Sunday, September 18, 2011

Once Upon A Time

No, I won't start like that. I teach writing, so I cannot use "Once Upon A Time". It's a no-no. Anyhow, I realized I haven't written anything in a very long time. Therefore, I decided to write something now. Anything. That's what I tell my students. "Write something...write ANYTHING! Just write!" I am full of shit, evidently.

Lately, I've been doing almost nothing but working and going to the doctor. Yeah, remember my post about the "Lady" doctor? I'm not talking about a female physician, either. I'm talking about the only man besides my husband who is up close and personal with my hoo-hoo. I recently had to have a...let's say a "procedure" and it was a fascinating cross between medieval blood letting and space age surgery. I can't decide which it was, but it was pretty brutal.

My husband was allowed in the room for "moral support", but really he was in there to marvel with the doctor at how very invasive modern medicine is with a woman's "no no don't touch" area. I got into my "zen zone" as my doctor called it. Which means I practiced Bradley natural childbirth during a non childbirth procedure. I guess basically I meditated or zoned out or something so that I wouldn't die from sheer terror and agony. Allow me to say at this point, that if someone is attempting to "zen out" or meditate, please do not continually say, "HOW'S IT GOING WITH YOUR ZEN THING UP THERE?" It throws off the whole meditation aspect of the meditation.

So, it is finally over, and I followed the doctor's directions and was back at work three days later. Staying in bed flat on my back for three days was pretty hellish, though. How boring is that, anyhow? Super boring. Epically boring, really. I got entirely caught up on the various Housewives of various cities, I got caught up on the Millionaire Matchmaker and saw some things I didn't even know were shows. I didn't do a lot of sleeping because the pain medication he gave me made me itch like I had Scabies or something. My entire body itched intensely. I had no rash, no hives, or anything, but I scratched myself until I had red marks on my skin. I took one Vicodin, and stopped. I'd rather be in pain and rely on Ibuprofen that attempt to scratch my eyeballs out. I had my post-op appointment and am pleased to report that all is as it should be and nothing has fallen out. Score!

Work is busy as usual. While I'm talking about work, allow me to say something: to anyone who thinks teaching is easy, I invite you to come and do it FOR JUST A COUPLE OF HOURS. Please. I implore you. Come see what a teacher does. Come keep 22 kids interested and behaving and learning and being challenged intellectually for even 10 minutes. Then, we'll talk. If I hear one more person say teaching is "easy", I'll lose it. Also, teachers are professionals. It's a profession just the same as medicine and law. Teachers deserve respect, and lately, we are getting very little respect. If a teacher tells you your child has been too talkative or disruptive, please allow yourself to at least entertain the idea that the teacher is telling the truth and does not have anything against your child. Face it, if a person doesn't like children and enjoy teaching them, they won't go into the teaching profession. If they do, they will leave it quickly. It's far too hard to do unless you love it. I am not going to tell you your child is misbehaving unless 1. the child is misbehaving and 2. the child is not being respectful and I am requesting your assistance as the parent of the child so that your child will be successful in their education. Rant over.

We bought our eldest son a car a couple of weeks ago. I detest purchasing cars. Truly. I hate it intensely. I hate the ritual. I hate having to call them on their bullshit. Don't tell me something is an "optional package" if I can't opt out of it. Me: "What is this optional package?" Salesman: "Oh, it's optional." Me: "Yes, I see that, but what is included?" Salesman: "Um, I have to go check." 2 hours later, he returns and tells me it includes NITROGEN in the tires. Ok. Me: What is the purpose of nitrogen in tires? Salesman: I have to go check on that. Holy crap. So he comes back and has no real answer. I say, "So, the first time we put air into the tires, the Nitrogen is gone, right?" Salesman: Yes. Me: So why would I pay 700 bucks for Nitrogen in the tires? That's some expensive assed Nitrogen. Salesman: *blank stare* I have to go check on that. He leaves AGAIN. He comes back and says that there is also a REAR APPLIQUE included in this optional package. Me: What's a rear applique? Salesman: I have to go check on that. Holy shit. Off he scuttles again to check on that. I begin to think Yoda is in a back room with all of the answers or something. I already know the "rear applique" is the stupid little dealership logo they put on the back. It's about 2" tall and it costs a buttload of money. He comes back and says "We're not sure what that is...but it's part of the optional package. The trunk tray is also part of it." Me: "I bought a 50,000 dollar car and I didn't pay shit for the rubber trunk tray. I want that free."

