Tuesday, September 13, 2016


There are a ton of annoying ass people your ex can start dating after you two break up:

-Their co-worker, who you used to go on double dates with.

-Their “platonic” female friend, who you always were suspicious of, but he made you feel paranoid about it.

-Their ex, who he insisted he never saw anymore.

-Their best friend’s YOUNGER sister, who is in her 20s, and who metabolism hasn’t hit yet.


Really though, anyone you EVER knew when you two were dating is an annoying person to see your ex dating once you two break up.

But there’s annoying, and there’s just plain INNAPPROPRIATE.

I remember fondly a bizarre Toolbag Tuesday of old:

(Link---->> http://jennysays-hellofools.blogspot.com/2013/12/toolbag-tuesday_24.html?m=1 ) 

...where my friend’s ex-boyfriend began DATING HER STEPMOM when they broke up.



But I found a new one!!

A new inappropriate person for your ex to date that is equally as EFFED up as dating your stepmom.

Wait…no, not quite.

But a close second.



Yes, that is absolutely a breach of professional ethics.

And yes, this actually happened.

It was no secret that my friend Rebecca and her husband Charles didn’t have the best marriage. It was “open” at best. 

They decided as a last ditch effort to go see a professional and work out their issues.

Rebecca said the counselor was in her health insurance network and she was young and pretty and they went to four sessions. 

Rebecca remembers that this woman got Charles to really “open up” and “be vulnerable” with his feelings.


But after four hours in the tiny office, AT THE THERAPISTS’ CONVINCING, they realized they just didn’t like each other.

It was sort of a breakthrough.

They really didn’t like each other. So they broke up.

It was sad and embarassing.

Made much worse by the fact that FOUR MONTHS LATER, Rebecca saw on FACEBOOK that Charles was now going out with their therapist.

He and the “professional” were tagged out on the town. At a nice dinner, on a romantic stroll uptown.






There is absolutely no way to make someone feel better in this situation, no amount of therapist jokes (BOTH OF THEM ARE CRAZY!!!) that can possibly help.

Except one.

At least it’s not your stepmom.


Monday, September 12, 2016

My moon, my man

Put away the “age defying” moisturizer!! I found the secret to slowing down time: be in a long-distance relationship.

I really wasn’t prepared for how S-L-O-W time moves when you wait 30 days to see your boyfriend.

Case in point: My long-distance boyfriend Daniel left six days ago, but it feels like six months.

Maybe I’m unknowingly operating in lunar standard time, where 12 hours is actually 29 Earth days.

Of course, time is a sneaky bitch, because when we're together, time speeds up five times faster than usual, to make up for it moving five times slower the rest of the time.

So is life.

But, I’d rather have Daniel every 30 days than no days at all.

And if we were in the same city every single day, it would probably be a safety hazard to have my heart burst 24/7, so a monthly dose is about right, at this point in time anyway.

Just kidding. It sucks.

But now, since I have nothing better to do than drag around in my MOON SHOES for the next month, let’s remember the four seconds errr I mean four days we spent together for Labor Day.

First things first: My boyfriend drove 12 hours into a hurricane to see me.

Granted, Hurricane Hermione (Granger) didn’t turn out to be the disastrous hurricane it was predicted to be, but Daniel didn’t know that as he made the 12-hour drive from New Orleans to the South Carolina beach town where I live.

He even took a non-Florida route, driving through tiny towns in Georgia with no cell phone signal, fully expecting to be driving through terrible, rainy weather.

He didn’t even entertain for a second the idea of staying overnight at a hotel inland. My hurricane hero.

Second: It was a family affair. Again.

I didn’t realize that to be my long-distance boyfriend, you will have to share me with my entire family because they also come visit for major holidays.

In fact, I left Daniel on the beach for four hours to go to a baby shower and he happily boogie-boarded in the ocean with my mom. 

That’s not to say we didn’t have time alone.

