Rebound Nightmare

   As I'm helping Maggie Garcia shop in my closet over text for a dress to wear to her sister's rehearsal dinner this weekend, she asks me to give her a heads up on these crazy guys I mentioned in my last post. Garcia also falls into the category of strong, independent, single women in Memphis, so
I gotta help a sista out.
   After J.A. and I broke up a few days after my birthday in January, several of my friends encouraged me to put myself out there and jump right back into dating. With out hesitation, I did.

   J. A. and I moved way too quickly. We moved in to a condo in South Main together after only 6 months, and 4 months later we broke up. Though we got back together 2 months after that, I was single for that period of time and looked into dating other people. Keeping up with my time line ok? Good. One weekend I went down to the Mississippi State vs LSU game and hung out with all of my old guy friends. They kept mentioning some app called Tinder. I curiously navigated through one of their apps and quickly realized that it was the most vain, superficial dating app that currently exists. They explained to me that you only see their pictures and swipe to the right for "yes" and to the left for "nope." I had no intentions of downloading this heterosexual version of Grindr, the gay dating app that my gay friends used for random sex. One of the guys finally convinced me to download it as a scheme. They were convinced that our friend Zack was on there but wouldn't admit to it. Since he and I both live in Memphis, he would have shown up as one of my matches. Fast forward to a week later when I was addicted to swiping "nope" and laughed hysterically as Zack and other friends of mine popped up.
   So, this one guy, we'll call him G-Town, caught my attention only because of the friends that the app told me we had in common. I swiped "yes," and we were an immediate match. We messaged back and forth for a few days, and I learned that our mutual friends were regulars of J.A.'s bar. I knew from the get go that this was not going to work out. I couldn't have that looming over my head or have it the talk of the bar. I was kind of a dick about it. I just straight up quit responding to him. And, unfortunately at the time, I actually liked this guy. But, shortly after, J. A. and I got back together, and I forgot about Tinder and G-Town and every other aspect of single life all together.
   Now, all of you should have caught on that J.A. and I are no longer together. All of this was a preface to my first week of single, dating life a little over a month ago. So, I was laying on my couch one night after work going through my phone when I came across G-Town's phone number. With out thinking much about it, I shoot him a text. He quickly fires back with something ridiculously rude about how I just dropped off the face of the earth and blah blah blah. Ok, yes, he was right. I did. I explained to him about my past relationship and knowing the same people and ruining friendships/business at the bar, etc. He was still a straight up asshole to me about it, but I didn't really care. It was a long shot texting someone I had 1. never been out with 2. hadn't talked to in 3 months and 3. never responded to.
   The next morning I woke up to a totally unexpected apology text from G-Town. That one text led to texting back and forth all day, all week, and eventually a date that Sunday. I was pretty fucking excited about going on a date. It had been a long time since I had gone out with someone other than J.A. I had semi-high expectations. G-Town and I had already figured out how much we had in common, he was successful, he owned a condo, came from a great family, and on and on. What could go wrong? There's nothing wrong with this guy.
   The Sunday of our date, I'm flying down HWY 72 coming from a baby shower at Pickwick and trying to make it back to Memphis on time. I get home, quickly throw on some non-baby shower clothes, touch up my makeup, fix a vodka roadie, and head towards Patrick's, a bar which I had never gone to. I was a little weary about that, but it was half way between Germantown and Midtown. I down the vodka before I even make it to Poplar. I wasn't exactly nervous, just rushed. When I got to the bar, I pulled it together because that's what well-raised Southern women do. G-Town was already there, waiting, with a beer and a shot in hand. My kind of man. I liked his style. And his whole face lit up when he saw me...something that I hadn't seen in a long time. There were no awkward pauses or silences or anything. We just dove right into conversation. We laughed and talked and the beers and shots kept coming and before I knew it, it was midnight. We had been there for 6 hours. I knew I was at my limit, so he paid the tab, walked me to my car, and kissed me. My whole body tingled. I hadn't been kissed by another man in so long. It was like I didn't know what to do. My body didn't know how to respond. But, I knew I wanted more. That's all there was to it. There's nothing wrong with this guy.
