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