Health Insurance People Are D-Bags

Health insurance companies only want to insure healthy people.  It's fucked up.

Recently, the insurance company kicked me off of my parents' coverage because I'm no longer a student. Apparently college graduates find jobs right out of college that offer insurance.  Umm, earth to health care providers, it doesn't work that way.  It's hard enough finding a job, let alone one that will provide health care benefits.  

Therefore, I have been forced to seek health insurance on my own.  With the financial backing from my parents, we found a plan that seems to best suit my needs.  The other day I filled out the application and I figured that's it, now I'm insured.  

Of course it could not be that easy, actually the application wasn't.  But now they have thrown a few more curve-balls my way.  I woke up this morning to a message on the answering machine, "Hi this is insurance agent Douchebag calling for Leah Zipperstein.  We have a few more questions to ask you so please call us back at 1-800-657-dbag."  

I called back and was connected to a seemingly nice lady, but then the questions started.  "I've been stalking your medical records and see that you had an MRI for your shoulder in 2006, what was the purpose of this MRI?"

I responded, "I play college tennis and I hurt my shoulder so I decided it might be smart to visit the doctor and check the situation out."

The dbag says, "Hmm, okay, well what did they suggest for treatment and how long did it take to heal?"  By the way, all of this is code for - how much does my insurance agency have to pay for your athletic injuries?

I said, "Thankfully I did not need surgery.  With rest, ice, and strengthening exercises I returned to form in a few months.

Next question from the dbag: "I see you that you are currently taking medication for acne, is that the purpose of the medication?"

I said, "Well dumbass if that is what it says, then that's probably why I'm taking the medication."

Final question, "have you visited the doctor in the past 62 days and if so, why?"

I responded, "I sprained my ankle playing soccer so I went to the doctor to get it checked out."

Dbag says, "what treatment did your doctor prescribe and will you need to see the doctor again for a checkup?"

I said, "Similar to my shoulder injury I was told that rest, ice, and physical therapy should do the trick, and no, I will not need to see the doctor again."

At last the 20 questions on Leah's medical history was over.  However, I'm still not covered. My file needs to be reviewed by some more class A douchebags and then they'll let me know. Perhaps my attempts at staying healthy with an active lifestyle will cause my downfall.  

It's possible that the health insurance agency could deny me coverage.  I play sports; therefore, there is an increased chance of injury.  

Honestly, I am not too worried.  I'm pretty sure I will get covered.  But what about the people that actually have serious medical issues?  What if they are denied coverage because they have real problems?  And these are the people that need insurance the most.  I'd say that is a pretty fucked up system.  

People have insurance because "in case shit happens" they will need help covering the costs. However, insurance agencies provide insurance with the expectation that "shit won't happen." They want zero risk with all the reward.  I wish we could just say fuck em and deal with life as it comes, but "in case shit does happen" I'd be the one screwed, not the insurance agencies.  

Moral of the story - health insurance people are douchebags.  Enough said.

The Cincinnati Bengals Are Halfway To The Bagel Shop

After Sunday's 35-6 loss to the Houston Texans, the Cincinnati Bengals are halfway to the bagel shop.  My only question:  would they like cream cheese or tuna salad with that sesame seed bagel?

I was simply making small talk with someone when I asked how the Bengals did.  He responded, "Is that a rhetorical question?  Of course they lost."  And so it goes...

No NFL team has ever gone 0-16 for the season, but teams have come close.  The 1990 Patriots, 2000 Chargers, 2001 Panthers, and 2007 Dolphins all went 1-15.  The Tampa Bay Buccaneers went 0-14, but that was before the current 16 game season.

Could this be a historic year for the Bengals, or perhaps better suited, the Bungles?  Anything is possible and with each passing week it is looking more and more likely.

Although it is not yet official, Carson Palmer is probably out for the rest of the season with an elbow injury.  In his place, fourth year NFL quarterback, Ryan Fitzpatrick attempts to lead the lackluster Cincinnati offense.