   We talked the next day while I was at work, and he showed up to my house that night around midnight. He was being weird. I chalked it all up to him being drunk. He talked about his ex girlfriend...from 6 years ago. I immediately shut that down. There's no worse turn off than someone bringing up their ex that they are clearly still in love with. He also told me that his dad already knew all about me and kept saying that I intimidated him. Drunk. Yes, that's what I'll blame it on. Ok, so there may be something wrong with this guy, but I'll give him the benefit of the doubt.
   He spent the night. No big deal. I didn't have sex with him. And, he snored so bad I had to move to the couch. It was Tuesday. We were three days in and seen each other all three days. Kind of weird, but I'll go with it. We had a date that night. I called Felix and his boyfriend to scope him out. They met us at Bayou and both loved him. So, I had some reassurance. From there, we went to Young Ave and took lots of shots then met up with his cop friends at Celtic. LOVED THEM. Hit it off as soon as we met. But, G-Town was not involved in the conversation. Dude got fucking wasted. We went shot for shot, but he's over here swaying back and forth. What the fuck. Obviously he couldn't drive back to Germantown, so he stayed with me the second night in a row. Still, not having sex with him. He accuses me of liking his cop friend better than him and starts getting super insecure and saying all this crazy shit. "I'm not good enough for you," "You have more money than me." etc. Alright, there is definitely an underlying issue going on with this guy.
   After that night, G-Town and I don't see each other until Saturday night after I get off work. He canceled two lunch dates we had planned and didn't text me one day at all. I get it. People are busy. He's busy. But, he would send texts like, "Hey, I miss you." "I can't wait to have sex with you." "You're so amazing." I don't want to put all of these expectations on sex like he did. He was super nervous about it. Like, talked about it all the fucking time. Apparently he hadn't had sex in a couple months or something. Who cares? It's sex. It's like riding a bike. Except, you're riding something different. No big deal. Then, THEN, I get this text at work Friday, "Let's get you pregnant so I can't lose you." God damnit. I lost my shit. I was laughing but pissed off and weirded out all at the same time. I knew he was Catholic and didn't believe in abortion, but what fucked up person says that after knowing each other for 6 days??? Then, after work, I go to Huey's to get a drink with some old co-workers. G-Town starts blowing up my phone. Says that he broke his ankle, he needs a hotel room, he wants me to get him a hotel room, and stay with him, and he's almost in tears because he doesn't think he can have sex with a fucked up ankle. I just hang up. I can't deal with this. Not sober. Not drunk. Not at all. This guy is fucking nuts.
   Alright, last chance for G-Town. He had asked me to come over to his best friend's house after work Saturday night. Knowing in the back of my head that this was going to be the last time I would ever agree to seeing him, I went just so that I could find a few things out. I get there, and he would barely speak to me. He was super standoffish and down right strange. In front of everyone, he tells his best girl friend that he couldn't wait to fuck me. Not kidding. He said that. I glared right through to his soul. That is not ok, and he knew it. So, he retreated inside with all the guys leaving his BFF and I to chat. I don't waste anytime. I just started firing away telling her all of the crazy shit he said to me, that he brought up his ex girlfriend, where his mom lived on Peabody--everything that I knew he lied to me about. None of his stories added up. His best friend was stunned. She laughed then suddenly changed her tone and told me that everything was a lie. Everything. How can someone lie to me about everything? I don't get it. How does someone keep up with such elaborate lies? His mom does not live on Peabody, his ex girlfriend has him blocked on Facebook and her phone, his condo is an apartment, he's not some big bad guy at work like he told me...I could go on for hours. So, I called him out on it when he walked me to my car. I told him that this was not going to work out, got in my car, and left that nightmare somewhere in East Memphis.
   After I got home, his BFF called me. Apparently, his story, was that I yelled, "Get the fuck away from my car. Don't fucking touch me. I hate you," to him. I couldn't take it. I told her that I was done, hope he has a great life, and that she can keep in touch. After that night, I received so many crazy text messages about how he wanted to marry me, how sorry he was, and that he knew he fucked up. I have since then deleted all of that crazy out of my phone, but I do have this in my Facebook messages, " :( Sorry again for being a d bag. You will make someone very happy. Sorry I messed up."
    Yes, thank you. I will make someone very happy. And, you sir, are one very fucked up individual and need major help.
   

