I'm at the Hospital

Hubby's having his outpatient surgery today and I'm in the waiting area on my laptop.  At least there is a connection.  I thought I was going to die in the waiting room earlier sitting there full of old people the smell of Chantilly powder was overwhelming.  I know that might sound cruel, but damn octagenarians, please use some damn restraint when applying that damn stuff.  Damn again.  I couldn't breath, it was worse than agent orange.  

Oh man, I'm overhearing conversations in here and there's a chick in here that met a guy in surgery on Yahoo Personals.  She's in here introducing herself to his adult kids.  I'm not making this up, I swear.  I hate yuppies sometimes, I swear.  She's moaning about meeting ppl on the internets.  STFU.  I'm going to go into a rage.  I wish you could hear this stuff.  Oh god!  'If we don't have realistic conceptions of who we are, then how can we portray ourselves realistically...' blah blah blah.  Psudeo babble.  EXTREME.  *projectile vomits*

God, I can't block this woman out of my head.  I'm having kill fantasies again.  

I better end now because hopefully they will come soon and tell me I can come and see my hubby.