Tuesday, October 30, 2012


You know you're having a bad day when you find out your husband is cheating on you.

Can it get any worse?


...Even worse is when you find out this information from the chick he’s cheating on you WITH’s...husband.

Maury…Call me!

Yes, my friend Rachel’s life would make an excellent Maury Povich show, entitled, “Can it get any worse?”  with four people on stage.

Rachel and the whistleblower husband would get claps and cheers.

Rachel’s massive douche husband, Andrew, and his married mistress would get the booooooooooooooooooo’s.


Maury would spell out the facts.

Rachel, how long have you been married to Andrew?
Five years.

And how did you find out he was cheating on you?
I got a call from HER husband. 

OH UH-UH!!!!  The audience would scream. A close up of people shaking their heads.

Tell me what happened that day, Maury would say.

OK, Maury. Here it goes.

Rachel got a call from a number she didn’t recognize. It was a local number. It was a small town.


“Is this Rachel?” asked a man on the other end.


“Rachel, who’s married to Andrew?”


“Oh good. Andrew is cheating on you with my wife, Lisa,” he said calmly.


Rachel shook her head. What??? 
A stranger was telling her that her husband of five years was cheating on her??
Sure, he left town a lot for work, but he wasn’t cheating on her.

“I don’t think so,” Rachel said.

 “I have pictures, if you’d like to see them,” the man then said.


“PICTURES!!!” Maury would repeat the word to the crowd, who would stamp their feet and jeer.


Oh, there were pictures. The man got Rachel’s email address and sent her photos of Andrew and the woman…both NAKED…in bed…cuddling and posing for the camera like they were in high school.

It made her want to vomit.

Then Maury jumps in: "We asked Andrew if he was cheating on his wife with the woman on the iPhone pictures. His answer was yes, and the lie detector revealed that he was telling the truth."


Andrew would just sit there like a dope.

Then Rachel would reveal that she looked closer and recognized this woman….from their wedding day. At the time, Lisa was dating one of the groomsmen.

“WENT TO THEIR WEDDING!!!! Maury would stand up and shout. “ATE THEIR CATERED FOOD!!!” 


“Where…did you get this picture?” Rachel demanded after studying it.

“From Lisa’s phone,” the man said. “A few weeks ago, I tapped it.”

‘Tapped’ it??? Like…spying???

(At this point, the crowd doesn’t know if they should cheer or boo this information.)

Yes, this man took Lisa’s phone when she was in the shower one day and put SPYWARE on it so that every call, every text, every photo taken was automatically sent to a “cloud” that he could privately access from his computer.

(uhh….so that exists…yikes)

This man now had more than enough information to prove that Lisa and Andrew were ASS-DEEP in a long-standing affair.

It was mortifying.

Maury would then wave his hand to the crowd and they’d all ask in unison, “CAN IT GET ANY WORSE?”

Rachel would nod her head and recall her confrontation with Andrew.

“YOU’RE CHEATING ON ME???” she had screamed when he came home that day. “With HER??? Your best friend's ex-girlfriend?? And don’t lie to me, I have pictures and texts.”

Andrew was unfazed.

“Yes. I am cheating on you,” he said. “And we’re in LOVE.”



(The large lady in the front row would pass out and need to get fanned.)

But Rachel is the one who really needed to get fanned.

Here she was, hours after her world was rocked by the news that her husband was cheating on her repeatedly….with an acquaintance…and now they’re in love?

And this shithead had to get caught cheating in order to convey this very pertinent information that he’s moved on and in love with someone else?

What a coward.

Thankfully, Rachel didn’t listen to his “explanation,” and she said they were getting a divorce immediately.

She went to stay at her parents’ house for the next week while she arranged a UHAUL to come get her things.

“Now, I have a very important question, Rachel,” Maury would say. “And so does the crowd…”

“CAN IT GET ANY WORSE?” everyone would chant. “CAN…IT…GET…ANY…WORSE?”


Rachel got an email the next day from Verizon Wireless.



Rachel didn’t order a new iPhone. She called Andrew.

“Why am I getting an email about a new phone?” she asked.

“Yea, well I had to get a new one for Lisa,” Andrew said.

Rachel felt the blood rushing to her face. He just spent hundreds of dollars on a new phone for his mistress?!!!???

On RACHEL'S account?

“I HAD to….I mean, her phone is TAPPED, after all,” Andrew said.

Rachel exploded.



Can it get any worse??? 

Oh yes.

