As a child, I collected unicorns.
Sometimes, we get too close to that we love.
--------------------------
So I went to the dermatologist last week; first time ever. I was blessed with good skin and hair, what can I say? Never needed a professional to take a closer look at anything.
(She said, flipping her Pantene-perfect ponytail; her freshly-scrubbed, makeup-free cheeks glowing. Or not.)
But time's a bitch and about 6 weeks ago, I noticed my skin was freaking-the-fuck-out. I looked like a reject for a Proactiv infomercial.
"Tsk-tsk," they said. "A little rough for the before shot, don't you think?"
Seriously, I woke up one morning and I had acne. Full-on acne. WTF? I mean, I was thankful to have avoided the stigma of unhappy pores as a teenager, but I've got enough shit going on right now, thankyouverymuch.
I bought some products, added an extra shower, even avoided the magnifying mirror, because I did not deserve that trauma. Nothing worked. I tried to determine what new ingredient I had encountered, and could find nothing suspicious. And I thought, maybe I just need to give it time to work itself out. It was almost a rash. Like a constellation of bumps and spots and splotches.
Look, Pegasus!
And I decided to just roll with it.
Until this... thing... showed up on my foot.
(BTW, I have nice feet too, as feet go. Or at least, I had nice feet.)
See, this is what happens when you take things for granted. Stop bemoaning the parts that suck (weight, crooked teeth, big nose, whatever) and revel in the magnificence that is the good stuff. Because eventually it will all 'catch ugly' if you don't take care of what the Good Lord and your Mama gave you.
Catch ugly and grow horns.
Specifically, a cutaneous horn.
And if you just did a Google Image search on that, don't blame me for losing your lunch. You know they only show the most extreme shit in those pictures. Because that's what the people want. Except me. I think there should be a warning label and an extra click or two to get to the freaky pictures.
These cutaneous horns normally appear in areas that are exposed to the sun. But sometimes, they show up in shady spots too. Like, for instance, my foot.
(Why yes, I do live in Florida, but no, I do not wear sandals or flip-flops. I also keep my keys, debit card and driver's license in my pocket at all times. These issues may be connected.)
It was a little spot by my little toe. In fact, you wouldn't notice it at first glance. It was all pale and tiny. I can't emphasize that enough. Pale and Tiny. I certainly wouldn't say cute, but it Did Not look like anything you saw in those pictures you wish you hadn't searched for. But it hurt when it was bumped the wrong way. And I developed a protective response whenever anything got within a foot of my, uh, foot.
So I looked for a dermatologist. I found a whopping eight in my area. And of those eight, the earliest appointment was in October. So I branched out and found someone about 40 miles away who could see me several months sooner. (There may be a need for dermatologists in North Central Florida. Time for a career change?)
Thanks to my father's skin cancer issues, I was awarded a full-body inspection from the good doctor. Luckily, she was super-nice and professional. I totally dug her and her nurse. Awesome service. I was prescribed some acne cream, which took forever to be approved by my insurance. I was "out of appropriate age range." Obviously, non-pregnant 30-somethings get acne too. Pay up, bitches. So we'll see how that works out.
The removal was fast and nearly painless. I don't know what kind of numbing agent they use, but it worked in like 15 seconds and they cut that little guy off and cauterized the area before I even finished getting worked up about it. The worst part was the needle, of course. My dentist needs to take some pointers from my dermatologist.
And the biopsy came back negative, so that's one less thing to worry about. 427 other things just moved up a spot!
You know what wasn't on the list? Turning 31. I had no problem turning 31 last week. When I turned 30 last year, I whined like a little bitch. Nothing like a little perspective, eh?
Friday, August 27, 2010
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Well we ARE talking about the squirting of fluid.
Ejection Fraction - sounds like something they explained to the boys during those Extra Special Health Ed Classes back in 8th grade.
But no! Girls have Ejection Fractions too!
So, I have some heart problems, and no, no one can really tell me why. No clogged arteries or congenital heart defects. Guess I drew a winning ticket in the "Sucks To Be You Lottery!" And so young, well... I always was an early starter. Boobs in 4th grade, period at age 11, gray hairs at 20, what did I expect, really?