Fitzpatrick graduated from Harvard.  Okay, so the guy is smart, but what about his football skills?  In his five games starting as the Cincinnati QB he has thrown two touchdowns and five interceptions.  Not the hottest stats on the market.

Forget about our QB woes, because perhaps the worst part about Cincinnati's dismal play is not that we stand at the midpoint of the season without a single victory.  That's not it.  Rather, we have had no sideshow entertainment from Mr. Ocho Cinco.

He has only scored two touchdowns this season, and I'm pretty sure neither of them have made it onto Sportscenter's Top Ten.  That is the real travesty.  Honestly I feel bad for the guy.  Sure he likes to showboat, but that is part of the reason why I love him.  He is in the business of entertaining, not the business of being bageled.

I kind of hope we continue on our path of self-destruction.  At this point, the most we could win is a couple of games.  They might provide slight moral victories, but other than that, they won't bring much relief.

I'm not saying we should tank the rest of the season.  I don't believe in giving up.  I just think we should embrace the bagel for what it is--a delectable Jewish staple that comes in a variety of flavors and can be eaten with a number of choice toppings.

Therefore, I want to say mazel tov on making it halfway to history.  We only need eight more losses until we arrive at the promised land.

The Texting Game

At first I was apprehensive about the texting feature on cell phones. I figured why text when you can call? However, once I began texting, I realized the real question is why call when you can text?

Texting is great. It allows just enough intimate communication without actual conversation. When texting we can write in shorthand with phrases such as lol (laugh out loud), idk (i don't know), ruok (are you okay), and the list goes on. Texting is like a little game. Similar to the fancy footwork required in tennis, texting requires fancy wordplay. The winner of the game is the person who can pack the most punch in the smallest amount of space.

Because I was late in entering the texting game I am catching up with all my friends and their dexterous experience. I tend to write things out in full instead of employing the flashier texting lingo. No worries though -- practice makes perfect.

I forgot to mention the other aspect of the texting game. Once a player receives a text, it becomes the responsibility of that player to respond immediately. The faster one responds the better.

If I send a text and I don't receive a quick response back then I begin to worry. Actually it goes beyond worry. I begin to overanalyze my relationship with said person. Is he/she mad at me? Why is this person ignoring my text? Was the text I sent in some way offensive or inappropriate? However, thirty or so minutes later, once I've received a response, I breath a big sigh of relief and wonder why my brain was being pulled in ten different directions for no reason. Such is the life of a texter. You must deal with the good times and the bad.

Now that I have become a perpetual texter I feel less and less comfortable talking to people on the phone. Is that weird? I don't think so. Phone conversations can be awkward. We are never entirely sure how the other person is interpreting our pauses or voice inflections. It is hard to gauge the status of a relationship through the awkwardness of a phone conversation. Thus, we have moved to an even more impersonal medium--the text. But you know what, sometimes people write what they cannot say.

TTYL!   XOXO

The Truth About Food

People like to think that they know good food. But let me tell you, they don't. The truth of the matter is that most people have awful taste.

I come from a humble background. I did not grow up in a mansion, nor did I get the pony I asked for on my 16th birthday. At the same time, pretty much everything I have ever wanted/needed I have received. But I am definitely not spoiled. Not like some kids. The one area in which I may consider myself spoiled though, would be in the area of food. I'm sorry but I know quality.

My mom cooks five nights a week, and my dad is trained as a chef. Thus, I have been around good food my entire life. Our vacations are focused more around the hottest restaurants than they are around the coolest places to visit.

Unfortunately, most people have no idea what it means to eat a quality meal. For example, I was visiting a friend recently and she wanted to take me to the local fast food joint. She kept saying it is amazing, better than any other place I've been. I'm sorry but that statement doesn't even make sense. The words fast food scream "tastes like shit!" Therefore, anyone who believes there is quality in fast food cannot be trusted.

