Food Day!

Bear with me. I am very tired today. I woke up at 4:30 am and could not get back to sleep. Figured what the heck! I can do this! Someone please remind me that I stare at a computer screen that is only six inches from my face ALL DAY so no, I can not do this.

Last night, there was a meeting with the big wigs. As is the custom, food was ordered from a chicy restaurant and the big wigs hardly ate a thing. Good news for us, because that means, we get the left overs!! Yep! Chicken Parmesan, lasagne, and enough garlic bread to feed a small nation. You'd think that we never eat the way we fall on this food! Seriously, there are people in this office that are planning dinner by the amount of food that they are currently putting on there plate. There is one woman who is trying to free up space, I can only guess, by handling all the food. She generally does this immediately following blowing her nose. It feels decidedly like that Sinfield episode, where Jerry won't eat at the girlfriends family restaurant, because the uncle walked out of the bathroom and didn't wash his hands. We are not your family! We do not think it is ok for you to take a bite of food from a fork and put it back into the container. SERIOUSLY! With a tissue in her hand. And they say I'm not a joiner because I won't eat with them.

Have I ever mentioned that I am in office hell?

Happiness in a Bag

You know, there are very few things in this world that just saying the name of it, can make you smile. There are people that touch our lives and the very thought of them, takes our breath away, sure, but there are very few things that can illicit that response. I know that I have found one. It is glory in a sack, ambrosia from Mt Olympus, bliss in a factory sealed 1 0z package. Of course I am speaking of Chili cheese Fritos.

I stood before that vending machine and knew that I should buy the peanut butter and crackers, or at the very least, the pretzels (10 of those are a serving, so don't get greedy!). I knew that there was no way that buying the Fritos could be good for me. But as I looked into that machine, my inner rebel was screaming, YEAH! DO IT! WE'LL GET TATTOOED LATER TOO!" Normally I can ignore these ravings, but today, why not? It's just 1 oz. One lousy, stinking, cheap ounce, how much damage will that do? I doubt that one stupid little corn chip is gonna send me over the edge. If my arteries are gonna clog, that would have been from my formative years, not the "I'm older, a mother of 4, I need to set an example...." years. I'm entitled, damn it! I had a rough weekend, and its MONDAY! I need this pick me up. So I bought em.


There are few things in this life that can put a smile on your face at the thought of them. I submit that Chili Cheese Fritos are one of those things.

Now if we can get those bastards to make the package a little bigger, life would be perfect. At least for the 53.4 seconds it will take me to eat them.

Animated Cell Phones

Am I the only one disturbed by that cell phone on Yahoo! that morphs into Whoopie Goldberg? That's just crazy nuts!

I have to stop checking the news on that site. Its creeping me out.

Everclear

I know what I'm about to say may change your opinion of me, but I have to say it:

Ten Years Gone, The Best of Everclear 1994-2004

This is quite possibly one of the best collections of music I have ever heard.

There you go. Go ahead and judge me.

Co-workers, Part II

I have a real job and a fake job. The fake job I love, the real one, drives me crazy. The job itself is monotonous, but the people.....When I say that I am in office hell, I mean it.

The job I do requires certification. I have letters following my name. But the certification is not worth the paper it is written on. We basically know how to look things up better than the average person. Having said that, I must now tell you that I work with 6 people who believe that the business I work for would stop generating money were it not for them.

This is not a career. It is a job. That we have id numbers and annual dues does not change that. I could get a job anywhere in this industry. But I know that little kids do not grow up and say," I want to be this!". The job I do finds you. You accidentally back into it. I am a coder.

What is that? Well, when you are sick, I decipher what the Dr says you have, and assign a code to it. For instance, if you have a cold, I would assign the number 460. to the claim that is sent to your insurance company, and they too, will know that you have a cold. Simple. There are, like a gagillion different codes in the coding book, so you have to know how to look it up. That is a skill I have. I can read a diagnosis, look it up in an index, then assign the number designation. I know now that you are in awe of my ability. BUT WAIT!! There's more!!! I can also say what level of service the Dr gave you, accurately assign a CPT code to the procedure he performed on you, and I can tell how many milligrams of medicine he administered just by a sequence of numbers, that are all clearly written out, alphabetically, in a book. You're a little scared now aren't you, knowing how much power I have. I can ruin you (and get sued, too...), if I mess up just one number!

Wrap your mind around that. I'll wait.........


Now, I know that this is not a difficult job. We can all be trained to do it. We have to take a big hairy test in order to get the certification, but after that, an occasional audit every now and again, and there you go. You can write CPC (that's Certified Professional Coder!), after your name. This is not a big deal. But a few of the people I work with, take this job VERY seriously. They believe so highly of themselves that they practically want people to genuflect in there presence. One of my co-workers code for babies right after they are born. That's it. It is all how the baby is born, vaginal or c-section. That's it, 2 codes. Yet she is still mad that she doesn't have an office. Or at least a cube of her own. She has to share it with me and a DATA ENTRY CLERK. (the humiliating part of that is the sharing with me!). I am looked on with disdain normally reserved for Drs. I came to this job from a reimbursement position, not a medical, hand on office. I was looking at the money. I have little to contribute. I just don't KNOW.

The other co-works, basically the same, except that they have years of experience that I don't. We meet for meeting once a month as we are required to get Continuing Education Units, you know CEU's, in order to keep are credentials. I look around that room and all I see are a bunch of pinched looking, too small of blazer wearing, OLD women. Even the young ones look faded and washed out. I do not look like any of them. The only thing I have in common with them is that I am trying to stay awake long enough during this 7:00 am meeting to write down one measly thing I learned so that I can keep these precious credentials.

