TOOLBAG TUESDAY

It’s National Teacher Appreciation Day today!!! Buy your nearest teacher a tequila shot!

It reminds me of this guy I went out with in college, who tried to teach me something.

Have you ever had a significant other try and teach you something? 

Like a skill?

…without PISSING you off in the process??

I suppose it’s hard to be a teacher when you’re not properly trained on how to be patient or kind.

Haha

This all went down when John, my boyfriend at the time, tried to teach me how to surf.

He was a very good surfer and I always admired his tan feet and decided that I’d like to learn how to surf, too.

And I had recently seen a group of actual (school aged) children learning how to surf one day, so how hard could it be?

A better question would have been: How hard could it be to teach someone how to surf???

The first thing John did was violently push me from behind.

There was no warning, it was a full-on beach ASSAULT. 

Right as he was walking towards the ocean with his surfboard under his arm, he passed me, pushed me from the back HARD, and kept walking. I almost fell face first onto the sand.

“What the hell?” I said, regaining my balance. I thought for a second the surfboard had accidentally hit me. 

But then he admitted to his deliberate attack.

“I needed to see what foot was your strongest,” he said. “You stepped forward to brace yourself with your right foot."

“Wait, THAT'S your test to see which is my strongest leg?” I yelled, looking around the beach to see if anyone witnessed this embarrassment.

“Yes,” he said. “That’s the only way to really tell.”

Then, John added insult to injury when he added, “You’re goofy footed.”

“WHO’S GOOFY?” I asked, again embarrassed, getting angrier by the minute.

“You. You’re goofy. You surf with your right foot at the front of the board. Goofy foot.”

I didn’t believe a word he was saying, wondering if I was being punk’d.

I mean…we hadn’t even started the lesson and I had been pushed like someone on the school yard and then made fun of??? 

He was already the worst teacher ever.

And then without so much as a proper lesson on the mechanics or a “dry run” on the sand, John whisked me into the freezing cold ocean, threw me on the board and then PUSHED me on his surfboard ahead of an oncoming wave.

I was immediately overtaken by the wave and was dragged underwater by it, surfboard flailing behind me, attached with velcro to my ankle and I put my arms in front of my face so that the surfboard wouldn’t clobber me in the face in its un-manned crash to the shore. 

...While trying not to drown.

Once I felt sand on my belly and saw the surfboard stop moving on the shallow surf, I got up and screamed at John.

WHAT KIND OF SURFING "LESSON" WAS THIS??!?!” 

It was the equivalent of pushing someone off the high dive when they weren’t ready. 

Letting go on a two-wheeler without their permission.

“YOU COULD HAVE KILLED ME!” I wailed, but John didn't see it that way. 

He told me to...OMG...stop being a "baby" and come back to the water and try again. He was totally unfazed that he made me legitimately scared for my life.

“TRY AGAIN TO DO WHAT? TO GET PUSHED INTO ONCOMING OCEAN WAVE TRAFFIC?" I yelled. "I DON’T THINK SO!”

There was water all lodged in my ears, which gave me a pounding headache and the absolute last thing I was going to do was put my life into his hands again.

“Just ride the wave,” he kept saying, like those were easy instructions.

DOES A SCHOOL TEACHER JUST TELL A STUDENT TO ANSWER A TRIGONOMETRY PROBLEM WHEN THEY’VE NEVER DONE ADDITION???

(Also I'm pretty sure they have a no pushing policy.)

We broke up soon after, which wasn't surprising, and I haven't properly attempted to surf again, goofy foot or not.

So…uh…happy national teacher appreciation day…to the teachers who are patient and kind.

For those who are not, though…

...buy their nearest student a tequila shot.

;)

-Jenny

Preparing my presidential candidacy on my birthday

Today I am 33. Which on one hand (well not entirely one hand….more like 6.2 hands…uhhh nerd) sounds really OLD and then on the other hand, I still can’t run for president so I’m not old enough to officially be responsible for a nation.

So, I’m still young.

It’s also my twin sister, Joy’s birthday…her first birthday as a MARRIED woman, which is exciting and all, but she’s also not responsible enough to run a nation, ring or no ring.

Looking back, 32 was the year I noticed that my body was no longer Superhuman and there are repercussions for my constant gallivanting around town.

Hangovers started becoming crippling, for one thing. Trips out of town for vacation took longer to recover from. (I know, life is so hard.)

JESUS, WHERE IS MY CANE.

I can’t just work out at the gym for a week and see results immediately anymore.