In four days, we had a breakfast date, a dinner date and a movie date. We trespassed at a long dock overlooking a river.

I made him watch a terrible 90s romantic comedy on Netflix that I’m too embarrassed to mention by name. (Hint: It involves Christmas, Sandra Bullock and Bill Pullman.)

It started with breakfast. 

We woke up post Hermione (Granger) to the most amazing sunny day and blue skies and we took my roommate’s golf cart to a little breakfast spot and everyone at the restaurant got to check me out with my boyfriend having quiche and a screwdriver. (It’s the little things.)

We then went to the beach, just the two of us, and I expertly put sunscreen on his back (certainly better than he did on his front) and we swam around in the ocean together and I repeatedly pointed out that if I didn't know him, I’d be checking him out in the surf.

That evening, the whole family went out on a harbor tour on a boat that my twin sister, Joy, and I expertly booked in advance and we saw dolphins and drank wine and took pictures in front of the sunset.

Our family then made a big production of where to eat dinner (as usual) and ended up eating outside at a new restaurant, and Daniel and I split entrees and appetizers and everyone at the restaurant got to check me out with my boyfriend having wine and mussels.

On Sunday, my parents, Daniel and I took the golf cart to see a lighthouse and even though Daniel wasn’t feeling well with a stuffy nose, he made the half-mile hike up a sandy hill to amuse me. 

There were fireworks on the beach that night and Daniel bought me and my parents a huge pizza and we ate together before setting up chairs in the dark on the sand.

The stars were almost as impressive as the fireworks. The moon was hanging low, taunting me.

Monday Labor Day included more beach time, and more golf cart time, where we gave my friend’s 13-year-old daughter a golf cart driving lesson that involved a near miss with a house. 

Neither Daniel nor I had ever taught anyone how to drive so it was a lesson in parenting, haha. (And property damage)

We then went on a cute date to a new BBQ restaurant and everyone at the restaurant got to check me out with my boyfriend eating ribs and drinking something called a Pain Killer, “pain” being that Daniel was leaving the next day. 

Where on Earth did the time go?

We went to see a movie, Hell or High Water, the first movie we’ve seen together in a theater, and Daniel wasn’t even bothered by my questions and side commentary like some people (Joy).

And then before I knew it, my alarm was going off to go to work Tuesday morning and then as soon as he arrived, Daniel had to leave. 

No surprise, he said the drive back took five times as long as the drive into the hurricane.

I’m constantly surprised how easy it is to be with Daniel. 

I’ve been told I have a flair for the dramatic (Me?? Neurotic???) but I feel completely at ease when I’m with him. It’s a new, refreshing feeling, this miraculous balance of not being stressed, but also not bored, saying what I mean, meaning what I say. 

Worrying less than usual about him deciding one day he doesn’t like me all of a sudden.

…Pretending I don’t know him so I can check him out on the beach as if he was a stranger.


But, alas, Labor Day feels like it was eight million years ago, so I’m surprised I can even remember any of these details.

Only that my heart hurts when I'm not with him.

And I have a whole new meaning of the phrase, love you to the moon and back.



Tuesday, September 6, 2016


I was reading a magazine at the pedicure palace last month and it reviewed a whole bunch of self-help “breakup” books.

Some of the books were supposed to “heal your broken heart in 30 days”(money back guaranteed!!!) while others sternly broke the news that,“It’s not him, it’s YOU.”


The magazine critiqued each book on its premise and merits and then pulled a few enlightening sentences from each one: “Let go of your past. Live in the moment!” Or a more poignant, “Flush your ex down the toilet and move on.”

One sentence in particular stood out to me: “Whatever happens, remain calm. Reaction with retaliation shows an out-of-control person.”

I read that sentence five times.

While true, it’s probably the hardest piece of advice to follow, since most people ABSOLUTELY react with retaliation when they go through a breakup.

Retaliation feels really good when you feel wronged.

