March Masthead

Sorry for any confusion, Internet. I just didn't like the masthead I originally posted this month. I still like the concept, but the sizing and the coloring just didn't appeal. Every time I opened my blog, I couldn't help but shudder at it. So, here's a new one. Just for March. I hope you like it as much as I do.

Love Song Sunday: Only You

I have what I think is quite the treat for you this Sunday: Ayo. I discovered Ayo in a club in Paris in 2007 and fell instantly in love with her melodic voice. And this woman represents all that I love about the transient nature of the modern world. She was born in Germany to a Nigerian father and Gypsy mother and I think all those cultural influences are apparent in her ecclectic music. I highly suggest checking out everything she's recorded. She has many other enchanting songs, but none so joyously in love as this one.

hot pink nails

So I was sitting here, having a lovely Saturday all to my little lonesome, thinking to myself. Self, I thought, you should really write a new blog post. And so here we are.

I had a tough day at work yesterday so I went home last night and anesthetized with the one, the only, the original, the U.K., The Office. Which is now on Hulu. Thank you, Hulu gods! Seriously, peeps, if you don't find Ricky Gervais just completely brilliant, then you should get some professional help. And I don't mean therapy. I mean a lobotomy. Plus, I like to work the word "lobotomy" into a sentence whenever possible.

And I painted my nails hot pink. Because hot pink nails make everything better. Trust.

And today I was supposed to go whale watching with a bunch of other folks. It's a long story, which I'll probably tell, but this trip keeps getting canceled due to weather. And I was taking my dad who, for the last 22 years, has really wanted to see a whale. See, when I was in 2nd grade, my dad chaperoned a whale watching trip for my class. There were two buses (one with the kids and our teacher and one with the parents) and the parent bus broke down and my dad never got to see a whale. Sad right? But I couldn't make it up to him because the trip was again canceled. High winds, bad weather, and, OH YEAH, a tsunami advisory for Southern California.

Now, a tsunami never hit SoCal or Hawaii (thank pete), but the world is totally shaking apart! Haiti is still in shambles and Chile is rocked by an 8.8 earthquake. Eight point fucking eight. Do you know how big that is? The hardest I think I ever experienced was a 6.4 in Big Bear in 1992. And that bitch was scary as hell.

I'm sure that there will be ways for everyone to send aid to Chile soon. And if you donate to the ARC, don't earmark you donation. Let them decide how to use the funds.

And now I don't think I can leave you on such a low note. So, and not to undermine the gravity of the quake in Chile, here's something to laugh at. Because 30 Rock makes everything better. Even major disasters.

I think I can safely say that Kenneth is the best part of 30 Rock. And Dot Com. And Jackie Jormp-Jomp.

Speaking of ridiculous people, it's been raining and hailing like a mo fo all day (how a mo fo hails, I really can't say), which is kind of exciting. Especially since I don't have to be anywhere. So I've been enjoying my day in the company of myself. But I ran out of Cadbury Eggs (GASP!) so I, of course, had to go out and buy more at one of my favorite places: Target (cue: heavenly music). After I procured my chocolaty, creamy eggs of perfection, I tried to exit The Target (side note: isn't the English language sadly lacking in definite articles?), but my way was blocked by a horde of apparently terrified people, huddled together with their bags and carts and purchases just inside the door, frozen in fear of the rain. Of the rain. Of. the. rain.

They were scared of the rain! And it wasn't even hailing. Like, I could see avoiding hail, because that shit can hurt. But, it's just water. WA-TER. So of course I muscled my way through and was at my car in no time and on my way home. And I didn't even really get very wet. What is the big deal, Southern California? The clouds open up and you go into DEFCON 5? This is not on par with, say, nuclear holocaust or, oh I don't know, a major earthquake!

All I ask for is a little perspective. And hot pink nail polish.

Photo of the Day: Terra Cotta

I took this shot today whilst sitting on a gloriously sunny outdoor patio eating lunch with my friend Claudia. There was just the slightest of perfectly cool breezes and the sun felt sublime. I felt just like this terra cotta pot, absorbing the rays happily, warming on the surface, cool underneath. Perfection.

Speeding Life Train

Hello, Internet. How are you? I'm good. Can't complain. Or, I can, I guess. I can always find SOMEthing to complain about. Twist my arm to moan and whine. And I'll take some cheese with that.

