Category Archives: Fuk-You-Fridays

Second Edition of F-Y-Fs

Thank you and welcome to the second ever edition of Fuk-You-Fridays! I know I missed a week, but isn’t that what life is all about?

This week actually surprised me with it’s inability to stomp me down. Despite all that was thrown at me, I managed, SOMEHOW to come out on top, and by that I mean without lapsing back into my “I hate life and all that it embodies” mentality.

Monday was spent as most mondays are – hating the fact that the all-to-short weekend was over and I was once again, subjected to my cubicle worklife. There is just something about being surrounded by 3 and a half walls which will slowly suck the sanity right out of a person. I’ve reverted back to adolescents and have started throwing paperclips again to anyone whose voice seems within hitting distance. The big ones fly further, for anyone who’s interested. Tuesday was spent biting my nails, waiting for the pending weather to hit. Thanks to my blatent mistrust of meteorologists, I never watch the weather and it was only due to my mother having called me in the morning that I had any clue whatsoever that there was anything looming on the horizon. Thankfully, the weather men were, once again (Surprise, surprise!) WRONG and the shit didn’t hit the fan until that evening. Enter Wednesday: My basement flooded again. Apparently, overnight, there was a little snow, a little ice and then a LOT of freezing rain/sleet/rain and the combination of the 3 was enough to anger my house’s foundation and it gave up blocking the rain just like the offensive line did to Tom Brady in the Super Bowl. I was late to work, mostly due to the fact that, as previously discussed, Pennslyvania does NOTHING to their roads in any sort of a timely fashion. Interestingly enough, I heard on the radio that in York County, which is where I live, there are 12,000 ROADS and only 74 SALT TRUCKS. I bided my time until one of those trucks finally hit my road by digging a swail in my backyard in the ice topped snow attempting to divert as much water as possible AWAY from my home, and by rigging up the most ghetto looking thing underneath the one downspout that is overflowing due to it being filled with a buncha shit. AND I can’t get to it. By the time I got to work, it was 11, lunch came quickly after that and before I knew it, I was fighting traffic on my way home.

Thursday, as well all know, was Valentine’s Day. Please see my previous post so that I don’t have to totally reiterate myself.

Friday was the slowest day in existence and I seriously think that there were about 30 hours to it. And 25 of those were spent at my job. I’m not really certain as to WHY I’m suddently feeling like life itself is closing in on me whenever I walk into that office, but something is definitely going to have to change soon, or else, someone will find me drowning myself in the coffee pot one morning. Independent wealth would be a ridiculously awesome thing.

So, all in all here, my week wasn’t all that bad, and Friday wasn’t really trying to fuck me over, but this week also didn’t do much to help me out, either. All the while these things were happening, I’m having to continue to deal with my emotionally harrowing situation (which I choose not to discuss in detail in respect to the parties involved) which seems to be reverting back to what it was 6 months ago, and that’s enough to drive anyone insane, shitty week in combination or not.

Maybe next week I’ll live in bed, like John and Yoko. They got shit accomplished, why couldn’t I?


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Welcome to Fuk-You-Fridays!

Fridays are notorious for being the most looked forward to day of the week for everyone that works a 9-5, Monday through Friday job, including myself. It’s the end of the work week, the beginning of the ALWAYS too short glory of the weekends and it’s one of the biggest party nights of the week, for everyone but me.

You see, I am one of those people who would have no luck at all, if it weren’t for bad luck. Thankfully, Fuk-You-Friday’s don’t occur every Friday for me, but when they do, it’s so ridiculously painful, one is enough to hold you over for a month or more. Although please know that when my Friday is good, it’s because the rest of the week has been so mind-numbingly bad that even the powers that be feel sorry for me. Sadly, I’ve now been dealt 2 in the last 3 Fridays on the calendar and it’s safe to assume that I am at wits end. “Exasperated,” as my sister so eloquently put it, actually. The first was of course, my ridiculously insane trip home from the ridiculously awesome vacation in Hawaii, visiting my dear friend, Walter. Now, this friday, it continues. I drove home from an insanely long-seeming day at work, in the rain, unable to smoke as my dear mother called me and talked the entire way home and I just simply CANNOT drive, talk on the phone, shift gears, brake, clutch AND smoke a cigarette, all at the same time. I mean, there is a limit to my fantastic multi-tasking abilities.

As if my 40 minute rain-pelted, slippery roaded, mother incessantly yapping (I do love her, really) ride home wasn’t a fun enough end to my day, I was rudely surprised by a foot full of water as I walked into my basement this evening. And OF COURSE my closest light source is a good 10 steps away from the door, in virtual blindness thanks to the horrific misery that is Daylight Saving Time. I sloshed through the water, which I was praying wasn’t touching my pant legs, towards the sink against the far wall, and pulled the light cord only to then be able to visually confirm that which was my first thought when I stepped inside tonight: MY BASEMENT HAD FLOODED. Yipee. Fucking. Doo. I mean, seriously, who wants to come home on a Friday evening to a flooded basement, much less after you’ve already had to cope with quite literally the worst and absolute longest day on record??

Much to my chagrin, I spent the next hour brooming as much water out of my basement as humanly possible, without dunking my head in it in a vain attempt to drown myself. Thankfully, even if I had had the motivation to attempt such a feat, drowning in less than 1 inch of water is probably an impossible task. Yet somehow, it was in the midst of contemplating my own death-by-drowning-in-a-flooded-basement versus the promises of a iced Kahlua and milk upon completion, that I came up with the brilliance of marking this occasion with an occasion all of it’s own…Today shall mark the initial planned-to-be-weekly installments of FUK YOU FRIDAYS! Yay!! Hey, everyone needs a gimmick, and this shall be mine. *smile*

Needless to say, as I approach the end of the waking hours of this particularly impressive fuk-you-friday, I will get my p.j.’s on, smoke a cigarette, mellow out in bed and hope that things turn out a bit better tomorrow. The only bad news is that I’m betting on one phone call to make it, or break it…


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