Please, someone, shot me now. Seriously. Help me.

Brittle Cold!!!!

I live in the Midwest. Anyone who has watched there news over the last couple days knows that there is a "Polar Plunge" blanketing this part of the country. Yes, a HUGE storm just cut a swath of snow across this part of the country. We were fortunate where I am at that we did not get a lot of snow here, but we could not avoid the cold that followed it. The temperatures outside is 9 degrees. Cold, in and of itself. But when you factor in the windchill, it feels like 129 degrees below zero. That does not call for a Nose Bubble Alert, at those temps, it is a full on Nose Bubble Warning!

I am 41. (just don't ask me how much I weigh!). I grew up in a time that when it is as cold as the above, your car will not start, power would fail, and people had to keep warm huddled around the only gas appliance in the house, the stove. I know cold. So I make my kids bundle up before they go outside. Hats, scarves, boots, the whole nine yards. I get a like, major eye roll, whatever, from my teenagers, and the 2 smaller ones want to wear snowpants because there is a quarter inch of snow on the ground that they might get to play in at school. (that they won't have recess at those temps, they don't know yet, but hey! They're warm!).

So it is with great dismay that I drop my daughter off at the high school and I see kids walking into the school wearing a t-shirt, jeans, and flip flops. Flip flops. And the most shocking part of this is that these kids just exited Mom and Dads car dressed that way. WHAT IS WRONG WITH THESE PEOPLE!? HOW COULD THEY LET THERE KIDS OUT OF THE HOUSE DRESSED THAT WAY, LET ALONE, OUT OF THEIR CAR?! I don't get it. What are they teaching these kids by allowing this? What personality trait are they hoping to encourage by this? Do they believe the stories about global warming to such an extent that they are not at risk for frostbite at these temp? Will these parents feel that they did right by there children supporting their sense of individuality as the kids toes and fingers are being amputated from frostbite? When there daughter get made fun off by seventh graders because she doesn't have a nose, and kindergarteners run from there son because he has no ears, will they feel good that they let there child make his own choices?

I tell my daughter that these people make me crazy, and I spy a girl walking in to the school in a tank top and a skirt, I say that I hope there is a fire drill and these kids have to stand out side, so they can see how stupid they are! She thinks about it a minute, and says,"But Mom, my coat will be in my locker, so I won't have one either, and I will be cold, too."

Damn.

Don't bother me with details! And wear your coat to class!

Valentines Day

Now I know what you are thinking. A repeat of our anniversary. Not really.

BUT AM I ASKING TOO MUCH THAT HE REMEMBER THAT I DO NOT LIKE CHOCOLATE COVERED CHERRY CORDIALS!?

I think not. I know that there are a lot of woman out there that agree with me on this one. We take our chocolate very seriously.

Annoying Coworkers

Earlier, I spent a lot of time adding a post that was clever, timely and fun, about a particular co-worker. Somehow my blog didn't publish or even save as a draft. Dang!! I'm exhausted from the earlier effort and I think that there has been quite a bit of traffic past my cube by administration, so I am reluctant to try to recreate the previous blog. I am sure that I won't be able to recapture the spontaneity of it, and it will sound boring and unfunny. Most of my stuff is, so the good news is, your expectations aren't that high. (Dan, you feeling ok? This is a good site for you, shouldn't tax you too much!).

Anyway, after my disappointment that the post didn't carry over, let me just quote this for you. The annoying co-worker, hand to God, said this this morning..."Well, my hair is clean today so I can't keep my bun on top of my head. I think it makes me look a little sexy with this poncho and all.....".

This what I live with everyday at this job. I am in office cubicle hell.........

My Identity

As you see, my name is Momcani. Why? Because that is all I ever hear from my kids. That is simple enough. When I go home for the day, and put my key in the door, on the other side of the door, I hear the words "mom-can-I....." before I even have the door opened. It is not as tender as Mommy, or as perfunctory as Mom, but it serves me. To be honest, I lost me identity 18 years ago.
I used to be somebody with a name not a designation or a job. Since my daughter was born, I introduce my self as Emma's Mom, or with the boys now, David, Dougie, or Angus's Mom. (I don't want to hear it! These are not your kids, I will name them what I want!). I'm not upset about it. That is what I wanted to be from childhood, a Mom. What greater job could there be?

The only problem is that I don't know how to introduce myself with out saying my name is Momcani, Emma's Mom. As most of my adult contact is with other parents, this isn't a big problem. But when I met people who are not parents of my kids friends, I forget how to do it. I become so very twentysomething, and only give them my first name, like I'm afraid that they might steal my identity if I tell them my last name. Now to all of you twentysomethings, I'm not saying that your paranoid, or more careful then my generation, but we were raised to introduce ourselves a particular way, so I always feel awkward when I do it and do not give my full name. As if I'm saying "Stalker! I don't trust you!".

My children have the same problem as to them I am Momcani, not my real name. My husband is "honey" according to my youngest because that is what I call him. (unless he is in trouble, then I call him "HONEY!!!"). (My husband, not my youngest!).

Anyway, this post, in my mind, was going to be so much more clever, but basically, no, not so much. There seems to be a lot of that going around today. Anyway, that is why I call myself Momcani. Sorry, I'll try to do better next time.