I choose not to live in Alabama

I thought hell on earth would be going back to work full time after staying at home for the past 6 years. I imagined all the injustices of work life like having to wear clean clothes and being pleasant all day [shudder]. Actually, hell on earth is going back to work and NOT being able to blog about it. How do bloggers stand keeping shtum about life at the office? It’s true I’ve managed to keep most of my personal life out of my blog, but I haven’t found that to be much of a challenge. I adore my community and my friends. I chose these people to join my circle because they are somewhat like-minded or vaguely interesting or they keep their liquor cabinet stocked. Some of them are even easy on the eye which is an added bonus. If you think I’m referring to you, Friend, well, you’re absolutely right.

When I signed on to work outside my home, I opted in to an established community of workers joined by the common need to earn money. Beyond that, the similarities are mostly random and oft times invisible to the naked eye. I squint a lot. Clearly, I have not been on the blog in recent days, but it has nothing to do with lack of material. I’m literarily constipated, and it’s very uncomfortable. So I must carry on as if my work life is something that exists in a parallel universe and keep the door to my work life closed.

I thought I’d keep work out of it, that is, until I came into work this morning with my health care forms completed only to learn that this company does not extend health care benefits to Domestic Partners. Really? Where AM I? Did someone transplant me to Florida without my knowledge? If so, why is it so cold outside? I'm going to face discrimination, my face should at least sport a sun kissed glow.

When I first accepted this job, I planned to waive health care benefits because Gabriella's company would cover us all...because that's the norm out here in post-medieval New Jersey. Since then, and as of today, Gabriella accepted an offer for a different job that she is pleased as punch to have. It's a great gig for her, and every part of it excites her. The stress and uncertainty of the past year became a distant, unrecognizable memory virtually overnight when she accepted this new job, and all was right in the world-except that her position is contractual. I am responsible for the health care benefits for our family.

I’ve lived in Chicago, New York and London, and I have never worked for a company that does not recognize Domestic Partnerships. Sadly, I would expect a company to spit on Domestic Partners in most other parts of the world, but I don’t live in most other parts of the world--on purpose! I thought I lived in that sliver of the free world where we could at least provide health care to our family.

I have successfully avoided all the mishigas of inequality in my work life until now. The HR rep at this company we’ll refer to as WTF.com explained to me that they could not offer health care for Domestic Partners here in New Jersey because WTF.com has offices in 7 other states. It is not mandatory in 2 out of the 8 states to offer Domestic Partnership benefits. Therefore, in the interest of equality, WTF.com chose the lowest common denominator in an effort to maintain a level of benefits “equal for all their companies”. Equal? Don’t you dare use that word with me unless you know WTF it means, WTF! Who knew I had signed on to work for a company whose policies are dictated by the backwards view of equality in Alabama?

I write this knowing that I've been outed as a blogger and that anyone from WTF.com might read this post. If you're reading this entry, know that Gabriella has sanctioned it in spite of the heat I might get at work. So be it. I'm pissed off. And we all know that it's better to be pissed off than pissed on...unless you're into that sort of thing, and that is really none of my business. At least we know that if your husband or wife should break out in some sort of burning rash as a result of your bedroom activities, your insurance would cover you like a warm stream of wee.

The End....not!