PRANKED!
(MTV – English trans. “Punk’D”)
I have just returned well-rested from my beloved Martha’s Vineyard [Side note: I love M.V. so much that I think that I’m a lesbian island trapped inside this human-yet-cute form.*] This would be the trip that solidified me as a "SpinSTAR": Vintage Gen X**, 2 cats and I vacation with my mother and the Widder Sims (pic). At first, I thought that I was too gleeful to blog until I got my snailmail. I’d received a letter from a division of my co’s health care provider (Waitress – English trans. “Emergency Room”). The letter was from Baby Benefits welcoming me to the program!!!
I thought about casually leaving this letter out in the open for my B.F. to see, but decided against it. I don’t want to mop up his urine. Or, rather, how would I explain to the Management Co the “Running for his Life” man-shaped hole in my apt. door, a la Bugs Bunny?
For the record and before you start planning the “Come to the Conference Room at 4:00 pm Surprise Shower” at my office, I’m not pregnant (or I want a refund from the Feminine Hygiene Product Manufacturer for the past few days – ifyagitsmahmeanin’…). Knowing how I wasn’t gettin’ none (B.F. out of town), I really didn’t see myself as the Last Scion.
Granted, people do worship me and I have been known to wear a blue towel on my head whilst barefoot with my hand held vertically at my heart. I did take communion once (with my fingers crossed to thwart being smote). And, then again, there was the time I rocked angel’s wings during the sorta-naked protest against the war w/ my “Not-Gay ex-B.F.” – he was “Shock” and I was “Awe”…hmmm, I wondered...could I?
However, as far as adding up to be an Immaculate Conception Candidate, I’d have to say not. And, really, who has the time? The Little Fatman is going into semi-retirement soon, increasing my responsibilities, and, frankly, I’ll be too swamped to be a Religious Icon.
I called the toll-free # to find out the dilly-yo and was promptly put on hold. At which time I was left to contemplate my possible predicament. I mean, what if I were pregnant… no, not the Scion! Just plain pregnant. Bottom-line, I’d be overall elated and why the F not? I’m 41 for chrissakes (hee, hee) not a teenager; I’m like so ready, fer shur! I am sooo mature and I’d be a totally awesome mom and I would never say anything completely bogus like, “because I said so” and stuff…plus, I take such good care of my cats and it’s like the same thing, ri-eet? Ri-eet?
But just as I was parsing my miniscule savings and calculating how much more time I’d have to stay in hell, uh, at my job, the registered nurse came on the line. She determined that a procedure I had recently alerted the Baby Benefits' computer causing a clerical glitch (Diddy – English trans. “my bad”) .
Wait. Computers gossip?
I have just returned well-rested from my beloved Martha’s Vineyard [Side note: I love M.V. so much that I think that I’m a lesbian island trapped inside this human-yet-cute form.*] This would be the trip that solidified me as a "SpinSTAR": Vintage Gen X**, 2 cats and I vacation with my mother and the Widder Sims (pic). At first, I thought that I was too gleeful to blog until I got my snailmail. I’d received a letter from a division of my co’s health care provider (Waitress – English trans. “Emergency Room”). The letter was from Baby Benefits welcoming me to the program!!!
I thought about casually leaving this letter out in the open for my B.F. to see, but decided against it. I don’t want to mop up his urine. Or, rather, how would I explain to the Management Co the “Running for his Life” man-shaped hole in my apt. door, a la Bugs Bunny?
For the record and before you start planning the “Come to the Conference Room at 4:00 pm Surprise Shower” at my office, I’m not pregnant (or I want a refund from the Feminine Hygiene Product Manufacturer for the past few days – ifyagitsmahmeanin’…). Knowing how I wasn’t gettin’ none (B.F. out of town), I really didn’t see myself as the Last Scion.
Granted, people do worship me and I have been known to wear a blue towel on my head whilst barefoot with my hand held vertically at my heart. I did take communion once (with my fingers crossed to thwart being smote). And, then again, there was the time I rocked angel’s wings during the sorta-naked protest against the war w/ my “Not-Gay ex-B.F.” – he was “Shock” and I was “Awe”…hmmm, I wondered...could I?
However, as far as adding up to be an Immaculate Conception Candidate, I’d have to say not. And, really, who has the time? The Little Fatman is going into semi-retirement soon, increasing my responsibilities, and, frankly, I’ll be too swamped to be a Religious Icon.
I called the toll-free # to find out the dilly-yo and was promptly put on hold. At which time I was left to contemplate my possible predicament. I mean, what if I were pregnant… no, not the Scion! Just plain pregnant. Bottom-line, I’d be overall elated and why the F not? I’m 41 for chrissakes (hee, hee) not a teenager; I’m like so ready, fer shur! I am sooo mature and I’d be a totally awesome mom and I would never say anything completely bogus like, “because I said so” and stuff…plus, I take such good care of my cats and it’s like the same thing, ri-eet? Ri-eet?
But just as I was parsing my miniscule savings and calculating how much more time I’d have to stay in hell, uh, at my job, the registered nurse came on the line. She determined that a procedure I had recently alerted the Baby Benefits' computer causing a clerical glitch (Diddy – English trans. “my bad”) .
Wait. Computers gossip?
Regular Health Plan PC calls Baby Benefits PC, “Guhrl…guess what?"
“What, guhrl?”
“You know that NY Spinstah, Jodi? She done had her a thingamajig and I think ya’ll should holla at huh.”
“Yo, fo’ rill?”
“Guhrl, would play?”
“Ump, naw, not about dat. Word. Thanks fo’ the headz up. Now let me go and do how we do…Okaaay? O.K.!” Cyber-head snap.
And, that’s kind of what happened. I had something done that might have been indicative of pregnancy so the Baby Benefits Division was reaching out to me blahblahblah and guess what? They've canceled my account, but want me bear in mind that should pregnancy become a reality, they are there for me. Sweet.
Did I mention that the Registered Nurse’s name with whom I spoke was “Martha”? As in..."I have just returned well-rested from my beloved Martha’s Vineyard...", here we go, again...
*see July 20, '05 posting
** see August 05, '05 posting
posted by GniessGirl @ 9:50 AM
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