TOOLBAG TUESDAY

In my first year in college, when I was traveling home by plane to New Orleans every three months for holidays and semester breaks, I decided I would be SUPER cool and attach a pair of ballet pointe shoes to my carry-on bag.

I wasn't a ballerina. 

I just wanted people to think I was.

"Oh, yea, I'm just going to another…uh, recital," I would have said, had anyone had asked me about the tattered shoes that originally came from my friend from middle school.

It was amusing, fantasizing about my second-life where I was this beautiful ballerina and everyone in the airport knew it as I floated from terminal to terminal to…the Nathan's Hot Dog line. 

No one ever asked me about my formal training during those trips, though, haha, so I don't know how I would have reacted. 

Would I have pretended my old life as a college student didn't exist and replace it with tales of international ballet auditions? 

"I go around the country to observe swans. I'm actually going to Brussels right now!"

That's the thing about traveling alone: it's the easiest way to deceive someone.  

No one knows who you are, where you're from or where you're going. They can't even peek at your phone because it's (supposed to be) in "airplane mode." 

The only real known of a stranger is what seat they're in and, if they've made it through security, they don't have a bomb up their butt. 

Yet, many people take WAY more advantage of this anonymity than affixing scuffed ballet shoes on their bag pretending to be disciplined.

I think some of these "business travelers" have a wiring glitch, where they completely forget their old lives when they're on the road.

Or, you know, they just want to get laid. 

Steve, this guy my friend Mary met on an airplane last year had it all figured out. He was no ballerina, but he was a business traveller, a successful realtor and wore a suit and tie. 

He was traveling to the expensive beaches off Florida to do an appraisal for something, he said. Everything about him was attractive. 

Mary was flying home from visiting her parents back to Florida where she lived and she and Steve started flirting and MILE-HIGH KISSING and pretty soon they had a date to grab drinks after he was done with his "real estate" business.

(She should have asked for a card.)

Steve waxed on for hours about his job and his life in New York City over drinks. He was this perfect bachelor who seemed to have it all. Mary was completely head over heels for him. She wanted to go to New York.

So, she slept with him. She woke up refreshed in his hotel room.

Nothing about Steve screamed phony (as would a simple plié had I been called out for my ballet skills), and Mary got his number and looked forward to the next time he was down in the area for "business."

But he never returned her calls or texts. Mary was confused. 

He had said nothing but syrupy sweet things to her all night! Suddenly he leaves and forgets her completely?

She was convinced there was a connection; that she'd break him of his bachelor-hood and he'd be with her forever. 

SO WHAT WAS GOING ON??? 

Her visions of visiting him in New York and telling everyone the cute story about how they met on a plane - serendipity! - quickly turned to a frown and furrowed brow after days of no response. 

So she took to internet stalking him.

Funny, Steve didn't show up as a major real estate agent when she Googled him. Or…any…real estate agent for that matter. 

WHAT ABOUT THE EXPENSIVE BEACHFRONT PROPERTY??? 

His name was not attached to anything online. A search of his name only turned up random articles from MyAncestry.com.

Hmm. Odd.

Steve said he didn't have a Facebook page (of course he said that) but she decided to look anyway.

And that's where she found him. STEVE, the traveling paper salesman….posing all over his profile with his WIFE and daughters (plural).

A PAPER SALESMAN!!! A MARRIED PAPER SALESMAN DAD!!! 

Mary then texted him something furious about his house of lies and Steve actually responded, saying he'd "explain everything" when he "traveled" back there next month. 

Which he didn't do because he's NOT AN INTERNATIONAL BUSINESS TRAVELER.

Dude.

What deranged person goes through all that trouble to lie about a very specific second-life??? 

I mean, Steve talked for HOURS about his (supposed) business dealings, BEING A BACHELOR and painted a very clear picture of his glamorous, diaper-free life in New York.

HOURS.

Sure, Steve. And I just got accepted into the American Ballet Theatre.

UGH.

