TOOLBAG TUESDAY

I always thought it would be awesome to date a writer, and that’s not just because I am one. 

It’s because it’s one of those jobs where the person you are dating can get perks from it.

Need a report written? Done.

Need a cover letter for a job? Sure— AP or Chicago Manual Style?

More importantly: DO YOU WANT PUBLICITY FOR YOUR PROJECT/BUSINESS/WHATEVER PUBLISHED IN THE PAPER?

No problem.

But Henry, this guy who my friend Ashley dated, found a problem with that setup. Toolbags usually do.

Henry owned a new bar that opened in New Orleans and Ashley, my writer friend, met him at the grand opening.

She was there to write about the place, as part of an overall list of new things to do this summer. 

Ashley was a freelance writer who the newspaper called to write about new openings and she was excited to get experience under her belt.

Ashley was pleasantly surprised to notice how hot Henry was and they exchanged numbers and it quickly got…uh…not entirely professional.

Ha

She told him about her work as a freelance writer—which he was seemingly impressed with—even though she was just starting out with smaller assignments.

She wrote a nice write-up on Henry’s new bar, which was a one paragraph description in an online blog about the 10 best new spots to try, but rather than be excited or beam that the girl he was dating was a published EFFING writer for a very prominent newspaper, he threw a fit.

Was it because she got his name wrong?

Was it because she said he served $1 hot dogs when he did not?

No. 

He was just an asshole.

“If your editor wants the REAL story on the bar, tell her to email me. Not that fluff you wrote about,” Henry texted after it went online.

??!?!?!?

WHAT??

FLUFF??!!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The whole LIST was fluff—it was just a list of places to go, BuzzFeed style. 

This wasn’t a novel on his “journey” for F*CKS sake.

But, way to be grateful, Henry.

Now, telling a writer that something he or she has written is anything less than perfect stings. 

Having the guy you’ve been sleeping with for two months criticize your work even though it was FREE PUBLICITY is completely unacceptable.

“I’ll have my editor call you directly,” Ashley wrote back, furious.

Henry then waxed on about how Ashley is a NOBODY and she should have better dreams and goals than just writing “fluff.”

!!!!!!!!!

??????

Seriously, rather than be encouraging or even being clever and suggesting new articles for her to write (about his bar), or even hiring her to write his own publicity pieces, he just started belittling her.

Ashley stopped texting him back of course—no sense for a writer to waste words on someone who is downright mean and ungrateful.

Also, ahem, HENRY, it takes a lot of nerve for someone to get an ego that big over a bar that has gotten many 1 and 2-star reviews on Yelp.

Haha

I guess writers do win sometimes.

-Jenny

TOOLBAG TUESDAY

Boys can be so MEAN. (FYI: I just realized that “mean” is really “men” with an extra vowel hahaha)

Also mean? Massive work deadlines that I’m under, so I CAN’T write a long Toolbag Tuesday story today with a moral and everything.

I know...I’m so mean.

But what I CAN do is post notes from Toolbag Tuesday submissions I’ve received that have NO moral.

The ones with a certain WTF quality about them...you know, where I don’t want any more information.

So without further ado, I give you: MEAN BOYS COMPILATION, TAKE 1:

1.) He dutch-ovened me on a one-night stand and then stole my shoes. (Ed note: hahahahaha I actually should get more information about this.)

2.) Immediately said "don't tell Britney about this" after we hooked up (Britney is my best friend.)

3.) I planned a very sexy celebration weekend for his birthday and found out at dinner that he had actually gone out for his birthday (on the actual day) but I was not invited.

4.) Flew back to visit my long-distance boyfriend for the holidays after almost six months away and asked him, “So what are we doing for New Years?" And he said, "As of now, I’m going hunting."

5.) He had a ticket to go to France and then broke the news the day before he left that he was actually going to visit his ex-girlfriend there. He promised they were just friends and he’d email me all the time. I got one email from him, of a photo of a busted statue from a museum with no subject, note or description. He never called me again even after he returned.

