Tuesday, July 29, 2014


This guy I went out with once, on our first date, told me he used to be addicted to meth and was actually a meth dealer for a while, plus he dated a stripper.

Awesome, I thought to myself. Please don’t come near me without a hazmat suit on.

Who the HELL would reveal that on a first date?

Newsflash: you’re supposed to be as appealing as possible on a first date, like a dog up for adoption at the pound. 

(i.e. don’t be annoying until you get to your new home.)


(Wait...this sounds familiar.) 

I’ve written about a lot of bad first dates, but when I heard about how this douche William behaved on a date with my friend Kelli, my jaw dropped.

She WISHED he had been a meth dealer.


Just kidding mom.

Even though they met on the horrible dating website (they’re all horrible, really) Tinder, he was cute, had a proper job and he suggested they meet at a cool new hot spot in town.

Kelli stalked his Facebook page (research!) before their date and his pictures were fun, happy—48 likes on a profile picture! Hello Mr. Popular!!!

(Second newsflash: Facebook is not reality.)

Kelli said the minute she saw him, she got excited. 

But then the minute he started talking, she wanted to slam her head against the beautiful copper bar top. 

If I were the editor of Urban Dictionary, his picture would be under the definition for “douche.”

First, over a bottle of wine that SHE PAID THE BILL FOR (I can’t even), he asked her about her religion, which is a DON'T on a first date.

But Kelli responded anyway, saying she was raised Catholic and went to Catholic School, like most people in New Orleans.

William wasn’t a good listener.

“So, are you Jewish?” he asked her TEN minutes later.


Oy vey.

William then decided to show off his sensitive side by telling her that he was with his ex-girlfriend for too long because right when he wanted to break up with her, her dad “dropped dead” and man, TIMING SUCKS.

Uhhh that’s not the only thing that sucks.

Newsflash #34729342895: Worse than talking about religion on a first date is talking about parents dying, because IT’S REAL, YA’LL.

And it just so happened that Kelli’s mom had passed away the previous year, and she was heartbroken.

“Yea, so her dad DROPPED DEAD and I had to go with her to the FUNERAL,” William said.

“I hated having to be NICE to her because I really couldn't stand her.”


What an insensitive prick.

Kelli said William kept using the phrase “dropped dead.”

It was gross.


Kelli tried to keep it together, but all she could think about was her own mom’s death and going to her own mom’s funeral and thinking about the guy she was dating at the time and she teared up right there at the bar.

“I’m sorry, I have to leave,” Kelli said. 

It was then that William finally got around to paying attention to her, and saw she was upset.

Did he care?

No, he didn’t care.

Movie scene time!!!!!


"I'm sorry, I have to leave," Kelli said.

“Good, see ya, I ran into another ex-girlfriend before our date and we are going out tomorrow and I’m still in love with her,” he responded.




(Ed note: Yea right. That's probably what he says to every girl who walks away from him.)

William didn't even ask her if she was OK!

Or even ask her what was wrong!


Who DOES that??!?

48 Facebook DISLIKES!!

I mean, were there hidden cameras somewhere?

Did she really pay $30 to sit at a bar with a douche who made her cry?


"Do you want the number for the former meth dealer?" I offered.


Oy vey.


Tuesday, July 22, 2014


It’s just an unfortunate fact of life: Not everyone has an identical twin sister to bring as their date to work-related, couple-y events.

...Which is where a boyfriend really comes in handy.

I know, I know, who goes to a work-related couple-y event in THIS economy???

Who’s throwing a gala??

My twin sister, Joy, has been my date to work-related couple-y events for ten years.

(Christmas parties, retirement parties...uh…Harry Potter opening night at the movies.)  

This isn’t so much because I’m perpetually single (uh...), it’s because I’ve made the BONEHEAD decision to have long-distance relationships for most of my life.

And no one is flying 1,000 miles to go to a stranger’s retirement party, no matter how many crab cakes they promise.

Not that I mind having Joy there.

She’s the perfect work-related, couple-y date: She talks excitedly to everyone, is genuinely interested in who they are/what they do, and when co-workers and I get into deep conversations about the state of print journalism, she brings over the remaining bottle of wine.

(It also helps that people fuss over how alike we look. Instant conversation starter!!!)

Call me crazy yuppie, but it’s really important to have a date with you to a work-related, couple-y event.

(Weddings are different. At a wedding you’re with friends, you’re drinking, you're dancing and you're probably checking out a groomsman. Ha.)

