Cheers to you, to me, to you, and back to me again, and then you, and then me.

Irish or not, you know about St. Patrick’s Day.

Seeing as Monday is one of the most glorified drinking holidays on the planet, I figured I’d give you a little something to think about going into the weekend. There’s going to be beer, there’s going to be drinking, there’s going to be parades, and most of all, there are going to be, “CHEERS!”

Yeah, yeah, we’ve heard them all, “To good friends! – To good times!” yadda, yadda, yadda. BOOOORING.

If you stick with the run of the mill drink clinks, you’ll quickly run out of things to say and simultaneously raise your glass. That’s why I’m here to help you.

The following is a list of things you can, “Cheers!” to this weekend in honor of Saint Patrick:

To money
To your bank account
To your parents, because without them you would not be alive and drinking today
To not falling down
To the Pilgrims and Indians getting along splendidly
To the military and the USA
To falling down and getting back up
To that kid not wearing green because “he isn’t Irish”
To that kid peeing on the sidewalk
To your friends because, “OH MY GAHHH I LOVE YOU SO MUCH”
To not using public restrooms
To finally getting to use the public restroom
To airplanes and automobiles that will bring you home
To candy hearts that express emotions so you don’t have to
To being single and not running into your ex
To not being single and running into your ex
To Tinder when there’s a surplus of hot drunk individuals in one concentrated area
To seeing eye dogs – because they’re the shit
To Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinski (he did not have sexual relations with that woman)
To not wearing heels
To bacon, eggs, and cheese, and bread. So much bread.
To live music and uncomfortably swaying and calling it ‘dancing’
To Outkast reuniting
To free alcohol
To stealing alcohol
To making fast friends on the streets that you have absolutely no intention of ever talking to again
To sleep number beds for always knowing what you want
To McDonald’s for giving us the Happy Meal when you’re ordering over 18 years of age
To wearing sunglasses when it’s not sunny because you’re too hungover to be in public
To the one time of the year wear corn beef and cabbage is a fun thing to eat
To castles and royalty
TO POTATOES!
To infinity and beyond
To street meat
To Janet Jackson’s nip slip
To Leo DeCaps and Celine Dion’s “My Heart Will Go On”
To finding out all your socks matching up after laundry
To cooking something that isn’t poisonous
To haircuts and looking so fresh and so clean, clean
To creating resolutions and breaking them
To giving up beer for Lent…… then taking it back because St. Patrick’s day is during Lent
To the world’s largest ball of yarn
TO POTATOES!
To tear-away Adidas sweats and white high top sneakers
To snap bracelets and snap backs and Snap, Crackle, Pop
To Ramen noodles and drinking like you’re in college again
To day drinking and passing out before 9pm
To having an excuse to drunk dial your mom and dad just to , “Say hey.”
To Ireland and the people from it who immigrated here because there were no potatoes, without whom we would not be the population of drunk people we are today, and we have to salute you the only way we know how, by getting drunk

Go forth, my sons, into the land of inebriation.

You Couldn’t Hurt My Feelings Today If You Tried.

Today is monumental. I am filled with glee.

My first article was published on Elite Daily!

Seriously, go check it out. Share it with your mom, your dad, your friends, that weird guy on the bus, even your dog may even perk up at the thought of a little financial advice from yours truly.

And the fact that they chose the majestic face of Leo DeCaps to correspond with my article is a sure fire sign that we are destined to be together in holy matrimony and love each other until the end of time.

Click To Read

more money, more problems.

Yeah, I will (not) be there in a minute.

Behold!

Below is a rudimentary list defining and subsequently documenting a myriad of tasks one can accomplish during the following time allocations:

The term for using big words to assert personal dominance over others has yet to be coined. 
In the meantime, feel free to use, 'egotistical overachiever' as an acceptable substitute.