6.) Picked a fight with me because he said I “cut green onions wrong” when I was making us nachos and it made him question our entire relationship.

7.) Found out he was picking up men AND women on Craig’s List, only because I got a notification that he changed our Craig’s List password. He was using the same account we had used to sell our sofa.

8.) Hooked up with a guy and the next day had a mutual friend/co-worker of his find out if he liked me, and he told her that he was actually secretly in love with her and asked her out to dinner that night.

...I mean, can there possibly be a moral to any of these??? 

Other than....just DON’T do any of these things, because they're really, really mean??

It’s common sense, really:

Don’t steal your one-night stand's shoes.
Don’t pick up people on Craig’s List.

..And make your own damn nachos.

Got a Toolbag Tuesday story? 

Email me at JennyJenny504@gmail.com

-Jenny

TOOLBAG TUESDAY

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.

I CAN BRING A PROPER DATE!?!?!

SOMEONE OF THE OPPOSITE SEX?!!?!

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.

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.

NO.

“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.”

WHAT???

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...”

UGH.

UGH!!!!!

Seriously??

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??

JOY WOULD NEVER HAVE PULLED THAT SHIT!!!!

(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.

“HEY, GUESS WHAT??” I said. “I’M TELLING PEOPLE THAT I HAVE A BOYFRIEND. WHEN YOU DON’T SHOW UP TO THINGS LIKE THIS AND HAVE NO REAL REASON WHY NOT, IT MAKES ME LOOK BAD.

IT MAKES ME FEEL BAD.”

“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.

Hahahahahahahahahahahaha

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

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. 

:)

-Jenny

TOOLBAG TUESDAY

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.

HAHAHAHA

Pussy CONTROL!!!

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

Why?

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.

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!!”

READ ALL ABOUT IT!!

HAHAHA

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.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!

LIVE-IN GIRLFRIEND!!

BUSTED!!! BY THE NEWSPAPER!

JOURNALISM!!! EFF YEA!!

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.

!!!!!!!

LIVING IN A TENT WITH HIS LIVE-IN GIRLFRIEND!

HAMBURG MY ASS!!

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.

Ugh.

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.

-Jenny

Dance mom

(Yes, I know Mother’s Day was Sunday. And yes, my card to her was two days late. Guess who I inherited this from.)

It’s always good to do new things with your mom. It’s really helpful when you live in a colorful city like New Orleans, where there’s always something new to do.

My earliest memory is celebrating Mardi Gras in the French Quarter.

Our parents lived in the French Quarter before moving to buy a house a mile away and they would bring us — their small children — to the French Quarter on Mardi Gras day. They would sit my twin sister Joy, older brother Franklin and me on newspaper stands and hang out all day.

“And the gay men were always so nice about you kids being there— they would always cover up when they’d see you sitting there,” my mom recalls.

I didn’t know what she was talking about until two years after she first  said it.

And even then, I thought she was talking about their butts.

Ha

I believe this was Franklin’s “Freddy Kruger” stage

Bringing elementary school children to the French Quarter on Mardi Gras would have seemed strange to people outside of New Orleans, even people from New York like my mom.

But it was so fun!! We would point out the best costumes people wore – we distinctly remember two professionally-done Energizer bunny costumes and watched them from across Esplanade Avenue with wide-eyed wonder.

We remembered those costumes for years after that Mardi Gras. 

"Remember those Energizer bunnies???"

I still do.

(keeeeeeeps going!...)

In high school, another New Orleans thing happened: Joy and I somehow became engrossed in swing dancing.

We were 16 and learned how to swing dance at Rock n’ Bowl, a still-famous bowling alley and music venue.

Every Thursday was bona fide swing dancing night with Johnny Angel and the Swinging Demons with a beautiful singer named Julia LaShay (I can’t believe I still remember her name!! Yea long-term memory!!), but we couldn’t get in because we were under 18.

