Just last week you were warm, squinty-eyed and full of liquor, getting your lap massaged by a gorgeous, thick ass honey in a floral romper at a day party. The weekend prior to that one, that stunning woman who twerked on you was out giggling with her fellow single friends at brunch, spilling mimosas all over the table like the black bourgeois do. Turn the clock back one more week and theres a visual of the both of you smiling at your phones, aggressively texting the people who have your interest and discarding those that don’t as freely as one would dispose of a used tissue.
Now suddenly, there isn’t as much to do on the weekends as there once was. You find your friends strangely busier than normal. The day parties are getting rained out and rooftop celebrations are thinning faster than a steroid user’s hairline because its 71 degrees and cloudy outside. All the freaks who were consistent on your line seem to be fading into obscurity or texting back in a fashion that isn’t to your liking. What the hell is going on?
Happy September, Motherfucker.
Summer’s over. Thursday, September 22nd 2016 marks the first legitimate day of fall, but the energy around you is already changing. If you’re experiencing any of the symptoms mentioned above in the previous paragraph, you may have fucked up, but it isn’t too late!
Your ass has until Halloween to lock something in, or you’re in for a long, cold, barren, dry, empty ass winter. Who wants to be a hoe during the holiday season? “Not I,” said the cat.
Now before the pseudo-intellecutals and emotional geniuses (Who intentionally try so hard to seem self sufficient and completely logical to avoid looking human) jump down my throat and roll their eyes into the back of those pompous heads, I know that you don’t need anyone else to validate you. I know that you must love yourself first, look for happiness inside and every other tired ass rhetoric and rebuttal that you have for me. Save it, get your own website and let people listen to you.
In the meantime, I’m going to be honest.
BEING SINGLE DURING THE WINTER TIME FUCKING SUCKS.
When it’s hot outside you can come to the 4th of July, Labor Day and Memorial day cookouts alone and nary an old fucker will question you being by yourself, just because of the weather. You try that shit at Thanksgiving. You show up solo and the wrinkly ass great auntie and company are hinting at how you may be a lesser member of society and shit. Your mother in turn is defending you, talking about “My baby is still finding his/her self! They gone be alright!”
You had every opportunity to secure something, but you were living in the moment without planning for the inevitable future. Back in June you and the homies split a private jet 6 ways and turned Miami upside down for a weekend. Ya’ll met up with 6 honeys who happened to be down in Miami kicking it for a cruise and the two groups had the time of times of their lives. Now its December 1st and you hitting up the crew for a move, just for them to inform you they’re on a couples cabin retreat up in Tennessee like “Why Did I Get Married.” Your squad is in a hot tub with the women that they locked down months ago, “a kikiki’ing” it up while you sit at the bar on your third Hennessy and Coke, scrolling instagram trying to find a DM to fall into. You walk into your place past the refrigerator full of gatorade and condiments and a trash can full of take-out boxes, plop down on the bed and start shooting off those texts. None of your freaks are biting because they’ve all settled down for the winter, so you find yourself in the bed, staring at the ceiling with your own ejaculate on your thigh and Popeyes crumbs on your face wondering what went wrong as PornHub is paused in the background.
It looks worse than it sounds.
Beautiful, you’ve been living your life to the fullest all summer. Doing what you want, curving men left and right, just freedom without judgement! Now its two weeks into December and frustration is creeping in because you’re giving a conscious effort to organize the weekly “wine night” for your ladies and all these hoes are being flaky! MEANWHILE your homegirls don’t want to come to “wine night” because they are too busy sashaying around the kitchen in an oversized tee shirt with their hair wrapped, preparing dinner for the man who just beat their cheeks into oblivion. Being single is fun until its 35 degrees outside and you’re rubbing your own thigh because its no man there to grip you up and hold your titty during the middle of the night. It must suck to walk to the mailbox, holding your robe closed on a December morning, taking out your own trash and shit. All you have is wine, a good sex toy and the sound of your own moans and bonnet swishing against the pillow. That vibrator may get the job done, but like my homegirl told me “Vibrators don’t choke you, pull your hair or bring you food.” Shouts to Britany L. White.
I’ll conclude on a serious note. I am a firm believer in the ideology that the purpose of life is to give, receive and influence joy. Love is very real and incomparable when shared with the right person. All jokes aside, having someone is great, but I’m not implying that you settle just to avoid loneliness. You should indeed work on yourself and procure an inner light so powerful that you attract a wonderful partner. That’s up to you, you have to do the work. People love to say “God is going to send me my perfect partner.” Prayer alone hasn’t ever solved anything, it must be followed by action.
Nobody wants to be by themselves on New Years or be lonely in front of the fireplace on a cold November night. Get your shit together and attract something solid and meaningful. Life is too short to be lonely and unhappy.
Rest in peace Corey Davis.
From the West End with love,
The Friday Night Company. 2016.