Tuesday, February 28, 2012


Of COURSE you want your ex to know how super, overly happy you are with your new girlfriend/boyfriend.

And wouldn’t it be AWESOME to have them see you with your new guy/girl on a hot date at a nice restaurant....mid-laugh??

Or dancing super close??

Like haha baby. LOOK AT ME!!! HAPPY!!!

But since you can’t very well plan for your ex to run into you looking fabulous and happy out on a hot date...mid-laugh...dammit...there are several other ways you can let your ex know you’re super happy.

Most of them are lame.

Because why would you want to make an ex jealous, really?

1.) You’re not over him/her

2.) You’re angry and bitter

3.) You just want to rub a new, hot piece of ass in his/her face

Some people use Facebook to do this, and there are too many examples to list right now, but that method can backfire like so.

Others deliberately bring their new guy/girl to a bar where they will likely run into an ex, but that makes everyone involved uncomfortable.

Jared, this guy who dated my old roommate Lindsey, used a different method to let Lindsey know how happy he was with his new lady.

He texted Lindsey’s best friend about it.

Yes, Captain OBVIOUS randomly texted Sarah, Lindsey’s best friend, out of the blue more than a YEAR after he and Lindsey broke up.

“Random hello from Jared!” he texted Sarah.

Sarah raised one eyebrow.

“Hey what’s up?” she wrote back.

“I’m dating this really amazing girl right now.”


“Oh yea?” Sarah wrote. “I’m dating this great guy right now too.”

Jared went on.

“Yea she’s pretty much perfect. I feel like ALL my other girlfriends were just TAKERS TAKERS TAKERS because I have so much to give.”

Hahahahahahahaahahaha twice.

Jared pressed on.

“I’ve just never felt so compatible with someone my entire life. She’s just so great and loyal and wonderful.”


Um...why again was this Sarah’s business?

Oh, right. Because she was one of the said "takers'" best friends.

“That’s great,” Sarah wrote back and then immediately called Lindsey to tell her about the conversation.

Jared’s plan worked!!!

...and then backfired.

Because instead of crying into her cereal about it, Lindsey just laughed hysterically.

“And what exactly does he have to GIVE?” she asked.

Hysterical laughter.

I wondered what compelled Jared to text Sarah about his newfound love on that particular day. I mean, it was clear he wanted Lindsey to get the memo, which is pretty pathetic, but why a year later??

I know it's hard, but most of the time silence is golden when it comes to an ex.

And, what’s with this “All my ex’s have been TAKERS” business?

Come on. Write that shit in your diary, Jared.

He should have photo messaged her a picture of them out on a date...mid-laugh.


Sunday, February 26, 2012


In 28 years of Mardi Gras, I’ve always been the person on the ground waving and cheering for beads.

This year, though, people on the ground were waving and cheering at ME!

This year, I rode on a mothaf*ckin float!!


It was crazy to see a parade from the perspective of a rider, with the thousands and thousands of people all screaming and waving and shouting.

I had never thought about how that would look before I suppose. It sort of felt twilight zone-ish.

“Hey, that’s how we look when we go to parades!” I told my friend. “Woooooah man.”

(Only I have a better attitude than that girl.)

There were some people on the ground who cheered and waved the way I do – large arm swoops left and right and a concentrated “HEEEEEEEEEY!”

Others ran all the way up to the float with a kid on their shoulders and asked for stuffed animals.

Some were on stands, some atop ladders, some on top of cars.

There were people on balconies, on the ground far away from the float, up close to the float. As many wildly different ways you can imagine.

And they were all cheering and screaming at ME!!


Someone shouted “blondie” to get my attention, one guy shouted “beautiful” (haaaaaay).

One lady with a bottle of Everclear yelled for a plastic cup.


Some people even banged on the float looking for stuff. (They didn’t get any beads from me.)

It was so fun! Choosing who to throw beads to! And making people happy with my things!

This little girl’s face was so adorable when I pulled out a stuffed tiger to throw to her.

And I loved when people gave me the thumbs up sign and “THANK YOU” screams after they caught things.

I started out not being very good at throwing people beads. I shorted it a lot.

The beads would literally land a full 2 feet in front of the people they were meant for.

