I just wanna break you down so badly, while I trip over everything you say. I just wanna break you down so badly, in the worst way.

Pet Peeve of the Day: When you tell someone you're afraid of something, and they either make fun of you or tell you you're dumb for being afraid of whatever it is.

Example 1: When I was in high school and into college, I was deathly afraid of birds. They still creep me out, but I'm not as actively afraid of them as I used to be. (And no, before you ask, it wasn't because I saw Hitchcock's "The Birds." I saw that my sophomore year and it actually wasn't nearly as frightening as I'd anticipated. They're just creepy.)

So my friends thought the fear was really, really funny, and they'd point out birds whenever they saw them, or make fun of me for being afraid of them. One friend who will remain nameless (you know who you are) would constantly, constantly berate me for the fear. He'd say, "What are they going to do?" and I'd say, "They could peck me to death," and he would roll his eyes and tell me how dumb I was being.

My whole thing here is that, just because YOU are not afraid of something doesn't mean it's not a legitimate fear for someone else. (The same friend, whenever I'd say anything about being afraid of the dark, would say, "You're not afraid of the dark. You're afraid of what's IN the dark." And I don't mind telling you that I resent him a little bit to this day for that, because by saying that, he's trivializing the very real fear of being in darkness that I have.)

Like, I have a friend that's afraid of clowns, which, to be fair, are kind of creepy. I, personally, am not afraid of clowns, but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate the fact that she is. I wouldn't take her to a circus, for example. That's just mean. I don't necessarily understand the fear, but I can appreciate that it's there. So to all of my friends who made fun of me during the bird stage, you're kind of jerks.

The reason for this small tangent is that there was a woman in here a few minutes ago, about an article for this after school program some high school football players visited.

What you have to understand, if you haven't figured this out already, is that high school football is like a religion around here. That much was evident from the attendance at the County Clash this year. These people live, breathe and eat football. Did you ever see Varsity Blues? It's exactly like that, complete with James van der Beek's really, really bad accent.

So, this team went to visit these kids, and I'm putting in an article about it. The woman was very, very, VERY insistent that this article and the article about their rival football team doing something similar were NOT in the same edition of the paper. I said, "Well, you know, I can't really guarantee that," meaning, if the person from the other school ever gets back to me about the names for the cutline, I'll run it. She looked me dead in the face and said, "Then you need to let me know who I need to talk to to ensure that. does. not. happen. I'll go to the top if I need to. These kids have worked too long and too hard to have their pictures printed next to [the other team's] pictures. That will. not. happen."

I was stunned. I had nothing to say (which is fairly rare for me) and I stuttered a lot. Carrie said she could hear my nervous laughter from her office.

Then the woman said, "Besides, we sent ours in FAR before [the other school] did."

I looked in my e-mail and said, "Well, actually, they sent it in the day before you guys did."

That, in retrospect, probably wasn't the smartest thing I've ever said. It was true, though! The other school HAD sent their thing in the day before. She gave me a very frightening look and, I swear to God, I thought she was going to hit me.

Eventually, she left, etc.

So I went into the newsroom and told Vi about the exchange, and I told her I was scared of the lady. Vi laughs at me, mockingly, and says. . .well, I can't remember her exact words, but the basic gist was that I was dumb for being afraid of the woman.

Where, exactly, does she get off telling me what I am and am not allowed to feel? I was genuinely afraid of this woman. I was afraid she was going to lash out and hit me (she really was getting that worked up) or that she'd go down and talk to the general manager and get me into some kind of trouble (his kids go to the same school the woman was representing, so I'd lose no matter what). Legitimate fears. But she's telling me I'm dumb.

I think not understanding someone's fears is one thing, but I think ridiculing people for them is something else entirely. I'm sorry I'm over-emotional and easily excitable. I actually, all things considered, usually hide that pretty well. This job makes me cry often, but in day to day life, I hold things in pretty well. So no, Vi, you don't get to tell me what I am and am not allowed to feel. Sorry.

Also, I had plans Friday and, when I mentioned that to her, she said, "Do you have a date?!"

Good God ALMIGHTY. If that woman asks me one more time whether I have a date or not, I'm going to BLOW A GASKET.

ALSO, and I don't mean for this to be a Vi bitch fest, but it just so happens it's one of those days. We had our "8:30" meeting this morning, since it's Monday. The "8:30" meeting is set to begin at 8:30, and everyone get ripped a new one if they're not here by 8:30, but they typically don't begin until some time between 9 and 9:30. The one time I got here exactly at 8:30, rather than earlier, was the one time they started a couple minutes early. Seriously.

So we're in this meeting and Vi was telling us that we don't have anything else to worry about in regards to staff cuts, because they're cut down the newsroom as much as they possibly can, and everyone else is fine.

Well, that I don't believe, incidentally, because the GM lies. But that's another story entirely.

Anyway, she starts going on and on about how we need to fix things up, we need to work together, and "now that we have a smaller paper and more time on our hands," and so on. She asked for any comments or ideas about how we might be able to work things better.

I spoke up and said that I'm not entirely sure where she's getting the notion that we have more spare time now, that actually, my personal workload and Carrie's workload both have increased since McHotpants was let go.

To give you an idea of what my Tuesdays look like, I'll give you my list of things I do. As the Religion Editor, it's my job to get the religion section out. I need to find things to put in it, format the things I get, write things if need be, layout the page, etc. I do everything. That's two pages.

Then it's on to the Lifestyles pages, where I do everything I do for the Religion section, except there's usually more writing and more e-mails to process. That's at least three pages.

Then there are the obits. I format those, put them in AP style, and lay them out. At least one page.

Then there's anything else Vi decides to throw my way. So, on any given Tuesday, that is at LEAST 6 pages I'm guaranteed.

And since, despite cutting back on pages, they're not going to get rid of Lifestyles, Obits, and Religion, my workload is, effectively, not changed at all.

Then she tried to argue with me that I was wrong.

I don't feel like recounting the entire discussion, but I found out later that Carrie was afraid I was going to snap my pen in half. The woman will NOT LISTEN. She doesn't need to be managing anyone.

I'm getting angry again, so I'm going to stop talking about it.

Here's a question for you. A rhetorical question, really, but a question nonetheless. Why is it that people (and by people, I mean me) get jealous when someone they're into talks to someone else? Whether it's because the person is into the person they're talking to or not, it doesn't really matter. It's that tight feeling in your stomach where you're like, "Me! Talk to me! Pay attention to me!" Even though you know it's dumb and whatever?

That was maybe the most unintelligent paragraph ever, but I think you know what I mean. Point being, jealousy is not a good color on anyone. And I hate that it matches so much of my wardrobe.