TOOLBAG TUESDAY

Rich wins the immaturity award.

Someone make him a sign to wear around his neck.

He’s this guy that used to make out with my friend Brittany once a week, at a bar after her kickball game.

Rich didn’t play kickball, but when he saw the hoards of teams walking through the doors while he was waiting for food to go, he stayed, and started chatting with Brittany.

For three weeks, they were enamored with each other. They actually had good, funny conversations between the kissing and even exchanged numbers.

He wasn’t the cutest guy, she said, but he was very charismatic. Which is exactly what she told her kickball team when they asked her about him.

Yea, he’s cute. He makes me feel good, she said. He had texted her that he couldn't wait to see her after the game.

But then things went awry.

At the bar, Rich came up to the large picnic table where Brittany's whole team was sitting and rather than even ADKKNOWLEDGE Brittany, he sat next to Laura, another member of the team.

And then he started blatently hitting on Laura. 

Who, for the record, has a boyfriend.

Brittany was hurt, and the entire team was uncomfortable, not knowing how to react.

“So, he basically embarrassed me in front of all my friends,” Brittany recalls.

Laura told Rich she had to use the restroom, and then never returned. All the other members of the team had similar excuses and left.

That’s when Brittany confronted Rich.

“What are you doing hitting on my friend? She has a boyfriend,” Brittany said, sticking with the facts. “You’re making everyone uncomfortable.”

“What are you talking about? I’m not hitting on anyone,” Rich said.

“You were sitting right next to her and only talking to her and telling her how cute she was,” Brittany said.

“No I wasn’t.”

“Ok,” Brittany said sarcastically and then left the bar.

The next day, Rich texted Brittany.

“I really like you,” he wrote.

Brittany, one of my sassier friends, responded with, “Oh, this isn’t Laura. This is Brittany.”

Ha.

That’s when Rich called her.

“I only hit on Laura last night to get a rise out of you,” he said. “I just wanted to see your reaction.”

“Oh, are we in third grade now?” Brittany responded.

“No, I just didn’t know how else to tell if you really, really liked me,” he said.

"You were trying to make me jealous?" Brittany asked.

(Seriously, who does that?? And then admits to it???)

She continued, “I think this is just your lame ass excuse for hitting on my friend,” she said. “Either way it sucks.”

Silence.

“You want to go to lunch?” Rich asked.

Brittany hung up, not caring whatsoever if that got a rise out of him.

-Jenny

(Turning blue) blood

The only time I’ve ever looked forward to giving blood was in high school, when the Bloodmobile came to our school campus and I signed up to donate during a math test.

(I didn’t study.)

While I hate giving blood and hate needles and hate the general smell of hydrogen peroxide, math makes me as, if not more nauseous, and you don’t get a cookie at the end of class.

So on the day of the test, I smugly announced that I had to go give blood and left while the teacher frowned and told me I’d “have to take the test one day,” and said I was only postponing the inevitable.

No matter. I wasn’t going to be pre-calculus-ing ANYTHING that day.

Yet, when I crossed the parking lot to the Bloodmobile, the track coach saw me from afar.

“What do you think you’re doing??” he asked.

“Giving blood,” I said, about to open the tiny door.

“Like hell you are.”

I blinked.

“We have a track meet in two hours,” he said.

“So?”

“So you can’t go and give a pint of blood and then run two miles!” he fumed. “Go back to class.”

“I can’t,” I told him. “I’m skipping a math test.”

He rolled his eyes and then told me I could sit in his office for the rest of the hour, which I did happily, and may have even taken a nap.

(I miss being a dumb jock).

Every time I try and go give blood, there’s a problem.

I’ve been turned away twice – once for having a tattoo inked too recently and once for having studied abroad in Spain too recently and not having enough of a grace period to make sure I didn’t have some sort of disease Espanola.

Another time, I went with my mom, who couldn’t even function around the needle and almost threw up into a garbage bag and we were asked to leave.

And then there’s the time I almost passed out.

Have you ever passed out? It’s kind of the worst thing in the world.

Every pore in your body begins to sweat, even your knees and wrists.

