– President Barack Obama, February 24, 2009

I hope and pray that health care reform change begins ASAP. Unfortunately I fear that will not happen.

After watching the President’s address to the joint session of Congress on Health Care I found myself extremely disenchanted: not with anything Mr. President said (he was quite inspiring), I was disheartened to hear the booing and yelling from the Republican side of Congress and the very inappropriate outburst from Rep. Joe Wilson. If Congressional members cannot express feelings and ideas in a civil manner it is no wonder American citizens are not capable of positive political discourse. I have started to close myself off politically because nothing positive comes from sharing my thoughts and feelings. There is no exchange of ideas and principles, only yelling and bickering. We can’t even talk to each other anymore! We are surrounded by shocking and distasteful beliefs, actions, and tactics. My greatest fear is that the political shenanigans between the two political parties will prevent any real change or progress.

The previous paragraph was brought to you by the grief and emotional eruption resulting from receiving the following letter from the hospital where I received my D&C in February. After five months of consistent payments they mailed me this:

“***FINAL NOTICE***

This is our final effort. We value your patronage and want you as a patient. But, as much as we regret, your account may be placed with an outside agency for collection unless full payment is made within the next ten (10) days.”

BULLSHIT! They do not value my patronage or want me as a patient. If they did, they wouldn’t be such pricks. The phone calls to them are nothing short of horrific. I swear the call center representatives at the hospital were direct hired DMV employee rejects with anger and rage issues. I know it’s probably an error (I hope) and I will call them shortly to attempt resolution, but I am not looking forward to it anymore than I would look forward to a colonoscopy.

Receiving that letter really struck a chord in me. I am sick and fucking tired of all the bullshit associated with our health care and the political responses to the possibilities of change. So I did what any normal American would do, I wrote a letter to the President. I was going to email it but I think intent can be lost in the current electronic shuffle. So I’m rocking it old school and sending my letter via snail mail.

Me: Yuppers.

Tu’pence: I thought you went home.

Me: I fucking wish.

Tu’pence: Does that help with wishing?

In other exciting news…I dreamed that I missed my final tonight because I went to an ex-boyfriend’s house so he could dump my ass a second time. WTF?! I woke up guilt ridden for missing my final and allowing myself to be dumped AGAIN. Which is pretty silly, considering neither of those things happened. Stupid fucking dreams.

Also, I haven’t been responding to comments like I normally do because I am being eaten alive by school…and ridiculous dreams.

Today I ran across an old episode of This American Life that focused on breakups. I almost didn’t listen to it because I was afraid that if I did, I would realize that I’m not really as OK as I feel; that the sad-break-up-bunny would hop up behind me and smack me on the back of the head, a la Little Bunny Foo Foo.

Now that I’ve listened to it, I’m really glad I didn’t wimp out. This American Life confirmed what I thought might be happening; I am totally OK. (Whew!) Sure, I liked him. Sure, I’m disappointed. But what I have learned this time around, is that carefully and responsibly entering into a relationship makes surviving an ending a lot easier. I didn’t throw myself into him in the same way I have with others. Intimacy doesn’t equal verbal diarrhea of childhood traumas and previous hurts. Sure, there is a time and place for sharing our experience. Just because you’re with someone doesn’t mean you need to cut your heart open for them. At least not at first. Which is too bad for him; he didn’t even get to hear some of my really good family stories; like the time my uncle faked his death. Or when that uncle died (the second time – HA!), there was a large stink made about viewing the body. Oh yeah, that’s a goodie…and not even half of it.

During the first act of This American Life I cringed inside and braced for tears when they played a clip of The Magnetic Fields song “I Don’t Want to Get Over You.” Oh how I love that song and OH was I ever relieved not to break down in tears at the sound of Stephin Merritt’s holy-fucking-shit deep voice; the sadness that would have been!
<— (click this link to hear a clip)

Music can play such a dangerous role during the time following a breakup. It can be such trivial shit, too. For example, there was a time when I couldn’t hear that goddamned Cobra Starship song “Snakes on a Plane (Bring It).” I’m not even talking about the tears you would expect one to respond with (painful tears related to the horrific quality of the music and movie), it was the post breakup tears that come when feel like you might die without the love and affection of someone who is no longer in your life.

Then you wake up one day and hear that song and it makes you laugh. Or you accidentally run into that person in the grocery store and you realize how fucking foolish you were to have pined over them to begin with. So, here’s to meeting the guy who will not only appreciate me, but will know what to fucking do with my sassy ass once he has me! I know he’s out there, we just have to find each other.

My OCD trouble began when I was traumatized at my first post-high school job. I worked in a small office (just two of us). My male boss and I shared a bathroom. Can you tell where this is going?

I didn’t have trouble with fecal related issues before discovering a very large, very hairy turd that my boss left in the toilet. The most horrific part; there was no toilet paper. NO TOILET PAPER! Who does that?! I mean, leaving a gigantic piece of shit in a toilet is hands-down disgusting, but not even taking the time to wipe your own ass? WHO DOES THAT?! That is some serious filthiness to not bother wiping your own butthole.

From there my mental state deteriorated when I realized that someone who couldn’t be bothered to wipe their own butthole would surely not be caught up with pesky habits like hand washing. I fell apart when I looked around the cramped, overstuffed office and realized that everything around me was surely contaminated with filthy no-butthole-wiping-no-hand-washing fecal matter.

A few minutes into my drive the heater kicked in and I reached for my zipper, only it would not budge. Thinking it was caught on the edge of the parka, I pulled the zipper up a bit to free it from the fabric pulled into the zipper. I felt a surge of panic when I realized the zipper was not stuck, but BROKEN!

I safely pulled over to the side of the road and started freaking out. The zipper would not budge and I began to feel as if the snug neck were choking me. My failed attempts to escape my (formerly) beloved parka left me borderline hysterical. While trying to pull it over my neck/head (like a sweater) it really did get stuck and the real HYSTERIA began. I wasn’t stuck for very long before it was off…I laughed so hard that tears came. It’s a good thing I didn’t choke myself: death by parka would surely have landed me in the Darwin Awards.