For a work-related, couple-y event, however, you need to have someone to talk to (so you don't end up standing in the corner alone by the cheese), someone to SHOW OFF, someone who supports you and your career.

And, let’s not forget, someone who you’ve been telling your co-workers about.

You can imagine my excitement when I found myself in a proper relationship with a guy when I lived in New York.

I had just started a new job at a book publishing company, Joy and I had just moved to the city...THE CITY HE LIVED IN...and I was invited to several work-related, couple-y events within the first week of getting there.



Riiiiiight, that was the year I realized the difference between a good boyfriend and a bad boyfriend.

(And not knowing the difference until you live in the same city.)

Forehead slap!

His name was Edward and he was a financial adviser, which translates to super big hotshot in New York.

He was from New Orleans, my hometown, and I was excited to be in the same city as him after almost a year of dating long-distance.

I told him after my second day of work that there was a company birthday party at a bar on Friday night and asked if he could he please come with me.

I made it obvious that it was important, and how I wanted him to meet everyone.

He said yes.


When everyone at work started buzzing about the party, I told them that we would both be there.

I actually beamed saying it. (Awwww 25-year-old Jenny.)

Edward didn’t have to work Friday night and had nothing going on. It was a perfect gathering for everyone to meet—a reserved outside patio at a bar.

I went straight after work. Edward said he’d meet me there.

I waited. And waited.

After a HALF-HOUR, people were asking where he was. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe he got stuck on the subway,” I said.


“Hey...do you mind if I don’t go?” Edward spoke the horrifying words into my cell phone 45 MINUTES after the party started.

“What? Why?” I asked.

“I just...don’t want to be on a smoky patio. You know how much I hate smoke.”


I looked around, and ducked out of earshot.

“No one is smoking...” I said. “What are you doing?”

“Just watching TV on the couch.”

I could have killed him, seriously.

“Well, I really want you to be here,” I said. “I’ve only been working here for five days, I don’t know anyone, I’d like a friend with me.”

Edward wasn’t moved.

“Yea, well, if it was ANYWHERE else...” he said. “Anywhere with no smoking...”




You can’t SUCK IT UP for two hours?

What about,“I really want you to be here” DIDN’T he understand??

I almost cried, I remember. I felt like such an idiot.

And what a dorky excuse, too.

Oh, he doesn’t want the POTENTIAL to have to smell cigarette smoke the required 20 feet away from the entrance??


(SPOILER ALERT: It was a B.S. excuse. He was just selfish and unsupportive.)

But because I was 25 years old and really wanted it to work out between us, I forgave him and downplayed my hurt.

Until the next WORK-RELATED, COUPLE-Y THING, of course.

The second gathering, THE NEXT WEEKEND, was a “field day” picnic at Central Park (Central Park!) where everyone played Trivial Pursuit and volleyball.

“Free food!” I said to Edward.

I mean, why the F did I have to twist him arm about it?

It was a great Saturday date anyway. A stroll and picnic in the damn park.

“Yea, well, I’m planning on going to the gym until 2 o’clock...” Edward said.

My teeth clenched.

“Could you...maybe skip the gym this Saturday?” I said.

“Ohhh....I don’t really want to,” he said.


That’s when I lost it.

Here I was a new resident to HIS city and he couldn’t even carve out time to be my date to an effing Saturday picnic.

I tried to be more clear.



“Ok, I’ll come,” he finally said.

“Thank you.”

Edward arrived at the park at 3 p.m.

“SORRY I’M LATE, I WENT TO THE GYM,” he announced.



This guy.

And that’s when I realized that Edward wasn’t just clueless, he really didn’t care about making me happy.

He didn’t care about anything but himself.

And no amount of explaining my feelings would make him be a supportive person, or make him stop doing whatever the F he wanted to do.

On the bright side, Joy won second place in Trivial Pursuit that day. 



Wednesday, July 16, 2014

Remembering Los Angeles

I just spent four days in Los Angeles with my entire family and I couldn’t get over the weather.

No humidity!!! (Well, 40 percent humidity might as well be zero percent humidity coming from South Carolina).
I’ve been to Los Angeles twice before, but this is the first time I actually remembered being there.

I know, it’s weird not remembering an entire trip across the country. But maybe this was the first time I really paid attention.


When my twin sister, Joy, and I stepped out of the airport, we breathed in fresh, crisp air, rather than the heavy wetness I expect when I fly back home to New Orleans.

I spun around just like Maria in The Sound of Music, arms outstretched.


Then I saw them.



I’ve lived my entire life away from the mountains. As far away as possible, in fact. Below sea level.

