Ever heard of British Bingo? Yea, me neither. Not until last night.
I rarely go out during the week anymore due to my poor financial situation, exhaustion after work and work outs, weekend recovery, my tendency to have more than "just a few drinks," and just life in general. So when I do, I like to make it count.
A couple of coworkers and I had planned on getting dinner and much needed drinks this week. I should have known that it was going to be a bad idea to go to Local. It always is. Something always happens and the wait staff always hates us. Last night was no different.
**Example of what normally happens at Local:
-Me and three guys playing bar Jenga with pre-written commands such as, not a joke, "Kiss Meredith," "Lick Meredith," "Hit Meredith," "Buy a round of shots," "Do the Moonwalk," "Buy a round of drinks," "Flash everyone at the bar," etc. After an hour of playing, 12 rounds of shots, 5 rounds of drinks, 4 broken beer bottles, beer-soaked clothing, and a $400+ bar tab all before 9:00, our waitress informs us that we have been cut off by the bartender. Fuck it. From there we went to Raifords and I sneak out and get a huge ass tattoo on my foot with out telling anyone.
Well, last night wasn't quite as eventful. But as soon as Felix and I walked in and sat down with my coworkers, I quickly threw my hand up to smooth my hair down, slammed the beer that was in the waitress's hand behind my head, and had beer poured all over me. It was her first night. She freaked, but I calmly wiped the beer from me and made some joke like, "You can lick it from between my legs," to my coworker who now had half of a beer. After that mess was cleaned up, Felix got the wrong order and the wait staff quickly closed our tabs with out asking us and gave us the impression that we needed to get the fuck out. So rude.
My coworker, Hotlanta, made the executive decision that Brass Door, an Irish pub, was our next stop. Having never been there, I was excited about checking out a new watering hole. Well, low and behold, we stumbled upon British Bingo and $3 wine night. I didn't have a fucking clue what British Bingo was, but I sure as hell know what $3 wine is...a Christmas day miracle in Memphis...even if it is out of a box. Well, I love any type of bar game, and after inquiring about this foreign form of bingo, I was on my way towards hopefully winning a bar tab. I never win anything, so my odds are like zero.
British Bingo doesn't make sense only because it is stupidly simple. You get a playing card and a marker. Then this British guy calls out numbers, you mark them off, and if all of your numbers are called, you yell, "BINGO!"
The best part is that instead of saying "43," he says little phrases like, "On her knees, 43." My favorites:
"Sexy Legs 11"
"Was she worth it? 76"
"Number 8, Garden Gate"
"Two Little Ducks 22" then everyone at the bar says Quack Quack!
I didn't realize that the sayings meant anything until I googled British Bingo this morning. But, they do. I won't go in to it, but I will throw the link at the bottom of the post if you're interested.
Anyway, I ended up actually winning a round and a $20 bar tab. Of course, I was shocked and yelled, "OOOOHHHH MYY GODDDDD!!!! BINGO!" How embarrassing. I couldn't quit laughing. From there, Hotlanta won the last round and a $40 bar tab. Thank God we didn't have to use them all last night, because that would have taken awhile with $3 wine.
Needless to say, we'll be back for more British Bingo.
Cheerio Good Chaps,
Merekat
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_British_bingo_nicknames
http://thebrassdoor.com/
Well, it only took 5 1/2 years to get my Appalachian State friends to come visit me...and I now know why.
Day drinking, rounds of Jager, dodging guys I've gone on dates with, rounds of tequila, Rolling on the River, 2 long nights at Raifords, rounds of vodka shots, 40's of beer, 2 nights at Silkys, Redbirds game, Midtown, Downtown, Jager bombs, a bloody toe two nights in a row, YMCA-ing, bloody leg from broken chandelier due to YMCA-ing, chugging Redbull, riding home 2 nights in a row in a limo, whiskey shots, group kegels, Jenga....and last, but certainly not least because it's the fucking best...Laguna Beach reruns on MTV.
I loved every minute of going out and getting trashed, but in my opinion, nothing beats the Boone Babies laying around watching Laguna beach Friday afternoon and turning it in to a drinking game. We basically just had to chug our beers. Here are the rules:
**Drink every time someone says:
-cute
-rad
-gnarley
-something sentimental (Prom, graduation, high school romance)
-someone says someone else's name (they never just talked to each other...it was always, LAUREN, you'll never believe...or OMG, Stephennnnnn)
-talked shit about someone/said something stupid (When Kristin's Trooper breaks down "OMG Katherine!!! My car just overheated! Like, it can't move. Like, Im stuck here!" and then turns to her friends..."Katherine got sooo pretty. Hahaha.")