It's people like this that are the real terrorists.

-Jenny

TOOLBAG TUESDAY

File this under the lamest excuse EVER to break up with someone:  Sorry, but you tried to hold my hand.

That is NOT one of the 50 ways to leave your lover.

There are plenty of reasons why someone wouldn't want their hand held, like maybe it's flu season, or maybe the person who wants to hold your hand just ate a whole bunch of crawfish at a boil and that smell LINGERS, ya'll.

But Jack, this guy who my friend Jessica had been SLEEPING WITH for three weeks, didn't mean it in any of those ways.

Jessica noticed that Jack hadn't been returning her calls for a week. The last time they hung out was at their neighborhood bar, where she evidentally committed the hand-holding crime.

When she texted him, "Hey, why haven't you been returning my calls?" Jack replied, "Because you tried to hold my hand at the bar."

?!?! Uh…what??

And then:

"So, I don't think we should see each other anymore."

Hahahahahahaha

DUUUDE

Right, I get it. Jack didn't want anything romantic aside from casually hooking up. 

But perhaps he could have said Sorry, I'm just not that into you. 

Or, I'm not ready for a relationship; I'm just a big, dumb slut.

You know, something about this being HIS problem.

But no. He had to go ahead and put the blame on some chick who had already held SEVERAL of his body parts. 

HOW DARE SHE TRY AND HOLD HIS HAND???

I mean, of all the things to worry about doing wrong in a new relationship - Am I coming off too dorky??? Did I get too drunk at dinner?? Did he smell my stinky feet??? (uh…for example)  this one is ridiculous.

Holding someone's hand!! The tiniest romantic gesture ever!

What a mean guy. 

Next time just slip out the back, Jack.

TOOLBAG TUESDAY

Aren't guys usually embarrassed to say they’re being sexually harassed by a female co-worker?

Like, yo dude, what are you complaining about??

I’ve never been in a workplace where a female was sexually harassing a male. The closest I’ve been was having to watch a gay co-worker harass a straight co-worker, telling him he only wants to see him in socks and underwear. Haha.

But in all seriousness, sexual harassment in the workplace is a very real offense and those who are accused and fired for it generally can’t find another job…good.

NOT good? Massive abuses in the system.

...Like people crying sexual harassment when there isn’t any going on, or, you know…the occasional USING IT AS A WAY TO FIRE YOUR EX-GIRLFRIEND.

Oh yes. It turns out some guys aren’t embarrassed to cry sexual harassment, even when it’s against their very own ex-girlfriend.

...Who they coincidentally broke up with a month earlier.

This story in particular stars John, my friend Kallie’s ex-boyfriend, who has acting chops like a champ.

Kallie was a server and John was a manager at a sandwich shop in college and they had dated for over a year and even lived together.

Needless to say, once they broke up, the workplace environment got awkward.

It wasn’t so much awkward for Kallie, who instigated the breakup. She continued going to work like usual and tried to keep what was left of their friendship intact.

John wasn’t interested in keeping a friendship. 

He wanted her gone, fired, FINITO, and didn’t care who got embarrassed in the crossfire, even if it was himself.

The only problem was there was nothing he could fire her for.

She arrived on time, she did her side work and had a good attitude. She knew the difference between 9 grain and wheat bread. She pitched in when things got backed up.

John stewed in the corner, waiting for her to slip up.

And then he got his chance. One morning, while Kallie was setting up tables to open for lunch, she saw him, the guy she had LIVED with, poured her heart out to and planned a life with, standing by the register.

And she saw his cute butt.

As she walked by, she gave it a little smack and said, “mornin’,” with a smile. John did not smile back.

Everything was normal until later that afternoon, when Kallie was called into the office by the OWNER, a man she never really saw. John was sitting in the other chair in the room.

“John said you’ve been sexually harassing him,” the owner said. Kallie almost laughed out loud until she realized he was serious. Her eyes widened.