(After getting made fun of by my friend, I learned to improve my aim throughout the day. The trick is to throw further than you think you should.)

My friend Marsha had arranged for us to ride in the float in the annual Crescent City Truck Parade on Mardi Gras day.

The Crescent City truck parade follows some pretty well-known parades down St. Charles Avenue and there are 50 or so trucks in it.

The floats consist of the front half of an 18-wheeler attached to a long open bed with tall sides. Thirty of us all lined up on either side to throw beads.

First, we had to reserve a spot in the parade, which was done last July. Then, we had to find a truck driver with a float. Marsha found him on Craig’s List.

Isn’t that so New Orleans??? Looking for truck parade floats on Craig’s List??

(I’ll get to the apartment listings later darling, right now I’m looking for a truck parade float that has a port-a-potty inside it.)

The truck we found was already decorated like a pirate ship, so we were pirates.

I was impressed with all of our pirate costumes and all the beads and stuff everyone brought to throw to the crowd.

We had stuffed animals, rubber chickens, little pillows that looked like $100 bills, whistles, trinkets, footballs, cups, plastic pitchforks, a gagillion bags of beads and even fake poop.

I reused my Tinkerbell costume from Halloween and bought a hook and a mask. I was “one degree of separation” from Captain Hook.

There was a lot of waiting around on the float that morning, but that’s because our truck had to line up in order with all the other floats.

But the waiting was fine because there were two kegs on the truck, a port-a-potty, and we brought a lot of poboys (thanks for my special order of turkey, Shane!! God, I’m the pickiest. Eater. ever.)

We also had good music playing on big speakers so basically it was like a moving house keg party with 29 of your closest friends.

There was also time for pirate makeup


When the float finally got rolling, it got craaa-zy. All of a sudden the parade was happening, y’all!!!! and we started throwing things left and right to the endless stream of people.

My favorite thing to throw were the big massive Saints beads. A friend of mine said his favorite was throwing people decks of cards.

Speaking of which, it was also fun seeing your friends’ bead-throwing styles. The guy next to me threw moon pies into people's car windows haha.

It really was a great day and experience. The weather was gorgeous (which was good because Tinkerbell doesn’t wear very much) and I managed to allot all my beads perfectly so I didn’t run out until the very, very end.

I even got to throw beads to my parents who met us on the route (although a kid stole my big Saints beads off the ground by my dad’s feet that were intended for him. Humph.)

I will forever remember this Mardi Gras, the first time I rode in a parade.

I also now know how I look to float riders!

Next time I’m down there waving for beads and screaming, I can envision what the riders are seeing. It’s like a club. The “I’ve ridden in a float” club. Maybe I’ll make T-shirts.

Good advice: As a rider, I loved people with signs and costumes.

I threw beads to everyone holding a sign.

(I also threw beads to this guy who flashed me a fake penis made out of a long balloon that you make balloon animals with. I was horrified and threw beads to him just to get him to go away. But I’m not giving that out as advice.)

Normal costumes were a hit for me - wigs, bodysuits, glitter, headpieces. That’s the stuff I go for.

So, future riders…if you see someone in the crowd dressed like Tinkerbell…holler.


Wednesday, February 22, 2012


This goes for everyone: Don’t be a bad out-of-town guest.

People have varying opinions about what makes for a bad out-of-town guest.

Some say it's someone who doesn’t have your same lifestyle and wants to go to Bourbon Street when you want to go to a coffee shop. Or the opposite, someone who wants to read when you want to party.

Others say it's annoying having guests who are agenda-heavy and have to do, like, a million things in two days.

In my opinion, there's one thing you should always avoid as an out-of-town guest...one I think everyone can agree on: Don’t shit all over the city you’re visiting. (Figuratively. Gross.)

...Especially if it’s your girlfriend’s hometown. And the city you're visiting is NEW ORLEANS.

This makes you a tool twice. Because New Orleans is amazing. And I’m not just saying that because it’s been Mardi Gras for the past 10 days (uh, sorry about not posting yesterday, it was Fat Tuesday and I was getting drunk on a parade float.)

I’m saying it's amazing because it’s always warm, bursting with color, culture and characters, and the music is incredible.

