The History Of Friday

I've made it another week. Alas, it's Friday. Friday symbolizes so much for me, as it always has.

Even when I was a little girl, Fridays always held such anticipation of what was to come on the weekends. I had the family that always welcomed my girlfriends for sleepovers and trips to the movie theatres, pool parties (when the weather was warm, of course - I did grow up in the frozen Tundra of Northeastern Pennsylvania where it's Winter nine months out of the year) and pizza.

My best friend, Nicole would normally stay over on these sacred weekends and we'd do all sorts of things that young, pre-pubescent girls do. Hairstyles, facials... One time I convinced her that a 'mask' made of baby powder and lotion would be fantastic for her skin. This sucker was gross. And sloppy. My parents scrubbed my carpet for weeks trying to get the gook out. Needless to say, when she went home the next day, her parents freaked out at the grime that covered her face, her hair and most of her belongings.

I was always the 'friend' getting their other friends into not-so-big trouble. You know. The one that always called too late or the one who convinced their friend to convince their parents to stay over that night, despite the fact that it took an hour of coercing and they just knew that they'd be in trouble for it the next day; it was all in good fun, anyway. It was all for the sake of being kids.

Fridays, when I got older, symbolized massive sleepovers with tons of screeching, screaming girls and late-night phone calls to the local radio stations to request our new, favorite pop-y song that was played on the radio sixteen times a day as it was. It was sneaking out of our furnished basement to take midnight swims in the pool, or to sneak over to the next-door school yard to smoke the obligatory, rebellious teenaged cigarette. In high school, Fridays were summed up by the high school football games and pizza afterwards. Pizza and obnoxiousness. You know the high school brand of obnoxious, where you wave and yell crude things to passerby, driving in their cars. Toilet-papering. The typical behavior of hormone-ridden kids.

Fridays gradually began to symbolize the beginning of an entire week of partying and debauchery. Underaged drinking and going to work with hangovers, trying desperately to hide your bloodshot eyes with concealer and dramatic, over-long bangs. These years seemed to go on for, well... Years. I guess they did. It's amazing how the time goes by so quickly and you find yourself in a completely new place.

Those years eventually progressed into my band-playing days, where Fridays signified extreme anticipation and excitement, wondering where our next gig was going to take us, who we would meet, where we would end up afterwards. Days of sleeping until 4 PM and waking to prepare for the night's show, only to begin again the next day, and the next day after that and so on and so forth.

Those days are long gone.

Now my Fridays consist of a good dinner, a good movie and quality time with my wonderful husband and amazing daughter. We're homebodies now and rightfully content with it. Fridays now begin with the alarm ringing at 7 AM and creeping out of my warm bed, away from my warm husband, tip-toeing past my daughter's bedroom so as not to wake her, just so I could take a brief shower and head to work. Work nowadays is not playing in a band, my instrument, my voice, but calculating client's retirement fund fees and moving money from account to account, day in and day out. Friday mornings fade insignificantly into Friday afternoons and before you know it, it's time to leave work for the day.

That's where I'm at today.

3 PM. Quitting time is 5.

I can't wait to go home and begin my lovely, cozy weekend with my lovely, cozy family, my most important experience of all time and my most valued asset.

These are the best Fridays of my life.