So Long, Put Your Blue Jeans Back On Girl, Go Home, Remember

I own 28 different seasons of various tv shows. Eleven of them have to do with medical shows. Since working at the hospital, I have had several epiphanies. Chief among them is that people at real hospitals are no where near as good looking as people at fake hospitals. Not even close. I've had direct interactions with over a thousand patients in the past three months. I can tell you, at no point did I ever even think about asking for one of their phone numbers. Not a one. In their defense, some were unconscious, or had facial trauma, or were old. (On the list of things that used to be creepy to me, but now don't even register: Old people without their teeth in. Used to be so unsettling how the lips curled in way past vertical. Now, not even disturbed when they're asleep and their mouths close much farther than they should.)
The point is, where is one tasty coma wife? They just don't exist. I want them to, badly, but they don't. Now, of course, the shows revolve around the physicians and staff, and all of the television personnel are at least decent. #13, Elliot Reid, Cameron, Jordan, Kim. All of them very beautiful. Even the minor female characters are soft on the eyes. Real hospital staff, not even close.
Out of the hundreds of doctors, nurses, aides, dietary and janitorial staff, there are maybe a handful of ladies whom I would spend time with outside of the hospital. It's stunning. I don't know what I was expecting, but I can tell you hollywood taught me to expect more. And after working in a business office where the attractive girl to non-attractive girl was at least close to the one presented by "The Office", I had little reason to doubt the same ratios would hold from medical shows to medical work. For the record, they don't.
Word.
Ok, so I have to put this in, even though I know I already closed it out. It's completely unrelated, but completely amazing.
I was going through an old box where I store all sorts of notable things from my life. High school diploma, EFY pictures, tae kwan do black belt, you know a "memory box". (Note: mine is waterproof and always closed tightly. When you live in an area constantly struck by hurricanes, you just keep things in a constant state of ready-to-evacuate-ness.) As I'm going through, I see something I thought I had lost. Tickets to the two Giants games I went to during the 2001 season. One was against the Dodgers and the other against the Cardinals. Yes, that's cool to know I saw the 2001 home run chase of Barry Bonds in person, but the cooler part is on the back side.
Yep, there he is. The Say Hey Kid. It looked weird, and indecipherable, which of course lended to its credibility. I checked with his other signatures just to be sure I didn't imagine him signing it in the San Fran airport, and it's legit. I thought this was lost to time. I'm unbelievably pleased by this. Also, I found the ticket from the White Sox/ Royals spring training game I went to in 1997. Not much special, until I flipped it over and saw Johnny Damon's John Hancock. Needless to say, being awake at 4am has finally been worthwhile.
Word.