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Posts Tagged ‘melodramatic much?’

You know how when you call the credit card company or your insurance agency, the automated system usually tells you, this call may be monitored or recorded for quality purposes?

I always assumed those purposes were quality service.

Yesterday I called my insurance company to find out their policy on covering vaccinations (for Nepal). I knew it was highly unlikely, but wanted to cover all my bases. So I asked.

Insurance rep: “No, we don’t usually cover vaccines. Which ones are you looking for?

Me: “Well, one is rabies…

Insurance rep: “Oh, you were bitten?

Me: “No, it’s preventative.

IR: “They don’t do preventative.

Me: “Oh, well, I actually just talked to my doctor, and he said that they do.

IR: “No. They don’t do preventative rabies shots around here.

Me: “It’s for international travel.

IR: “Ha!* Well now this call is recorded as you saying it’s for travel and we definitely don’t cover shots for international travel.

*It might have been more “ah!” than “ha!” but there was no mistaking the excitement in her voice. 

At this point, I knew it was a done deal, but I was curious about one more thing.

Me: “Oh, okay. So…you don’t even cover polio boosters? I thought I read something about getting a booster every 10 years.

IR: “Ma’am, I’ve already recorded you saying it’s for international travel, so, no.

Me: “Listen, I’m not trying to be sneaky. I was just looking for information. But thanks for your help.

And I hung up.

Perhaps that wasn’t the mature way to handle it.

But at that point I was done being recorded.

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My entire freshman year of college, I dated a guy I had met in my first week on campus. (I know, I know – way to shop around.) Without going into too much detail, I’ll say that it probably definitely wasn’t the healthiest relationship I’ve ever been in, but the end of it did teach me one very important life lesson: Jose Cuervo does NOT cure break-ups.

During my sophomore year, he went abroad, and we made the decision to have an open relationship (red flag!) with the intention of being together once he got back. That plan was, however, canned when I received a call from him in October saying (45 minutes into the conversation during which I was SO happy to talk to him), “By the way, I started seeing someone else. We [you and I] won’t be together when I get back.

Just stick the knife in and turn a little more.

That conversation took place on a Wednesday night and I spent the better part of the next day curled up on my couch, watching “Friends.” My roommates and other girlfriends were insanely supportive and immediately followed through on the first to steps of “what to do after a break-up” – they brought baked goodies and trash talked the Ex. I had cookies, brownies, ice cream, and some delicious red velvet cupcakes that Cla had made. And the food coma sustained me until it was time for the alcohol step of “what to do”. But that was, I believe, my fatal mistake.

You see, my favorite shot is tequila. Even to this day. And I decided, with the urging of another friend whose frat we were going to, that 10 Rounds With Jose Cuervo would make all my pain go away. I was so young and foolish. (Or stupid. Stupid’s probably a better word for it.)

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I did the ten rounds (to the song, no less). And more. And still made it to the house. (That part’s a little fuzzy, though.) I knew, however, shortly after arriving there, that things were not looking good. And so I rushed, with the support of several friends, to the cleanest possible bathroom in a frat house – the one on the third floor, farthest away from the basement. As the girls held my hair back, I emptied my stomach, and we all blamed the Ex for my alcohol consumption, I pointed to the thing that I could see most clearly, even through my tequila haze.

Oh look, Cla – there’s your cupcake.

Red velvet really hasn’t been appetizing since.

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In honor of New Year’s Eve, I thought I’d share a little something from a past celebration. To jog my memory a bit, I started thumbing through my journal (which I started in March…of 2001 – seriously, it’s a wonder I write a post nearly every day, when I can’t fill a notebook with the past seven years of my shenanigans). I came across an early entry about New Year’s 2001, when I had no plans and was, apparently, an extremely jaded sixteen-year-old (with a potty mouth).

He said if they found anything fun, he’d give me a call. It’s okay. I know he won’t. I know that all boys are f***heads. Some are more lovable than others. Some are better liars. Some are better looking. But in the end, they’re all f***heads. It’s a shame really. But even in the end, the nice ones are bad, too. You know, PIC really picked a bad time to leave me. F*** her, too.

What a bundle of joy I was. And not over dramatic at all. Nope. Not. At. All.

Honestly, I read that now and I laugh. It all boils down to my biggest NYE 2001 concern being that I didn’t have plans. (Hey, who ever said teenage girls were rational?) And it could have been worse. I could have had to break up an impending fight, like I did three years ago.

At that time, I was still in Paris after my semester abroad, and some friends from college had come to spend New Year’s Eve there. We were at my then-boyfriend’s apartment (yes, I was cliché and dated a French guy while abroad) and everything was going well – his friends were mixing with mine, and everyone knew enough common language to get by. And then I heard a dispute in the corner.

My friend, J, was super drunk agitated about something and was yelling at one of the French guys. I knew she didn’t speak much French (if any), so I went over to try to mediate the situation.

Liebchen: What’s wrong? What happened?

J: He called me a man!

[French guy looks both confused and shocked]

Liebchen: (to FG) What did you say?

*Note: I don’t remember now exactly what was said. But I DO remember that he in no way called this girl a man.

Liebchen: Okay, J, this is what he said. [explanation] He didn’t call you a man. It’s just a misunderstanding.

J: Don’t you tell me what he said! I know French! I speak French! [Note: NOT TRUE. She speaks Spanish.]

Liebchen: (to J) All right. Why don’t we go over here? (to FG) Walk away, NOW. (Really, it was for his own good. J gets kind of feisty from time to time.)

Thankfully, there were no punches thrown or faces slapped (that was definitely a possibility) and everyone made it out in one piece. But for a while after we DID have to hear her remind us about “that French guy that called me a man!”

Here’s to fewer miscommunications in 2009.

Cheers!

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