Microwave Minute:

A term used to describe the activities one can accomplish whilst food is in the microwave. Tasks are seemingly endless, and include, but are not limited to, cleaning an entire house, re-tiling a floor, baking a turkey, and/or solving world hunger before coming back to the kitchen and realizing your Lean Cuisine still has thirty seconds before it’s done.

Sleep Minute:

The time it takes you to fall asleep, minus the time you are actually asleep, divided by the time spent knowing that you have to do something important in the morning. Symptoms include waking up thinking it is 3am believing you’ve been asleep for eight hours, just to look at your clock and realize you’re late for work. Alternatively, one can take a nap intended to last twenty sleep minutes, but in turn, accidentally lasts eight hours.

Hot Minute:

What you say to someone when you’re running late, but have no intention of actually taking less than sixty seconds to get your act together and get out the door. You can accomplish almost nothing in a hot minute, but your bottom dollar you’re going to give a fair effort.

Healthcare Minute:

What clinical secretaries give as a standard of measurement to let you know that your healthcare professional will be moving at a glacial pace, and will be with you after he or she has transversed across the entire globe during his or her lunch hour for a delicious sandwich, knowing full well you are a real person with a schedule to maintain, yet at the same time choosing to ignore your civic responsibilities in favor of their own personal satisfactions.

Travel Minute:

Often times, when traveling, you’ll hear the phrase, “Folks, this will just be a minute,” over the loudspeaker. Be aware that this means something is wrong and will most likely make you late for whatever it is you’re planning on attending. You can potentially read an entire novel and write a book report during a travel minute.

New York Minute:

A highly underrated film starring the incomparable tweens of my youth, Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen, that had absolutely nothing to do with time, but totally worth noting for the fashion sense, sophisticated plotline and dialogue.

Regular Minute:

An actual span of sixty seconds that is virtually non-existent because people like me are lazy and irresponsible, and people like you don’t enforce time constraints and allow me to get away with being late.

Think Before You… Oh Wait, Too Late.

It’s Friday! I’m extremely impulsive. So it’s about time to make a list of all the things I do before I think about the repercussions.

Buy five new books before I’ve even finished the one I’m currently reading
Decide to purchase flights across the country when I don’t know if I have time off from work
Eat an entire cheeseburger that weighs the same amount as a newborn baby
Drink an entire bottle of wine, and then another one
Make a crock pot meal and double the ingredients because I think I’m Martha Stewart
See how far I can go on empty before filling up my gas tank
Get all the supplies to do a Pinterested “DIY” craft and never attempt to do it
Sign up for the gym with no intentions of ever going
Sign up for a marathon with no intentions of actually running
Eat an entire can of BBQ Pringles hoping I won’t feel like a lardo
Consuming copious amounts of cheese, ice cream, milk, and yogurt knowing full well that I am lactose intolerant
Making drastic lifestyle changes because I had one bad day
Giving up drinking on the weekdays for Lent — WHY?
Swipe my credit card and “worry about it later”
Go on a blind date with a guy that turns out to be three feet tall and extremely clingy
Try to win a burrito contest from Chipotle only to be blacklisted because of sheer dedication
Avoid wearing a bra out in public only to realize I’d be out of the house for an entire eight hours
Drink wine for dinner because it’s healthier than going spoons deep in chunky peanut butter
Go out in public without make up only to bump into the only person you don’t want to see in public without make up
Drink beer for breakfast
Signing receipts with my twitter handle before realizing I’m a jackass
Not exercise
Watch an entire day’s marathon of Gangland only to be scared to walk outside my house for fear for my life
Watch an entire day’s marathon of CSI only to be even more terrified to walk outside my house for fear of my life
Choose to watch Titanic refusing to watch past the iceberg scene in respect to Leo DeCaps and in disdain of fat Rose taking up the entire goddamn floating double door
Knowing I’m due for a good cry and choosing to watch A Walk To Remember on a Saturday night before I go out
Pretending I know what I’m talking about then unintentionally getting wrapped up in a conversation full of lies and deceit
Going to the doctor to get my ears checked out and having it turn into a full fledged interrogation of my medical history — it’s just an ear lady, LAY OFF ME.
Deciding that after a week of drinking, it seems like a good time to check how much I weigh — IT’S NOT
Going outside without a jacket on because it’s not that cold out — when the only way I tell the temperature is by looking out my windows into the alley with no sunlight
Not checking the weather before I walk to work because I think I am an amature meteorologist
Looking at pictures of myself from middle school knowing that I thought I honestly looked really fly in my tearaway Addias sweat pants, Aeropostale polo shirt, a curly bun, and my grandmother’s dangly earrings
Starting this list and then realizing it’s dumb