(A co-worker of mine visited his girlfriend’s family for Christmas....in Iowa. Holy peacoat!!! That wouldn’t be fun.)

But New Orleans is fun. Not for Henry, though, this guy who dated my friend, Jill. He complained about everything for the entire four days he visited from Florida.

Jill was from New Orleans but lived in Florida. She and Henry dated for a year and Jill invited him to come home with her one year for Thanksgiving.

Now, you’d think that if you visit your significant other’s hometown during a holiday, you’d put on your big boy pants and be on your best behavior. No.

The entire time Henry visited (every time I saw him, anyway) he used the line: “I didn’t come all the way to New Orleans to ___________”

It’s a fill in the blank.
...and in the blank was WHATEVER WE WERE DOING.

“I didn’t come all the way to New Orleans to go to a bar with a couch in it!” he declared at 4 a.m. at one of my favorite neighborhood bars.

I told Henry that being out at 4 a.m. and being able to order a beer was something he could not do in Florida, where they stop serving alcohol at 2 a.m.

He didn’t find the marvel in that.

“I didn’t come all the way to New Orleans to wait in a line for a hamburger!”
he said a few days later when we TOLD HIM THE LINE IS ALWAYS STUPID LONG but he insisted on going to that exact place.

“I didn’t come all the way to New Orleans to DRIVE by the Superdome!”
he said, looking out the window longingly from the car on the interstate.

Jill said that people usually don’t walk around the Superdome when there’s not a football game and that we were meeting her friends at her favorite bar uptown, and that will be fun, right???? but still…Henry's view of the Superdome from the car was unacceptable.
I think he crossed his arms.

The pain-in-the-ass attitude really got to me after his assessment of music on Frenchmen Street in New Orleans. Frenchmen Street is, in my opinion, the best place in the city to hear live music.

It's got a variety of places to go, many of them have no cover charges and you're guaranteed to hear some brass music. We had just finished watching someone amazing at a bar (LIVE MUSIC HENRY!!! LISTEN!!!) and on his way out of the bar, we asked him what he thought.

“I don’t know…”
he said. “I just don’t feel like music in New Orleans has any soul.”

Insert voice of Wayne Campbell from Waynes World: EXSQUEEZE ME? BAKING POWDER?"

Soul??? SOUL???!!! Did he really just say that music in New Orleans has no soul???

If any music has soul it’s New Orleans music! We disagreed with him and didn't talk until I got dropped off.

Jill was so annoyed with Henry at the end of the four-day trip she wanted to clobber him.

She was stressed out that he wasn’t enjoying her hometown and her parents also felt bad that he didn't like it, which stressed Jill out even more.

Because when HER PARENTS, NEW ORLEANS NATIVES, asked him how he liked the city, Henry didn’t even put on a happy face.
("Eh…It’s OK, other than the fact that the MUSIC HAS NO SOUL. Good hamburgers though.")


I mean, you want your significant other to love your hometown if you love it. Jill said she thought about what if they got married one day and she wanted to move back home?

Henry’s attitude hurt her feelings.

As it turns out, the New Orleans trip was very indicative about Henry’s attitude in general, and they broke up a few months later.

Jill said she had never noticed it before, but it became crystal clear after the trip.

The silver lining is that Jill and I still use Henry’s line when she comes back to visit.

Whatever we're doing, we say, “I DIDN’T COME ALL THE WAY TO NEW ORLEANS TO _________”
And then crack up.

And then check the music listings.


Friday, February 17, 2012

Mardi Gras Stra-teegery

There are 4.9 miles of parades nightly in New Orleans, and where you stand to watch them makes all the difference.

And when I say, “Where you stand” I don’t mean like, “it sucks if you’re standing next to someone who’s super drunk and leaning all over you,” because that can happen anywhere, anytime. (P.S. Uhhh sorry about that. Ha.)

No, Mardi Gras parades are a lot more involved than that. There are several things to keep in mind when you’re dealing with professional parade viewing:

Insert voice of Dwight Shrute from The Office:



Battlestar Gallactica.

No, wait...



Booze and Babies


I try to hold out on peeing as long as possible, but when you’re drinking a case of Miller High Life on the street for three hours, not even Superman could hold it in.

