Feb. 21st, 2017

sistawendy: (smoldering windblown Merc alley)
I am currently gussied up and looking mighty fine, if I may say so myself, for dinner with a certain elder Goth who isn't feeling well and so postponed. Not a date.

Getting together with Grenade on Sunday, about which I am psyched. Not a date either, but I sure wouldn't mind if it were.

I finally broke down and got an HP 6968 printer/scanner for taxes, insurance claims, and various kinds of circumflatulation. I did connect it to my laptop via WiFi, but I passed on the web-based print service because DANGER WILL ROBINSON. The printer/scanner is not intended to be used for dating, you freaks.

My father's brother has asked for my copy of the Navajo dictionary that his father contributed to. He wants to donate it to the historical site with which my father's family is associated. (I've been there once, in '89.) It seems like a good idea to me; I lost the thing for a few years, and I don't want to lose it again. Besides, it should be where people will see and appreciate it. Mentioning my uncle and dating in the same sentence gives me a headache.

Discussions for nailing down the venue for my 50th birthday party. The price, facilities, and general attitude of the proprietress are eminently reasonable, but there's one wrinkle: I'm not allowed to divulge the name (or, I suppose, address) of the venue until the day of the event. I hope invitees won't get too cheesed off at me about that. I'll be asking her if I can at least name the neighborhood, among many other things. This party is not a date, but it'll be my 50th birthday and I'll be in a fabulous leather corset, so I better get at least one good kiss out of it.

I have dates scheduled for Friday and Saturday night. If I don't survive, I'll die happy.


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