Mondays SUCK!

I fucking hate Mondays. And what a coincidence that when your day seems to start and end on a pissy note, it just happens to be a Monday. Case in point: not only did my alarm clock betray me once again by failing to physically yank me from my bed but I had to contend with every inconsiderate asshole who lives within a one mile radius of my home/work. The first offending party would be the I-banker and his bulldog. Actually, I shouldn't blame his dog. It's not his fault that his owner is a self-absorbed wanker.

I'm walking to the subway and it's pretty damn cold so I'm moving relatively fast. This guy's walking his dog at a leisurely pace. Something DSG said to me yesterday sprang to mind, "If you're gonna walk that slow, don't live in New York." Especially during rush hour! So I-banker is engrossed in his blackberry and decides that his dog is finished answering nature's call even though the poor thing appears to be in mid-stream. So he crosses the sidewalk effectively cutting me off and his dog stays put, determined to finish his business. But jackass is too preoccupied to notice that they're blocking the sidewalk with the leash. I'm not exactly steady in my stiletto Prada boots and this idiot wants me to play jump rope?!

I'm late and the local train actually arrives just as I descend the subway stairs but it's packed as usual. The door I'm standing by opens and about half a dozen straphangers pour out. Good. There's room. But everyone gets on and congregates at the door. Nobody fucking moves in preventing a lot of hardworking New Yorkers from getting on. This really pisses me off. I mean why the fuck would you rather stand packed like sardines by the subway doors when you can simply walk a few steps in and create commuter harmony? Ever the loyal follower of the Golden Rule (do unto others.. yada yada), I opt to move in.. if they'll let me. "Excuse me," "Coming through..", "Christ, people, could you move IN?!" I get a few wary looks and know I'm being billed the bitch but I don't care. I move in to the middle of the car and grab hold of the pole. And encounter yet another I-banker. How do I know? Because he's wearing his Banana Republic striped shirt and Kenneth Cole tie- hallmarks of the conformist capitalist. He gets on and leans against the poll, pressing into my hand. "Excuse me?" He turns and smiles. What? You're not cute enough to smile like that at me at this hour. "Do you mind not leaning on my hand?"
"Oh! I'm so sorry," he says. Whatever. Like you didn't feel that you were crushing my hand. Tosser.

Now I come into the office to learn that in my rush to deliver a script to a client, I renamed the disease they're targeting with their new drug to Muscular Sclerosis instead of Multiple Sclerosis. Nice. It's going to be fun explaining why I'm such a fuck up to my boss. Did I mention how much I hate Mondays?