So you must place yourself near a bathroom, preferably one with indoor plumbing. Port-a-potties aren’t terrible if you can find one (Napoleon and Prytania Streets) but situating yourself near a friend’s house or a bar is the most comfortable. At the very least, a dark alley in which to squat, can enhance your Mardi Gras experience. If you go that route, bring toilet paper.


For me - and many - the marching bands are by far the most exciting part of the parades. They are local high school bands but they go all out...hard. And they have accompanying dancers in glittery leotards and boots with tassles!!

But, while at any given time, the drummers are rat-tat...tuh-tat-tat....-ing as they walk the parade route, the bands can’t very well play for the whole three hours (at least not the brass section), so you must situate yourself in what I like to call the “play zone.”

This is hard to do and there’s a lot of trial and error. The best place to see the bands go crazy is under the interstate near the end of the parade. (For a video click here for last year’s blog and scroll down to the video).

Bring earplugs for the kiddies if you watch here.


There’s no open container law in New Orleans, which I’ve long said I’d make a national law if I were president. So you can drink whatever your heart desires and bring it with you in a cooler or a backpack. However, you must think about how cumbersome your alcohol is since many people walk a ways from their car to the route. Coolers with wheels are helpful. So is packing light – beer cans instead of bottles, plastic liquor bottles instead of glass. I made the mistake of lugging an industrial-sized bottle of champagne with me last night, but I was determined to celebrate. And I worked it out.

Another option is to just watch the parade outside a bar and go in and order. That eliminates the lugging around of stuff, but it’s also like ten times more expensive when you’re ordering doubles.


There are certain areas of the parades that people stand with their children and I like to avoid those areas. But if you’ve got a young one, that’s your jam -- there are other kids, usually no profanity or cigarette smoking, blah blah blah. I like to find these places so I can avoid these places. Also, as my friend pointed out, you’re not going to get very many beads if there’s a freakin cute kid behind you sitting atop a ladder. Those bastards get all the loot.

Over the years, I’ve managed to hit three out of the four benchmarks. I situate myself near a bathroom, bring booze and avoid babies.

The bands thing I’m still working on.

If I remember next year, I may call the schools beforehand and beg to speak to the band leader and ask him/her what streets they plan to go crazy on during the route.

Maybe I’ll make him/her a deal: tell me where your band plans to go nuts and I’ll give you some champagne from my industrial-sized bottle.

And offer up my friend’s bathroom.

See y'all out there.


Tuesday, February 14, 2012


Let’s be honest; there’s never a good way to be told that your boyfriend is actually, uh, MARRIED to another woman and the two have a small child.

But one the worst ways to find out is for his WIFE to call you directly to confront you about the affair.

No, wait, there’s a worse way.

Having your MOTHER break the news that you’re unknowingly having an affair.

...after your boyfriend’s WIFE called her by accident.


This happened to my friend Leah, who was dating Brian, who as it turns out, was a married a-hole.

They met at a bar downtown and immediately hit it off. He was a bit older than she was but they made it work and actually dated regularly for a few months.

Brian was able to get away with having this affair because he lived in one part of North Carolina Monday through Friday, “getting his new business off the ground,” while returning home to his wife and kids every weekend.

Leah said it was suspicious that Brian would leave town every single weekend but he was a smooth talker, and somehow justified everything.

“Look, I have to get my business off the ground, baby!” He would say (two both women).

“I need to go away and scout out the PROSPECTS!”

So was the situation for several months. In their long conversations and numerous dates and sleepovers, Leah said Brian certainly didn’t mention a wife or a child. He was too "old" for Facebook, so that didn't tip her off either.

She thought he was just a sexy businessman.

Now, we don’t know what tipped his wife off to a possible affair (and I don’t really want to think about the specifics, really) but at some point she got suspicious. She did what any suspicious spouse would do.

She checked his phone records.

Yet some idiot at Verizon gave her the wrong information. Leah was on a family plan with her mom and sister. And her mom was the main account holder....with the main number. The wife was told THAT was the number he was calling and texting everyday.

His wife called the number.

“Hello?” Leah’s mother said.

“Hello. I think you are having an affair with my husband,” the scorned wife said.

