After thrashing about and tousling through the sheets for minutes or hours or however long it takes you, it seems common these days to both turn over and go to sleep. No cuddling, no talking, no second round of sex--just sleep. I've found this to be true in relationships and random sex. Sex is just sex these days. Get yours and not worry whether your night's partner gets theirs. There's no connection or love.
Keep your chin up, lovers. I have found an exception to the unloving act of loving. I've never been too keen on the whole friends with benefits thing. It's messy and complicated and one person always seems to like the other person a little bit more. There are too many fine lines that both parties constantly tip toe on until one of them falls off and the whole friendship is ruined.
Well, momma always told me to be friends first. Luckily, I have managed to keep up the game for quite some time now. Not only do I want to remain friends and continue to have a weekly or sometimes biweekly slumber party, but I also want to hold dear the connection that he and I have. Sure, it's great to have a physical connection. It's really fucking great. But, to find a person that not only looks into your eyes but into your whole being is extremely rare.
After thrashing about and tousling through the sheets and both laying there completely bare, panting, heart racing, sweating...and then one of you looks at the other through the darkness that is 3:30 in the morning and starts laughing...and then you laugh. And then, you're both laughing, and neither of you has any idea why. And then, he pulls you to him, and you mold your bodies together, and listen to each other's hearts as the beating slowly returns to normal, and everything in the world is amazing and perfect at that moment. You just lay there, together, chilled by the ceiling fan but warm from each other's body heat. Everything is silent and still. He kisses the top of your head as you slowly trace your fingers in figure eight's on his rib cage.
This is the post sex calm. Find it and cherish it. You would think that it was love. That we were two people in love, in a relationship. But, we're not. We're just friends, and we reassure each other of that daily.
XOXO
Merekat
Sleeping With A Friend by Neon Trees
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
Saturday, April 5, 2014
Guilt
It's normal these days to have all of our passwords automatically saved on our accounts linked to our phones and laptops and kindles and Ipads and what have you. It's also normal to forget the passwords you created for accounts months or even years ago that get lost and erased from your memory all together until they are thrust back into your mind after countless attempts at entering the correct one. Most of my passwords revolve around the same word and numbers. Same shit since junior high. And now, at the old age of 26, random combinations are scribbled down on pieces of monogrammed stationary that are strewn across my dining room table in the hopes that I can get in to my bank account, email, culinary student loans, Banana Republic credit card, etc. The list goes on and on.
After an exciting night after work involving a few gulps of moonshine and an episode of Da Vinci's Demons, I thought it was a grand idea to log on to my blogger account and see what was going on. As the webpage loads, I see the blank username and password fields staring back at me. Laughing at me. It's all, "Haha, bitch. Let's see if you can remember this one." My head falls to my hand after 4 or 5 failed attempts and the little red hint, "You changed your password 12 months ago." Thinking, thinking, thinking.
Epiphany. I swing my head up so fast, and I get a little dizzy from the booze. "God damnit!" I let out as I slam the mason jar on the table and enter the password as fast as my fingers will type. Of course. Of fucking course. It was the combination of my name and my exboyfriend's name. How could I forget.
"You changed your password 12 months ago." I close my eyes and just like the password, everything from that relationship starts flashing so fast back into the present. 12 months ago, I changed my password. 12 months ago, I was in love and wanted to get married and was making plans to move in to a condo with him. 12 months ago, a year ago, not only did my password to my blogger account change, but OUR passwords for the electric bill, Comcast, etc. all changed to a combination of our names.
And now, 12 months later, and after only being broken up since January, that relationship only lives in my subconscious. It happened more quickly than I thought. I no longer wake up thinking about him or what we could have done to fix our relationship or what if we hadn't lived together or what if I hadn't filled the void of being alone after our first break up with some loser or what if, what if, what if. My thoughts are no longer consumed with the past or if there is any hope of being friends in the future.
I felt guilty the first time I realized I had pushed it all away. Of course it happened, but it faded so quickly once it was over that I live my day to day life like it never did. I felt guilty for burying all of my feelings and love and hurt and anger and seemingly walking away unscathed. What if he was still thinking about me every day--every waking moment? What if he still hurt? What a fucking bitch for forgetting it all and moving on.
