to me about anything to do with sex or relationships. The topic of sex and love with your kids is a minefield, and I am regularly blowing my opportunities to impart wisdom.
Take, for example, the topic of first real kisses (the French kind).
While driving to pick up the girls from school on Thursday, I was thinking about Valentine’s Day, which led to reminiscing about past Valentines, and from there I digressed into past boyfriends. Somewhere between Wal-Mart and Barnes and Noble I remembered my first kiss. Not the fireworks that I anticipated…
I can’t remember where my keys are, but I can bring THAT up from the vault?
I vaguely recall it as being in a dark room with a boy I didn’t really like that much, REO Speedwagon playing in the background, and a spinning bottle… and a lot of spit.
As I waited in the carpool line, I wondered why people kiss in the first place. I mean, think about it. Who on earth thought touching lips and tongues would be sensual? We eat, sneeze, cough, and probably have bad breath most of the time. Not to mention the weird thing in there we call a tongue—not a particularly attractive anatomical feature, if you ask me.
According to a couple of strange and unreliable websites, some anthropologists speculate kissing is a primal way of sampling a potential mate’s pheromones, determining a mate’s personality and potential. If that’s the case, no wonder I was so grossed out.
Others speculate kissing was a learned behavior, since other animals do it. I don’t believe that one–after all, we don’t lick ourselves, do we?
So I took a survey of some friends’ first kisses, and the nearly universal response was that it was…”awful.” But there was one caveat—if you were kissing someone who was older (read “more experienced”), it was definitely better.
The other thing I found out is there are several kinds of “awful” first kisses:
The Slobberer
The Tongue Thruster
The Tongue Sucker
The Lip Biter
The “I-Have-No-Idea-How-Much-My-Head-Weighs” Leaner
The Absentee (no tongue at all)
The Stuffer (similar to the Tongue Thruster but more tongue, less movement)
The Side-to-Side Rotator (just pick one side of the face to stay on for a while!)
So, when my daughters asked me what it would be like (and I’m assuming, like an ostrich with my head in the sand, that it still hasn’t happened yet), I told them it probably wouldn’t be all that great the first time, and poured myself a drink.
And then, in a moment of stupidity, I told them it would get better.
Yep, I basically said practice makes perfect.
Excellent parenting.
Subourbon Mom 