Bitch Friday: Good morning, cocksucker

Bitchy Bucky Barzedor broods balefully

It's PMS, I'm sure of it, that's put this big burr under my saddle today. I am, as Mouse would say, one min and bishy leddy. I can always tell it won't be a promising day when I throw my pillow across the room upon hearing the wretched alarm clock. If you don't want me pissed at you, then never accept the job of waking me up in the morning; I take it rather personally on days like this. Well, that's not always true. There are ways to wake me up in a better mood than that, but who's got a crowbar and ten jars of Miracle Whip at 5:30 in the morning?

Despite the scowl I couldn't cover with any amount of makeup, I still managed to be early to work (whereupon the angels sang and made me watercress sandwiches). There are things on my desk that just won't go away, no matter how long I pretend they're not there, so I figured this would be the perfect quiet time to catch up and clear away some paperwork. Make some space on the desk, in case I feel the sudden urge to jump up there and get all footloose. It sucks to dance on one's desk, only to be brought to the ground with sudden ferocity and finality by a stray memo under one's prancing foot.

Oh, yes, I had my grandiose plans clutched to my bosom like some baby that had never once looked like a canned ham, and all it took was a few words to rip it from my arms and sell it to the gypsies. As I walked past the front desk, the first words I heard were "Can you check the web server? [web server backend guy] is on vacation today."

In the grand scheme of things, and even in the dinky scheme of things, this is not a huge thing. Annoying? Yes. A big hairy deal? No. I stop a couple of processes, start up a couple of processes, check the log files, then bob's yer uncle. But you would think, from my reaction today, that I'd just been told that the Japanese had built a Pearl Harbor replica in Flint and then bombed it. The first volley to fly out of my mouth consisted of, I believe, four cocksuckers, three motherfuckers, and two orders of raw fuckfuckfuck. It's a good thing there aren't too many people in my building at 6:45 a.m., or I'd be tweakin' my resume instead of bloggin' about my cuntlike behavior.

I later thought about my little hissy fit, and it made me think of the Frank Zappa song Honey Don't Ya Want a Man Like Me: "I'm having a petulant frenzy. I'm petulant, and I'm having a frenzy."

I still, to this day, wonder if it was a mistake to stop the doctors halfway through my lobotomy.