So, for well over a year, our mom would BRING US TO ROCK N’ BOWL at 8 p.m. ON A SCHOOL NIGHT (I KNOW!!) with our friends (I KNOW!!) and we’d all dance for a few hour with each other, and select strangers who asked nicely.

If anyone old and creepy, or drunk and sloppy (or all four combined) tried to dance with us, our mom would step in and politely tell them no, no thank you. (These rules still apply to my dancing with strangers policy.)

Our mom knew how to swing dance, because there is very little someone who lived in the French Quarter DOESN’T know how to do.

A family friend even met her husband at Rock n' Bowl and they still today are the best swing dancing married couple I’ve ever seen. (My mom still talks about their amazing first dance as a couple.)

It’s fair to say there’s a lot of dancing in my mom and my relationship.

My mom and I danced at the first Jazz Fest following Hurricane Katrina when Lionel Ritchie took over for Fats Domino.

I was living in South Carolina then, like I am now, but Joy and I drove down for Jazz Fest, eight months after the hurricane hit.

It was the first time that it felt normal afterwards even though it so, so, so wasn’t, and when Fats Domino had a last-minute health emergency and had to cancel, everyone was somber.

But then Lionel Ritchie came out in his place, and knowing the enormity of the shoes he had to fill – the last performer on the last day of Jazz Fest 2006...and taking place for Fats Domino – he performed harder than any other artist I’ve ever seen to date. He absolutely killed it. He loves New Orleans.

“I’m gonna sing every Commodores song I can remember even if it violates copyright!” he screamed and everyone laughed and cheered.

I turned that Jazz Fest trip into an article when I got back to my job as a newspaper reporter in South Carolina.

And I put a picture of me and my mom dancing together as the photo to go along with the article and my mom ordered a framed copy. It still hangs today on a very frequented wall in my parents’ house. 

I know...how can you top Lionel, right??

What else could my mom and I possibly do new together?

(Ed note: My mom and I have also been horseback riding, water skiing, sat through the absolute worst improv comedy we’ve ever seen, a New Orleans “fringe” dance show with dancers emulating park animals, live plays and shorts about the importance of costuming on Mardi Gras.)

Certainly, there are attempts to do new things, like the yearly “let’s all go water-rafting” email from my mom and Joy that my dad, brother and I politely ignore (haha).

I didn’t think there was much left that we haven’t done.

But then I remembered that…duh…my mom and I have never danced together to a 1920s dance before!!

(forehead slap!)

Of course! It was one of the most fun experience I’ve ever had!

It was my last two months living in New Orleans and it was the perfect way to get in one more experience.

So I asked, and then begged her to come with me to the new session of The Chrous Girl Project. She caved.

We’d practice diligently during the week, the night I’d stop by my parents’ house to eat dinner. After we’d eat, my mom and I would stand in front of the computer, we’d pull up the video, pull back the rug and dance on the hardwood floor.

The day of our public (“non-living room”) performance, I even did my mom’s eye makeup (even with my very little knowledge about such things).

I remember my mom was so supportive, she made me feel better when I had a mild panic attack before the performance during rehearsals because I kept missing a cue.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be way worse than you,” she said. “And we’re dancing side by side.”

I felt better.

“Ok, don’t stop smiling whole time,” I countered.

It was one of those “only in New Orleans” moments where everything just comes together and would not have anywhere else in the world – my mom and I dancing together! In a line! In sync! To a 1920s dance! In public! 

APPLAUSE APPLAUSE APPLAUSE!!

We loved it!! And she's still doing it!!!

It’s good to do new things with mom, especially if you have a mom that likes to do stuff and you really enjoy her company.

I wish I was dancing with her today…er…Mother’s Day…because ever since I moved back to South Carolina last December, I really miss my dancing partner. And her company.

But I will take comfort in the fact that there is always something new to do and I can’t wait to see what we’ll do together next.

But seriously.

No whitewater rafting.

Ha

LOVE YOU MOM!!!!

-Jenny

How it’s going

It’s been three weeks since I moved from New Orleans to South Carolina, and it’s been hard convincing myself that I’m NOT really just on vacation.