The Common White Girl’s Idea of Struggling

Life is an uphill battle, but why toil with the stairs when you can take the elevator to the top?

I’m a common white girl from Connecticut and my idea of a struggle is figuring out how close I need to get to the drive-thru window in order to reach my food without unbuckling my seatbelt.

People tell you from day one to prepare for the worst, and hope for the best. So that’s what I do. But it’s a constant battle with the weather these days. I can’t get anything to go my way. I mean how am I supposed to channel corporate chic when I live in a metaphorical snowglobe and can’t wear heels to work?

Most days I wake up and hope against all odds that my hair picks a side between curly and straight and sticks to it. A lot of times that doesn’t happen, and it makes me really upset. If I knew it was going to be a bad hair day, I would have worn it in a bun initially, instead of wasting all it’s promise on the morning where I slapped myself every time I went to move one perfectly formed tendrel away from my face.

I moved out of my parents house almost two years ago, during that time I attempted to move my dresser up three flights of stairs. Eventually, I just asked my three younger brothers to help me out. I’m a huge advocate of outsourcing labor. Especially when it involves me delegating and not participating.

One time I was so hungover that I called out of work. The struggle was so real. I persevered by taking an inordinate amount of naps on a Wednesday.

There are a lot of aspects of my life that I find particularly difficult. For one, I can never decide which restaurant I want to try first, so I often make a decision based on the wine selections. If they don’t have pinot noir, they are obviously a bootleg establishment, and don’t deserve ~~my parents’~~ my money.

In attempt to not sound completely superficial and unaware of other human beings on this planet, I want to let everyone know that I have read multiple books — well, I sparknoted them — and understand the plight that other races and cultures have experienced through the written word. And boy, does that suck.

But the thing is, I’m not minimizing any of that stuff. I have feelings, thoughts, and values. I am a real person who empathizes with others.

I value shopping and what it does to support the economy. I am absolutely aware that my hard-earned dollars are contributing – in some way that I don’t actually understand – to this country’s health and well-being. I think voting is scary, so I don’t do it because politicians use big words and research is a lot of effort.

I feel like all the problems in the world would be solved if we were all tan and from Florida. You know why you never hear about unrest in Florida? Because everyone is actually resting and enjoying the sun. There’s no time for fighting when you’re living in a perpetual fantasy land. You’re welcome, world.

But growing up privileged does not mean I am immune to adversity. I posted a Facebook update on my whereabouts during my European vacation, and only seven people liked it. I took that as a cue to make a better effort at posting more interesting updates. By the end of my trip, I had almost forty people like my post about, “Putting the ‘Bar’ in Barcelona!” Success.

I do my best to shatter the rich white girl stereotype. Whenever there isn’t an attendant on duty, I’ll wait five minutes before reluctantly pumping my own gas. I also make a point to throw my spare change into the tip donation jars, you know, because every penny counts and I don’t use them anyways.

It’s not all glitz and glamour. I face just as many strifes each week as another person. After a hard day of pretending to work (but going on Pinterest instead), all I need to relax is a goblet of wine and a good television show. It’s times like these that I realize the Gods are smiting me because last week I had no wine on a Tuesday and my Netflix crashed so I was forced to watch the news. I was asleep in my clothes before 8pm. Thanks a lot, technology.

