Tuesday, April 28, 2015


In the dating world in 2015, you haven’t really lived unless you’ve been on a terrible Tinder online date.

But my friend Martha wins for most terrible (well, winning here is really losing) because her date LEFT THE BAR WHEN SHE WENT TO THE BATHROOM.

Oh yes.

Left the bar. When she went to the bathroom.

I suppose I don’t need any more elaboration than that, but it gets worse.

(Oh dear.)

Yes, Nathan, our strapping young suitor with the manners of...an ASSHOLE...thought it would be totally acceptable to NOT say goodbye, not even attempt a “nice to meet you” and decided to bolt when Martha went to pee.

Newsflash: People are not like video games where you can just hit the off button and walk away when you decide you don’t like it. People have feelings....DOUCHE.

Seriously, it would be less mortifying if she was just stood up completely.

Not that Martha particularly liked Nathan anyway. But still, it was a date, one where she took time out of her life to get ready, drive to the bar, meet him and give him a chance. 

And even though she didn’t like him, she was fully prepared to SAY GOODBYE.

It's not like they got into a fight or anything. 

But instead, she found herself walking out of the bathroom like normal but finding no one sitting at the bar, just Nathan’s EMPTY BEER GLASS.

At first, she thought Nathan may have been in the bathroom, too, because how could someone possibly be that rude?

Was he outside? Martha wondered. Was he at his car?

Getting more concerned, Martha waited for TWO WHOLE MINUTES looking around when it dawned on her that no, he left. HE EFFING LEFT.

She had never experienced such blatantly rude behavior in her life.

It was at that moment when the bartender got her attention.

“You want me to close out your tab, too?”




Of COURSE Nathan couldn’t have paid for her beer, not even as a $4.50 consolation prize for getting ditched.

Martha was embarrassed and furious at the same time and was closing out her tab when she ran into a guy friend who played on her kickball team.

Martha had never been so happy to see a friendly face in her life.

She gave him the one-sentence summary: “THIS DUDE LEFT WHEN I WAS IN THE BATHROOM!!!” and they laughed about it over drinks. (Well...she tried to laugh about it.)

It was about 15 minutes later, Martha said (“one beer later”) when she saw the unthinkable: NATHAN WALKED BACK INTO THE BAR.


Martha said Nathan’s face drained of all its color when he saw her still sitting there.


And then, he did the most typical thing one would expect a guy like him to do: HE DID A COMPLETE 180 and walked right back outside.




I guess he thought 15 minutes was enough time for her to be mortified enough to leave, so he could come BACK?!?!?

And did he think she didn't see him????!





What an amazing douche.

I personally wish Martha would have screamed, “I’M STILL HERE MOTHERF*CKER!!!” at him while making some sort of threatening gang sign.

...But that would have been rude.

No, she should have locked him in the bathroom.

And then left.


Tuesday, April 21, 2015


There are just some people that really need to turn their iPhones back in to society and get issued a carrier pigeon or something. 

For bat-shit crazy abuse of Instagram and social media. 


The toolbag  I wrote about a few weeks ago who kept sending his ex-girlfriend photos of Tinder girls or porn stars and pretending that he was hooking up with them should certainly be included in the confiscated phone group.

But Harrison, this guy my friend Shannon dated, would be the poster child. 

He’d be the face...no, the inspiration behind the “we need to take away your phone” movement.

It would be like the Rob Lowe Direct TV ads. 

“Don’t be like Harrison,” the posters would say, and then there would be an outline of his phone in his hand, like a dead body at a crime scene. 

And this is why:

Harrison and my friend Shannon dated for almost a year, until she found out that he was cheating on her and she promptly dumped him. 

It was one of those embarrassing revelations, where the “other woman”—a stranger—contacted her with the news and it all came tumbling down.

When Shannon told him that IT WAS OVER, Harrison wouldn’t stop harassing her through his iPhone. 

He’d text saying that he missed her, he’d text saying that he wanted to marry her (vom) and then he texted her this gem the other day:





I mean W.T.F.



That’s an abuse of texting AND Instagram.

(Also note to self: User Ecards_adulthumor is neither adult, nor humorous)

Shannon was supremely offended and mortified and responded brilliantly:

Then she went to bed that night feeling GROSS and woke up to THIS gem:




A “walking along the sand” photo and seemingly sweet message sent 12 hours after the last Instagram proposition of choking her from the back.




“Sorry for last night” 



What a freak.

After getting the morning text, Shannon cautiously opened Instagram and searched for his account. 

More abuse!

Five minutes after her sent her the stupid walking-in-the-sand photo telling her I love you, he had uploaded a photo of himself at the gym with the hashtags #singlelife #Ilovemyself

LOL single life.

LOL I love myself!!!!!!!!

Yea, right.



Don't be like Harrison.

Now, please place your iPhone in the box to the right.


Tuesday, April 14, 2015


There are several acceptable reasons why someone would use the phrase, “No one is going to marry you if....”

And here are some:

“...If you keep smoking crack.”

“...If you keep sleeping with your friend’s husband.”

“...If you keep telling people your favorite movie of all-time is Friday.”

(Um. For example.)

But the exceptions are very few and far between. 

There are very few cases where that line is acceptable. 

Because not ONLY is it a completely mean and rude thing to say, but no one knows EVERYONE in the world so they can’t even really MAKE that claim.

Like, SOME people don’t mind that the movie Friday has all the action, romance and comedy one needs in a 90-minute film.