(Sometimes my posts may contain a little more personal body info than you wanted to know, but what the hell, you can tell me all about how old you were the first time you had to walk to the chalkboard with a social studies book hugged to your crotch. I won't judge.)
According to the Cleveland Clinic, "Ejection fraction is usually expressed as a percentage. A normal heart pumps a little more than half the heart’s blood volume with each beat. Left ventricular ejection fraction (LVEF) is the measurement of how much blood is being pumped out of the left ventricle of the heart (the main pumping chamber) with each contraction. A normal LVEF ranges from 50-70%. "
When I was initially admitted to the hospital in February, they performed an echocardiogram and it was documented my EF was 15-20%. To which I said, "So we're looking at 15% away from DEAD, that's what you mean." But of course, I didn't really say that. I focused on being entirely pleasant and low-maintenance while I was in the hospital. Since then, I've learned to talk up and ask questions. My cardiologist tries to pretend he doesn't see the little notebook and pen in my hand, but he FAILS.
So an EF of 15% is pretty effing awful. I mean, that's lower than any grade I ever got in Chemistry, and I guarantee you those numbers were l-o-w. The next echo was in May, at the 3 month mark. And I was up to 20-25%! Um... whoo! Hey, any increase, right? But I could do better.
And then from mid-May to mid-July I pretty much turned into a blob of self-pity and stopped exercising and starting eating fast food again. I blame the heat. And losing half my paycheck. That's how we self-medicate in my family.
Then on July 17, I was blubbering about dying young and how Sara Rue was losing too much weight and wouldn't be able to play me in the movie, and Mike kinda said, "Alright already, go walk on the treadmill. Let's do this!" And we had a Joe Swanson Story moment and ever since then, all 4 weeks of since-then, I've walked on the treadmill. 6 days a week. And I'm up to 45 minutes a day, at 2.5 mph and an incline of 2.0-3.0. And when I told the docs this on my visit Monday, the assistant cardiologist said, "That's better than most regular Americans!" I wonder if she's lived in Texas?
So, kudos to me on getting off my ass and watching SYTYCD while strolling in the comfort of my air-conditioned living room. (Ack, 6 more weeks until the Fall season starts... hooray for streaming Netflix!)
The appointment I had at the Heart Failure Clinic on Monday was at the 6 month mark. Time for another echo. Luckily, in the past 4 weeks, I was able to lose the weight I gained from my 2 month pity party. Best not to dwell on how much I could have lost if I'd just stayed on the healthy train. What's done is done.
The thing about having an echo done is, it's basically an ultrasound. And since your heart is under your left boob, you're hanging out topless with a stranger for like 20 minutes in a variety of positions while he rubs cold jelly on a wand and then shoves it against your poor chest and belly. Oh, they try to drape you, but come on, there's definitely some "tid bit nipply" going on.
(And how awkward is it for Mike to sit in the room while some dude is pawing at my boobs with Astroglide? And taking pictures! Grainy, black-and-white, subterranean-dwelling creature pictures, true. But still. If he was getting some testicle screen shots taken, how would I feel? Hmm... I'd probably tweet the experience. Never mind.)
On Tuesday, we found out that my test on Monday indicated an EF of 30-35%. In six months I doubled my EF! Right On! Unfortunately, the numbers are still too low and they want me to get a consult with the physio guys about implanting an ICD/Pacemaker. Well, hell. I mean, I'm all for preventing SCD, but still. Surgery. Yuck. And this will totally disrupt my exercise routine. (Ha! Can't believe I just wrote that sentence, and meant it sincerely.)
Tune in next time when I go into detail about having my horn removed. Oh yes, you read that right. I was a horned beast! Until 1:30pm this past Monday. Man, I was naked with strangers a lot on Monday...
But no! Girls have Ejection Fractions too!
So, I have some heart problems, and no, no one can really tell me why. No clogged arteries or congenital heart defects. Guess I drew a winning ticket in the "Sucks To Be You Lottery!" And so young, well... I always was an early starter. Boobs in 4th grade, period at age 11, gray hairs at 20, what did I expect, really?