“WHAT??” Leah’s mom said. While she was not married, she was not dating ANYONE, let alone a married man.

“YES YOU ARE!” the woman said. “He’s been calling you every day for months!”

It got so accusatory that Leah’s mother, the poor thing, had to insist into the phone,

“Excuse me, but I am a 58-year-old overweight woman who lives in Virginia!” she said. “I can assure you I am NOT having an affair with your husband!”

Then she heard the husband’s name and gulped.

“My daughter...”

And that’s how Leah’s OWN MOTHER had to have a second embarrassing conversation of the day.

She hung up with the woman and then had to call her own daughter to break the news that she was unknowingly having an affair.

That her TOOL boyfriend was actually married.



Can you imagine??

It was the most embarrassing game of telephone ever.

Leah was mortified. And then she thought about how it oddly made sense, the constant going back to his “other” home city every week.

And putting his phone on silent every night.

And not being available on holidays.

“YOU PIECE OF SH*T JERK!!!!” Leah yelled at him, appropriately into the phone, as he still tried to talk his way out of it.

“We’ve been having problems for months! I’m planning on getting a divorce!”


“See??? She’s totally crazy!” Brian said.

Oh, SHE was crazy??? Now he was insulting his own wife?? For catching him in an affair??


Leah asked Brian all the normal questions - how can you NOT talk about your kid or wife all these months and what the hell kind of person does that, etc.

She then spent the next few weeks profusely apologizing to her mother for her bad choice in men and for her mother having to confess her age and body mass index to a complete stranger.

After that, Brian conveniently decided that his business was going nowhere in the city where Leah lived and he returned home.

I do hope his wife kicked him out and took everything he had.

I like to imagine that he is now miserable with NO woman after having two of them for so long.

I also like to imagine that he now works at Verizon, wearing red (and a scarlet letter) stuck in cell phone hell for eternity for the crimes he committed.


Sunday, February 12, 2012

Reasons I shouldn’t be allowed to play music on a jukebox


A guy I didn’t know yelled this at a bar I was at. I gulped.

It was me. I played the Doobie Brothers.

And up until that moment, I had been singing, “Woooah, listen to the music! Ohh wooah wooaaah!”

But I didn’t own up to my music selection. Quite the opposite - I bent down under the bar to hide “look for something” in my purse.

The guy didn’t ask the question again, thank GOD, but he made a lot of noise pushing his stool back from the bar, and then he left the bar.

Left the bar!!!!

How could such a happy band make him so angry?? It was confusing.

…and that’s why I don’t play The Doobie Brothers on jukeboxes anymore.


But the bright side was that at least he didn’t pull the cord out of the wall. Because that happened to me once, too.

Oh yes. I got the cord pulled on me.

(Uh...maybe I shouldn't be allowed to play music on jukeboxes anymore.)

I take full responsibility for the unplugging incident.

I was with my roommate, we were drunk and we thought it would be funny to play “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree”at a dive bar.

…in the middle of July.

Why else would they have this off-season album in here? For us to play it of course!” we reasoned. We put in a dollar.

We did NOT think about the old men who were drinking alone in the bar, and how they might not want to hear a Christmas song. In July.

“Uh-uh!” said an old man disapprovingly as the song started and my roommate and I started dancing in front of the machine.

It turned out the man was a regular, and his displeasure got the bartender to walk over to the wall and unplug the jukebox. Just like that.

All the men clapped and cheered. We stood there wide-mouthed.

“WHAT, NO CHRISTMAS IN JULY??” My roommate yelled.

No one responded. We left immediately.

I'm pretty sure they clapped and cheered after we left, too.

Aside from that extreme example, I'm sorry, but it really IS hard to play music for a crowd and make everyone happy.

For one thing, people are very adamant about the music that they hate and aren’t afraid to say it and/or remove themselves from the bar.

Also, there’s a cool factor to what music you play for people. It’s got to be catchy and not annoying and usually musicians under 30 are a DON’T. (Ke$ha)

But, you can’t play anything too old either, so even though I’d REALLY like to play “Walking in Memphis” I don’t want to be called a dork.

I know I can just go ahead and not care what people think, but hahaha come on. I’m way too neurotic for that.

