On Her Knees 43

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/

Katherine Got So Pretty

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

Bigger, Better, and Yummier Things

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

The Never Ending Job Search

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.

Hungry for More. Give Me More.

I finally gave in and jumped on The Hunger Games bandwagon. I finished the first book in less than 24 hours. It was obviously an ok book, or I wouldn't have kept reading past the first chapter. But, I was extremely disappointed when the book ended.

I hadn't seen the movie so I really didn't have a clue what the series was even about. Basically, it's a action packed/love story written for teens about this girl who is torn between these two guys, fights for her life, and lives in a world of fiction. Sound familiar? Yea, thought so. Twi-fucking-light. It's like the same damn book. Oh let me count the ways. A teenager book series that adults are hooked on. Ok, so the characters names are different, it's set in a different time period, the obstacles faced to survive are different, but...all in all, it's way too similar to Twilight. Katniss = Bella, Katniss' mother = Bella's dad, it's a toss up between Gale/Peeta = Jacob/Edward. The Capitol is the Volturi...and so on and so forth. Bella kept fucking shit up with her relationships and life in general...so did Katniss.

Sorry Hunger Games fans, it just doesn't live up to Twilight though. The quality of writing is mediocre at best. There aren't as many details to bring you in and make you really feel like you're a participating tribute in The Hunger Games. Shit, when I was reading Twilight, I was so sucked in that I put myself in Bella's shoes and felt turmoil when trying to pick between Jacob and Edward. I cried. I laughed. I gasped. Not the case with The Hunger Games. It wasn't as emotionally trying or exciting. I know that it was written for teens and can't get too R-rated or gruesome, but come on. Give me more.

This is not to say that I won't be reading the other two books. I can't wait to get my hands on the next one in the series. BUT, it in no way lives up to Twilight. That's all I'm saying people. And another thing, I and many others have been made fun of so many times for being Twilight fans...but why not The Hunger Games? Think about it.

XOXO,

Merekat

What Women Really Want by Tusk

What women really want – “50 Shades of STFU”…  and Hangovers…

So, y'all have heard about my nurse girlfriend, Pamalama.  She’s a really cool chick, smart and generally a good person.  Oh, and she’s a freak.  All nurses are freaks… along with nail technicians, hair stylists, bartendresses and most airline attendants… In that order...  But I digress, Pam is cool. 

Anyway, she’s fallen into the “Fifty Shades of Grey” trap.  You snacks (that’s TUSK talk for “babes”) are familiar with the book/trilogy.  It gives y’all the escape to “freak land” you think you crave.  You “want” to be tied up and smacked around… (right).  You “want” to be dominated and told what to do… (yeah).    

You want this combination of Johnny Depp, Brad Pitt and Mathew McConaughey all rolled up into Ted Bundy.  Oh, and you want him both as sensitive as a 3^rd degree burn on your Brazilian but as tough as a well done sirloin at your local Chili’s.  Good fuckin’ luck.

What you really want is… no matter what… no matter where… is to be told “everything is gonna be ok”… when you already know it is…

For example:  You (the snack) come home and you’re place is afire.  The whole joint is being consumed in a conflagration and all your worldly possessions are being destroyed.  Time is of the essence and it’s running very, very short.  What do you “want”?  A water hose?  No…  A cell phone to call 911?  Wrong, again...  A bucket of water?  Nope.

What you “want” is to be held tight, hugged, and told “everything’s going to be alright”…  all the while, your shit is burning up.  That’s how y’all roll… and that’s ok…

I bought Pamalama the “Three Shades” trilogy, because it’s “what she wanted”…

And Pam gets what she wants… I love her. 

Excuse me while I pound out her brains.

TUSK

This is a side note that Tusk included...he swears by it. And after the night I had last night on Beale Street, I do too. -Merekat

TUSK’s Hangover Remedy

·         32 oz Cup full of ice

·         Gatorade (powder mix at double concentration per volume)

·         (1 – 2) BC Headache Powder(s)

·         Alka Seltzer (optional)

Introducing the Converse Queen

Where to begin? The beginning I suppose.