But in all seriousness, that’s a shitty thing to hear from anyone. 

Especially someone you’re dating.

(Hearing that line from someone you’re dating is the moment where you realize that you’ve wasted all your time with a person.)

But WASTES of times happen, and in this case, the WASTE OF TIME was George, this guy my friend Sarah dated.

George and Sarah met in a small Georgia town where she was from, and they dated for almost a year when Sarah had an epiphany about her purpose in life: she wanted to be a lawyer. 

She was super smart (well, except the part about dating George) and she was good at English and writing. 

She made the decision to apply to an in-state law school when George decided that he had something to tell her.

“You know, no one is going to marry you if you become a lawyer,” he said.






I MEAN....WHAT????

Sarah was so taken aback she fell right into the 1950s, or maybe the 1850s.

“EXCUSE ME?” Sarah asked, ink on her face from her application.

“What does being a lawyer have to do with me not being marry-able?” she asked.

It was a chance for George to dig himself out of this sexist hole by maybe saying that law school takes a long time, and marriage would take a back seat and what about a family, blah blah blah 

(Like guys UNDER 35 even give a shit about that, outside of PODUNK Georgia.)

But instead of making his bullsh*t statement about them and their future, George responded with, “I’m just traditional.”



Like it’s traditional for women to NOT be rich and successful.

Female lawyers can’t very well be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen, now can they????? 

Seriously. A 20-something guy honestly had these thoughts on the place of females in society. This century.

Oi Vey. 

Let’s blow up Georgia.


How about, "No one is going to marry you if you don't get your HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS?"


Obviously, we didn’t last very long after that,” Sarah THE LAWYER told me last week, before she went to a hearing where she was going to make $7,000 for one week of work.


Oh, and she’s been proposed to three times. 


...And that’s why, kids, you always always screw tradition.


Tuesday, April 7, 2015

Chasing Spring

Just like a car in a movie speeding away from a burning building, that’s what it was like for me and my best friend, Meredith, on our annual pilgrimage to Live Oak, Florida for the Suwannee Springfest bluegrass festival three weeks ago.

Only, the “burning building” wasn’t a building at all, it was rain and temperatures below 65 degrees in South Carolina.

(The horror!)

But there was sunshine ahead. For the five-and-a-half-hour journey, we literally chased after spring to Springfest.

Every 30 miles or so, Meredith looked at the temperature on her dashboard and announced, “It’s 70 degrees!”

And we’d fist pump.

then...“It’s 73 degrees!”

And we would perk up a little in our seats.

By the time we crossed the state line from Georgia to Florida, it was well on its way to 80 degrees and 100 percent sunny. 

We pulled up to the Spirit of Suwannee Music Park with windows down, sunglasses on, and breathed in the sweet, sweet pollen air.
It was so hot I had to change out of my jeans.


This was my 4th annual Springfest, one of my most beloved traditions, and aside from the beautiful park, oak trees, happy people and fantastic bluegrass music, my favorite part is how each year, it’s always the same.  

It’s like the summer vacation our family used to go on every year to a Mississippi state park where everything was almost frozen in timethe cabins, the lake, the beach area, the exact location of the Big Dipper and Orion’s Belt. 

That’s the same thing with Springfest: The stages are set the same, the hammocks that people hang between trees for community lounging are the same.

Fellow festival goers even look the same year after year, right down to the same hippie vendor who I always buy lasagna from.

(Also the hippie vendors who make a delightful “blood juice” with apples and beets which is a must when you wake up in a tent with a hangover.)

Those who camp, and camp often, know that each camping trip is always a unique adventure—remember the time it rained for 48 hours?—or, remember the time we bathed in that cold-ass river??? Or...the time we used the empty box of wine bag as an inflatable pillow?

(Um. For example.)

Springfest 2015’s adventure included the grand adventure of pickin’ around the campsite. More so than any of the previous years.

(Which reminds me that I need to learn how to play MY GOD DAMN FIDDLE ALREADY.)

Meredith and I were fortunate enough this year to camp with talented musician friends from both South Carolina and New Orleans who at first glance had just your average, unremarkable fingers, but holy S they can make the sweetest music come out of wooden things.

(Thank you Tanglers. New Orleans represent!)

Case-in-point: I was sleeping in our tent and woke up because the music around the campfire was so beautiful I had to see it in person. 

(If we had camped closer to the river, I’d probably think it was a mermaid.)

I’d also like to point out that I heard a lot more female singers this year, both at the campsite and on stage, and now I want to be one of them, because they command ALL the attention.

My favorite show on a stage was the legendary bluegrass singer Del McCoury (he's 76 years old!!!) who I have seen at all four Springfests, who has the great talent of making it impossible for me not to smile when I see him play.

With a busy 2015 already under my belt, it was a glorious change to have no phone, no one to check in with, no one to worry about—the only thing on the agenda was to mosey on through the Live Oak trees, deciding which hammock was the best one to nap in, which bands to see.

I've never been more aware of the arrival of spring than at this year’s Springfest. 

We chased it down to Florida (no rain! 80 degrees!) and then I caught it like a fish and reeled it into my brain for 72 hours straight.

I've never been more of a dork reflective of the spring symbolism.

I’d like to say I’m more revived now that I’m back to normal life in South Carolina, but that would be a lie.

I now have bona fide SPRING FEVER and want to be outside all the time.

I can't stop searching for bluegrass music online.

I get frustrated that it gets down to a chilly 61 degrees at night.

...And I can’t stop dreaming about singing mermaids.



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