No, moving forward I will take these very important lessons with me: No Christmas music in July. Actually, no Christmas music at all on a jukebox.

And no f*cking Doobie Brothers.


Tuesday, February 7, 2012


This is one for a movie script.

A douchier version of Eat, Pray, Love, perhaps?

I imagine someone like Debra Messing playing the female character. And, while I’ve never met this guy before, I picture him a good-looking asshole, like that guy from Legally Blonde who says “Pooh Bear” a lot.

Um, anyway.

So, my friend Kelly (Debra) and her boyfriend of a few years, Scott, were seemingly blissfully in love to the point that he was house-hunting and brought her along to check out the prospects.

“Could you see yourself living here?” he asked her, dreamily, each time they walked though an open house.

Yes! A love nest! Kelly couldn’t have been happier.

He bought a house in New Orleans and decided that he wanted to be in more debt go to dental school.

A dentist-homeowner!


Kelly was beyond supportive of his new life plan and even WROTE HIS PERSONAL STATEMENT required in the dental school application.

It would have been a cute joke, you know, I GOT YOU INTO DENTAL SCHOOL, HAHA, but all jokes ceased immediately once he was accepted.

“I don’t think I can be in a relationship while I’m in dental school,” he said one day, as Kelly was packing her things to move into his love nest.


She asked him why he thought dental school required him to be single but he had no answer. He said he was sorry but it was no good. BLINDSIDED!


Why did he ask if she wanted to move in with him??? Why do guys go from 100 to 0 in two days?


Kelly hung up and resumed her life, traumatized.

(This is when she should have gone to Africa and ridden elephants or whatever.)

Two months later, still blue about her abrupt life change, Kelly was at a work luncheon downtown at a fancy hotel. She’s pretty tough so she was still functioning.

That is until she saw Scott, IN THE HOTEL LOBBY, CHECKING IN A YOUNG BLONDE GIRL. (Blake Lively?)

Scott saw Kelly and he walked over to her, leaving the “barely legal cheerleader,” as Kelly describes, at the front desk.

“Who’s that?” Kelly asked, not making eye contact.

Scott said she was a friend from out of town and he was showing her around for the weekend.

It was nauseating.

Through the power of work and good girlfriends, Kelly moved on with her life, even going out on a date with someone even though it was painful to be with someone who wasn’t Scott.

She tried hard not to cry into her pasta alfredo.

Two months after their hotel encounter (and four months after breaking up with her), Scott called.

“Hey, so remember that trip you took to see the Running of the Bulls in San Fermin?” he asked.

Kelly shook her head trying to make sense of the conversation.

“Yea...” she said, remembering when she traveled to Spain. She and Scott had talked at length about it, and they had planned to go together.

“Well, it always sounded pretty cool. I was just wondering when the dates were and more details or whatever,” Scott said.

Kelly said that it was each year from July 6 to July 14 – which was about a month away – and that it was fun and super cultural and all that.

She told him about some hotels and restaurants that she remembered enjoying. He thanked her and hung up.

If she could go back in time she would have told him to go to Calcutta.

Because, as she found out two days later, SCOTT WAS ENGAGED. TO THE BARELY LEGAL CHEERLEADER.

Guess their honeymoon location. No, really. Guess.

(This is where we see Debra Messing at the bar downing shots of tequila.)


He told her that him being engaged was GOOD NEWS and that he wanted to share it with her.

After she hung up on him, he repeatedly called her leaving voicemails about how this was a good thing, really, and pleeeeease can you be happy for me? (Pooh bear.)

To Kelly’s horror, she received an INVITATION TO SCOTT’S WEDDING the next week. The wedding was for late June.

She had to stare at his name in an elevated velvety font with church bells.

Vomit twice.

To make it worse, she saw that she wasn’t even given the option of a plus one.


She was supposed to go to his wedding ALONE???

Jesus, the man was a sadist.

She shredded the invitation the next day at work and subsequently moved to a new apartment to start her life over.

An apartment where she wouldn’t get, uh, a Christmas card from the happy couple for some sick reason.

No, the only thing she’d tolerate would be news that they were somehow trampled in San Fermin.

Or arrested.

...And in a cell with someone who could be played by Anthony Hopkins...


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