Vigorous Anonymity

Archive for the ‘What Separates The Genders’ Category

A week ago tomorrow, Jackass was leaving to go to work (in the dark) and overnight the driveway had turned into a solid sheet of ice.  I got up and was secretly watching his progress down the driveway from the safety of my bedroom window, and I watched him as he slowly salted his way, step by step.

So I was there to witness when his feet went out from under him, and he landed on his back on the driveway.  Then, the man-screaming began.  I’ve spoken about the man-screaming before, but I don’t know where, and I’m not looking for it.  It was a similar situation though.  Jackass had been pulled by the dog in a downpour and lost his footing.  He tore a rotator cuff that time.

This time, 2 broken ribs.  He broke those ribs once before – on the morning we were leaving to have the aforementioned rotator cuff surgically repaired.  I guess they’re kinda flimsy now that they’ve been previously abused.

Long story short (heh, as if), he’s been sitting on his ass in his barkolounger for a week, popping percocet like cough drops and being waited on hand and foot.

In a drug-induced haze, last night he decided he felt well enough to return to work.  What is it about men who don’t realize that when you’re stoned on painkillers, your ability to make decisions is altered?  Jackasses.

No amount of belittling could talk him out of his decision, so off he went this morning at 6:15 (in the semi-dark and in a small snow storm).  He called me at 8:01.  And said only four words before hanging up.  Oh but they were such sweet words.

“This was a mistake.”



Jackass’ new car came with 3 months of XM Radio.  I am so insanely jealous I can’t speak about it.  Talk about a total waste of fabulous technology.  This is a man who listens to Imus in the Morning on his way to work, and sport radio on his way home.

We sat at the dealer while the salesman showed us all the wondrous things XM can do, and all the dazzling stations it can get.  And oh! the clarity!  No scratchy interference.  No static.  Just clear, crisp tones through which I could listen to The Killers, or Pearl Jam, or the Counting Crows – if only I had XM in my car.

He scoffed at the XM when we got it.  Declared it a waste of money, and that he would never listen to it.  The first day, however, he came home from work telling me he had listened to Benny Goodman all the way home.  And the next night it was The Andrew Sisters.  And then, show tunes.  Now he intends to extend the free 3 months when the time is up so that he can have this “music” at his fingertips for eternity.

I ask you, is this not a tragedy?  No man needs XM Radio for show tunes.  I think I should hijack it and replace it a cassette deck.

I’m getting a little tired of being thrown under the bus because I have breasts.

Case in point.

About 6 months ago, we had decided that it might be time to look for a new car for Jackass.  The van he’s been driving has 118,000 miles on it and is starting to feel every one.  The engine is fine, but nothing else works.  The door locks don’t work, the intermittent windshield wipers don’t work, the rear doors don’t close properly…I could go on indefinitely.  It’s a big electrical nightmare.

Now the problem with car shopping is twofold.  First, our credit isn’t great, so we need to find a dealership that will work with us on that.  Second, Jackass doesn’t shop.  He expects me to do that, and somehow drive two cars home at once.  Because I’m magic.

So I had the idea that we might get another Hyundai.  I love my Sonata, and there’s a dealership not too far from where we both work.  I called them on my lunchhour one day and explained our situation – including the credit issues.  (Big mistake, as it turns out, but I like to be upfront.)  The salesman asked me to come in the next day on my lunch hour.  And so I did.

Now, I’m pretty sure a lot of people say, “Yeah I’ll come in tomorrow.”  And I’m pretty sure a lot of people don’t show up tomorrow.  It’s the nature of sales and car sales in particular.  But I showed up.  Just when I said I would.  And the salesman let me drive a Santa Fe and I loved it, and I asked him if we could look at the numbers, including what he could give us for the trade-in.

They offered me $500 for the van.  The Blue Book value is $5,000, so yeah.  Strike #1.  I thought to myself, we can sell it ourselves, so I let that go.  And then set down to talking about the financing.

And then he lowered the boom.  In order to work up the financing, go to the banks, etc., he wanted a $2,000 deposit.  Totally refundable, he said in his defense, but they couldn’t do that much work on my behalf if I wasn’t serious about buying the car, and my deposit would ensure I was.

I just blinked at him.  And then I said, “Let me get this straight.  You want me to pay you for doing your job?”

He responded with, “Candy, you’re not thinking about this the right way.  You’ll get your money back if we can’t help you.”

