Category Archives: I’m Confused

The Joys of Broke-Folk Insurance

Now, don’t get me wrong, I am ABSO-FUCKIN’-LUTELY a staunch supporter of the Affordable Care Act.  I would not have any goddamn health insurance at all without it, and I’ve been there, it sucks.  And I know the healthcare industry is all fucked up, and I know there’s not enough doctors, and everything.

But still… this ain’t right.

CALL #1 (Yesterday, ’round noonish)

Voice:  “Hello, Doctor ___’s office.”

HoodyHoo:  “Hi, I need to make an appointment?”

V:  “Okay, have you been here before?”

HH:  “No, my insurance company assigned me to y’all.”

V:  “Okay, what’s your name?”

I proceed to tell her, then spell my whole real name three times, then my first name an additional three times, because A) 5 letters is too hard or B) I have a speech impediment.

V:  “And what insurance do you have?”

HH:  “Broke-folk Insurance.”

V:  “Okay, can you hold please?”

Note:  When there are this many “okays” in a single conversation, things are not going to end well.

V (returning):  “What was your name again?”

I spell the whole name one more time.

V:  “Okay, do you have your card in front of you?”

HH:  “I sure do.”

V:  “Okay, can you read me your ID number?”

I do.

V:  “And the doctor’s name on the card?”

HH:  “Doctor _______.” (um, the same name you said when you answered the phone…)

V:  “Okay…”        <long pause>    “And what’s your phone number?”

I give it.

V:  “Okay, we’re going to have to look something up on the computer and call you back.”

HH:  “Ohkaaaay….”

I am somewhat perplexed.  Surely she could look and see whether or not they took my insurance WHILE we were on the phone?  But… maybe they have dial-up, whatever.

TWO HOURS LATER, WITH NO RESPONSE

CALL #2

HH:  “Hi, I called earlier today to make an appointment and someone was supposed to call me back?”

New Voice:  “You called today?”

HH:  “Yes, a couple of hours ago.”

NV:  “Hold on, I’ll get her.”

Short hold, then a Different Voice:  “Susan?”

HH:  “No, this is Hoody.  I just needed to make an appointment as a new patient?”

DV:  “Oh, okay, hold on.”

At this point, I licked my insurance card and stuck it to my forehead because that suddenly seemed to make more sense than what I’d been doing.

Third Voice:  “Hello?”

HH:  “Hi, I needed to make an appointment?”

3V:  “Okay, hold on.”

After yet another hold, FOURTH FUCKING VOICE:  “Hi, this is Linda.”

HH:  “Hi, Linda.”

And Linda was finally able to make me a goddamn appointment… in October.  Now, granted, all I need is a new patient checkup, but she told me there’d be a 3-month wait BEFORE she asked if there was anything wrong.

And people wonder why us Broke-Folk use the ER as our regular doctor.

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Best of Bad Choices

So, the office today was full of Cub Scouts on a tour or something (“Explore the exciting world of radio, kids!  Now, quick, tell Mommy you’ve decided to go to medical school after all!”).  At least, I assume they were Cub Scouts – either that or a pack of midgets in creepy outfits… Cub Scouts is a better option.

As if I hadn’t already been exposed to more children than is clearly outlined in my contract, I was then confronted by a confusing situation at the Tar-jay.  Not being a parent myself, I’ll throw the question open to all of y’all:

Question:  You are teaching your tiny child how to walk.  Do you do this:

A.  At home.  Your nice, safe home.

B.  In a park or other lovely outdoor setting filled with soft, cushiony grass to fall on.

or C.  Back and forth across the aisles of a busy Target filled with self-absorbed Saturday shoppers wielding carts at dangerous speeds, not to mention one Hoody on a mission for Lobster Bites.

You can probably guess, today I was confronted by C.  And I almost ran the little fucker precious snowflake down, because I am operating on about 2 total hours of sleep. And it’s not even good sleep, it’s sleep filled with dreams about The Evil Troll, whom I’ve probably conjured up by writing about him, and who is interfering with my regularly-scheduled dreams of a certain Viper pilot.

So I wake myself up thrashing every hour or so (and NOT in the good way), which sucks… and double-sucks when you get up for work at 3am.  TIRED, yo!

Still staying up watching “Charmed” instead of sleeping, though.  Priorities, Hoody haz them.