(Sometimes my posts may contain a little more personal body info than you wanted to know, but what the hell, you can tell me all about how old you were the first time you had to walk to the chalkboard with a social studies book hugged to your crotch. I won't judge.)
According to the Cleveland Clinic, "Ejection fraction is usually expressed as a percentage. A normal heart pumps a little more than half the heart’s blood volume with each beat. Left ventricular ejection fraction (LVEF) is the measurement of how much blood is being pumped out of the left ventricle of the heart (the main pumping chamber) with each contraction. A normal LVEF ranges from 50-70%. "
When I was initially admitted to the hospital in February, they performed an echocardiogram and it was documented my EF was 15-20%. To which I said, "So we're looking at 15% away from DEAD, that's what you mean." But of course, I didn't really say that. I focused on being entirely pleasant and low-maintenance while I was in the hospital. Since then, I've learned to talk up and ask questions. My cardiologist tries to pretend he doesn't see the little notebook and pen in my hand, but he FAILS.
So an EF of 15% is pretty effing awful. I mean, that's lower than any grade I ever got in Chemistry, and I guarantee you those numbers were l-o-w. The next echo was in May, at the 3 month mark. And I was up to 20-25%! Um... whoo! Hey, any increase, right? But I could do better.
And then from mid-May to mid-July I pretty much turned into a blob of self-pity and stopped exercising and starting eating fast food again. I blame the heat. And losing half my paycheck. That's how we self-medicate in my family.
Then on July 17, I was blubbering about dying young and how Sara Rue was losing too much weight and wouldn't be able to play me in the movie, and Mike kinda said, "Alright already, go walk on the treadmill. Let's do this!" And we had a Joe Swanson Story moment and ever since then, all 4 weeks of since-then, I've walked on the treadmill. 6 days a week. And I'm up to 45 minutes a day, at 2.5 mph and an incline of 2.0-3.0. And when I told the docs this on my visit Monday, the assistant cardiologist said, "That's better than most regular Americans!" I wonder if she's lived in Texas?
So, kudos to me on getting off my ass and watching SYTYCD while strolling in the comfort of my air-conditioned living room. (Ack, 6 more weeks until the Fall season starts... hooray for streaming Netflix!)
The appointment I had at the Heart Failure Clinic on Monday was at the 6 month mark. Time for another echo. Luckily, in the past 4 weeks, I was able to lose the weight I gained from my 2 month pity party. Best not to dwell on how much I could have lost if I'd just stayed on the healthy train. What's done is done.
The thing about having an echo done is, it's basically an ultrasound. And since your heart is under your left boob, you're hanging out topless with a stranger for like 20 minutes in a variety of positions while he rubs cold jelly on a wand and then shoves it against your poor chest and belly. Oh, they try to drape you, but come on, there's definitely some "tid bit nipply" going on.
(And how awkward is it for Mike to sit in the room while some dude is pawing at my boobs with Astroglide? And taking pictures! Grainy, black-and-white, subterranean-dwelling creature pictures, true. But still. If he was getting some testicle screen shots taken, how would I feel? Hmm... I'd probably tweet the experience. Never mind.)
On Tuesday, we found out that my test on Monday indicated an EF of 30-35%. In six months I doubled my EF! Right On! Unfortunately, the numbers are still too low and they want me to get a consult with the physio guys about implanting an ICD/Pacemaker. Well, hell. I mean, I'm all for preventing SCD, but still. Surgery. Yuck. And this will totally disrupt my exercise routine. (Ha! Can't believe I just wrote that sentence, and meant it sincerely.)
Tune in next time when I go into detail about having my horn removed. Oh yes, you read that right. I was a horned beast! Until 1:30pm this past Monday. Man, I was naked with strangers a lot on Monday...
Friday, August 6, 2010
Like Little Winged Peeping Toms
What are these things, and why are they staring at me?
Maybe a grasshopper?
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It's hard to tell, but it had a sort of curlicue tail going on.
Kinda like a butt antennae, really.
Kinda like a butt antennae, really.
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Surprisingly, the legs are creepier than the eyes.
Ooh, smudges! Possibly nose prints!
Ooh, smudges! Possibly nose prints!
