After three shots of Remy VSOP, countless glasses of Makers Mark straight, two fine cigars, a full cup of Hennessy Priv and a day and a half of recovery, I’ve come to a realization.
I don’t think I wanna be a player anymore.
This past weekend one of my best friends from college and his wife were in town from Dallas, Texas. She was a bridesmaid in a wedding here in Atlanta and he was free to run with us to enjoy a weekend of foolery that was reminiscent of the days on the yard.
Naturally, we linked up with our mutual friends for a night of debauchery that ended in complete bedlam. One friend lost his car and his phone, another fell asleep in his car after ubering back to the homies’ house and I woke up in bed with a sandwich, no debit card and a one hundred-fifty-dollar uber charge. My last clear memory was the Uber driver instructing me to “Wake the fuck up” because I was asleep in the backseat of her car with my feet out the window.
When morning came and I was able to charge my phone I noticed a stark difference in the circumstances between my friends and I.
While my inbox was full of 70-foot-jumpshots and emojis, it was also filled with missed calls and texts from my friends’ wives. Two wives who were worried sick and concerned because their husbands weren’t answering and didn’t come home that night. Two wives who drove around the city looking for their men and contacted me, the eligible bachelor, to see what the hell was going on.
Once the husbands, phones and cars were found and the prayers of gratitude and thanks filled my inbox and group-chat, a realization shook my conscience like a Mike Tyson left hook.
“Damn, ain’t nobody looking for me.”
Now of course I have family and friends who would come checking for me after a day or two but if I were to be off the grid for 8 or 9 hours, not a honey in sight would come looking.
I was just listing emergency contact information for a new writing gig at a major network, and I had to list my Mom. I’m 27.
Then the thoughts got deeper. I started to really think and look inside and I couldn’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal. I couldn’t remember the last time I cuddled and it actually meant something. I couldn’t remember the last true, honest, genuine date that I had been on or the last time I had sex with some sort of emotion involved. All summer I’ve been stacking money and running amuck, frivolously dealing with different women with whom I have a fleeting or weak connection.
I was befuddled.
So now, here I am writing this in the midst of my hangover recovery, two years removed from my alcohol prime, reflecting on how alone I am.
I’m a regular at some fly ass restaurants where I always sit at the bar and eat alone. If a new film comes out, I go alone. Everything that I buy is for myself. I binge watch Netflix series and HBO shows alone. I do all the cleaning, all the cooking, all the self-maintenance, even thoughtful things, for myself. Furniture shopping, blanket shopping, prayer, sleep, exercise, traveling, napping, drinking, smoking, ALONE. I halfway text the honeys in my phone because I’m not interested and if I need particular needs fulfilled, I have to feign interest which results in me devoting time and energy to someone I don’t even feel for…
Concurrently influencing me to dislike them, more.
“How dare you make me give effort and I don’t even love you!?!”
God, that sounds TERRIBLE.
I don’t have trouble attaining women at all but this meaningless, shallow shit is getting old as fuck, FAST. I haven’t had day-to-day, “Can’t wait to see you later, Baby I miss you too” interactions with a woman in over a year.
New pussy is cool and all, but the perpetual cycle of acquiring a roster then rotating them out and siphoning in a new class of women is boring, tiring and anti-progressive. I’m a creative so I need all the positive life force energy possible in order to work effectively and being a player isn’t helping.
I’m in the prime of my 20’s. I’m at the point where I have a few dollars and a few things figured out yet I can’t seem to navigate my way around love. I thought that isolating myself and working on me would attract a honey. That moving around with the GLOW and some new money would change things. Evidently, I still have lessons to learn.
Come November I’m going to show up in Cleveland on some super fly shit for Thanksgiving alone for the third year in a row. What good is all this money with no one to share it with? What good are all these invites to the Mayor’s office and day parties with no +1?
I guess I’ll figure it out sooner or later.