Well I Never Pray But Tonight I'm On My Knees

Loooooong day. My bred to the bone Greek work ethic is screaming at me to stay and get work done. The sane portion of me that is sick and tired of being taken for granted and FLAT OUT IGNORED is telling me to get my fat white ass home.

Seriously, that is not PMS talking. I once had an urgent question that needed an answer that would change how I did my job. I emailed the boss about it for 3 months. Finally threw in the towel and just went on doing my work the old way. 18 months later, the issue rears it's ugly head again, and yes, she seemed surprised to find that she had NOT taken care of it.

Sigh. I love my boss as a person, and I think bar hopping with her would be a blast, but she makes the baby jesus cry as a manager.

Think Fast! I'm about to digress. Or change subject matter.Meh.

OMFG! What is up with the total lack of older (Jesus, I just labeled myself "older" by proxy) goth types? Did they all pull a hippy boomer and go corporate? I spent some time perusing the boards over at gothic.net the last two days. These lambkins were all born in the 80's. The LATE 80's! I know we people in black adore cobwebs and all but damn that makes me feel creeky and old.

"In my day, we had to walk 12 miles to The Batcave in snow storms with no socks!"

Ahem.

Shit, now I want a clove cigarette. You know how long it has been since I have had one? It was last century, put it that way. Which makes me feel old again.

The problem, of course, is that I am not old enough. I want to be old enough to be retired. Old enough to say outrageous things in public and be forgiven. Currently, I say outrageous things in public and am NOT forgiven. Change would do me good.

I am going all bucolic this weekend. Spending the weekend up in the Gorge with the Pater and Mater Familis. And kiddobean. If Dad tries to make me hike, I am gonna have to get medievil on his ass. I intend to take my cd's and a boombox. I shall sit outside on the large stone patio and read, drink coffee, and listen to music.

Note to self, must buy apples. One of the women I work with came back from Hood River this week with apples the size of a newborns head. And they were to die for. Kiddobean and I sliced it and made caramel sauce and did the dip with it. Must buy.