Teach His Own

It’s about to get dark up in here. A serious issue has hit close to home and it’s infuriating. Recently, a now-former coach and teacher from the high school that my kids will presumably attend one day has been accused and charged with 1^st degree Criminal Sexual Conduct, specifically, performing oral sex on a 15 year old student. She has not been found guilty yet so I can’t judge for or against her. Although, there has been an ongoing investigation for about a month and apparently the sheriff’s department felt they had enough to warrant an arrest and charge her with the crime. We will see in this case. I’ll leave it at that.

But there have been several instances of this happening elsewhere in our country, around the world I’m sure, in which the teachers have indeed been found guilty of these heinous acts, making them no better than the weird guy down the road looking at kiddie porn, or worse. But I’m not here to talk about that, nor do I want to. I’m here to talk about teachers and what we expect of them.

I’ll start when I was a student. When I was a student, I liked boys my age. I liked to pass them letters, flirt with them and watch them play varsity sports. Anyone older than, let’s say 21-ish, was “old and gross.” There was no attraction to teachers, never a passing thought of “being with” one of them, in fact, I held them in a similar light as my parents. They don’t have sex, significant others or lives outside of school (even though I knew they did). Teachers taught, coaches coached and there were no thoughts of them outside of those realms. I focused on studies, boys (not men) and being cool.

Now that I have children of my own (3 and 1 years old and too young for school and boys and being cool), certainly my expectations of their future teachers are going to be higher than when I was a student and probably unrealistic because they’re my kids and they deserve the cream of the crop in everything. I fully expect National Scholarships and several AP credits to their names upon high school graduation, credit to outstanding teachers and parents. J Maybe not. What I don’t expect is my daughter having relations with a teacher, coach or staff member at the school. Even if she does become Hot For Teacher, never ever ever would I expect teacher to become Hot For Student. If so, said teacher would have a very. large. problem. Think my husband’s size 13 up your ass and out the other end followed by a very grand, merciless lawsuit. Then probably your death. The point is, no matter how many times a student sexts you or makes advances or asks you to hook up, you are their TEACHER. You are the ADULT. This child’s parents trust that you won’t fuck their kid!! In fact, if a student sexts you, tell the parent! I can guarantee it will be handled. I’ll spank a 15 year old, I don’t care. There should never be an “I got caught up in the moment” situation because that moment should never come close to existing. The moment leading up to that moment shouldn’t even happen. A situation that could potentially lead to a moment that leads to that moment should never take place. Instead of screwing an adolescent to fight your mid-life crisis, try buying a new car or…moving, far far away.

I have several friends who are teachers. I have watched them undergo countless classes, extra schooling and endless hours of student teaching and class preparations to do what they love for not a lot of money. They do this because they want to educate our kids, they want to educate my kids. They want to contribute to the health and livelihood of what is our future. They want to nourish children, watch them grow and hope that they are able to succeed in life and be what they want to be. They want to instill dreams and hopes in our young impressionable offspring and make sure they never say, “Can’t.” They mentor, they guide and care about children, sometimes more than the child’s parents.

Yet all I hear about is how shitty and selfish teachers unions are by asking for higher pay, or just an extra few bucks to pay for school supplies which they buy out of their own pocket in most cases. All I hear about is how poorly our kids are performing compared to the rest of the world despite funding for education being cut year after year after year. All I hear about is the constant slashing of music, arts, after-school and other programs. All I hear about is how overcrowded the classrooms have become and the growing teacher-to-child ratio. All I hear about are the closing down of schools altogether.

All I hear about are teachers having sex with our kids.

There are thousands of amazing teachers out there, doing all they can to enrich the minds that stream through their classrooms every day. And then we have these excuses for teachers, excuses for human beings. What happened between all that schooling and all that work you put into becoming a Teacher? Were you ever really in it for the chance to make a positive impression on our youth and to show them what’s out there? Or were you just in it for the summer vacations?

For real though prospective teachers, you touch my kid, you’ll die.