Yes, I’ve seen mountains before (in Los Angeles even!) but still, when I look at them in real life, I still think it’s a fake set, a prop in a movie.

(Or that Disneyland must be REALLY, REALLY big.)

Mountains are such a phenomenon to me. Joy and I peered out the airplane window wide-eyed when we saw the mountains below, looking like large brown knuckles in the terrain.

Our family was visiting Los Angeles because that’s where my brother Franklin lives. He’s a movie editor, and I love saying that.

Our family is spread out across the country, with Franklin as far west as possible, Joy and I as far east as possible and our parents in the middle in New Orleans.

We have always had a family summer vacation, always a place that is NOT Los Angeles, and since Franklin is always travelling to see us on the other side of the country, we all flew out to see him.

“Do you…climb the mountains??” Joy and I asked when he picked us up from the airport.

“I hike a little bit,” Franklin said, and then I started rattling off the names of celebrities who I see hiking in my trashy beach magazines.

(He ignored me. Haha)

At dinner that night—and can I point out that every single thing we ate in Los Angeles was super delicious????—we discussed the massive drought that had taken over L.A.


It was as foreign a concept to me as living with mountains.

Especially with my most recent summer living in New Orleans where it dumps the biggest dumptruck of rain every afternoon over the city, like clockwork.

Apparently, it never rains in Los Angeles, and it has rained even less than expected and now everyone has to conserve water.

You don’t automatically get glasses of water at restaurants, for example.

No running the sink water so other people won’t hear you pee!!!

Um, for example.


Our parents, in a very 2014 move, got an Air BnB house down the street from Franklin rather than go to a hotel.

It proved to be the perfect home base and was roomy and spacious, and not just by L.A. standards. There was even a ridiculously large back patio that we all converged on at sunset and drank wine.
It was actually perfect.

I don’t remember a family vacation being so perfect.

For four days we were surrounded by each other every hour (Joy and I stayed in Franklin’s apartment) and no one got into a fight! We all met Franklin's new girlfriend, who we absolutely loved. 

Everyone was in a great mood!

(Must have been the weather.)


We went to a fantastic museum, The Getty Center, and saw panoramic views  of Los Angles (MOUNTAINS!!) and saw photography from Ansel Adams (google him) and Joy and I played around in front of an exhibit that showed photos of creepy-looking twins.


We went to a Dodgers game, MAJOR LEAGUE BASEBALL, YA’LL, and even though I had been to a MLB baseball game when I lived in New York for a summer, I didn’t remember it. (Go figure.)

This was not like the minor league team that I watched in New Orleans and in South Carolina.

Diving catches!!

94-mile per hour pitches!!!

$11 beers.


The Dodgers lost, but we got to see fireworks after, probably one of the best fireworks shows I have ever seen, and they let you walk right on the baseball field to see them!!


I spun around (like Maria from The Sound of Music) and looked up at the lights and stands and couldn’t imagine the pressure the players felt.

(I faked a fly ball catch. I stole a bit of grass. I had too many $11 beers.)

The next night, after a day of shopping at THE GROVE and unsuccessfully spotting celebrities, we all gathered at our parents’ Air BnB and watched the first cut of Franklin’s new movie. And we absolutely loved it!!!

It was quirky, it was gorgeous, the music was so fantastic Joy and I Shazamed all the songs (“quit texting!” our mom would yell, and we’d laugh.)

Our aunt, also on vacation with us, actually clapped when the psycho got killed at the end.


The last day of vacation felt much more familiar: our mom made us all go to church.

The only thing that intrigued me was that I wondered if Catholic church in Los Angeles is the same as in New Orleans, which it was

The only difference was that it was a Fillipino church, and the church bulliten was in Spanish.

And then came another familiar feeling: being squeezed in the car.

It doesn’t sound like a good memory, but it is, because it’s my family and there are exactly five of us, the exact number of people that can legally squish into a sedan.

This is what I remember about all family vacations:  everyone squished in, headed somewhere together.

It’s in those tight spaces, where our mom fusses about how she wants Franklin to stop the car in the middle of the street to get a picture of the Hollywood sign, even though we all agreed that it wasn’t a very good shot and, “Why, mom? Nothing significant happened to us near the sign!”

And our dad makes a joke and Franklin doesn’t stop the car and Joy and I laugh hysterically in the back seat as the Hollywood sign disappears.

Pummeling down Sunset Boulevard all of us strapped in, various stages of laugher.

It always seems to be the thing that’s not picture-perfect that I remember the most, and now I wish someone HAD gotten a picture of the Hollywood sign because that car trip is still making me laugh.

