States

Yesterday, at the dermatologist’s to get the birthmark mutation evaluated, I ended up waiting for an hour and fifteen minutes before the doctor showed his face. He looked at the birthmark and said, “We should do a biopsy of that, just to make sure,” (which I already knew) and turned around to leave (the whole interaction lasting a total of- no exaggeration- 3 minutes). I was pissed.

Me: That’s it?

Doctor: Yeah… Then we’ll know.

Me: So that’s it? I mean, I waited for over an hour for you to tell me I need a biopsy. Even I knew that.

Doctor: Well… I gave you a prescription for the rough patch on your arm…

He looked at me sheepishly when the nurse walked in, examined my shoulder and said, "So hey doc, what do you think? It looks like blah blah blah…"

Well turns out, they couldn’t even do a biopsy because they didn’t know what lab they could send it to that my insurance would cover. Since the doctor was over an hour late seeing me, and it was now past 5, they couldn’t even call my insurance company to get the info. So now I have to return, make another appointment, because their time is so much more precious than mine.

I hate the state of medical insurance in America.

Hmm...

I have a birthmark on my left shoulder. People have thought it’s a tattoo, told me it looks like a little heart, and my mom forgot I even had it. But best of all, when I was younger and played with Barbies and other dolls, I used to think it was my "Made in Taiwan" sign. (I hadn’t yet discovered I could twist my neck around to look at it).

Recently, I’ve discovered it’s growing.

Oh no!

My whole family, as if they don’t haunt every other aspect of my life, have now descended on Facebook. My 20 or so cousins have been on there for a long time (and I had them on my limited profile, of course) but now my uncle and my mom have invaded my space. That’s like having them move to San Francisco! I love them, but from afar. Can’t they keep away from the few spots I am my truest self?

Since there is no way I can refuse my mom or my uncle from coming to my online party (at least not without hurting their feelings- my mom has a LOT of feelings- or making them even more curious and suspicious about what exactly I’m up to, here, 3000 miles away from them) I had to put them in a separate room: the Limited Profile room. Unfortunately, there were already some people in the Limited Profile room and I had to move the walls around a bit, in order to fit them all. And most importantly, I had to make sure there were no windows (since I had no control over their eyes) to the party taking place outside. Not that it would have mattered much, but you know, there is that bastard child I’m hiding from them. (This is absolutely not a reference to any specific individuals, living or dead. Any similarities are entirely delusional and a figment of your imagination).

(Translation: There are pictures they need not see- from my albums or those I’m tagged in. And really, I’d rather they not know that I put a leash around my boyfriend’s neck or that Valancy Jane and I met each other in bed one serendipitous morning or that I’m an undercover agent who was hired to surreptitiously dispose of someone during a clandestine operation but ended up becoming best friends with him, instead. They will take it all literally. Though the leash was, well… definitely a leash.)

The point, ladies and gentlemen, is that since I refuse to censor what I have to say, I’ll just deny admittance to those who don’t want to hear it. After all, the unlimited room has no boundaries. And a loudspeaker.

Now where’s that bottle of Absinthe?