Give A Penny

It seems today that there are at least two versions of products: Brand name and generic. Brand names are for the snobby white-collar and generic is for the “99%.” This is far-reaching, there is a poor-person’s everything, from drugs to paper towel; if it can be marketed as being the same or more for less, it shall be done. I will often buy a cheaper version of something - if I’m not losing too much quality. But there are those few certain things in which no cost compromise should be made, those products in which the saved penny does not outweigh the comfort, convenience or quality of the merchandise. And so here is your “DO NOT BUY THE CHEAP VERSION OF…” list.

Toilet paper: Personally, I prefer the rolls with the little ridges. It’s thick, reliable, and clean-wiping. Your cheaper brands aren’t as sturdy and often flake away. Do you want little toilet paper shreds stuck to your bottom-side for the rest of the day? Your industrial ½-ply types are just an embarrassing excuse for toilet paper, especially for a #2 event and the likelihood of your fingers tearing through resulting in a very unfortunate experience is about 1 in 5. That’ll ruin your day. Pay a couple extra bucks and you’ll have a clean booty and clean hands, so clean you could skip the hand-washing. But don’t, because that’s gross.

Q-tips: Always buy Q-tips, the brand. Never settle. It is frustrating and you have to be reminded of it every morning, or however often you shower. Alternatives to Q-tip are smaller and less rigid. As a result you can’t achieve that tingly feeling you get with a good, deep ear-cleaning. You’re better off trying to de-wax with an overcooked pasta noodle…or your set of keys.

Hairbrushes: Spend money on a good hairbrush. I like a single-pieced wooden one. If you settle on Goody’s plastic brush which is constructed of a separate handle glued to the bristled end, two things will happen: The little protective plastic balls are going to fall off the bristles resulting in scalp lacerations. And who wants their balls falling off? Secondly, after a while, the handle is going to break off, probably in the morning while you’re rushing to get ready for work and you’ll be left in utter disappointment for the rest of the day, possibly the week.

Razors: Keeping with the hygiene theme, do not buy the 99 cent disposable razor. There isn’t a time when this is necessary. No matter how bad you think you need to rid yourself of a 5 o’clock shadow or think you need a silky-smooth leg, forego the purchase or invest the extra million dollars in the Venus or Mach 3 blades. A bit o’stubble pales in comparison to what can happen with plastic, disposable razor use. Those cheap little bitches will filet you like a fish. You don’t want your obit to read, “Bled to death by shaving.” Now, slaying an intruder? Effective. That’s why I keep some in my bottom medicine drawer.

Fingernail polish & remover: If you go much below Sally Hansen quality, you’re pushing your luck if you are expecting the polish to last more than 12 hours. A stiff wind will blow cheap nail polish right off your nail (and probably into someone’s food). 12 hours isn’t worth the time it takes to apply the paint, especially to your dominant hand. Spend the extra 1-2 dollars and enjoy your embellished phalanges for a good 3 days. Unless you’re a nail chewer, stick with the cheap. While cheap polish will slough off with the slightest nick, cheap polish remover won’t touch it. You might as well use a high-powered sander to get polish off if budget remover is all you have in stock. And you can forget trying to remove the paint stuck in and around the cuticle. The red polish will remain, making you look like you have some type of nail infection/fungus until you hand-wash your dishes or simply invest in a better quality remover.

Baby diapers and wipes: I once thought that I could get away with using cheap diapers. There I was, not enough in my bank account to purchase the 192 count box of Huggies and was left with option of buying the 12 count of Huggies or the 50 pack of no-name. A diaper is a diaper is a diaper right? Wrong! There is no greater wrong. In hindsight, I should have bought the 12 Huggies because they would’ve lasted longer than the 50-pack which I never finished using because they were THAT bad. If I wanted my child to shit all over herself, myself and any surface within 20 feet, I would’ve forgone a diaper altogether. A cheap diaper is just another surface covered in poo that I have to wrangle with and dispose of. So now that I have a mess to clean up, I should do it with a wipe that smells like a chemical plant, is dried out because the cheap bin it came in doesn’t keep them moist (yeah, I said “moist” – my least favorite word), and breaks apart because it’s so thin, which puts me in an aforementioned predicament (see Toilet paper). I’m left with a huge investment in paper towel and a bad day.  