Joy and I took the red eye back to South Carolina, which is a very weird experience. Leave Los Angeles at midnight, arrive in Atlanta at 7 a.m., even though it was only a four hour flight.  MY NIGHT 

The last thing we did before going to the airport was attend a festival at a park within walking distance of Franklin’s apartment.

It was called the Lotus Festival because of all the gorgeous Lotus flowers blooming in a small lake. (“Recycled sewer water, no swimming.”)

We went back to the Air BnB, caught up some more, and Joy and I were then driven to the airport.

Joy and I always cry leaving our parents and brother, because that’s how close our family is, and that’s how much I didn’t want to go back to 450 percent humidity.

“Red eyes on the red eye.” (I tweeted that, I’m so clever!)

It really was a perfect trip. AND I REMEMBER IT!

I drove to the beach yesterday, after returning to South Carolina, and I looked out over the marsh and river, the intracoastal waterway.

There were no mountains in the distance, no way the A/C couldn’t be on full blast, and I got all melancholy (jet lag?) and I wished, just for a second, that there was a Hollywood sign in the distance.



Tuesday, July 8, 2014


You’d think I’d run out of ways to talk about how guys get caught cheating.

Or, even ways about how a guy who is sleeping with a girl gets caught cheating by really having a whole ‘nother life with a whole ‘nother girlfriend. 

(Or wife. Or boyfriend.) 

My favorite story (i.e. the most random) used to be the case of the guy whose CAT dragged a used condom from out of his bedroom and dropped it at his feet the exact moment he was insisting he wasn’t cheating.


Pussy CONTROL!!!

But the cat story is no longer my favorite completely random story anymore!!


Because this one is about journalism.

I’m a journalist!!! Glad my industry was of service!


Jason, the guy in question, and my friend Eva had an on-and-off completely bad idea long-distance romance after meeting at a work convention and yes, terrible idea but they had a THING together and they hooked up and kept in touch when they went back to their respective cities.

It was an even MORE terrible idea when Jason, a PhD candidate, found out he was awarded? accepted? into some program in Germany to do research or whatever people DO when they're getting their PhDs.

And he had no real “coming home” date.

Eva was devastated.

She had feelings for him and this was an impossible situation.

Dramatic hand over forehead—have fun in Germany, Jason!!!!!—sniff—Auf Wiedersehen!, and then she deleted his phone number.

But he soon crawled his way back in, almost immediately.

He Skype messaged her, he sent her emails addressed to cute nicknames, he kept asking her if she was dating anyone.

“He’s probably just lonely,” friends told her.

But Eva would get invested again and again with HIS persistence and his flirtatiousness—genuine conversation peppered with sexual innuendos that would make her laugh—and she’d fall back into contact.

One time, he offered for her to come visit him in Germany.

No! Bad idea Eva began to save up money for a plane ticket.

For the next six months—SIX MONTHS!—they played this game, her saving up money, him flirt Skyping, calling and emailing.

But then, right when she saved up thousands of dollars, he became noncommittal.

“Oh, uh, I might be going to uhhh HAMBERG (or whatever) that week! Let me check my schedule and get back to you!”

Eva was hurt and confused. He contacted her at least three days a week either phone or email or Skype or damn WORDS WITH FRIENDS (Ed note: people still play that??) and now nothing.


And then, as if the most perfect timing as the CAT dragging in the bad news, Eva logged onto Facebook and saw the CONVENTION WHERE THEY MET Facebook Group linked to a newspaper article entitled “PhD Candidate Jason Blah Blah from his small hometown of Georgia doing research on Blah Blah!!”



And it was in that article where it mentioned how he is working on this ALL IMPORTANT RESEARCH with his research partner and LIVE-IN GIRLFRIEND.





I asked her why the article mentioned a “live-in” girlfriend, because I’m a journalist.

“Because they were doing research together on BLAH BLAH BLAH and were planning on moving out of THEIR apartment to live together in a tent for the next couple of weeks,” she said.




Why would Jason pursue her for six months and know very well she had feelings for him and was saving up money to visit him when he and his LIVE-IN girlfriend were nature-bound?

Eva concluded he just wanted her around on a hook, as backup. Oh, and he appeared to enjoy their Skype sessions.


The newspaper article was the worst reality check ever.

It wasn’t just a rumor or a vague Facebook photo, but a bona fide, journalist-backed, CITED article about his love life.

The daily paper in his small hometown of Georgia was NO liar.

Black, white and waaahhh RED all over!!!