After my dad died in 2000, I started suppressing a lot of my feelings. I was 12 years old. It was such a whirlwind of events and people and condolences and flowers. I changed. I learned how to lie. I learned how to lie, fake a smile, and bury my feelings. It was my way of coping and dealing with the public. It was so much easier to smile and answer, "Thank you for asking. I'm doing fine," to the endless "Oh, honey, I am so sorry for your loss. Your dad was such a wonderful person. How are you doing?" People wanted to take care of me, and for some reason, that was not ok with me. I wanted to be the protector--the protector of my mom, my brother, and my own heart.
It was a few years later in high school when I starting feeling the guilt. I realized that I had pushed it all away. I no longer thought of my dad every day. I no longer missed him, and I felt guilty. The memories of his laughter, his nicknames for me, the cold nights I loaded up in the truck to go fill people's propane tanks, plucking feathers with him after duck hunting--all the memories were floating around somewhere in my subconscious. How could I not think about him every day? My dad, my own dad had died, and I was too selfish to have any thoughts dedicated to him.
It wasn't until one night in college when I smelled it. I SMELLED IT! The stench rising off of some college boy after a duck hunting trip found it's way to my nose and traveled down to my soul. The visuals, smells, voices, and everything that David Pittman was immediately overwhelmed my heart. It was then that I knew that I wasn't some cold, terrible human being. There wasn't one day that went by that I didn't think about him. It may not have been in the forefront of my mind, but it's there. He's there.
And similar to the death of a loved one, 14 years later, I went through the death of a relationship. The fighting pre and post breakup, the condolences, the texts, the phone calls...they all led me to do what I do best--lie and save face. Buck up, fake that smile, and move on. Suppress the feelings. Of course I think of him daily when I find cards that were attached to the numerous bouquets of lilies, come across tshirts of his that somehow got lost in the shuffle of returning each other's belongings, pass a car like his on Union, etc. But, those thoughts no longer linger. Memories cross my mind, I place them back into his file, and continue on with whatever I'm doing.
I felt guilty, but not anymore. The good times will always be remembered and the love that we shared will never be forgotten. That's all I owe to him. Not guilt.
And just like that, 12 months later, I'm changing my password.
Merekat
After an exciting night after work involving a few gulps of moonshine and an episode of Da Vinci's Demons, I thought it was a grand idea to log on to my blogger account and see what was going on. As the webpage loads, I see the blank username and password fields staring back at me. Laughing at me. It's all, "Haha, bitch. Let's see if you can remember this one." My head falls to my hand after 4 or 5 failed attempts and the little red hint, "You changed your password 12 months ago." Thinking, thinking, thinking.
Epiphany. I swing my head up so fast, and I get a little dizzy from the booze. "God damnit!" I let out as I slam the mason jar on the table and enter the password as fast as my fingers will type. Of course. Of fucking course. It was the combination of my name and my exboyfriend's name. How could I forget.
"You changed your password 12 months ago." I close my eyes and just like the password, everything from that relationship starts flashing so fast back into the present. 12 months ago, I changed my password. 12 months ago, I was in love and wanted to get married and was making plans to move in to a condo with him. 12 months ago, a year ago, not only did my password to my blogger account change, but OUR passwords for the electric bill, Comcast, etc. all changed to a combination of our names.
And now, 12 months later, and after only being broken up since January, that relationship only lives in my subconscious. It happened more quickly than I thought. I no longer wake up thinking about him or what we could have done to fix our relationship or what if we hadn't lived together or what if I hadn't filled the void of being alone after our first break up with some loser or what if, what if, what if. My thoughts are no longer consumed with the past or if there is any hope of being friends in the future.
I felt guilty the first time I realized I had pushed it all away. Of course it happened, but it faded so quickly once it was over that I live my day to day life like it never did. I felt guilty for burying all of my feelings and love and hurt and anger and seemingly walking away unscathed. What if he was still thinking about me every day--every waking moment? What if he still hurt? What a fucking bitch for forgetting it all and moving on.
After my dad died in 2000, I started suppressing a lot of my feelings. I was 12 years old. It was such a whirlwind of events and people and condolences and flowers. I changed. I learned how to lie. I learned how to lie, fake a smile, and bury my feelings. It was my way of coping and dealing with the public. It was so much easier to smile and answer, "Thank you for asking. I'm doing fine," to the endless "Oh, honey, I am so sorry for your loss. Your dad was such a wonderful person. How are you doing?" People wanted to take care of me, and for some reason, that was not ok with me. I wanted to be the protector--the protector of my mom, my brother, and my own heart.
