Well I don't know about you guys but Sunday Funday might be my favorite day of the week. Especially when it starts to get nice outside. I know everyone loves a good ole fashioned Friday Happy Hour, followed by an undoubtedly epic Saturday at the Clerb or pub of your choice...and typically people operate under the mentality that Saturday is the Go Hard or Go Home evening...because Sunday is the day of rest - The Lord's day, if you will, and the day to get your shit together before facing the God-awful Monday morning, right? Well if you talk to me or MY friends, you'd be sadly mistaken. No no. We operate that SUNDAY is the Go Hard or Go Home day. Why? Well for one, life is better with a buzz.
Two, we want to suck every ounce of life out of our weekends because we still have trouble dealing with the fact that we are, in fact, a part of corporate America and desperately wish to revert back to living off of our parents tab and theoretically be back in college without dealing with the nonsense of class and school-work. So for the past month, in an effort to drink away our work-blues, we've had sunday fundays pretty much every weekend...and yesterday proved to be no different. We fill our coolers with whatever booze hasn't been consumed on the previous saturday, grab our swim trunks and flippie floppies and head out to the pool. Now...if we had the opportunity to go to a beach, you know we would, but unfortunately we're not a hop, skip and a jump away from the coast. So pool-time it is! And you better believe we take our Sunday Funday very seriously - i know that sounds like an oxy-moron, just go with it. We've created a floating beer pong table that is transportable from pool to pool because it folds up and can fit in our cars! This table is used for beer pong and flip cup and all around fabulous shenanigans. The boys get "iced" by 9:30 am and the tomfoolery continues until the sun goes down. Because there's something so glorious about laying out in the sun with an ice-cold adult beverage. And because we're all secretly 21-year-olds at heart - like kids in a candy store.
But then...Monday morning rolls around. Ugh, the bain of my existence. I hate Mondays. More than I hate the Devil himself. If I could sleep all day Monday and skip to Tuesday every week, I totally would. Because depending on just how crazy Sunday gets, we might be out until 1:00 in the morning. Not because we're at a bar (Thank you State of Georgia and your Liquor Laws), but because we go get dinner somewhere that happens to serve margaritas and doesn't close til 11 or so. Monday is painful. It's excruciating. And all I want to do is pound it over the head with a hammer. Kind of like my head feels right now. I hate my alarm clock. I hate the shoes that I trip over when I'm stumbling hungover to the shower. I hate the cool water of my shower waiting for it to heat up. I hate the cold that hits my skin when I turn the shower off and reach for my towel. I hate the lights on my mirror as I put on my makeup. I hate looking in my closet and finding nothing to wear. And I REALLY hate the commute to work.
And all of this hatred is amplified on Mondays when I've enjoyed Sunday Funday the night before. I generally get little-to-no sleep on Saturday and drink myself into a coma Sunday, thereby leaving me exhausted, hungover and cranky bright and early Monday morning. Yet I continue to do this every weekend. Even though I already know how Monday's going to go. Some people may view my behavior as childish and slightly leaning towards alcoholism. I view it as my escape from the work week/reality. The way I see it, I can sleep when I'm dead. For now, I'm just going to enjoy Sunday Funday whenever the weather is nice. If the fates want me to sleep, then they'll make it rain as well.
Fin!
B
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