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Those of you looking ahead, don't spoil it for the rest of the class!
Wild and Crazy Couple Alert!
We did something spontaneous; we went out to a restaurant just for dessert.
Next thing you know, we'll be ducking into the local pub for a quick pint and hitting the movies on a weeknight. Jump back!
On my way to the grocery store, I pass a Mimi's Cafe. Ever been to one? We'd gone a couple of times in California, but hadn't made an effort here. However, I thought about it the other day while researching restaurants, and looked it up. I like their website, and the way they display the nutritional info. The big discovery was the petite treats list. (Hey, it's the little things - harhar!)
I was expecting the equivalent of those dessert shots all the other chain restaurants are touting. I felt a little guilty when we told the waitress we were just there for dessert, because she had to be thinking about the tip. However, after perusing the menu, we decided to order four different mini desserts, so we could have our own tasting party. The prices seemed pretty comparable, at $2.49 each.
While waiting for our order, Mike and I chitted-the-chat about various things, including blogging. Neither of us is really excited about our layout, design, gadgets, etc. We debated the merits of registering our own domains, and how I needed to start adding pictures, cause damn.
We talked about blogs we were reading, how we've known about dooce forever, but totally missed a bunch of the other stars of the blogosphere. Currently, I'm reading the archives for Sundry, and since she's been at this since January 2002, there's a lot to read. The thing about archives is, you want to comment on something, but it's been literally years, and the blogger has moved on. Plus, the links rarely work any more, and you feel totally left out of the loop. I do love me some backstory tho!
When the waitress returned, we were a little shocked. I believe I may have bleated, "I didn't think they'd be so BIG!" (Insert male genitalia joke here.) Seriously, these individual servings? Were huge. Especially for the price!
My lemon mousse was topped with fresh blueberries and sauce, and the raspberry mousse had a generous dollop of whip cream. 114 calories/31 mg sodium and 123 calories/34 mg sodium, respectively. YUM.
Mike enjoyed the apple cinnamon crisp (318 calories and 137 mg sodium) which was served with a scoop of ice cream. I had a nibble, and it was tasty. The bread pudding, on the other hand, was such a huge serving, he took that home after a few bites. I tried it, but it wasn't for me. He says it was good. I'm kinda glad I didn't like it, actually. 415 calories and 316 mg sodium, for the petite.
So, our outing was a success. AND I took pictures, with the sole purpose of putting them on my blog. A bit blurry; something to work on.
Here's Mike, enjoying the ambiance and decor. I can't say the scheme is original, since this eclectic-on-purpose look is everywhere, but still, in my All-American heart, I dig it.
The view from our booth. For once, we weren't hidden in the beast corner! We were front and center where people had to pass us on the way to their own tables. Those green seats are part of the waiting area, and the bar is directly behind it. Hmm, both those chandeliers have the same bulb burnt out.
We did something spontaneous; we went out to a restaurant just for dessert.
Next thing you know, we'll be ducking into the local pub for a quick pint and hitting the movies on a weeknight. Jump back!
On my way to the grocery store, I pass a Mimi's Cafe. Ever been to one? We'd gone a couple of times in California, but hadn't made an effort here. However, I thought about it the other day while researching restaurants, and looked it up. I like their website, and the way they display the nutritional info. The big discovery was the petite treats list. (Hey, it's the little things - harhar!)
I was expecting the equivalent of those dessert shots all the other chain restaurants are touting. I felt a little guilty when we told the waitress we were just there for dessert, because she had to be thinking about the tip. However, after perusing the menu, we decided to order four different mini desserts, so we could have our own tasting party. The prices seemed pretty comparable, at $2.49 each.
While waiting for our order, Mike and I chitted-the-chat about various things, including blogging. Neither of us is really excited about our layout, design, gadgets, etc. We debated the merits of registering our own domains, and how I needed to start adding pictures, cause damn.
We talked about blogs we were reading, how we've known about dooce forever, but totally missed a bunch of the other stars of the blogosphere. Currently, I'm reading the archives for Sundry, and since she's been at this since January 2002, there's a lot to read. The thing about archives is, you want to comment on something, but it's been literally years, and the blogger has moved on. Plus, the links rarely work any more, and you feel totally left out of the loop. I do love me some backstory tho!
