In less than a month my entire life will be completely different than what it was even a few weeks ago.
Better home. Dream job. Sexy man. Twenty-eight is going to be a fabulous year. I am floored. Humbled. On my knees thanking the heavens for my good fortune. This has been the best birthday week of my life.
When I look back over the last few years I am still in awe of just how far I’ve managed to climb. To give you all some perspective I am going to lay it bare for you.
The absolute low was the first night I spent alone after I was diagnosed with a brain aneurysm. I had already been diagnosed with a muscle tissue problem so I was overwhelmed (and a little pissed off). All I could think was: “Well, shit. Let’s go ahead and give me cancer, too.”
It was a few days before the exploratory operation to gage the size of the aneurysm and map it for the full surgery. I didn’t find out until later that I wasn’t going to drop dead at any moment or that I would not need the more risky 2nd surgery.
I was sitting there thinking of all the things I wanted to do. All the people I was not done loving. And this image of a jack-in-the-box came to mind. I felt this invisible force winding the leaver round, and round, and round; and there was nothing I could do to stop it. All too soon it would be, POP! Goes the aneurysm!
And I would be gone.
I kept saying the same thing over and over. I’m not done yet. But, I’m not done yet. At first it was just a whisper through the salty tears that had run down my cheeks and into the corners of my mouth. Then it was a little louder and then I was screaming, “But, I am NOT FUCKING DONE YET!”
Before I really understood what I was doing I tore the house apart. Threw over the coffee tables, ripped pictures off the walls. Punched the door till my knuckles were raw and bloody. And I was screaming like a banshee the whole time.
And then I thought what if I burst the damn thing and kill myself right now by freaking out like this? The thought ripped the scream from my throat and I just wilted to the floor in the hallway. I lay there for quite a while. The music from the jack-in-the-box still taunting me. And all the people I loved flashing through my mind like a slide show.
Mom. Dad. Bryan. Katie. Alex. K’lah. Becky. Aubrey. Coop. The O’Connell’s. The Duke’s. All my friends. Even my dog, Molly.
Eventually the grief and fear faded into a numbness that was awkward but tolerable. I pulled myself off the floor, took a survey of the damage I had caused and then slowly, wearily, I began to pick up the pieces of everything I had shattered.
I didn’t realize at the time I wasn’t just collecting the broken pieces of my living room décor. I was also collecting the broken pieces of myself.
As I cleaned, I resolved that I would find my way. I’d make it. Along the way I’d enjoy every simple pleasure. Every moment. I would relish every little detail of my world. I began to appreciate even the smallest of events: Freshly washed sheets. My favorite candy. Songs I loved. The sun on my skin. The sound of the cicadas on summer nights. Every Sooner touchdown. Every tasty pint of beer.
Bit by bit I learned how to manage my health. The aneurysm is actually not life threatening. They call it more accurately an infendibulum, which has hardly any chance of blowing my brain out of my skull.
I learned that volatile prescription drugs only traded in my symptoms for side-effects. I learned that my diet and vitamin supplements greatly improved my energy levels. I finally learned not to constantly run at 90 miles a minute and that it was ok to slow down. To admit that I wasn’t feeling well and give myself a break when I needed it.
It’s given me my life back. I live today almost as if I did three years ago before all this shit happened. All it takes is humility, grit, determination & patience. I can do that. This I can survive. Fuck you, jack-in-the-box! I’m the one with my hand on the leaver now!
And I wouldn’t trade a single moment of it for anything.
I used to think I wanted to be rich and have the nicest material things money could buy. I wanted to be spoiled rotten.
Well, I am spoiled rotten. But in things that matter so much more to me than any house, car or even …(gasp!) a sweet pair of heels.
I am rich in my amazing family. In my long-time, loyal friends. In meeting a wonderful guy. I have people in my life that truly matter. Amazing people that would do anything for me, and I for them.
I am rich in my luck that what might have killed me made me a stronger, better version of myself. It also provided the lowest of lows so that I could be singing so high in the clouds today!
