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Monday, April 3, 2017

Drinking Buddies

I like being alone.


I’m not an introvert, necessarily, but I don’t really find it imperative to include other people in a lot of my favorite pastimes.

For example, I don’t like shopping with friends. Let’s head to Zara and immediately go our separate ways, reconnecting in the checkout line with an armful of bell-sleeved tops and embellished blazers that neither of us is cool enough to pull off. I do not want to get your opinion on these items because I couldn’t give less of a fuck what you think, and if we’re true friends, you’d ignore my two cents, too.

I also hate the concept of gym partners. I don’t want to go on a run with you. I don’t want to spot you during squats. I don’t want to have a ten minute conversation between sets about what food we’re getting after this. Workout pants on, conversations off.

The one thing I can’t seem to do by myself is drink. Apparently there’s something alluring about a woman sitting alone at a bar, but I exude many things, and I am aware that neither mystery nor seduction make the list. Can I interest you in a poorly-told, long-winded story that I forget the ending of halfway through? Maybe later? God love ya.

The thing is, while I don’t want to sip cocktails in my own company, I am quite particular about the drinking buddies I do choose. Not just anyone will cut it.

Before you say, “Oh my god we need to get drinks soon!” please read the following descriptions to ensure I actually want to, like, do that with you:

The Down For Anything


“Do you want to go to House of Yes and have a fucked up yet magical time that we probably can’t ever discuss in public?”
“Can you meet me in thirty minutes with a six pack of canned rosé and an extra ponytail holder?”
“Wanna hit up a college bar and get free drinks from the frat bros because it’s like shooting fish in a barrel?”
Find someone who answers a no-questions-asked “yes” to all of these requests and more. Even if it’s just a casual Wednesday night happy hour, this person is there. It’s like that scene in The Town where Jeremy Renner asks, “Whose car we gonna take?” except with booze and almost definitely fewer dead guys.

The ADHD


Word of advice: wear comfy shoes. You will be doing a lot of walking on a night out with this person. On average, you will visit four different establishments, and that’s conservative. Depending on the night, the different motives for this practice will include collecting phone numbers of people they have no intention of ever seeing again; trying each bar’s “famous” drink only to hate it and order a vodka soda instead; getting kicked out; escaping an ex that they “didn’t know was going to be there;” and getting kicked out again because you guys forgot you got kicked out the first time. You’ll be utterly exhausted the next day, but you will have had a ball. Try to limit nights out with The ADHD to once a month unless you want your body to slowly deteriorate to a pile of skin, worthlessness, and blue Gatorade.  

The Homebody


This person is totally happy to go out as long as you stay within a 10 block/2 mile/15 minute radius of their own home. It does not matter that you make the trek outside of your own 10 block/2 mile/15 minute vicinity to accommodate their boundaries every time they extend the invite--the same courtesy will not, under any circumstances, be offered to you. Let it happen. You’re not winning this.

The Ball So Hard


Functioning kidneys are not for everyone. The fact that this person is even alive at weekend’s end is shocking in and of itself, but bounce back they do, right after they have done the absolute most. This is who those, “Holy shit, you guys aren’t gonna believe what happened after you left!” texts come from the next morning. This person is pushing 30 but celebrates every night out like it’s their 21st. They love shahts. They frequently indulge in messy public makeouts. They pass out in bar bathrooms. They lose phones for a hobby. They’ve overdrafted their account by $400. They’ve woken up on a bench. All of these things happened to them last Saturday. Watch but do not learn. Or do. I don’t know your life.

The Stopwatch


“Hey wanna grab a drink after work tonight?”
“Yeah sure that sounds good.”
“Cool, where do you wanna go?”
“I don’t care. Somewhere close by though. Like not too far because I don’t want to get home super late. So we should probably start early, too, if we can. Like I’d probably need to leave at like 8-ish? At the latest. Just like two drinks max. Probably only one, honestly. I’ll need to get home and take care of a few things. But we can totally go out! It’ll be fun! But not too much fun haha. Where and when do you want to meet?”
“...Nevermind...I can’t because...you’re a dick.”

The Master


This person always has the hookup. They may know someone who ushers you to the front of the line at a club, or they randomly secure a free table PLUS bottles, or they get you into some secret back room where old mafia dudes are doing drugs and smoking Cohiba’s and staring like they’d like to either murder you or take you on a trip to Mallorca. Sometimes, all three. You have to mentally prepare for a night out with The Master several days in advance, and it will take you just as many to recover, but it’s worth it every single time. Just don’t ask too many questions. It’s probably best you don’t know how/why they have all of these connections.