Bath towels: Cheap bath linens will last about a hot minute before the loops catch, unravel and leave you strewn with nothing but soaking wet thread. Fortunately before this happens, they are good for a one-time full-body exfoliation since they are about as soft as steel wool. Be gone epidermis!

Sheets/bedding: If you like the feeling of being wrapped in pilled, ever-itchy-no-matter-how-many-times-you-wash-it fabric, then cheap bedding is for you. I know 500+ count sheets cost several pretty pennies but the comfort you get is worth the price. Lay off the McD’s for a couple weeks and the Egyptian cotton is yours! There is literally a dream-world of difference. At least while you’re lying awake with buyer’s remorse, you’ll be doing so in luxury.

Digital music: If the song you’re downloading is a fraction of the normal price for songs, chances are you are downloading a cover of your desired song by some unknown band, a poorly done DJ remix, or you have just purchased the karaoke version. Listen to the sample and if it doesn’t sound quite right, assume it isn’t what you are looking for and pay full price. It is a matter of cents and in the end, we all know the song sounds better in its original form and not being self-sung even though in your head, you sound just as good as Adele.

Plastic wrap: Plastic wrap is kind of genius. Since lids to food storage containers go missing about as often as “the other sock,” plastic wrap provides an alternative to having to place a pricey Tupperware order. However, plastic wrap’s main function is to protect food and does so by sticking to a multitude of surfaces, usually glass or metal, and also sticking to itself (think sandwich-wrapping). The generic version does none of these things. It doesn’t rip cleanly although I’m unsure of whether this is the plastic wrap fault or the inadequacy of the teething on the box it comes in.  It also doesn’t stick to anything. I’m better off using a paper bag which is about as useless but at least I can recycle it.

Canned tomatoes: You can buy store-brand canned tomatoes and make a decent pot of chili out of them. But if you can’t can your own, which is the ultimate, then buy something with a name you recognize, like Hunt’s. You will get a sweeter, more flavorful tomato while the generic will give you a blander, metallic-tasting tomato. Do a taste-test, you’ll see, no bullshit.

Bacon: Onto breakfast. You don’t have to splurge on top-shelf bacon but do not buy the cheapest package of bacon you see. You will end up with a very disappointing breakfast or BLT. Low-quality bacon consists of just thin strips of gristle and fat. The only appetizing thing about it is the grease it allows you to cook your eggs in. Cheap bacon = pork rinds.

Honeycomb cereal: When you expect a honey-kissed corn cereal with its little honeycomb crevices bathed in milk and instead get a mouthful of styrofoam, there is no greater disappointment. I might expect such a letdown with a high-fiber cereal or farm animal food but not from a box of cereal marketed toward sugar-hungry children around the world. I should’ve known when the cereal looked less like the geometrically perfect honeycombs and more like a bunch of sad faces. My husband, he will eat any cereal. Sure he has his favorites but any cereal will ultimately satisfy his midnight cravings. I’ve never had to throw any cereal away. Even if it doesn’t make his list of Top 10 Cereals Ever, he will typically finish it off in one grandioso bowl just to be done with it. Not this. Not generic Honeycomb – which was called something ridiculous like Wheels of Sugar. This had to be pitched. Trust me starving children of China, you’d thank us.

Vodka: This comes with a clause. You are exempt from purchasing higher-quality vodka if you are suffering from one or more of the following misfortunes: a) homelessness b) alcoholism or c) being a college student. Outside of those three circumstances Absolut or higher should be purchased. Now that you’re all grown up and drinking responsibly like the ads say, there is no longer a need for Mohawk or 5 O’clock Vodka in your life, unless you’re sterilizing a wound and there are no other cleansing agents, or you find swallowing shards of glass enjoyable. Your taste buds will thank me now and your liver, head, digestive and excretory systems…basically your entire existence will thank me later for pushing the consumption of Grey Goose. A Belvedere hangover, if it even happens, is cured with a good breakfast, aspirin and a nap. A Popov hangover is cured with 72 hours of bedrest and a bucket.

In the end, we all have our preferences and choose where and how to spend our hard-earned dollar. I choose to spend mine on poo-free hands, a satisfied palate and a good inconsequential buzz.