“What?? No! Oh, God No. I mean, we dated and used to live together, but NO, absolutely not!”

“What about how you smacked me on the ass this morning??” John piped up.

OMG Seriously.

He was acting supremely offended, like some sort of victim. He was actually cowering in his chair.

Kallie’s jaw dropped.

!!!!!

“SERIOULSY? That was just a joke!” she pleaded to the owner. “Look, we used to date and that was something that we did…”

Silence.

“So you DID smack him on the backside,” the owner asked.

“Well, yea, but…” Kallie started to explain, but it was too late.

John had sunk to that level and found something to fire her over. A LOVE PAT.

IT WASN’T LIKE SHE WAS A STRANGER!! THEY USED TO TAKE SHOWERS TOGETHER FOR CHRIST’S SAKE!!!!

The owner then told Kallie she was fired and…OMG….

MADE HER SIGN A SHEET OF PAPER SAYING SHE WAS BEING FIRED FOR SEXUAL HARASSMENT.

!!!!

How mortifing!

John sat there the whole time, not at all embarrassed that he was firing his super hot ex-girlfriend for “sexually harassing” him.

OHH, LIKE, HE GOT HER ALL RIGHT??!!

“This is SUCH B.S.,” Kallie told the owner and stood up.

Once word got out about what John had done, all the other employees lost respect for him (haha) and Kallie’s friends started boycotting the place. 

I like to think karma will kick in and no female will ever touch him again.

ASS. Ha.

-Jenny

The gay-est mistake

This week, I accidentally called someone Gay.

I don't mean Gay like the orientation, nor do I mean "called someone gay" like I screamed that word at them across a crowded room. 

GAY like I wrote that a COUNCIL MEMBER'S NAME was Gay. 

In 22,000 copies of the newspaper I write for. 

His real name is Guy. 

(face slap) 

D'OH!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I HATE VOWELS!!!!!!!

There is no one to blame but myself for this fuck-up royale (with cheese), and I spent the majority of yesterday internally kicking my own ass à la Jim Carey in Liar, Liar. 

"WHY DID I TYPE 'GAY??' WHAT KIND OF FINGER MUSCLE MEMORY IS THAT??? I NEVER TYPE THE WORD GAY! I wailed to my immediate family members, defeated and embarrassed.

"Everyone makes mistakes," my mom told me on the phone, probably chuckling through my tears. "It was a typo."

YEA, A SUPER GAY TYPO! I screamed.

(This was almost as bad as the time I wrote that a mayor's name was "Carol" instead of "Carl." Crap.)

I hate f*cking up at work. I really do. I'd rather eat dirt. 

I'd rather make-out with a turtle.

Have you ever effed up at work? Please tell me you've effed up at work. 

I like to think it's inevitable when you've worked in an industry for seven years.

NOBODY'S PERFECT RIGHT??!?!?! RIGHT??!!!!

I took solace in a YAHOO.COM front page article I saw this week about "five things to do when you mess up at work," because they must think enough people make mistakes that we need a guide for dealing with them. 

"Learn from them," was one of the groundbreaking tips. 

OK. I made a note to always search for the word "gay" in every article I write from now on and remove it. 

I also remembered that I saw The Daily Show this week where Jon Stewart apologized for accidentally calling a legislator from Mississippi racist when he wasn't racist at all. Which then begged the question, is it worse to call someone racist or gay? 

Ha. Just kidding. I didn't CALL him Gay. 

I identified him as Gay. CRAP. CRAP. CRAP. 

For those of you who have made eff-ups at work, welcome to the club. It's not a fun club. 

It includes groveling apologies.

My apology was sent to said council member after being alerted to my mistake by someone else hours after the newspaper was delivered to every single home and business in the city.

"Are you the reporter that called the councilman 'gay'?" a guy asked me. 

"WHAT???"

"Yea, at the end of the article when you write about who voted in favor or against that thing, you write that his first name is Gay."

My mouth dropped and I couldn't make out any audible noise for a minute. 

