fankie…the blog

You know me. I hate to say anything positive. But I gotta tell ya, I was pleasantly surprised this morning.

After paying my homeowner’s and car insurance payments over the phone and being assessed the $5-you’re-an-asshole-for-not-paying-us-a-week-ago-when-you-got-paid penalty, I was on a roll. I needed more fiscal punishment. I picked up another bill and made a phone call I’ve been avoiding for the past 2 and a half weeks.

It was a medical bill for a visit from, I shit you not, 2006. Bascially, it said I had to pay $300 because my insurance wasn’t going to pay it because we hadn’t hit our deductible.

I knew this couldn’t be right. I was in the hospital all the time in 2006. This visit was from November. By that time I’d had the big V and a nice round of gastroenteritis (expensive diarreah).  There’s no way I couldn’t have hit the deductible, even if I didn’t hit the bowl everytime. Oh, wait.

Anyhoo, I called the doctor’s office up and asked them if  this wasn’t being mixed up with a more recent visit from the past couple months. They said that no, it wasn’t. They really were referring to a 2006 visit, and apparently I hadn’t met the deductible that year.

But then something amazing happened.

“You know, that is ridiculous that it’s taken them so long to figure this deductible thing out,” the woman said. She told me she’d run it past her boss and get back to me.

Less than an hour later, she called back and said that basically they thought it was dumb do make me pay this bill nearly two years later and that they would just write it off.  I still can’t fucking believe it! I was ready to start digging out past bills and policy numbers and all this shit in hopes of proving that I didn’t have to pay this bill and this lady basically just said “Eh? Fuck it. You don’t need to pay it. Fugghettaboutit.”

I almost made it through the rest of the day without getting pissed off at anyone or anything. Things were kick-ass until about, oh, 2 o’clock or so. But no elevators were thrown, at least. Good thing, too, because if they had been, I’m sure I wouldn’t have been able to afford the deductible.

ps–Did I mention I got to interview Tiffany?

Yes indeed, THE Tiffany. I spoke to her last week over the phone and she was awesome–and she knows how to wrestle now. Click the pic below and check it out!

Flashback to December 2007. I have really no reason for posting this, other than I noticed no one’s logged on to the website for a couple of days and I’m hoping this sets off someone’s RSS feed. Man, I’m a sack.

Today is the day. The day my sweet Squishy was brought into the world. Happy birthday, my love!

We had a nice, mellow birthday weekend. The cake, by the way, was excellent. It was a nice white cake with rapsberry filling and butter cream frosting, with just a sprinkling of storm-out on top. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

We hit one of them “lottery bars” that are all the rage with the kids these days. We picked a good day to go–with it being Father’s Day, there was hardly anyone in the joint. Seeing as how it was 1 pm, that probably helped too.

The bartender essentially met us at the door, though, apparently convinced we were under age. But were ready for this,  and we had our IDs in hand. She was flabbergasted by Squish’s age. She did a quadruple double-take, in fact. Normally we get a double-double take, but this woman almost had an accident in her pants. I’m not sure if that was because of her own age, or if it was because she just really couldn’t believe what she was reading.

“How the hell could you have been born in 19__?” She asked. Then she looked at mine and did one double take, which I was quite pleased with. Apparently convinced she didn’t need to turn us away she goes “Do you guys want some sodas or coffee?”

Sodas or coffee? We were in a bar, correct? Squish ordered some wine. I had the same and Squish found us a couple video poker machines.

As I waited at the bar for the wine, the woman came over to me and whispered “How old is she again?” Squish had already pointed out that the woman didn’t even catch the fact that the next day was her birthday, and that any good bartender would have at least said something, if not given her a free drink.

I said “She’ll be __ tommorrow,” trying to drop a hint. It went right over her head and into the HD TV screen behind it.

“Wow, what does she do?” It was one of those questions too stupidly rhetorical to answer. So I just did my bullshit chuckle that I don’t do much anymore because I’m too big of an asshole. You know the one (or maybe not) that goes “Heh heh heh, shit.” Hey, I pull out all the stops on my Squishy’s birthday.

So here’s the next pudcast. Very slap-dick. Very slap-dick indeed. At least I gave the cake-decorator bitz the what for. Check it out bitches.

Happy birthday, my love! I love you! Mwah!

Squish’s birthday is on Monday. We’ve already started celebrating. We’re pre-funking as we speak. You’re probably asking yourself why the hell is he on his stupid blog instead of pre-funking with his hottie wife? Well, Squish is posting more of the first installment of Stanky and Squash, her comic. She’s changed the name to Stanky and Friends. It’s getting like a billion hits already. So check that shit out and make it a billion and five.

I’ve been out shopping today for Squish’s birthday. I won’t say where I’ve been other than “the store” so as not to spoil the suprises I have in store for my lovely bride. Of course there was an “incident” at one of said stores. I’ll tell ya about it in tommorrow’s pudcast. But rest assured, a classic Fankie storm-out was invovled. No I won’t get that rage in check. At least not now. It’s my Squishy’s birthday! Yaaaay! 

Happy Birthday, sweet Hooooooooey! Yeah, I call her Hoooey, too. Did I mention that we’ve already started drinking? Her birthday’s on Monday. That means there will be more alcohol invovled. Wooo hooo! Happy Birthday Squishy! Do I repeat myself when I get drunk? It seems like I do. Happy Birthday, Squishy!

Yes, I’m still coming to terms with the fact that Federer not only lost in the French Open final to Nadal today, but that he lost 6-1, 6-3, 6-0. I don’t know about Federer, but my soul’s certainly broken. At least I slept through it. And even better than that, we the pudcast to mend our broken souls. It’s a classic, thanks to Phatthew and Kermit.

I was going start my own Internet radio station. But I’ve decided just in the past hour to say fuck it and bag the fucking idea. The software sucked and there were too many stupid fucking rules and I wasn’t having fun. So I took my balls and went home.

That being said, tommorrow’s gonna be a good fucking day if I have anything to say about it. Fed Vs. Rafa in the French Open Final. Sex and the City with Squish and some ladies from work. Game 2 of the NBA finals (which I don’t have a DVR for, but NBA games are too long anyway. That’s what highlights are for, right?) and a new pudcast, with special guest star Phatthew.

Oh, and I know that people were getting worried that I hadn’t updated my faces and tummies for a while. They’re up to date now, so fear not.

I’m in it. No one cares but me. And Squish. Check it. I’ll tell you more about it in the next pudcast. My unedited question was much more interesting, just fyi. And by the way, Martina’s wrong.

I scored the interview of a life time: Austin AKA The General. That is all that needs to be said. Other than “numnah.”