Miss Tasha’s Coming Out Par-tay!

For those who know me only through my blog, it might come as a surprise to know that I’m actually a rather modest person. Really. Not modest regarding my obvious superiority – hell, I have so many gifts I could pass them out like party favors! – but rather in the Victorian sense. I grew up with parents from the “old country,” meaning nothing related to sex was ever brought up in the house. Never got “The Talk.” Chicken had white meat, not breasts. You get the idea.

So it was a particularly cruel joke played by fate when The Cancer came along, in the form of a large lump in the worst place imaginable, at least in terms of removing it. But being my shy self, I’d spare people the details, which prompted questions and comments like “Oh, a lump, so they can remove just that and then that’ll be it, right? Why would you need recon? You don’t need recon, do you? For just a lump? Blah blah blah, yes?”

Until one day I snapped. Right here on this little blog, I believe it was. Where after the six millionth puzzled look and inquiry as to why I’d be so vain as to go through reconstruction for just a little ol’ lump I finally responded with:

“It wasn’t just a lump! It was a huge honking lump that was RIGHT UNDERNEATH my fucking NIPPLE, okay? So the whole thing had to go, leaving me with the Appalachian Mountain Boob problem, okay? You know, with the whole top sheared off! THAT’S why I need recon!”

So here we are. Where I still don’t like to talk about things like nipples or fipples, but sometimes, it’s for the greater good, and so I’m okay with it. But when it comes to the Boobages, and the new lovely cleavage, I figure, all bets are off. I earned these puppies, and the right to flaunt them any way I damn well please. Which I plan to do, in spectacular fashion. Not just because they’re fake, but especially because they’re fake, and pretty. Because as we say around these parts – the real ones tried to kill me.

All this is a prelude to announce the big celebration of Miss Tasha’s New Boobages, in the form of a Coming Out Par-tay on June 5^th! The Boobages party of the decade! And not coincidentally, it’s also my birthday weekend. There’ll be the usual fun, food and festivities, with Kona stealing guests’ food at every opportunity, and in the “special events” category we’ll have:

- The giveaway of the Jingle Jugs to the person who comes closest to guessing just HOW many insurance bills/notices/threatening letters Miss Tasha has received in the last 2 years!

- A piñata as a stand-in for BCBS execs!

- Whatever other crazy stuff we can come up with!

And YOU are invited! Yes, you! Well, okay, those of you in the Chicagoland area, which I think narrows things down considerably. I’m also inviting my doctors, so they can admire their handiwork in a social setting, and guests (the female ones) are encouraged to flaunt their own girls in a show of solidarity with my own Boobages. Man boobs are not encouraged. And given that some of my dear CancerChick friends are planning on coming, this could be the finest assemblage of Boobages, fake and otherwise, that my little burg has ever seen.

I do think it’s telling that my female friends who’ve responded to the Evite are all giddy about buying new push-up bras, picking out the most boobalicious clothing, etc.

The guys just seem frightened, and most of them have gone to ground. Nary a peep from many of the menfolk. Sad.

But speaking of the Boobages, it’s almost startling to discover that hey, I now gots cleavage! And not because the girls are pushed up and wonderbra-ed within an inch of their lives, but because they’re now naturally busty, thanks to the superior work of Dr. Fine and his people – well, and the fact that he had a good base to work with, naturally. Modern medicine can do just so much.

Happy time with.....the IRS??

We all know that I pretty much make my living – such as it is – railing against the injustices foisted onto the little people by various corporate and government monoliths. Primarily BCBS and the IRS, in that order. Dealing with them, or the thought of having to deal with them, keeps me up at night. Because we all know how those calls to BCBS generally go:

Me: So I received this bill for $8K for my surgery and I don’t understand what it’s for?
BCBS lackey: Let’s see.....oh, that’s because there was a doctor in the room.
Me: A doc....what?
BCBS lackey: Yes, we decided that the doctor was unnecessary, so we can’t cover that.
Me: The doctor wasn’t necessary for surgery?
BCBS lackey: Yes. Oh, excuse me, my special “Congratulations, you’re a Rockstar” iPod just got here, as a reward for my skill in denying claims for stupid asshat reasons. Gotta go – have a great day!

So you see why I’d be equally perturbed about talking to the dreaded government. The bloated, inefficient government, so unlike the stellar service that we’re used to from the giants of private industry. You know, like the cable company, AT&T, any bank, etc. Wow, the service they offer – truly amazing.

Anyway – as we know, I had spoken to the IRS about a week and a half ago, whereupon the guy I talked to told me it was clear that no one had done jack shit about my situation (paraphrasing here), and that he’d assign it to an IRS Taxpayer Advocate, who’d call me within the next 7-10 days. And I relay what happened here simply out of a sense of fairness, i.e. if I'm going to gnash my teeth over these people when they act like total fucktards, then I should also....well, you'll see what I mean.

Yesterday

I’m talking on the work phone to David from Mintel, discussing a report, and my cell phone keeps ringing, but I ignore it because I’m on a work-related call, and I’d never be so rude as to dump one call for another.