“Reaction with retaliation” could be classified as talking MAD SHIT about your ex to their BEST FRIENDS (or, uh, family members), bringing someone new to your ex’s known hangout spot or throwing all their things they left at your apartment into the garbage (after lighting them on fire.)

Some people might even write/submit a Toolbag Tuesday blog post as retaliation.
Um, moving on.

“Reaction with retaliation” can be a small gesture, like the guy who mailed me back my college graduation invitation with the return address as: “that guy.”

Others cause property damage by slashing tires. Or putting a dead baby shark under a house. (Clearly an out-of-control person.)

But, the story I heard yesterday wins as the most ridiculous “reaction with retaliation” story ever.

And all the crazy was broadcast on Facebook.

Paul and Jaime were married and seemingly happy. So happy, in fact, that they went on a vacation to Greece together. That kind of time and money for a vacation is a commitment!!
18 hours on a plane together!!?? (I hope they brought headphones. And snacks.)

They arrived in Greece and they updated their Facebook pages so all their office cube friends could be jealous of them playing on stone streets, touring crumbling castles, eating fried cheese and drinking ouzo.

But apparently vacation wasn’t so fun for Paul and Jaime, although it did provide entertainment to all their Facebook friends. 

For everyone who logged on the next day saw a “mobile upload” picture of Paul, without a shirt on, showing off a bloody tattoo he had just gotten on his chest.
In Greek letters.

Paul didn’t look happy in the photo. He looked mad. And the blood and scabs from the new ink was gross.

The tattoo covered his entire chest, from pectoral to pectoral, and the lettering and his facial expression resembled that of a gang member.

Facebook friends were confused. What’s with the tattoo and what does it say? It was too long to be fraternity letters.

And where was Jaime? A quick look on Jaime’s page….

“Jaime is no longer listed as being in a relationship with Paul.”



They broke up in Greece?? While on vacation???

I figured something terrible must have happened, because people are usually on their best behavior on vacation. I can’t imagine the breakup was premeditated.

(No one plans to dump someone at Disney World, for example.)

But, I get it, people break up all the time, no matter what hemisphere they’re in.

The trick, no matter what happens, is to remain calm. A reaction with retaliation shows an out-of-control person.

Right Paul?


It didn’t take long for someone more worldly than me to decipher his chest tattoo. It was one sentence:

“Nothing lasts forever.”

...in Greek letters. 


You know what DOES last forever? Tattoos.

And people remembering you as a bloody out-of-control person.

No more ouzo for him.


Tuesday, August 30, 2016


I guess one of the good things about dating a 24-year-old as a 30-something female is that you know when they’re cheating because of social media.

It’s like a built-in nanny cam!

Which is fitting because these BABIES were born in the 1990s.


You’d think your average 20-something would be more careful when lying to a girl he’s sleeping with about being out of town for a weekend.

You’d think he’d want to keep a low profile, while actually IN TOWN, while out with another girl.

But being publicly tagged on social media is more important than the girl you're seeing's feelings.

AmIRight, JASON?

(….but how many likes did you get??!?!)

Jason, this complete DIPSHIT my friend Tara dated off and on for years, was always leading her on.

He’d travel around the country taking pictures and then come back to her bed, tell her he loved her and say all the things that kept her wanting more. He talked about moving in with her.

But then his social media pages started telling another story.

First, he didn’t mention Tara at all, anywhere, even if he posted a picture of their eggs at brunch.


Tara said she only knew because she saw that his MOTHER was attending.


“Oh…yea, I don’t know how to invite people to things on Facebook…” he stammered when confronted.



Then, their travel plans collided when he said that he was going to New York for the weekend, for some “job” when Tara said she, too, was going to New York to visit her friend that weekend. 

And how fun and romantic would it be to meet up in a cool city that she had never been to?

Sex IN the city!!

Jason was quick to say that no, there would be NO sex in the city and that his “job” was in the suburbs, like “practically New Jersey” and that he wouldn't be anywhere near where she was. 