But passing out while giving blood is even worse because you’re trying to find a happy place but everywhere you look there are hanging bags of blood.

And then there’s the embarrassment factor.

Oh, if only that experience was documented....oh wait.

It is.

This, friends, is an article printed in the first newspaper I ever wrote for after college, a weekly paper in Mt. Pleasant, South Carolina.

Time stamp: 2006.

Blood drive brings 470 pints, one woozy writer

by Jenny

Staff writer

         A Carole King song was playing on the radio when I started to get woozy.

         It wasn't Carole King's fault. I was donating blood at the American Red Cross site that had been set up at the Omar Shrine in Mt. Pleasant on March 23. Suddenly I got a bit light-headed.

         I tried to be casual when I noticed my world was suddenly turning black.

         All I said was, "Hey, I'm getting kinda dizzy," and Kristen, the Red Cross worker attending to me, lifted a lever on the chair I was sitting in, and it immediately reclined so much that my feet were in the air, higher than my head.

         "Cute shoes," another worker told me as she breezed by with a Sprite. I guess a reclined chair is "code red" for those working in the donation center. Several workers with supplies made a hasty bee-line in my direction once they noticed my inverted position.

       "Thanks," I responded weakly as I attempted to reach the tip of the straw held right in front of me. It was to "replace my sugar levels."

         There were three Red Cross workers who came over to me, one fanning me with my donor file (which felt fantastic) and two others cracking jokes and coercing me to eat some pretzels. They were all very kind, but the thought of eating a pretzel in a spinning room was too much to ask for.

          Maybe I wouldn't have been so embarrassed had I not convinced two of my co-workers to come with me to donate blood.

         One of my co-workers had never donated blood before, and I spent nearly 20 minutes telling him how it "wasn't a big deal" and to "stop being a baby" when he told me he was concerned about getting woozy.

         "Piece of cake," I said to him as I confidently walked to the chair.

         Too confidently, as it would turn out.

          I was actually feeling fine, all the way until the end, that is. The very, very end. As Kristen put a cotton ball saturated with alcohol on my arm, my humbling moment started.

         No humbling moment for my co-worker, however. He was just fine.

         He was done way before I was, and I saw him eating donuts across the room through the narrow slits my eyes had become. I ate a pretzel, then another pretzel.

         "So, this happens all the time, right?" I asked Kristen about 5 minutes later, when I started to feel normal.

         I also quietly marveled at the medicinal powers of the lowly pretzel.

      "Actually, you're the first person today that has gotten dizzy," she said.

         Thanks, Kristen, I needed that kind of compassion, especially in front of my robust co-workers.

         This wasn't the first time I've donated blood, but it was the first time I got dizzy doing it.

         I now understand why many people choose to not partake in blood drives because they don't want to get dizzy. I mean, it certainly was an uncomfortable five minutes, being immobile and inverted and all.

         Yet the attention and care the workers showed me was exactly what I needed to get back on my feet (literally). That, and the pretzels, of course.

         And, as all the stickers and posters reminded me, it was a small price to pay for saving a life.

         Red Cross officials say that one pint of blood from a blood donor can go beyond helping just one person. In fact, the 470 pints of blood collected that day from the three blood drives at locations around the Lowcountry means that 1,410 lives can be saved.

         Hearing that news about my blood donation made me feel better about giving, no matter how dizzy I felt. When I felt normal again, I proceeded back to work, full steam ahead. 

         And, despite my setback, I will be back.

         There are still more lives to save, more pretzels to eat.

To which I reply now: At least it wasn’t a math test.

-Jenny

TOOLBAG TUESDAY

I read in Cosmo last week that 48 percent of guys LIKE it when a girl they just met asks them to be Facebook friends the next day.

“Ree-hee-heally?” I said aloud in my best Ace Ventura accent.

Guys like that??

Because I would have thought that a 24-hour turnaround time would be too forward.

Like, BE MY FRIEND!! IMMEDIATELY!!!!

I WANT TO SEE EVERY SINGLE TAGGED PICTURE OF YOU!!

LET ME TAKE STOCK OF YOUR EX-GIRLFRIEND(S) AND HOLD IT AGAINST YOU LATER!!!

