h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Here I am, moved to Paradise, the Sequel. http://public.fotki.com/BrittaMoG/st_petersburg_flori/

Life in Britta's World is even gorgeouser than I'd imagined it would be. EVERYTHING is going orders-of-magnitude better than I'd envisioned, and I *knew* it would be damned good.

But. There's one head-exploding taint in my universe. Insurance. Specifically, medical insurance.

Now, I've avoided *dealing* with this for the past three years because I *knew* it would send me over the top. But, having made some major life changes, having moved to my new Paradise, and with a determination to be a Responsible Adult, I gave in to the inevitable. I figured it was worth it, if only *not* to have to listen to my mother harp on the subject incessantly. *sigh* She's not a nag, just persistent. REALLY persistent. So I said, "Ok. I'll at least get catastrophic medical insurance, have that cushion of 'security' and SHUT HER UP!" Because, for some reason, my family don't agree that chanting for good health along with not doing stupid things is quite enough 'security'. Cool. Determination made, no problem. Right?

Well. *humph*

Here in Florida it seems insurance is totally unregulated. So ya go online, do a questionnaire to determine what kinda insurance will suit your needs, and then you'll be contacted. Cool! I can do that! And I deed.

All of a sudden I'm getting all these phone calls from insurance salespeople. Took me a day or so to figure out that they're not all from the same company, because the gobbledygook they spout *sounds* all the same. One very nice guy came by my place and we sorted out what I was looking for. He left me with a brochure which we'd checked off the blurb that pertained to bits of policy I was interested in purchasing. The others......GAAAAAaaaaaaa!

Hmmmmm. Seems it's definitely not the standard in Florida for anyone to actually have written information on exactly *what* the policy you're interested in actually offers. You're supposed to go on phone-based trust, because they're "the top salesman in their office". Hell, I don't care if you're God's Right-Hand Man, I wanna know what it is I'm buying. Exclusions, how long before what I'm paying for actually takes effect, whether or not I have choice of physicians or whether I have to drive to another town and wait six months before I can get an appointment with an approved physician, that kinda thing. Boy, I am one unreasonable wench!

Seems that's not how it works, here. First they want access to my checking account (over the phone!) They'll suck my first payment out, then begin the process of determining whether they consider me insurable. This is done through accessing all my medical records online. (HA! So much for privacy of medical information! *I* can't have my records, in my hand, from a physician I've been visiting (protecting my privacy) but Bill-n-Bob's Roadside Lemonade and Insurance Scam/Stand can get it ALL with a tickle of a mouse. HUMPH)

Can you tell I'm beginning to become a mite irritable?

yeah.

Next step is I'm either approved or disapproved. If approved, I'm sent a huge packet of gobbledygook which "will take you two weeks to read and leave you feeling even more confused than you are now. At that point you can decide whether you want to decline our insurance."

Cool! I'm feeling confident now!

Arrrrrrrgh!

Two weeks. For two weeks I've been dealing with this madness. I rant. I rave. I drink vodka tonics. And I keep reminding myself that I *promised* to be an Adult and do this thing. Because, if I hadn't I'd be in the fuggit mode, status quo. Reality is, even if I had the very best, most comprehensive, coddling insurance in the entire world, I'd still only go to a doctor if I thought I were dying AND I thought they'd actually stop it happening and I could carry on, in Britta's World, as usual. Because I have no desire to live a life that's subjugated to revolving around managing and meddling with some disease, anyway. That's not what I think I'm for, and I just won't. Period.

So, in a sense, this all seems like a humongous waste of time and energy. But then, what if my appendix burst? What if, like a friend almost 10 years younger than me, I had a heart attack? (I know, not gonna happen, but WHAT IF?) That's the bastard tickling lure of insurance, the 'what if?'

So, tomorrow, one way or another, I shall make a decision amongst these shysters. I shall be done with it. My mom will SHUT UP!

I get sooooo furious at the *spit* salesmanship going on in this industry. *I'M* a salesperson, and I sell something that's a totally created need. Cosmetics. And *I* can do it with pride and with integrity. I don't have to manipulate the latent fears of clients to sell like a sonovabeetch, just hook them up with the right things that'll do what they tell me they want. And that's goddam cosmetics! These insurance barstids are selling something that'll affect people's LIVES and they haven't the integrity of a makeup artist! That's scary.