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Filed under I Rule You, I'm Confused, La Vida Loca, Weep for Humanity, ZOMBIES!!!

Dear Sweet Mama Gets All Motherf*cker

Those of you who have been reading me for awhile have probably built up a picture in your head of my Dear Sweet Mama — sweet, Southern and smartassed, slightly dingbatty (I was gonna put “dingy” but that sounds like my Mama is a little bit grimy like a chimney sweep)  at times but overall very Zen and laid-back.  Kinda like The Dude in a dress, if she ever wore dresses.

But there is another side to DSM, a side that is just as real, though not as brightly lit… A DAAAARK SIIIIIDE….

As the people at our local DMV (ok, they call it the MVA here, but whatevs) found out today.

SCENE:  The Counter at the DMV/MVA/Place Where They Do Car Stuff

Hoody and Dear Sweet Mama are transferring the title of the car from DSM’s name to Hoody’s name (‘just wait, there’s a whole big story behind THAT, as well — later post).  DSM is also trying to get a Handicapped placard since she will no longer have Handicapped plates.

DSM:  So how do I get a placard?

Clerk (poor, poor clerk):  You just have to fill out the application and get it authorized by your doctor.

DSM:  But I just did that to get the plate.  Do I have to do it again?

Clerk (who really should have called in sick today):  Well, do you have the note from your doctor’s prescription pad?

DSM:  I had to turn that in to get the plates.

Clerk (who should have studied harder in college so as not to have to work at the DMV):  Ummm…

DSM:  That’s just not right.

In DSM’s defense, that’s NOT right, but you must recognize that DSM was getting progressively LOUDER with every sentence, to the point where the Supervisor had to weigh in:

Supervisor (who will shortly wish she’d gone on lunch):  Now now now…

Hoody:  Mama, chill… (as y’all know, there is a deputy stationed at the DMV to keep order, and Hoody tries not to get aslant of the law, ever since the Unfortunate Incident — no, I’m not talking about the DUI, I’m talking about this.)

DSM:  Okay, okay, but that’s bullshit… mutter mutter mutter.

Clerk (who clearly doesn’t know who she’s dealing with):  I don’t make the rules, ma’am, I just have to follow them.

OH NO SHE DIDN’T

So Hoody had to talk DSM off the Motherfucker Ledge AGAIN, all because Clerk couldn’t shut the fuck up.

Upshot of all this is, DSM COULD have gotten a placard, since Supervisor was able to look up her records, but actually COULD NOT because she already has one.  And in NJ, you can either have a plate and a placard or just one placard.  Because fuck you, that’s why.  And no, even this didn’t help:

DSM:  Well, in New York we could have a placard for each car…

HH:  C’mon, Mama.

And they managed to get out of the office without getting arrested.  The End.

PS:  DSM says if I’m going to tell y’all this story, I also have to share her latest harebrained scheme brilliant idea.  She wants to put an ad on Craigslist offering to share pairs of shoes with a person who only has one leg — by posing as someone who ALSO only has one leg, but on the other side.  Like:  “ISO woman with missing left leg to share shoes with woman with missing right leg, size 7 and a half.  Please see attached for picture of missing leg.”

PPS:  Yes, you read that right.  “Please see attached for picture of MISSING leg.”

PPPS:  And yes, in case you were wondering, this IS why I’m like this.

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Filed under Adventures with Dear Sweet Mama, I'm Confused, La Vida Loca, Weep for Humanity, WTF???

Twilight Zone

So, here’s the Mike Sorrentino, Hooligans:

SCENE:  INT.: HOODY’S ROOM, EVENING:

Dear Sweet Mama:  Hey, Hoody, could you get my clothes out of the dryer?

Hoody:  Sure, no problem.  Are they dry now?

DSM:  Yeah.

INT.:  LAUNDRY ROOM,  LATER:

Hoody is folding clothes.  DSM walks by.

DSM:  You don’t have to fold them!

HH:  Of course I do, that’s part of “getting them out of the dryer.”  It’s no biggie.

<MOMENTS LATER>

The Concubine walks past the door, sees Hoody folding clothes.

TC:  I had things in there!

HH:  Yeah, I know, I was just folding –

TC:  Are they dry?  Okay.

The Concubine then proceeds to gather up the clothes Hoody has not yet folded, and storm off into her bedroom.

WHA WHA WHAAAAAAAAT?

