If you substitute “Mom” for “Jean," "in your basement" for "out of the office," and “day of Wilos” for “personal day,” you got my favorite day of the week. (They are also tied for first place with MONdays! Ain’t that right, MONtos! Ya, MON!). Days of Wilos, also known as personal days, occur only on days that end in “y,” and I have had about 225 consecutive Days of Wilos since handing in my senior thesis. Pretty badass, huh?
The Day of [insert name] stems from the Greek word fraternity, which is the most awesome-est thing to be invented since Easy Mac, NHL ’94 for Sega Genesis, and lambskin condoms. For the record, I was in a fraternity in college, we were far and away the best on campus, and I recently threw away all of my t-shirts accept for my frat shirts. I mean, fuck, what kinda chick doesn’t wanna hook up with a dude rocking some grey newbies, Mountain Khakis, an Alpha Beta Kickball tournament shirt, and a Kavu visor? Especially if he has scraggly facial hair, is from Texas, has a Skoal ring in his back pocket, and a nice set of dimples. It also wouldn’t hurt if he was the big varsity quarterback in high school.
Anyways, back to the subject of this entry, I must say I am having a good hair day. I mean, I need to cut my pubes. I mean, Lean Cuisine Swedish Meatballs are the silicone tits! 
Days of [insert name] are great. Absolutely fucking great. Like, for example, taking one of those really sensual poops. Huh?? I really need to stop leaving my computer open while I fondle my sweaters. But the days are really great. In essence, a Day of You is a day where you do whatever the fuck you want. Literally, anything you want. It usually occurs after a long bender of drinking, most commonly after a long day-drinking session which segways into a raucous night, and such heaters are usually aided by the help of various performance enhancing scenes or salts.
The subsequent Sunday is accompanied by waking up to an apartment with broken bottles, paintballs splattered on the door, a hole in the drywall sculpted by your roommate’s head when he fell up the stairs, and a hangover that, if it were analogized to a soup, would be vichyssoise. Your plans for the day will most likely include, but are not limited to, a session where you and your roommates sit on the couch in your boxers and ripped undershirts trading war stories from the night before and attempting to get back together with your girlfriends via text message, watching football, TJ Kushmanzada-ing, having a nice greasy breakfast at around 4:15pm, and taking tiger snoozes in your parents basement until they kick you out because they want to watch Mad Men and you smell like the inside of the Small Mammal House at the National Zoo.
And that is just the precursor to your Day of You. Once you relieve some tension, listen to Trampled by Turtles, and hibernate for the night, you wake up to the bright lights of the reality that is Monday morning, take a piss, chug a bottle of water, call in sick to work (or, in the case of your humble author, give your poster of Sarah Palin a kiss on the lips), and go back to bed. To quote Devin the Dude, “oh what a job this is.”Take today, for example. Wilos had a whole shit list of things to do, such as, seeing the light of day, taking a shower, moving into his apartment, getting his first haircut since May, creating his whole high school football team in Madden, and, becoming an NFL quarterback who doubles as a firefighter/astronaut. However, upon waking up from his second nap at 4:05pm, Wilos rubbed his sleepy eyes, looked at himself in the reflection of his parents flatscreen tv, and said, “fuck it. I need a Day of Me.” So, what did he do? Went the fuck back to sleep, that’s what he did. Then, he played some NBA Live 2003, watched some Californication, had a couple of Strawberry Banana smoothies, and ordered an “I Am Legend” poster from allposters.com. Duh…
Anyways, I think you get the point. Basically, every two-thirds of the days-in-a-year-in-a-row or so, you might need a Day of You. And, you know what Yogi Berra said, right? “When you come to a fork in the road, take it!” So, when your alarm clock awakens you just before you are about to release your tension during a lapdance in your dream, turn that shit off! Because, after all, if you don’t go back to that special place where, as the Boss so eloquently described, “you can’t remember, but you can’t forget,” you just might go into the office with a lot of built up tension.
Just be sure to clean up.
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