Tonight I'm feeling...restless. I normally hole up in the evening with a book or my computer and cocoon while I try to relax so I can actually sleep. See, I have trouble sleeping because I can never get my brain to turn off. So I try to start the sedation process earlier in the evening than most. Once my brain is going, there is no turning it off.

And tonight? Ce soir? It's a goin'. Ca va! Ca to the mother fucking va. And it's only like 8:30, but the wheels are on overdrive, dude. I feel restless, but forced to sit still. I feel like I'm ready to take so much for my life, but it's all on hold. I'm feeling like time is tick tick ticking away at record speeds but I'm frozen in the midst of it all, watching it pass me by.

okay, so I realize this photo is of a young male of color and in no way resembles my pasty female ass. deal with it.

And I'm just standing here, living my life, doing everything right, being polite. While the good stuff, the scary stuff, the stuff that puts hair on your chest, the stuff that makes life worth it is zipping away and I can't quite grasp it. And jumping on that speeding life train is goddamn scary, yo. Making that leap is treacherous. A girl could get hurt.

But, dammit, I'm done being polite. I'm done being safe. I want to tell this polite girl to fuck off! I don't want to stand by quietly anymore. What the hell are we all waiting for anyway? I want to jump feet first on the speeding life train and take those things I want. What am I protecting anyhow?

You know what I think? I think that the only things worth living for are the riskiest. Risk is inherent to life and the bigger the risk (I am not going to say, the bigger the reward), the better you become. I am ready to jump. I am ready to risk. I am ready to be scared fucking out of my mind with life.

I think we only tread this planet for so long and the good things need to be pursued. I'm not going to sit on my ass any longer just hoping for the best, hoping a big wad of exciting life falls into my lap. I just don't think it works that way.

And I live a decent life. I do. I have a job I'm good at. I'm not a hooker. I don't have any major health issues. I've never had syphilis. I see my therapist and I pay my taxes. I've never committed larceny (not really sure what larceny is). I feed my cats (every day) and I tend my garden (mostly). I read dozens of books. I'm supportive of my friends. I've never been a cannibal. I've never cheated. I only hate a few people, and even then, it's just a really strong dislike. I always use my turn signal. I've never maimed or beheaded. I'd say I'm a good person.

But is that enough? Not right now, it's not. I want a rich life, not rich with money (though I wouldn't be turning that down), but rich with experience, with joy, with love, with learning and growth. I want that. I WANT THAT!

And even after all that ranting about jumping on a speeding life train, I can be patient. Yes, I can. Stop looking at me like that. I can, dammit!

But maybe it's really about making the first leap. Make the jump. Get on the train. Then I can find a nice seat near a window. And if the train takes a while to reach its destination, that's okay. At least I know I'm on the train. And the train is going the direction I want.

I haven't jumped yet. But I have my ticket and I'm standing on the platform. Who's coming with me?

Day Off

Do you know what today is, Internet? Do ya? Huh huh? Do ya? Huh?

It's my day off, that's what. I haven't had a day off in what? 8 days? 15? 237? 'Cuz that's what it feels like, yo. I was so freaking exhausted yesterday (Monday!), trudging through my super Friday. Or is it like Friday times 4? Whatever. Longest Friday ever if you ask me. But I made it through, by golly, by Jove. I did.

And do you know what I'm doing with my day today? That's right. A big, fat, fucking nothing. I slept in. I ate a little Joe's O's, drank some tea. Wait, I just made tea. I didn't drink it. Now my tea is cold. Dammit. I heated up my tea. I watched a little Hulu. I don't think I'll get dressed today and I think I'll try to be only a little productive. I need to do laundry if I don't want to wear bikini bottoms as underwear. And I want to apply for a few jobs online.

Ooh segue!

So on Friday last week, Boss asked me how the job hunt was going in Oregon. I said not great; not much out there. And he gave me some advice and sent me on my way. So yesterday, he walks into my office and hands me a stack of papers and says, "but I'm not trying to get rid of you." And what do you think he gave me? Job leads, that's what. He'd found jobs for me online. Whatnow? Seriously? Really? Who?

So I'm applying for those jobs today.

Also there's a story I really, really want to tell you, Internet, but I know there is film footage to enhance this story on a friend's camera and I kind of want to wait until I can share my fabulous humiliation in all its technicolor glory. Needless to say it involved Morgan's birthday party, dueling (and raunchy) piano players, Sir Mixalot, and My Ass.