People say it’s a dog eat dog world, but I’ve never witnessed it. I can’t understand why a dog would want to eat another dog, and I don’t really understand why that phrase applies to human nature in the slightest. I’ve never been denied a job opportunity, and constantly look for ways to slide under the radar while still being labeled as “efficient” within my workplace.

I’m just trying to do my best to survive on a reasonable salary while maintaining an active social life and not buying store-brand groceries.

I’m a common white girl and my idea of a struggle is understanding what it means to struggle.

Why Girls Buy Other Girls Drinks

Because they’re bored
Because it’s 5pm
Because it’s 9pm
Because it’s last call
Because it’s happy hour
Because there are jello shots
Because there is Fireball
Because, “You’re just, like, my best friend and I love you, so much. Like really. To the moon and back, girlfran.”
Because it’s my turn
Because it’s their turn
Because she’s new to the group
Because she’s not in the group
Because she’s a better wingwoman when she’s drunk
Because she took one for the team
Because she needs it
Because I need it
Because it will make us dance
Because I’m an enabler
Because we’re easily persuaded
Because you know she won’t say no
Because she got promoted
Because we got fired
Because we’re single
Because her boyfriend is gone
Because we got dumped
Because we dumped someone
Because it’s a holiday
Because we’re on vacation
Because tropical drinks will make you think you’re on vacation
Because she’s not pregnant
Because there’s a snowstorm
Because we’re hungover
Because it’s cold outside and drinks make us warm
Because it’s pay day
Because we’re the only people at the bar
Because my job sucks
Because our feet hurt
Because, “You look like you need a drink.”
Because we look good
Because we feel like shit
Because when we don’t eat dinner we get drunk faster
Because wine is good for our heart
Because, “WE NEED TO CHEERS!”
Because we need to toast to random events
Because we need to look interesting
Because I showered today
Because I need to ask you something important and/or horrible
Because I’m going to guilt you into doing something you don’t want to do but will do it anyways cause I bought you that drink in your hand
Because you got a haircut
Because it’s Sunday Funday
Because it’s brunch
Because it’s an open bar and I’m not really buying it
Because it’s relaxing
Because I had a bad day at work
Because you had a great day at work
Because you got laid
Because we’re trying to get laid
Because it’s a weekday
Because it’s the weekend
Because I need to unwind
Because any excuse to buy a drink is a good excuse to buy a drink

It’s time to drink a bottle of wine and make outlandish, judgmental statements about celebrities and cinematic productions.

both of us are empty inside.

Award show season! Thank you for giving me the momentous ~~excuse~~ opportunity to pollute the twittersphere and subsequently the rest of the social media universe with all of my thoughts and feelings on the Oscars.

I’ll be here all night, unfortunately.

Drink a bottle of your favorite, cheapest wine, and take a seat right in front of your television AND computer and hop on the train to funtown. We’re gonna tweet up a storm, and you’re going to need a raincoat. Or an umbrella. Or some galoshes. Or just a roof.

LIVE TWEET:

Follow @meg_lago

Tweet #Oscars2014

Tweets by @meg_lago

Dance Dance Revolution

The first time I can remember being confused by dancing was when my my dad would play Elvis Presley records and jived around my living room in a bathrobe to ‘Hound Dog.”

The second time was I witnessed my mother grooving to the tunes of her youth at a Bruce Springsteen concert. It wasn’t really dancing, but more of a feet firmly planted, upper body twisting while simultaneously moving arms in a ‘choo-choo train’ motion to the beat of “Born To Run.”

I’m absolutely forty-percent positive my parents were once big-whigs on the dance floor. But after the poor display over the course of my youth, I felt certain that I was destined for mockery when it came to cutting a rug.

It only recently dawned on me that not only do we enter different stages of life as people, but of dancing as well. Do you ever see an eighty-year old woman dropping into a worm? No. Can you picture a four-year-old busting out jazz hands like he or she is the main event at a cheerleading competition? Not intentionally, that is.

