Seriously You Guys....

Today, my brilliant pal Rob Delaney posted this moving piece on the importance of protecting the Affordable Care Act. As the mother of the twin preemies he mentions, I can attest that had we not had insurance coverage, we would've been hit with medical bills totaling nearly a million dollars. I'm not exaggerating, my husband and I added it up and it's literally ONE MILLION DOLLARS. Imagine how many houses we could buy with that money. At least one in LA! 

We are fortunate to have fairly decent (and wildly expensive) insurance, but a few years ago, I wasn't so lucky. In 2005, I suffered a debilitating seizure that left me unable to work for over a year. My shoddy but cheap HMO plan often didn't cover the many various doctors I needed to see or the necessary treatments. Other times, I was made to wait weeks, while in horrible pain, waiting for authorizations. Unable to work, I lost my apartment and I found myself trying to heal while living on a friend’s couch- depressed, scared and riddled with debt. As the bills piled up, I had no other option but to declare bankruptcy. In case you missed that, I had insurance and I still had to declare bankruptcy.

Things did get better. I got better. I will always deal with my "pre-existing condition," but I have a great support system including a shiny new husband that I'm super into and our two previously mentioned former preemies who stole my sleep but rip my heart to shreds on a daily basis.

Remember when you vote next week how vitally important it is that we protect the principals of the Affordable Care Act- keeping costs lowered, guaranteeing choice and making sure ALL Americans have access to quality care- not just rich white dudes.

*That's me in my best vest back in 2009 speaking to City Hall in support of the Affordable Care Act. Man I wish I knew what happened to that vest.

NICE TITS

I was strolling down Robertson the other day, high from the purchase of some overpriced t-shirts, when a fascinating thing occurred. As I passed a lil’ ol’ black man, he remarked loudly in my direction- “Nice tits.”  His tone was not, “Hey, thanks for bringing your boobs out on this sunny Sunday afternoon, allow me to acknowledge their loveliness with a well-timed compliment.” No - when he said, “Nice tits,” my first thought was, “Why is he mad at me?” He didn’t say the words so much as he growled them. I can only assume that he actually hates nice tits. Maybe a nice tit was mean to him when he was a child, or maybe a nice tit broke his heart in college. It’s not for me to say.

As shocking as his overt anger at my rack was, I was less surprised by his tone than the actual sentiment. Being an A Cup for most of my life, I’ve never had to deal with unwarranted (or even totally warranted) breast attention. I can count on zero fingers the amount of times I’ve had to say, “My eyes are up here.” If a man ever had a hard time maintaining eye contact with me, I was either talking about my feelings or a large-breasted woman was walking by.

But since giving birth eight weeks ago, I suddenly have boobs.* And not just any old boobs- big, juicy, D-Cup boobs. I haven’t taken them out on the town much, since nursing newborn twins means my boobs and I rarely see the light of day. On the off-chance I do leave the house, I’m generally wearing a combination of pajamas and old ratty t-shirts in a look that can only be described as “boner killing chic.” Just ask my husband.

So this particular stroll down Robertson was something special- a rare couple of hours out of the house with clean hair and eyeliner. I wasn’t crying, leaking breast milk or unintentionally peeing. You can imagine, then, how it felt to have this curmudgeonly old man growl, “Nice tits” at me.

It felt fucking great.

*the boobs pictured are not mine.