Monday, January 2, 2017

New Years Resolutions...for Other People


I have a lot to work on. 

Fortunately, none of these things will make it into the public space for multiple reasons. 1) Everyone is already inundated with "New Year, New Me!" posts on their Facebook timeline from the health and fitness blogger du jour, and to be perfectly honest, I didn't get fat over the holidays, so I'm good. 2) Gauging by how far I make it through others' inspirational posts about their struggles, no one would tune in for very long should I choose to flip the script and be serious for once. 3) I prefer that everyone operate under the impression that I'm fantastic and they're peasants.

Although I won't be divulging the personal changes I hope to make in 2017, you can guarantee I have plenty to tweak about other people in my life! Aren't you all lucky?!


Start Taking Vitamin C Supplements - Dear Person Who Has a Chronic Cold at Work: get your shit together. You are an adult with adult children, therefore you do not have the luxury of the excuse that your home is an incubator for germs brought home by a kindergartner. Your weak immune system is confounding, as I am aware that you sustain yourself solely on salads and green tea. I simply do not understand how you're always sick. Even in the summertime. What is the matter with you. Fuck. 

Buy an iPhone 7 - My favorite part about other people going to concerts is that they Snapchat the entire show with poor sound quality and even poorer camera control. No one wants to watch you watch Garth Brooks from the nosebleeds with your boyfriend's off-key singing interspersed with drunken "WOO GARTH YEAH!"'s wailing in the background. Get yourself a new iPhone so within 5 minutes of starting a video, your battery will drop from 60% to 2%, saving us all the headache.



Practice Saying, "No Thanks" - Do I want to get tapas and then go to a douchey bro bar in Murray Hill strictly for its entertainment value on a Friday night? Sometimes. Do I realize this is a tough sell? Absolutely. The friends that will tell me straight up, "I hate that godforsaken neighborhood and the overgrown frat bro's that reside there" are immediately at the top of my list, because they're honest and shoot me down promptly. The ones who conveniently don't receive my text until 9:45 pm, respond with, "For sure I'll let you know!" and then follow up four days later with, "Omg my night got so insane, sorry I missed you" can rot in hell. Bitch, it's Tuesday, I'm a busy adult and I've moved on. However, please note that I'm also petty and will not invite you to anything ever again. 

Make Fun of Your Child - Kids are everything I enjoy: chubby, uncensored, curious, and wobbly. Don't try to pretend that they're not. If you've given me the Hallmark Channel version of the monthly update of Avery's life, you can bet your awkwardly-posed photo shoot that you've been blocked from my social media feeds. Those that document when their kid insists on dressing up like Frankenstein from Big Daddy or giggles at curse words they don't know the meaning of are my favorite, because that's real life and real parenting. 


Forget Pescetarianism: Go Full Vegan - Sometimes, people like to microwave salmon in an office environment, or overcook sea bass in an apartment setting. These people are assholes. If you are one of these people, understand that you are not only bastardizing the culinary process but are also tormenting the senses of smell of everyone around you. Fish odor isn't bottled by Dior for a reason, and if you can't cook a filet correctly and eat it responsibly (alone, in a well-ventilated area, in a building that is yours), then you can't eat it at all. Poseidon says so.   

Savor Your Alone Time - It is not my fault that you're single and I'm not. If we're hanging out and my boyfriend texts me or I drop his name in conversation and you groan about how you're sick of being "alone," you have exactly two options: 1) Kick me out of your apartment, shower, and get out in the world to prowl around for a future mate or 2) Fucking relax and we can continue eating pizza. Desperate people who wear their desperation on their sleeve decrease their chances of attracting a lifelong partner by 64%. I have no idea if that figure (or even that statement) is remotely accurate, but if it made you realize that you need to get over yourself slash stop getting under other people in an effort to secure a long-term girlfriend/boyfriend, then take it as the gospel. Being single is fine. Worry about literally anything else. 


Establish a Stringent Hair Care Schedule - BSpears. Britney. Brit Brit. In the name of everything that is holy, fire your hair stylist. A person with a net worth of nearly $200 million should not step out of the house with such an atrocious display of acrylic extensions haphazardly whip-stitched onto their head. Either get yourself a great wig and a solid grip band, or let your mane flow free for a while as you execute every healthy habit possible to keep you from looking like trailer trash. We'll be ten years removed from 2007 this year, my dear, let's act like it.