Friday, August 28, 2015

Five lessons Hurricane Katrina taught me

1. Buy real estate following a disaster. Houses in New Orleans are now being sold for HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA amounts of money, houses that you wouldn’t even walk by ten years ago. Empty lots have STARTING bids at $80,000 at auction. Think about that during the next major natural disaster in your town!

2. You don’t need home insurance. Katrina showed us that it doesn’t matter if you put money every year into home insurance, flood insurance, disaster insurance, etc. everyone got paid out (or bought out) from the government. And what didn’t get paid out, religious groups came down to fix it for free. ‘MERICA!!!!!!

3. Keep an ax in your attic. Before Katrina, I certainly didn’t consider the possibility that anyone would have to exit their house from the roof. And a roof does not have a human-sized door. Keep an ax in the attic so you can hack your way out in an emergency, or, you know, if a serial killer was lurking below.

4. Kids need therapy. When I was a newspaper reporter in New Orleans after the BP oil spill in 2010, I wrote an article about how BP was paying for therapy for all the children on the Gulf Coast who were traumatized by the spill. An excellent PR move and wholly important. And I’m sure there were some therapy programs for kids post-Katrina, but nothing that springs to mind. And now the “kids of Katrina,”—not the ones who were born ten years ago, but those who were impressionable 10-year-olds then who are 20 years old now—just may be EFFED up. I have no way to prove a correlation, but New Orleans has a major problem right now with teenagers and 20-something young people shooting, stabbing, terrorizing the French Quarter and beating people senseless for no apparent reason. I can’t help but wonder if these are children of the storm.

5. It forced you to care about your ex.  No matter how much you hated them in the end, after Katrina, you got in touch with your ex, asked them where they were, if they were OK and even asked them about their mamma. 

...Even if they were a toolbag.


Tuesday, August 25, 2015


Do I need an opening paragraph? Does today’s post even need any sort of introduction?

This past weekend, my friend Mallory told me that on a THIRD date, the guy she was seeing, Brett, asked her for her urine so he could pass a drug test.

(spits out vodka drink) AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA



Naturally, we had a lot of questions.

Such as...“Shouldn’t you wait until at least date FIVE before discussing drug use?”


Just kidding mom.

No. Nothing about this was OK.

It was so not OK that when Mallory told the group of us four girls about it, we each had a very valid, very different concern about Brett's request.

“If he knew you didn't do drugs, why would he think you'd be OK with the fact that he is a drug user?” asked girl number one.

“Why would he ask you on a THIRD date?” asked girl number two. “Shouldn’t you wait until at least date FIVE before discussing drug use?”

“And how were you supposed to give him your urine? Like in a solo cup?” asked girl number three. “Wouldn’t that take away any sort of romance?”

Perhaps the best point came from girl number four: 

“So, basically he has no other friends who have clean urine.”



Mallory tried to answer our questions the best she could, only saying that Brett, this WINNER she met at a minor league baseball game, told her that he had bought a “whizzer,” a pouch/fanny pack that you put either fake pee or someone else’s clean pee into, and you use that liquid instead of your own during a drug test.

“That’s really sick,” my mom chimed in. (Visiting this weekend, overhearing the conversation.)


But Mallory’s question for Brett wasn’t any of the things we had covered.  

Instead, she asked, “What do you mean a drug test? I thought you had a job at a fine dining restaurant. They drug test servers at restaurants now?!?”

That’s when Brett broke the news: No, he did not have a job. 

He DID have a job at a fine dining restaurant (so he says), but got fired a month earlier, and lied about it when they met so he wouldn’t look like a loser.


And now he's applying for jobs and needs clean pee.




Mallory shook her head.

“SO...about the whizzer...” he said.


Piss off.


Tuesday, August 18, 2015


I wasn’t allowed to watch TV growing up because all the shows had “disrespectful kids” and “all the adults were idiots” (my mom’s words) and she wasn’t very well going to raise kids who think it’s OK to moon a teacher or something.

Because that’s what kids do, isn’t it? Imitate what they see on TV?

Especially if it’s something that a character does that’s funny like....uhh...whatever the 2015 equivalent to "I'm Bart Simpson who the hell are you?” line is.

(I wouldn't know. I don’t have kids, I have hangovers.)

