Sunday Scaries

Yesterday morning while laying in bed I had a fantasy.

Once my shacker leaves, I can sit around my apartment all day and do nothing. I can order Chinese delivery, I can watch women's world cup action. Hell, I may spend 4 to 5 hours on Netflix. I haven't rewatched the OC pilot in a few months. Oh boy, what a day I had planned.

Typically I have anxiety about plugging my phone in Sunday morning. I have usually blacked out and offended someone Saturday night. Be it a girl, a friend, a drug dealer that I fell asleep on; I have almost always wronged someone. But this Saturday was different! After a relatively tame outing at the Dodger game, I just went to bed. No one could possibly be mad at me. Let's power up this phone, GUILT FREE!

But then the second worst thing happened.

"Dude, brunch, come to the roof top now."

"Hey bro, we're going to write at the pool today."

"NBA/GoT bbq 5pm, wear a Hawaiian shirt."

All dreams of horizontal utopia vanished. The fantasy of a sober Sunday evaporated into thin air. I was going to begrudgingly have to do shit today, I was going to drink today. And do you know why?

Because the Sunday Scaries are real.

What are the Sunday Scaries you ask? Oh you know them. You know that creeping anxiety you get around 7pm every Sunday, when the crushing inevitability of Monday and life's inherent bullshit become more and more apparent. The reason you stay up super late hoping that insomnia is a sure fire way to defeat the impending doom of Monday Morning. These are the Sunday Scaries.

Once upon a time, I loved Sundays. I never hated school that much and the idea of lounging around all day with limited responsibility was appealing to me. But that was before increasing life responsibilities became a reality and two day hangovers became the norm. The three certainties for me in life are death, taxes and I will feel like shit on Mondays. I hate Mondays.

I am not alone.

Most people do not like Mondays. Even if you love your job, I doubt many people spring out of bed at 7am on Monday ready to conquer the day. Hell, I wish there were a 24 hour period in between Sunday and Monday where the government mandated that everyone stay in their home all day and do nothing. The 8th day of the week, Recovery day! In fact this is what Sunday SHOULD be for, but instead people use this strange anxiety based FOMO to attempt to beat the Scaries. Many methods have been attempted. Almost all have failed. What follows is an exercise in futility, because try as I might, I have never won the battle.

Brunch-
The oldest trick in the book. One rumored way to prevent the arrival of Monday is to get up super early on Sunday and keep partying. Logically it makes sense, if you wake up at 9am instead of noon, technically there is more time between you and Sunday. In practice, your refusal to acknowledge your hangover only doubles down on the pain and anguish you will feel Monday morning.

Sure, I enjoy a bloody and a mimosa as much as the next guy. I even revel in the half cocked ideas that come out of brunch. "Let's go rent a fucking boat." Just know that if you start an AM Sunday Funday, you are only going to end up down a rabbit hole of debauchery and hate yourself until at least the following Wednesday. Proceed with caution.

BBQ-
The classic 'let's mask the fact that we're day drinking by saying we're cooking outdoors purely to enjoy the weather.' It's a lie. You are having a day party, there just happens to be burgers. A BBQ is little kids swimming in the pool while the adults grill...not seeing how many times you can get your buddy to fall for the old Smirnoff Ice on the grill trick. (It will always work) I understand why you want to drink outside, Viking chugs can get messy, and when you show up to work with a little sunburn it is generally accepted that you had a fun weekend, but just don't lie to yourself ok?

Yes I know the avacado bar next to the burger station was a nice touch, but no matter how carmelized those onions are, you're still going to feel like donkey dick in the morning.

Beach Day-
You've got me here. If there is anything guaranteed to ensure a productive Monday morning it is an 8 hour monster volleyball session in the sand whilst chugging vodka gatorades. I know it's practical because the cops can't tell. I know it's fun to jump in the ocean in between games. I understand that June has the longest days of the year so you can bocce until the 8pm sunset and then retreat to someone's house to watch HBO.

But you know that the only thing that can lead to a hangover quicker than Sake bombs and Boone's Farm is dehydration. Throw on some SPF buddy, and how about a cup of water for every third Fireball shot Misty May.

Dinner Party-
Oh look at how civilized you are? Did you take 2 minutes of your life and prepare a queso dip? That's so grown up and mature. I can't imagine how difficult it was for you to throw a block of Velveeta and rotel in a microwave and hit the 5 button. But Dave, we made a homemade Parmesan glaze for the Kale salad...and opened 6 bottles of Malbec.

I get it, a 747 does not turn off the jets during its descent. You have to slow a machine down before outright cutting the power, but drowning yourself in Tyrionesque amounts of red on Sunday evening does not make you classy, it makes you scared. What's that quote from The Dark Knight Rises?

"What do you know about Monday?"
"I know you should be as afraid of it as I am."

Watch the game-
Many years ago I wrote a column about excuses to drink alone. Sometimes there is a sporting event that you want to watch and you may not get the channel, this is an excuse to go to a bar and drink alone. No one will think this is weird. Is it preferable to recruit a buddy? Sure, but most definitely not mandatory.

That said, if you go to a pub to watch a Bills game at 10am and then proceed to go on a 12 hour bar crawl up Washington, this is a meek attempt to fend off the Scaries. I get it. Whaler is fun on Sunday afternoon, Hinano has a great burger and shit, it is fun to use the honor bar at C&O's, but let's call a spade a spade, you didn't give a shit about that AFC East battle, this is a thinly veiled Sunday Funday. You passed out early Saturday night and think that you can redeem yourself by pulling someone home from the Baja Cantina Sunday at 9. "I get HBO" is not a good pick-up line. Neither is "The bathrooms here are great for recreational drug use."

Of course they are. Everyone knows this. But Jesus Christ man, it's Sunday get your shit together and go home. Grab yourself a Smart Water, set five alarms and sleep on the couch. The Sunday Scaries are a legit dynasty that is undefeated since the beginning of time. Your best bet? Acquire some Zoloft maybe some Xanax and make sure you are asleep before 10pm, wake up Monday morning and ride the wave of despair until you get home Monday night. Only then will things start to look up.

It gets better. I promise.