Picture it. Second semester senior year of Who Ya Wit C-Town high school. The plan? Mississippi State with all of my friends...live together in Sessums, rush KD, do the damn thing. Well, leave it to me to go fuck shit up. Last minute in May I decided that I would venture off to Appalachian State for my schooling.

Fast forward 3 months to move in day. After the 9 1/2 hour trek from good ole Corinth, MS to Boone, NC, we finally arrived at my new home, Bowie. Bowie is a shit-tastic dorm right by the App State stadium. I'm talking no AC and dorm rooms the size of closets. I was still too excited to care about my shitty living arrangements. I arrived before my pot luck roommate that I had only talked to once via Facebook. Momma Hen and I unpacked all of my monogrammed towels, custom made duvet cover and bedding, and the rest of my preppy, Southern girl decor. All matching perfectly, of course. Momma Hen was also sneaking in wine and tequila for me. She couldn't quite grasp the concept that 18 year olds weren't allowed to have booze in their rooms.

I nervously awaited the arrival of my soon-to-be new best friend. Isn't that what roommates are supposed to be? In walks this super tall, lanky, stoner talking, dirty blonde sporting some fucked up, hipster outfit and used-to-be black converse shoes that were falling apart....aka my roommate for the next semester...aka the Converse Queen. I immediately regretted my decision. Why did I have to be different? Why did I leave all of my normal friends?

Over the next few months the Converse Queen and I bonded over PBR (which I had never heard of), weed (which we smoked in our dorm rooms), random music festivals with hippie, senior boys (Off the Grid Music Fest...worst weekend of my life other than witnessing people trip on acid for the first time), and homemade nose piercings. We also had our MAJOR disagreements. I couldn't understand why she hated sororities and didn't know what a Greek letter meant and she couldn't understand why I wanted to pay for friends and wear dresses and heels to football games. We hated each other's music. I plotted her cell phone's death every time her Smashing Pumpkin's ringtone played. Her friends were weird. She didn't have to study and made straight fucking A's in a double major as I made a C in Western Civ because I never went to class when it rained or snowed.

Needless to say, I had planned on switching roommates the next semester. Don't get me wrong. I loved her. That's why I made the decision to part ways. I was afraid that one night I would murder her in her sleep. Unfortunately, I didn't attend App State for another semester. I got a drinking ticket the night before exams, missed SEC football, called my best friend from home and had her rent an apartment in the Cotton District in Starkville for me, transferred to Miss State, and my Southern ass was headed home.

Now don't you fret little readers. I am still besties with all of my App friends. We chat weekly...sometimes daily, and I go visit them yearly. I talk to the Converse Queen on the reg thanks to Facebook chat and my non-eventful work life. I wrote all of this nonsense just to preface these Wednesday morning Facebook chats to the world.

Freshman Roommates at an App Football Game

Converse Queen:
i am
still
so drunk
and i am at work
i literally should not have driven to work
dui territory
i cant walk straight
this is not good

Merekat:
Bahahahahahah
YESSSSSSSSSSS
You're gonna get in troubssss

She sure is a looker

Converse Queen:
shush
im going to
go to wendys
and get a cheeseburger

Merekat:
It's only 9:40 your time
But no shame in that
I back it

Converse Queen:
and thats why I LOVE YOU
im literally not even responding to emails because im so shitfaced

Merekat:
Send them to me. I'll help you out.

Converse Queen:
YES! reply to mere.
im gonna get like 30 chicken nuggets
and just eat them at a 5 nugget per hour rate
nuggethon!
sounds racist
k, gotta go to wendys before i die.

Merekat:
Send some nugs my way.

And so on and so forth. She's my heart. I love her. We're both shit shows. Everyone pray that she doesn't get fired today.

PROMISE THIS IS MY LAST BLOG POST TODAY!

XOXO,

Merekat