You know, I'm sure Rick DiPietro is a nice guy. I'm sure he's good to his mother and kind to animals. He probably picks up after himself and dandles little babies on his knee. I'll bet he even cooks and puts the seat down after he's done.
I don't care. I still don't like him, or anyone else who plays for the Islanders, goddammit.
On the other hand, Alex Ovechkin could probably run over squirrels and trip little old ladies, and I would still love him.
The refi continues to continue -- I got hold of the insurance company and easily completed the change to the hazard policy, but the flood insurance is another matter altogether. First, the agent had to ensure that Ocean City, Maryland -- a barrier island plopped between a bay and the Atlantic Ocean -- is in a flood hazard area.
And guess what! It is!!
But before she can tell me that a policy is going to cost us more than we could ever hope to make in all of our lifetimes combined, we have to get a flood elevation certificate.
So I faxed off all the stuff the bank wanted us to sign, along with a lovely memo explaining that the credit card in question probably belongs to my nephew who is currently vacationing on a goddamn private island (and I am SO NOT KIDDING about that) and we'll verify it next week, when we'll also get the insurance squared away.
I suppose I could let all this nonsense (and other nonsense as well) bend me out of shape and tap dance on my nerves... but it's too much work.
The sky is beautiful this time of year, and the light is golden.
Everything will work out in the fullness of time.