TOOLBAG TUESDAY

The moment you know  you've made the right decision by dumping a guy:

Hahahahahahahaha

Brings new meaning to the phrase "breakfast of champions."

Ugh. 

-Jenny

TOOLBAG TUESDAY

Hang back up the Dave Matthews Band and Josh Hartnett posters!!!

A college flashback is approaching.

John, this guy my friend Christina dated for a few months, not only broke the news to her that he had another girl, but he provided a horrible college flashback at the same time.

Remember this? : “Yea...my ‘hometown’ girlfriend is visiting this week. Well, we didn’t agree to ‘break up’ completely when I went away to college, so we’re sort of still together and I know I’ve never mentioned her before but....”

This is the hispter 2015 equivalent of that.

Only it wasn’t a clueless boy who just turned 18, it was a dude in his 30s.

John and Christina met through mutual friends and had a great courtship with dancing, dinners, sleepovers, camping and all kinds of other fun adventures.

Christina hadn’t been with anyone cool in a long time and thought John was something special. He actually told her that she was something special.

But then one day, he began acting funny, not returning Christina’s calls or texts.

“What’s going on?” she asked him after a particularly awkward home-cooked meal. “Why are you acting so weird all of a sudden?”

Then John broke the news.

“Well, because there’s this girl...sort of my girlfriend...,” he started.

WTF!!??!!?

“Well, we sort-of ‘broke up’ when she went to study clay-making in India (or some shit) for a few months...”

WTF!!?!?!?

“And we left things on weird terms...like we weren’t dating but we weren’t ‘broken up’ and, well, she’s coming back in two weeks...”

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

Hahahahahaha

He just left the sentence hanging there. Like Christina was supposed to finish it for him.

UGH.

“So...your GIRLFRIEND who you never told me about is coming back from India and ya’ll are going to get back together?” she asked. “That’s what you’re telling me?”

“She’s not technically my girlfriend!” John said. “We agreed we can see other people!”

Hahahahahaha

(John, you are late for philosophy 101 class).

Hahahahahaha

“Not your girlfriend...but she’d be mad that we slept together, right?” Christina asked.

Haha

“It’s just...really complicated,” John said. 

He said he and this India girl just had so much history, so many memories, you know, HIGH SCHOOL PROM.

Christina was already packing her backpack.

“You know, it would have been nice to mention her when we first met,” she said.

John stood there looking hurt.

Haha

I mean, really, though, what did he expect? Was Christina really supposed to hang around for 2 weeks pretending that everything was OK?

Put red slashes on her wall calendar leading up to the return of the girlfriend?

And if he really cared about Christina, why didn’t he tell his "ex"-girlfriend that he met someone new and tell her to just stay halfway across the world?

PLUS...who gets another girlfriend six seconds after their other one skips town?

Ugh.

Relationships are so hard when you’re 18 30 years old.

Now if you will excuse me, I have to bring Christina to a raging keg party to forget about all of this.

-Jenny

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

It never happens as cute as it does in the movies—nothing ever happens as cute as it does in the movies—where you meet a guy at a coffee shop, on a train, a bus, the gym and it’s just the perfect encounter.

No, it’s always something else—“yes, errr technically we met at a concert but we both were dating other people and then I bullied him into calling me after stalking him on Facebook for a month.” 

Or, "Yea, we met at a really cool  bar...where we decided to meet for our first online date.”

It’s never just plainly cute. Even if it starts out cute, like it did for my friend Molly when she met a guy at a gas station one Wednesday evening.

Yes. A guy she met at a gas station. 

Which I know doesn’t sound very cute, but wait. 

They didn't meet because he asked her for five cents to buy a loose cigarette or anything, but because she was behind him in line and she saw a scary bug on his back and flicked it off.

Haha

The guy turned around and Molly suddenly noticed how cute he was.

“Sorry...uhh...you had a bug on your back,” Molly said, blushing.

But rather than look at her like she was crazy, he asked, “Was it a scary bug?”

Cute.

“Yes,” she responded, smiling.

“Oh, well, thank God you were there. You saved my life,” he laughed.

He was buying a six-pack of beer.

Cute.

Haha

He dawdled a little so they both left the store at the same time and he offered her a beer from his six-pack for saving his life. 

She laughed and they introduced themselves to each other when he said, “Hey, do you want to go somewhere and grab a drink?”

“OK!” Molly said. It was crazy, but he was cute and nice and made her laugh and THIS COULD BE THE CUTEST HAPPILY EVER AFTER MOVIE PLOT EVER.

“Do you live around here?” he asked as he walked her to her car.

“No, but I work around here,” Molly said. “I work at the vet’s office right over there. I’m a veterinarian.”

