Bracing for Impact

Sunday, Funday. Blech. That’s a lie if I ever heard one. It doesn’t seem to matter how many days there are in a weekend — even a 4-day weekend like we just had — every Sunday there is still this mad dash to get my shit life together in like 12 hours. I blame Monday.

 

Saturday Reveries

Pay no attention to the woman lounging on the couch in her pajamas browsing through the “new releases” on On-Demand, counting down the hours until the new Thor and Justice League show times roll around while daydreaming about those tickets, lovingly ensconced in a bureau drawer, to the ‘Chocolate Binge Festival’ about to hit town in another two weeks. You see, there ARE a few things that are worth dragging my lazy relaxing weekend butt out of the house.

Isn’t that usually the way? I mean, it IS awfully people-y out there.

 

Working for the Weekend

It’s not my job, really, that annoys me so. I actually love what I do and the idea that I’m making a difference for those who have no voice. But here I am, in the middle of a Thursday afternoon, driven insane by the people I deal with on a daily basis, just wishing for a time jump like they do in the movies — you know, to move the plot along — so I can just get to the weekend already.

 

My Introvert Life – Log Entry 54732

Stardate 20172110 – Time: Another Saturday Night (hmmm…that sounds like a song)

The kids are gone, the critters are fed. I have the night to myself. I can do anything, go anywhere. The world is my oyster.

*fast forward one hour*

Ah, bed feels so nice right now. *sipping on a freshly poured glass of Chocolate Zin*

Now, where’s that remote??  There’s a classic horror movie marathon on!

 

Wild, Wild Life

 

Laying back in my jammies – Check

Pizza delivered – Check

Ben and Jerry’s in the freezer – Check

Kahlúa laced hot cocoa – Double Check!

Horror movie marathon (most definitely of the B variety) on Syfy – Triple Check!

Long-distance friend on speed-dial-texting to mock said B movies – Check!

 

 

Some Saturday Night Excitement

Does it count if I’m wearing heels and drinking Bailey’s on ice out of a fancy glass à la June Cleaver? Would June Cleaver even drink Bailey’s Irish Cream? I doubt it. Martinis were more her style. Yuck. Although I had a chocolate Martini one time that was kickin’. But nah. I’ll just stick with the Bailey’s. Now, what was I doing again?