It was a few years later in high school when I starting feeling the guilt. I realized that I had pushed it all away. I no longer thought of my dad every day. I no longer missed him, and I felt guilty. The memories of his laughter, his nicknames for me, the cold nights I loaded up in the truck to go fill people's propane tanks, plucking feathers with him after duck hunting--all the memories were floating around somewhere in my subconscious. How could I not think about him every day? My dad, my own dad had died, and I was too selfish to have any thoughts dedicated to him.
It wasn't until one night in college when I smelled it. I SMELLED IT! The stench rising off of some college boy after a duck hunting trip found it's way to my nose and traveled down to my soul. The visuals, smells, voices, and everything that David Pittman was immediately overwhelmed my heart. It was then that I knew that I wasn't some cold, terrible human being. There wasn't one day that went by that I didn't think about him. It may not have been in the forefront of my mind, but it's there. He's there.
And similar to the death of a loved one, 14 years later, I went through the death of a relationship. The fighting pre and post breakup, the condolences, the texts, the phone calls...they all led me to do what I do best--lie and save face. Buck up, fake that smile, and move on. Suppress the feelings. Of course I think of him daily when I find cards that were attached to the numerous bouquets of lilies, come across tshirts of his that somehow got lost in the shuffle of returning each other's belongings, pass a car like his on Union, etc. But, those thoughts no longer linger. Memories cross my mind, I place them back into his file, and continue on with whatever I'm doing.
I felt guilty, but not anymore. The good times will always be remembered and the love that we shared will never be forgotten. That's all I owe to him. Not guilt.
And just like that, 12 months later, I'm changing my password.
Merekat
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
My 26 Year Old Life
I normally have to work Sunday mornings, but due to the chilly weather and predicted rain, I was off work. And Monday too. Two full days off work? For some reason, the Restaurant Gods were favorably looking down on me.
I had been house sitting for a friend and working all weekend, and I finally made it back to my house around 11:00 Sunday morning. My gym doesn't open until noon, so I was just sitting around doing laundry awaiting the 12:00 hour. Suddenly, I had this great revelation that I should just throw my shit in the car and get the fuck out of Memphis. My two options: Starkville and Nashville. I send a few texts out to friends: I have the next two days off. Should I come to town? I had already made up my mind that I was leaving regardless. 3 minutes later. No texts back. Fuck this, I'm calling Jimmy.
"Hello?" Jimmy drags out. I can tell he's extremely hungover.
"Hey! I have two days off. Should I come to Starkville? I want to come. I'm just gonna come." I excitedly shoot back at him.
"Ummmm, I went to sleep at 4 this morning and am on my way back from a wedding in Natchez..." I can tell that he has no intentions of drinking or being fun tonight, so I keep on pushing.
"But, you NEVER see me. When will I ever have two days off in a row again? Never. Never. Never. It's now or never. Don't you want to see your best friend?" I know this will work.
"Fuck, Meredith. Just come on. Rockbottom is supposed to be open." Bingo.
"Ok, cool. See you in three hours."
As soon as I get off the phone with Jimmy, I call my mom to tell her how excited I am that I'm actually doing something for myself. Well, I'll be damned if she isn't on her way to Starkville too. This is going to be a shit show, I thought. After calling a few more friends to let them know the good news, I get gas and start flying down 55.
Fast forward two hours when I make it through Winona, and I'm on the home stretch. My friend J. H. starts a group text between a couple of us and we begin shooting ideas for the night back and forth. The one idea that everyone can agree on is riding the Refuge. For those of you who were not lucky enough to spend 4+ years at Mississippi State, the Noxubee County Wildlife Refuge is a bunch of gravel roads interconnected over three counties that takes you through the woods, to people's deer camps, across lakes, and to an area that has absolutely no cell phone service. Alright, so this is our tentative plan. I realize that I have to shower and wash off last night's dinner service at work, but none of my friends are at home or actually live in Starkville. Well, fuck. I start calling MSU's President's wife to see if I can shower at the President's mansion....no answer. Thinking, thinking, thinking....Holy shit. My sorority house. How fucking funny would it be if I busted up in the sorority house and braved the communal showers from college. I shoot the group a text, "Give me an hour. Going to the sorority house to shower. Not a fucking joke. Move over bitches. I'm back."
