pms666.com

I’m just a lowly citizen who some would call “liberal” which means my view of the world is probably tainted by poorly researched Gawker gossip, Daily Show sketches and New York Times’ apocalyptic pieces about back yard chickens and peak oil.

However, I can’t help but stick out my unobtrusive and politically-challenged nose and protest, rather irritably, about the latest buzz on this whole healthcare reform thing. I mean, can it be true? Can a public option ACTUALLY be off the table? Please excuse my occasional all-caps cyber scream, but I’m just not understanding how removing the public option is going to turn whatever it is you’re mulling over into actual reform.

Look, please forgive me if I seem clueless about your decision-making process. I fully admit that I don’t give a rat’s ass that private insurers won’t be able to compete with a public option. I have no love for them. As a self-employed person who is grossly under-insured, I pay $600/month in healthcare premiums for the privilege of buying into a high-deductible family plan – one that requires me to pay out $5600 annually before I see any benefits at all. So I may be a wee, tad biased.

And it may be my own paranoia, possibly but not definitively, spurred on by PMS, that you seem to be talking about me while I’m in the room, but the thing is that my family and I probably qualify as among those statistically relevant Americans who are decidely FUCKED if we need any medical care.

And since we appear to be sitting on a fast-moving train without an engine, careening towards a cliff where the tracks are bent and broken and my healthcare coverage is the hand break that snaps off when you try to yank it back, I kind of feel like I should have a say in the matter. But instead feel like I’m just standing there staring at the broken piece of metal in a hand that now needs medical attention, and contemplating the chances that my kids and my husband can JUMP from the train without too much damage, because our health coverage sure as hell isn’t good enough to repair broken bones, much less anything more serious.

I don’t mean to go on and on about this, but can you or somebody explain why oh WHY you’re even entertaining the town-hall crazies who are afraid of socialism, and bending to the will of the free fucking market? Health insurance companies don’t care about you, Mr. President. Screw them! Let’s talk legacy here – a public option will seal your legacy forever! You will have accomplished something no other president was able to do – and save a lot of lives in the process. Be bold! Be presidential! Go all the way – I’m not just talking public option here, I’m talking single payer! THERE, I’VE SAID IT!

I know I’m not the only one who feels this way. I mean, this guy seems to have a really logical solution. Let us buy into Medicare. Would that work? Can’t doctors opt out of Medicare? Should I pretend to know what I’m talking about? Okay, I won’t…

I’m just feeling a little bit under-represented right now, and you’ll have to forgive me because I have a headache that’s been bothering me for three years and I don’t want to shell out the cash to see a specialist – but I really wonder if you or anyone else in Congress can actually relate to me and the masses of people who are on this runaway healthcare train. YOU all have insurance, and money, and actual options. If your leg falls off, someone will run up with a suitcase full of extra legs for you to choose from. If mine falls off, I have the option of cutting off the remaining leg and selling it so I can pay for the leg-removal surgery.

IT’S JUST NOT FAIR! I’M TIRED OF IT BEING SO NOT FAIR!

I’m stomping my feet, and rolling my eyes and hoping you hear me and the fifty million other people who are holding our breath and begging that the idea of dropping the public option is all a big, fat bluff. Me and my 57 cavities are waiting expectantly. Don’t let us down.

let me ask you this:

If you want a fax returned to you- do you remember to put the FUCKING FAX NUMBER ON THE MOTHER FUCKING GOD DAMN FAX? Or do you just assume the person you want money from /contract from /advice from/whatever the fucking fax contains – do you expect them to miraculously pull your fax number out of thin air? Or do you think it’s ok if they spend 10 mintues searching around for it, only to find they cant’ find it anywhere in your email correspondences!? are you a fucking idiot too? I can’t tell you how many idiot sales people beg, call, plead for money from me, and then DON’T PUT THEIR FAX NUMBERS ON THE MOTHER FUCKING FAX! How to annoy your client: ask them to do you a favor and make it extremely difficult or just routinely annoying every month or so by not giving them the info that they need to do you the favor in the first place. Let’s see how this plays out shall we?

1. I finally, sometimes on a weekend, get around to signing the IOs for my clients, since i’ve been swamped with sales and client calls and “urgent” meetings all week. I fill it out. I sign it. I look for the fax number. I look AGAIN. NO FAX NUMBER. I look for the reps email address. Find it. Scroll through 129 emails and find that NONE OF THEM CONTAIN A FUCKING SIGNATURE WITH A PHONE NUMBER OR A FAX NUMBER.

1.a) Let me ask you this. If you’re a person who wants to have their request responded to, receive money from the person you’re harrassing, or if you are even just a passably bright working individual who isn’t going to wet themselves in fear every time the phone rings, why, on gods fucking green fucking earth do you do the basely simple thing and INCLUDE YOUR PHONE NUMBER AND OTHER DETAILS IN YOUR SIGNATURE. WHY?! There is no possible answer except you don’t want people to be able to reach you. NO POSSIBLE ANSWER. so unless your Paris fucking Hilton or the Queen of fucking England get off your stupid lazy ass and spend two fucking minutes setting up a nice little signature with cute fonts and pretty fucking colors that will give everyone you deal with an easy way contact to your brain/ear/body whatever the goods are your selling/dealing in/what have you. ARE YOU A FUCKING IDIOT?

And another thing.

I spend my sunday filling out unique time sheets for every client I work for. It’s March, and that means that I send them invoices for February and they pay me. Yay. Everyone seems to have their own time sheets that they need filled out, and hey, if I am going through a recruiter, there’s actually 2 per client. fine fine FINE. it’s part of my job and it’s FINE. But it’s soooooo not fine to, AFTER i send you the timesheet filled out the way you asked me to last month, that you TODAY- on MARCH 4th send me an email that says “I am an idiot and I forgot to send this to you every day of last month. But i have a new time sheet for you to fill out that i just happened to remember to send you today -see the attached. This is now a requirement from our accounting team and i’m not sorry at all for inconveniencing you on a very busy monday morning. cheerio.” YOU FIX IT THEN BITCH! i already spent my sunday but since you were too lazy, stupid, and too much of a idiot, you fucking do it.

see what happens when i leave off the calcuim? Is this what you wanted?!!!!!!!1!?!?!?!

i’m going to go breathe fire at my neighbors who complain about my laundry (wah wah it’s too loud) and then maybe flood their apartment. OOPS.

I live in an area filled with winding single lane roads, mountains and rural tranquility which works out really well for me 2.5 weeks out of every month. However, during the middle of the third week, when PMS rolls in like a summer storm (or a bad cliche), it’s just plain annoying.

One-lane roads that are also very windy make it nearly impossible to pass people who like driving s-l-o-w-l-y. Please don’t meander for 30 minutes on a windy country road. Please pull over. Please speed up. Please get out of my way.

When I find myself behind you during this delicate time of the month, I suddenly become Marge Simpson behind the wheel of her humongous Canyonero. Only my car’s not a huge SUV, it’s a not-so-zipply little Toyota that my PMS-addled brain THINKS is a huge SUV.

I don’t tailgate or gun the engine (as if my shrimpy car would intimidate anyone). I mutter to myself and get a slightly psychotic glare of rage in my eyes and suddenly I’m screaming:

DRIVE, FUCKER, DRIVE!!!

No, that doesn’t make me feel better. And no, my kids aren’t in the car when I lose it (usually). But that’s PMS for you. Screaming like that of course gives me a headache which can only be cured by popping four Motrin , washing them down with a Cafe Mocha and eating a large piece of cheesecake. There is absolutely no logic to the above reaction. I’m normally a very defensive driver.