Tuesday, October 25, 2016


There are a few teeny tiny things wrong with taking up 90 percent of your first online date with someone talking about your “bitch ex-wife.”

The obvious being, you’re not over it.

The second being, you clearly aren’t a very good judge of character.

The third being, it makes you look bad that your wife had to go out and cheat with lots of people because she wasn’t getting what she needed from you.


The fourth being, I DON’T CARE.

Now that I think about it, there really is nothing I care about LESS than hearing about the bitch ex-wife of a total stranger I met online. On a first date.

But somehow, there I was, in early 2015, eating at an Italian restaurant with Henry, who spent 40 minutes explaining to me in great detail about the time he found out that his “bitch ex wife” sold her wedding dress and engagement ring on eBay.

Who uses eBay anymore? I wondered to myself.

Henry added that “bitch” was “crazy” (aren’t ex-wives always crazy??) and even though SHE cheated on HIM, which he knew for a fact because he had her phone traced (ohhh…boyfriend material!!! JK, LOL), she's been making his life a legal hell and he needs all kinds of lawyers.

Plus she shattered his car window with a beer bottle.

I don’t really know what Henry was expecting from divulging all this information, or if he knew that I was uncomfortably darting my eyes to the door to see if there was a similarly short, blonde female pointing a gun at us.

(You know, between checking her eBay bids.)


I suppose he thought that I’d feel bad for him or something.

I hate to say it, but it wasn’t the first time a guy had unloaded to me about a messy, baggage, unattractive EX on a first date.

At least this time the ex wasn’t a legit crack whore.

(I wish I was kidding.)

But no.

At least with Henry, I didn’t need to confirm that his ex who he had been reminiscing about for the past 20 minutes, who he had lived with and SLEPT with, was actually a crack addict, and also a prostitute.

“Only a prostitute to pay for more crack!!”

Oh, well, that’s way better.





No bidding.


Tuesday, October 18, 2016


It started off as a typical conversation you’d overhear on any honeymoon.

“Babe, you need to delete photos off your phone so we can take pictures of Hawaii!”

Peter was driving at the time, in their rented car, in Hawaii, so he asked his wife of two days, Greta, to delete his phone pictures.

After a minute of looking through his camera roll in silence, Greta spoke.

“Do you want to keep pictures you have of text message screenshots?” Greta asked.

“No,” Peter said. “Those are probably from work, when I had to reference an order number.”

Greta paused.

“Ok, well what about the screen shot of texts between you and someone named ‘Jessica’ about wanting to know what color panties she’s wearing?” Greta asked.





OMG. Nightmare.

It was amazing that Peter didn’t crash the car into a volcano after that.

“What?” he played dumb. “Who?”

And then all he could manage was, “What, you don’t trust me?


Then, “You really don’t trust me? I’m your HUSBAND.”



(Like he takes that role seriously.)

Greta then looked in horror as she pulled up “Jessica” in his phone and saw MANY, MANY texts to her, the most recent one about her panties that was sent TWO DAYS BEFORE THEIR WEDDING.



“Pull the car over!” Greta shouted. “PULL THE CAR OVER NOW!”

He did, at the closest restaurant, repeating himself, while she jumped out and instructed him to leave.

“You don’t understand, it was nothing…” he said.


But Greta had seen the rest of the texts and they weren’t as PG as asking about her panties. (If you don’t think asking someone about her panties is "PG," then you definitely don’t want to see the rest of this douche movie.)

It was a complete shock. They had dated for EIGHT years and Peter had given no indication that he was a cheater, or dumb.

DUMB in that he couldn’t even cover his tracks correctly…who saves a screen shot of their affair?!?!?

Greta would never have married someone that unintelligent, had she known.



Peter eventually admitted that “Jessica” was a co-worker, but insisted that it was “nothing,” despite what MONTHS of sexting revealed. 

And then Peter decided to go ahead and remind her again that he was her husband, as if that wasn’t adding insult to injury.

"I know I'm an asshole cheater and liar, but I'm your HUSBAND!"


I hope her divorce lawyer works the line, “take a picture, it’ll last longer...than your marriage,” into the proceedings.


Tuesday, October 11, 2016


There’s a time and a place to ask a new girl for her number.

…And that time and place is not after your EX-girlfriend confronts you at a bar in front of everyone about the dog you share custody of.

(That doesn’t really make you a good candidate for a new relationship, Mr. Baggage.)

But that’s exactly what happened to my friend Rachel last week, who had been talking to a nice, cute guy all afternoon.

