So there you are, having a mildly stressful, more like frustration onsetting kind of week when Thursday rolls along and all you can think about is "yay, it’s Thursday!" because that’s the day you’re going to see a bunch of friends you haven’t seen in awhile to go see one of your favorite back-in-the-day bands, Dinosaur Jr. But then, as the day goes on and things get more and more stressful and you can feel the storm clouds gathering like gathering gloom everything goes to hell in not just a hand basket but matching accessories. Which is how you find yourself becoming the victim of one department’s steam blowing off exercise. And is how you find yourself getting reamed out by someone in somebody else’s cubicle. Loudly and visibly and in front of the whole department. And not very nicely either. Best part of the whole thing? It’s by someone with whom you have somewhat of an off-kilter relationship with in general and with someone whose work is considered by people in the know as someone as a bit of a screwup and who you’ve been covering for months. The kind of worker to whom people say "what the hell does she do all day?" and "is she back from lunch yet?" The kind of worker who several times has missed important e-mails because the mp3's she e-mails her friends have clogged up her e-mail hard drive.

So you got that going for you.

Then, twenty minutes later, the loud, Hawaiian shirt writer with a notoriously bad attitude and in inability to realize that in joking around, there’s a fine line between being snarky and an asshole, is on the phone with you as he’s working from home. After spending five minutes trying to get an explanation out of him as to why he wrote something that doesn’t appear to have any purpose and to which he can’t remember if he wrote it or not, he puts his five year old son up to the phone to tell you to "stop busting my dad’s chops." Funny and cute, perhaps, but also all sorts of jerky and completely and totally unprofessional.

And so you go leave work and head off to your grand adventure, something you’ve been super-psyched with for months, and all you can think of is just how fucking pissed off you are. Instead of going "woo hoo!" to what’s transpiring, all you can think about is the writing and editing of the e-mails to them, coworkers, bosses even, in avengence of your honor. And as you hang out with the friends and go to the concert and hear one of your favorite bands play some of your favorite songs extremely loud and extremely well, all you can think about is how fucking pissed off you are and how lame it is that you just went through what you went through.


Man, Thursday sucked.