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Scrolling through my Facebook feed on Sunday afternoon is one of my favorite pastimes. Recapping what kind of crazy shenanigans your friends got into over the weekend, and un-tagging drunk pictures of yourself. It’s really great.
Then I scroll up to the more recent posts and statuses and pictures about football and such start showing up, maybe a few patio grazers decided to grab a drink or two. It’s relaxing. Then, there it is. “Sunday Funday with mah GIRLZ!!!” followed by a picture of the shittiest looking pitcher of sangria I’ve ever seen. My heart begins racing. My anger rises and I want to throw my phone out of the window.
That’s not a Sunday Funday. That looks like a bad attempt at showing your friends that you can still have fun and your life doesn’t totally suck. Newsflash: It does.
Sunday Funday is a time-honored, respected tradition where I come from, not to be bastardized by your shitty fucking Sunday happy hour with goddamn sangria and spinach salad. I bet this is the first time you‘ve even drank all weekend. To me, there’s only one way to do Sunday Funday: hard, sloppy and weird.
Sunday Funday is your last chance to have some adult-centric fun before Monday strikes you back down to reality. You might wake up hungover from Saturday, shower up, get some food and maybe a bloody mary to help stabilize your toxin-ridden body and catch a game at a bar or restaurant.
This is where the real Sunday Funday begins. It isn’t some planned outing with friends. It’s spontaneous, wonderful and the sloppiest display of debauchery known to man. If copious amounts of hard liquor isn’t involved, just go home and read a book because you’re doing it wrong.
This is you and your friends out on the town, dressed like you don‘t give a fuck, trying to win the rage race between your liver and Monday. There shouldn’t be any reason for you not to go hard.
Sunday Funday isn’t a cute event just because it rhymes and there might be some subconscious association with Sunday and church and since you’re drinking on Sunday, you’re so very bad. Sinner.
You shouldn’t be eating artichoke dip out of a bread bowl in a nice little outfit. You should be eating a cheeseburger in the street at 3pm while you scope out the next bar to hit. Yes, this is degeneracy at its finest, but that’s what Sunday Funday is all about. The genesis of this storied tradition is to out-drink your hangover from Saturday. It’s not book club.
Some days, you’ll be lucky enough on Sunday Funday to join forces with fellow ragers out on the town, also looking to booze away their anxiety over the coming week and maybe squeeze in a little game of just-the-tip on the holiest of days. Dancing while it’s still light out is a surreal experience. Usually, you’re used to some dark, dingy dance floor, barely being able to recognize your inebriated dance buddy. Now, you’re in the light of day, in full view of everyone in attendance. Be wary, though. Drinking during the day does not afford you the beer goggles excuse the next day. You’ll likely terrorize some poor family out for an early dinner, but just shoot the kids a casual wink to let them know what they have to look forward to once they’ve left mom and dad with an empty nest.
Your body has been punished in ways that defy science, pushing itself to metabolic limits. The point of Sunday Funday is to get drunk fast enough to where you won’t be hungover on Monday morning, when your body has cleansed itself of your weekend transgressions during your 14-hour pass out after Sunday Funday, although you will may miss all of the fantastic television Sunday evening has to provide. God invented DVR and HBO GO for this very reason.
Sunday Funday is like the dark comedy of raging. The Coen brothers themselves would have a tough time capturing such indiscretion. The event itself is fun, but drinking away your worries is a dark, dark place. Then again, so is working 40 hours a week for a paycheck at a job you detest. Sue me for wanting to spend drunk time with my friends when I can.
The cozy confines of your bed will never feel better after a long, sloppy, successful day of raging on the Sabbath. The drunken slumber will re-energize your body for the new week in a strange, exciting, life expectancy-reducing way, while keeping your liver warm for next weekend, in yet another pursuit of fleeting youth.