'Acting'?? Who's 'Acting'??
Personal Log, Ensign Simon Foster
Computer, begin log.
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Fer fuck's sake.
You'd think I'd be used to it by now. But.
No.
Having a freakin' two-for-one sale here now...boot one brat out the door and here come two more little screamin' squirmin' diaper machines.
This is not a day-care. Or a preschool. Or a Mom's Night Out club.
IT'S A STARSHIP! What part of that word seems to be so hard to understand around here?? Huh??
Don't get me wrong...I like the Lieutenant Commander, I really do (when he's not off his nut and takin' potshots at me). He's purely professional, I've learned a lot from him...he respects my abilities and skills.
But his personal life. Ugh!
For the past six months, I've been acting as head of security, with brief interruptions of actual CO-ness. True, a lot of that was job-related, what with the Xindi bastards and all. What they did to the boss was too terrible for words.
What the boss did afterwards was another matter. And takin' up with Archer, well...that's something else. But the cap and I had our little...'talk'...and I'm watching and waiting...biding my time. He challenged me to take it to the next level...if it wouldn't affect Reed I'd do just that.
Until then, though...we've got these kids to deal with. Growing faster'n normal -- as if 'normal' applies around here -- they'll be underfoot before we know it and I can hardly wait.
Not.
So...makin' notes that I've been running this establishment for the last half a year...should serve me well if we get back home. But oh yeah...to do that we have to find THE WEAPON.
Which of course, looks impossible. Everyone's too busy makin' whoopie.
...
Pervs.
*BURP*
Ugh...don't feel so good. Personal note: avoid the chili dogs in the Mess Hall. I don't care if Cunningham recommended it. Not. Good.
Computer, end log.
Computer, begin log.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Fer fuck's sake.
You'd think I'd be used to it by now. But.
No.
Having a freakin' two-for-one sale here now...boot one brat out the door and here come two more little screamin' squirmin' diaper machines.
This is not a day-care. Or a preschool. Or a Mom's Night Out club.
IT'S A STARSHIP! What part of that word seems to be so hard to understand around here?? Huh??
Don't get me wrong...I like the Lieutenant Commander, I really do (when he's not off his nut and takin' potshots at me). He's purely professional, I've learned a lot from him...he respects my abilities and skills.
But his personal life. Ugh!
For the past six months, I've been acting as head of security, with brief interruptions of actual CO-ness. True, a lot of that was job-related, what with the Xindi bastards and all. What they did to the boss was too terrible for words.
What the boss did afterwards was another matter. And takin' up with Archer, well...that's something else. But the cap and I had our little...'talk'...and I'm watching and waiting...biding my time. He challenged me to take it to the next level...if it wouldn't affect Reed I'd do just that.
Until then, though...we've got these kids to deal with. Growing faster'n normal -- as if 'normal' applies around here -- they'll be underfoot before we know it and I can hardly wait.
Not.
So...makin' notes that I've been running this establishment for the last half a year...should serve me well if we get back home. But oh yeah...to do that we have to find THE WEAPON.
Which of course, looks impossible. Everyone's too busy makin' whoopie.
...
Pervs.
*BURP*
Ugh...don't feel so good. Personal note: avoid the chili dogs in the Mess Hall. I don't care if Cunningham recommended it. Not. Good.
Computer, end log.