Today I was offered the job I really, really wanted. It is a chance to get back to my roots in advertising and it moves my career in the direction I really want to go. This was the final piece of the puzzle.
I am in good health. My personal life has been wonderful. Now that my professional life has come together I feel like I could cry. There is too much happiness in my heart to contain it. I shed tears of joy and absolute gratitude for every wonderful, desperate, painful and pleasurable moment of the last three years.
Friday, August 20, 2010
Monday, August 16, 2010
I Hold These Truths to be Self-Evident
I'd like to preface this post with a cautionary word to the wise: I am not responsible for the consequences if you follow my advice considering that I have experienced both great success and epic failure in developing these basic tenants of my womanhood.
Without further ado: The Female Lover's Bill of Rights ....
I am entitled to steal your clothes. I may wash them and give them back. Or, more realistically I may keep them for an undetermined period of time. As consolation for your dwindling wardrobe just know that I'll probably think of you 93 times a day while wearing your shirt, boxers, sweatpants etc. Actually, I'll probably think of you 93 times anyway.
The post-coital cuddle is part of the experience. It is my right to snuggle up to you and thank you for your glorious performance.
You must appreciate that I am a woman. As such, I have estrogen saturating my blood stream. At times this will make me forget all logic and reason. I will do my best to tame that craziness in exchange for your promise not to make any sudden movements when you see my eyes glowing red with hormonal rage.
The toilet seat should always remain down. No lady likes to get stuck in the ca mode at 4am.
Opening the car door or offering me a hand up/down is always noted and appreciated.
It's probably best to feed me drinks and take me dancing if the Sooners loose. Unless I am distracted I am going to be a mopey little brat for the remainder of the evening. I am allowed to be a brat until I wake up Sunday morning. If it is the Texas game, I get all day Sunday, too.
I should be your last call of the day.
You must always appear to like my haircut, my cooking and my mother. Unless I bitch about the sub-par haircut or cooking first, save your negative comments for boys night. On the other hand there is no circumstance on this planet in which you are allowed to talk shit about my momma.
I am entitled to affection, flattery and thoughtful gestures. Just like you are entitled to lingerie and other naughty surprises.
I know you are stronger than I am. But you should usually let me win when we wrestle.
Goodnight All,
Shay
Without further ado: The Female Lover's Bill of Rights ....
I am entitled to steal your clothes. I may wash them and give them back. Or, more realistically I may keep them for an undetermined period of time. As consolation for your dwindling wardrobe just know that I'll probably think of you 93 times a day while wearing your shirt, boxers, sweatpants etc. Actually, I'll probably think of you 93 times anyway.
The post-coital cuddle is part of the experience. It is my right to snuggle up to you and thank you for your glorious performance.
You must appreciate that I am a woman. As such, I have estrogen saturating my blood stream. At times this will make me forget all logic and reason. I will do my best to tame that craziness in exchange for your promise not to make any sudden movements when you see my eyes glowing red with hormonal rage.
The toilet seat should always remain down. No lady likes to get stuck in the ca mode at 4am.
Opening the car door or offering me a hand up/down is always noted and appreciated.
It's probably best to feed me drinks and take me dancing if the Sooners loose. Unless I am distracted I am going to be a mopey little brat for the remainder of the evening. I am allowed to be a brat until I wake up Sunday morning. If it is the Texas game, I get all day Sunday, too.
I should be your last call of the day.
You must always appear to like my haircut, my cooking and my mother. Unless I bitch about the sub-par haircut or cooking first, save your negative comments for boys night. On the other hand there is no circumstance on this planet in which you are allowed to talk shit about my momma.
I am entitled to affection, flattery and thoughtful gestures. Just like you are entitled to lingerie and other naughty surprises.
I know you are stronger than I am. But you should usually let me win when we wrestle.
Goodnight All,
Shay
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Happy is a Verb
True happiness does not happen by itself. It takes effort. Action on your part to work towards the goals you set for your life. To become the best version of yourself.