Rachel just found out Andrew has since PROPOSED to Lisa and they’re getting married exactly one week after their divorce is finalized.

One week.




She could be Lisa.


Monday, October 29, 2012

The Idi-YAT’s guide to preparing for a Hurricane

As someone who has spent my entire life near water – dangerous, hurricane-riddled water – I’ve been on several “hurrications,” where you basically read a lot of books and drink a lot of wine.

If you remember, I rode out CAT 2 Hurricane Isaac at my parents’ house in August.

Things are different in New York, though, where right now CAT 1 Hurricane Sally Sandy is churning towards the coast.

What’s different? Well, first of all, it’s really cold in New York right now (60 degrees! One degree away from being in the 50s!!!!!), whereas it's generally hot as BALLS in New Orleans, making not having power that much smellier.

So, at least New York has that going for them. Less smelly.

Also different is that many of those people haven’t been through a proper hurricane before. 

They're antsy and confused, where us Gulf-coasters go through this every year and know at least a half dozen people who have lost entire houses to hurricanes.

So with my vast knowledge and experience, and the fact that all the articles I’ve been reading about “getting ready for Sandy” included such DUH things like “If the power goes out, don’t open the freezer because you’ll let out all the cold,” and “don’t drink spoiled milk,” I’ve decided to put together my own list of how to prepare for a hurricane.

BOOKS and BOARD GAMES.  When the power goes out, you’re gonna get bored. And the only thing to do is find non-electronic fun. Board games and books are great for this, with my personal favorites being Scrabble and anything by David Sedaris, respectively.

PHONE. Charge your phone (DUH) because constantly looking at Facebook for your friends’ Sandy updates really drains the iPhone. No, for real. You have two hours to troll tops. I know this.

FOOD. This, you have to think about carefully. Does your stove run on gas or electric heat? If it's gas, then you’ll be able to cook a variety of things on the stovetop even if the power goes out. (May I suggest soup, it’s one degree away from being 50 degrees there) No, wait. Make gumbo.

If you have an electric stove, you’re shit outta luck, hahahahahahaha, just kidding. I found that a variety of crackers, fruit and cheese makes an excellent meal and goes great with wine.

People also often fill up ice chests to put the perishable food like cheese and butter inside it, like camping, but I find it gets really soggy and then I don’t want it later.

ALCOHOL. If there was ever an excuse to drink, now is the time. You ain’t got no school, you ain’t got no job, you ain’t got shit to do!!!!

LAMPS. Get flashlights and candles so you can see things and avoid stepping on things like your friends.

FRIENDS. It’s nice to be around people admist a disaster, and hurricane parties can be quite fun and exciting. In that vein, there’s also a tendency for friends or ex-lovers to find romance during a storm, since everyone is cooped up and sharing beds and couches already. But, before hooking up with someone, ask yourself: Would I do this if there wasn’t imminent danger outside?

WINDOWS=BAD. I learned this the hard way, in a drunken sleep haze when I tried to close a shutter that was banging on the side of my parents’ house during Isaac. I tried to pull it shut but the wind was too strong, so I balanced my feet on the wall and was literally tugging at it with all my weight when the wind shifted and the shutter flew back and shattered the window and I fell backwards and dove to avoid the broken glass.

If you can, put masking tape in X’s on the windows, so if they do break, they won’t shatter and embarrass you in front of your parents who woke up and saw the mess.

And…don’t balance your feet on the wall.

RADIO. A battery radio is good to update you on what’s going on out there once your phone dies. But it can make you neurotic and dogs really hate the noise.

ANIMALS. I don’t have one, so I have no tips. I think they need water.


And don’t give them spoiled milk.


Tuesday, October 23, 2012


Yes, the right way to impress a hot bartender is to give her a 50 percent tip on a single whiskey drink.

The wrong way to do it? Shoving the tip down the back of her shirt.

Umm...It’s not an ice cube. And we’re not in middle school.

Yes, Leo, this odd hipster did this to my friend Frannie at a fancy party at the upscale bar where she works on the weekends.

It was a film festival party, and Leo showed up late, drunk, and ordered a Maker’s Mark.

Frannie poured him one. He insisted on paying for it, even though it was an open bar, so Frannie pocketed it. 

Then Leo started hitting on her, which she was supremely uninterested in, but was able to ignore him because she thankfully had bartender things to do like sweep and cut limes.

(Why do I get hit on by all the lemons?? She thought. haha bartender joke.)

Frannie then noticed that Leo had wandered over to a group of older ladies and started hitting on them. Thank GOD, she thought.

