We’re different people on the weekends. Stress and restraint are out of the picture. Responsibilities include eating, breathing and sleeping, but even that last one is optional. We peel back our layers and let our freak flags fly.
Diet and exercise are replaced by alcohol and dancing. We get to wear those Wildfox long-sleeved shirts that serve absolutely no purpose in our wardrobes other than being overpriced sweatpants. We forget that work people even exist, and come Sunday, no one remembers that you botched the presentation last Wednesday.
When you let your hair down from the tightly wound bun and release your inner wild/flower/brain child, that’s your weekend alter ego. We all have one.
That person who is no longer polite, who no longer plays by someone else’s rules. Maybe it’s because we’re finally able to get enough sleep or our eating plans go totally out the window, but it seems like we’re happier and truer to ourselves on the weekends.
It’s kind of like when you hang out with our family, versus when you hang out with your friends. You watch what you say, make sure your socks match and your lipstick won’t offend Mom. Whereas, on the weekends, you whip out the ripped jeans, crop tops and badass attitude.
We take on different personas during the Monday through Friday grind. You’ve got to appear put together on the weekdays, polished from your nails to your leather flats; whereas, the weekends are for the chips (of all variety: food, on your shoulder, away at your soul and body as you leave that guy’s apt at 7 am still drunk).
You finally have that precious time to yourself -- whether that means checking out a new exhibit, partying your brains out, or simply hibernating in the confines of your apartment.
It’s like you have hobbies again. You remember what it feels like to be outside on the street at 11 in the morning. You don’t rely on water coolers and planners and lunch bags as natural resources. For once, the lack of schedule is refreshing.
There’s no messing around; you have two days to accomplish everything you put off during the week because you were too lazy to do it after a day at the office (no judgment). Sunday brunches are for getting so drunk you didn’t mind doing all that laundry you so generously saved for yourself to get done.
We welcome the freedom of not having to wear a smile all day and being on our best behavior. Whatever happened during the week gets washed away clean with alcohol and sweat.
You place your professional self on hold to be shelved until Monday and resume your life outside of deadlines and desktops. (You know, the one that involves your current flame, "Scandal" marathons and feeding your shopping addiction.)
Who you are on the weekdays is not congruent with who you are on the weekends. Here’s why:
Weekdays are sealing envelopes; weekends are pushing the envelope.
Weekdays are for acquaintances; weekends are getting to know someone a little bit better.
Weekdays are being on time; weekends are having the time of your life.
Weekdays are for getting out of bed; weekends are for never leaving it. (Amen to that!)
Weekdays are for working; weekends are for twerking. (Amen to that one, too!)
Weekdays are for getting down to business; weekends are for getting down to the beat.
Weekdays mean hunkering down; weekends mean downing that hunk (Relax, Dad, I’m making a funny here.)
Weekdays you’ll be on that “Suit and Tie”; weekends you’re rocking your F-me pumps with Amy Winehouse.
Weekdays we’re on that grind; weekends we’re off the grid.
Weekdays are deadlines; weekends are blowing lines. (JK! Drugs are bad!)
Weekdays never seem to end; we wish weekends were endless. (Until you wake up with a hangover the magnitude of Kanye’s ego.)
Weekdays we stay the course; weekends we cross the line.
Weekdays it’s about keeping our mouths shut; weekends we're shutting down the haters.
Weekdays are getting bread; weekends are getting sauced.
Weekdays are perfectly placed coifs; weekends are messy top knots.
Weekdays are for dating; weekends are for casual sex. (This isn’t clever, but it’s true.)
Weekdays are for subways; weekends are for cabs.
Weekdays are buttoned up; weekends are your boyfriend’s button down.
Weekdays are for busting your ass; weekends are for busting in your ass. (LOL, I couldn’t not use this joke, okay?)
Weekdays are going to bed early; weekends are not sleeping at all.
Weekdays we’re shaking hands; weekends we’re shaking boot-ay!
Weekdays we have to balance the checkbook; weekends we book the checks and bounce the balances.
Weekdays are nine to six; weekends are 69. (Anyone who watches “The American” understands me. Am I right?!)
Weekdays we’re going crazy over Gchat; weekends we’re going crazy over booty calls.
Weekdays are happy hours; weekends are happy endings.