I have to wear glasses almost exclusively now.

I turn down complimentary bread at restaurants with the excuse “older people” use about how “no thanks, I’m already ordering pasta and I don’t need any more carbs to go to my THIGHS!”

Ya'll...I SAW AN OLD DVD OF MY SO-CALLED LIFE AND IDENTIFIED WITH THE PARENTS.

(I will turn in my cool pass now.)

But 32 was a bitchin’ year all the same and I did a lot. More than some people do in a lifetime.

I traveled to Austin, Texas, Suwannee, Florida, Los Angeles, the Dominican Republic, New Orleans FIVE times, Edisto Beach, SC and Washington D.C. These were not work-related trips.

And yes, it took me a week to recover from each. 

(Especially Austin, I searched Twitter a week after my flight to see if anyone had posted a picture of a passed out blonde girl in cowboy boots sprawled on the floor of Concourse B.)

I was in three weddings at age 32.

Simultaneously, I joined, and then quit, Match.com. 

LOL

I got a dog! (No I did mean to non-sequitor DOG after mentioning Match.com, but it’s fitting, and it stays.)

I quickly learned that dogs get up at 7 a.m. every day to eat.

I’d like to think that even if my body is getting DUMBER each year (since when is it OK to just start rejecting my nightly bottle-of-wine-and-Netflix life choices, body???) 

...My brain is getting smarter.

I am realizing the financial benefits of staying in sometimes. (seriously, take away my cool card.)

I’m trying to be a better cook. 

Joy and I are finally selling the house we bought 8 years ago. These are all "smart choices," or so says Money Magazine.

Also, I’m reading Money Magazine.

In fact, currently, I am hobbling around because I pulled something in my leg while painting the ceiling of the bathroom last night.

(At least I didn’t try and balance on a bar stool in the tub this time. See? Getting SMARTER.)

At midnight last night, when it was officially my 33^rd birthday, I was scrubbing the sh*t out of my oven, head completely inside of it, like the witch from Hansel and Gretel.

…Not out with friends taking a tequila shot.

OH GOD, I’M OLD.

But even so, I’m hopeful and excited about what 33 has in store.

Because say what you will about my life choices, they aren’t boring. 

(Or cheap! –Citibank)

(BITE ME CITIBANK)

I'm going to try and write more. I am currently writing a pilot for a TV show, a mystery novel, a children's book and a young adult novel in which I hope to include a vampire. (#NeverStopHustling)

That should keep me busy for the next 365 days.

But if somehow, SOME WAY I find myself bored, it's good to know that in two years, I’ll be able to run for president.

:)

I think my dog will enjoy the White House lawn.

Oh, and, obviously...Joy for Vice-President. 

Here's to the BEST 33rd year ever.

-Jenny

VOTE FOR ME!

Cool Greyhound Mom

I ordered off Amazon “Adopting the Racing Greyhound,” but I didn’t make it to the end of the book because it told me I was doing everything wrong, so I closed it and threw it in my closet.

I’M A COOL MOM.

You may remember, I started fostering a retired Greyhound dog at the end of August, and, no surprise to anyone who’s ever fostered a dog...I officially adopted her.

YAY!!!

SHE’S ALL MINE!

MY FIRST DOG!!!

Hahahahahahahahaha

(Yes, I think it’s just as ridiculous when you post that with your human babies.)

The thing no one tells you when you first adopt a dog (or, apparently, have a baby haha) is that your phone’s camera roll will turn into nothing but pictures of your dog.

I can’t help it. I just find everything she does hilarious, especially the fact that she sleeps upside down in seemingly uncomfortable yoga-like positions (I think that's yoga) with her teeth showing.

Like so:

sleeping with her eyes open

And while there are a few kinks to work out, she has been a wonderful addition to my life.

The main thing that I didn’t consider when I decided to foster/adopt a dog (also with babies I hear): they get up really F-ing early.

No matter what time we eventually go to my bedroom and properly go to bed...it could be 10 p.m. or 2 a.m., her internal clock wakes her up at 6:45 a.m. to eat and be let out.

Sometimes she even wakes up at 5:45 a.m. and then I tell her half-asleep “go lay down,” which someone else must have trained her to know, because she sighs loudly and goes and lays back down and that generally buys me about 45 minutes more of sleep.

I am working on a solution to this: on my list for Santa is an automatic dog feeder. This way, she can count on a robot to give her food in the morning.

I’M A LAZY COOL MOM.