Epic.

And just so you don't hate me for my day off (which I EARNED) while you are most likely slaving away at your job, here's a little Oren Lavie to enjoy. It's worth saying that there isn't a song by him that I don't like (Oren Lavie is my secret lover. don't tell him), but this song is pure fabulosity. And the video is pretty rockin' too.

Love Song Sunday: And Then You

This Sunday's song was hard to choose. I knew I wanted to share something from Greg Laswell, but he has so many fantastical songs to choose from. I discovered Greg Laswell maybe 3 years ago when I saw him play at Hotel Cafe in Hollywood and I was in love from then on. His music gets under my skin and stays for days. This song is especially beautiful but the video is especially cheesetastic. If you can't handle the cheese (and I really can't), close your eyes and listen to his haunting voice and the delicious words.

runnin' just as fast as we can

Sometimes I love running. Sometimes I hate it. Lately I've been hating it, mostly because I think I'm developing asthma or something like it. I don't know if I've just been sick for a month or if it's from the So Cal fires last year, but when I run lately, my lungs feel like they're wadding up into a tiny ball and I can't pull in enough air.

It's infuriating, especially for someone like me who has trouble slowing down. I just keep running through it. This is why I tore both my abductors dancing when I was 20. Because it was one, then the other, first just pulls, then full-on tears. Because I kept dancing.

So it should be no surprise that I went running tonight despite the lung pain. But I've been carrying around this wad of frustration and angst (angst is like baby anger) and I wanted to let it out in a healthy way (well, healthy emotionally). And I normally start at a fast walk to warm up. But tonight, no, tonight I ran straight off. And it felt damn good. And there was a good while where I didn't feel my lungs or my heart or my legs and I was just in the moment, running. And I forgot about the angst and the frustration and the stress.

But I eventually had to stop, mostly because I literally couldn't get a breath. And then it all came flooding back in. And I didn't feel better. Now I just felt kind of worse, more stressed, more angsty. Like that initial run was a glorious band aid that wouldn't re stick.

So I pushed through, walking, running, walking, running. But I still felt pretty emotional. And now I felt wheezy too. But I pushed through. I did. And I did the last block at a sprint in some effort to regain that feeling of abandon I'd had when I begun. But of course I didn't.

And now I could seriously pass out in all my gloriously funky sweat and tears.

I have a big weekend ahead of me, working for the next three days on three different events. I really need to find a way to get my head clear first. Maybe instead of exercise, I should turn to a hot bath, a bottle of wine (ok, maybe just a glass. I do have to work tomorrow), and angry chick music.

life of a cat lady

I may have mentioned once or twenty times before that I have cats. Not one cat, like a normal person, but two. Cats. Plural. Cat plus an "s." I am a cat owner. I am one more cat away from complete crazy cat lady.

I should say that I've always been an animal lover, but not necessarily a cat person per se. We had cats growing up, but they were always aloof or bitchy or bordering on feral or all of the above. I never had a cat that was really "mine," except for Muffin who was hit by a car on Christmas day when I was 11. You could say that my experiences with cats weren't great.

But, when I was 23, I found myself wanting a pet. I had been through some incredible physical and mental stress and felt that I had been pet-less long enough. I needed pet therapy. I was living in Hollywood at the time and couldn't have a dog in my apartment. Looking back, I probably could have. I'm pretty sure my neighbor had a pet squirrel, but I was a somewhat rules-abiding kind of gal. So I went to a shelter and brought me home a cute little raggamuffin kitten. Her tail was scraggly and she had a terrible cold, but she turned out to be perfect for me. Jete (named after the ballet leap) was freaking cute as a kitten.

And it turned out that all she needed was a little lurve because she has the softest fur of any cat I've even encountered. She's always been quite the ham, entertaining my friends with her antics, always needing to be the center of attention.

Now, this cat is totally and completely neurotic. You could say that's how you know she's mine. Because she's got issues. She's attached to my hip, is always crawling up on me for cuddles and attention, and she has abandonment issues. Yes, I abandoned my cat. I lived in Europe in 2006 and left her with my parents. And she has a blankie. I kid you not. When I came home from Europe, she drug a piece of cloth out of a box and claimed it as her own. She drags that thing all over my house. I find that damn filthy thing everywhere. And sometimes she cries while dragging it, mournfully, like the world has ended. Sometimes she even cries in the middle of the night until I wake up and remind her that I'm there. Damn crazy cat. Totally high maintenance.