Maybe it’s because I moved over Christmas, a vacation for everyone, and then it was New Years, a vacation for everyone and maybe it’s because all my things are still in boxes. Uh...that’s normal right??

Or MAYBE it’s because no one has PINCHED me yet!!!

Because — and I wish I could say this more succinctly — I LOVE being back here. 

So much so that I feel like God is going to play a sick joke and two big fingers will come down and pluck me away saying, “YOU don’t deserve this, silly little girl!!! Muhahahahaha!!!!”

(My New Year’s resolution to be less neurotic is *really* working out, guys)

I love that I live with and IP-SO FACT-O get to see my twin sister, Joy, in person every day.

And I can’t wait to go on (and blog about) Joy’s embarrassing moments new adventures after three-and-a-half years of being long-distance twins.

I love that my best friend Meredith also moved from New Orleans to South Carolina and we either talk or see each other every day. And how she’s going to teach me how to surf this summer.

And I love my new job here. LOVE!!!

(DON’T SNATCH ME AWAY, BIG FINGER!!)

I know I’ve only been at the job for six days, but LOVE. LOVE LOVE. LOVE.

I know! I hate me too!!! 

BEST VACATION EVER!!!

It’s really nice being in a functioning work environment with people who care about what they’re doing and care about the news print product.

And who buy popcorn for the break room.

And I get a window!! I haven’t seen the light at work in YEARS! Haha

(I’ve already been distracted by heavy rain, in case you were wondering.)

It’s also been easier than I thought getting back into the mix with my friends here. Not that I thought it would be hard, but everyone is still great and I still fit in. And my new roommate, (besides Joy) Marie, is fantastic.

I know, PUKE right!!!

But wait...don’t sign me off yet!!!

Three things have been hard:

1.) Missing my New Orleans friends

2.) Explaining my move to people and

3.) Sleep.

Oh man, sleep.

I have nightmare-d everything possible in the past three weeks, from feral cats clawing at my face, car brakes going out, my car wheels FALLING OFF mid-drive, and of course, the classic: trying to plead for help to a group of people and no one will listen.

PAY ATTENTION TO ME!!!!!!!!!!

(Hmmm. Maybe that’s not a dream.)

On missing my New Orleans friends: I MISS MY NEW ORLEANS FRIENDS!! 

I look at everyone’s Facebook pages and the contact list in my phone after I’ve had wine and get sad.

And yesterday when I worked out at Crossfit, (trial classes, don’t expect me to hashtag it like everyone else. Cult.), it reminded me of these workout classes I took at a martial arts gym in New Orleans where my friends worked out with me and I got a little choked up.

Really. Choked up. Right by the pullup bar.

And can we talk about the SAINTS and how no one gives a shit about them here??? 

I’m in stupid PANTHER land with stupid Cam Newton who is NOT Superman and NOT Clark Kent and shooooo I would NOT be his Lois Lane, even though I’m a reporter and wear glasses (AND HAVE A WINDOW!!)

I remember this story about how my friend was grocery shopping at Conseco’s in New Orleans and some lady employee came on the overhead speaker just to say WHO DAT WHO DAT WHO DAT really fast and then hung up. No specials on produce or anything.

Now when I say to people “BLACK AND GOLD SUUU-PA BOWL!” they just laugh at me.

And the explaining my move to people.

“I just moved back from New Orleans. No, I’m not from here, I just used to live here. I went to college here and then stayed for ten years. That’s why I say ‘moved back.’ I’m not, like, new.”

“I moved back to New Orleans three-and-a-half years ago, and now I moved back here.”

“I’m bi-coastal. Gulf and East.”

Ha

Well, I guess it’s not that hard to explain.

Ok so TWO things have been hard. (That’s what she said?)

Two ain’t bad.

Yay vacay.

-Jenny                           

Welp, I don’t live in New Orleans anymore

What a dramatic headline!!