Rachel met three guys at a neighborhood restaurant where they have long community tables and they bonded over burgers and all decided to move to a new brewery down the street.

At the brewery, one guy named Robert zoned in on Rachel, sitting by her, asking her a lot of questions, buying her a beer.

After about an hour exchanging life stories, a blonde girl came into the brewery and tapped Robert on the shoulder. All of the guys looked at her, stunned.

“WE NEED TO TALK NOW,” she said. Robert tried to casually play it off, smiling at Rachel like there wasn’t a demanding blonde girl next to him.

His friends tried their best to look away.

“NOW!” she yelled and yanked him outside where they were clearly having an argument using their hands. After five minutes, Robert walked back in and told the bartender to close him out.

“Sorry, that was my ex-girlfriend,” Robert said to Rachel. “We share a dog and if I don’t leave right now, she’s going to take him away from me forever,” he said.


(Ed note: That dog isn’t the only thing that got its balls removed LOL)


“It’s a long story,” Robert said.

“Wait…how did she even know you were here?” Rachel asked. They had all spontaneously decided to go to the brewery.

“I don’t know,” he said and he signed his credit card receipt in a hurry.

Then he looked over at her.

“Hey, do you think I could get your number?” Robert asked.


(Hmmm…I guess he does have balls.)


Who asks a girl for her number while being dragged out of a bar by their ex?

That’s not a good look.

“No I don’t think so…it looks like you’ve got a lot going on already,” Rachel said.


Then she watched Robert hang his head and walk out of the bar, presumably, on his way to the dog house.


Tuesday, October 4, 2016


We’ve long been in an era where guys expect to sleep with someone after a first date.


You can’t blame a guy for trying I guess, since first date sleepovers happen all the time.

But it’s what happens after they get rejected for a sleepover that is a true test of their character.


(Yes, this is how low the bar is set.)


I can pretty much guarantee that how a guy handles a sleepover rejection is how he’ll handle any other obstacle in his life, so this really is a good test.

Did he get pouty? Persuasive? Weepy?

Jerry, on the other hand, got mean and rude.

Not a good look, Jerry.

Jerry and my friend Kylie went out on exactly one date, after meeting through co-workers at a restaurant where she worked.
Jerry was cute, from ENGLAND with the accompanying accent, and had a non-restaurant job.

He lived in a nice neighborhood in a cool part of downtown and they made plans for Kylie to park near his house and they would walk to a café nearby for dinner.

She rang the doorbell (how chivalrous!) when she got there and Jerry’s roommate answered.

He was also cute, although not from England. Ha. 

They made small talk about the restaurant where she worked and mutual friends who worked there, when Jerry came to the door and they left for the restaurant.

Kylie said it was a perfectly fine dinner date—and he paid!! Bonus!!

She said they didn’t have a whole lot of things in common but she would definitely have agreed to go out again. 

...Until they got back to his apartment and it was clear that he wanted her to sleep over.

There are a million, ok, fine, 20 reasons why she didn’t want to spend the night with Jerry, none of which were any of his business. 

But they did make out a little and then Kylie politely said that she was just going to go home for the night. 

And that’s when Jerry got rude.

“Oh, OK, so it’s going to be like THAT?” he asked, as if there was a THIS that they agreed on, and she was backing out of it.

Kylie suddenly found his accent less cute.

“Ummm if by ‘that’ you mean going home then yes,” she said, still trying to be casual.

Jerry pulled away from her, angry.

And then he took it really personally.

“Well, my flatmate upstairs thinks you’re pretty,” he said. “You can go upstairs and F*CK HIM if you want.”




She didn’t want to F*ck anybody!

 “What?” she asked.

Was this some sort of bizarre back handed compliment?

“Well, you know, if I don’t do it for you, then you can always go upstairs.”


Well, if he was doing it for her, he certainly isn’t NOW.

How insulting.

Kylie said she was waiting for Jerry to laugh, or say it was a joke, but that didn’t happen. 

He immediately walked into the other room, leaving her alone in the living room.

Feeling horribly cheap, Kylie immediately left the apartment without saying goodbye.

...And thought seriously about giving him four flat tires.


Tuesday, September 27, 2016


I imagine people in long-term relationships find themselves from time to time mortified by their significant others. 



…Or maybe it’s mortifying when your significant other is too arrogant, too flirty with the server, too drunk, too crass.

It’s even worse when it’s clear that their behavior bothers their significant other, but they don’t seem to care.

I remember when I was a server in college, and this guy customer wouldn’t let me open a bottle of wine table side.

“LET…ME,” he said angrily, as I came up to the table with the bottle he ordered.

