So last week, Carl and I went to a concert. It was awesome, except for the drunk chick that dumped her beer on the guy in front of me and the hundred people or so that squished passed us trying to go back and forth to the bathroom and get drinks from the bar. There was a ton of yelling and of course swearing ensued because this is South Florida and I’m involved and it’s de riguer.
Also, I was the hottest Asian at the concert. Fine, I was the only Asian there. I am not counting the one Asian guy that was so drunk, he thought the bouncer was his girlfriend. And also, he threw up on his shirt. So I don’t count him.
I’m still working on writing a post from the sleep study I endured last year. I know. It takes me a long time to get shit done. And I can’t find the pictures I took – those are pretty funny. At least Carl thinks so.
I got a call from the pulmonologist’s office. They want to know why I never went back for my appointments. Hmmm . . . welll: I cancelled an appointment last December because I was sick and also because I found out the CPAP mask (AKA my Bane/Hannibal Lector mask) I’m supposed to wear to help with my sleep apnea costs almost $700. Insurance doesn’t cover it. What’s the point in having fucking insurance? Did I miss something here?
I watched True Tori. There’s some shame as I type this, like wearing a brown paper bag over my head shame. I’ll have to live with this for the rest of my life. Go ahead and judge me. I’m judging me. Let’s just stop talking now.
Oh fuck. I just ran out of deodorant. Everyone put on their gas masks now. NOW, goddamit, now!