When the waitress returned, we were a little shocked. I believe I may have bleated, "I didn't think they'd be so BIG!" (Insert male genitalia joke here.) Seriously, these individual servings? Were huge. Especially for the price!
My lemon mousse was topped with fresh blueberries and sauce, and the raspberry mousse had a generous dollop of whip cream. 114 calories/31 mg sodium and 123 calories/34 mg sodium, respectively. YUM.
Mike enjoyed the apple cinnamon crisp (318 calories and 137 mg sodium) which was served with a scoop of ice cream. I had a nibble, and it was tasty. The bread pudding, on the other hand, was such a huge serving, he took that home after a few bites. I tried it, but it wasn't for me. He says it was good. I'm kinda glad I didn't like it, actually. 415 calories and 316 mg sodium, for the petite.
So, our outing was a success. AND I took pictures, with the sole purpose of putting them on my blog. A bit blurry; something to work on.
Here's Mike, enjoying the ambiance and decor. I can't say the scheme is original, since this eclectic-on-purpose look is everywhere, but still, in my All-American heart, I dig it.
The view from our booth. For once, we weren't hidden in the beast corner! We were front and center where people had to pass us on the way to their own tables. Those green seats are part of the waiting area, and the bar is directly behind it. Hmm, both those chandeliers have the same bulb burnt out.
The aftermath. Sure, a picture of the actual desserts pre-consumption would have been prettier, but we were more concerned with eating than with picture taking. Silly us.
Sorry, I know this picture is gross. But this is how much of the bread pudding was left over after it was nibbled on. See, big portions, little price!
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Just Burp It!
Have you ever played this game?
You're out with a friend or spouse and decide to get something to eat. However, neither of you wants to pick where. And so it begins.
You: "Where do you want to go?"
Her: "I don't care, where do you want to go?"
You: "I don't know, you choose."
Her: "Oh, it doesn't matter to me. What are you in the mood for?"
You: "Nothing specific, what about you? Anything sound good to you?"
Her: "Oh, you know me, whatever is fine."
And then you drive off the road and hit a telephone pole.
Of course, once you battle your way out of the airbags, now you have to deal with the insurance company. No one should do that on an empty stomach. So, you continue:
You: "Fast-food or sit-down?"
Her: "Or buffet?"
You: "No buffet." Holy shit, the first decision! How BOLD!
Her: "Ok, sit-down." Second decision. Not as bold of course, but at least she stepped up.
You: "Italian? Chinese? American? Thai?"
Her: "Do you even know where a Thai restaurant is around here? You haven't even been to a Thai place, have you?!"
You: "Smart-ass. No Thai then?"
Her: "No Thai."
You: "How about three choices?"
Her: "Ok, go."
Now, I'm on to you. You act all magnanimous because everyone likes options, but what you're really doing is getting your way. You're choosing the three restaurants. Those are three places you wouldn't mind "gettin' your grub on," as it were. Not only that, once you list the three, your friend nixes one, then you veto the second, which is the same as choosing. You crafty bizzle!
Mike and I play a condensed version of this game. It's been 11(!) years, we know our roles. With our current money-situation, not to mention the whole low-sodium goal, eating out hasn't been as frequent. We still do it, but it's paper napkins only.
I've accumulated some restaurant coupons in the past few weeks, thanks to the newspaper, online offers, direct mail crap, etc. (Oh yes, I'm all about the coupons right now. I'm one PennySaver away from hosting Tupperware parties. You can get free shit at those! Score!)
So I spent about an hour online researching sodium levels for various dishes at the restaurants I have coupons for. Things I have learned:
My cardiologist would suggest I never eat at Olive Garden again. 400 mg of sodium in one breadstick. ONE!
The Wild West Shrimp starter at Longhorn, while delicious, will kill us all at freaking 4180 mg of sodium.
And surprisingly, a personal pan cheese pizza from Pizza Hut has only 590 calories. Not so surprising, it has 1290 mg of sodium.