Just kidding...not everyone does that.

But, really though, I would have thought guys would prefer you wait until after a few dates, or after a few text message threads, so you don’t come off as desperate or creepy or stalker-like.

But clearly...WTF do I know??

Because I would have thought that everything my friend Jessica did to see Kurt again was perfect.

Jessica and Kurt met a few weeks ago on a Friday night at a music concert. He was cute and had a nice beard. They both liked the same bands, had mutual friends who played music, talked all night...and then they spent the night together.

...but they didn’t do anything other than make out...mom.

No, Jessica was drunkenly insistent that they just stick to kissing (guys like that, right?? Hahahahahaha) but Kurt was a good sport and they laughed as he lined up the pillows on her bed between them to make a “wall.”

Of course, the wall was taken down and she said he sweetly cuddled her all night. Swoon!

The next day, he left her house and kissed her goodbye on the forehead....the FOREHEAD people!!

Jessica woke up smiling, hours later. But then realized she didn’t have his phone number. 

(She now says, “that should have been a sign.”)

But she was half-asleep when he left, so maybe he didn’t want to wake her to get her number, she reasoned.

Jessica had plans that day to go to a street festival, which included live music, and she hoped Kurt would be there. He was so cute!! And sweet!! 

Then she remembered that Kurt knew her good friend John, who was performing at the street festival.

John was a super cool, well-liked musician around town.

PERFECT! Jessica thought.

When she got to the festival, she walked up to John, who was setting up his equipment for the show.

“Hey, you know Kurt right?” Jessica asked.

“Yea,” John said.

“Do you think you could you text him and ask him if he’s coming to the festival?” Jessica said. “I met him last night.”

“Sure,” John said.

He pulled out his phone and sent the text, “hey man you should come see the band play today.”

Jessica waited and waited. And then, right in the middle of the set, Kurt arrived. 

Jessica was elated.

“Hey!” she said enthusiastically when he walked up, doing her best to fake a surprise to see him.

He gave her a cool, stand offish hug.

Jessica was confused. Where were the forehead kisses??

“Did you ASK John to text me to come meet you here?” Kurt asked immediately.

Crap.

“Oh..no..” Jessica lied. “I told him that we met last night, but I didn’t ask him to text you.”

Another lie.

Jessica was suddenly completely embarrassed. Why would he jump to THAT conclusion??

And, besides, would it be so terrible that she wanted to see him again?

I mean, she didn’t drive by his house or stop by his work or anything. It wasn’t like she was a crazy B*tch and STOLE John’s phone and got Kurt’s number out of it.

It was a street festival!

Why was he making her feel like a lame ass?

This was turning into a Dr. Jeykl and Mr. Hyde situation.

“I gotta go,” Kurt said, almost disgusted, and walked away.

He left the festival and Jessica never heard from him or saw him again.

Whatever, jerk.

Be flattered.

Don't make someone wish she should have Facebook friend requested you instead.

-Jenny

Moving on, Mr. John

If Harry from the movie When Harry Met Sally is to be believed, we all have a dark side.

Harry’s dark side was reading the last page of every book he started, just in case he died before he finished it.

“That, my friend, is a dark side,” he said.

Mine was, and I’m afraid still is, is thinking at the end of every day about the STUPIDIST thing I did that day and wishing I could go back in time to change it.

What a waste of time, right??

I mean, here I am not only spending time a.) identifying the DUMBEST thing I did each day but b.) harping on it, wishing I could change it, when I can’t???

Seriously, when I was little, I used to have a DIARY that did not discuss my crushes or my hopes and dreams, it listed the ONE thing I wish I could have changed about my actions each day.

Monday:

“Should not have passed that note in class. Got detention.”

Tuesday:

“Should not have told Erin that I liked Adam. She told him. Now I’m embarrassed.”

Wednesday:

“Should not have changed my scantron answer for question number 4 on the test. My first guess was right. Now I have a C and not a B. Dummy. ”

I don’t know why or how I developed this internal bashing, this idea that every single person did every single thing right except ME and, as such, MY dumbass-ery should be documented.