I send a few Facebook messages to current members of my sorority to get the house code. I pull up, park in the alum spot, grab my bag, and bust up in the house. With out even introducing myself, I look at a group of the girls and say, "Do any of yall live in the house? I need to borrow a towel and some shampoo." They all nervously look around like who the fuck is this girl? No one offers, so finally I say, "I'm an alum. I need to take a shower." Well, that worked like a charm, and I didn't even have to tell them what a badass I was in college. The next thing I know, the President of the chapter is ushering me upstairs with a towel and all of her toiletries. As I'm showering and getting dressed in the bathroom and girls are coming in and out giving me weird glances, I think to myself, "This is about to be one ridiculously, fucked up night and these girls have probably never even experienced half of what is about to take place. Poor things. Worried about their reputation. How sweet."
Alright, now this is where you have to keep up. I'm not going to go into a lot of detail or I would be writing for the next two hours.
Post sorority house shower:
3:41 PM
"You at Staggerin yet?" text from J.H.
J.H. and I start drinking at Staggerin in the Cotton District around 4:00. I begin with a Bud Light and a shot of Fireball while he just grabs a beer. We talk about him moving across the country next week, my job, my flowers I should plant in the pots outside of my house, and opening a restaurant.
4:45 PM
Jimmy finally shows up and joins us. He immediately starts complaining about how strong his whiskey and sprite is while J.H. and I are going beer for beer.
5:40 PM
We all decide its time to make a move. Rockbottom actually did not open, so we start thinking of the only places open on Sundays in Starkville. We choose the Veranda because they have $2 mimosas, bloody marys, and domestics. You can't fucking beat that.
6:00 PM - 8:00 PM
Drinking and eating at the Veranda. 2 manmosas down and countless beers and cigs. We try convincing my mom to come join us at the Veranda, but she had already had a bottle of wine and wasn't planning on leaving. So, this is the point in the night when J.H. and I are trying to get some other friends to join us because Jimmy was going to puss out and go back home. Well, that wasn't going to fucking happen. J.H. and I convinced him to go on a refuge ride. You know, just a short hour-two hour loop. After a lot of convincing, deciding to take J.H.'s car because we cant smoke in mine and Jimmy was in his mom's car, rock-paper-scissoring for shotgun, picking up a 30 pack of PBR and three packs of cigs, we were well on our way to one of the most epic nights I've ever had. And trust me, I hate the word epic, but there is no better way to describe it.
8:30 PM- 5:00 AM
We ride the refuge for 8 and a half hours. Not fucking kidding. I don't know how we did it other than the half Adderall we all took, but it's still a miracle that we're all functioning two days later. Here are a few of the adventures we had:
At this point, we have exhausted our 30 pack of PBR's, but we remember that Jimmy had brought along a pint of Canadian Mist. We swing by McDonalds, grab three sprites, and stupidly pull into a parking spot to mix our drinks. But then, I have an amazing idea! Why don't we go wake up my mom! Of course! Why hadn't we thought of this earlier? She would love to see us at 5:00 am on a Monday morning after we had been drinking for 10+ hours. I quickly give her a wake up call to find out where she is....
5:30 AM
Well, we make it to the President's Guest House in front of Eckie's Pond on campus. We wake up my mom, she's running around with no pants on which is very, very normal of her, open a bottle of wine, Jimmy plays every song he knows on the piano, J.H. and I swing dance as my mother laughs at us and can't believe how we are acting in our mid-twenties, we accidentally lock ourselves all out of the house while smoking cigs and watching the sun come up over Eckie's Pond, and we credit card the door since that is our most essential skill from college.
7:00 AM
"My head spins every time I try to lay down." Text I send to Jimmy from the other room.
7:30 AM
I pass out. Jimmy and J.H. head home.
12:30 PM
I am woken up by a conversation between my mother and a friend about finding the missing plane in the Indian Ocean and how Jimmy was acting like Liberati on the piano.
So, basically, my mother is super proud of my behavior at the age of 26 and my friends are better than yours.
XOXO,
Merekat
I had been house sitting for a friend and working all weekend, and I finally made it back to my house around 11:00 Sunday morning. My gym doesn't open until noon, so I was just sitting around doing laundry awaiting the 12:00 hour. Suddenly, I had this great revelation that I should just throw my shit in the car and get the fuck out of Memphis. My two options: Starkville and Nashville. I send a few texts out to friends: I have the next two days off. Should I come to town? I had already made up my mind that I was leaving regardless. 3 minutes later. No texts back. Fuck this, I'm calling Jimmy.