We ended up at PizzaVito, where I had a single slice of cheese pizza. Yes, a slice of pizza there is huge, but it is NY style and doesn't have that much sauce on it. (Rationalizing...) Unfortunately, PizzaVito does not have nutritional info on their site. A slice of cheese pizza from a large Pizza Hut pie has 740 mg of sodium. Peer Trainer says 551 mg of sodium for a slice of NY cheese. I don't know if that's similar enough, but there's some info anyway.
Also, I used 4 napkins blotting that piece of pizza. They should hand out complimentary Biore strips with each slice.
You're out with a friend or spouse and decide to get something to eat. However, neither of you wants to pick where. And so it begins.
You: "Where do you want to go?"
Her: "I don't care, where do you want to go?"
You: "I don't know, you choose."
Her: "Oh, it doesn't matter to me. What are you in the mood for?"
You: "Nothing specific, what about you? Anything sound good to you?"
Her: "Oh, you know me, whatever is fine."
And then you drive off the road and hit a telephone pole.
Of course, once you battle your way out of the airbags, now you have to deal with the insurance company. No one should do that on an empty stomach. So, you continue:
You: "Fast-food or sit-down?"
Her: "Or buffet?"
You: "No buffet." Holy shit, the first decision! How BOLD!
Her: "Ok, sit-down." Second decision. Not as bold of course, but at least she stepped up.
You: "Italian? Chinese? American? Thai?"
Her: "Do you even know where a Thai restaurant is around here? You haven't even been to a Thai place, have you?!"
You: "Smart-ass. No Thai then?"
Her: "No Thai."
You: "How about three choices?"
Her: "Ok, go."
Now, I'm on to you. You act all magnanimous because everyone likes options, but what you're really doing is getting your way. You're choosing the three restaurants. Those are three places you wouldn't mind "gettin' your grub on," as it were. Not only that, once you list the three, your friend nixes one, then you veto the second, which is the same as choosing. You crafty bizzle!
Mike and I play a condensed version of this game. It's been 11(!) years, we know our roles. With our current money-situation, not to mention the whole low-sodium goal, eating out hasn't been as frequent. We still do it, but it's paper napkins only.
I've accumulated some restaurant coupons in the past few weeks, thanks to the newspaper, online offers, direct mail crap, etc. (Oh yes, I'm all about the coupons right now. I'm one PennySaver away from hosting Tupperware parties. You can get free shit at those! Score!)
So I spent about an hour online researching sodium levels for various dishes at the restaurants I have coupons for. Things I have learned:
My cardiologist would suggest I never eat at Olive Garden again. 400 mg of sodium in one breadstick. ONE!
The Wild West Shrimp starter at Longhorn, while delicious, will kill us all at freaking 4180 mg of sodium.
And surprisingly, a personal pan cheese pizza from Pizza Hut has only 590 calories. Not so surprising, it has 1290 mg of sodium.
We ended up at PizzaVito, where I had a single slice of cheese pizza. Yes, a slice of pizza there is huge, but it is NY style and doesn't have that much sauce on it. (Rationalizing...) Unfortunately, PizzaVito does not have nutritional info on their site. A slice of cheese pizza from a large Pizza Hut pie has 740 mg of sodium. Peer Trainer says 551 mg of sodium for a slice of NY cheese. I don't know if that's similar enough, but there's some info anyway.
Also, I used 4 napkins blotting that piece of pizza. They should hand out complimentary Biore strips with each slice.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
You had me at 'Choice Plus Network'
I love Insurance. Insurance is the greatest thing since movable type. I would marry Insurance, but that's only legal in Connecticut. Instead, I hook up with it every chance I get.
Car Insurance? Of course! Rental Insurance? I do! Health Insurance? Bet your ass!
And it doesn't stop there. I'm pretty enthusiastic about warranties and accidental-anything policies, too.
Purchasing a Wii - extend the warranty. Buying a car - get Gap. New iPhone - oh, nevermind. Bastards.
Back in California, I was able to sign Mike up as a domestic partner and get excellent, fairly-affordable healthcare for him through my work.
