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.