Ummm…” I handed him the bottle, confused.

“Sorry…” his female date said, on his behalf. “He’s a wine rep….and he’s really anal about opening bottles. It happens every time…”

Then she gave me this pathetic apologetic look, and I wanted to punch him with the wine key.

But that pales in comparison to this guy I met last week WHEN I WAS IN GUATEMALA.

YES!!!! WELCOME back to the United States, ME!!!

ED NOTE: At this time last week, I was swimming in a river in GUATEMALA, an absolutely gorgeous and completely underrated country.

Hands down, Guatemala was THE most beautiful country I’ve ever seen. It was so beautiful I can’t believe my eyes have seen what they’ve seen. I’ve never seen anything so pure and so green and so undeveloped.

Guats up??!?!

…But I’ll write more about Guatemala’s gorgeousness later.

Today is Tuesday.

I met a lot of people in Guatemala at various hostels and collected some new Toolbag Tuesday stories from ladies from several countries. (“Toolbags without borders”)

But the toolbag I actually came face-to-face with in Guatemala was a man from the Netherlands.

This 62-year-old man (he told me his age) had a particular disgust for America, and Americans in general, which doesn’t necessarily make him a toolbag, but his tirade about us “dummies” was so over-the-top that his wife was mortified.

It was clear that this wasn’t the first time he’s gone off about Americans to an American, and it was not the first time that she was mortified by her husband.

Exhibit A: His temper escalated to the point that she physically kicked him and cursed at him in their native Dutch tongue to shut the F up.


It was mortifying.

There were seven of us strangers piled into a shuttle from Antigua to Guatemala City at 9 a.m., where I was headed to the airport to fly home.

I struck up a conversation with a nice blonde girl from the Netherlands about something, or nothing, I can’t remember.

The girl and this couple then began speaking to each other in Dutch from across the aisle about where they were from, and what appeared to be casual pleasantries, when the man looked at me.

“American?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“And I bet you can’t speak any other language besides English can you?”

“Hablo un poco Espanol,” I said perfectly.

That’s when he lost it.

“You Americans are so dumb and lazy,” he started.

His wife immediately looked up from her book and laughed uncomfortably, apologizing for him, shushing him.

“No, this is important!” he said, dismissing her. “I can’t believe it’s NOT REQUIRED for people in your country to learn Spanish!”

“I studied Spanish in college,” I said.

“Well, my wife and I know Dutch, German, French, English AND we took Spanish classes when we were here in Antigua,” the man said.

Then he looked at his book, disgusted. 

“I would PREFER to read a book in another language, but there are only ENGLISH books in these little libraries.”

(Yes, he was complaining about the free book he swiped from a free library.)

His wife told him something in Dutch, then nervously laughed in my direction.

“I told him to go back to reading his book and be quiet,” she told me.

“...AND ANOTHER THING!” He said loudly, ignoring her, so that everyone in the shuttle heard him loudly ignore her.

“You and your guns! I met an American at a bar and he said it wasn’t fair that cops have guns in Guatemala but citizens don’t!!! How stupid are you Americans, just waving your guns around like PENS.”

Or did he say penises?

(It was hard to tell with that accent.)


His wife then KICKED HIM hard from across the aisle and told him, again, to shut up.

Then she reminded him about the "very nice people from New York" who had offered their Netherlands sailor friends a place to stay when Hurricane Sandy hit.

“No one back home would just offer strangers the keys to their vacation home,” she pointed out.

It was a nice story, but nothingnot her being mortified or kicking her husband—would deter him from ripping me a new one.


More Dutch pleading by his wife to stop.

“NO, NO,” he shushed his wife again, looking at me. “WHAT IF YOU HAD A HEART ATTACK HERE?”

“Well…I’m 33 years old…” I said.


I then thought about how rickety the shuttle was, how easy it would be to tip over.


I wondered why on Earth he was so upset; he certainly wasn’t going to pay if I broke my leg.

The whole shuttle was silent.

I wanted to die.

“I’m sorry, he gets very angry, please don’t be upset,” his wife APOLOGIZED to me as the shuttle mercifully pulled into the airport entrance.

Ugh. This is her life.

“And ANOTHER thing…your country wouldn’t let me get off my sailboat when I came to the Florida Keys from Cuba!” he screamed. “I AM A GUEST IN YOUR COUNTRY!"

I mumbled a “good luck” to his wife as I got out of the shuttle and walked into the airport, watching her yell at him some more, wishing that the only mortifying thing I would have witnessed that day were penny loafers.

And then I bought myself a Coca-Cola.


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.



Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...