On a more personal note, my super-dark really cool jeans dyed my hands blue. Mr. Bump tried to cheer me up at lunch by buying me a hot chocolate. Which was terrible. How do you screw up cocoa, you might ask? Try not hot enough, not chocolate-y enough, and something funky was going on with the milk. And! And! No whipped cream! I could make tastier chocolate milk that that was. I would rather have a hot chocolate from Starbucks, and we know how I feel about Starbucks. About as good as I feel about using the royal "we" to refer to myself. By the way, that's called "nosism."
Nosism - The use of 'we' in referring to oneself.And to top it all off I have to get new insurance because my employer decided to drop my health insurance as a possible insurance option. Where's my hot chocolate now, bitch? I don't know what that means, actually. It just felt like a good thing to say. It gets the bilious rage up and out. The energy required to research all of the insurance options makes me exhausted just thinking about it. I guess I should just shut up and be glad I have insurance. Shutting up now.
Except for one more thing: I've decided that, in order to keep the memory of my "real" age in the frontal lobe, I've decided that each post this once will list someone who is my age. Today's peer is Tyra Banks.