Do I need to say at this point that he scuttled off? Well, he did. He comes back. He has great news! He is going to give me .9 percent interest on a loan! Yay! Awesome! I stared at him. He got uncomfortable. What? Oh..where was my husband you ask? Sitting right there, but I do the car buying. He sits and glowers. It works for us.

So, I inform him I'm not paying for the OPTIONAL packages that aren't OPTIONAL. I want those taken off the price. He says, "Well, with the low interest rate, it's like you're getting it free..." I stared at him. It was silent. You could hear crickets. He then nervously pulls out the credit reports they ran on us. Mine is like 10 points from the perfect score, and I might add it's higher than my husband's. How is that even possible? However, none of that matters, because I haven't told the salesman the most important part. He reiterates that I can get 1.9 percent interest! Me: Wait. You said .9 percent, not 1.9....Salesman: Well, it's one of those...Me: That's a hell of a difference, you better make sure...
Yes, he scuttled off. Meanwhile, none of that matters because these jackholes aren't getting any interest or finance fees from me. Why? I'm paying cash. That's how we roll, mothereffers! Well, I didn't say that. But I waited until he came back and I said, "Before you do all this paperwork for a loan or whatever, I need to tell you I am paying cash and I am not paying for the OPTIONAL packages. I'm ready to give you the full amount right now and we want to drive it home now. We aren't coming back because we are from out of town(we were in a city a couple of hours away because we live in a small hick town).
That salesman looked like I just killed his puppy or something. Doesn't he get a commission for selling me the car? What does he care if I pay cash or finance? He was staring at me, and I said, "Look, I can't finance. It makes my stomach hurt. It makes me sad to make payments on things. We don't do that." He sadly took us back to the dude who went to OU (poor thing) and we wrote a check and drove the damned freakin' car home.

What about the lucky kid, you ask? He didn't even want to drive it. His excuse was that it was a long way home and it was in traffic in this large city (a city that has a show on Bravo about some weird "eligible" people), and he wasn't comfortable driving that far in an unfamiliar vehicle. So, my husband drove the new car, I drove my car, and we split the kids. One with me, one with him. Did they keep us company? No. They slept. Two days later, lucky new car owning kid takes his brand new car to school. On the way home, he takes a turn too fast and hits a curb and bends the RIM ON THE RIGHT FRONT WHEEL. I almost lost it. I seriously thought I'd vomit. I don't care how much fixing it costs, and it wasn't expensive, really. What scared the living shit out of me was the thought of my baby hitting a curb or anything else or getting panicked or flustered in traffic and losing control of the car. He could have seriously injured himself or pedestrians, he could have killed himself, he could have driven through a business on the corner, he could have done so much damage that it would have made Armageddon look like a carnival. At least that is how my mind works. We got it fixed, he has been driving and hopefully, please God, he will continue to drive with no incidents. I pray to God he is safe. I hate cars. I hate the fact that my first baby is driving a car and in college. Why didn't he want to go see "The Lion King in 3D" with me? Because he's 19 and he wants to pretend he didn't wear out his Lion King video after watching it repeatedly for several months when he was 2 years old.

In conclusion, (another thing I don't allow in writing), I'd like to say that having your child grow up is hard as hell. Although I'm ridiculously proud of him, it scares the hell out of me. Please, God...protect him. He is my heart. Next time, we'll discuss the younger son. Also my heart. However, I will NEVER ALLOW HIM TO DRIVE ANYTHING.