We enter a phase of dance that follows us through specific years of our lives. From birth to death, there are certain dances that are inherently acceptable and they are as follows:

Toddler

This is when you’re a baby and dancing means grasping firmly onto any surface that will withstand your baby grip and repeatedly trying to sit down whilst not letting go. It’s like you’re doing wall sits, but there happens to be music going on and your mother claps in approval while filming your half-sits and appropriately titling it “JOSH’S FIRST DANCE!” when she posts it on her Facebook wall.

Elementary School

If you are a girl, you had your friends over your house while you made a choreographed dance to the best hits of the decade. The amount of times I had my mother sit and film my friends and I doing dance routines that consisted of high fives and somersaults is almost unmanageable. But it’s a just right of passage to the better years.

Middle School

Middle School dancing is all about the Bat and Bar Mitzvahs. If there was ever an age-inappropriate event it would be these shindigs. Sure, I had fun, but attending a party that cost ten grand at twenty-two would have been a way better use of my Saturday afternoon. The cutest boys were there, there were cheap, carnivalesque prizes, and a DJ spinning on the ones and twos. Everyone who was anyone was invited. There were parental chaperones, so the closest dance you got with a boy was a slow dance to Brian McKnight’s “Start Back At One” and you always had to dance forming the shape of an A to leave room for Jesus.

High School

Prommy, prom, prom. Is he going to ask? Am I going to have to shell out two-hundred dollars for a faux satin dress with gaudy embellishments that I will wear only once? The first taste of adulthood comes with a hairdo that never turns out the way you want it, and a first come, first serve atmosphere when it comes to dresses. You do NOT want to have the same dress. Also, make sure to get one with forgiving and flowing fabric; you’re going to need it when you’re grinding dirty all up on the overly hormonal boys in your class. Feet planted, legs alternating, as close as possible, hands around the neck, then move back and forth in sync. That’s it. You’ve mastered the art of the high school grind. NEVER MAKE EYE CONTACT. So awkward.

College

Go to the bar. Get a drink, dance alone. Dance with a guy. Dance with a girl. Dance against a wall. All acceptable. As long as when you’re dancing, the drink you’re holding is swaying back and forth uncontrollably and spilling everywhere. You’re a hot mess and it’s okay. Nothing is expected of you.

Wedding

Suddenly, all the songs that were the hot beats at middle school dances are all the rage again at your wedding. It’s like you instinctively remember that you are leaving your youth to enter holy matrimony, so the final event on your first day of marital bliss will be to take a trip down memory lane and Cha-Cha Slide and YMCA all over the reception hall.

Parenthood

Is there anything more embarrassing than Dad Dancing? Showing up with your parents at an event and after the meal looking over to find you dad flailing his arms in the air like he’s sending SOS signals to the DJ. Look over to your right and you see your mother simulating a choo-choo train and everything comes full circle in your life. You’ve seen the pinnacle of bustin a move, and your future with gyrating does not look pretty. But hey, at least you can make it look good, right?

The Band of Books and Booze and Brilliance.

#shamelesspromotion

Good news, everyone! The gods of the interwebs have smiled upon me!

Today is a day to be remembered. A time to rejoice. Because I have accepted a seat at the cool kids lunch table.

Oh, what’s that sound you hear? It’s the sweet, sweet music of a wonderful symphonic orchestra playing as I’m dancing around in circles.

That’s right, I have joined the ranks with a band of the booziest, brilliant, and book-crazy peeps on the internet. I am now officially part of the Tipsy Lit crew, and I couldn’t be more happy.

Please drink and read responsibly.

Tipsy Lit was gracious enough to invite me to partake in their Children’s Literature week, allowing me to rewrite an excerpt of Judy Blume’s classic coming of age novel, which was appropriately named, “Are you there, Google? It’s me, Meg.”

