Not so blue ... not so mean

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We're ALL cracking up

Sunday, Sept. 04, 2005, 1:09 a.m.

I have approximately six kahillion bosses at any given time.

Some of them are fun to work with, some are non-fun, some are a total pain in the crack, and some just ... are.

Let me see if I can properly describe the boss who is currently filling in for Alterna-Boss (FUN!) and Night Boss (STRANGE! and possibly SEDATED!) while Night Boss is on leave.

You know that saying, "So-and-so woke up on the wrong side of the bed"?

Yeah, this guy? Not only woke up on the wrong side, but he also seems to have fallen off the wrong side, banged his head on the wrong side, and stubbed his toe on the base of the wrong side.

I kind of understand, though.

The thing is, one of his jobs is to record the news at various times of night, and take notes on ... I don't know, whatever it is he takes notes on. So he has to actually watch the news three times per night, rather than just pushing "record" and walking away.

Have you watched the news lately? It's not exactly sunshine and happy puppies. Meaning, somebody who's forced to sit in front of it as often as he does is bound to get a little bit, oh ... how do you say "if he were a woman he could blame it on PMS" without it sounding wrong?

Oh well. The only time this really affects me is when he's all, "Turn that music down! I know I'm only in my 30s, but I'm going to harass you about loud music as if I were 80! I don't care if it's only three decibels -- turn it down lower, rapscallion!"

(By the by, the loud music in question happened to have been graciously provided by Maven the Rump Shaker, who made this evening's booty-wiggling possible.)

The rest of the night, the benefit is mine, as I get to sit peacefully at my desk and listen to him making snide remarks to the television.

Now, I talk to the TV at times. I think we all do. During Jeopardy? When that brain-dead idjit just can't muster a "What is the Spanish Inquisition?" ("Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!!") You know you're threatening to beat the contestant with a two-by-four. Or maybe you're watching a movie in which the protagonist is in grave danger and still insists on going into the deserted house wearing four-inch heels and a negligee -- tell me you're not yelling, "You fucktard! Call the cops! Run AWAY! Not TOWARD! Don't -- GAHHH!"

But the thing is, Irrita-Boss (as we are now apparently calling him) just talks to the news. Has a little chat with it, if you will.

"Oh, so that's what you think? That's pretty stupid."
"Why don't you just shut up? You sound like an idiot."
"Yeah, great idea, dude."
"Lady, what is wrong with you?"

I think this could also be another thing which keeps me from going completely over the edge. When I start having conversations with your journals ("Come on! It can't be that bad. Stupid whiner"), then it'll be time to call the men in white coats.

Not -- as some of you may have suspected -- yesterday.

I've got guard duty tomorrow night, so ... have a lovely Labor Day. Set a grill on fire for me!

And donate to the danged Red Cross, already!

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