I think I know what it's all about, though. They want to drive us to head-expolsion BEFORE we're insured, whether it be a stroke, heart attack, or plain going postal-nuts and sinking our teeth into the face of the next insurance agent we run across in a casual setting.

I shall probably need another two weeks to detox from this madness. If you read about an insurance agent who had to have someone's teeth removed from his chin, well, I'm probably involved in that incident.

*sigh*

How much IS a Buddhist supposed to tolerate?
Lawdy, lawdy.

Oops
*Wipes tears from eyes and looks serious, straight and adult*
I say!
Good luck with detox.
And for the vividly funny story (read: rant).

* also howling with laughter

MoG, if you get any insurance salesman's chin stuff in your teeth I'll gladly scale it out for you.

Seriously, what a nightmare! The barstewards have you over a barrel because it's stuff you do need to have.

( for sounding like your mother)

Going to pass on this thread to someone who needs a laugh.



Good girl, for behaving like a responsible adult, and for taking notice of dear ol' Mom.

Glad to give y'all a laugh while I vented spleen. I've just today reactivated MSN messenger if y'all want real-time contact (hint hint) brittamog at hotmail dot com oughta find me.

Meanwhile, this was a glorious day. Not because I bought insurance, though I *did* manage to finally find the phone number for an agent from a reputable firm and started the process with him) but because, as I was making my oh-so-healthy pasta-n-veggie dinner, I got Enlightened as to what this is all about, in terms of Brittonian Development.

Ya see, I worked myself into a frazzle the months before I moved so I could stash enough cash to take July and August to move, settle, and be an Artist, only do makeup a couple times a week for 2 months. I want to be a no-shit Artist, not a starving one but for the makeup work. And I have about a zillion projects in various states of incompletion, but a few of them are actually *good*, and potentially lucrative enough to make the shift I want. If I just take the initiative to nudge and polish them into the things I see in my head they're gonna do it. So I had a plan.

And then life happened. Moving, settling, of course. And there was my gorgeous garden I HAD to cultivate (can't be a MoGgie without fleurs and herbs). And my brother gave me a gas grill, so I HAD to become a grillmeister, invited several victims for experimental dinners. They all survived, by the way. And stuff started happening with the apartment. The landlord had just bought the place before I moved in, so they didn't know about the dire plumbing problems or the termites, or the fact that my garage door is about to fall off and the gate is so rickety that the Big, Bad Wolf would take it out with an asthmatic wheeze. Nevertheless, I took the place 'as is' because it's perfect by Brittonian terms(as long as it doesn't collapse around my ears), so I'm gobsmacked-grateful that they are totally gung-ho about getting it all up to 'normal' standards.

And that's the rub, the human part. I go from a shithole in Fort Lauderdale that's degenerated to public health hazard over the last year or so (seriously) to a place that they *care* about, and rather than just feel gratitude I'm grumpling about the workmen tromping around four days weekly. Because, tender fresh Artiste that I am, I cahn't VORK with all the deestrachtion. I'm getting NUSSINK done!

*gasp*
*sigh*
*dramatic swoon*

*BITCHSLAP*

ahem.

Back to the visionary pasta.

I looked an olive in the eye (it's always the olives with the wisdom, ya know) and it told me I was full of squidgy, smelly, fecal matter. That olive pointed out that I've been doing a good job of chanting every morning, focusing. And my current mantra aside from Nam myoho renge kyo is this:

"There is only one reason to do anything: as a statement to the universe of who you are.

Used in this way, life becomes self creative. You use your life to create your Self as who you are, and who you've always wanted to be. There is also only one reason to undo anything: because it is no longer a statement of who you want to be.

If you wish to be accurately re-presented, you must work to change anything in your life which does not fit into the picture of you that you wish to project into eternity."

