Friday, 6 p.m.
Me? Oh, scotch is fine — neat. Thank god it’s Friday, right? I mean, not for you I guess, because you’re here at this bar, working, serving me, but still, there’s something special about Friday, isn’t there? JOHN! OVER HERE, JOHN! My friend John will have the same as me. Sit down, brotherma– hey, what’s going on? You look weird. What do you mean, Alex is engaged? MY Alex? Yeah, I know she’s not MY Alex anymore, obviously — hey, by the way, when’d you change your name to Benedick Arnold? Yeah I said it, because you’re being a dick, dude. Whose side are you on, anyway? Don’t answer that. Um, bartender? Sorry to bother you again. Can you make that a double? A triple, actually. Can you make a quadruple, is there room for that? Just call it a double-double if it’s easier that way.
Saturday, 10 a.m.
Christ on a cracker I’m hungov– wait, that actually sounds delicious. A little heavy on the gluten but I’m in serious need of carbs right now, where can I get Christ Crackers other than church dear lord I’m hungry. Why is there never any food in this apartment? It’s like the Pride Lands under the Scar regime in this bitch. I bet Alex has food in her refrigerator. Bet she would wig out if she knew how I’m gonna fellate the first carb I find. Prissy-ass nun, who needs her? I’m gonna go out and eat a manly breakfast like a boss — but no drinking. NO drinking. I have to keep it together today.
Saturday, 10:30 a.m.
Wait, “Grimosa”? What the heck is that? That’s… exotic. Should I try it? I have to, right? Have to.
Saturday, 10:45 a.m.
Oh I mean I “had to” try it, not that I’d “have two” but, yeah, this works better.
Saturday, 3:00 p.m.
Seriously though, what other day can you do this? What other day can you just like, abandon all of your plans and ignore all of your phone calls and get wine-drunk in a stranger’s gazebo in the middle of the afternoon? Never, man. You can’t ever do this unless it’s Saturday. It’s beautiful. Like Alex. I hate that bitch. You know we only get one of these a week? One Saturday a week. What a rip off. Yeah, sorry, I’m not wasting my day on errands or washing dishes or productivity. Give me a break with that noise.
Saturday, 10:00 p.m.
I um… don’t try to lock me down. I’m not too drunk for Debra, you don’t know what you’re saying. It’s Debra’s birthday, and I RSVPed. I RSSFEED on her Facebuck and my word is my bond and I’m going. I’m going for Debra. I’m going for Alex. Try and stop me. You can’t, cuz it’s Saturday.
Sunday, 1:00 p.m.
Actual vomit came out of my nose two hours ago, bet that pussy Tebow has no idea what life is like on my level. Someone give me a beer, I can’t watch this sorry excuse for a football game sober. But hey, you guys? Cut me off if I start raging. I have work tomorrow.
Sunday, 4:45 p.m.
Wait, we’re out of beer? Well, who’s going to the store? I got 20 on it. All right, I’ll walk to the store too, losers. Football Sunday, man I love it.
Monday, 4:45 p.m.
My liver feels like it’s on Death Row. I just need one beer to take the edge off. Beer is so good at that. Beer is so good at so many things, like not breaking my heart and getting engaged to someone it’s known for three minutes.
Tuesday, 5:15 p.m.
I need a night off, serious– wait, what’s today? Please tell me it’s not Tuesday. It’s Tuesday? Goddammit. Well, I was gonna go straight home after work, but it’s Trivia Night and it’s kind of imperative that I be there, representing for my team. No one knows 19th Century watercolors like I do. Except for Alex, but she’s engaged now so she’s probably too good to show up for the team that WE STARTED, TOGETHER, AS A LOVING COUPLE WHO DOES THINGS LIKE SPEARHEAD TRIVIA TEAMS. Besides, there’s 2-for-1 wells until 10, which is the kind of deal I can’t pass up.
Wednesday, 4:30 p.m.
If you guys are all going to happy hour, far be it from me to be the wet blanket. Wouldn’t want to miss a bonding moment with my coworkers or the company credit card. Hey, are any of you down with pity sex? I’ve got a sad, sad story I’d like to tell you.
Thursday, 6:00 p.m.
I feel so behind with work shit, it’s like I’ve been on another planet all week. I’m gonna stay late and catch up. You too? Sweet, dude. In that case, I noticed some beer in the fridge earlier if you wanna get into that. Not sure who it belongs to, but no one will miss it. I love knocking back beers at work — between the number grinding and the hoppy notes, it’s almost impossible to remember the emotional terrorist I used to be engaged to.
Friday, 1:00 p.m.
You’re ordering sauvignon blanc with your lunch? Well I’m not one to drink on the job, but you’re the boss. Scotch neat, please. Make it a double.
Friday, 6 p.m.
There’s just something about Friday, isn’t there?