You know the worst thing about having to work on President’s Day? It’s that no one else has to work, and thus treats Sunday evening like it’s Saturday, even going so far as to throw a karaoke party. A KARAOKE PARTY. Awesome! Thanks, neighbors! I mean, after all, who doesn’t love tossing and turning, trying fall asleep to the dulcet sounds of “You know it’s truuuuuue, everything I dooooo, I do it for yoooooou” coming through the ceiling from the apartment above us for HOURS AND HOURS AND HOURS?

Seriously, it’s in my head still. I have a Bryan Adams earworm. Someone please send help.