I also believe that happiness requires a certain amount of gratitude and relaxation. The trick to being happy is the ability to stop. To take a deep breath and appreciate the fact that you have achieved something you worked hard for. To relax and enjoy that moment of triumph no matter how big or how small.
People who never take a moment to appreciate what they have may end up very successful, but they may never be happy. There is a reason for the saying money can't buy happiness.
So what makes me happy?
PEOPLE
1) Family - Laughing around the dinner table with my family is one of the most rewarding ways I can spend an evening. It swells my heart to bursting.
2) Friends - Spending time with my closest friends is like spending time with family.
3) Love - I am a passionate creature.
PLACES
1) My parent's house - That house is my harbor. Just being there gives me a sense of comfort and security.
2) The Lake - The lakes in Oklahoma are beautiful. I associate the lake with relaxation, playing hard, friends and not a care in the world.
3) Bookstores - My mecca. Filled with every great story ever told! I dream that I will someday have a book on the shelves alongside my favorite authors.
4) Libraries - Same thing.
THINGS
1) My bike, Flicka
2) A new book
3) A cute pair of heels
CIRCUMSTANCES
1) Friday afternoon
2) When the air smells like fresh cut grass and spring rain
3) When the Sooners win a big game
4) When I hear a great song on the radio and I'm driving windows down, singing off-key at the top of my lungs.
5) The few seconds after a 360 on the jet ski. When the water is crashing around me creating a halo of misty rainbows.
6) When I am the center of attention
7) When I am in the middle of reading a really great book for the first time
8) When I am in the middle of reading a really great book for the upteenth time
9) When I go out to my parent's house and discover the pool is uncovered for the first time each summer.
10) When I am lying in bed with my lover. Talking and laughing and cuddling in post-coital bliss.
11) When I finish a big task or catch something before it becomes a problem at work.
12) When I finish a long, hard bike ride and I can barely lift my leg to get off my bike. And I realize I made it through. That I just pushed myself beyond what was possible even the week before.
It is in the little things for me. Those precious moments when the world aligns and I am able to fully enjoy my surroundings. That space in time where I find myself taking in the present with a greatful breath and letting it go again with a giggle. And I realize that something has just tickled my soul.
I urge you all to pay attention to what tickles yours.
Goodnight - ShayMarie
I also believe that happiness requires a certain amount of gratitude and relaxation. The trick to being happy is the ability to stop. To take a deep breath and appreciate the fact that you have achieved something you worked hard for. To relax and enjoy that moment of triumph no matter how big or how small.
People who never take a moment to appreciate what they have may end up very successful, but they may never be happy. There is a reason for the saying money can't buy happiness.
So what makes me happy?
PEOPLE
1) Family - Laughing around the dinner table with my family is one of the most rewarding ways I can spend an evening. It swells my heart to bursting.
2) Friends - Spending time with my closest friends is like spending time with family.
3) Love - I am a passionate creature.
PLACES
1) My parent's house - That house is my harbor. Just being there gives me a sense of comfort and security.
2) The Lake - The lakes in Oklahoma are beautiful. I associate the lake with relaxation, playing hard, friends and not a care in the world.
3) Bookstores - My mecca. Filled with every great story ever told! I dream that I will someday have a book on the shelves alongside my favorite authors.
4) Libraries - Same thing.
THINGS
1) My bike, Flicka
2) A new book
3) A cute pair of heels
CIRCUMSTANCES
1) Friday afternoon
2) When the air smells like fresh cut grass and spring rain
3) When the Sooners win a big game
4) When I hear a great song on the radio and I'm driving windows down, singing off-key at the top of my lungs.
5) The few seconds after a 360 on the jet ski. When the water is crashing around me creating a halo of misty rainbows.
6) When I am the center of attention
7) When I am in the middle of reading a really great book for the first time
8) When I am in the middle of reading a really great book for the upteenth time
9) When I go out to my parent's house and discover the pool is uncovered for the first time each summer.
10) When I am lying in bed with my lover. Talking and laughing and cuddling in post-coital bliss.
11) When I finish a big task or catch something before it becomes a problem at work.