But I imagine the concept is the same: parents don’t want their kids emulating something crude or rude or use an annoying catch phrase that they picked up from TV.

But what happens when the rude, crude behavior isn’t coming from the TV at all? 

What happens when all you really need to do is turn DAD off???

This was the case for me this past weekend, when, on a long beach walk, I observed a guy and his three sons taking professional photos.

(They were all wearing matching khakis and white button-up shirts.)

I didn’t notice them at first, since their colors blended in with the sand perfectly (haha) but then I noticed the dad...doing something.



Well, pretending to do her from behind.

What?? I squinted my eyes and looked harder. No way, I thought...that’s what frat boys do 23 beers in on the dance floor, not dads taking professional photos.
But then I saw it clearly.

In order to MAKE HIS SONS LAUGH, he was pretending to DO the photographer from behind, humping the air, and then he PRETENDED TO SMACK HER ASS.

The poor girl (dressed in all-black, professional) bent over to get a good eye-level picture not even realizing what this guy was doing behind her.

“WTF?!” I asked to no one, horrified at this guy’s...what...”dance moves?”

But it worked!

The three boys, ages 8-11 (or so) were CRACKING UP LAUGHING at their dad who was air-humping, pretend smacking, swinging his hand from side to side of the photographer's ass. It was embarrassing to even witness.

He’s was basically doing a one-man show of “let me ride that donkey donkey,” only the photographer was clueless.

Is THIS supposed to be these kids' role model??!? 

Way to teach the next generation of kids on how to behave, DAD. I'd rather have Bart Simpson.

I could just imagine one of them going back to third grade doing that to a teacher when she bent over thinking it was funny.

Doggy-style and ass smacking. WTF.


Is that no longer funny??? 

Since when is simulating sex with an unknowing professional the funniest thing you can think of? In front of your elementary school boys?

He really was playing the class clown role perfectlywhen the poor photographer turned around to see what was so funny, dad would pretend to look at his watch.

And then when she started clicking, he'd start again with his hands simulated on her waist humping the air behind her.


What a douche.

There is no amount of money he could have possibly paid her for having to endure that kind of humiliation.


Change the channel!!!

Better yet: Where's Shark Week when you need it??


Tuesday, August 11, 2015


It’s one thing to look up someone on Linkedn or Facebook before a first date to make sure they have a job and friends, but it’s QUITE another thing to run a full-on background check.


Because that’s like a violation of privacy plus it shows that someone has way too much time on their hands AND gets off on uncovering mug shots.

Moral of the story: Don’t go out with a cop.


This happened to my friend Gia last week, when she went on a date (Tinder is for losers) with Steve, a seemingly cute guy who as it turns out, used to be a cop.

Steve did legal work now, and so did Gia, and they talked about their jobs when I guess Steve...uhh...wanted to impress her by telling her that before their date, he ran a background check on her.

“Oh yea?” she asked, thinking he was messing with her. “Then what’s my real name?”

“Genessa Erin,” he said.


Gia was taken aback, and felt violated.

“ did you get my full name?” she asked. “And my last name?”

“Your phone number,” he said.


“My cell phone number?”


WTF. Dude.

The god damn white pages doesn’t even list cell phone numbers! Did he PAY money to run this “check”?

Steve then said that he normally doesn’t tell the girls he goes out with that he ran a check, but that “Gia could handle it.”

“Well that’s because I have nothing on my record but a speeding ticket,” Gia said, trying to hide her OMG YOU’RE A CREEP face.

“Yep. Speeding. Ten miles over,” he said.


“I actually know the cop, too,” he laughed.



Saying you know a cop that gave a girl an expensive speeding ticket gets you NO POINTS.

It was just creepy.

“Umm,” Gia said. “You run a background check every time you meet someone for a date?”

“Yes,” Steve said.

Gia sat there uncomfortably wondering if he somehow knew her credit score, too.

Whatever happened to Linkedn?!??!?! Or finding them on social media???

(Ironically, her public Instagram account was more incriminating than her background check.)

After a minute or so, she asked, “So, what ‘charge’ would be a deal breaker? Murder? Prostitution?”

Steve thought for a minute. “Domestic violence,” he said. “I don’t need a ‘boyfriend beater.’”