And I just laughed and said “One of is definitely not thinking about this the right way.  But since I’m leaving here with my $2,000 intact, I think it might be you.”  And I walked out.  And he let me.

Fast forward to last week.  Jackass’ van is even worse now, and the need for a replacement is imminent.  But instead of financing it, Jackass thought we should take a loan from his pension (at 3.9% interest, which we would never get from a dealer) and pay cash.  I jumped on board.  And did the research and came up with a list of cars we could choose from.  Last Friday night, Jackass and I were going to go to 3 dealers, and drive some cars.  We were going to look at the Hyundai Santa Fe (again!), the Subaru Forester, and the Mitsubishi Outlander.

There are several Hyundai dealers in the area, but the closest one was the jerk I dealt with before.  All we were planning to do was see the car, let Jackass drive it, and move along.  So we went there.

And Jackass declared himself in love and he wanted THAT car, and didn’t want to look at any OTHER cars.  Have I mentioned he’s a lousy shopper?

And then we sat down to negotiate.  I had done all the research, so I asked all the pertinent questions while Jackass just sat there looking ominous.  I asked about the warranty, and the dealership specials that were going on, and the difference in price between the trim options, etc.

And then the salesman and Jackass started negotiating the price.

They offered Jackass $2,000 more for the van than they offered me.  When we told them we were paying cash for the vehicle, they offered us a financing deal at the same rate as the pension loan WITHOUT RUNNING OUR CREDIT!!!

While I was thrilled that it all came together for us, in the end I was actually livid.  I would have bought the damned car 6 months earlier – in the height of the auto industry collapse – if they had just dealt with me the way they dealt with Jackass.

I am sickened that we ended up buying it there, but I suppose since the deal was good for us, I need to get over that.  But I swear, it’s days like this I wish I was a hermaphrodite.

Morris has been under the weather.  A bit of a sore throat, a bit of a fever, a bit of a cough, a bit of a sniffle.  Annoying, to say the least.  I hate when kids are sick like that – can’t they just get on with it and have the flu or strep throat?  Something I can CURE!?

After 5 days of the swollen glands and sore throat, I told him this morning to go back to bed, and I would make him an appointment to see the doctor.  I knew it was going to be for nothing, but…you know how it goes.  I’d always rather err on the side of caution with this.

We went to the doctor, and she declared that he was having allergies (which he’s never had before) due to the change in the seasons, and he should take some Claritin.  So that was fun.  (She also gave him some low dose steroids for the swollen glands, and a prescription for antibiotics IF it hasn’t all stopped in 10 days.  Don’t send her hate mail, she’s really very awesome.)

While we were there, though, she said, “Hey, how about a flu shot!”  And I said, “YES!”

While she was out mixing the plague she would soon introduce to my baby’s body, Morris was sitting on the exam table.  Our GP’s office is tragically outdated, and I only go there for this sort of thing, and to get referrals to specialists.  So the exam table was a little older than what he’s used to, and since it’s a GP, its used for all kinds of things.  Including ob/gyn exams.

At the end, where Morris was sitting, were these handy little metal rings, and he was merrily playing with them while the doctor was talking to him, and then after she left to prepare the shot, he turns to me and asks:

“What are these rings for?”

“Do you really want to know?”

He shrugs.  “Sure.”

“They’re called stirrups.  There for women…for when they are having female type examinations.”

He dropped those metal things out of his hands like they were on fire, and wiped his hands on his jeans like he was infected by something.  I just laughed, and said, “It’s just where your feet would go.”

He just moaned and said “Oh god, that’s even worse!”

Have I mentioned my gynecologist was recently featured in a well-known reality show?  I can’t tell you which one, because I’m here, in hiding, and that would be too much info to give out, but the guy who views my snatch has also viewed the snatches of a couple of very wealthy females.  Who live in the New York Metropolitan area.

So anyway…he called me back last night.  I’ve been going to him for 19 years, as of yesterday.  The reason I know that is the date is, he delivered Ingrid, who celebrated her 19th birthday yesterday, and before I gave birth to her I had never met him before.  He was hired a week before I went into labor and I hadn’t gotten a chance to meet him yet.  Trial by fire, I guess.

Anyway, Dr. Celebrity listens to my tale of woe and says, yeah, maybe the birth control pills were a bad idea.  To which I reply, especially when you consider I’ve had my tubes tied already.  I’m every married man’s dream!