Laguna Beach was my jam in high school. Actually, I'm pretty sure it was everyone's jam in high school at that time. All of the girls in C-town would pile in the living room at one of our parents' houses and be glued to the TV for the 30 minutes that Laguna Beach was on. And then we would over-analyze every fucking word any of them said, every look they gave, every detail of their lives. We loved to hate Kristin, sympathised with LC, thought Lo was cool as shit, wanted to date Stephen, etc, etc. We lived vicariously through these people. We even used to say that we were "going to Mammoth" when we spent the weekend at my cabin at Pickwick. Em-fucking-barrassing.
Well, what's even worse is that I think we watched about 5 hours worth of Laguna Beach last Friday. That's 10 episodes. And we're 24 years old. And we still over-analyzed everything they said because, fuck, I want to know how LC aka Lauren Conrad aka fashion mogul is so successful. She was failing every class in high school and didn't go to college. How does that make sense? I made straight A's, have a Bachelor's, a ballin' resume...and work construction. Whatevs.
It would be nice to only worry about who's picking you up for the bon fire on the beach, who's going out with who, if your relationship is going to last after graduation, if you're going to have sex with your prom date on prom night, what daddy is getting you for graduation, etc. Unfortunately, my life is farther from Laguna Beach now than ever. I'm 24, single, working construction...soon to be part-time, starting culinary school, taking out student loans for the first time, dreading monthly car payments, will have no social life, and be scraping by with my paycheck. But you know what? I couldn't be happier. Fuck Laguna Beachers. They probably all suck anyway. Of course I'm still going to watch reruns, though.
XOXO,
Merekat
OK, so I'm over not getting my "dream job." Not really. I'm still pissed off at the world about that, but my sulking has at least subsided. I'm more pissed off at a certain university than the world, I guess. They obviously made the wrong choice. I mean, who better to recruit students to my beloved university than me? Just look at my Facebook pictures....I had a hell of a good time there. I'd like to think that they'll suffer from their decision, but that's just me being immature and selfish.
Last Tuesday was awful. Last Wednesday was even worse. By Thursday I had finally pulled myself together and started my job search again only to see that, SURPRISE, there were no new jobs I cared to apply to. Friday afternoon I found myself touring the culinary school in Cordova, L'Ecole Culinaire....an hour and a half later, I had enrolled.
Whoops...wait, was this a good idea? What the fuck did I just do? OMGGGGGGGGGGGGG IM GOING TO BE A CHEF. Will I ever make it to the Food Network? How am I going to pay for this? Oh shit, I'll be in school until I'm 26 years old. Money. Shit. How will I live in Memphis making HALF of what I'm making now?
Well, my mind was running 90 to nothing. Called Momma Hen. She freaked out. In a good way. "OHHHH MY GODDDD. MY baby is gonna be a CHEFFFFFF!"
Even if I am going to be poor, ruin my social life, inflict myself with cuts and burns, be a road warrior every day, turn in to a mega grouch, and maybe, MAYBE become a chef....I'm so fucking excited. And scared. And overwhelmed. ANDDDDDDDDDD I don't have to censor myself, my Facebook, my Twitter, my Instagram, my Blog....or cover up my tattoos...because, Guess What?! Everyone in the restaurant industry is fucked up, crazy, and tatted from head to toe.
So, friends, that shit is happening. I'm about to begin the most challenging and hopefully rewarding chapter of my life.
XOXO
Merekat
So, I haven't written in awhile...obviously. After applying for a job that I and everyone else I knew thought was absolutely fucking perfect for me, I decided to put the blog on hold...much like deleting your Facebook, Twitter account, etc.
Well, come to find out, I can't get a fucking job WITH or WITH OUT the damn blog.
Now excuse me while I go drown my sorrows in a bath tub full of wine after work....oh wait, I have my sorority alumnae exec training tonight. How could I forget.
Well, last night wasn't quite as eventful. But as soon as Felix and I walked in and sat down with my coworkers, I quickly threw my hand up to smooth my hair down, slammed the beer that was in the waitress's hand behind my head, and had beer poured all over me. It was her first night. She freaked, but I calmly wiped the beer from me and made some joke like, "You can lick it from between my legs," to my coworker who now had half of a beer. After that mess was cleaned up, Felix got the wrong order and the wait staff quickly closed our tabs with out asking us and gave us the impression that we needed to get the fuck out. So rude. 
Anyway, I ended up actually winning a round and a $20 bar tab. Of course, I was shocked and yelled, "OOOOHHHH MYY GODDDDD!!!! BINGO!" How embarrassing. I couldn't quit laughing. From there, Hotlanta won the last round and a $40 bar tab. Thank God we didn't have to use them all last night, because that would have taken awhile with $3 wine. 