Aaaaand then there's Hobbes. Hobbes was a rescue kitten. Someone dumped the tiny (back then) little guy in my dad's VW bus. My dad was barbecuing and when he lifted the lid on the grill, this little orange head popped up in the window. Poor little guy couldn't get out and when my dad caught him, he purred like a muscle car. I couldn't let them take him to the shelter.

So the next thing I knew, I had two cats.

Hobbes is a total character. As a kitten, he was fearless, picking fights with Jete and barreling around my apartment. Today? Today Hobbes is scared of ev.er.y.thing. Everything and everyone. It takes people months of hanging out with me to even glimpse Hobbes. And every day that he gets more brave, I get so proud of him. He's such a sweet cat. Would never bite or scratch. He just wants to hide under the blanket until everyone is gone, thankyouverymuch. But he's cuddly. Cat is like an effing dog. Loves a good belly scratch. And when he purrs, I swear the neighbors think it's an earthquake. And did I mention that he's huge? Hobbes is a big ass cat. Not just fat, but BIG.

I want to tell this sweet boy that he's big. That he could take whatever is scaring him. But alas, he's just a sweet doormat of a cat. And I had intended to gripe about the life of being a cat owner, but I find myself gushing over these sweet ones. Right now, Hobbes is squeaking at me in his mousy version of a meow and it's freaking cute.

And these two are double trouble. One minute, they're cuddling and cleaning each other. And the next, one has bitten the other's ear and it's all out war. And when that happens, just cover your head and hope you survive.

These two are totally high maintenance, but I wouldn't ever give them up. And I realize they're cats. It bothers me intensely that my dad refers to them as his grandchildren (they're CATS, Dad!). But they are family.

the land of port

Well hello, Internet. It's been a while, hasn't it? I'm sorry. Don't hate me. There are just other things in my life exponentially more important than you. You understand, right?

Right.

You're wondering how my weekend was weren't you? Well I'm not gonna tell. Okay, you're right, that's a lie. I'll probably tell too much and leave young people scarred for life. That's what I'm good at. Uh huh. Yup. I think we should all recognize our own talents. And mine is a blurry view of limits. And why do we have lines if not to cross them, hrm? HRM? You can tell how good I was at coloring in kindergarten. While my teachers certainly weren't fans, I'd say I was a young Picasso. In other words, brilliant.

Where was I? Right! This weekend. Sorry. I may be slightly sleep deprived which is causing my humor nerve to fire spasmodically. I can't control it. And I bet you didn't know I knew words that awesome didja? Yup, like I said, brilliant. Brill. Yant.

Getting on track may be a lost cause at this point. And between the airport pretzels I had for dinner last night, my delayed flight, and the fact that I didn't want to leave Portland at all has made me a teensy bit punchy. Not cranky. I had too good of a weekend for cranky. No, I've crossed into some land where I have no filter and can't stay focused on one topic for more than...ooh what's that?

See? Okay, I'll attempt some semblance of focus. My weekend was pretty rockin'. Sometimes literally. I'd tell you the highlights, but I think some people read my blog at work and I don't want them to get fired. Oh hell, we all know my writing is an exercise in blushing so if some choose to read it in eyeshot of their employers, not my fault.

Some tame events of the past three days included an excursion to a Vietnamese (I think?) fish market (plenty of disturbing fun there), lunch with the bestie, and plenty of talky talky time with Love Interest. It was fantastical and I mean it that if I didn't have a job and two cats to support, I may have considered missing my flight and living on the rainy streets of Portland. There are no jobs, but I hear there's always a demand for strippers. I realize I'm ballet-trained, but I'm sure I could have translated that to a career on the pole. Don't judge. You'd do it too.

And I did come home with a little souvenir. I now need to wear a scarf around my neck for the next couple of days, except it's like 80 degrees in the south of California right now and that's incredibly uncomfortable. My neck is sweating like a cold beer bottle in Bermuda. But dudes, I try to avoid the whore-look at work. It's just professional, I feel.

