Why is it that the more we have the more we complain? I mean, really. I have everything. A warm house on a cold day, healthy kids, good friends, good education, asshole husband and shitting puppy. It would seem that I focus mostly on the last two of the list. I defiantly have to devote more time to trashing my friends; even things up, you know.
Who the hell gets a puppy in January?? I just took the little fucker out and there is just no way he's going to relieve himself out there, because surely he will get frostbite on his little winkie. So he pees the moment he gets it the door.
Wasn't I just gushing about how wonderful my life is and how warm my house is? well, it all smells like piss.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Friday, February 8, 2008
The root of all evil
Below is my work product for today. I won't win any awards, but then again I won't go on a shooting spree either.
Why is there a "fee negotiation" department when I have already bent over to agree to their shitty contract?
My official position statement for insurance carriers:
February 8, 2008
Multiplan’s fee Negotiation Department
Phone 866-568-2928
Fax: (888) 674-3691
To Whom It May Concern:
Thank you for your kind offer to pay me in a timely fashion if I agree to accept about half of what you owe me; however I would prefer to wait the extra 10 days and get paid the full amount.
I’m sure that because of this ridiculous expectation of mine (to get paid in full in a timely fashion for services provided) that my claim will now be denied for obscure reasons that could be discovered only if one of my hourly staff spends several hours on the phone. This will consist of being bounced around between automated menus to dipshits in Bangalore that couldn’t find their ass with both hands and a map. Meanwhile my new claims pile up and the phone rings unanswered because we’re on hold with you.
After many hours of frustration making my employee want to quit, (even though they will still be getting paid) I will probably have to send you clinical information to support my claim which will have to be sent at least 3 times before anyone will admit to having received it. Then someone who feels important because she’s a middle manager will return from her smoke break and say, ok, resubmit the claim.
Then you’ll deny the claim because it was not filed in a timely fashion.
So to avoid this entire exercise in futility, I’m signing this sheet and selling my soul. I’d just like to say fuck you. YOU are the Great Satan.
Thank you,
Hapless Provider
Why is there a "fee negotiation" department when I have already bent over to agree to their shitty contract?
My official position statement for insurance carriers:
February 8, 2008
Multiplan’s fee Negotiation Department
Phone 866-568-2928
Fax: (888) 674-3691
To Whom It May Concern:
Thank you for your kind offer to pay me in a timely fashion if I agree to accept about half of what you owe me; however I would prefer to wait the extra 10 days and get paid the full amount.
I’m sure that because of this ridiculous expectation of mine (to get paid in full in a timely fashion for services provided) that my claim will now be denied for obscure reasons that could be discovered only if one of my hourly staff spends several hours on the phone. This will consist of being bounced around between automated menus to dipshits in Bangalore that couldn’t find their ass with both hands and a map. Meanwhile my new claims pile up and the phone rings unanswered because we’re on hold with you.
After many hours of frustration making my employee want to quit, (even though they will still be getting paid) I will probably have to send you clinical information to support my claim which will have to be sent at least 3 times before anyone will admit to having received it. Then someone who feels important because she’s a middle manager will return from her smoke break and say, ok, resubmit the claim.
Then you’ll deny the claim because it was not filed in a timely fashion.
So to avoid this entire exercise in futility, I’m signing this sheet and selling my soul. I’d just like to say fuck you. YOU are the Great Satan.
Thank you,
Hapless Provider
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Happy
Well, it's not like I'm going to burst into song or start posting cupcake recipes, but at least I'm not bitching.
In order to prevent a relapse to my long lost friend, the Marlboro Man, I went out for a run today. It was not a long run or a fast run, but a run nonetheless. It's probably premature to register for the marathon. I am not in any more or any less pain, and it has very clearly improved my disposition, as evidenced by an unusual lack of profanity. Possibly the people around me are suffering less.