Now, that was a wise olive. Because it poked me along to the realization that yes, Life will happen. Distractions will happen. But fulfilling my own personal dreams, being my very own sparkling me is waaaaaay to powerful and...important... to be dominated by termites, tidbits and ornery plumbing. So the whining excuse-making is dispersed, like vermouth in a very dry martini. The Olive has Spoken.

And, though I never *have* been able to gonzo-work in the midst of chaos before, I think that, no matter what, I'm gonna be able to give it a whirl and make some stuff happen this month. That's what Life is for. The Whirl.

Very inspiring on a dull Tuesday with far too many chores and a huge lust for procratination. That is one wise olive.

Get going, you - - yes, I mean you, tartaronne.

Good luck with the whirl, MoG.

Hi MoGie!

I loved this, really made me chuckle:
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And as always you are an inspiration or the olive was anyway. I have copied this:

<<"There is only one reason to do anything: as a statement to the universe of who you are.

Used in this way, life becomes self creative. You use your life to create your Self as who you are, and who you've always wanted to be. There is also only one reason to undo anything: because it is no longer a statement of who you want to be.

If you wish to be accurately re-presented, you must work to change anything in your life which does not fit into the picture of you that you wish to project into eternity.">>

It makes sense especially at the moment. I find myself without SoRB in my house but still as boyfriend. All rather scary but also liberating.

And I an arty project going on : 3 canvasses using acryllic. I've been playing with colours so far. I spent over half an hour trying to make shocking pink last night and then realised that magenta is a primary colour in paint. Doh!!!

Big kiss


Alex.

That quote is from "Conversations With God", a book I'd recommend to anyone. It's full of points that are so *obvious* once they've been made to you.

So glad to learn that you and SoRB are negotiating each others' waters again. I've rarely run across any couple who seems so clearly suited to each other in so many ways. I was vacillating between emailing support and risking sticking my foot in it, meddling insufferably. You know me... procrastination as a way of life, and things *do* seem to sort themselves out.

Made a good start on editing the Pelican packet so far today, a collection of pelican photos I'm planning to have printed on postcards and notecards, sell through the nicer tourist boutiques and bookstores. Wooooohooooo!

*addes "Conversations With God" to wish-list* Who's it by?
You have such a way with words, MoGgie, I wish you'd write an article for PR

Alex, I've never met a man yet, that I can comfortably live with. So I'm staying single. It's the only way I can be myself, because when I'm with someone, I people-please all the time. And end up making myself miserable. This way, I'm lonely - but happier.
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Here's the first chapter, GB. http://www.nytimes.com/books/first/w/walsch-conversations1.html

Flattery will get you EVERYWHERE, ya know. Seriously, I wish I could just settle down enough to finish the children's book I've started and work consistently on my Questions For God fables. I've no illusions that I have Great Things to say, but there are plenty of things published that are no better than some of my efforts and lack of giving it a whirl is a pathetic excuse for not making the attempt. Anyway, I'm much better in the land of ludicrous and ranting than I am with serious stuff.

Two new additions to my bright and shiney new MSN! YAY! I've been leaving the puter on pretty much full time when I'm not working, so don't feel ignored if I don't answer, ok? I'll ping back when I'm inside again.

Men. Harrrrrumph. Can't live with 'em, can't kill 'em. Though I do currently have a big enough hole dug in my yard for the plumbing that I could bury about 6 medium-sized insurance agents there.....



Anyway, though I'm especially partial to SoRB (he reminds me of a young version of my dad, and I have great respect and admiration for both of 'em) I'm sure I'd invest in a great, whopping cast-iron skillet if I had to live with either one of them full time. I'd name it The Convincer.

Hi GB
Thanks for your words. I did the people-please or person-please thing and it got me nowhere and miserable. I think I have the best of both worlds now, my own space which I share half the time with my wonderful children and SoRB appreciating me and no longer taking me or my house for granted. I love him and we have so many reasons to stay together. We'll see how things settle down.

<>

I nearly fell off my chair at this. In fact I might even go out and buy one and make it a special label and hang it in my developing kitchen.

I now have all the units up, all work surfaces in place and cooker and sink. Hoorah!! No doors yet or tiling or painting but as my dad says the blacksmithing has been done.


Alex.