(You had to get a domestic partnership affidavit notarized for such a thing. I really confused the guy at Mailboxes, Etc. The look on his face said, "Hey, Crazy-Heterosexual-White-Woman, you could just make an honest man out of him." What came out of his mouth was, "Sign here. $29.95. No checks.")
And, until this year, we never met our deductible. Not once. Since 2001.
A couple of weeks ago, I received a letter from my healthcare provider. I opened the envelope and confetti burst forth, balloons rose in the air, trumpets sounded and an enthusiastic voice boomed,
"Congratulations!
You've not only met your deductible, but you've also hit the Out-of-Pocket, In-Network maximum! And you're thisclose to the Out-of-Network double whammy! Well done! $2,000 more, and you can go to ANY doctor, ANYwhere, for FREE!
Even if you choose to stay In-Network, your medical care for the next 6 months is ON US! Got a tickle in your throat; come on in! A wart on your foot; gross, but no problem! A leak in your breast implant; sorry, that's not covered, but you should get it looked at anyway!
Hurry to our directory and schedule some appointments today.
'Cause you're not getting any younger!
Restrictions apply, see coverage levels and regulations for further details."
Car Insurance? Of course! Rental Insurance? I do! Health Insurance? Bet your ass!
And it doesn't stop there. I'm pretty enthusiastic about warranties and accidental-anything policies, too.
Purchasing a Wii - extend the warranty. Buying a car - get Gap. New iPhone - oh, nevermind. Bastards.
Back in California, I was able to sign Mike up as a domestic partner and get excellent, fairly-affordable healthcare for him through my work.
(You had to get a domestic partnership affidavit notarized for such a thing. I really confused the guy at Mailboxes, Etc. The look on his face said, "Hey, Crazy-Heterosexual-White-Woman, you could just make an honest man out of him." What came out of his mouth was, "Sign here. $29.95. No checks.")
And, until this year, we never met our deductible. Not once. Since 2001.
A couple of weeks ago, I received a letter from my healthcare provider. I opened the envelope and confetti burst forth, balloons rose in the air, trumpets sounded and an enthusiastic voice boomed,
"Congratulations!
You've not only met your deductible, but you've also hit the Out-of-Pocket, In-Network maximum! And you're thisclose to the Out-of-Network double whammy! Well done! $2,000 more, and you can go to ANY doctor, ANYwhere, for FREE!
Even if you choose to stay In-Network, your medical care for the next 6 months is ON US! Got a tickle in your throat; come on in! A wart on your foot; gross, but no problem! A leak in your breast implant; sorry, that's not covered, but you should get it looked at anyway!
Hurry to our directory and schedule some appointments today.
'Cause you're not getting any younger!
Restrictions apply, see coverage levels and regulations for further details."
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Sometimes you have to spend money to, um, spend more money
I ordered checks today.
That doesn't sound very news-worthy, but this day in age, how many checks do you really go through in a month? Six months? A year, even? There's the rent/mortgage, a long-distance birthday, things like that. But we swipe the plastic even for "real money" purchases with our debit cards and pay most of our bills through online banking. I don't think Mike even knows where his checkbook is.
So, it surprised me when I realized I was down to my last check. How can this be? I flipped through my register and realized that in 3 1/2 months, I've written 17 checks to medical institutions. And 0 to celebrate a birthday.
Don't worry; there's been a birthday or two to celebrate. We just send gift cards. It's our way of forcing people to do something we want them to do.
"You will go here and you will buy something you do not need! 'Cause we said so! Now, march!"
That doesn't sound very news-worthy, but this day in age, how many checks do you really go through in a month? Six months? A year, even? There's the rent/mortgage, a long-distance birthday, things like that. But we swipe the plastic even for "real money" purchases with our debit cards and pay most of our bills through online banking. I don't think Mike even knows where his checkbook is.
So, it surprised me when I realized I was down to my last check. How can this be? I flipped through my register and realized that in 3 1/2 months, I've written 17 checks to medical institutions. And 0 to celebrate a birthday.
Don't worry; there's been a birthday or two to celebrate. We just send gift cards. It's our way of forcing people to do something we want them to do.
"You will go here and you will buy something you do not need! 'Cause we said so! Now, march!"
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