It was surprising, since Jason was Mr. Metropolis and would explore any big city he could. But he said he was only going to be there "Friday night through Sunday,” and that he didn’t have time to do ANYTHING.


Tara gave him the benefit of the doubt. They made plans to see each other in two weeks.

Tara then describes how Jason became mysteriously MIA all weekend and didn’t initiate any type of communication.

“On Saturday night, I asked him how his trip was going and he responds with ‘pretty great so far’ then is silent,” she describes.

(Silence, which, for the record, is INFURIATING to someone you are sleeping with.)

Tara made the most of her trip anyway and had a great time with her friend until Monday at breakfast, she saw on Instagram a picture of Jason TAGGED at a concert from the night before…in the middle of New York City…with a pretty blonde girl…with a heart comment.


So apparently he was staying in New York beyond SunDAY.

The icing on the cake: “The concert was five minutes from where I was staying," Tara points out.


If that’s not an “F-U” then I don’t know what is.

“So I text him and call him (which he ignores) asking why he couldn't just tell me the truth. I also asked how long it's been going on (since he was JUST staying at my house and we had a really great time and he told me he loved me and blah blah blah).”

Jason didn’t address any of these questions and only responded with, "Stop bugging me I'm really busy working."






Sorry, Jason, the only thing REALLY BUSY WORKING is the social media nanny cam.

And she’s tired of your bullshit too.


Tuesday, August 23, 2016


It’s never fun to be rejected by a love interest after a few dates (uhhhh I know from personal experience), but some people handle it more gracefully than others.

At least I never threw a temper tantrum.

No, instead I deleted every text message we ever exchanged and then deleted his phone number completely so that if aliens came to Earth and found my phone, there would be no evidence of a rejection, or even a date, or the name Will.

Saving face in front of fictitious aliens—that’s adulting!

There are other people, however, who decide NOT to take this “see no rejection” approach and decide to be a complete asshole about it.

At least my friend Kerri has a cute story for how she and Dave met.

Kerri was dining alone at a restaurant for lunch and noticed the cute guy at the end of the bar who was also alone, paying his bill.

They exchanged awkward smiles and Kerri noticed that he wasn't wearing a wedding ring (Score!)

As he passed by Kerri’s seat, he handed her the newspaper he had been reading (Ed note: SWOON)

“I thought since you were also alone, you might like some reading material,” he said. Kerri looked at the paper. He had written his phone number on it under the name Dave.


“Great,” she said flirtatiously.  

And then he left.

It was an exciting exchange and really original and Kerri called him the next day. They made plans to go eat at a restaurant, together this time.

After two dates, Kerri said Dave was really cute and a nice guy, and they were both in the publishing world so they had something in common, but she wasn’t sure if she was attracted to him like that.

He hadn’t made any moves romantically, but he had bought her a copy of a book they talked about, which was sweet.

Kerri’s initial thoughts of not being attracted to him were confirmed when they had a lukewarm make-out session in his car after their third date.

“Ehh…” she describes.


They next day, Dave called to ask her out again. 

She responded with a rehearsed rejection that she thought would lessen the blow.

“The thing is, I’m not really interested in having a boyfriend,” she said. “Errr…the timing isn’t great.”

Then she indicated that she’d love to still be friends.

It was sort of true, but also made it seem like it was her and not him, which she thought was thoughtful.

Dave did not think it was thoughtful.

He flipped out.

After three dates. Geez.

“He said he ‘didn’t actually enjoy my company after all and didn’t want to see me again,’’ Kerri recalls.




Uhhhh….he didn’t enjoy her company? IS THAT WHY HE ASKED HER OUT FOR DATE NUMBER FOUR???

What a terrible thing to say to someone, just to hurt their feelings.

Kerri said Dave was so butt-hurt that he repeated that he didn’t like her company, didn't want to be friends at all
EVERand then asked her to return the book he got her.