It’s not like identifying the dumbest thing I did each day gave me peace about it or anything. It just ruined things.

Clouding great memories of parties, birthdays and dates were flashbacks of the one thing I did that was “stupid.”

Yes, I have routinely told myself to stop it, but there I was, YESTERDAY, complaining on the phone to my twin sister, Joy, about how I WISH I COULD HAVE GONE BACK IN TIME and picked a different bar trivia question because ONE of the questions I picked was worded wrong and people got pissed.

Really.

Forget the fact that more than 130 people came to the bar where I was hosting bar trivia (and having a good time no less) nooooooo, I decided to focus on the five minutes of the night that sucked.

UGH.

Dark sides.

I’ve been trying to change this for years.

I do this by trying to “channel” friends who maintain positive attitudes in life.

Currently, I have four friends in rotation that a regularly channel, friends whose attitude and outlook I admire and try and emulate.

Most regularly, I try and channel my best friend, Meredith.

I envy Meredith’s life attitude. Her brain makes me jealous.

A confident, peace-of-mind attitude, wholeheartedly accepting that there are some things you can control, some that you can’t, learn what you can and move on.

It’s not that she’s not sympathetic to my insecurities – no, that I require in all my friends - but when I’m particularly wallowy about something that is out of my control, Meredith has a way of bringing me back to reality, giving me an inspiring, “nothing you can do about it” speech and not entertain my whining anymore.

Good for her.

I hope to be like that one day.

I didn’t realize how important this attitude was until last December, when Meredith’s dad was suddenly diagnosed with an unbeatable cancer.

He passed away two weeks ago.

My twin sister, Joy, and I were friends with the whole family and with Mr. John, whose positive attitude I admired as much as Meredith’s. What a great thing to pass along to an offspring.

When he was diagnosed with cancer, he didn’t wallow, at least not outwardly.

The times I spent with him in those five months, he wasn't spending his last days writing down all the "stupid" things he did each day.

No. He spoke of plans to get a tattoo of a bio-hazard symbol on his body. (haha)

That’s not to say that behind closed (hospital) doors, he, and Meredith for that matter, didn’t break down. But it wouldn’t have been a wallowing that would have been typical of ME if I were in that situation.

(DID YOU SEE THE WAY THE DOCTOR LOOKED AT ME??? HE THINKS I’M AN IDIOT!!)

So for the past five months, I have quietly been taking Mr. John’s positive energy and channeling him when I’d freak out.

I’d think about him when I’d start to subconsciously identify the moment of the day where I looked like the biggest moron.

Mr. John would never do that! I reasoned. (He also would never have endorsed me doing that.)

He probably would have laughed at the dumb trivia question.

He would have found it hilarious that I called someone at work by the wrong name in front of everyone.

Or that time I got into a massive coughing fit during a 20-minute presentation in a college class and had no choice but to take a sip of the TAB cola on the professor’s desk.

WHY COULDN’T I HAVE HAD COUGH DROPS ON HAND??? WHY????

They say with death brings new life. And that will certainly be the (figurative) case with me.

Because I will now channel Mr. John’s attitude going forward. No more lists!

No more harping when I accidentally put my foot in my mouth!!

I like to think this will be my way of remembering him, and I’m going to do my best to uphold it. 

I wish I could thank him in person for this new leaf.

Because life isn’t as fun when you spend time thinking about things you can’t change.

You can’t change life’s wrenches. You can’t change timing. You can’t change how people react to things you do and say.

So: I will NOT list, “posting this blog that exposes my craziness to the world,” as the dumbest thing I did today.

Because that list doesn’t exist anymore.

Moving forward.

-Jenny

TOOLBAG TUESDAY

The only movie that I like with Jennifer Aniston in it is a chick movie called Picture Perfect.

It comes on Lifetime sometimes. 

Go ahead. I won’t judge.

Basically, Jennifer Aniston’s character lies to her boss about being engaged because he thinks an employee will have more loyalty to a company when they have a lot going on in their lives that they need to pay for (house, car, wedding...)

...and those are the employees who get promotions.

(Promotions!!! Remember that word, ya’ll??? It’s so late 1990s.)

