If Jeff Bezos was in Charge of the Affordable Health Care Website…

The other day, I got a 59 cent refund from Amazon.com.  I didn’t even ask for the refund.  They just sent it to me.  Something about a book I pre-ordered and the price changing after they sent it.

My experience with Amazon has been pretty good.  Other than the time they wrapped my nephew’s birthday gift in Happy Hannukah paper, I can’t say that I have any complaints.  I’ve got to admit, I’m pretty impressed with a bazillion dollar global company that makes it a point to give me back my 59 cents.

So, I was thinking about how life would be different if Jeff Bezos, the founder of Amazon, was brought in to fix the Affordable Health Care Website.  I mean, this man knows how to take care of a lot of people at once all over the globe.  Surely he could figure out how to manage health care for hundreds of thousands of people in one measly country.

The more I think about it, the more certain I am that Jeff Bezos is the man for the job.  So, here is my list of features that you would find on the Bezos version of the Affordable Health Care site.  I’ll let you decide if they would be improvements or not…

Once you sign up (which would, of course, be remarkably simple):

• You would be welcomed, by NAME, every time you visit the site.
• Relevant doctors would be recommended to you based on your recent search history.
• Every doctor would have his or her own page, and there would be customer reviews.
• You can search for doctors by price, customer review, or average appointment wait time.
• Place procedures in your Shopping Cart, and wait for notification that the price has gone down so you can snatch up the better deal. (Hooray – now I can get that kidney transplant I’ve had my eye on for awhile!)
• Choose a doctor, and then see the other physicians patients have visited after that one.  Does that proctologist have a disturbingly high number of patients who subsequently end up at a different proctology office?  Since that isn’t really the kind of experience you want to repeat, you might want to choose a different doctor…
• People can bestow Medical Gift Cards upon you.  (I’ve been noticing you need that mole removed.  Here’s a gift card for that.)
• You can put desired medical procedures on a Wish List, and people can gift them to you for your birthday.  (Thanks, Uncle Fred!  I’ve been needing that colonoscopy for awhile!)

I’m sure my brilliant readers can think of many other advantages to Amazon HealthCare.  You should definitely list them in the comments below.  Just like Amazon, I value customer feedback!

But don’t expect any refunds from me.

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Do You Think This Could Work on Eliot Spitzer?

Well, I’m not sure what I could possibly say at this point to get back the 7 readers who visited my blog today.  I think I actually had more readers the very first day I posted than have visited today.  I can only deduce that I offended all of the men in the universe with my “complisult” post, and burned off the eyeballs of pretty much everyone else with my “twerking” post.  I would like to blame it on the Labor Day weekend, but even though I am a self-centered American, I am pretty sure that we are the only country celebrating that right now – so that doesn’t explain why my 2 Bolivian fans or the guy in Martinique who religiously reads every post have suddenly deserted me.  A big shout out to Singapore, though!  Way to prove your loyalty!  Thanks for not ditching me – or for at least convincing two people to visit my blog every day.

It’s clear that I’ve been a bit too self-involved, lately, and that is obviously turning away readers.  So, I hope I can coax at least the males back by sharing a new invention that I discovered recently.  By “discovered”, I do not mean that I invented it.  I mean that I was wandering the internet, looking for more diseases to pin on my Pathophobic Pinterest Board, and came across this post which I bookmarked under “Things that I May Want to Blog About in the Future Because They Are a Bit Unusual.”    And, though this does not directly effect human males, any couple who has decided to get their dog neutered knows that there is always one person, usually the one with the most testosterone, who argues against the necessity of this “barbaric” surgery as he subconsciously protects his own groin area.

Ladies and Gentlemen – mostly gentlemen – I give you the Stud Stopper.  You’re welcome.

Do me a favor, please, and don’t mention the existence of this device to Wonderbutt. Sadly, it’s too late for him.
photo credit: Stud Stopper

 

 

This is How Wonderbutt Negotiates

We have a bulldog.  His name is Wonderbutt.  He listens to public radio, reads and/or eats books, and recently switched to the unlimited texting plan.

Oh, and his farts are noxious.

And he doesn’t mean the kind used in American politics…

 

 

Our Government is Useless. Next Time I’m Calling KFC.

Me:  Hello, I would like to join the Witness Protection Program.

Them:  I’m afraid you have the wrong number.

Me:  You’re just saying that because you have to be secret.

Them:  No, you really do have the wrong number.

Me:  Okay.  Let’s just pretend for a second that this is the wrong number.  What is the right number?

Them:  Did you witness a crime?

Me:  Does watching C.S.I. count?

Them:  So, you haven’t witnessed a real-life crime?

Me:  I saw a man wearing socks with sandals yesterday.

Them:  Ma’am, if you have not witnessed someone breaking a law, then I don’t really understand why you need the Witness Protection Program.

Me:  I need to switch identities.  You guys do that, right?

Them:  I told you, this is not –

Me:  I know.  Blah, blah, blah.   Just tell me, where do I go to switch identities?

Them:  Ma’am, you can’t just do that.

