My friend Craig and I were talking about weekends and our thoughts on them the other day.  We both are really excited by the prospect of the upcoming half day Fridays we are really lucky to get during the summer from our shared employer.  Half day Fridays aren’t uncommon for New York companies to give to their employees  — it’s a pretty rad New York City summer thing — but every year,  I do appreciate the email that confirms we are indeed getting them — because you never know — and I sorta let out a sigh of relief and thankfulness.  In New York, everyone wants to get out of town over the weekends, so to be able to leave early is a huge plus.  I myself never really leave the city during the summer unless I’m traveling for work (i.e. San Diego Comic Con), or I’m heading somewhere that’s not the Hamptons or the Jersey Shore.   I can’t do the traditional summer beach house thing.  It’s too much pressure.  I’ve done it.  No need to do it again. To me, it’s just a hassle.

No, I instead relish the empty city on summer weekends.  It’s usually fucking hot out, but I don’t care since I have AC and cold wine.  And at night, I enjoy sitting on my balcony with friends — or just by myself.  Also – another added plus in the summer is that you can get into any restaurant you want.  Everyone who goes to fancy and great restaurants during the rest of the year is out in the Hamptons.  It’s really pleasant to have all those nimrods gone.

On the negative side of half day Fridays, I’m struggling a little this year on what to do with them.  For the last few years, I spent many of my half day Fridays with Fucker.  We had a little routine.  It involved wine, pizza, music, bad television, and balcony sitting, etc.  It was something I looked forward to every week.  So really, what sparked my initial conversation with Craig, was what the fuck am I going to do with my upcoming half day Fridays so I don’t get depressed or upset about what Fucker did to me?  And Craig definitely seemed to understand what I meant about the Friday afternoon lull that could potentially make me sad — even though at the same time, I will be happy to be free as a bird from the hectic office. So we were just shooting the shit about that, and he blurted out, “They should just make all Psychopaths wear a scarlet P on their chest so you know to stay clear of them in advance.”  And I looked at him and thought, wow that is brilliant and such a good idea.  I mean, Psychopaths are never cured.  If you read about them, they lack the capacity to care about anyone but themselves, so even if it seems like they are cured, they’re not.  They’re just great actors and make you feel like they’re cured.  And Fucker was and is definitely a great actor.  What’s to say he’s not out there fucking another woman (or man) over?  Or knowing him, multiple women and/or men? (I’m not sure if Fucker likes men or not. The Fucker I knew didn’t. But I’m not willing to commit to anything about him at this point. He was all a lie.)  At any rate, I do think he should definitely be branded with a scarlet P.  Craig is on to something, don’t you think?

So here we are.  If I were President or any sort of politician, I would vote to brand all Psychopaths with a Scarlet P.  No, just kidding.  But really — I think it’s a funny concept.

Now.  What does this have to do with Memorial Day?  I’ll explain.  First off, I know there are lots of you in different countries reading my blog.  For those of you who don’t know, Memorial Day is an American holiday that is supposed to be a day when we remember all of those who died in some sort of military action of some type.  I’m fairly certain that is accurate.  The reality is that Memorial Day marks the three day weekend (yay!) that begins summer.  (Labor Day ends it.)  So, starting tomorrow, I get my half day summer Fridays — and I get this Monday off.  So it’s really a 3 1/2 day weekend.  Score.

However, in the vein of this is a new year of doing and thinking of things differently, I’m officially putting my old half day Fridays into the past.  I’m memorializing them (but not honoring them) and moving on to bigger and more interesting things than Fucker and the dumb smelly cigars he smoked on my balcony that made my hair all gross.  It’s official.  I’m memorializing this Memorial Day as a new beginning. On to bigger and way better things.

For all you Americans, or ex pats from other countries living in the U.S., enjoy your long weekend.  Next up is Dora, the cats, and what happened to them the weekend my brain exploded.

xoxo