And not entirely true. I am still living in New Orleans. For 19 more days.

And then I’m moving back to South Carolina, where life made sense.

Even more dramatic!!

But, yes, in all seriousness, after three years of living in New Orleans where I grew up, I am moving back to the only other place I’ve ever lived, near the beach.

It’s not just the beach that’s drawing me back. It’s my twin sister, Joy, whom I’ve missed living with terribly; it’s a new job that I accepted up there, and the job that kicked me to the curb here.

And while everyone always posts on Facebook how wonderful New Orleans is – and I don’t disagree, New Orleans is wonderful, especially between the months of October and May with football season, Mardi Gras and Jazz Fest – for me, living here has been a struggle.

Not a struggle everyday, but pretty consistently.

It’s been a struggle to find a satisfying job, a struggle to find a satisfying relationship. A struggle to be happy.

A struggle to stay sober.

Ha.

I’ll go into it more in future blog posts, because living in New Orleans has certainly shaped me, but I just needed this stream of consciousness because leaving is all that’s on my mind.

I am going to miss the city and all of the wonderful characters and celebrations, how everything and everyone is so full of life. How there's always something to do and how it’s impossible to embarrass yourself in public.

I even walked with my friend down Bourbon Street yesterday (the crappy part even!!) and found it incredibly beautiful.

I’m especially going to miss my parents, the wonderful friends I’ve made and the old friends I’ve reconnected with. The friends who lifted me up when I was truly down, the friends who taught me how to live, the friends who taught me about true friendship (cue music).

New Orleans is an incredibly small city, no matter how many new people move to town.  There’s no place like it in the world. I know this. I’m lucky to have been raised here, lucky to have lived here for the past few years. 

I used to write in this blog about how much I missed it, and now I’m packing up and leaving.  

I’ll be back, of course: “She is a New Orleans girl, and New Orleans girls never live anywhere else and even if they do, they always come back. That's just the way it is. This is where she belongs. End of discussion.” – Chris Rose.

But right now is not the right time for me and this city. I've been a curmudgeon; I've blamed New Orleans for all my setbacks and that's not fair.  

And as they say here, be nice or leave.

I’ve accepted a job in South Carolina as an associate editor of a magazine (ahhh!!!) and I start at the beginning of 2014.

A new leaf, ya’ll!!!

Even the universe is on my side.

In early October, right around the time I said for real I was moving back to South Carolina, I got my tarot cards read in the French Quarter for my roommate’s birthday.

The reader guy said to pick a deck of cards that most appealed to me and shuffle them until I felt “good” about it. Then I was told to close my eyes and think about a question in which I was seeking an answer.

I didn’t say the question out loud, but I asked over and over in my head, “Is moving back to South Carolina a good decision? Is moving back to South Carolina a good decision?”

The cards were flipped one by one, and immediately the first card announced a big move in my life. Not “change” but “move.” My eyebrows raised.

And it was a good move! The universe’s blessing!

The man said I’d grow both spiritually and personally with this move but I had to tie up loose ends in my current state (haha inadvertent pun) and let go of the past in order to move forward.

It was incredibly inspiring.

And I'm listening to the cards. I’m letting go of the hard times in New Orleans, moving past feeling like a failure and looking at the city through a new lens (uh...a lens where Bourbon Street is beautiful, evidently. Haha).

  

I know I’ll be welcomed back with open arms by my parents, who will never leave the city, my wonderful NOLA friends and even the city itself, with its colorful artwork, year-long Mardi Gras bead-decorated trees, the food, the bars, the second lines, the music... my God, the music.

But I am looking forward to New Year’s Day at the beach where people gather at the ocean and jump in for a “Polar Bear Plunge”– a shock of cold ocean water that envelopes your entire body.

For me, it will be a purge of the last three years, letting go of the past and all my Big Easy heartaches, starting a new chapter, emerging anew.

And I take solace in the fact that I’ll be back. And not just to visit.

We always come back. 

That’s just the way it is.
End of discussion.

-Jenny