Hahahaha

Another issue is whining. She whines a lot when I’m not 100 percent looking at her or paying attention to her, at least for the first 20 minutes I arrive home after work.

She whines outside the door if I go pee in the bathroom, she whines when I walk in with 15 water glasses stacked up (when I get a wild hair to clean out my car) and can’t bend down and hug her ASAP.

But I have found another solution for this: THROW MORE TREATS AT HER.

Just kidding. I’m going to pay a trainer to come figure out how to curb the whining.

I envision the trainer will be like the human form of the automatic feeding robot, i.e. do all the work for me.

Haha

Since she’s my first dog, I was paranoid about everything (same with babies, no?)—IS THAT A SPIDER BITE??? WHY IS SHE DRINKING SO MUCH WATER??? WHAT IS WITH ALL THE FARTING???

But thankfully, Greyhounds are the oldest breed in the world (they are mentioned in the Bible for crying out loud...uhhh according to “Adopting the Racing Greyhound” anyway) and as such, they’ve been heavily studied and written about ad naseum.

And since they’ve been purebred for centuries and centuries and haven’t been EFFED with, they are exactly the same as what everyone says. 

Once they are “retired,” Greyhounds are smart enough to turn into couch potatoes and sleep for a million hours a day.

WHO NEEDS TO RETRIEVE ANYTHING??? IDIOT BREEDS! BE MORE LIKE CATS!

And that’s exactly what she is: A 68-pound cat.

CATS THAT ARRIVE ALREADY HOUSE-TRAINED!

Here are some other Greyhound universal truths:

-Greyhounds sleep with their eyes open.

-They like big, soft mats because they have no meat on their bones. They won't lay down on a hard floor and will whine if there is no soft mat option. 

-They become confused looking at themselves in a mirror, and often growl at their reflections.

-They don’t bark.

-They only like soft, squeaky toys.

(My twin sister, Joy, tried to challenge this theory and bought her a non-edible hard bone. It has not been touched.)

This is the only toy I will play with!!!!!

-They sleep on their backs and in weird stretchy positions (seen above, and confirmed by the hashtag #greyhoundsofinstagram that I constantly look at).

It’s nice having a dog that’s already all figured out. It calms my neurotic mind. When I type into Google “why does my greyhound have diarr...” (lol) there are 1,000 pages addressing it already.

The best part, though, LIKE BABIES!, is seeing the world through the greyhound's eyes. 

While you never really know the background of a rescue dog or what it’s done and what it’s seen, you pretty much know that a greyhound hasn’t seen anything its whole life besides a track and the inside of a kennel.

Swimming was a huge, new experience, and she cautiously put her paws into the little lake at the dog park and immediately ran away. 

Greyhounds have never swam before. Why would they need to? 

Stairs were also a challenge, since Greyhounds have never had to use stairs (we’re still working on the “down” part)

But she also has her unique qualities. 

She scales the perimeter of my bed rubbing her face along the side of it every morning, which is odd, but I guess she’s never had anything like that to rub her face on before. 

...Or else she’s marking me.

She loves to hate cats and thoughtfully chases squirrels while on a leash and runs in circles in the backyard. 

She has no hair on her butt from sitting in a kennel for 23 hours a day her whole life.

BUT SHE’S STILL MY NEW BEST FRIEND!

And she’s positively impacted my life. 

I’ve stopped taking afternoon naps because of her (dog walks and trips to the dog park take precedence), which in turn makes me go to bed earlier because when you stop taking afternoon naps, you go to sleep at appropriate times at night.

She’s made me more responsible about money because she eats 3 cups of food a day plus TREATS THROWN AT HER after work and all those soft, squeaky toys aren't cheap.

But most importantly, I think about her all day long, and can’t wait to come home and drop to the floor and hug her and tell her that she’s a needle nose but that’s OK because she’s the most beautiful greyhound in the whole world.

:)

BECAUSE I’M A COOL MOM.

-Jenny

The (artificially) sweetest breakup

I’ve done something I thought I’d never do. Something I didn’t even think was possible: I gave up Diet Coke.

Diet Coke!!! My bread and butter! (Umm...wait, that’s not right...)

For the past ten years, maybe more, but definitely an entire DECADE, I’ve drank two cans of Diet Coke a day, sometimes three when I was feeling particularly hungover tired.

I would regularly buy fridge packs and every weekday morning I’d take two cold, beautiful cans out of the box; one for my drive to work and one for lunch, panicking when I noticed I was running low.

...Buying a big gulp for 89 cents at the gas station when I was really desperate.

