Can Carine gamble on insurance and not get burned?
Recent conversation with my vet:
Me: It’s been at least a year since I asked one of your people to fill out this “Release of Records” form and send it to my insurance company but they never did, so my last claim went unpaid.
(The insurance company needed two years’ worth of records to guard against any sneaky pre-existing conditions.)
Vet: Oh, no. We fill out all forms and fax them in immediately, but all our clients call back three and four times to complain that the insurance companies say they haven’t received it.
Me: So, I guess their thing is to wear us down in the hope that we will eventually abandon or forget the whole thing?
Vet: You know, insurance companies. (Shrug)
In case you’re still reeling over the news that I pay for something as elitist as pet insurance when there are people starving in America, all I can say is, well, yes, I pay for pet insurance. I’ve gone off the pet insurance crack pipe several times over the years, each time, succumbing to the guilt wrought upon me by the sarcastic and smirking voice, which tells me I’m a fool to fork over hard-earned dough to yet another insurance company when they always seem to find an excuse for denying my claims. Read more
Hollywood’s loss is Vermont’s gain, as Prudence celebrates her fourth anniversary and lessons learned in the Green Mountain State
For those of you who think that sparsely populated, Yankee-pure Vermont is the antidote to the ills of urban life, here is a quick set-up guide that will acquaint you with “how to Vermont.”
1. You kahnt get thay-yer from hee-yaw.
You can live full-time, own property and pay taxes in the Green Mountain State, but becoming a bona fide, card-carrying Vermonter is earned the old-fashioned way—you must be born here. Furthermore, your parents must have been born here; your grand-parents (both sides) must have been born here—and so on back for four generations. Seriously. Otherwise, you are considered a “flatlander,” even if you come from Machu Pichu or Boulder, Colorado.
2. “Massholes” are from Massachusetts.
Although Massholes come from the eponymous state to our south, you can also use this label whenever encountering an attitudinous anyone who is making an ostentatious show of wealth and power. Example: “That tailgater must be a Masshole.” (See “flatlander” above.) Read more
From humor to infidelity, Connie gets beneath the fig leaf for this investigative report
One of my favorite jokes goes something like this:
God pulls Adam to his side and says, “My son, my Creation, I have good news and bad news for you.” Adam lifts his countenance upon his heavenly father and says, “Lord? What’s the good news? The Lord says unto Adam, “I have blessed you, my Son, with both a brain and a penis.” Adam is grateful and with great awe says unto his Maker, “So, what’s the bad news?” The Lord responds, “Sadly, I could only manage to give you enough blood supply to work one thing at a time.”
I love this joke. I’d stroke it even further by saying God then tempted Adam by putting his penis on the outside of his body, close to his hand, then told him not to touch it and spill his seed. Talk about forbidden fruit. That God. What a kidder.
My good pal, Joann, whenever we’re all together and the subject turns to the differences between men and women, as it frequently will, wags her index finger above her head and states, emphatically, “It’s all about the peenie!” Read more