No One to Blame
I didn't get health insurance.
I was laid of on March 2nd and received a severance pay through June 15th. On June 30th, my health insurance ended. I am now eligible for COBRA. Which is a whopping $1,048 a month compared to my previous premium of $75 a month. Its good for 6 months at $1048 each month. What a great deal. That's more than 2 weeks pay at my previous employer.
I decided to go back to work at Starbucks thinking it would be easy to get insurance due to the GREAT policy of giving benefits to hourly employees at 20 hrs per week. It's been 2 months and I needed a to work 160 hrs to get approved for health insurance. I have done that. I checked with HR and Payroll on a constant basis to make sure I was on track to meet the 160 hr goal.
Somewhere the communication broke down. Payroll told me that I had 60 days from month to month. I started on June 1, so by July 31st, I would need to accumulate the 160 hrs. Wrong. Hr tells me that its PAID days. So my last check was paid to me a week ago, next check not until Aug 7. So those hours aren't PAID in July. In order to qualify for the next 2 month window, I would have to work 81 hours in 2 weeks. With a 1 yr old, that's just not possible.
It appears now that I will have to pay out of pocket for health insurance. Since I had some PPD (post partum depression) that was treated with Zoloft, I am now considered "clinically depressed" which raises my premiums through the roof. Forget that it was only for 4 months. I am still broken in the eyes of the insurance companies. So we are looking at $300-400 a month.
Kill me, kill me now.
Cell Phone
[rant]
Its frightening how many people have come into Starbucks (here on referred to only as "the store") chatting on a cell phone. I am not sure if they know how rude it is to approach another human being while speaking to one on the phone. I can only imagine that they don't see it as I do.
If I was talking to someone, walked up to a counter, and in the middle of my very private conversation about who I went down on last night or how crappy it was that my best friend was flirting with my other friends husband when really piss drunk last night, I would hope that the conversation would stop well ahead of getting to the counter and ordering my Grande Skim with whip White Chocolate Mocha. But no, I hear all day long about how Carol is gettin ready to go to work and she hates her boss, what a dick. I also know that John isn't doing so well at weightlifting so he is coming to the gym more often. I understand that Kelly isn't losing the weight she wants but who cares so she is at Starbucks getting her Mocha Frappuccino. Hee hee.
If I were a bartender, I wouldn't have any problems listening to people talk about their problems and useless information relating to their boring lives. However, they are talking to me. They are talking to someone who isn't even there. I am often shushed when asking if they want whip cream with that. I am ignored when I say "That will be $3.96" and I am NEVER recognized for saying "Thanks!".
I am not sure what to do about it. I won't change the world by making sure that one person knows how rude it is to brush me off like an ATM. It won't change me to try and ignore it.
So I ask, to all the people (read: one) who are reading this. DO NOT use a cell phone in public. Call from your car. Sit on a bench in the mall. DO NOT use it when conducting interactions with any other human being.
[/rant]
Meredith
Burning Breakfast, Burning Lunch
Neither Phil nor I should ever walk away from cooking food. We always think we can. But sadly, no.
This morning I decided to restock our frozen waffle stash. I got out the waffle maker and began making a series of plain and chocolate chip waffles. yum. When I got to the fourth waffle I went to eat my own breakfast. When I returned, stiff waffle. The fifth waffle was a plain joke. We are talking frisbee hardness there.
Phil does the same thing for lunch. Grilled cheese anyone? Blackened cheese anyone? He started to do dishes and forgot the sandwich. That was a pleasant smell to open he door to, made even worse by me cleaning out the litter box first. Come on over folks, and bring your gas masks....
These things just topped off a day where I am already annoyed. That kind of immediate annoyance of waking up- annoyed. Not sure why. I think it was the waking up part that did it. I am in need of about 2 10 hr nights of sleep. Very good, deep sleep. The kind you snore to. The kind that people ask the next day if you heard the thunder from hell and you can smile and say "why no, I slept like a log".
Lastly, its the 7th day straight that it has rained. Please tell me why its still 178% humidity.
Attack of the Pink Balloon
Garden Ridge. Beware of the craft superstore. In it harbors baby's worst fear...PINK BALLOONS!
Today we went out to Garden Ridge so whiny could get her fix of outside the home. I rather enjoy being in, but she needs to go out every so often. I saw that Garden Ridge was having a 20% off sale, as well as 50% off on birdfeeders. Whooppee. Lets go spend a few hours worth of my pay and buy some crap.
The ride there was uneventful. The trek into the store in 85 degree weather and 150% humidity wasn't fun but no incidences. About the 5th isle down the shoe starts to rise from the cart. The tiny hands drop the keys it found so precious 3 seconds ago. She pulls to standing and the whining begins. I grab my sling, pop her in and sit her, facing me, on the handle of the cart.
While she is gazing lovingly at the 20% off balloons and saying "ma-ma" about every 10 seconds, I decide, what the hell, I am getting my baby girl her own balloon.
We find the balloon counter and a nice lady gives Vivienne a beautiful pink balloon on a pink ribbon. Vivienne is terrified. She is kicking her legs and glancing sideways at the balloon. She is trying her best to ignore that the balloon exists. She repeats "mama...ma-ma....mama" over and over and over. She points at the balloon. She stares at a balloon that has drifted to the 45 ft ceiling and questions me "Ma-ma?" All the while I keep on "balloon..buh buh ba-lloon." Nothing.
We get back into the car and the balloon is in the back (hatchback/ back). Vivienne is scared that it might lunge at her over the back seat and insists on riding with her head turned full around the entire 20 min ride home. When we get into the house, she sees me tie it to the CD rack and talks to it a while "Mama..ma-ma...buh buh mama." Now she is fine. We grab it, talk into it, rub it on heads, bonk each other. Whatever.
Target Is My Lover
I love Target. I love going there and looking at all the 4 million things I have seen before. Over there, we have the shirts I already have 6 of (only in black). On the other side, the 3 pairs of Speedo slides that I own, one for now, two for later.
Over on the home decorating isles, there are piles of "in" things that I love but won't but because I willlove next season's crap as well and want it all. Damn marketers.
I think of Target as a well stocked second home. I go there to visit the things I will never buy and lament their loss when someone buys the last hula placemat, the last striped patio umbrella, the last of my favorite stretchy SAHM pants. I miss them all so.
Vivienne has all but destroyed my zen like Target trance. We enter into the store and ll seems well. Buy the time we hit the first corner (we all know the circle, cmon), she is up in the seat, reaching for me to be put down. Then we start the "watch how fast a 3 ft tall person can go" game. Oh boy, thats a fun one. Did I need to shop for something? Better not now.
My new church service is for Phil to allow me to go on Sunday. When the store isn't all that busy. I get to see all the new things that arrived during the week and were put out for all the weekend shoppers. I gaze longingly at the plastic tubs in bright, summer-like colors, I peruse the vaccuum isle even thought mine works just fine. Sometimes I even go into the hair appliance isle and pretend like I want a curling iron. Can't do that with a baby. Nope.
Meredith
Welcome to My Boring Blog
Ok, So I am doing one of these for the fun of it. I hate to read other people's that I don't know and now I am one of you.
Jerks.