Me:  Yes, I can.  I do it all the time.  I’ve got about 15 identities right now.  You should know.  Aren’t you monitoring my e-mails?  That’s my problem.  I have too many identities.  I can’t keep track of them.  I need you to wipe them all out and give me a new one that no one knows.  Especially pizza delivery places.  They are flooding my in-box with coupons.  No matter what identity I pick, they always find me.  Give me a secret identity, that’s what I need.

Them:  Okay, I think I understand.  Here is what you need to do.

Me:  Finally.  I knew you would come around.  Okay, what should I do?

Them:  Either tell me what kind of pizza you want, or stop calling this number!

Me:  Sure.  That’s exactly what you want me to do.  So I’ll have to order my pizza online and give you an e-mail address.

Them:  OR JUST DON”T ORDER A PIZZA.

Dial tone.

Me:  AS SOON AS I FIGURE OUT WHO I AM, I’M GOING TO COMPLAIN ABOUT YOU ON A SOCIAL NETWORK!

from http://iwastesomuchtime.com

What If I Was Competing in the International Extreme Ironing Tournament? Would That Have Made It Okay?

Quick pop quiz. Your 10-year old daughter qualifies for Nationals in her chosen sport, let’s say Chess Boxing.  (Yes, that’s really a sport.)  And she has to travel to another state to compete.  Do you let her go?

Well, of course.  She’s been preparing for this Chess Boxing tournament for three years.  Duh.

Oh wait.  Second question.  Do you go with her, even though there will be four other adults accompanying the team of 6 girl, uh, Chess Boxers?

Trick question.

Are you her father or her mother?

This is important.  Think carefully.

Wrong.

I don’t care what you answered.  You’re wrong.  Especially if you’re her mother.  Because whatever mothers do, they are wrong.  According to the experts – other mothers.

If you are her mother, for example, and you have an important professional conference to attend that you’ve been trying to get financing for the last 24 months and it happens to overlap the Chess Boxing Extravaganza and your husband volunteers to accompany your daughter so she does not have to travel on her own with 5 other girls and 4 adults, and you can then participate in the conference for which you paid a nonrefundable registration fee, then you are, apparently, someone “who hates kids.”

Now, if you are her father, and you opted to go with your potential Chess Boxing Champion, and are stuck on a trip with 6 girls between the ages of 10 and 12, and four women, for 5 very long days, then it takes you about 5 minutes into the trip to realize you are also very wrong.  Fortunately, you are the only one who realizes this fact, and the rest of the population on this planet canonizes you and declares you the “Best, Most Patient Man to Walk the Earth Since Gandhi Passed.”  When you get home, there is a ticker-tape parade in your honor and a National Holiday is named after you – “The Man Who Went With His Daughter to Her Competition Because Her Mother Was Too Selfish Day.”

Of course, you could have each made different decisions, resulting in the mother “doing her duty” and resenting that she will not have another opportunity to attend the conference for at least 4 more years, and the father going about his daily life while attempting to console your bulldog, Wonderbutt, for the five days of your absence.

But I guarantee that no one will crown the mom to be “Best, Most Patient Woman to Walk the Earth Since Mother Teresa.”

So, I guess what I’m trying to say is:

A.) Don’t get your daughter involved in Chess Boxing; Giant Pumpkin Kayaking is much safer

2.) I swear I don’t hate kids,

8.) I love my husband, and

5.) Congratulations to the Same-Sex Marriage Proponents in the USA on today’s victories, maybe now we can

D.) Work on Same Expectations for Parents No Matter What Your Gender and

III.) Cutting Moms Some Slack.  Or slacks.  But don’t make her iron them.

Some Seek Asylum While Others Should BE in an Asylum

Wonderbutt, my bulldog, has been listening to NPR too much today.  The Snowden case is freaking him out.

Wonderbutt – worried that his leaks have opened him up to prosecution.

I am Terror Shattering – Which I Think Translates to “People Laugh When They See Me”

I decided to look up my Roller Derby name today.  According to Mia Psycho’s Roller Derby Name Generator, I am “Terror Shattering”.  It’s good George W. was not aware of this during his interminable term, what with his whole hostility against horror.  I might have  been drafted to be some kind of weapon of mass emotion obstruction, which I would, of course, have found morally reprehensible.  Even though, ironically, I take a pill every morning to obstruct my own emotions.  And I think I can pretty much directly trace the necessity for that back to George W.

George’s Roller Derby name, by the way, would be “Anger GimmeMore,” according to Mia Psycho.  She is amazingly accurate, that Mia.

I am not intending to join a Roller Derby team.  I just ended up watching this unique sport last night when Kanye West got a bit too intense and creepy on Saturday Night Live and I was looking for another channel to switch to that would not be too engrossing because I definitely wanted to switch back to SNL in time to see Seth Meyers do his last news report.

Looking at the online guide, it seemed that Roller Derby might fit the bill, and I arrived on the scene just in time to see some kind of penalty being assessed, and a giant wheel being spun to determine the consequence, and the ensuing pillow fight between two of the opponents, the winner of which was determined by some kind of peanut gallery of spectators who certainly seemed completely objective.