Delightfully Single and Free of Crazy,

Merekat

Taxes, Target, and Testosterone

   Tuesday is my day off, so I feel obligated to be like 10% productive. As I looked over my to do list this morning around 8 am with glass of champs in hand, I circled the ones that were the most important: taxes and Target. The more I thought about what the fuck to do with my taxes since my horror story with H&R Block, the more confidence I had in myself and Turbo Tax. I sucked it up this morning, and before I knew it, an hour and a half had passed, I had drank the better half of a bottle of champs, and my taxes were filed. It's absolutely amazing to me that this woman at H&R Block couldn't figure out my mutual funds, yet me, someone who avoided math and economics and shit like this at all costs did it in an hour and a half. Blows my mind.
    So, since I was all proud of myself and shit, I decided to make a Target run. I didn't wake up yesterday until 1:00 pm, an hour before work, due to all of the shots of fireball I stupidly decided to throw back from 2:00-3:00 am at the Monkey. An hour wasn't enough time for me to wash my jeans that I like wearing to work, so I dug out all of the jeans from my closet. One by one, I started throwing them into a pile because they were all too big. It's a fucking Christmas Day miracle that I've lost weight with out knowing it or trying for that matter. Several of my friends have been commenting on my weight loss and how good I look, but I still feel the exact same. I jokingly told one of them that my "secret" was lots of cigs, beer, shots, sex, and sloppy joes. Apparently it works. I've realized a trend in my weight loss. Every time my ex boyfriend and I would break up, I would lose a lot of weight. And do not for one fucking minute think it's because I feel sorry for myself for being single or don't eat or throw up because I think I'm fat and ugly. I really think his eating habits fucked my diet up. I was always going out to eat. Every meal. It was ridiculous. So, back on track. I went to Target today to buy cheapo jeans for work, and low and behold, I've gone down two pants sizes. Fucking right, doggy.


My current blogging state

   All of that back story was to preface my lunch date with the lovely Miss Raven, a new character introduced to the blog. Raven has a real job. What I mean by that is that she has real hours and gets to have a real life outside of work. My life consists of sleeping until noon, staying up late and closing down bars, and expecting to never experience what a Friday or Saturday night is again. We don't get to see each other much anymore mainly because of my conflicting schedule. Grace works in East Memphis, and since I was going to relish in my new found "skinny" jeans at Target in East Memphis, I invited her to lunch. Though my fingers were crossed hoping she would pick somewhere with alcohol, she chose Panera. Whatever. I had a gift card that paid for my lunch, so I could post pone wine until I got home. As I waited on her to arrive, I stood there watching all of the business professionals, soccer moms and their 30 kids, and old East Memphis women on their weekly lunch outings. Made me really appreciate not having to deal with that in Midtown and Downtown. Now that I'm single and so far from having a husband and family, these are the last people I want to surround myself with. Finally, a long 4 minutes later, Raven arrives like she's walking into a business luncheon fully clad in modern, professional attire. I, myself, am wearing running pants, a pullover, and my new, badass tennis shoes. Do I run? Absolutely not. And I probably fool no one. As we order, Raven and I chit chat about work and bullshit. But, as we settle in with our half and half soup and sandwich deal, we get down to business: single life.
   Raven and I are both as single as they come. And, to be quite frank, we're both damn good catches. We're beautiful, independent young women with big dreams. Apparently, that is intimidating to a lot of men our age in Memphis which is very unfortunate since that it a total turn off. Raven and I haven't seen each other one on one, sober, in over a month. As we traded dating stories and quizzed each other on sex and past relationships, we opened up and blurted out some embarrassing information about the guys we'd met. I'm sure the stuck up socialites around us were covering their children's ears and gawking at us as we laughed and whispered the guys' names across the table. Those of you who know me are aware at how loud I am and my lack of filter. Panera was not the place to talk about such racy topics.
   As I hugged her neck, wished her a good afternoon at work, and lit a cigarette, I realized one thing: there are some weird, fucked up guys in Memphis that we single women have to weed through to find the ones worth tolerating. And men, you need to do the same. Just because we're single doesn't mean we're looking to get married in the next 6 months or have to jump into a relationship immediately or have children before 30. Sometimes its nice to play the modern 20-something year old woman and just get laid once in a while. No strings attached.

XOXO,

Merekat

Tax Season is Upon Us

2013 was a major growing year for me. It's been almost two years since I've written, but I found a previous post about growing up. I felt like I needed to grow up, but I didn't quite know what that meant. I think I've finally figured it out.

I'm taking control over my life now. It's stupid how simple that sounds. In the past, I thought I was living by Felix's slogan, "I do what I want. I get what I want." But, I wasn't doing it the right way. In the past year, I had three different jobs, dated and lived and broke up with a guy, and quit culinary school. 2013 sucked balls, and god damnit, 2014 will not.

This year I'm not putting up with anyone's bullshit. I'm not going to settle. And, I'm going to become that amazing, independent woman that my mother raised me to be.

Step 1:  Get out of a toxic relationship. CHECK.