It was really more like a brisk walk, and not quite 4 miles, but having the lakefront all to myself is a luxury that can be enjoyed only on a shitty snowing sleety day. No bikes, no bladers, no babies, no bimbos--well almost no bimbos. I'm still trying to tone the hair down, but it still screams TRAMP-O-LINA. If it stays this blonde, I will be required by social convention to get breast augmentation. Platinum blonde and flat-as-a prairie are incongruous. Easier to fix the hair.
N. maintains that he too wants to be a runner. He was easily the fastest 3 year old on the track over the summer, knocking out laps not quite fast enough to push is father into an arrhythmia, but close. Maybe next year.
Saturday, February 2, 2008
Saturdays
Immanuel Kant pretty much summed it up with "unsocial sociability"; regarding our fellows that we "cannot bear, but cannot bear to leave." I really don't think there has been a more true statement.
I suppose my world view and my take on human relations is somewhat tinged by being tethered by marriage to an asshole. Maybe a little shot of his magical cough syrup in my coffee would improve my mood. It's keeping him blessedly quiet.
A little maudlin for a Saturday morning you say? Maybe. I hate NPR on Saturday mornings; our ordinarily staid hosts "letting their hair down for a little levity." Listening to Carl Kasell push out laughs is reminiscent of watching a constipated dog straining to push out it's issue. Let's all just stick with what we know. That means lots of warts and fungus for me.
Nick is still sick, moaning and absolutely incensed that I'm not more sympathetic. Admittedly I have not been too helpful beyond getting his medicine, shoveling the snow and restraining my unkind comments about having to see his ass hanging out of his boxers. Please bear in mind, that despite being on the verge of death on his sick bed, he was able to muster enough energy to go to a dealership and purchase a new truck.
This fact was communicated to me when he called from Costco, in what seemed to be an unusually thoughtful gesture, to see if I needed anything. I said, "well yes, I need some frozen corn and some coffee filters." He said "OK frozen corn and coffee filters." I said "yes, make sure you get the cone filters, not the basket ones." He said "OK, oh, and I bought a new truck today." This is the cheapass who thinks I should go to the barrio to get a haircut because it is cheaper, and really REALLY yells when I opt otherwise. I am sure other couples have at least a perfunctory discussion prior to purchasing a vehicle. Asshole. And, of course he got the damn basket filters instead of the cones, while forgetting completely about the corn.
I suppose my world view and my take on human relations is somewhat tinged by being tethered by marriage to an asshole. Maybe a little shot of his magical cough syrup in my coffee would improve my mood. It's keeping him blessedly quiet.
A little maudlin for a Saturday morning you say? Maybe. I hate NPR on Saturday mornings; our ordinarily staid hosts "letting their hair down for a little levity." Listening to Carl Kasell push out laughs is reminiscent of watching a constipated dog straining to push out it's issue. Let's all just stick with what we know. That means lots of warts and fungus for me.
Nick is still sick, moaning and absolutely incensed that I'm not more sympathetic. Admittedly I have not been too helpful beyond getting his medicine, shoveling the snow and restraining my unkind comments about having to see his ass hanging out of his boxers. Please bear in mind, that despite being on the verge of death on his sick bed, he was able to muster enough energy to go to a dealership and purchase a new truck.
This fact was communicated to me when he called from Costco, in what seemed to be an unusually thoughtful gesture, to see if I needed anything. I said, "well yes, I need some frozen corn and some coffee filters." He said "OK frozen corn and coffee filters." I said "yes, make sure you get the cone filters, not the basket ones." He said "OK, oh, and I bought a new truck today." This is the cheapass who thinks I should go to the barrio to get a haircut because it is cheaper, and really REALLY yells when I opt otherwise. I am sure other couples have at least a perfunctory discussion prior to purchasing a vehicle. Asshole. And, of course he got the damn basket filters instead of the cones, while forgetting completely about the corn.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
call Dr. Phil
My marriage is apparently so blatantly bad that it has now been referred to as "birth control for marriage." And I thought I was being such a good soldier... It's just a stage. Everyone ends up in the same place after 10 years and two kids, right??