And see? I gave you like three paragraphs of focus. I should win a prize. And that prize should be cash. Lots and lots of cash so that I can pay off my debt, move to Portland, take my friends traveling, and still have some left over to roll around naked in. Hey, don't roll your eyes. I just said I only avoid the whore thing at work. At work. What I do in my personal time is my business. And anyone who reads my blog apparently.

Yeesh.

Love Song Sunday: L'amour a deux

Apologies to non-francophones, but today's first song is au fracais. I've been a Carla Bruni fan for years, long before she married Sarkozy and became the French First Lady. And this song isn't exactly about love, but it's sexy as hell. I want to get naked and make lots of babies to this song. If you don't speak any French, just forget about the words and get lost in the breathy goodness of her voice. And that fact that she's not wearing any pants.



And just because I am in a good mood or because I am sitting next to a sexy man who suggested an alternate song which relates in some way I'm sure to the first one or maybe because I feel I should deliver a song in English, here's another. If you don't love Sarah McLachlan, you're stupid and I hate you.

Only Happiness

Well, Internet, I am one busy bee. I wasn't even going to post tonight but I don't imagine that I'll have another moment for a while.

How about the Super Bowl huh? I was worried for a little bit, but the Saints took over and there will be partyin' in the Quarter for weeks. It was pretty much awesome! I, however, spent the last 6 minutes or so of the game itching like a madwoman as I accidentally ingested soy, which is my allergy nemesis. I am very careful, but I didn't think to grill the nice guy who made beef jerky as to what was in his marinade (honestly didn't even know you could make jerky with soy sauce) so itch city was calling my name.

And after getting home, I dosed up on my favorite drug of choice, benadryl, and conked out. I'm surprised I even made it to work this morning. But drag my ass out of bed I did and I made it on time and even had time to do my hair. That's what I call tenacity. Still, I've had a fuzzy head all day. I'm sure my coworkers all thought I was on something. Well, I was. Benadryl. That shit will leave a hangover, I tell ya. And it left me just this side of cranky most of the day.

Anywayyyy. I'm finally home and snuggled in my bed and it's not even 9. But whatevs. That doesn't make me an old lady. Nope. I'm such sensible. And I need my beauty sleep. 'Cuz it takes a lot of sleep to make THIS look good. *points to face* Uh huh.

Nevertheless, I'm full of excitement. Is there a word for more than excitement? Please, if you know one, pass it on. I'm in need of it right about now. Because I leave in a little over 3 days for Portland to see Love Interest and I'm super duper stoked.

I know you're jealous, Internet, but try to keep it to a minimum. Only happiness for me will be accepted at this time. I don't take Visa, Mastercard, or Amex. Or checks. But I will take happiness. And cash. You can give me cash. That, I guess, would be okay.

Love Song Sunday: Make You Feel My Love

This Sunday's song is so sweet you may just want to eat something salty to balance things out. I cannot help but fall in love with this song whenever I hear it. May it bring a little heart to your world today.

Photo of the Day: From Snowy River

We've had an unusually stormy start to the year here in Small Town, Southern California and that has resulted in some very pretty views. Do you see how low the snow line is? Doya? Doya? Huh? Huh? Yeah. That's not typical. Usually around this time of year, the snow starts about halfway up. Most of that had melted though by this week because of the trademark blue skies of SoCal (see: photo above). But we've got a decent storm partyin' its heart out this weekend, so next week should be gawgeous.

can I have your number?

Superbowl fevah! Right, Internet? Isn't that what's on the collective minds of the nation a la moment? Well I will not go on and on about a football game, mostly because I won't know what the hell I'm taking about and sports savvy people will be insanely disappointed in my lack of acumen in the ball of the foot area.

I will just say this. I really hope the Saints win. I know, I know. Underdogs. But I have such a big place in my heart for New Orleans and after everything that city has gone through, they deserve a big win. Something to hope for. They deserve that. And so I'll be rooting for the Saints on Sunday.

Brilliant segue.

I got my first spam commenter on my blog the other day. And you know what I did? DENIED! That's right. Ohyeah. Watchout! Spammers, I will knock. you. down.

Which brings me to...being bitchy (see what I did there? I am fucking brilliant.) After a recent karaoke excursion with Morgan and her subsequent blog about seeming bitchy, she and I were discussing appearing bitchy to others. Her concern is the girls always think she's a bitch before they meet her (when, of course, they're always suprised). I can guess why this is. She makes a face when she's people watching which could possibly seem bitchy to the female set.

