Thoughts on Fridays

I wrote this journal entry a few years ago.
And despite the time that's past,
it still makes me laugh :)

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Thoughts on Fridays

Most females find it very easy to pass up 10-cent wings and dollar beers; I on the other hand, cannot. Classy.

Therefore, my least favorite day of the week is Friday.
Because every Friday morning I wake up feeling like someone stuck a blow dryer down my esophagus and I drink water like a camel.

I’m always amazed at how much liquid I can consume in the morning –
as if I hadn’t drunken enough the night before.
With an $80 bar tab, how am I still thirsty?!?!?!?

The worst part isn’t the cottonmouth, the puppy breath, or the side ponytail; the worst part is getting off the couch and dragging my ass to work. The walk to the 143 Stockton Express feels like a mini-marathon and I have to pinch myself that I’m not still drunk every time I see
the weirdo that has 5 chiwawas, an iguana, and a parrot on his shoulder. And I thought I had issues!

I manage to get in “right at 9” only to turn on my computer and read
the ChicagoTribune online while I drink another quarter barrel of H2O.
As if I don’t want to puqe already, I read all about Chicago area students who are eating the sequeda bugs to raise money for new computers.

Seriously? Come on now, that’s just fowl.
What ever happened to car washes or selling overpriced candy?

Then there’s my voicemail, which I have to enter two separate passwords to get into, as if my messages are even remotely important. Like today I am capable of doing anything except drinking another 44oz BigGulp.

First message – always my mom.
I should know by now to take it off speakerphone but I never do.
So all of Cubeland outside my door gets to hear,
“Goooood morning Goosey Buns! We miss you!”
As if I’m still a small child and the womping 12 miles that I’ve moved from the suburbs to Lincoln Park is soo far.

Then there’s the client call.
I swear our clients are from another planet
(which technically they are as several are Canadian).
I have one client that leaves the same message every single time:
“Hiee Stacey, It’s Caroline! Give me a call back at 91-9664-475-9”

Ummm .. What language are you speaking?!?!
Is that morse code?
Do you not understand that I am HUN-G-OV-ER?

So I sit there. Hunky dory. Peachy keen.
Just me, my new 16oz diet coke, in my freezing, freezing cold office because the unnecessary suit-coat-and-tie wearing men keep calling f%@king maintenance because “it’s too hot” for their stuffy egos.
News flash boyz: this is Advertising, not I-banking.
In the least of literal terms, chill out!

Confession:
With or without a hangover, there is another thing that really irks me.
The G*d damn Oriental rug sale on Michigan Ave.
Why are they always on sale?

Why don’t they just make them cheaper in the first place and then someone might actually f%@king buy one?!

Hot damn I need to take a TV time out and to lay off the Hatorade.
After all ... come on now, be happy, I mean, IT'S FRIDAY :)

(But I not-so-secretly wish it were Saturday!!)

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