“Oh yea?” he asked and Molly thought it was even cuter how impressed he was.

“Well, nevermind a drink. Come over to my house and take a look at my dog,” he said.

??????

Molly laughed again. 

But he wasn’t joking.

“Really, do you want to come over and look at my dog?” he asked, winking.

WHAT??!?!

WAS THIS SOME SORT OF EUPHEMISM?

“Umm...no,” Molly said. “I don’t go to strangers houses...”

...who I meet at gas stations, she said in her head.

“Well, OK, fine then,” he said, almost angrily. “Maybe I’ll see you at the VET’S OFFICE." 

!!!!!!!!!!???????

AND THEN HE LEFT.

LEFT!!!

HAHAHAHAHAHA

WHAT THE----??

HE ALREADY HAD HER IN THE PALM OF HIS HAND AGREEING TO MEET HIM FOR A DRINK AND HE LEFT HER. 

In the parking lot of the gas station.

LOL

His dog must be really "sick."

So no, this scenario would NOT make the cute encounter movie script. 

But it would be a comedy.

-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

EVERYONE DELETE TINDER!

THE CREEPS HAVE INFILTRATED!

(I know, this might not be new information to some people)

Creeps: people who just want to collect naked pictures from girls online and who have NO interest in checking out that new wine shop that opened down the street.

Most recently, this creeper named Chris. My friend Jessica matched up with Chris on Tinder. He was seemingly a nice guy and his Tinder profile specifically stated that he was “ready to settle down with the right person.”

LOLLOL

Jessica was hopeful because she, too, wanted to settle down with the right person. 

But then when they moved from Tinder chatting to real life texting, all Chris wanted was for her to send him an underwear picture.

Ummmm.....after-school special!!

Don’t do it Jessica!!

Jessica said Chris was seemingly a catch: he was cute, he wrote that he was a DOCTOR (LOL, sure) and they had plans to go out that Sunday evening when he got back into town. She gave him her phone number.

But then, his first text asked if she could send him “more pictures.”

Jessica, through her rose-colored glasses (which included blinders), thought maybe Chris just wanted to see if she looked like she did in her Tinder photos, so she sent him a picture of her at a concert from the week before.

He didn’t respond.

LOL

Then she said, “Send me a picture from New York City!”

Chris sent her a photo of the skyline.

“So pretty!” she wrote.

Jessica was admiring the skyscrapers photo, when Chris sent her another photo...of a hotel room suite.

HAHAHAHAHA

And then a picture of A HOTEL ROOM BED.

And then a picture of his abs.

OMG.

Who asked for a picture of his abs?!?!?

 LOL

(ED NOTE: AFTER FURTHER INSPECTION, THAT IS NOT A PICTURE TAKEN IN A HOTEL ROOM, HOTEL ROOMS DON’T HAVE CEILING FANS. 

I CALL FAKE ABS!!!)

Then he wrote, “I wish you were here. I’d take you out tonight to the XX lounge it’s hot.”

Um what?

I wish you were here??

(Clarification: he wishes she was there...in his bed)

Jessica didn’t know how to respond to any of the pictures.

There was nothing in her Tinder profile or otherwise that made it seem like she was into greasy ab pics OR hotel room beds.

She said something like “well have fun at a cool bar, I’m at work. It’s boring here”

...which Chris obviously didn’t read because he wrote, “Your turn to send a photo."

Jessica sent him another picture of her at the concert, hahaha

“That doesn’t count at all” Chris wrote.

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

HAHAHAHAHAHA

“That doesn’t count at all.”

DOESN’T COUNT!!!

Who tells a girl that a cute photo of her at a concert DOESN’T COUNT?!?!

CHRIS doesn’t count!!!!!!!!

When she realized that all he wanted was a nudie picture, she stopped texting him immediately.

And once Chris realized that she wasn’t going to text him a nudie picture, he too, stopped texting immediately.

!!!

HAHAHA

SEE YA!!!

Seriously, their 10-text total exchange ended with a cute photo of her and then his super thoughtful, “that doesn’t count at all” 

A week passed and their Sunday night plans were never mentioned as the weekend came and went.

LOL

What a douche!

Even more devastating, Jessica told her friends at the gym about it thinking it was an isolated douche incident, but then kept hearing story after story from girls who said the same thing happened to them!

Creep-trolls on Tinder only looking for naked pics!!!

Under the guise of saying they are “ready to settle down with the right person.”

(Also acting like a shirtless abs pic with no face is the equivalent of a girl in her bra and panties.)

UGH

This is an infiltration!!!

EVERYONE DELETE TINDER!!!

Make it count.

-Jenny