Steve must have mistaken Gia’s line of questioning for interest or even her being impressed, because he unfortunately continued.

“ have a sister? Who lives in Los Angeles?” he asked.

Gia put her fork down.

“What?!?! How do you know that!”

“I saw her mug shot,” he said, smiling, like she should give him a medal or something.


“Her mug shot...from her underage drinking ticket from COLLEGE?” Gia asked.

“Oh, I can’t read the charge,” he said. “But I saw the mug shot.”



Uhhhh who the hell gave him permission to run a background check on her OR her sister? 

Isn’t that something you need to approve??! And sign??

Or did she just need to change the name on her phone number to MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS.

Steve then made a comment about how Gia had been on that day looking at his profile again, and he knows this because Match tells you the last time someone was on the site.

“ are...quite the investigator,” Gia said.

Then she imagined, very much like Kirstie Alley’s character in Look Who’s Talking (I swear I make other movie references), in the scene where she envisions the rest of her life with each guy she goes on a first date with.

Gia envisioned Steve checking her phone records, placing a GPS under her car hood, following behind her in an unmarked vehicle or something. OH, AND FOLLOWING AROUND HER WHOLE FAMILY TOO.

I mean, just imagining him sitting at a little computer typing her full name into an effing background check search engine was an absolute turn off.

And the idea that he goes out with girls and doesn't tell them that he, oh, just knows their entire legal history (and their family members' history) is creepy.

I, for one, think Gia should have made a citizen’s arrest on his ass. 

For disturbing the peace...of mind.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to call Verizon Wireless and change my name to MS. NUNNYA BIZ.


Tuesday, August 4, 2015


FOR the record, I’m all for finding cute excuses to see someone you have a crush on, like, if you were to be a regular customer at a bar a person works at, or signed up for a gym where a particular trainer makes you googly-eyed.

It's a great way to see them regularly, and also show that you have something in common.

Like...I ALSO like to work out! I ALSO like to take jägerbombs! Let’s move in together!

But there are wrong ways to find excuses to see someone. An this is one of them: 

If you are interested in your local veterinarian, DON’T KEEP YOUR DOG SICK JUST SO YOU CAN SEE THE VET.

This will not win you over with anyone who works there.

Or pretty much anyone else in the entire world.

Somebody make a poster! (And call P.E.T.A.)

The offender in question was Bart, this guy who my friend Hailey, a veterinarian, said was cute, had a successful fishing charter business and had a very unique dog breed that made him seem rather interesting.

The office employees had alerted Hailey, who was single, to Bert when he first came into the office. 

The office manager winked when handing over his dog’s papers.

Hailey and Bert talked about his job, her job, flirted a little and then finally got around to talking about some “health issues” Bart’s dog was having (ha). 

She said it had something to do with allergies or skin rashes or something.

She told Bart that the problem could be easily solved with medication that he could get from the pharmacy. 

She wrote him a prescription (or called one in? How does a vet work??) told him she’d maybe check out his fishing charter business one day, and then he left.

But then Bart was back.


...For the same problem.

“Yea...I think my dog is sick again,” he said picking the miserable thing up and putting him on the metal table.

“Oh no, the pills aren’t helping?” Hailey asked.

“Oh. No. I actually haven’t been giving him the pills,” Bart said. “And I figured I'd just rather bring him in when he’s so sick.”


“He wouldn’t be sick if you gave him the pills,” Hailey said, confused and pissed.

“Yea, I know. But he was getting better on his own know...I'm sure he's fine, it’s just nice to get a ‘professional opinion’” he said.




Hailey said she had to give the poor sick dog a steroid shot while Bart, unconcerned, INVITED HER OUT ON HIS BOAT FOR THAT WEEKEND.


Why couldn’t he have just called up the vet’s office and asked her out? Why did he have to drag his poor dog in there? Why couldn't he have just given the dog the damn pills?

I is that attractive to a veterinarian?

That’s like smoking a pack of cigarettes to impress a hot doctor. Or texting a writer the wrong “your.”

It’s basically is the opposite of having something in common.

Wrong move.

Hailey smiled politely and made up an excuse. 

She didn’t tell him that she had actually changed her mind completely, that she now felt scared for his boat passengers if he was so irresponsible and cared so little about the well-being of another living thing.

...You know, in her "professional opinion."




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