So, if you’re a drinker, a thinker, and an inker (booze, books, brilliance, woahhhhhhh), please subscribe to Tipsy Lit and do yourself a double favor and spice up your inbox with a few of my problems by following me as well.

That’s not too much to ask is it?

Not at all! But, you may be asking yourself, “Hi self, what is in it for me?”

I’m so very glad that you asked. Because there are tons of things in it for you, my fellow amigos and amigas. I’m not trying to say I’m kind of a big deal, but I am kind of a big deal because not only am I one of the most overly caffeinated and excited people on the planet, I am now the new Promotional Manager for the site, and with great power, comes great responsibility.

Thus I give you, FREE STUFF. If you follow me at all, which you should be – except physically, because that would be scary – stay tuned for some new announcements detailing tons of giveaways and freebies that you can win by entering some of the Tipsy Contests!

That’s right, folks! You can win free stuff just by being friends with me.

Let the bidding for my friendship start at ten slice and bake cookies… or just the press of a button.

Shameless self promotion. FOLLOW ME:

Remember the time… Oh wait, I forgot.

It’s a burden I carry. It’s my Achilles heel. It’s almost every explanation as to why I didn’t do something right, get somewhere on time, or put something away.

I just forgot.

My parents did a great job documenting my upbringing. There are tons of videos and pictures of me as a child, so it’s nice to be able to have a tangible photo to jog my memory, and explain things like why I thought it was a good idea to get cornrows AFTER I got home from vacation in Florida.

That’s a story for a different time, however.

When thinking about my earliest memory, it would most likely be a story about food making it or not making it into my mouth, and my mom subsequently cleaning up the mess I made only to realize she’d be cleaning up my messes for the next eighteen years and then into my adult life.

So rather than bore you with that mumbojumbo, I want to talk about the shambles of my life, and the things I always seem to forget.

Why I walked into a room.

This happens every day; without fail. I will walk into a room at some point, stare blankly at everything, and not know in the slightest why I am there. Also, a good thing to note: it does not jog your memory if you slowly twirl in circles looking at all the objects in the room. It just makes you dizzy.

What I’m supposed to get at the grocery store.

This would be super helpful. Regardless of how many lists I write down for myself, I always end up wandering up and down each aisle in the store – always stopping in the snack aisle for too long – and then inevitably leaving with a flank steak, birthday cake Oreos, and a block of Swiss cheese. All I needed was cereal.

To fill up my gas tank before it’s too late.

Do I ever fill up my car all the way? Nope. Am I really good at playing the neutral game? Yes. I can coast in neutral and make a tank last double time if needed. A good skill to learn, in my opinion. Also a good skill to learn: filling up your gas tank so you don’t have to rely on slight inclines and declines in order to keep your car moving.

Wine will get you drunk.

If I had a dollar for every time I said, “Oh, I’ll only have one glass with dinner.” I’d be rich. It starts off as a flavor addition to my post-work meal, next thing you know, the bottle is empty and I’m passed out on my living room rug with the TV still on and my dinner half-eaten.

Check my bank account.

I pretty much ignore everything that has to do with personal finances. My credit cards are always with me, and they give me a false sense of wealth because in my mind, when I don’t see physical dollars disappearing from my wallet, it means that those dollars are still in my bank account. Except that’s not how it works at all.

Not to drunk dial my parents.

At this point, my mom knows I’m drunk dialing her and just cuts me off mid-sentence saying she has to do something more important like watch Ellen DeGeneres or file her nails.

Turn off the oven.

But really though, we’re in 2014 and we don’t have an oven that turns itself off? I thought humanity was smarter than that. Moreover, I think other people are just smarter than me. They probably make a point to turn off the oven; I find it more important to hover over the stove with a spoon in hand shoveling the freshly made meal into my mouth. There is no time for plates. There is no time for sitting down. There is only food and it needs to be consumed.

… and then I forgot the rest of my list.

Half and Half