I used it as a coffee replacement (since coffee is BLECH) and drank it before 9 a.m. which is gross, and I learned to enjoy the sweet, metallic taste knowing that alertness was on the other side.

I ignored everyone’s warnings about sugar substitutes, about how Diet Coke can burn battery acid off a corroded car battery, how it causes cellulite, how it’s really green “EWWWWWWW” before they add all their fake colors to it, but I didn’t care.

2 cans a day, doctors orders.

Drinking this as I'm late to work #irony #dietcoke #canistillhaveit

A photo posted by Genevieve (@jennyjenny504) on Jul 18, 2014 at 6:43am PDT

But then, one day last month, I realized my heart wasn’t into it anymore. 

No, like, literally. Diet Coke gave me heartburn.

It was all of a sudden, too, one day there I was minding my own business as I drank my morning CRACK and the next thing I knew I was howling because I felt like ASS(partame).

  

What was this horrible feeling in my gut? This BURNING (like a corroded car battery) INSIDE MY STOMACH?!?!?!

And, because I have no concept of cause-and-effect, I decided to drink another Diet Coke because I thought that was going to fix it.

But that made it worse. I was only able to take three sips of it and dumped the rest of the can out. (Blasphemy.)

I soon realized the problem was Diet Coke. And no amount of Diet Coke could solve it.

And then something else happened that I didn’t think was possible: I don’t even miss it.

It has been a totally unremarkable change in my life. It turns out that DIET COKE NEEDED ME MORE THAN I NEEDED IT.

The opposite of I’LL NEVER LET GO JACK. I let go. And it has saved me $4.95 a week in fridge packs.

My caffeine intake now comes from Chai tea, because it says right there on the box that it has more caffeine than soda and it makes your breath—no your whole FACE, actually—smell like cinnamon.

I brewed an entire pitcher of it the other day (South Carolina, ya’ll) and I’ve been pouring it over ice with milk in the mornings. 

The best part is that it looks like iced coffee!!! 

LOOK I’M NO LONGER GROSS AND DRINKING SODAS AT 9 A.M.!

I’M AN ADULT!!!!

And adult faces smell like cinnamon.

-Jenny

TOOLBAG TUESDAY (sort of)

I used to write a lot about how odd and hilarious (well, hilarious in retrospect) things regularly happen to me and my twin sister, Joy.

How we sometimes think we’re on The Truman Show and situations have been specifically planted in our lives for audiences’ viewing pleasure.

Like when Joy had to return an air mattress to Wal Mart because it was too short in length.

It was bought specifically for our visiting guy friend (who wasn’t THAT tall) to sleep on for a few days, but his calves hung over the edge of the mattress nightly.

But when Joy brought the mattress back to Wal Mart, a dwarf person was working the customer service counter and Joy struggled to explain that the problem was that the mattress was too short.

She ended up with a very eloquent, “It...er...well, it doesn’t fit a normal-sized person” and then she left red-faced, much more embarrassed than the dwarf person, who didn’t even really need a reason for returning.

Hahaha

I took one for The Truman Show team last week when I was at a work thing with a photographer taking photos of a large group of men for a newspaper spread, and my shoe broke.

UGH

Broke badly. Not just a heel...but the single strap that kept the shoe on my foot broke.

WHILE THEY WERE ALL STARING RIGHT AT ME, POSING FOR THE PHOTO. 

I didn’t know what to do, so I pretended nothing happened at all and raised one foot up like a flamingo (only  less gracefully) and stood one-legged as the photographer kept snapping pictures, my lone abandoned shoe on the ground.

And no one said anything!!

Not one person said anything!!!

Not when I stood one-footed in the hot concrete parking lot, not when I scooped up my shoe from the ground after the shoot was over, not after I had to transfer my shoe to the other hand in order to shake the hand of the president of the company.

AHAHAHA 

Nice to meet you sir!!!

Not when I hobbled one-footed back to my car on tiptoe, the hot concrete scorching the delicate pad of my foot.

“No one helped you??” my aunt asked when I recapped my day to her on the phone.

“No,” I said. “No one even mentioned it!”

“There were 20 guys there and not ONE of them helped you when your shoe broke???” she said. “Well, that’s ridiculous!”

“What were they supposed to do? Give me a piggyback ride?” I asked. “It was pretty much the most unprofessional thing that could have happened. Maybe they were just being nice to ignore it.”

“You know, men don’t even notice women’s shoes,” my mom pointed out. “I bet they didn’t even notice that you weren’t wearing one.”

