No Thanks, I'm Just Going To Whine About It For A Minute

You know what blows? Growing up. (When I answer my own questions, it should denote frustration.)

So, here's the big news: I'm finishing my VISTA in mere hours. It's been a whole year since I moved to this crazy-rat-race-city (O.K. not so much rat-racy. I keep reminding people, if your tires are rolling you're not really stuck in traffic) after 7.5 years of living in college towns. I have friends. I have been hired for another job. I have an apartment. My life is changing so fast it's practicially a blur, the futures so bright I have to wear shades, insert-another-cliche-here.

You know what I wish would move a little faster? Obamacare.

Because I will be a (warning, adjectives ahead) fully-employed, full-time, punching a clock, respectfully salaried, tax-paying individual who will still have to pay $604 PER MONTH for a full-coverage health plan.

That's easily mis-read. Hell, I thought it that was a yearly premium. So I will type it again.

Six Hundred Four Dollars.

American Dollars.

Per Month.

Through. My. Employer.

At roughly $18 an hour that's nearly a week's worth of work. Oh, and there's still a co-pay. And a deductible. Seriously?

I'm not hating on my employer-to-be. The poor HR person had to break the news to me that number wasn't a yearly premium. I am, however, hating on this ridiculousness. After a year of "living in poverty" (read: thank you, Dad) I have really had to think about what I'm willing to spend money on. Health insurance is something I'm not willing to live without. This new salary is a fabulous increase and will provide a very comfortable living little old me. However, If I was a single mother of two, it would put me dangerously close to the poverty line. Also, the cost to cover myself and my two children would hover near $1500. That's almost HALF of my salary.

I don't have a magic bullet for the healthcare/health insurance industry. I wish I did, I'd be rolling in it. (And then I wouldn't give any of this a second thought I would still think about this though, because VISTA told taught me to.) I do absolutely understand why people live without health insurance. I understand why people walk out on hospital bills. I'm talking about productive people, who put in 40+ hours a week. Because: $604 per month? Per person? Are you freakin' kidding me?

In other, funnier, news:

I sat for two little guys a couple of weeks ago, right before Halloween. The 4-year-old told me he was going to be a "Maple Leaf Pirate" for Halloween.

It took me at least 5 minutes to figure out that he either (a.) said, or (b.) meant, "Make-Believe" Translating for preschoolers, it's what I do.

Glitter Skulls Are 50% Off At Target

And it's taking every bit of my will power not to buy them out completely.

The first week of November makes me a little sad.

Mostly because I love Halloween like a fat kid loves...well, Halloween candy. (Bet you didn't see that simile coming.)

My mom made me the most stellar costumes when I was growing up. I was Maid Marion, complete with beautiful pink cape and candy-basket-of-wildflowers. I was a cat with the most intricate mask and coolest fuzziest tail. I was a bobby-soxer with a full-circle felt skirt, a cotton ball poodle and saddle shoes. I was a gypsy with a flow-y skirt made out of bandannas. An aside, I have no memory of any store-bought costumes even though I'm sure I begged for one when I was oh, say, an obnoxious 15 year old. (I know, you can't believe I was ever an obnoxious 15 year old. Not because I'm so much older than that, but because I'm so rational and even tempered that you couldn't ever picture me irrational, under any circumstances at any...oh nevermind. Show me a kid who wasn't an obnoxious teenager and I'll show you a bore.)

I attempted to translate my mom's awesome costuming ability into my life away from home. In college we did some awesome group costumes--thank YOU Goodwill. For example, one year we went as mixed drinks: cosmopolitan, jack and coke, Bahama mama. Last year I made myself cardboard bat wings and dressed up even though I was fully planning on sitting on the couch eating spaghetti and watching The Midnight Meat Train. Win.

This year I made myself a witch's hat out of craft foam, bobby-pinned it to a headband, wore some black and went to a caramel-apple-filled happy place. Also known as my friend/co-worker's (am I destined to explain our relationship in these awkward terms forever?) Annual Neighborhood/Family/Friend Totally Awesome Halloween Party.

(I'm crafty. In a I-like-to-craft sort of way. Insert one more Christine O'Donnell joke here.)

Halloween is my soul mate. (Sorry, M.) (Actually, I'm pretty sure he already knows this.)

Always the one to look for a silver lining, the good news is Thanksgiving is just around the corner. I do love to eat. As a matter of fact, I've always loved to eat. Case in point:

(Cookie Monster - circa 1986)

I'm bringing the boy home with me to meet the Fam. The Whole Fam. When you look up "trial-by-fire" in the dictionary there's a picture of my family Thanksgiving. It will be replete with inappropriate jokes, over competitive scrabble games, and food. And you have to eat all of the food. Because, "What am I going to do with all this food when y'all go!?!?" This should be good.