I am Maria Heinegg and these are inner workings of my half-hashed mind brought to you by the World Wide Webbing. I am a comedian as well as write for the Huffington Post Comedy Blog, ICanHasCheezburger.com and TheImpersonals.com. In addition, I try to optimize my mutual needs to cry yet maintain social acceptance by doing it in the middle of the night when I'm alone or, at the very least, on the weekends. It's a work in progress. Bon appetit.
The content on this blog is not mine unless otherwise stated, all rights belong to the respected owners.
This is Labor Day weekend. And it’s the last Summer Friday at my office.
If you don’t know what Summer Fridays are, your life is probably simpler and less New York Jewish than mine. From Memorial Day weekend to Labor Day weekend, some workplaces in Manhattan let people leave in the afternoon on Fridays, and with good reason: because they’re not total, slave-driving monster chambers. Because they’re not afraid to acknowledge that nobody does work after lunch on a Friday, especially when it’s sunny and warm and sexy outside. In short, companies with Summer Fridays are non-dick realists. They get it or at least some of “it”. If they fully “got it”, I’d be quietly typing this at my personal-sized-Jacuzzi-tub-for-a-chair-with-adjoined-treadmill-desk while my pizza cooks in my desk’s toaster oven but whatever. Corporate America just isn’t ready.
But this perk, this Summer Friday I speak of, it’s also painful. Because, by the end of the summer, you’ve gotten so used to Daddy Friday