Also in today's mail, insurance slips for my car. And next month's insurance instalment is...$800. With the way my job is going right now, I may not make enough to pay it by the fifteenth. Those retard old people I hit three years ago are now taking their toll on me. I have to pay over $300 for bodily harm. The old retard in the passenger seat hit her head. A little. The tiniest bit. For insurance purposes, I'm glad I didn't kill her. For personal reasons (Floridians, old people, going through a yellow light in the wrong lane) I'm sad all four of them didn't die. As far as I'm concerned, the only thing ornery (because not all of them are ornery...Dave pronounces it 'ornry' cause he's Southern. Too cute. But I digress) old people contribute to our society is dirty diapers and money put towards dollar stores. I'm sure they were just rushing to one of our droll Canadian antique stores. I have never felt bad about totalling their new Caddy. Never. I can't believe I had good solid witnesses and NONE OF THEM STAYED ON THE SCENE TO HELP OUT. And now I have to go to the insurance company on Monday to get a total breakdown of the expenses I have incurred for the month of September.
At least I've got my license pic to keep me in a good mood for the next two years. Oh, how nicely I made my lip tone match my skin, even for the washed-out lighting of the lovely FE MTO.
FYI, because this could very well save your life one day: In the US of A, the collective citizens spend approximatly $3 000 000/a on children/babies. On their DOGS (not their cats, fish, birds, horses)? $10 000 000. That's right, more than three times as much. Why? Because they're all OLD PEOPLE with TEACUP RAT DOGS. Oh, and I'm sure there are very legitimate reasons. Like diamond-studded collars, gold-plated food dishes, and imported doggy wine from France. But seriously, there very well could be a reason for spending more on your dog than your kid. Because you're redneck trailer trash. Notice I did not say 'white trash'. There's all kinds of colours of trash. Go to Chicago, most of them end up on Jenny Jones for me to laugh at in the privacy of my parents' home.
And once again, the mood icons fail me. Agitated, anyone?