Yup! It's Friday night! Yay! Hoorah! Pour me another! Tequila shots! Yeahhh!
Back when I was working for a living, Friday nights were time for unrestricted bacchannalia. (Stop. Check the dictionary. Yup. Spelled that last word correctly. Proceed full speed ahead.)
Where was I? Oh, yeah, Friday nights. As many of us as were left around the t.v. station where I worked and could be convinced that this was the proper way to celebrate the end of a week would head to a bar. First it was the Mardi Gras. On to the Playboy Club. Then the Spaghetti Company. Later a place our well paid weatherman from the station was a partner in. Can't remember the name but they poured very healthy (or unhealthy) drinks. Then it was the Tavern on the Green. All along Central Avenue in midtown Phoenix. I think only the Spaghetti Company still exists.
In spite of the fact that we were the responsible journalists and television technocrats in town, we always drank just one more. One too many in many cases. Wow! If I could calculate the gallons of booze that we disposed of in those days, I think even the Guinness folks might be interested.
Of course, there were some flirty Friday nights that sometimes developed into more serious encounters. I think I'm one of only a few of that long ago gang that is still married to the same woman.
Heady times. We ruled. Well that was a long time ago now and since I've been fully retired, I frequently don't even remember when it is Friday night.
When a gal at the pharmacy asked me last Monday "how was your weekend?", I was stuck for awhile for an answer. I finally told her "y'know every day is the weekend for me these days."
You know, somethin' tells me old Jerry Lee didn't have too many Lonely Weekends.