12) When I finish a long, hard bike ride and I can barely lift my leg to get off my bike. And I realize I made it through. That I just pushed myself beyond what was possible even the week before.
It is in the little things for me. Those precious moments when the world aligns and I am able to fully enjoy my surroundings. That space in time where I find myself taking in the present with a greatful breath and letting it go again with a giggle. And I realize that something has just tickled my soul.
I urge you all to pay attention to what tickles yours.
Goodnight - ShayMarie
Monday, August 9, 2010
Glass Half Full Thoughts and Other Shannanigans
It's Monday. As per usual I need a weekend to recover from my weekend. Shannanigans abounded.
With 4 days left of the work week I need some happy thoughts to lift me out of the excel spreadsheets.
So I'm sending my happy thoughts out into the world. And then I'll get to the shannanigans.
1) It is 3 weeks, 3 days and 23.5 hours until Sooner Football! Time to dust off the coozie and Quentin Griffin jersey.
2) Texty. Texty. Flirty. Flirty.
3) My birthday is in 9 days. Cinnamons and McBadass Pub Crawl is in 12. Air up your bike tires and condition your livers people! It is going to be a dozy!
4) I found 7 bucks in my pants doing laundry this evening.
5) Still blissed from tearing up the jet ski yesterday. I really needed a few good wipe outs to set me back to rights.
Now that I am in a better mood, on to the Shannanigans.
THE BET:
It all started with a little shit-talking by the swimming pool on Saturday afternoon.
I had the pleasure of meeting a few guys who thought that girls who can shoot billiards are rare mythical creatures. Much like Unicorns or wives that give BJs outside of birthdays and anniversaries.
I felt it was my obligation to prove them wrong. So we ended up with the bet. Best Match 2 out of 3. If I win Ben would surrender his eternal servitude (namely help me move in 6 weeks).
It was a good match. He was better than I thought. I won the first game. He rallied for the second. By the third all 15 of our spectators were fully aware of the terms of the bet. We traded shots. Made difficult cuts, banks, and in the end ... I lost with one ball still left on the table.
So I had to surrender all public decency and shamelessly give the man a lap dance.
The stars aligned and thankfully Johnny Cash was playing on the jukebox. I don't think I could have rocked Lady GAGA in quite the same fashion. There was also a stripper pole right next to his chair. So I played the stripper with the heart of gold and rocked Folsom Prison for all it was worth.
I got a round of applause and a consolation shot for my efforts. Although the Jameson was not as sweet when tinged with the bitter aftertaste of defeat.
You know. Just some good clean fun on a Saturday night.
With 4 days left of the work week I need some happy thoughts to lift me out of the excel spreadsheets.
So I'm sending my happy thoughts out into the world. And then I'll get to the shannanigans.
1) It is 3 weeks, 3 days and 23.5 hours until Sooner Football! Time to dust off the coozie and Quentin Griffin jersey.
2) Texty. Texty. Flirty. Flirty.
3) My birthday is in 9 days. Cinnamons and McBadass Pub Crawl is in 12. Air up your bike tires and condition your livers people! It is going to be a dozy!
4) I found 7 bucks in my pants doing laundry this evening.
5) Still blissed from tearing up the jet ski yesterday. I really needed a few good wipe outs to set me back to rights.
Now that I am in a better mood, on to the Shannanigans.
THE BET:
It all started with a little shit-talking by the swimming pool on Saturday afternoon.
I had the pleasure of meeting a few guys who thought that girls who can shoot billiards are rare mythical creatures. Much like Unicorns or wives that give BJs outside of birthdays and anniversaries.
I felt it was my obligation to prove them wrong. So we ended up with the bet. Best Match 2 out of 3. If I win Ben would surrender his eternal servitude (namely help me move in 6 weeks).
It was a good match. He was better than I thought. I won the first game. He rallied for the second. By the third all 15 of our spectators were fully aware of the terms of the bet. We traded shots. Made difficult cuts, banks, and in the end ... I lost with one ball still left on the table.