Anyway. That’s not the point.

The point is Kevin Bacon.

Kevin Bacon!!!

He’s in the movie and he works at the same place as Jennifer Aniston.

She’s got this total crush on him, but he’s not interested in her until she’s....“engaged” and seemingly happy with someone else.

And then he swoops in to try and mess it all up.

BAH!!

Because aren’t girls just so much more desirable when they’re with somebody else??

And how good does it feel to your ego when, if given the option, she chooses you over her happy relationship??

It certainly worked for Harry.

He and my friend Robin dated for about six months but she broke up with him because he couldn’t commit.

She realized Harry was more of a, “I’ll text you when I feel like hanging out at this exact moment” person rather than someone who planned dates and told her sweet nothings out of the blue.

And Robin wanted someone who thought about her at least once a day.

It was hard breaking up, of course, but she quickly found someone else (lucky b*tch. 

Kidding. 

Sort of.)

But, two-and-a-half-months later (the amount of time when you just start to get over an ex) Harry showed up AT HER HOUSE.

Unexpectedly.

She was there with her new boyfriend and she opened the door, confused.

“Hey...do you have any extra Ambien? I can’t sleep,” Harry said.

It was the first thing he said to her in 2.5 months.

A drug request.

“Um...sure...” Robin said, completely taken aback at him STANDING AT HER DOOR without warning.

She let him in, introduced him to her new (scowling) boyfriend, and gave him some sleeping pills.

And he didn’t even pay her for them.

Ugh.

Two days later, Harry couldn’t hold in his feelings anymore.

“Do you want to get lunch?” he texted her. “I really miss you and hate to see you with someone else. It was so great to see you the other day.”

Robin swooned. Harry had NEVER asked her out to lunch like that before and certainly never texted her that he missed her.

“Ok,” she said.  

Hook.

Yet, the day before their planned lunch, Harry came by her house again.

This time, she was alone.

Line.

“What the-?” she opened the door. “You can’t call first?”

“I need more Ambien,” he said, sauntering in the house.

He walked right upstairs to her room, and she followed and he turned around and kissed her and then they, uh, did it.

Sinker.

Robin was so excited to be with him again, it was so familiar and he was so into her now.

But then five minutes passed.

“Look, I know you really like me but you have a boyfriend,” Harry said, smugly, in her bed.

“Yea, but...” Robin said.

“So, you really should be with him,” Harry said. “So, I don’t think we should go to lunch after all.”

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

How mortifying!!!! And where was this mentality when he came over and shook the guy's hand??

But lunch would have been pointless, really. Harry conquered his quest. He successfully swooped in and messed everything up. No need to bring arugula salad into the mix.

Harry then stood up, put his clothes on and then actually asked where her sleeping pills were.

Robin threw things at him and screamed that she hopes he has nightmares forever. He left the house empty-handed, and she has never heard from him since.

God I hate Kevin Bacon.

-Jenny

Mother’s Day Top Five

Ahhh Mother’s Day. A day to tell mom just how much you love and appreciate her.

You should have SEEN the line at Burlington Coat Factory yesterday!!

Ha.

I’ve got the best mom ever. As in, my life would literally fall down like a Jenga game if she wasn’t around to help me and guide me and tell me not to wear that low cut top because modesty is a virtue.

In honor of Mother’s Day, I’ve compiled a list of the top five things my mom has done for me that I especially appreciate.

But since it’s much, much more than five (million)..and, uh...ongoing, I will list the top five things my mom has done for me THIS month.

Here’s to you, ma!!!!!

1.) Keeping up with my health

Oh, hello. I’m 29 years old and my mom made a dentist and eye doctor appointment for me. I’m going this week.

See, I lost my glasses, and decided that I was going to force my eyes to see things far away rather than go get new glasses.

Then my mom asked me how I was able to drive at night.

“Very…slowly,” I said.

The truth was, I’ve  been driving like Mr. Magoo. I’ve been missing street signs, I can’t find parking spots and I haven’t been able to properly read homeless people’s signs.

I got panicky in Home Depot and Wal Mart, because I literally couldn’t read the aisle signs.