SO BUTT-HURT, in fact, that I don’t think she should delete all evidence of him in her phone. 

Just in case the aliens have an anal probe.


Thursday, August 18, 2016

Contract sports

Last name redacted; nobody LinkedIN me

My mom emailed me this bizarre typed “contract” I signed in high school that she found buried in a file cabinet, in which I agreed to be in bed by 10 p.m. every night or else I couldn’t go to the next morning’s 5 a.m. swim practice.

My parents were constantly making me and my twin sister Joy sign “contracts” all throughout childhood about all kinds of things—about being home for dinner at 7 p.m., about drinking milk, not smoking, doing chores.

One time we had to sign a contract that Joy and I wouldn’t laugh at the dinner table because it was “disruptive” and no one could hear how our brother Franklin’s day was.


F.Y.I. Franklin never had to sign any contracts.



After I was done scratching my head about why my parents still have this piece of paper, it got me thinking about sacrificing things for sports.

It’s good timing, because I’ve been obsessively watching the 2016 Olympics in Rio.

Since I grew up in New Orleans, many of the high school sports I played were “Summer Olympics” sports: Swimming, track and field, soccer. Even gymnastics, from elementary school through high school.

I was never good enough at any sport to play at a high competitive level (outside the Catholic all-girls high school competitive level, in which I RULED), but I still gave every sport all I had, 100 percent.

And I still remember the feeling of competition like it wasn’t 15 years ago (UGGGHHH).

The starting line of an early morning cross-country race, on the starting block at a Saturday morning swim meet, a 3 p.m. track meet after school, green aluminum relay baton in hand, already gathering sweat from my palm before I even start.

Maybe that’s why I’m so hooked on watching the Olympics. I think I’m in it for the start of the race.

Remembering the jittery stomach flips as I waited painfully for the 400 meter starting gun to go off, knowing that any second my relaxed state of being was going to fall to heavy breathing, fatigued legs, LOWERING MY SHOULDERS AWAY FROM MY DAMN EARS, COACH, darting eyeballs to my peripheral vision to see if any runners were coming up on either side.

Controlled stress building up in my chest as I concentrated on nothing but the starting gun and the patch of red rubber track five feet in front of me.

And let's not forget the icy cold pool water hitting my face and I dove in at the start of a race, enveloping me like a body bag.

Concentrating on the black lines painted on the bottom of the pool, fuzzy through my goggles, as I got closer and closer towards the end of the lane designated by a “T” horizontal line. Watching the top of the T get closer and closer.

There was a time in high school where I went to swim practice every morning at 5 a.m., went to school and then went to track practice after school. And I loved it.

Maybe that’s why I’ve played so much kickball in my adult life; I've been trying to re-create the feeling of success in an athletic event.

The feeling of catching a fly ball. Sticking a landing. Reaching the wall of the pool first. It’s immensely satisfying. 

It can not be duplicated, except with more athletic endeavors.

Even watching Olympics commercials about “early morning practices” “late nights on the field” and “unwavering commitment” makes me tear up.

Hearing what the athletes give up, what they sacrifice to be at the Olympic Games.

(Hint: It’s way worse than being forced to go to bed every night at 10 p.m. when you’re almost 18 years old.)

If you’re like me and can’t fast-forward Olympics commercials because you’re cheap and have an antenna, you’ve probably seen or heard the commercial where athletes say thank you to their parents.

Images of athletes being dropped off at practice by their parents (in a Toyota), picked up from practice by their parents (in a Toyota), waving to mom on the rain-soaked bleachers from the field.

They strangely don’t include the situation where the athlete is old enough to drive herself, but still needs her mom’s good sense to convey the importance of taking your sport seriously enough to get at least seven hours of sleep.

Or the sense of commitment that once you sign up for something, or, in our case, sign your name on the dotted line for something, you better take pride in it.  

So thanks mom.

(Uh you can throw that contract away now.)


