Trust me, I'm rich. (*Spoilers are written in white, you'll have to highlight them to read)

Will it betray my cool exterior if I admit that last night's Veronica Mars season finale made me laugh, cry, gasp and squeeee? It almost killed me. When Beaver blew up the plane carrying Keith and Woody, I think I honestly stopped breathing for like, okay all the way until Keith came out of his room asking if he smelled bacon. Poor little Beaver. Yeah, I can't help myself, I feel bad for the little fucker.Poor Veronica. AND Poor Mac! Mac has the ability that only Buffy's Willow had before her...that is to make me cry the instant she might seem even the slightest bit sad. Poor Wallace. Poor Weevil. Poor Logan (again).
Fuckin'-A to the Donut. Fuckin'-A to Lamb (even though he had no idea what he was doing) and fuckin'-A to the LoVe-ship.
Now I have to wait 6 months (if the CW network knows what's good for them) for both of my very favorite shows to return. Sigh.
Look, I'll say it again...that if you haven't been watching the V. Mars, I both pity you and envy the fact that you could, if you wanted, watch the entire series (to date...I'm looking in your direction and pointing my finger at you CW network...again) back to back, with no waiting through weeks of UPN induced, unexpected hiatus and no commercials for the first time.
So, in other, non-tv related news, I'm still sick, and as you might imagine, not so on the chatty-side. My chest feels like it's filled with little green, New York-accented beasts wearing wife-beaters and carrying suit cases.
My bus ride this morning smelled like a hobo took a bonafide coffee-dump and now I'm at work...wishing I worked someplace else or not at all.

P.S. Jason Dohring is like the hottest Scientologist ever. Any man who can dress like an Italian-drag racing homo...AND where that fucking puka-shell necklace and still make me feel trembly...has got some mega-magic. He must be wicked clear.