Office Space

Have you ever been in the zone at work – banging away at your business, no one is more productive than you right now in this moment and then suddenly, you’re derailed. EEEERRRRRRRR! Your flow comes to a screeching halt as something has thwarted your path to a completed to-do-list.

I believe productivity in the workplace is inhibited not by Facebook, Pinterest or eBay (do people still eBay?) but by the nuisances of others. We should all have our own offices. No cubicles or shared workspaces. Here’s why:

Food wrappers: Why does it seem that your co-worker finds it nearly impossible to get chips out of a bag resulting in endless crinkling while they fumble around to nab their next Dorito? Why is it so difficult for them to unwrap candy? Moreover, why do you feel the need to roll up your candy wrapper into a little ball afterwards? Similarly, you don’t need to fold up the extra large paper bag your lunch came in. All the excessive crinkling, crumpling, rustling and shuffling needs to stop! Or…here’s a novel idea…eat in the lunch room so at least your clumsy food wrapper handling is muted and not sailing directly into my ear holes.

Loud chewers: Calm. Down. With the chewing. The food isn’t going anywhere. It’s not animate, it’s not going to jump off the plate and run away (I hope).

The violent crushing of your mandibles while wallowing around bites that are too large for your mouth is bovine and inappropriate. Calm yourself, take smaller bites and maybe think about saving the last 6 inches of your 18 inch sub for a snack tomorrow. I can’t concentrate on writing my blog, this Excel spreadsheet while your sloppy chops are chomping and probably spewing saliva and food all over the place.

--This also includes plate-scrapers, those determined to get every last molecule of food off their lunch plate before calling it good.

Heavy-breathers: I don’t know what causes it but when I’m around a heavy-breather, I feel like they might pass out at anytime and I should keep an eye on them in the event an emergency call needs to be made. And there are times, just like the rest of us, they have a whistler up in that nasal passage of theirs but because they are HBs, the whistling is a touch loud for the office and probably more apropos for…I don’t know…a gymnasium.  It’s like the conscious version of snoring. Baffling yet totally agitating.

Finger-nail clipping:  There is a certain comfort-level that needs to be reached before I’m okay with you clipping your talons in my presence. I don’t appreciate having to dodge the remnants as they get projected across the room – they could take an eye out. I don’t mind you taking care of the occasional catch or sore hangnail. But hearing the constant snip, snip, snip while you clip clip clip away at all ten of your claws makes me squirm (and hope that you don’t continue with your feet). Groom at home, in your car, or the bathroom if you must self-manicure right this second. But I will quit my job the second I find your nail scraps in my hair.  

Finger-tappers: This includes finger-nail tapping for you acrylic lovers. Surely, you must have another nervous habit or pastime that isn’t audible. Leg-bouncing, nail-chewing, chin-rubbing…something. Needless to say, fingers constantly percussing whatever rhythmic pattern your brain is marching to and tap tap tapping away all day, every day is maddening. Am I in Drumline 2: From the Street to the Office? Where’s Nick Cannon? Develop some self-awareness and come to realize that the tune you’re tapping doesn’t sound the same to others as it does to you. You may hear the drum breakdown from Phil Collins’, In the Air Tonight, but to me, it’s a bunch of senseless racket. Pa rum pa rum dumb.

Stinky lunch-eater: Don’t get me wrong. I am an offender. I love eating food that may be unpleasant to the olfactory. A vinegar dressing. Sauerkraut. Fish. Curried something. I’ve also burnt a bag of popcorn or two (one time intentionally because I knew it really bothered someone I didn’t like). Additionally, speaking as a someone who has been through two pregnancies, I can say that the scent of my co-worker’s daily lunch of Thai noodles didn’t sit well with me during the first trimester and as a result, I had to vacate the office before my breakfast vacated my gut.  

Ultimately, we are all office delinquents in some aspect and there is something that each of us does that annoys another. The hope for a universe in which we all have our individual offices and the freedom to shut our doors is unrealistic. Until then, we must appreciate the finer features of cubicle-living like being able to eavesdrop on conversations and personal phone calls, the warm, cozy feeling of community and viewing your neighbor’s web-surfing.