"Hello?" Jimmy drags out. I can tell he's extremely hungover.
"Hey! I have two days off. Should I come to Starkville? I want to come. I'm just gonna come." I excitedly shoot back at him.
"Ummmm, I went to sleep at 4 this morning and am on my way back from a wedding in Natchez..." I can tell that he has no intentions of drinking or being fun tonight, so I keep on pushing.
"But, you NEVER see me. When will I ever have two days off in a row again? Never. Never. Never. It's now or never. Don't you want to see your best friend?" I know this will work.
"Fuck, Meredith. Just come on. Rockbottom is supposed to be open." Bingo.
"Ok, cool. See you in three hours."
As soon as I get off the phone with Jimmy, I call my mom to tell her how excited I am that I'm actually doing something for myself. Well, I'll be damned if she isn't on her way to Starkville too. This is going to be a shit show, I thought. After calling a few more friends to let them know the good news, I get gas and start flying down 55.
Fast forward two hours when I make it through Winona, and I'm on the home stretch. My friend J. H. starts a group text between a couple of us and we begin shooting ideas for the night back and forth. The one idea that everyone can agree on is riding the Refuge. For those of you who were not lucky enough to spend 4+ years at Mississippi State, the Noxubee County Wildlife Refuge is a bunch of gravel roads interconnected over three counties that takes you through the woods, to people's deer camps, across lakes, and to an area that has absolutely no cell phone service. Alright, so this is our tentative plan. I realize that I have to shower and wash off last night's dinner service at work, but none of my friends are at home or actually live in Starkville. Well, fuck. I start calling MSU's President's wife to see if I can shower at the President's mansion....no answer. Thinking, thinking, thinking....Holy shit. My sorority house. How fucking funny would it be if I busted up in the sorority house and braved the communal showers from college. I shoot the group a text, "Give me an hour. Going to the sorority house to shower. Not a fucking joke. Move over bitches. I'm back."
I send a few Facebook messages to current members of my sorority to get the house code. I pull up, park in the alum spot, grab my bag, and bust up in the house. With out even introducing myself, I look at a group of the girls and say, "Do any of yall live in the house? I need to borrow a towel and some shampoo." They all nervously look around like who the fuck is this girl? No one offers, so finally I say, "I'm an alum. I need to take a shower." Well, that worked like a charm, and I didn't even have to tell them what a badass I was in college. The next thing I know, the President of the chapter is ushering me upstairs with a towel and all of her toiletries. As I'm showering and getting dressed in the bathroom and girls are coming in and out giving me weird glances, I think to myself, "This is about to be one ridiculously, fucked up night and these girls have probably never even experienced half of what is about to take place. Poor things. Worried about their reputation. How sweet."
Alright, now this is where you have to keep up. I'm not going to go into a lot of detail or I would be writing for the next two hours.
Post sorority house shower:
3:41 PM
"You at Staggerin yet?" text from J.H.
J.H. and I start drinking at Staggerin in the Cotton District around 4:00. I begin with a Bud Light and a shot of Fireball while he just grabs a beer. We talk about him moving across the country next week, my job, my flowers I should plant in the pots outside of my house, and opening a restaurant.
4:45 PMJimmy finally shows up and joins us. He immediately starts complaining about how strong his whiskey and sprite is while J.H. and I are going beer for beer.
5:40 PM
We all decide its time to make a move. Rockbottom actually did not open, so we start thinking of the only places open on Sundays in Starkville. We choose the Veranda because they have $2 mimosas, bloody marys, and domestics. You can't fucking beat that.
6:00 PM - 8:00 PM
Drinking and eating at the Veranda. 2 manmosas down and countless beers and cigs. We try convincing my mom to come join us at the Veranda, but she had already had a bottle of wine and wasn't planning on leaving. So, this is the point in the night when J.H. and I are trying to get some other friends to join us because Jimmy was going to puss out and go back home. Well, that wasn't going to fucking happen. J.H. and I convinced him to go on a refuge ride. You know, just a short hour-two hour loop. After a lot of convincing, deciding to take J.H.'s car because we cant smoke in mine and Jimmy was in his mom's car, rock-paper-scissoring for shotgun, picking up a 30 pack of PBR and three packs of cigs, we were well on our way to one of the most epic nights I've ever had. And trust me, I hate the word epic, but there is no better way to describe it.
