I Need A Drink
I need a drink.
I was told, “drinking buddies are not your friends. Get rid of them.”
Its true, they aren’t, I did.
But now, I have no one to drink with.
Yeah sure, I have friends, and they drink, but their drinking sucks.
after work drinks,
drinks with a client,
a stupid SINGLE glass of wine before bed,
I have work in the morning excuses,
drinking in my local because alcoblow excuses,
I have church tomorrow excuses,
Its all about me excuses,
why can’t you come to where I’m at excuses,
you’re drinking with my ex excuses,
I aint about that life excuses,
fuck you and your excuses.
(Drinking buddies had no excuses. 😦 )
Drinking alone is a writer’s thing. The good and evil spirits that reside in your creative mind get drunk and have an orgy in your brain.
Yeah, I don’t like that.
Drinking alone is sad, something pop culture dictates is done as you contemplate suicide.
Drinking alone leads to lonely hangovers.
Hangovers are accompanied with so much self loathing, and now you decided to partake by yourself?
There is no warmth to be gained from crowd mentality of poor decisions made as a group, this pain and suffering is yours alone, just like every other burden.
When you wake up in the morning, that bottle is still there. Call someone for the love of God.
I drink with guys. Every woman who does this gets called names for having common sense.
Men don’t cry and sit on disgusting bathroom floors when overcome by emotion.
There are no queues in the men’s bathroom.
As long as you don’t throw up in their car, its okay, because what goes down, must surely come up. Or something like that.
The drunker they get, the nicer they become.
This is not the same for women.
Actually its not fun drinking with women. Well, that’s harsh, it can be fun.
Disaster starts with a tingle in the cooch, and then everyone has their own agenda.
Alcohol restores the natural order of things. We are all lions and lionesses. The lionesses hunt and murder one another, armed with their militarised jackets and weaponized heels, and the lion waits in a drunken stupor for the survivor to bring forth the spoils of war, shows gratitude in an unsatisfactory 2 minute romp and farts himself to sleep.
Also, they leave me with the handbags. The ugly girl is always left with the handbags. I cannot stand this constant insult.
Not like drinking with men is all roses.
There are the occasional futile attempts at escaping the friend zone, which maybe when feeling completely worthless and sexually unappealing, might work. Just as long as he doesn’t make it weird. Because it’s definitely him who will make it weird.
Then there’s the one you want to/have already/are planning on sleeping with. You can drink with 2 other people there but when its the two of you you are confused on whether to flee like a rabbit or lock the door and lick his skin. Don’t lie. We all know. (He’s the reason you’ll get called names. BURRIZZOKAY! )
There are the bitter words of those who have been banished to the zone of no return. They chastise you on your poor taste in men yet they themselves are as problematic in relationships as you are, hence the reason you’re at the bar together.
Mbio za sakafuni huisha bro-zone.
White TV told us women can go to bars and drink alone. Another stereotype perpetuated by the white man.
Why are you alone? I came alone.
You shouldn’t drink alone. I’m not any more.
Tell me about yourself? Why?
I’m just trying to make conversation. I don’t want conversation.
You’re a bitch, and you will die alone. Probably.
So what’ll you have? Beer. Women don’t drink beer.
Why don’t you drink something more ladylike? Smirnoff Ice is for hookers. (It is though.)
Vodka. Vodka is for teenagers.
Gin. You want to smell like wood varnish?
Whiskey. Hello there, big baller!
Everyone gets off from telling everyone they have a drinking problem, and everyone is probably right. Drink anyway.