But it was a blessing in disguise.

Without that article (and journalists!!!) Eva would be all bummed out about where he was and what he was doing and would probably get sucked back into Skyping him.

So she blocked him from all of her accounts. There is no way he can get back in touch with her.

The only tragic thing is that she has all this money saved up and nowhere to go.

I think she should bail out a newspaper.


Tuesday, July 1, 2014


When I was in college, my dorm roommate got me one of those Worst-Case Scenario “Survival Guide” books for Christmas, only, instead of it teaching me how to survive a bear attack or how to splint my own arm, it was a survival guide for men and dating.

Cuz it’s a god damn jungle out there, ya’ll.

There were helpful hints in the book for how to tell if you were dating a married man, a loser, or cheater.

(Such as: Check his ring finger for a ring tan or indentation that would suggest a wedding ring was recently removed. Snoop in his glovebox and see if his vehicle is co-registered to a female. If you wake up one morning and don't remember his name hahahaha search his bathroom for a prescription bottle that has his name on it.)


See? Jungle.

But all of these tricks are WAAAAY too clever for Cameron, this guy who my friend Jane recently dated. 

He was so obvious about his wandering eye it hurt.

There was no need to be some crazy private investigator.
No need to consult a book.

Cameron and Jane met on Tinder, the most shallow of all the online dating sites, and yes, Jane should have known better.

She took their dinner date with a grain of salt and was pleasantly surprised to learn that he was hot, a veterinarian (swoon!) and incredibly kind and smart. 

No kids, never been married, check check CHECK!

On their second date, he cooked her an amazing dinner and pretty soon after that they were sharing a bed, sharing their hopes and dreams and Cameron told her he was falling in love with her.


A month later, he asked her to be exclusive.

Yea...HIS idea.

Jane was over the moon except for one very big problem: his phone.

She said the whole time they were hanging out, Cameron always kept his phone on silent, and would always place it FACE DOWN on the table.


Expensive iPhone glass...face down!

Was he that uninterested in his phone that he didn’t want to see or hear it?


“He would always check it, and I could tell he would be reading texts,” Jane said.

Then he'd put it back on the table face down. 


It was confusing; Cameron kept telling her that he was head over heels in love with her, how amazing she was and how he's never met anyone like her before, but then when he would check his phone, he would immediately turn it away from her.

Like hunched over the screen, she said, his entire body practically under the table, guarding it with his life. As if she wouldn’t notice.


Uhh...who do you think you're fooling?

Hunchback Quasi-MORON

(Haha dork.)

So, like any good survivalist, Jane decided to search his damn phone.

He wanted to be exclusive after all, he should have had nothing to hide. 



She looked through his text messages in horror.

“He was sexting some chick the same night he told me he loved me,” Jane reported.


(Uh, high school called…they want their after-school activity back.)

Jane explained further: “And it wasn’t just a little sext message, it was a fucking dissertation. Super dirty and explicate.”


Such a ladies man!

It wasn’t surprising.

Why else would he turn his phone upside down and guard it with his life??

How OBVIOUS is that??

Also not surprising?

Jane said, “He had been trying to make plans to meet with her on one of his recent ‘out of town’ trips."



The only surprising thing was why Cameron suggested being exclusive at all, and telling her he loved her when he had another woman on the side.



Why pretend like you want an exclusive girlfriend??

Even though Jane knew it was over, she wanted to call him the F out.

(And this is where I laugh at everything.)

She asked him if he was seeing someone else.

He looked offended.


“No, of course not! We’re exclusive!” he said.


Jane then asked him if he was texting other women.

“No, of course not!”


Jane then changed her tone: “How about SEXTING? Are you sexting other women??”

She then rattled off some very specific messages.


A fear of panic came over Cameron's face when he realized he was caught.


Now, it was pretty clear at this point that Jane read ALL his text messages, so I don’t know why Cameron decided to respond with:

“I was trying to cut ties with her!”


(No. He was trying to tie...her up.)

Cameron pleaded with Jane to forgive him.

“He said it was ‘totally out of character’ of him and to please give him another chance to prove to me he is a good guy," she said.


Out of character.

(Survival book tip #24235293: If a guy insists that he’s a “good guy,” he’s not.)

And of course no mention of the fact that he had just LIED to her face. Three times.

Jane’s response: You don’t want to lose me? You should've thought about that when you were sexting other women.


Then walked out of his house, supremely disappointed. 

To this day, Cameron still calls and texts Jane, “wanting another chance to prove he’s a good guy,” she said.


No way! 

Jane done left the jungle.


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