8:30 PM- 5:00 AM
 |
| The Refuge |
- Listening to and belting out all old school rap that we knew every word to
- Taking three videos of us shot gunning beers. We got really good at propping the phone up on the front of J.H.'s car with the headlights on us.
- Drinking from some magical spring water that came out of a PVC pipe. It is here that we took two more videos: one of Jimmy reading the history of the miracle spring water in his best impression of an 1800's voice and one of Jimmy lip synching to Whitney Houston's I Will Always Love You
- Stopping in the middle of the road countless times to pee
- Having heart to hearts about things that happened in college and things that have happened post college and telling each other how much we love each other and that we will always keep in touch and be friends and we each other's kids aunts and uncles
- Randomly stopping and having dance parties in the road or by lakes
- Taking ridiculous snap chats that won't send due to the lack of cell phone reception
- Ending up in Louisville, changing drivers, and heading back to Starkville
- Cheers-ing to being 25 and 26
At this point, we have exhausted our 30 pack of PBR's, but we remember that Jimmy had brought along a pint of Canadian Mist. We swing by McDonalds, grab three sprites, and stupidly pull into a parking spot to mix our drinks. But then, I have an amazing idea! Why don't we go wake up my mom! Of course! Why hadn't we thought of this earlier? She would love to see us at 5:00 am on a Monday morning after we had been drinking for 10+ hours. I quickly give her a wake up call to find out where she is....
5:30 AM
Well, we make it to the President's Guest House in front of Eckie's Pond on campus. We wake up my mom, she's running around with no pants on which is very, very normal of her, open a bottle of wine, Jimmy plays every song he knows on the piano, J.H. and I swing dance as my mother laughs at us and can't believe how we are acting in our mid-twenties, we accidentally lock ourselves all out of the house while smoking cigs and watching the sun come up over Eckie's Pond, and we credit card the door since that is our most essential skill from college.
7:00 AM
"My head spins every time I try to lay down." Text I send to Jimmy from the other room.
7:30 AM
I pass out. Jimmy and J.H. head home.
12:30 PM
I am woken up by a conversation between my mother and a friend about finding the missing plane in the Indian Ocean and how Jimmy was acting like Liberati on the piano.
So, basically, my mother is super proud of my behavior at the age of 26 and my friends are better than yours.
XOXO,
Merekat
Saturday, March 15, 2014
Throat Cancer
Random ramblings from the kitchen:
"Hey, Meredith." Featherstone drew out in his most Fayette Co accent he could muster.
"Yep, what's up?" I reply.
"Did ya know that you could get throat cancer from eatin' pussy?" Everyone's little ears perk up as they swivel their heads towards him. Not that this is some surprise conversation. This topic is right on target with our crew.
"Well, no, I didn't. Are you concerned or something?" I jokingly say as my face turns 20 shades of red.
"Well fuck yea I'm concerned! I lick that damn thing all the fuckin' time. She's gotta get her's before I can get mine. And ya know....all I gotta do is rock her world and do my damn thing so she can be happy for a few days. Then I repeat it. It works. Except during shark week." Featherstone refers to his girlfriend's period as Shark Week.
"Ok, gross. Let's get back to throat cancer. How do you know this?" Trying to get the conversation back on track.
"Didn't ya know that's how Michael Douglass died? Fuckin' throat cancer from eatin' his wife's pussy." He said matter of factly.
"First of all, Michael Douglass is not dead. Second of all, how do you know it's from his wife? He could have had a girlfriend. Wait, how the fuck do you get throat cancer from going down on a girl anyway?" We're all enthralled in the ridiculousness of mine and his back and forth banter.
"It comes from an infection. You know, those infections you girls get down there. Yeast or somethin'. But like I always say, if it smells fishy ya better not eat it. Same goes for fish we sale here. Smell before eatin' it." He is so wise.
"Ok, that's absolutely disgusting, but I definitely agree with you. If a girl's got some rank smell, you need to just run. Let me google this." I'm the queen of Google at work. Google is the book of life.
As I'm googling "Michael Douglass eating pussy," Featherstone continues to divulge us.
"Ya'll! I can make one of those commercials like the people with those things in their throats. Except it would be like this: Hello. I have to now speak through this little box because I have throat cancer. I have smoked all of my life, but that is not how I got throat cancer. I got throat cancer from eatin pussy." I know ya'll have seen those commercials with the scary old ladies with the talk boxes on their throats.
"Hey, Meredith. What's that thing called in yer throat you take out when you have throat cancer?"
