Today I have the pleasure of dealing with our clusterfuck of a health insurance company. Dealing with them is like lighting your pubes on fire and trying to tear them out one by one with a tweezers before they burn down to the skin – excruciating and impossible.
My son was refered to a pediatric GI specialist in January. Before we went I called the PPO phone number on my insurance card to be sure he was in network. I was assured that he was. So I take my son for his consult and resulting upper endoscopy. I pay my copay and think I’m good to go. Yesterday I get my explaination of benefits letter. The first thing I notice is that it says my copay is the out of network amount not the in network amount. The second thing is that my copay wasn’t even applied to the bill. The final and my favorite thing is that after they copay they will pay 55% fo the balance. This is my favorite because they pay 80% for in network and 60% for out of network so where the hell did 55% come from?
I understand that times are tough and everyone is trying to make a buck but son of a bitch! Our premiums go up every year, our coverage goes down and other than check ups for the kids and the rare illness we don’t use our coverage. I have the pleasure of paying for everyone else’s chronic illnesses but when the occasion comes that we need to use our coverage they try to bend us over like a two dollar whore.
I’m sure if I added up all our premiums paid versus what they actually pay out I’m sure they come out way ahead. We are over a barrel because should the unfortunate illness or injury happen and we were uninsured we would be completely and utterly donkey fucked.
Hopefully this will be the last time I have to make mention of this but what the fuck? When I first started blogging there were people who disagreed but it was all good natured and left in the blog-o-sphere. Here’s my fictional example:
Comment 1: I disagree with you. You are a mega douche.
Comment 2: Comment 1 has his head way up his ass. This is the way it should be…….
Blog Author: I think you are both cheese covered nut sacks. So when are we all getting together for a drink? 
Now we can’t even bring up a simple get-together without a blow up, everyone gathering allies, and stock piling ammunition in the form of every stupid thing ever said by a person on the world wide web. I don’t care where you post, who you are or think you are or who your friends are. I am quite capable of forming my own opinions about people and situations without needing the approval of others.
Who am I to say what someone should or shouldn’t blog about? It is their blog. I don’t agree with every blogger or post but you know what? No one is putting a gun to my head and forcing me to read or comment. If Peoria AntiPundit wants to throw a few shit bombs at people who am I to stop him? I must admit sometimes I quite enjoy throwing the old shit bomb myself and understand that I am accountable for every shit bomb I throw. If Billy Dennis wants to turn the Peoria Pundit into the Aaron Schock fan club that is his business. Just because I don’t care that Aaron took a shit today and that it had corn in it doesn’t mean that there isn’t someone who does. What happen to agreeing to disagree and going on with life? Please don’t make this crude, cussing, self-righteous, malcontent hippy have to be the mature one ever again! 
I’m not getting in the middle of this blogger fighting bullshit but when my fellow resident of the “kids’ table” at the blogger bashes is the voice of reason, things must be pretty bad!
Obviously I have a new theme again. At first I was a bit pissed. Everytime there is a theme I like it is removed and I want my theme to be as unique as I am.;) So when I see the theme Billy picked for me I was underwhelmed. Whoo Hoo, pink! How original! Then I start to scroll down and notice the chick on the chaise lounge with a drink in hand. Okay that’s a little more like me. The final decision breaker was the name. I log in and it says that my theme is Barbie gone bad. Sweet! I feel I can keep it now.
Last night my youngest started to get sick. He started to puke and have the shits. I can’t count the number of pairs of underpants he went through because he “gambled and lost”. Thank goodness I had a laundry basket full of clean underpants at his disposal.
The youngest has only gotten sick somewhere other than a toilet or a puke bucket once in his life. When he was a bit older than one, he was taking a nap on his back and made a “puke fountain” for everyone to enjoy. Last night he broke his streak. I had sorted my laundry in the bathroom and had it all piled up. I usually take it downstairs to the wash machine but I got sidetracked talking on the phone and it didn’t make that crucial lap in its laundry journey. My son is in the bathroom sitting on the toilet with a garbage can between his knees and I am confident that I can go to bed. He’ll just grab his puke bucket and head for bed when he is done. I get up this morning my usual joyous self and head for the bathroom. My first step in puke squishes between my toes. EWWWW! So I sit down and fail to look first. I ended up with both ass cheeks cover in puke. Then I look around the room. There is puke everywhere! I think he hit every single piece of dirty laundry in the room! He got the bath mat and even managed to get it under the bath mat. Nice to know the child has talent! Maybe someday this story will become as infamous as his father’s “diarrhea story”!
The Midol isn’t for me. It is for my oldest son. He has a case of the PMS, Pre Manhood Syndrome. He just turned 12 and his hormones are starting to turn a sweet little boy into a mouthy douche.
I am not a morning a person but the going ons of this morning would make the most sunny, happy, morning person turn to the bottle. It starts with PMS boy being pissed that I’m not letting him use his uniform free pass. That resulted in an eye roll, an “Oh my gawd!” and stomping off. Then I’m not sure what happened but he ended up locking himself in the bathroom saying that he hates his life and isn’t going to school. I was getting ready to bust down the door, because I handle these things so well at 6:45 am. Finally he comes out and gets dressed. Then the next son starts bitching. For some reason my sugar turned into a solid brick. He is complaining about not being able to put sugar on his cereal. So I do what anyone mother at the end of her rope does at 6:55 am. I got out the hammer. Not thinking ahead, I start beating the piss out of the bag of sugar. Of course the paper bag rips and what little sugar I managed to break up is leaking out. Shit! Now I put the brick in a ziploc bag and start wailing on it. It worked good enough to get them all cereal. If that hadn’t worked I was going to run over the sugar with my car, since I am so rational in the morning. Finally with everyone off to school I said “Fuck it” and went back to bed.
February 19, 2009 1:27 pm | 
Comments (7) 