Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Blustery Days . . .

Everywhere I go I'm asked if I think the university stifles writers. My opinion is that they don't stifle enough of them. There's many a best-seller that could have been prevented by a good teacher.
--Flannery O'Connor
Amen, Miss O'Connor. A-Bloody-Men. Because, you see, if I had my say, people like Danielle Steel, Stephanie Meyer, and all those trashy romance novelists would have never EVER had a single title printed. But, as it is, my say means so little in the publishing world, they continue to turn the young woman's mind into a pile of sentimental mush with a longing for moody, stalker boyfriends. But, I digress. I'm a cynic after all; the romantic in me died in college.

Ok, so I survived my first day of school without murder -- parents didn't brandish weapons, students resisted tantrums, and, by golly we might have actually learned something. In fact, nearly parent that I have talked with since yesterday (and, when you believe in open parent-teacher communication thru the glories of email, text, and cell phone, you talk a lot) has told me what a wonderful time her child had. Oh I hope it continues to go well. One day down . . . oh so many more months to go. :) There is still so much I'm finding out that I don't know, but, hopefully, by the end of the school year I'll have most of it down. Searching for your life's calling is an intriguing trip. Chris asked me last night if being around super cute (and oh golly are they CUUUUTE) first graders has helped me feel more excited about having spawn of my own. Yeah, no. Now, I'm beginning to think that he was in league with the principle: "Hey, could you put Sarah in a lower grade with all the cute kids? I have a feeling if she's around older, moodier ones she may never ever want to have kids so . . . help me out, here?"

Oh, and last Tuesday, taking my furry little creatures to the vet, I had my first fender bender. More like a fender bump, as the dent in my car is pathetically minuscule. Do not repeat this to the lady I hit. Oh my. In her eyes, I took out her bumper, maybe an arm and a leg. If any of you know me, you know I hate making mistakes, and, even more than that, I HATE having people upset with me. I become literally ill. So, at that moment, not only am I having to deal with my nerves about my parent orientation the next day, but now I have a short, well-dress, hair-dyed, coordinated gold accessory-ed, miniature poodle of a woman shouting at me, "You just hit my car! You were probably talking on your damn phone! You're paying for this! Sorry doesn't cut it! You're paying for it! I'm calling the police!" (ok, and no, I wasn't on my phone--I glanced behind me very quickly because I thought the cat carrier was falling in the back seat, turned around, and there was a pristine BMW in front of me . . . oops)
I didn't even realize there was damage to the car, kept apologizing profusely to her as she snapped "Sorry doesn't cut it!" The policeman came and was very matter of fact about it. His main concern was injury to our persons. Other than my ego I was fine; Miss BMW barked "NO" as if wounds were not at all the point. I cried for the next two hours. Not really sobbing, just cried. Everything was wrong, all wrong, and it was my fault. Chris was a knight in shining armor and rushed to the scene of the crime to comfort me, then picked up something for dinner so I didn't have to cook. I adore my sweet hubby :). Monday, Chris went to our insurance agent to assess the damage; apparently, Miss BMW's mood was not entirely my fault; the agent said she was insane when he had to deal with her. Then again, I'm not sure if you could expect anything other than an anal temper from someone with a name like a Nazi school marm. Yikes. But, yes, the accident was my fault, I should not have looked behind me, and people were inconvenienced by my carelessness, and I'm very, very sorry.

Eventful week around here. I hope it becomes incredibly boring soon. :)

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