"Ummmmm. A larnax?" Worth a try, but apparently the emphasis that I put on the "a" was incorrect.
"This is not Dr. Suess and the Lorax." He scoffs.
"Holy shit, ya'll. I found it. Michael Douglass has a press release confirming that's how he got throat cancer. What the fuck! And, doctors say that it comes from HPV."
"See, told ya."
"But here it says his agent tried to come back and say he was talking about you can get throat cancer from eating a girl out in general. Well, not in those words. He didn't say eat a girl out. You know what I mean. Anyway, well, did YOU know that men are the carriers of HPV and that women are affected by it? So, it only makes since that a guy should get throat cancer from the same HPV that he gave to a girl. What's goes around comes around bitches!" I laugh as I get flustered.
"Alright. So, it's true. Now have ya ever heard of the earwax test?" He knows everything about STD's apparently.
"Ok, this already sounds gross. Let's hear it."
"Well, ya get some ear wax on yer finger and put it on her clit. If it burns, she's got the clap. If it doesn't she's fine." I learn so much at work.
"WHO THE FUCK LET YOU PUT EAR WAX ON HER VAGINA? Please tell me you haven't done this to your girlfriend. I love her. Please tell me that." His girlfriend is a saint. I would kill him and her if she allowed him to do this.
"Oh, no no no no no no. Just heard it. Thought it was cool." Thank God.
"Just got to the doctor and get tested. This is stupid. It's called an STD test."
"Maybe we should invent something you could pee on or wipe up in there. Like if it turns green or somethin, we know ya got the clap." He loves coming up with ways to make his life easier.
"Oh, yea! Like a PH tester we use for our sanitizer!" I'm a genius.
And then the tickets start rolling in so we get back to work and tuck away all of our inappropriateness for the next night's service.
Don't forget, smell it before you eat it.
Merekat
"Hey, Meredith." Featherstone drew out in his most Fayette Co accent he could muster.
"Yep, what's up?" I reply.
"Did ya know that you could get throat cancer from eatin' pussy?" Everyone's little ears perk up as they swivel their heads towards him. Not that this is some surprise conversation. This topic is right on target with our crew.
"Well, no, I didn't. Are you concerned or something?" I jokingly say as my face turns 20 shades of red.
"Well fuck yea I'm concerned! I lick that damn thing all the fuckin' time. She's gotta get her's before I can get mine. And ya know....all I gotta do is rock her world and do my damn thing so she can be happy for a few days. Then I repeat it. It works. Except during shark week." Featherstone refers to his girlfriend's period as Shark Week.
"Ok, gross. Let's get back to throat cancer. How do you know this?" Trying to get the conversation back on track.
"Didn't ya know that's how Michael Douglass died? Fuckin' throat cancer from eatin' his wife's pussy." He said matter of factly.
"First of all, Michael Douglass is not dead. Second of all, how do you know it's from his wife? He could have had a girlfriend. Wait, how the fuck do you get throat cancer from going down on a girl anyway?" We're all enthralled in the ridiculousness of mine and his back and forth banter.
"It comes from an infection. You know, those infections you girls get down there. Yeast or somethin'. But like I always say, if it smells fishy ya better not eat it. Same goes for fish we sale here. Smell before eatin' it." He is so wise.
"Ok, that's absolutely disgusting, but I definitely agree with you. If a girl's got some rank smell, you need to just run. Let me google this." I'm the queen of Google at work. Google is the book of life.
As I'm googling "Michael Douglass eating pussy," Featherstone continues to divulge us.
"Ya'll! I can make one of those commercials like the people with those things in their throats. Except it would be like this: Hello. I have to now speak through this little box because I have throat cancer. I have smoked all of my life, but that is not how I got throat cancer. I got throat cancer from eatin pussy." I know ya'll have seen those commercials with the scary old ladies with the talk boxes on their throats.
"Hey, Meredith. What's that thing called in yer throat you take out when you have throat cancer?"
"Ummmmm. A larnax?" Worth a try, but apparently the emphasis that I put on the "a" was incorrect.
"This is not Dr. Suess and the Lorax." He scoffs.
"Holy shit, ya'll. I found it. Michael Douglass has a press release confirming that's how he got throat cancer. What the fuck! And, doctors say that it comes from HPV."
"See, told ya."
