I'm not a Monday person, and according to Twitter, Gchat, Facebook, and Grindr (?), neither are you. But I loathe to complain about my job and my Monday mornings since my job keeps a roof over my head, which in turn keeps me from having to perform disturbing sexual favors just so I can afford a meal at Rally's. (UPDATE: I haven't eaten at Rally's in five years thanks to my job, and my erogenous zones are healing up nicely.)
Instead I've created a social diversion that will allow us to commiserate without exactly complaining. A game where you put some humility into hyperbole and tell people how Mondays really make you feel. A game that I call "It's Monday, and…"
So come on… bleed a little! Exaggerate a lot! And together let's dispatch those cryptic Monday status updates like the chain letters in your great-aunt's spam folder.
I'll get you started with a few template posts:
It's Monday, and…
…I have the posture of a warm GoGurt.
…I am no longer a proud supporter of "Sunday Funday."
…I would do absolutely nothing for a Klondike bar. Just give it to me, you asshole.
…I feel like a used condom stuck to a desk chair.
…don't try, Mondays. Not even once.
…I'm not sure why I'm being asked to do 9 things at once when I can barely nail breathing and reading at the same time.
…my clothes don't match and I just don't care. Looking good on Monday morning would be like kissing your sister inside her mouth.
…my polo shirt is a diorama of coffee stains, dried toothpaste, and everything else from my everything bagel.
…I think I went 12 rounds with Manny Pacquiao on Saturday night. At the time, they felt like tickle-punches. But now, I feel like my intestines are definitely bleeding.
…moving the cursor from left to right takes everything I have.
…even though I can't prove it, I'm pretty sure there's a state called Pretzelvania.
…I swore I brushed my teeth with Aquafresh, not "Arm and Hammer with Sex Discharge."
…I ate three Asiago cheese bagels when I got in, so I should be a slow explosion of cream cheese throughout the day.
…I'm too afraid to look at my bank statement and I can't remember how to use Excel. Are the terrorists winning?
…I have the mobility and libido of a Hothian AT-AT.
…on Saturday night, I was a jackhammer; this morning, I'm a dildo with coffee breath.
…I've already burnt my tongue too severely on coffee to witness the taste landscape of my Kudo's breakfast bar.
…I wish a dragon would touch down and burn my face off.
…what the fuck is my Windows password?
…if I were drunk this would be more bearable… but then would Tuesday become my Monday?
…I'm starting to think that the alcoholics are onto something.
…I need to work on an "Exit Strategy."
…I no longer feel "Driven." In fact, I feel weak and sloppy, and could easily get trampled by a roving gang of truant 3rd graders.
…I've spent the last 35 minutes on WebMD building a case for the "48-hour hangover."
…I wish my boss would let me show up in Champion sweatpants.
…the bright lights of the office have made me suddenly realize that my tie is an odd shade of periwinkle and NOT CORNFLOWER BLUE.
…I am so glad I didn't get that physioball desk chair. Randy has one and he looks like such a dick right now.
…I AM THE WORKING MAN/WOMAN, HEAR ME ROAR: mew.
Happy Monday!