I finally realized that I can not fix something that is too far gone. It was one of the hardest decisions I have ever had to make, but after I cried my eyes out at work in front of the entire kitchen staff, I felt good. Really good. And embarrassed. And I went out and got drunk with old friends that night. Fuck it. The amount of relief was refreshing, and made me feel like I was being true to myself.   

Step 2: Take over my health insurance. CHECK.

So, Momma Hen, being the supportive, awesome human being that she is, has paid for my health insurance all this time. Well, except when I had a real job with benefits at Mississippi State. Oh, God. Now I remember how pissed she was when I quit and became a nanny....and she had to support me again. Whoops. Regardless, she loves me. So basically, I've been fucked by my insurance agent in Corinth, and he changed my coverage with out me knowing. I started getting bills for $600+ every time I walked through the door at a doctor's office. And, Blue Cross Blue Shield of Mississippi finally figured out that I didn't live in Mississippi anymore. It only took them a good two and a half years to bust me. When they called, I was like, "Oh yea, I've lived in Memphis for almost three years." Then, I played the girl card, "Oh, I'm so sorry. Am I doing something wrong? I can't use Mississippi and not live in Mississippi? No one told me." Fucking idiots. So, I canceled it and got Blue Cross Blue Shield of TN.

Step 3: Take over my taxes. No where near being fucking checked.

God damn. Yesterday was a fucking nightmare.
Momma Hen has always taken all of my tax docs to someone to have them done. This year, going along with my plan, I decided to take that over and have them done in Memphis. So, I asked around and all of my CPA friends recommended H&R Block. And, this is what happened.

My first mistake was loosing my school tax shit. I was going to play dumb and act like I didn't get it. My second mistake was making an appointment at the H&R Block office on Cleveland.

Alright, so I'm all pumped up about being awesome and productive on my day off, but the so called "Senior Tax Analyst" quickly deflated my confidence. I walk in and am greeted by the lady I had confirmed my appointment with. See, very professional. I confirmed. So far so good. She ushers me over to this little cubicle with this tax lady.

"What can I help you with?" Tax lady doesn't smile.
"Well, I made an appointment to have you do my taxes." Duh

All she does is stare at me. Her 70 year old self with dead eyes. Just stares. I was so uncomfortable, I just kept talking.

"My mom has always had someone do my taxes, but I wanted to do them this year."
"Do you have your W2's?"
"Yes. I have three W2's right here along with my Edward Jones money market account 1099 form. I never got anything from school. I was a fulltime student and worked last year."

And, she stares at me again.

"So, can you do my taxes?" I mean, what the fuck else am I supposed to say? The bitch just FUCKING STARES AT ME.

She shuffles through my W2's and doesn't even really read them. She's just doing what she does best: stares blankly at them. Then, she picked up my Edward Jones packet.

"What is this?"
"That's my Edward Jones money market account. It's the 1099."
"You haven't opened it? Why haven't you opened it?"
"No....I brought it to you. I don't know what to do with it."

And she stares at me. So, I open the packet.

"This isn't what I need."
"Yes, it is. I called my Financial Planner, and this is what he said I needed to give you. It's my 1099."
"I need a summary page. I don't know what this is. I'll have to ask my supervisor."

By this point, I'm so mad and on the verge of tears. My voice is shaky and I'm about ready to slam her head into her desk. I give my best effort to explain this shit.

"No, I do not want your supervisor. This is what you need. It's my 1099. I have a money market account. It's like 20-30 mutual funds that have shown growth over the last year. Edward Jones. Investments."

Bitch doesn't say a fucking word. She turns to her computer and chicken pecks her password in. She turns to me and says, "Do you have any questions before we get started?"

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? With a heightened voice, I start loosing my professional, Southern demeanor and say, "Yes! Of course I have questions! I'm completely clueless! You're supposed to help me understand what I'm doing. I know nothing about taxes. You tell me you don't know what a money market account is. I'm just going to take all of this and leave."

And guess what. She stares at me with her little blank expression. I'm furious. I'm holding back tears. As I shuffle all of my documents and grab my purse, I see her slide her business card across her desk. I turn, look at her, and say, "Oh, trust me. I will not be needing that."

I get in my car and immediately text this guy I've been seeing because for some reason, I feel like he can give me some kind of advice and support. I mean, he's a guy. He knows stuff like that, right? Then, I just break down. I call my mom. She's laughing at my story while I'm crying. I felt so defeated and misguided. I turned to wine.

So, I have not completed this step. I'll figure that out another day after I get over that traumatic experience.

Good luck out there all you tax first timers.

Merekat