There is no "Soul Mate", so quit looking. People who say they have found their Soul Mate are generally people in the early stages of a relationship, and they are so busy humping each other that they haven't had time to figure out that they don't really like each other that much. I believe the term and concept of the "soul mate" is a myth, which was started by a misquoted Cinderella; when the prince showed up with the other shoe she said "oh here's my SOLE mate" referring, of course to her shoe, not the idiot bearing it. Next, Danielle Steele got her mitts on it, and dewy eyed teenagers everywhere bought into the concept and expect, as a birthright, seamless blissful love forever; subsequently the entire institution of marriage is foundering. Twits.
In today's discussion with a young single woman about what to look for in a mate, I suggested that it boils down to one simple principal: DON'T MARRY A CRAZY ASSHOLE. Money, looks, sex, blah blah blah. Just try to find someone sane. And if it turns out that I'm the crazy one after all, I guess I need someone more in tune with my own insanity. So I'm getting ready to throw on my wedding gown and go car shopping with Brittney Spears (don't worry, I won't be doing any vageen flashing).
There is no "Soul Mate", so quit looking. People who say they have found their Soul Mate are generally people in the early stages of a relationship, and they are so busy humping each other that they haven't had time to figure out that they don't really like each other that much. I believe the term and concept of the "soul mate" is a myth, which was started by a misquoted Cinderella; when the prince showed up with the other shoe she said "oh here's my SOLE mate" referring, of course to her shoe, not the idiot bearing it. Next, Danielle Steele got her mitts on it, and dewy eyed teenagers everywhere bought into the concept and expect, as a birthright, seamless blissful love forever; subsequently the entire institution of marriage is foundering. Twits.
In today's discussion with a young single woman about what to look for in a mate, I suggested that it boils down to one simple principal: DON'T MARRY A CRAZY ASSHOLE. Money, looks, sex, blah blah blah. Just try to find someone sane. And if it turns out that I'm the crazy one after all, I guess I need someone more in tune with my own insanity. So I'm getting ready to throw on my wedding gown and go car shopping with Brittney Spears (don't worry, I won't be doing any vageen flashing).
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Flunking pre-K
When H. attended the preschool which costs roughly triple what I paid for undergrad, I really thought the report cards were just a courtesy. I mean really; 5 exhaustive pages of evaluation for a 3 year old? So for those parent-teacher meetings, I figured all the sunshine being blown up my ass about my brilliant child was just because I was writing a lot of big checks to them.
So it was somewhat shocking to go for my first sit-down regarding N. Turns out, they do check those other boxes sometimes. After the first 5 or so minutes I was having visions of the short bus and the "special" class. Oh Lord, what did I do? was it the coffee during my pregnancy? Or my somewhat early delivery, which occurred because I prayed so hard for it and I had a foot massage which probably knocked him loose? Was it because I really hated being pregnant? The drugs in the 7th month to aid the passage of the kidney stones?
Should I hire tutors? Maybe it was the 2 tuna melts, even though I specifically ordered them to hold the mercury?? "Pearl Jam" Black album. That must have been it, with it's dour lyrics and loud noises. I used to listen to it all the time during my pregnancy. Most of the time felt like howling along with Eddie Vetter.
Soon reality set in . He's only just turned friggin 4. He has to do another preK year anyway because of his September birthday. Holy shit am I loosing my mind, or what? Priorities, always priorities. It's not like he has a heart defect or red hair. Time to refocus and concentrate on the things that are really important, like my manicure which got ruined by me picking away during my parent teacher meeting. That bitch teacher, she's ruining my life.