I nearly did not get back to Seth Meyers in time because I found this human behavior so sociologically absorbing that I could not peel my eyeballs from the screen or shove my chin back up to meet the rest of my skull.

I’m not really into contact sports.  Or sports.  But I have got to admit that Roller Derby is fascinating.  And not nearly as disturbing as Kanye West.  It’s a bit like Quidditch combined with football and roller-skates.  And without the flying, of course.  I’m not absolutely sure there are no broomsticks, though.  The rules seem a bit vague on that.

I only had to watch Roller Derby for two minutes and seventeen seconds to realize that this is the solution to every major conflict on this planet, and that women definitely should rule the world.

Just stick me on the rink with Aim Antagonism (Kim Jung-un) and a pillow, and I’ll have things sorted out before you can say, “Ithaca New York Suffer Jets versus the Empire Skate Troopers”.

God, I love puns.

I Would Pay The Whole 4 Cents to Be Sequestered with Brad Pitt

Until I can find the tangible evidence that my doctor hates my hair stylist, thus giving him the perfect motive to tank my thyroid test, I have decided to blame my depression on The Sequester. I mean, if my problems aren’t the result of thyroid dysfunction, they clearly must have some external cause. And this whole sequester thing is definitely stressing me out.

First of all, I’m totally bummed that “Sequester” has a completely different meaning than the one I’ve known all of these years. Until now, a sequester was something I could only dream about – having the government pay for me to stay in a hotel with maid service, room service, and all of the books I could ever want to read since I wouldn’t be allowed access to any media in case Nancy Grace might somehow manage to cajole me into nailing Jodi Arias to the wall.

When the news outlets started warning about an oncoming sequester in Congress, I pictured the whole muddle of them being locked inside the Capitol until they  knocked each other off and one person became the victor – kind of like a mix between Twelve Angry Men, Fight Club, and the cardinals in the Vatican conclave.  I was sorely disappointed to find out that this was not the case.

I was even more alarmed by rumors that this whole sequester thing might delay my tax refund.  After all, I use my tax refund to pay my psychiatrist, so if I don’t get my refund, I don’t…well, you get the picture.

Of course, I should be completely straight with you, and admit that we have received an unexpected endowment from the county recently.  Although, to be honest, I don’t think it would pay for the gas to take the check to the bank, much less thirty seconds with my psychiatrist.

In fact, I find it depressing that the county actually paid for a stamp to send this check to us.

Yes, folks, that is a check for 4 cents.

And then Hugo Chavez died.  The only person more paranoid than me. The person who said, “Would it be so strange that they’ve invented technology to spread cancer and we won’t know about it for 50 years?”

Remember?  I’m the one who said terrorists are poisoning our food.  And now I’m depressed.  Hugo said there are mad scientists spreading cancer – and he died of cancer.

I think the connections are pretty obvious.

If my doctor had just said, “Your thyroid is wonky, and that’s why you’re depressed,” we wouldn’t be in this big mess.

I Guess I Should Depend on More Than the Daily Show to Keep Me Informed

Dear Man Who Rescued Me from My Solitude While I Waited for My Daughter to Finish Swim Practice, Foolishly Thinking I Could Spend My Time Writing:

I was so overcome during our conversation the other day that I could not find the words to properly thank you. So, here it is.

First of all, thank you so much for offering me your used earbuds so I could listen to your daughter’s video on your phone.  Your generosity apparently knows no bounds.

Secondly, thank you for educating me about gun control. Now that I know that the government is out to get us, I am going to save up some money for an AK-87 (the bigger the number, the better, right? but I thought an AK-97 would be too greedy) so I can defend myself. Because when the government finds a way to persuade the military men and women who have sworn to protect our country to start dropping bombs on my house, I want to be ready.

Once I was edified about my need for an arsenal in every room of the house, your insights into the welfare system and health care illuminated how completely selfish it is for my friend to ask for assistance for his son, born prematurely, who maxed out his health insurance life-time benefits before he turned one.  I can’t wait to inform him that his money-grubbing ways are, in a large part, responsible for our titanic national debt.

I only wish you had been around to admonish me before I made my foolish choices in the last two presidential elections.  Of course, you would have had to find some kind of loophole in the 22nd Amendment in order to keep the man who, “at least you knew where you stood with him” in office.  I say just blast a hole in that pesky little alteration to the Constitution with your assault rifle “that isn’t any more dangerous than a revolver”.  That’ll knock some sense into people.

I’m probably leaving out something important, but I think you can get the gist of my gratitude.  It’s not every day that someone takes as much time as you do to rectify all of my clearly preposterous beliefs and assumptions.

I’m only sorry that you did not get the chance to enlighten me on abortion and gay marriage.

Maybe next time…

Sincerely,

Mrs. Cap’n Firepants

This Just In – Wonderbutt Chooses a Candidate

Our bulldog, Wonderbutt, did his research and carefully made his U.S. presidential election selection: