Daly vs. Daily

March 11, 2014

I disappeared.

I know.

I lost my voice.

I finally found it.

I used it today…on the phone with Blue Shield.

It took me 11 days and two hours to connect with a customer service representative.

Needless to say, I was at my breaking point.

If I wasn’t so accident prone, I would have just let the policy lapse.

This is a summary of our call:

BS: No ma’am, your husband could not have removed himself from this policy without your authorization. You’re the primary policyholder on the account.

Me: I realize this. And it’s miss.

BS: What?

Me: You called me ma’am. It’s miss. I’m not that old. I know I’ll continue to age but I’m not THAT old right now. For instance, the man you referred to as my husband is 15 years older than me. He is ma’am. I am miss. Make sense?

BS: Of course, miss.

Me: Also, as far as the law is concerned, he’s my husband. But that’s it. For the purpose of this call – if you could refer to him as ma’am or the man I’m waiting on to process the paperwork that will allow us to legally detach – I would sincerely appreciate it.

BS: Of course, miss. How about Mr. Daly?

Me: That’s the same person. I’m still legally married to that ma’am.

BS: *changes the subject*

BS: Mr. Daly would like to cancel his coverage, correct?

Me: Yes. I have an email here that says he called you a few weeks ago to make that change. He also needs me to pick up my hope chest. But I already crossed that off my list.

BS: I do have a note here that Mr. Daly tried to cancel his coverage and we told him he could not do so without your approval.

Me: (laughing) I bet he loved that.

BS: I apologize that change was not already made and confirmed. If you could verify a few things for me, I can cancel his coverage now that we’ve got you on the phone.

Me: Yes?

BS: Mr. Daly’s birthdate?

Me: I’m not sure. I need to text my mom. She knows. And she always answers my texts.

BS: Ok, miss.

Me: Is there anything else I can verify? He kept our cats. I know their names. He likes candy. Anything like that?

BS: Not really, miss.

Me: Honestly, I’m surprised you’re still on the phone with me. But I waited 11 days and two hours to speak to you (I even tried once in Spanish). I never planned on making this pleasant for either of us. I probably owe you a thousand dollars too. The way I see it? I really have no incentive to stop humoring myself. And of course I know when he was born…ish.

BS: Thank you. If I could place you on a brief hold, I will make these changes to your policy right now.

Me: That’s fine. But I know where your office is located. I will drive there if we get disconnected. Nobody wants that. And before you put me on hold, could you tell me if you still have his payment information on file?

BS: His payment information?

Me: Yes. The card that was being used for automatic payments on this account. I’d like to use that card to buy eye makeup remover while I’m waiting for you to come back on the line.

BS: *crickets*

BS: I’ll just be one minute, miss.

Me: Fair enough.

BS: Mr. Daly has been removed from the policy. Is there anything else I can do for you today?

Me: Yes. You can tell me how much I owe you. I imagine I’ll be penalized for the fact that no one confirmed this policy change weeks ago. Could you email me confirmation of the cancellation, a current statement and any other relevant changes to my policy/rate?

BS: I would be happy to email that to you. Your email address?

Me: *gives her my personal email address*

BS: Thank you, Miss Daily.

Me: Oh dear.

BS: Yes?

Me: It’s Paulsen. Miss Paulsen.

BS: But your email says…

Me: I know. My email says Daily. It’s spelled differently. And it’s not my last name.

BS: I’m sorry?

Me: Me too. Well, I’m not that sorry. It’s kind of funny. It’s Daly vs. Daily. He’s Daly. Like the Bob. I’m Daily. Like the blog. It’s like Kramer vs. Kramer. But better. Because there’s only bangs (no kids) involved.

BS: *crickets again*

Me: You have maintained an unbelievable level of professionalism on this call. I would have hung up on me long ago. Oh wait, your customer service line did hang up on me – more than a dozen times. I’d say we’re even. That being said, thank you so much for your help. If you were with me right now, I’d buy you lunch at Chipotle. But I have a feeling you don’t want to hang out.


Lights Out

August 16, 2013

You know you’re in a good place when…

You don’t need the last word.

You may not even need to participate in the situation/conversation.

The only thing you need to help you sleep is HBO.

Your favorite Bruno Mars song (the sad one) makes you smile.

You turn it up when you hear it. You’re not afraid of it (anymore).

You can set your ego aside (even if only at times).

You recognize how heavy a load an ego is to bear.

Even with the thickest neck and the broadest shoulders, it’s obvious an ego is beyond a burden.

You dream (again).

You can hear your own laugh. You can hear every single syllable.

You sing (so loud).

You dance (like such a nutcase).

You cry (it’s all got to come out).

You know you’re irreplaceable.

You desire no different/better company than the company of your friends.

You’re not looking ahead, or behind. You’re planted firmly where you are. You know there’s no other place you should (or could) be at this/that particular moment.

You name the puppy.

This poor pup has been through a lot since his adoption. A series of unfortunate events has required a handful of drastic, but necessary, name changes. At first, the puppy was Jameson…then Gosling…then Caleb. Now, he’s Ray Donovan. And he’s got serious street cred.

On that note…

Ray Donovan doesn’t say much.

He doesn’t have to say much (see: street cred).

On his behalf…I’ll say sweet dreams.

And goodnight.



August 12, 2013

They told me not to do it.

Every last one of them.

They told me not to walk home.

They said they would call me a cab.

Or they would drive me home.

Or they would walk with me.

I just had to wait a little bit longer.

But I was hungry.

And it was coming up on 3 a.m.

If I wanted a gyro (stuffed with French fries), I needed to hit the road.

So I did.

Let’s face it…listening isn’t really one of my strengths anyway.

I got my gyro. I got some yogurt dip too. I needed both. Obviously.

I was less than a block away from home.

And I ate @#$%.

I ate @#$% so hard the sidewalk was laughing at me.

I shook it off (I was hungry) and I limped home.

I ate my gyro and I went to bed.

No big deal.

I woke up in a panic. Maid Marian was coming over. We had big things to do. She’s a morning person. I (clearly) am not. She’s also a good friend. I did not want to disappoint her (I’ve tried that before, it sucks).

I rolled out of bed…

My foot was fat. So was my ankle. Both were black and blue.

There was also blood all over my white comforter (classy, I know).

Apparently, I had taken a few layers of skin off my knee…which was also swollen, black and blue.

Rather than spoil mine and Maid Marian’s day, I threw on six band-aids and some shoes.

No big deal.

By the time we sat down for lunch, blood was running down my leg and I could barely move my calf.

I drove myself to Urgent Care.

I left – on crutches.

All the Bros that told me not to walk home thoroughly enjoyed telling me “I told you so.”

The crutches made me beyond miserable. So did the super stupid crutch things people like to say.

For example…

1. “Hey gimpy.”

Gimpy isn’t a cute word. It’s not a funny word either. You could call me pretty much anything else. Seriously. I have called myself (and I’m sure I’ve been called) WAY worse. I hate gimpy jokes. And I hate everyone that thought it was either cute or funny to make them.

2. “You look uncomfortable.”

Uh, that’s because I am. I have bruises in and around my armpits. I’m sweating (I don’t even sweat when I workout, actually, I don’t even workout). I can’t drive my own car. The only two living creatures totally available for me right now are my kittens. But I commend your use of common sense. Idiot.

3. “You should get a better story.”

I get it. I fell. Walking. It’s kind of boring. But these bangs aren’t boring. I fell REALLY hard in the most beautiful four-inch heels. And I saved my mother@#$%ing sandwich. I enjoyed eating said sandwich before I went to bed. LIKE A GANGSTER. That should count for something.

End. Rant.

I ditched the crutches and the brace after a week. I went back to my blunt-banged business as usual. I noticed my ankle would bug me from time to time. But I thought, eh.

No big deal.

During a very important waxing appointment, my esthetician (and dear friend) asked me what was wrong with my ankle. I felt scared. And vulnerable. She was ripping hot wax off my body while she was checking out my imperfections. I didn’t realize she did that.

Turns out my ankle was still pretty swollen (at least that’s what she says).

She threatened me.

So I agreed to see a specialist.

I had barely introduced myself to the specialist before I was being fitted for a seriously sexy boot.

Apparently, it was no sprain.

I had torn tendons and ligaments.


Kathleen (what’s up Boo) and I took the boot out to celebrate.

In the bathroom, I met another boot.

But not just any boot.

A very cute glitter boot.

We both laughed hard when we saw our boots.

She snapped a pic and said “TWINNING!”

I knew it was meant to be.

I actually don’t know the other boot’s name, but I did get permission to post our pic.

Cheers pretty lady!

I think we make these boots look damn good.

Even in the ladies room.

Especially in the ladies room.