Leo had left his drink at the bar and she moved it to the counter by the register and continued sweeping, cutting up limes.

It was getting to be last call by that point, and Frannie made her way over to the little round tables to clear drinks and tell people that it was almost time to go.

That’s when Leo popped up behind her.

“WHERE’S MY DRINK???” he demanded.

“I put it behind the bar, I’ll get it in a second,” Frannie said, tending to tables.

Leo didn’t want to wait. By the time Frannie turned around, Leo was not only behind the bar, but was punching buttons on the server computer, hitting “void” and “no sale,” and the change drawer would open up.

“WOOOAHHHH!” he said.

Frannie rushed over.

“Stop it.” she said.

“WHERE’S MY DRINK???” he demanded again.

“Here,” she said and handed him his untouched whiskey.

Leo then looked at her, “in a creepy way,” she describes, and said, “HEY….I never tipped you for my drink.”

“No, it’s OK,” Frannie insisted, since she had tipped herself on what he spent on the free drink.

She then excused herself and walked over to another table, a group of people she knew FROM HER DAY JOB, and chatted with them about  the festival and movies, etc., etc.

Suddenly Leo showed up behind her.

“I DIDN’T GIVE YOU A TIP!” he insisted, as everyone stopped talking and stared at him.

“No, it’s OK, REALLY,” Frannie said. Then she bent over to pick up her co-workers' empty glasses.

That’s when Leo took full advantage of her exposed, uh, SHOULDERS, and shoved money down her back, touching her bare skin with the crumpled bills.


Who does that???  

Frannie thought it was a spider and yelped, almost dropping the glasses she was picking up.

“WHAT THE---?” she flailed her arms trying to retrieve what was down her shirt....in front of everyone.

It was mortifying. And confusing.

“TIP!” Leo declared, then left the bar.

LEFT THE BAR!!!  Haha he Hhdidn’t even wait to see if his contribution was well-received.

...It wasn’t.

Frannie apologized to her co-workers, with the cash still stuck underneath her bra hook, and walked back to the server station, grossed out.

It took her a minute to contort her body to fetch it.

She pulled out three dollars.

THREE DOLLARS!!! Hahahahahaha

Really Leo?? Three dollars?? 

The cost of a lime???

More like a lemon.


Thursday, October 18, 2012

Adventures in nightsailing

*Elizabeth Shue can play me in the movie adaptation.

There are very few times in my life where I feel absolutely useless, and being on a sailboat is one.

See, my charming wit doesn't impress the boat and move it out of the harbor.

The wind doesn't care how much wine and cheese I can consume.

And no matter where I stand on the boat, my blue-and-white striped shirt doesn't generate a proper navigational path. (Hmmm…odd.)

See? Useless.

Fortunately, one of the great things about being invited on a sailboat is that you’re not expected to do anything.

Really! It’s like a vacation! A ride at Disney World!!!

Keep your hands inside the boat, kids…ohhhhh look! Water!”

This was the case several weeks ago, when I went on a lovely evening boat ride on Lake Ponchartrain in New Orleans.

All I had to do was show up bearing fruit (wine) and provisions (cheese), watch the shore get smaller and smaller, and flip a peace sign at the real world.

I don’t think there’s an escape from the real world quite like a sailboat.

It’s not like a speedboat, where you can return to the dock in 3.5 seconds if, say, your boss calls.

Not on a sailboat. On a sailboat, you’ve got an excuse.
“Ohhhh…can’t. The wind isn’t blowing that way, sorry.”

I remember all five times I’ve been on a sailboat.

I remember one time, in South Carolina, the Coast Guard happened to be doing drills in the water and we were told by police on a nearby boat to get the F out of the harbor, that only the Coast Guard could be in it.
(Uhhh, I didn’t see their NAME on it…)

Another time, in New Orleans, I was on a sailboat that was competing in a weekly sailboat race (12 knots, hold on to your hats!!!) and I don’t remember laughing so hard in my life at the group of guys,  who were all friends, try and get it together while giving each other shit.

I sat back in my sailing clothes, marveling at how there are entire groups of people out there who know what a jib is and which word means the right side of the boat (port?) and are careful not to twist lines, something I can’t even manage to do with my hairdryer cord.

On the evening sailboat ride, there was no boat race, no coast guard doing drills.
In fact, there was no agenda at all. Just a group of eight celebrating the end of the work week.

Sailing is funny!

I tried to break my streak of "being useless on sailboat," even though the captain, Pedro, had it covered.