Seriously, bitch?  I’m not allowed to FOLD YOUR CLOTHES??? Get the fuck over yourself, hon.  It’s called doing you a favor.  And don’t look now, I also switched your wet clothes from the washer to the dryer.  Yeah, I’m such a cunt like that.

Okay, kids:  Discuss.

 

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Filed under Adventures with Dear Sweet Mama, C'est Vrai You Suck, I'm Confused, La Vida Loca, Reality Bites, WTF???

Drunk School Digest

So, confession time:  Two Christmases ago (12/25/11), Hoody went to her Bad-Ass Cousin’s house (you know, the 0ne who always got you in trouble as a kid – that one) and got, as Hoody does tend to get, fairly fucked up.  Hoody then attempted to drive home and suddenly saw blue lights.  Now, in the words of the poets, “I ain’t tryin’ to see no highway chase wit’ Jake,” so Hoody pulled over and got her drunk ass a DUI.

Yes, she’s sorry.  

And on the plus side, she’s now in a “treatment program” (the quotes will make sense later) and can therefore present to you:

DRUNK SCHOOL DIGEST

Week 1, Day1

Got invited to sit at “the cool kids'” table by lunchtime – helps to be hotter than a smacked ass.  Today we learned how to steal things from the supermarket.  We also learned that men are bad and are the root of all violence and evil – from a MALE counselor.

Week 1, Day 2

This shit really, really drags.  I did see one girl’s boob this morning when she flopped (yes, I do mean “flopped”) it out in front of everyone, so there’s that.

Week 1, Day 3

I seem to be the only person here who’s JUST a drunk.  Everyone else is a “booze-and-” – like, heroin, coke, etc.  I feel like the slow kid in class.

Week 1, Day 4

Ditched.  No sleep, couldn’t face it.  Turns out there was a huge fight between one of the counselors and some of the “students” – I missed it!

Week 1, Day 5

Really starting to get a complex about NOT being a drug addict.  Everyone was sharing their “freak-out” stories and my drunk ass got nothin’.  Also, I may be the only person here with teeth.

Stay tuned, it can only get weirder!

 

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Evidence for the Defence, Milord

(Because if I ever have to have an actual trial I want to have it in England because 1) Wigs and 2) Hot little Adama boy on Law and Order:  Great Britain and 3) FUCKING. WIGS.)

Anyhoo…

Y’all bitches may wonder why I am the way I am… I present (milord)

THINGS DEAR SWEET MAMA ACTUALLY SAID TODAY

1.  “Everything’s better with a little weenie.”

2.  “If I have to have rubbers, I’m gonna need the tall ones.”

In her “defence,” one statement referred to those pretzel-wrapped hot dogs you get at Auntie Anne’s, the other to those stupid short rainboots that keep your feet dry but fuck your ankles.  But STILL.  IN PUBLIC she says these things!

Oh, wait, one more:

3.  “Don’t you put that on Twitter!”

So I didn’t.  YOU’RE WELCOME.

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Spacing Is Important

Okay, so it’s always struck my inner Beavis as inappropriately hilarious that “therapist” and “the rapist” are just a misplaced space away from a Monty Python sketch.  But now I’m paying the price (as usual):

I may have inadvertently hit on my counselor.

See, the time before last, she had her hair down and I complimented her on it.  I hadn’t seen it down before and I was raised to say nice things to people (to their face).  Then this LAST time, she had her hair down AGAIN… and SHE complimented ME on my shirt.

Now, I’m fairly sure one should not date one’s mental health professionals, plus I’m REALLY sure no one who’s seen into the cobwebby corners of my psyche should be even remotely interested in the enormous inevitable train wreck that is a relationship with me.  We should also probably mention that I think EVERYONE is hitting on me — self-image was never my problem!

Maybe it’s like Poor Ol’ Dad always says:  The hotter a woman is, the crazier she is.  So I suppose the reverse is also true:  the crazier a woman is, the hotter she is.  Plus this foil hat really brings out my eyes.

And by the way, when asked if the Poor Ol’ Dad Corollary of Hotness vs. Craziness applies to Dear Sweet Mama, POD had only this to say:

“Your mother has always been very hot.”

I rest my case.

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Filed under Adventures with Dear Sweet Mama, I'm Confused, Just Call Me Beavis, La Vida Loca, Poor Ol' Dad, White Man's Medicine