But, no, I didn’t think to make another eye doctor appointment on my own. And then, without even asking, I got a call from my mom with a date and time and location of an eye doctor. Next week, y’all, I’M GONNA SEE THE LIGHT!!!!

(Also, she arranged for a teeth cleaning, because apparently people should get a teeth cleaning TWICE A YEAR. Ugh. I. hate. the dentist. But, thanks, mom. No one takes people who are missing teeth seriously.)

2.) Keeping up with my employment.

When I was laid off last year, (the summer of my discontent), I didn’t know what to do. I applied to jobs and didn’t hear anything. I fought regularly with the unemployment office and cried a lot. I gave up.

My mom didn’t.

She knew that in New Orleans, jobs are about who you know, more so than any other city. So she called in a few favors, got me an interview and come August I’ll be celebrating my one-year anniversary.

Also, she arranged for a lawyer to call the unemployment commission on my behalf because now they say I OWE THEM money. Jesus effingChrist.

3.) Keeping up with my apartment.
Yes, all the magazines say that by the time you are 30 years old, you should have at least one nice piece of furniture than was not previously owned by a family member. And I do. But having your mom donate a desk, mirror, chairs and framed Jazz Fest posters really ties the room(s) together.

4.) Keeping up with my New Orleans life.

My mom was one of the biggest supporters of me moving back to New Orleans after living in South Carolina for ten years. Even when I wasn’t. Even during the summer of my discontent. Every time I felt down on myself, down on my life, my mom was always the first person to list all my good qualities, all my accomplishments. And doesn’t that feel good?? She’s greatly improved my New Orleans life, most recently by giving me two Jazz Fest tickets last weekend.

5.) Keeping up with my writing.

Even though my mom doesn’t like Toolbag Tuesday, she’s my number one supporter of my writing. She submits my blog posts to magazines and online sites and is adamant that I am funny and clever and creative.

Thanks to my mom, my freelance has blossomed into print in TWINS Magazine and she’s trying to get me to be a paid blogger at the twins convention this summer. (hahhahaha what a bunch of genetic freaks).

She said she was going to submit my bluegrass festival blogpost to a bluegrass website and she’s constantly giving me ideas about articles I could write about for local newspapers and magazines.

It’s nice having someone to support you in life.

Cuz you can’t make it in this world alone (or without glasses).

Thanks, mom.

-Jenny

TOOLBAG TUESDAY

***Earmuffs, English majors!!!***

If you’re an English person like me, you probably have — and actually love — a shit ton of books.

You can probably name your favorite book RIGHT NOW and have two copies of it somewhere.

The thing is about people who love, love, love books is that their bookshelves are not filled with “coffee table” books or books with interesting titles just for show.

(I went over to a guy’s house once and checked out his bookshelf. Political books, Howard Stern’s Private Parts Book, books on religion, travel books. Hadn’t. Read. Any.)

Tisk, tisk.

English lovers read their books. 

I, for one, have read every single book on my bookshelf, which is precisely why they are on my bookshelf.

Novels, non-fiction, New Orleans books, even textbooks from college writing classes are on my shelf. 

Even childhood books I love are on there (Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of Nimh WHAAT)

Because, when you love a book, like, TRULY love a book, you want to keep it forever so you can go back over and over it again.

(like, uh, owning the DVD of Dirty Dancing just to play the end scene.)

Todd didn’t appreciate that kind of love.

He dated Erica, an English major who, in true fashion, had collected her favorite books over the years to line her shelves.

There were novels and anthologies. Textbooks and poetry.  Pages that had been worn from the number of times they were turned.

“OK, LOOK,” Todd told Erica when they moved into an apartment together after a year of dating. “There’s not a lot of room in this apartment."

"Ok..." Erica said.

"So, you’re going to have to sell your bookshelf and all your books.”

?????!!

SELL her books!??!

Clearly, Todd didn’t understand or care about the things that were important to her. 

That’s like telling your science boyfriend to sell his microscope. Or his ant farm.

Or asking someone who works for the SPCA not to bring home 3-legged dogs missing an eye.

“It doesn’t even take up that much room,” Erica protested. It wasn’t like she had an effing library. It was ONE bookshelf. That was along a WALL.

