Two Drink Minimum

I'm in Vista Purgatory.

Despite my best computer skills and five-month old laptop and printer, I'm unable to print CD labels. And really, what is the point of music without personalized photo labels and covers, huh? I'm THISCLOSE to reformatting my Dell laptop with XP, though it will probably void the warranty, which would suck since Dell is quite attentive to my keyboard needs when long-clawed cats consistently pluck off keys.

Let the chorus from my Mac-lovin' family begin.

Stumbling across my religion

I had a dinner date last night with Christian*, a younger guy I know from work. I felt an instant connection when I met him last May, but assumed he was in a relationship since he never asked me out (oh, the ego!).

*My cell phone automatically corrected his name to "Christianity" when I entered the text into my address book. I find it amusing, in an Are you there, God, it's me, Margaret kind of way.

Turns out he was taking a time out (a year) from women because when he tried to take the knife away from his last girlfriend, who was trying to slice her wrist, she stabbed him. Sounds like the perfect training camp for a relationship with me. He also owns a coke machine, but rigged it to dispense Bud Light. Be still, my lush heart.

[Scarborough Fair - Simon & Garfunkel]

You say you want to be a supervisor?

After what I like to refer to as my "Crazy June Melt Down" (June - the month of Gemini's. Coincidence?), I came up with the ingenious plan of working in Iraq for one year starting next summer. Patrick would be in college, or hanging out in my carport building speaker boxes, or out in the world somewhere and I could take a year, working nonstop in the miserable heat (12 hours on, 12 hours off x 7 days/week), which would probably lead to massive weight loss, waiting for an "honorable" death. Life insurance doesn't pay if you kill yourself, you see, and I wouldn't want Patrick and my cats to lose their home.

Yes, I'm slightly twisted and always thoughtful, but apparently not transparent, because just about everyone, including my therapist*, thought it was good to have a plan. Something to shoot for. A reason to live.

*during our first of two sessions, he told me I was too intelligent for therapy. He asked me what the plan was...did I want medication? Someone to talk to? What did I have in mind? He also pointed out that I would be a hot little commodity in Iraq, given the male:female ratio. Eventhough we hit it off immediately, I didn't get much out of our gabfest, though I did follow his suggestion to try Michelob Ultra as a tasty low-carb beer.

However.

I've been at my current job for one year (which means my replacement had been at her job for one year, until she was fired on Monday for selling crack cocaine!). Our office is located in Baton Rouge, six hours away, which was okay when there were four of us, but now that our staff has been doubled to eight, some powers-that-be decided it might be a good idea if we had supervision and guidance of some sort. Enter my new promotion: onsite supervisor, pay raise 25%, then another cost of living raise in January.

It's more than the money...it's the power and future asskissings I look forward to the most. Just kidding. It's really about the money. Who wants a sugar mamma??

[West End Girls - Pet Shop Boys]