But I didn't have this experience with her. It's a long story, but Morgan and I arranged our first meeting via email and so I had never actually seen her in person before. And then we met and hugged and were instant best friends for evah. So I never thought she seemed bitchy. I thought she was awesome rolled in awesome and served with a side of awesome. She still is.

And I was discussing this with Love Interest the other night (don't worry, Internet, he has a real name), but when Morgan and I go out to karaoke or bars (very rarely), she gets hit on more than I do. And yes, her boobs are roughly 12.5 times the size of mine, but I don't think that's why. I think that she puts off a bit of a bitchy vibe without even knowing it and guys kind of dig that, I think. At least guys in bars. Real guys are much different. But they don't want a total bitch. But just a little bitchy poses a challenge. They like the feist. And Morgan puts off plenty of the feist. Problem is, she's not a bitch at all.

As for myself though, when I go out, I'm actually a bitch. And blame it on my years in Hollywood or 12 some odd years of dodging men's hands on my ass, but I don't want to be hit on. So I plaster a fuckoff look on my face whenever a dude tries to catch my eye and that usually does the trick. It's been a long time since I've had to resort to actually speaking to a dude in Bitch. But it's a language I can slip into easily if forced. And that, Internet, is way too much bitch for bar guys. They just want a little tail and that's way too much work. There's a fine line between the thrill of the chase and knowing full well they'll never get anywhere near that. Which is just how I like it.

Now, before the dudes start attacking, let me say that this is just out and about and only applies to that specific form of being "hit on" or "picked up." Nice guys who can actually carry on decent conversations and don't feel the need to troll bars for some tail were always okay in my book. I'm not a eunuch. I just like my ass hands-free thankyouverymuch.

Which brings me to....one of the best comedy sketches of all time. It's a classic, but still rings true. I know this type of dude (p.s. played by a woman) and there is no amount of bitchy that can shoot him down. I know.

Can I have your number?

Advice According to Andy

Lesson 1: You're at the grocery store, market, whatever the hell you call the place you buy your foods (no, not takeout) with a small basketful of things, ready to check out. There are two lines open, one with only one person in line but with enough food to feed a small country, the other is a long line of people with just a few things each. Which line do you choose? That's right. You get behind the freak with tons of stuff. Because even though she has more crap to purchase, she only has to pay once. Because that's what takes a goddamn year (unless she has a checkbook. that negates everything. besides, who writes checks anymore? what is this, 1995?). And then, as you exit the store before all of those schmucks still standing in line, shout, Peace, BITCHES! (in your head). And bask in the glory of small victories.

Lesson 2: You're at a stop sign trying to turn left amidst crazy ass traffic. The douche across the way has the right of way and is apparently going straight (no, he's not gay. if he were gay, he'd be a better driver). Douche successfully passes up two nice gaps in traffic and is still sitting there like like he's watching a damn tennis match. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. WE GET IT! The next gap in traffic is coming. So what do you do? That's right. You go. Just go. If he wants to enjoy the scenery, that's his right. Don't flip him off, even when he turns on his left turn signal. It's not his fault he's a moron; it's the DMV's (and yes, that is an accurate use of the apostrophe. bite me.) fault for giving him a license. As you glide into your lane with all the finesse of a love child of Baryshnikov and Jeff Gordon, give a little victory cry (bonus points if you shout SUCK ON THAT and yodel like Janis in Mean Girls. even more points if you don't have to look that up.) And bask in the glory of small victories.

Lesson 3: You're in a work meeting. It's the usual, going over what's what and who needs who done, the usual schmusual. Nothing too exciting or dramatic. And your boss looks over his shoulder and out the large office window noticing some hoodlums up to no good. They're even throwing oranges into the parking lot. And all you can think about is your brand new bumper you paid for last year. After calling security to tell these punks what's what to no avail, Boss decides to take some action and goes to the window in the office next door and yells at these little bastards, shouting, "HEY! Get the HELL out of here!" Then the punks chuck an orange at Boss and he screams "Expletive you too!" and goes for the stairs. So what do you do? That's right. You laugh! Not at Boss. You're laughing because that is the single most exciting thing you've seen all day and the completely coolest you've seen your boss. Ever. You laugh and when he returns and apologizes for his language, you say, "Don't apologize. That was awesome!" And you totally mean it. And bask in the glory of small victories.

All in a day's work.