Drug Testing

In the past six months I have been required to take two drug tests.  The first one was for tennis.  I happened to be one of the lucky ones, you know, in the random selection.  At 6:30 in the morning I headed to the athletic building where I was assigned a number and a cup.  Failing the drug test would have NO consequences because the purpose of "said" test was merely to get data on the pervasiveness of recreational drugs in DIII athletes.  I'm glad I was inconvenienced for the sake of a study.  While failing the test would mean nothing, the powers that be still decided to treat us like convicted felons.  Before entering the bathroom stall I had to lift up my shirt--in case I was carrying a clean pack of pee around my stomach.  Even after revealing that the only thing under my shirt is my stomach, this lady followed me into the stall and watched me as I peed into the cup.  Okay, she wasn't a pervert, but it was awkward (to say the least).  After finishing my business I was required to hold onto my pee cup and watch as this lady tested the pH.  If I recall correctly, I believe my pee had a pH of 6.5.  Finally, I was allowed to relinquish custody of my pee and send it off to the lab.

Today, I was required to endure my second drug test.  This test was work related, as in, I won't get hired unless I pass the drug test.  I am not worried about passing the test.  I am just annoyed that it has become commonplace for a drug test to be a prerequisite for employment.  Even though the consequences of this drug test are much higher than the tennis one, the lady at LabCorp didn't seem to notice.  I was asked to wash my hands but nobody supervised me doing so, nor was I asked to lift up my shirt.  And when I took my favorite cup to the bathroom to do my business nobody followed me.  I closed the door and hit that magical red line in private.  The lady at LabCorp could care less about the accuracy of the test.  She could care less about whether people try to cheat the test.  Who can blame her?  She oversees drug tests for a living.  That sucks.  And what about the lab geek who will have the pleasure of testing my pee in a couple of days?  Can't say I'm jealous.  

Moral of the story:  drug testing sucks and try to avoid it at all costs, unless you have to do it (like I did)

The dreaded cover letter

To Whom It May Concern: (probably nobody)

In May I graduated from Colorado College with a degree in English.  As an English major it is safe to say that I have had some experience writing.  However, writing analytical essays on themes regarding the self-made man are often highly unintelligible and go on with no end in sight.  I much prefer to write shorter pieces on a more focused subject.

For example, I love writing cover letters, a skill that any college graduate seems to relish.  I love putting myself out there as a writer and waiting by the computer for it to say, "you've go mail."  Unfortunately, most messages in my inbox these days inform me of new facebook wallposts or tagged pictures of my mug shut.

In college I was a contributing writer to The Catalyst, the school newspaper.  The Catalyst is an awful newspaper.  The only articles I ever read were my own, and that is not because I am a narcissist.   Last semester I wrote a controversial article about violating the privacy of students because of random drug testing for DIII athletes.  It was worthy of a Pulitzer.  They never ran it.

In the fall of my junior year I spent a semester in Washington DC studying journalism at American University.  Over the course of the semester I wrote a number of different pieces, including a news feature on iPods along with a profile of the Washington Post food critic.  I thoroughly enjoyed writing my piece on the food critic.  He bought me lunch.

In the summer before my senior year I spent time in San Diego tracking sea otters.  I joined a marine biologist and her team of scientists.  We studied their mating habits.  It was an invaluable experience.  My time spent by the water helped me increase my immunity to sea sickness, a skill that can be used for any job.  

While I love writing English essays, political articles, and cover letters, my favorite pieces would have to be the ones in which I "help" my younger brother write.  I get a lot of pleasure writing assignments for tenth graders.  I guess it is similar to the feeling the bully gets beating up on the weakling of the bunch.  Everything I can't do in a college essay -- pull an argument straight out of the air and then use a portable hard drive to capture it and save it onto MS Word, I am encouraged to do in high school papers.  They are so much more fun.  In fact, I will attach a copy of my favorite piece that I ever "helped" my brother write; it was a creative piece for his music history class.

Thank you for your time and consideration.  I would love to get an email from you, but if not, I guess I will survive on another facebook message.  Such is my life.

Sincerely,

Leah Zipperstein

Enclosure:  Resume, Writing Sample, List of References