“No, it’s cluttering the space. You have to get rid of it,” he said. 

There was no alternative. Everything else in the apartment made the cut except for Erica’s bookshelf. Todd wasn't budging.

So, Erica decided that in order to be a team player and a good roommate (and not knowing anyone willing to take boxes of books) she actually held a book sale outside of their apartment one Saturday morning.

“OMG, it was the saddest book sale ever,” she recalls.

Not only sad because she was selling the books she loved and didn’t want to get rid of in the first place, but also “sad” because no one showed up....because it was a book sale.

Todd was pissed at the low turnout. Haha.

So, while Erica ended up Joy Luck Club lucking out on the book sale and got to keep her possessions, she was stuck living with an A-hole that didn’t respect her things or appreciate her passion for literature.

Not surprisingly, Todd and Erica ended up breaking up a short time later.

And not surprisingly, the shelf at Erica’s new place started including more books from the self-help section. Books that included the word “jerk” in the title.

-Jenny

Girls eating BBQ

Girls are perfectly capable of doing anything men can do, and that includes grilling pieces of meat on a grill.

This was the premise for seven of us girls getting together last night: girls cooking meat over hot coals.

And we totally SUCCEEDED, thankyouverymuch, and cooked those hot dogs and blue cheese hamburgers to perfection.

(No one wore heels.)

Now, before you (boys) get all, “oh, but hot dogs are already cooked, so, what...you heated them up???,” business, I can tell you that there’s a very fine line between crispy hot dogs with lines of black marks on them and charred. And ours weren’t charred.

But that’s not to say the BBQ wasn’t riddled with girly-ness.

In fact, we joked repeatedly throughout the evening about how, if it were seven dudes having a BBQ, the menu, conversation and activities would be very different.

The first thing we noticed when we all walked in (late, of course. Fashionably) was that everyone brought vegetables. Haha. Women.

The invite said to “bring things to throw on the grill,” and we all interpreted this as vegetables. 

(It reminded me of our Mexican-themed girls party last year when we All. Brought. Guacamole.)

Now, I’m not saying that boys don’t eat vegetables, but these vegetables were particularly girly.

Like parsnips and brussel sprouts. 

Serioulsy. Parsnips.

And carrots (good for the eyes!!) Asparagus. Cumin-dusted squash.

(There was also corn on the cob, which is totally a gender-neutral vegetable.)

So, there we were, sitting at the small kitchen table “family meal”-ing all of our delicious vegetables when we realized that we had yet to put any actual meat on the grill.

“Should I start making patties?” asked the host, pouring more wine. (WINE! Boxes and boxes of wine!! Take that fellas! We fancy.)

“Yes,” we said. “And put some hot dogs on, too.” (They were beef hot dogs. And kosher.)

It was then that someone busted out TOFU and talapia for the grill.

Would boys EVER bring tofu to a BBQ? Hahahaha

(And, no, the tofu wasn’t very good. Even smothered in BBQ sauce.)

The girly-ness continued even after the meat was cooked. When the hot dogs were done being heated cooking, we each took a little piece and made a toast with them.

Yes, a wiener toast. With mustard.

 

 Well, hello ladies.

There was also a discussion about different yoga studios, which would never, ever, ever, be a conversation seven guys would have.

And let’s not forget the pull-up bar.

There is a pull-up bar in the kitchen doorway of the host’s house and we all took turns trying to do ONE pull-up.

And OMG. None of us could do it. Not one. We're not boys after all.

We even tried getting a boost with a kitchen stool. Didn’t help. 

Hahahaha it was hilarious.

I'm gonna blame our poor athleticism on the wine.

(Well, the host could do ten, because it’s her pull-up bar, and she’s in nauseatingly good shape. We shunned her after.)

Just kidding.

Once the meal was over and we were properly stuffed with as many vegetables as possible, we decided it was high time for some frozen yogert at Pinkberry, which was two blocks away.

So the seven of us made the trek to go get super girly desserts like “pomegranate yogurt” with fresh fruit and gummi bears. (nothing manly about that.)