“Your CB radio is making noise!” I offered, as I was down in the galley (GALLEY!!!) refilling my cup of wine.

“Is it saying ‘mayday’ and the name of this boat?” he asked from the deck.


“It is saying the name of this boat and, ‘you’re about to be boarded?’” he laughed.


“Then, ignore it.”

I ignored it marvelously. See? I pitched in.

It was a relaxing and peaceful sailboat ride — a stroll in the water would describe it well  —  and the wind was incredibly calm so no one felt nauseous and we brought so much food and wine that I couldn’t even finish the cheese.


It was especially enchanting when the daylight faded, and stars began to twinkle above our heads (Man, Disney World rides are so fun!!!) 

With just a tiny light at the top of the sail and in the front of the boat, we were a moving island in the middle of the dark water, just like in the Pirates of the Caribbean, only they didn’t sing “Call me Maybe” uh, three times.

Of course, this was all documented, just in case the ship went down and investigators needed information. (Yes, instead of writing down coordinates in the captain's log, we wrote down the lyrics of all the songs we sang to. As evidence.)

and she was...SAILING!

Our 4-hour vacation ended when we sailed back into the slip, turned off the music, packed up all our things and parted ways, agreeing that it was a most excellent Thursday evening.

I really hope Disney World opens again soon. :)


Tuesday, October 16, 2012


In my opinion, with the exception of an engagement ring, any gift given during a relationship still belongs to that person even after you break up.

Duh, right?
It’s a gift.

Now, if that person (the girl…also duh) wants to make a dramatic returning of said gifts accrued during the relationship, that’s his her loss.

What’s NOT the same thing...is a guy pestering his ex-girlfriend to return gifts he bought her.


Mark, this INDIAN GIVER my friend Tiffany dated, didn't understand this.
Several times since their breakup, he’s hounded her for gifts he wants back, in the most annoying way possible.

Because it’s not like he’s desperate and wants to sell these things or anything. He just wants to use them on his new girlfriend.

Who happens to be his co-worker.


The first present Mark wanted back was a massage table he bought Tiffany, originally bought so he could give her sensual massages.

“Yea, I’m going to need that back,” Mark said several months after they broke up.
He needed it so he could give massages to his new girlfriend.

“No.” Tiffany said.

“Well, I don’t like the idea of anyone else giving you a massage on MY table,” he said.


“Well…I don’t like the idea of you giving someone else a massage,” Tiffany countered.



A few months later, Mark called to see if Tiffany had "his" two tickets to a Red Hot Chili Pepper concert, which he gave her as a Christmas present.

Granted, the idea when the tickets were purchased was that they would go together, but tough shit Mark. That’s what you get for buying presents in advance.
And not holding onto them for "safekeeping."

Tiffany had planned to take one of her best girl friends, Heather, to the concert instead. It was sold out.

“Well, when I bought those tickets, I also bought two more next to them…for my brother and (co-worker/new girlfriend),” Mark said.


Yes, it turns out he had bought a ticket for his future girlfriend sitting next to them when he and Tiffany were still together.


“…So, I don’t think you really want to be sitting next to them anyway,” Mark said, matter-of-factly.

(Ed. note: Balls.)

Tiffany then laid into him about the co-worker girlfriend (again), his asking of the tickets back and reminded him that SHE had been waiting for YEARS to see that band perform live.

I mean, she made it her Christmas present for F's sake. Big. deal.
She wasn't budging.

And she went to the concert with Heather, but didn’t very well sit next to the new girlfriend.

They were her tickets and she could do whatever she wanted with them.

“Me and Heather just switched those shitty seats for shitty seats with someone there,” Tiffany said.



Tuesday, October 9, 2012


Peter, this winner my friend Kim dated, took the schoolyard “I know you are, but what am I?” tactic to the bedroom.

It was quite confusing, since he appeared to be the most mature person who had picked up on her…ever.

They met at a restaurant, where they were both dining alone.

They made eye contact and smiled at each other and after Peter finished paying his bill, he came over to her table.

“I thought since you were also alone, you might like some reading material,” he said, and handed her his newspaper.

(Swoon. Be still my journalistic heart!)

Kim looked down and saw that Peter had written his name and number on the newspaper. She smiled. He was cute.

“Totally classy,” she recalls.

Kim called Peter that night and they hit it off. They laughed a lot, they had a lot of the same things in common, they liked the same music. He even dropped off a CD of a band they both liked at her house (Ahhhh…early 2000s).

