Thank God It's Friday. Whew! You made it through one heck of a week at work. It's time for a little R&R, you've earned it. What's that? You don't know what to do this weekend? You don't have any plans? You came to the right place. We're gonna paint this town red and take a bite outta the Big Apple. Let's do it.
Friday Night: Get on the horn. Call up your girls and head over to Radegast Hall & Beer Garden on 113 North 3rd Street in Williamsburg. This authentic Austro-Hungarian mainstay has dozens of mouth watering suds to choose from. Then wash your beer down with a nice, juicy kielbasa. Good for you, you've gotten there early so you could save a section of the communal bench for your friends. Good planning, it's gonna get packed. OK, this is getting a little ridiculous, it's 10:30 and not a word from anybody. It doesn't matter anyhow, you've lost your table.
It's time to pick up the pieces and head over to The Levee across the street. Alright, my bad, I forgot you don't like PBR and hipsters. Hey, this is just one night. You're friends won't be busy tomorrow (if you even wanna talk to those assholes). It'd be nice if they weren't all married or had serious boyfriends. It used to be so much fun in the city, but now you're 32, lonely and not even interested in finding a man. What's wrong with you? No, what's wrong with them. You're perfectly normal. You've made this decision to be independent, now stand by it. Fuck them. Fuck them all.
Saturday Morning/Afternoon: You hear that? That's the sound of birds chirping on this fine June morning. You're not hung over and you're ready to start anew. Guess what? Spa day! Call up your bestie and guilt trip that bitch into joining you in Soho for some shopping, mannies, peddies, massage, and waxing. Would it kill her to get away from her boyfriend for one day. God! Alright, now we got a girls day. Finally! Head over to Haven Spa on 150 Mercer in Soho.
Look at you. You look amazing. That giant weight has been lifted from your shoulders. You look relaxed, confident, sexy, and ready to own this Saturday night. That newly waxed vagina looks like a sleek, futuristic spaceship from the "Jetsons". Let's dress that bold, smooth vagina with some naughty lingerie from Kiki De Montparnasse on 79 Greene Street. That's it, now you're dressed to kill. Watch out boys.
Saturday Night: You gotta be fucking kidding me. You're friend has to go to see "Bridesmaids" with her boyfriend. She HAS to. Fuck this. No you will not accept her invitation to see it with them. You didn't clean up that vagina and buy sexy panties to be a third wheel and sit in a movie theater. That vagina is prom-ready. That vagina is ready to dance, it's ready to sing, and it's damn sure ready to fuck. Alright, settle down. We'll get through this.
You know what? Fuck your friends. Fuck em all. If they can't hang out for one night, who needs em? We're gonna do this alone and we're gonna have fun if it kills us. We gave up last night. Not tonight. No way, no how. Take that sweet, sexy, confident body of yours to Huckleberry Bar on 588 Grand Street in Williamsburg. I trust that you can take care of the rest. Stop being so nice, find a cute boy, take him home, and fuck him. Then tell him to get the fuck out. You haven't had sex in months, you don't owe anybody anything. It's not like this guy hasn't done the same thing a million times.
Sunday Morning: Remember how good you felt after the spa yesterday? That wasn't shit compared to this morning. It feels like the birds are in your bedroom and the clouds are about to whisk you away for a nap in a tall field of dandelions. Job well done ma'am. You don't remember that assholes name, and you don't want to. He was just a dick without a name.
Many women would keep the joker around, just so he can buy brunch. Not you. You know why? Because your independent, successful, and recently laid. You don't need shit from a man and you sure as hell don't need your crabby, one dick for all eternity, friends. Go to Le Barricou on 533 Grand Street and have Brooklyn's best brunch all by your wonderful self. Pull up at the bar, order the eggs benedict and a bloody mary and relax.
Sunday Afternoon: Get the Sunday New York Times, put on your give-ups, and rent a Paul Newman movie, like Cool Hand Luke or Butch Cassidy. Goddamn-it he's handsome. Look at that. That was a great weekend wasn't it? Job well done.