The loneliest number is the one to the pizza place

At some point in my mid-twenties, I went from a full fledged bar-star to getting way too excited at the prospect of a weekend where the only interaction with another human being would be the 2 minute transaction involving food delivered to my doorstep.

After ordering way too much for one person, and yelling “dinner’s ready” to an empty house (it’s a classic, and the pizza guy knows by my sad appearance the only person I’m talking to is my dog) I closed the door and delighted in the fact that I wouldn’t have to speak to anyone until at least Monday.

When did this happen? And more importantly, why did this happen? I remember weekends being such an exciting time. There was usually (most definitely) alcohol involved, which was consumed at either a bar or someone’s house. Occasionally I would tone it down and do something low-key, like go to a movie or pretend I enjoyed bowling, but as long as I was out with people, I didn’t much care what the activity was.

Now I’m at a point in my life where I consider it a win if I don’t have to put on pants for 48 hours. And the bar? Oh please. Long gone are the days where I pay $9 for a vodka seven while seeing just how much I can drink before I deem it a good idea to drunk text every contact on my phone “what are you doooooiiiiinnnnggggg?”

Somewhere along the way, the great drinking event became unfulfilling (I’m sure it always was, but alcohol has a way of clouding that over) and I found myself looking less and less forward to it. The dip in my bank account, along with the crushing hangover the next morning, started to take a toll on me, and the sweet idea of enjoying a weekend without eating a cheeseburger at 2:30 in the morning to “sop up the alcohol” became increasingly attractive.

So here I am. It’s Saturday night, I am in full comfy mode, and I couldn’t be enjoying myself more. Sure, I venture out every once in a while, and I might get a little lonely if I go a couple weekends in a row without plans, but the knowledge that I won’t have to listen to a total stranger in the women’s bathroom drunk cry to me about her boyfriend’s sister’s mother’s friend’s aunt while I drunkenly plaster another pound of makeup on my face to ensure it can be seen from space, is comforting enough.

Hope you have as lovely a weekend as I’m having.




One thought on “The loneliest number is the one to the pizza place

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s