So I had to surrender all public decency and shamelessly give the man a lap dance.
The stars aligned and thankfully Johnny Cash was playing on the jukebox. I don't think I could have rocked Lady GAGA in quite the same fashion. There was also a stripper pole right next to his chair. So I played the stripper with the heart of gold and rocked Folsom Prison for all it was worth.
I got a round of applause and a consolation shot for my efforts. Although the Jameson was not as sweet when tinged with the bitter aftertaste of defeat.
You know. Just some good clean fun on a Saturday night.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Outer Beauty
Ahhhh Naomi. If it weren't so disgusting, your testimony in Charles Taylor's war crimes tribunal might even have been laughable.
Wait ... Maybe I can still make it funny.
The following are actual quotes from her testimony in response to the questions I would have asked if I were trying the case:
Shannanigans O'Connell: So Naomi, what were you thinking when Charles Taylor tea-bagged you?
Naomi Campbell: They were, "very small, dirty-looking stones,"
SO'C: Really! So his balls were dirty?
NC: “They were kind of dirty-looking pebbles,"
SO'C: Were they dirty or were they just kind of dirty, Miss Campbell. Have you heard of the term tea-bagging before? This is an important distinction for the court.
NC: "I just assumed that they were ... "I had never heard of Charles Taylor before, never heard of the country Liberia before, had never heard the term ..."
SO'C: Let me make sure that I understand you correctly. You allowed a man you've never heard of, whose balls you assumed were dirty, perform a degrading sex act on you without question?
NC: "I get gifts given to me all the time, at all hours of the night."
SO'C: So then what exactly was your surprise regarding this episode if similar occurrences happen, "all the time, at all hours of the night," as you describe?
NC: "I'm used to seeing them shiny in a box."
SO'C: Are you referring to Justin Timberlake's Dick in a Box? I think you must be confused.
NC: "Correct."
SO'C: Ok. Moving on. What were your words to Mr. Taylor after he flopped his balls on your forehead?
NC: "I just want to get this over with and get on with my life, this is a big inconvenience for me."
SO'C: Thank you, Miss Campbell. That will be all.
Wait ... Maybe I can still make it funny.
The following are actual quotes from her testimony in response to the questions I would have asked if I were trying the case:
Shannanigans O'Connell: So Naomi, what were you thinking when Charles Taylor tea-bagged you?
Naomi Campbell: They were, "very small, dirty-looking stones,"
SO'C: Really! So his balls were dirty?
NC: “They were kind of dirty-looking pebbles,"
SO'C: Were they dirty or were they just kind of dirty, Miss Campbell. Have you heard of the term tea-bagging before? This is an important distinction for the court.
NC: "I just assumed that they were ... "I had never heard of Charles Taylor before, never heard of the country Liberia before, had never heard the term ..."
SO'C: Let me make sure that I understand you correctly. You allowed a man you've never heard of, whose balls you assumed were dirty, perform a degrading sex act on you without question?
NC: "I get gifts given to me all the time, at all hours of the night."
SO'C: So then what exactly was your surprise regarding this episode if similar occurrences happen, "all the time, at all hours of the night," as you describe?
NC: "I'm used to seeing them shiny in a box."
SO'C: Are you referring to Justin Timberlake's Dick in a Box? I think you must be confused.
NC: "Correct."
SO'C: Ok. Moving on. What were your words to Mr. Taylor after he flopped his balls on your forehead?
NC: "I just want to get this over with and get on with my life, this is a big inconvenience for me."
SO'C: Thank you, Miss Campbell. That will be all.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Random Thoughts on Hump Day
Every time someone says hump day at work I snicker.
In times of extreme desperation, a post-it can double as a Kleenex.
I hate it when people say, "is it hot enough out there for you?" when you walk inside all haggard and melting from a 115 degree heat index. Just once I want it to be someone I can actually respond to with my true answer: "Why no! It isn't too hot! I truly enjoy crawling inside the devil's asshole and lounging around ... Fucker."
Word to the wise: Make sure you don't have to pee before you start your spray tan session.