"But here it says his agent tried to come back and say he was talking about you can get throat cancer from eating a girl out in general. Well, not in those words. He didn't say eat a girl out. You know what I mean. Anyway, well, did YOU know that men are the carriers of HPV and that women are affected by it? So, it only makes since that a guy should get throat cancer from the same HPV that he gave to a girl. What's goes around comes around bitches!" I laugh as I get flustered.
"Alright. So, it's true. Now have ya ever heard of the earwax test?" He knows everything about STD's apparently.
"Ok, this already sounds gross. Let's hear it."
"Well, ya get some ear wax on yer finger and put it on her clit. If it burns, she's got the clap. If it doesn't she's fine." I learn so much at work.
"WHO THE FUCK LET YOU PUT EAR WAX ON HER VAGINA? Please tell me you haven't done this to your girlfriend. I love her. Please tell me that." His girlfriend is a saint. I would kill him and her if she allowed him to do this.
"Oh, no no no no no no. Just heard it. Thought it was cool." Thank God.
"Just got to the doctor and get tested. This is stupid. It's called an STD test."
"Maybe we should invent something you could pee on or wipe up in there. Like if it turns green or somethin, we know ya got the clap." He loves coming up with ways to make his life easier.
"Oh, yea! Like a PH tester we use for our sanitizer!" I'm a genius.
And then the tickets start rolling in so we get back to work and tuck away all of our inappropriateness for the next night's service.
Don't forget, smell it before you eat it.
Merekat
Friday, March 7, 2014
Treasures
 |
| One of Mom's treasures |
So, Sunday afternoon Mom and I were loading up some shit from her booth for me to take back to Memphis when the cranky old bitch behind the counter ran us out on account of "bad weather" coming. As Momma Hen and I take the back roads through Burnsville and Iuka back to the Hen House at Pickwick, we come across several huge piles of brush down the bank from the road.
"You see those big piles of brush, Mere?"
"Um, yea. Why?"
Mom gets really fidgety and hesitant like she doesn't want to continue her story.
"Well, the other morning I was headed to the booth when I passed this black Escalade down in that ditch over there. Right nexta that brush pile. Driven right up to the brush."
"Ok, so?"
"There weren't any skid marks like they'd run off the road, but after I passed by I whipped around and went back."
"Why, Mom?" I'm already bored by her story and begin rolling my eyes.
"So, I pull over and climb down the bank to the Escalade. Meredith, it was a nice one. New lights on the back and everything. Had to be a brand new one. God, I love those new lights on the back." Mom and I are quite the car traders, so I wouldn't be surprised to find her with a new Escalade soon just because of the new tail lights she's so fascinated by.
"MOM! Why did you go down there?"
"What if someone was hurt? What if they were dead and no one had driven by this morning?"
"Ok , fine. What was in the car?"
"Well, I couldn't get to the drivers side door because of this mud hole, so I opened the back hatch and climbed into the back of the car."
"Oh my god, MOM! What the fuck? You can't just go around crawling in people's cars! What the fuck were you thinking?"
"MEREDITH, what if someone as hurt?"
"I don't care, Mom! Someone out here in the country will shoot your ass for breaking in to their cars!" See how the mother daughter roles have changed?
"Well, just listen to me. So, there was all this junk in the back. they had just trashed this new Escalade. And it smelled weird. I finally cleared enough stuff out of my way to see into the back seat. No blood or anything. And the keys were in it. Who just leaves their car with the keys in it?"
"I don't know, Mom. Who just climbs in the back of some random ass car? YOU DO. Don't ever do that again! Did you call the cops??"
"No, I just left. But, I was telling someone, cant remember who, about what all was in the back of that car. Apparently, it was a meth lab." She nervously glances over at me while I just about run my own car off the road.
"A METH LAB? A METH LAB, MOM??? YOU NEVER CALLED THE COPS?" I shriek at her.
"Well, no. Why would I?"
"Holy shit. You REALLY could have gotten shot. What was in there??"
"Oh, you know."
"No, I don't know!? I don't have a meth lab in my car. Batteries? Anti-freeze?"
"Oh, yea. Tons of empty cans of anti-freeze."
"Oh my god. Please don't do that again. I need some fucking wine."
"Agreed. I gotta get a bottle from the neighbor's house."
And just like my Lexus was loaded down with treasures from the antique mall, the Escalade was loaded down with treasures of it's own. Pittmania is never dull.
Merekat
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
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
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.
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
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
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.
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
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.
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| My current blogging state |
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
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