But, like I’ve said before, it was one of those times where I was glad to be amongst girl friends and relax and laugh and gossip and enjoy a juicy hamburger without a man in sight.

Because girls are perfectly capable of doing anything men can do.

Well, except pull-ups...

-Jenny

TOOLBAG TUESDAY

If you’ve ever lived with other people, it’s likely that you didn’t like at least one of their boyfriends or girlfriends.

It’s bound to happen.

Maybe they smell bad.

Maybe they leave their things strewn all over the apartment.

Maybe they YELLED AT YOU during a Mardi Gras crawfish boil in front of everyone...ugh.

(If you think that is bad, consider this classic Toolbag, my former roommate’s boyfriend who JACKED OFF on our couch.

No, really.)

Anyway.

The thing is, though, that unless your roommate’s significant other does something completely heinous like steal from you or take your LAST BEER or kick your dog, the “good roommate” thing to do is to just keep your mouth shut.

Because it’s not YOUR significant other.

And there’s no clause in a lease with a roommate that you must approve of their beloved.

Jared didn’t get that memo. He lived with Ben, who dated my friend Shannon. Jared despised Shannon and made her life miserable for over a year.

(We still don’t know what Shannon did to piss him off so much. Shannon certainly didn’t smell bad, she didn’t leave things all over the apartment and only sat on the couch when invited.)

Shannon's take is that Jared was jealous of her relationship with Ben, since he himself was a TROLL and lonely and Shannon was “taking away” his best friend.

So Jared did what any five-year-old boy person would do. He threw temper tantrums when she’d come over and tell lies to Ben about her.

It started off small.

He started out telling Ben that Shannon was running the apartment by “turning down the air conditioning all the time and making the bill go up,” when in reality Shannon didn’t even know where the thermostat was.

“YOU’RE COSTING ME MONEY!” Jared wailed. Shannon repeated that he was crazy and he turned down the A/C himself.

Ben stood by, saying nothing.

(TWO TOOLBAGS!!!)

When that plan didn’t get her out of the apartment, Jared got more desperate. He decided it would be a good idea to change the screen saver on the HUGE computer monitor in the living room…to an old PICTURE OF BEN AND HIS EX-GIRLFRIEND.

…LOUNGING ON BEN’S BED TOGETHER.

“What the hell is this?” Shannon asked, staring at the picture of another girl lying with HER boyfriend in his bed.

“Yeah, I just love that picture,” Jared said. “Ben’s ex was so cool.”

Hahahaha.

Dude.

I would have unplugged the computer immediately.

Ben for some reason didn’t make Jared take down the picture… (um, odd)…and Shannon was forced to stare at it every time she was in the living room.

After a year of dating, despite Jared’s attempts at breaking them up, Ben decided to move with Shannon to New York to take a job.

They loved each other, after all, and he was a chef, and every chef dreams of going to New York (so says Top Chef).

Of course, this decision didn’t go over well with Jared, who nearly had an aneurysm that he was consulted about it.

So he tried to break them up again.

A couple of weeks before Ben and Shannon were set to move to New York together, Jared pulled Shannon aside and told her that Bryan told him that he really didn’t want to go to New York, he didn’t like Shannon anymore and “he was going to back out at the last minute.”

Almost in tears, and stressed out from the impending cross-country move, Shannon confronted Ben.

“You’re going to back out last minute??” she said.

Ben said no, of course not, and he was “shocked” to hear that Jared would say something so false.

(I wasn’t surprised. The ex-girlfriend’s picture was still on the screen saver.)

Yet it must have been that bold-face lie that did Ben in. Because Jared got what was coming to him, in the form of a punch to the face, in a crowded bar.

It was one of many going-away parties for Shannon and Ben and Jared showed up angry and drunk and started making comments about how Shannon was stupid.

“You’re making the worst decision EVER,” Jared said loudly amongst the party-goers. Shannon gave him a death stare and then Ben shocked everyone by standing up and walking over to Jared and punching him in the face.

WHAT!!!

AHHHH!!!

“Finally Ben stood up for me and our relationship,” Shannon said. “That was a great moment.”

If only there was a picture of that, for the screensaver.

-Jenny