Another word to the wise: Spray tan booths do not have very functional drains.
There has been some debate, but i maintain that you are a wimp if you get a girl's number and text to ask her out rather than calling.
The phrase, "I wouldn't do that for a million dollars" makes absolutely no sense to me. There really isn't a whole hell of a lot I wouldn't do for a million dollars.
Why do some people you've met briefly months ago insist on pointing out that you can't remember their names? Sometimes I just tell them, "Oh man! you're right. You just weren't that memorable."
I really hate it when I step into the shower and then realize I have to poop.
Ciao,
Shannanigans
In times of extreme desperation, a post-it can double as a Kleenex.
I hate it when people say, "is it hot enough out there for you?" when you walk inside all haggard and melting from a 115 degree heat index. Just once I want it to be someone I can actually respond to with my true answer: "Why no! It isn't too hot! I truly enjoy crawling inside the devil's asshole and lounging around ... Fucker."
Word to the wise: Make sure you don't have to pee before you start your spray tan session.
Another word to the wise: Spray tan booths do not have very functional drains.
There has been some debate, but i maintain that you are a wimp if you get a girl's number and text to ask her out rather than calling.
The phrase, "I wouldn't do that for a million dollars" makes absolutely no sense to me. There really isn't a whole hell of a lot I wouldn't do for a million dollars.
Why do some people you've met briefly months ago insist on pointing out that you can't remember their names? Sometimes I just tell them, "Oh man! you're right. You just weren't that memorable."
I really hate it when I step into the shower and then realize I have to poop.
Ciao,
Shannanigans
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
The Triumphant Return of Shannanigans
My Dad's sage advice to me when I graduated college was this: "Shanny. Work is the curse of the drinking class."
It took me a few years to get it. But now that I am deeply ensconced in a thankless job for the man--and feeling my creativity slowly sucked out of me with every single swipe of the time clock--happy hour takes on a whole new meaning. I watch desperately as the last 10 minutes of work tick by. Jesus! I. Want. A. Freaking. DRINK!
We all have those days. Where we can't reach our neighborhood dives fast enough. Where the promise of stale cigarette smoke, shitty jukebox music and cheap beers by the bucket await us.
And if I am lucky I'll get in some good people watching.
I've noticed something interesting though. The happy hour people watching changes dramatically depending on the day of the week.
Take for instance the Monday crowd. Jeeezy Creezy. These people really hate their jobs. It's only 8 hours into the workweek and the only comfort they have is the lukewarm miller high life at $5 a bucket.
You'll see a handful of them on their own in their wrinkled khakis. Shoulders slumped. Clutching desperately to their beverages like a fat kid would a contraband snickers bar at a weight loss camp. Some may have brought their coworkers along to commiserate. They are all talking animatedly about how much their boss sucks. How shitty the new policies are. How ridiculous the workload is. Etc, etc. They trade off rants while the others nod in agreement and shake their heads in disgust.
Just an observation for you HR types. If you hear of a group of employees going to happy hour on a Monday night you have failed epically. Your policies suck and your workforce all wish you'd either get fired or get diagnosed with colon cancer. If you've heard this happen on multiple occasions then they are hoping you get colon cancer.
Tuesday night brings little difference to the Monday crowd. However there seems to be just a handful more people than last night. You'll also see the same people from last night posted at their assigned stools and talking to the bar tender. These are bar flies. They are much like the neon signs on the wall: always counted on to be a part of the ambiance and half-lit.
The Wednesday night crowd starts to tip the balance. Especially if it is ladies night. Twenty something girls still trying to work (or sleep) their way to the top will start converging on the bar around 7pm. All in the name of free alcohol. They will travel in packs as ladies do and usually have traded their work ensembles for something a little more like Friday night. They may or may not be me and my lady friends.