Me: So we’re not trying to boil the ocean here, or throw a pie in the dark, as it were.....(phone is now ringing for the 3rd time)
David: Do you need to get that?
Me: Let me just see who it is, I’ll be right back....hello?
Pleasant lady: Hi, my name is Michelle, and I’m the Taxpayer Advocate from the IRS...
Me: Oh HI, thanks so much for calling! (Hang up the work phone.) It’s great to hear from you!
PL: Well, I’m just calling to try and help straighten things out for you, so hopefully we can do that...

What follows is a Stepford-like conversation with an uber-nice woman who’s looked at all my records, agrees that nothing has been done so far and it’s not clear as to why (there seems to be some kind of notation somewhere that I filed for bankruptcy at some point, which I didn’t), but she’s going to get it figured out, by golly. The fact that for some unknown reason other than my astonishing bad luck the IRS also doesn’t have a record of my 2004 returns, which I certainly DID fill out and send in on time? No problem, she’s giving me extra time to find a copy of that return. And she’s so nice and chatty in the process that I just want to invite her over for some bundt cake and tea. And I practically do, as we’re wrapping up our conversation.

Me: Thank you SO much, you’ve been so helpful, you have no idea how much I appreciate this, it’s all been keeping me up at night from stress.
PL: I’m happy to help – we’ll get all this figured out!
Me: And if you’re ever in the neighborhood, stop by for some cake! And tea!
PL: I’d love to!

Okay, so that’s not exactly how it went, but almost. And the year is still young, so the big Cake and Tea Par-tay with the IRS could still become a reality. Now, could someone explain to me again how much worse it is dealing with these inefficient government bureaucrats? Anyone?

Oh. My.

For some crazy reason I signed up to get updates from BCBS (aka the Emissaries of Satan) online, so that I would know immediately just how much they’re trying to screw me over. That way it’s not quite as heart-stopping when I get the stacks of bills in the mail.

So today I got their typical email that they send when something has happened, a claim processed or denied, or on rare occasions, paid. (Hallelujah chorus!) I figured what the hell, I’ll take a look, I’m sure the fun is beginning for the bills for the Rackotomy, might as well get used to it now. I look and see the charge for $2,232, for the 18th (Surgery Day), and think wow, have boob job prices really gone down that much? That seems pretty low, especially for the work of Dr. Neil Fine, PS to the Stars and all. So I click on the button that says “more information.” And gasp.

Because that’s just the cost of the anesthesia. Holy crap.

My next thought is – hmm, my anesthesiologist was kind of cute. And he did play hockey. Single? Hmm......

BCBS, not completely heartless after all

I know I rail against BCBS here on a consistent basis, exposing them for the faceless bureaucratic monolith they are......yet once in a while, when even the most mercenary of companies feels moved to do a kind deed for the little people, well, that tale must be told.

And so it came to pass that last night, after I got home from being with the family for Christmas, I sat down with a nog to open my remaining gifts, including the box purportedly from BCBS. Perhaps they’ve sensed that I’ve been thinking evil thoughts at them, knowing that I’ll have new battles to fight with them in the new year after my reconstruction? Because apparently the wise and practical folks at Blue Cross consider all sorts of things “optional” when it comes to this kind of surgery. Like nipples. Or tattoos. This surgery which, I might note, they are legally obligated to pay for. Yes, it took an actual law on the books to get insurance companies to pay for reconstruction. So perhaps this was their attempt at extending the proverbial olive branch?

And indeed, it was! Basically their way of telling me – “Hey, don’t worry, we’ve got you covered. Even if we arbitrarily decide to deny you coverage of your reconstruction surgery, as we like to do, just for the hell of it, there are other options for you. Here’s one of them. Enjoy!”

Because what was in the box was this:



I’m not sure these need explanation, but the product text includes the following:

“The trophy rack you’ve always wanted!”

and

“Fashioned after a lifelike set of woman's breasts, Jingle Jugs, when activated, begin to move in rhythmic motion to the song, "Titties & Beer".....They're a must have in the game room or in the bar....Put a new top on 'em to match the season. Mount 'em next to your trophies in the game room - leave 'em on "Motion Detect Mode" and startle visitors when they jiggle and dance to "Titties & Beer." The opportunities for laughter and fun are endless with Jingle Jugs!”

The only thing accompanying this wonderful present was a note that explained “BCBS Foobage Plan C.” Oh, and two random sheets torn from what appears to be a pet supply catalog. But it did finally occur to me that some lackey – I mean, dedicated employee – of BCBS must have taken advantage of the fact that their headquarters are in downtown Chicago, and instead of wasting money on postage to actually mail this – money that could be better spent to prop up BCBS CEO McCaskey’s paltry $11M salary – they came by my place to drop it off. Because packages don’t make it through the US mail without some kind of identifying sign of postage, origin, etc., so there was definitely a local input to this.

But best of all? The Jingle Jugs have the all-important pink ribbon on the box, meaning we’re all united in the fight against breast cancer! Sniffle, it truly does take a village. You, me, BCBS, and Jingle Jugs. I can only weep at such an outpouring of solidarity....