Tuesday, August 9, 2016


I never took a psychology class in college, so I don’t really know the definition of a “psychopath,” but I’m pretty sure his name is Andy and he’s on Tinder.

Andy is the PSYCHOPATH who my friend Holly went out with exactly two times, and every single thing that came out of his mouth was bizarre, delusional or physically impossible.

…And then he flipped out when she called him out on it.

It always baffles me when guys think women in their 30s are idiots, that we don’t know anything about timelines—(Oh, you had 15 jobs at the same time? While attending school??? Do the laws of "X number of hours in a day" not apply to you??)

Also we're not idiots on the credentials one needs to be a teacher, for example.

Andy wrote on Tinder that he was in the Army, so Holly thought that meant he was somewhat responsible and in somewhat good shape (LOL) and she agreed to go out with him.

After texting for a week, they made plans to get coffee and breakfast before work one day.

It was a cute, out-of-the-box date.

Yet, at the restaurant, their first meeting face-to-face, Andy said that his debit card chip was broken by Wal-Mart’s POS system (LOLOLOLOLOL) and that he couldn’t get money until his bank opened.

...And an effing credit card was never on the table 
(literally and figuratively heyoooo).

Holly raised her eyebrows and paid for the coffee.

“Let me take you to dinner after work!” Andy said. “I want to make it up to you!”

Holly agreed, even though she thought he was sketchy. 

As if confirming her feelings, he threw in, “Let's go somewhere close to my apartment, I don’t have a car because I got a DUI.”


“I swear I had a BMW though!” he added.


Dinner is when it all went downhill hahaha

They met at a place that Andy decided was in his walking radius. 

The minute they walked in and sat down, Holly said the server switched tables with another server so that she didn't have to wait on them.

“What’s that about?” Holly asked.

“Oh…she doesn’t like me,” Andy replied.



“Yea, she was a drug addict and tried to push me out of a job at another restaurant where we worked,” Andy said.

Why would he suggest they go there??

Then he started listing all the restaurants he had worked at.

Holly clarifies: All the big restaurants he said he ‘managed.’

When he was listing his 20th job, seriously, Holly asked how he managed (huh huh) to work all those places and be in the military.

Didn’t he have to go off to training or something?

That launched into a half-hour story about his illustrious military career—“a one-sided conversation I couldn’t add to,” Holly recalls.

After dinner, they moved to the bar to finish their drinks (avoiding the “drug addict” server) and Andy starts talking about his new job where he teaches special needs kids.


When did he have time to get certified to teach special needs kids during his 20 restaurant jobs and illustrious military career?? 

“I don’t have a degree yet, but I’m in the classroom teaching,” he said.


Errrr…..pretty sure you need a degree to teach.

Holly then remembered all the times Andy texted her with poor grammar, with “there, their, they’re” all used incorrectly.

This guy was a joke.

Just as Holly was politely exiting the bar, Andy said that he was looking to buy a house.

“My best friend is the best realtor in the city!” Holly said. “I can give you her number!”

Holly and her realtor friend sent Andy several properties over the next week, and he responded telling Holly how sweet she was to look out for him, and that he’s starting to like her so much, he was going to delete his Tinder account.

(The 2016 version of “let’s go steady”)

Holly sent him back a smiley face, but she didn't get off Tinder.

“So I'm swiping a few days later and I see his profile alive and well. I send him a photo of it and say, 'so you're off Tinder huh?' and block him right after," she said.


Apparently, his embarrassment over Holly calling him out was too much.

When her realtor friend sent him more properties the next day, he flipped out.

His texts to Holly's friend went like this:


Ed note: psycho???

And then:



Yes, he misspelled “good.”


I don’t really know what to say about this.

I mean, this guy goes on a first date WITH NO MONEY, follows that up with a date at a restaurant with a server so angry with him she can’t even stand to wait on him, is clearly lying about his job(s) AND lying about quitting Tinder and then bizarrely insults her friend for no reason and threatens a lawsuit!?!?!?




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