Please don't fire me

There is terror and then there is finding out your boss reads your blog. Normally this news would just run a close second to finding out that your bible/gun toting grandfather figured out that you shacked up with a dirty hippie, but when you are confronted with it pre-coffee, sans Maybelline war paint, it easily catapults to number one in theline of trauma inducing realizations.

My blog is soooo not job approved. The fact that he said he liked it or rather that it "was me" didnt make me less horrified. My boss read my man-bashing ramblings and therefor must think I hate his kind. I don't I swear!!

I curse, I judge, I talk about lots of things that are not sanctioned by office politics. And as I type these very words I know that someone, somewhere who sees me in my attempt to be a grown up from the hours of 8:30 to 6 is getting a whole different perspective.

I am a little mortified. Flattered that someone was interested enough to read my ramblings but hoping to dear lord something I say in this, my place of digital catharsis, doesnt offend someone.

I am pretty sure I need to curb my use of the word fuck.