So he took those away, but that leaves me with that left sided pain – enter Vicoprofen.  Ibuprofen + vicoden.  Hey if it’s good enough for Gregory House it’s good enough for me.  I’m pretty sure I’m not going to be able to type after I take one, let alone solve medical mysteries, but I’ll cross that bridge in exactly 2 weeks.

Then I explained the problem with the moods.  And how I basically had no one left in life who was actually speaking to me.  And he replied, “Well at least you’ll be able to catch up on your reading now.”  He’s a card.

In the end, he gave me something called Sarafem.  Which turns out to be Prozac.  I’m a little a-skeered of Prozac, but I’ll give it a try.  I’m only supposed to take it when I’m feeling anxious.  So the 30 day prescription he gave me should be gone by Sunday.

Over the last 5 or 6 months (maybe longer, and I was oblivious, who really knows) I’ve been having some “womenz problemz”.  Just a couple little things, but after several months of it, even I in my oblivion started to notice a pattern, and it gave me…pause.

I’ve always had a problem with mittelschmerz (no that’s not a character on I Love Lucy).  If you don’t feel like clicking the link (and I never do) it’s pain when you ovulate, so it comes mid-cycle and it can be intermittent or it can happen every month.  Like I said, I’ve always had it, but I only have it on my left side, so when my right ovary would do the work I’d be pain-free.  Unfortunately, my right ovary doesn’t seem to be functioning at all anymore, because every month for the last 6 months I’ve been in agony.  Agony, I tell ya!

It shouldn’t be this painful – it’s supposed to be like cramping, but this is actual stab-you-in-the-gut kind of pain and it takes my breath away.  Not to mention I just had most of a colon removed to STOP left sided abdominal pain, this is really a kick in the pants.  So to speak.  Shouldn’t there be a limit to the indignities?

Added to that pain is the mood swings.  Oh my…the mood swings.  For about 2 days before I get my period I am incapable of being around people.  I need to be locked in a barn until the full moon wanes so I don’t bite people and turn them into werewolves.  I’m hideous.

So last month I went to the gyno for my annual, and we discussed these things.  Once before, he’d tried to put me on birth control pills for the mittelschmerz.  The only way to fix it is to stop the ovulation.  I resisted…that was just after my surgery and I really didn’t want to start up with that too.  So I ignored it until it got really bad.

This time when he recommended the pills, I knew it was coming and I said ok.  And then I talked to him about the mood swings and how very very bad they were, and he said the bc pills might help with that.  And then he looked me in the eye and said, “But they might also make them worse.”

Really?  And you’re ok with that, I wanted to ask.  But I didn’t.  I just took the recommended pills home with me and started taking them on the appropriate day and then…to quote a friend…Oh Mah Holy Hell.

The good news is, there was no ovarian pain this month.  The bad news?  I don’t think there is a single living person who is still speaking to me.  I have alienated my best friend, I have SCREAMED at my daughter for not putting away the Intuition razor, I have sobbed in front of my son because he wanted me to take him to a friend’s house and I was uncomfortable with the decision, and I almost picked up my purse and walked out of the office.  For good.  About two hours ago.

My husband is the only one who has been spared, and I think that’s because he stopped talking to me several months ago.  Harvard.  ’68.

Oh, and then there’s the migraines.  Did I mention the migraines?  3 in 3 weeks.  2 in one weekend.  One that lasted 3 days.  And the last one (just this Saturday) was so bad I spent an absolutely glorious Saturday in a darkened room, crying silently into a pillow.

So instead of 2 days of being bitchy and moody, I’m now just like that all the time.  I cried all weekend.  ALL WEEKEND.  And sitting at my desk a little while ago I started doing it again.  I can’t go on like this, this is ridiculous.

So I stopped taking the pills on Saturday, and of course I got my period…little spotty thing, but whatever.  I have called the doctor to ask him just what the fuck he was thinking.  He has not returned my calls.  It’s possible I might have thrown a pipe bomb at his house in my sleep one night, so that could be the reason.

Menopause.  Yeah, this is fun.


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  • TheQueen: Yeah, perhaps next year suggest you ALL just skip the adult gifts and focus on the little ones. I'm sure you won't miss it!
  • kristabella: Yay! You're back!
  • Shania Ring: Out of all of that, the only thing in my head is 20?!? Twenty? I remember a little boy in middle school when I first started reading you. Are you SURE