Maybe she was right. It was strange that no one said anything. 

No one even laughed!

I DON’T KNOW WHY THESE THINGS HAPPEN TO ME.

THIS IS WHY I HAVE A WINE ADDICTION.

But I guess that’s just the title of this episode of The Truman Show: How I burned the bottom of my foot in a parking lot with nearly two dozen men as witnesses.

Also, when in doubt...offer a girl a piggyback ride.

-Jenny

TOOLBAG TUESDAY

Any guy who has ever had a girlfriend (or has ever read an effing CATHY comic) knows it’s NOT OK to talk about how pretty other girls are because society sucks and it makes us feel bad about ourselves.

I mean...have there not been enough Tyler Perry movies going over this?

Besides...do you REALLY want to be on the receiving end of: “Oh, you think Keira Knightly is the hottest person in the world??  Basically someone who looks the complete opposite of me?? Well, then what are you doing dating ME for??!?!?!?

Um.

For example.

But it’s one thing to carelessly mention in passing that a particular actress or singer is attractive, or maybe even the copy store girl (R.I.P.....F.R.I.E.N.D.S).

...It’s quite another to go OUT OF YOUR WAY to tell someone that another girl is “hot” when nobody asked your opinion, ThankYouVeryMuch.

But to be fair, nobody ever accused Kurt of NOT being a sleaze. (sleeze??)

Kurt was a rich and successful banker, attractive enough, and had the asshole aura to prove it.

My friend Sara knew him as a colleague, when she did marketing for a firm that worked in finance. 

It was part of her job to schmooze with bankers and Sara had had met Kurt at a number of work and networking functions and they chatted many times.

Of all the sleazy bankers she dealt with, Kurt was the one who would routinely come up to her and make flirty talk while staring at her chest. 

While wearing a wedding ring.

Kurt enjoyed every second of the attention Sara gave him, even though his bank never used her firm’s services.

Ugh. That guy.

After four years, Sara moved jobs to one NOT in finance and enjoyed her new-found freedom of not having to schmooze with A-holes.

But then, she found herself face to face with the biggest one two weeks later on a weekend night at the end of a very long pub crawl.

Sara had been out with her friends and was at the bar trying to order a drink when Kurt came up to her and tapped her on the shoulder.

“Oh, hey!” Sara said. “Long time no see!”

It was a time for Kurt to ask her how her new job was going, make a joke about banking, ask what she was doing now, I don't know... ANYTHING IN THE WORLD.

But he decided to lead off with this:

“I met your replacement,” he said smugly. 

“...She is SO. HOT.”

His wedding ring gleamed in the dimly-lit bar.

“Um...Ok,” Sara said. She didn't know the firm had even hired a replacement.

“I mean....just....really. Hot,” Kurt said, again. Smugly. Again.

He searched Sara’s face for a reaction.

The sad truth was that Sara actually felt a sting of jealousy because society sucks and statements like that make women feel bad themselves.

But ALSO, when you hold a job somewhere for years and years, you don’t want to hear about your replacement being the hottest new thing on the block.

Like..."Yea, the minute she started, everyone forgot your name!!!”

So...doubly offensive.

Sara tried to steer the conversation to professionalism, not appearances.  

“Well, how did she do at that big convention in New York? Did she go?” Sara asked, remembering the biggest marketing event of the year.

“Yea she went...and everyone was just OBSESSED WITH HER because she is so GORGEOUS."

"Like, all the bankers are just in LOVE with her. She's going to do really well.”

UGH.

Sara didn’t know how to respond because COLD POTATOES DON'T TALK.

But it didn't matter anyway because Kurt then walked away. 

Walked away!!!

He didn't say bye, he didn't ask her how her new job was, he didn't even ask her where she was working now.

WTF!

Did he really just come over to specifically tell her about her super hot replacement??

NO FEMALE WOULD EVER SAY THAT TO A GUY. EVER.

The annoying part was that it worked. 

At that moment Sara wished she was taller, and thinner and looked down at her outfit, frowning.

It was so sad.

...all thanks to a sleazy DOUCHE....WHO WAS MARRIED.

UGH.

What did Kurt possibly hope to get out of that conversation??

More smugness??

Was he expecting a, "Oh, KURT, I feel so self-conscious now...let's have sex"  ???????

??????

It’s not very often that I wish I could punch someone in the face, but I’ll make an exception for Kurt.

And now that I think about it, I wish I could call his wife and tell her to leave his stupid, sexist ass.

And then glue Cathy comics to his face.

-Jenny