It's hip to wear a Spice Girls hat. Really.

Well, it looks like all the wonderful rain I have been enjoying has moved on. I know living in Southern California I am supposed to want sunshine and warm weather and all that jazz, but fuck that. I love rain. Celestia, the office psychopath (who really has nothing going on in her own life except to update everyone in the office on the weather every single goddamned day and how much snow Mammoth mountain is getting right at this very moment), said “maybe you should go to Seattle if you love rain so much!!” I am not even going to tell you where I thought of telling her she should go. Retard.

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Yesterday I had to go visit a Pulminary doctor (pulminologist? Pulminist? Pulminarian? I don’t know what the hell they’re called), and I was the only person in the office less than 1000 years old. Well, as I was forking over my $30 copay (ouch), I noticed one old guy in particular. He must have been pretty close to 100, could barely speak, couldn’t hear, had huge cataract glasses on, a walker, and the very best accessory of all: a Spice Girls hat. Jesus Christ, I so wished I had my digital camera on me.

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I still haven’t heard about my surgery. Seriously, I may have a heart attack if they don’t give me an answer soon. I hate this. This is worse than being a kid on Christmas Eve. Well, unless you’re a Jewish kid… then you pretty much don’t give a fuck about Christmas Eve. Whatever. I just want an answer already.

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I was happy to see the Red Sox wipe up the field with the Yankees’ asses last night. I am not a big fan of any team in particular, but I am always happy to see the Yankees get eliminated. They are way too cocky. Although, I would go console Derek Jeter personally if he’d let me. Call me Derek. Seriously. I may not be one of those boney groupie girls in low rise jeans and a halter top, but I have low self-confidence, which means you can pretty much go all Kobe Bryant on my ass. Alright. I probably won’t let you go there. Whatever. Just call me, ok? Thanks.

I don’t really follow any sports religiously, unless it’s a bunch of rednecks driving in a circle for four straight hours. That is all kinds of hillbilly fun, people. I loooove nascar. I am so white trash.

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Work is so not happening today. I can’t think straight waiting for this stupid insurance approval. I was feeling pretty sorry for myself this morning about this whole thing, whining about why my insurance won’t approve me when every other idiot seems to not have a problem getting it. Until my girlfriend (the one with the new baby and the dipshit husband) told me that her Mother’s cancer has come back, and that her insurance won’t approve her stem cell transplant. Fucking hell, man. What the fuck do we pay for insurance for? They won’t approve a goddamned procedure that is going to SAVE HER LIFE?

I used to think politicians were the devil (ok, they still are), but now I think insurance companies are running a real close second. Bastards.

Alright, I am done. For now.