So it was somewhat shocking to go for my first sit-down regarding N. Turns out, they do check those other boxes sometimes. After the first 5 or so minutes I was having visions of the short bus and the "special" class. Oh Lord, what did I do? was it the coffee during my pregnancy? Or my somewhat early delivery, which occurred because I prayed so hard for it and I had a foot massage which probably knocked him loose? Was it because I really hated being pregnant? The drugs in the 7th month to aid the passage of the kidney stones?
Should I hire tutors? Maybe it was the 2 tuna melts, even though I specifically ordered them to hold the mercury?? "Pearl Jam" Black album. That must have been it, with it's dour lyrics and loud noises. I used to listen to it all the time during my pregnancy. Most of the time felt like howling along with Eddie Vetter.
Soon reality set in . He's only just turned friggin 4. He has to do another preK year anyway because of his September birthday. Holy shit am I loosing my mind, or what? Priorities, always priorities. It's not like he has a heart defect or red hair. Time to refocus and concentrate on the things that are really important, like my manicure which got ruined by me picking away during my parent teacher meeting. That bitch teacher, she's ruining my life.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
gainful.
Generally speaking, I like my job. Well, for today anyway.
I've had some very bad jobs, including morning newspaper delivery drone, breakfast waitress, deli girl,and cocktail waitress. I once answered a classified ad for "light housekeeping and assisting a disabled person" but it turned out to be an escort service, so I didn't take the job despite my dire financial straights.
Newspaper delivery: Pure shit. PURE SHIT. My parents should be arrested for child abuse for sending me out daily at that hour (5am) when I was 13. EVERY DAY. All to be riding my crappy Schwinn through rain, sleet, snow, in sickness or in health. The only benefit will be having it to lord over my children when I'm giving them the parental "you're worthless and lazy" lecture.
Breakfast Waitress: Well hell, I was already used to being up at 5. But in a "Little House in the Prairie" dress?? pouring coffee for truckers and cops? Also, people in the heartland tend to be poor tippers.
Deli Girl: In a grocery store where the main currency was food stamps. People ordered head cheese. Do you know what head cheese is? Wrong, that's what it is. It looks like moldy fish eyes in a bucket of snot.
Cocktail waitress: out of the hinterlands, so I made a shocking amount of money compared to the breakfast gig. The short skirt and general atmosphere of consumption helped too, surely.
Chemistry 101 TA/summer research intern= eating ramen noodles and shoe leather. At least back then, coffee and cigarettes were cheap.
After all that, it was quite a disappointment to embark on my first position where I was referred to by my earned honorific, only to find that it was the very worst job I had ever had.
I've had some very bad jobs, including morning newspaper delivery drone, breakfast waitress, deli girl,and cocktail waitress. I once answered a classified ad for "light housekeeping and assisting a disabled person" but it turned out to be an escort service, so I didn't take the job despite my dire financial straights.
Newspaper delivery: Pure shit. PURE SHIT. My parents should be arrested for child abuse for sending me out daily at that hour (5am) when I was 13. EVERY DAY. All to be riding my crappy Schwinn through rain, sleet, snow, in sickness or in health. The only benefit will be having it to lord over my children when I'm giving them the parental "you're worthless and lazy" lecture.
Breakfast Waitress: Well hell, I was already used to being up at 5. But in a "Little House in the Prairie" dress?? pouring coffee for truckers and cops? Also, people in the heartland tend to be poor tippers.
Deli Girl: In a grocery store where the main currency was food stamps. People ordered head cheese. Do you know what head cheese is? Wrong, that's what it is. It looks like moldy fish eyes in a bucket of snot.
Cocktail waitress: out of the hinterlands, so I made a shocking amount of money compared to the breakfast gig. The short skirt and general atmosphere of consumption helped too, surely.
Chemistry 101 TA/summer research intern= eating ramen noodles and shoe leather. At least back then, coffee and cigarettes were cheap.
After all that, it was quite a disappointment to embark on my first position where I was referred to by my earned honorific, only to find that it was the very worst job I had ever had.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