Thursday is the it-night happy hour. Yuppies converge like mad to celebrate the fact that they'll only spend one day hung-over at the office before the weekend. These happy-hour goers tend to stay a little later in the night and get a little more fun to watch. Especially if you are at a place that doesn't serve food. Most will them drink their dinner and not hold their liquor as well on empty stomachs. FUN! If you find yourself bored on a Thursday night, go to your local watering hole that is sans food service around 7:00pm. See how many drunks in their deflated work clothes you can pick out of the crowd.
Friday Night. People who go to happy hour on Friday are in 2 distinct groups:
1) Married with family so they have to get home to spend the rest of the weekend with the family. Hence they did not go home first to doll up prior to the party.
2) The hardcore drinkers in singledom who are starting out early.
They tend to be an interesting mix to watch share the same square footage. So no matter which you are you should go enjoy the dichotomy.
Just remember kids ... No matter what night of the week is dominant in your existence, you deserve happy hour. The Supreme Court actually mandated that clause be added to your Miranda rights. You just have to make sure you inform your boss you are invoking your right to Happy Hour.
It took me a few years to get it. But now that I am deeply ensconced in a thankless job for the man--and feeling my creativity slowly sucked out of me with every single swipe of the time clock--happy hour takes on a whole new meaning. I watch desperately as the last 10 minutes of work tick by. Jesus! I. Want. A. Freaking. DRINK!
We all have those days. Where we can't reach our neighborhood dives fast enough. Where the promise of stale cigarette smoke, shitty jukebox music and cheap beers by the bucket await us.
And if I am lucky I'll get in some good people watching.
I've noticed something interesting though. The happy hour people watching changes dramatically depending on the day of the week.
Take for instance the Monday crowd. Jeeezy Creezy. These people really hate their jobs. It's only 8 hours into the workweek and the only comfort they have is the lukewarm miller high life at $5 a bucket.
You'll see a handful of them on their own in their wrinkled khakis. Shoulders slumped. Clutching desperately to their beverages like a fat kid would a contraband snickers bar at a weight loss camp. Some may have brought their coworkers along to commiserate. They are all talking animatedly about how much their boss sucks. How shitty the new policies are. How ridiculous the workload is. Etc, etc. They trade off rants while the others nod in agreement and shake their heads in disgust.
Just an observation for you HR types. If you hear of a group of employees going to happy hour on a Monday night you have failed epically. Your policies suck and your workforce all wish you'd either get fired or get diagnosed with colon cancer. If you've heard this happen on multiple occasions then they are hoping you get colon cancer.
Tuesday night brings little difference to the Monday crowd. However there seems to be just a handful more people than last night. You'll also see the same people from last night posted at their assigned stools and talking to the bar tender. These are bar flies. They are much like the neon signs on the wall: always counted on to be a part of the ambiance and half-lit.
The Wednesday night crowd starts to tip the balance. Especially if it is ladies night. Twenty something girls still trying to work (or sleep) their way to the top will start converging on the bar around 7pm. All in the name of free alcohol. They will travel in packs as ladies do and usually have traded their work ensembles for something a little more like Friday night. They may or may not be me and my lady friends.
Thursday is the it-night happy hour. Yuppies converge like mad to celebrate the fact that they'll only spend one day hung-over at the office before the weekend. These happy-hour goers tend to stay a little later in the night and get a little more fun to watch. Especially if you are at a place that doesn't serve food. Most will them drink their dinner and not hold their liquor as well on empty stomachs. FUN! If you find yourself bored on a Thursday night, go to your local watering hole that is sans food service around 7:00pm. See how many drunks in their deflated work clothes you can pick out of the crowd.
Friday Night. People who go to happy hour on Friday are in 2 distinct groups:
1) Married with family so they have to get home to spend the rest of the weekend with the family. Hence they did not go home first to doll up prior to the party.
2) The hardcore drinkers in singledom who are starting out early.
They tend to be an interesting mix to watch share the same square footage. So no matter which you are you should go enjoy the dichotomy.
Just remember kids ... No matter what night of the week is dominant in your existence, you deserve happy hour. The Supreme Court actually mandated that clause be added to your Miranda rights. You just have to make sure you inform your boss you are invoking your right to Happy Hour.
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