They went out a few times, but their relationship stayed platonic.

Peter didn’t make any moves, and Kim didn’t know how. She had dated one person for her entire high school and college life.

Had Peter asked, Kim would have told him all about the one guy she had dated, and would have admitted that she was nervous about dating other people, and didn’t know what to do.

Maybe Peter would have even found that adorable.

But he didn’t ask. At her house one day, he leaned over and made out with her.

It wasn’t a terrible kiss by any means, but Kim got flustered when he started getting “handsy” and finally blurted out, “I don’t want a boyfriend!”

It was an odd reaction for sure, since nobody really expects someone you kiss once to be your significant other just like that, and Peter could have asked her a number of follow-up questions, like, uh, what?


Or “…yea, I don’t want one, either.” Ha.

Instead, Peter flipped out.

“Oh, YEA?” He said. “Well, I don’t enjoy your company ANYWAY!”


Her company?????

“What??” Kim asked.

He went from making out with her to insulting her personality within 5 seconds.

“...And I don’t want to see you EVER again!” he said, standing up.

Kim sat there shocked. It was insulting, especially since they had hung out for the past several weeks and actually did enjoy each other’s company.

He was lying! He just felt rejected and couldn’t handle it.

“...Ever AGAIN!!!!” Peter's repeated, like a crazy person.

Then he left her house in a huff.

Kim had never wished more that she was rubber and he was glue.


Tuesday, October 2, 2012


No (American) female would argue that a guy having money is an attractive quality.

Fly me to Hawaii!!!! Take me out to a movie with $8 popcorn!!!! 

Let me visit you in an apartment that has doors!!

Here’s the thing about guys and money, though: it’s way hotter for a girl to find out on her own that you’re rich, as opposed to you throwing it in her face.
…On a first date.

And there’s nothing more troll-ish than a guy going on and on about how much money he has, and then complaining that he can’t find a decent girl.
…On a first date.

This happens more often than you'd think.

Take Peter for example, a guy my friend Sarah met through a mutual friend. They met for happy hour one day and decided to go to another bar. Peter said he could drive.

“Wow, I love your car!” Sarah said when she got into the shiny new Jeep Grand Cherokee.

“Please,” Peter said smugly. “This is a RENTAL. I normally drive a three hundred thousand dollar car. It’s just in the shop right now because I hit something.”


At the bar, they discussed Sarah’s birthday that was coming up. Sarah didn't know what she wanted to do.

“How about I take you to dinner, and then meet up with some friends?” Peter asked.

Sarah agreed. She wasn't super attracted to him, but he seemed nice. And she liked dinner.

Peter took her out to the fanciest restaurant in the whole city. He ordered hundred-dollar bottles of wine, he ordered appetizers and dessert. He ordered three entrees. The entire table was filled with plates.

As they were finishing up, Peter said, “You know what? I just forgot…I didn't even get you a birthday present.”

Sarah was shocked.

What?? No! This dinner is more than present enough,” she said.

“No…I feel bad,” he said.

Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out $200.

“Here, take this,” he said, throwing two $100 bills on the table.

“This is what I would have spent on a present.”


What? No, I don’t want you to pay me money,” Sarah said, feeling completely awkward. Like an escort.

They had known each other for ONE week.

“No, take it,” he said. “Take it.”

It was beyond uncomfortable. Sarah was staring at the cash on the table when the server came by looking confused, wondering if it was supposed to go towards their bill.

After dinner, at the bar to meet up with Sarah’s friends, Peter decided that he didn't quite get the point across that he had a shitload of money. The forced $200 cash didn't do it.

Out of nowhere, he spoke up very loudly, interrupting conversations at the long table.

“You know, I have NO IDEA why I’m single,” he said, looking at Sarah.

She gave him a quizzical look.

“I don’t know why I’m single either!” one of Sarah’s girl friends said, half-drunk, laughing. “I mean, I’m smart, I have a job, I’m funny. I’m a catch!”

Everyone laughed.


They could.

Peter then left the bar, muttering something to his mutual friend about how “girls only use you for your money.”



Sarah ignored Peter’s calls and texts after that, not so much because of his MILLION DOLLARS outburst, but because his texts went something like this:

“Can you feed my cat this weekend? I’ll pay you $150.”

“Can you pick up this painting I had framed and drive it to my house? I’ll pay you $100.”


Doesn’t he have a $300,000 car he could use to do that??

It didn’t matter.
Sarah had already decided he wasn’t worth it.



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