"I personally thought it was funny," he added.

"NOOOOOOO," I finally said aloud, addressing myself more than anyone else.

I then excused myself and completely freaked out all the way back to the office.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO," I kept repeating. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

When I got my hands on a paper, I wanted to believe it wasn't true - maybe he had a coffee stain on his copy and the U looked like an A! - but there it was, clear as day: GAY. 

Sorry…Guy.

I immediately wrote an email to him entitled "apology" and wrote that I was so, so, so (three so's) sorry about the typo and I will run a correction and I promise it will never happen again. 

I hit send and then banged my head on my desk.

Not even a half-hour later, my new email alert rang. I peeled my face up from the desk and saw my inbox. It was from him. Re: apologies.

CRAP. 

CRAP.

CRAP!

I stared at the screen, not opening the email.

"OH MY GOD HE'S PROBABLY SO MAD!" I thought. He wasn't the friendliest council member to me in the first place.

I was SURE he would respond with a "who do you think you are" email, and possibly refer to my hair color. 

So I didn't open it. 

Hahahahaha Is this what being an adult is like?????

It was after 5 p.m. and I was so dejected and sad, I couldn't possibly take the licking. The email remained "unread" overnight, burning a hole through my brain.

Today, however, I put on my big girl pants and decided that I would open and read the email first thing in the morning. 

LIKE RIPPING OFF A BAND-AID! I told myself.

But once I sat down in front of the computer, I hesitated. 

There it was - the unread email - staring at me. 

I banged my head against my desk again. 

JUST OPEN IT, I told myself. RIGHT NOW!!!! 1,2,3, GO!!!

I clicked on the email, and then shut my eyes. Seriously.

I then opened ONE eye to peek but then, NO JOKE, my hand INSTINCTIVELY COVERED UP THE SCREEN over the body of the email. 

Yes, I blocked myself from reading the email. 

It wasn't even a conscious decision; I think it was reflexes. I was petrified.

It took a a second to realize how silly I was being- THE EMAIL ISN'T GOING AWAY, AND NEITHER IS YOUR MISTAKE, YOU RETARD - and thought if my boss walked in he'd surely wonder why I was sitting at my desk covering up the screen with my sideways hand. 

I slowly and reluctantly slid my hand down the screen, backing my chair away from the computer screen, fearing the words that would reveal themselves once my pinky slid down far enough. 

(this tactic is not recommended by Yahoo.com)

With fear in my eyes, I started to make out the top of letters and then read the message. I removed my hand.

"Don't worry about it." he wrote. That was it.

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

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

DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT!!!!!

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

This was the opposite of calling for my resignation!!!  There was no angry mob! There was no one calling me a "little girl!"

Man, what a nice guy! 

Tonight, I'm going to have a gay old time.

-Jenny 

TOOLBAG TUESDAY

A friend reminded me the other day that guys aren’t what they used to be. In the movies anyway.

“I want John Cusack holding a boombox outside my window. I wanna ride off on a lawnmower with Patrick Dempsey. I want Jake from Sixteen Candles waiting outside the church for me. I want Judd Nelson thrusting his fist (that's what she said) into the air because he knows he got me.”

(I only know the Sixteen Candles reference. You may remember, I don’t watch movies.)

Anyway. I think the above statement is fairly true.

In life, and from what I see on TV (aside from vampires), guys aren’t exactly the sappy romantics they used to be.

I mean, the Superbowl AUDI commercial had some dude busting into prom and kissing the prom queen unannounced and unexpected.

Gross.

WHERE’S ZACK MORRIS HOLIDNG A “ZACK AND KELLY” PROM OUTSIDE THE CAFETERIA???

To be fair, perhaps guys don’t think WOMEN are what they used to be, either.

I mean, I, for one, don’tcook. 

Ha.

It’s tricky saying women aren’t what they used to be, though, since what they “used to be” includes not having a voice or rights, and being subservient.

But Paul, a guy my friend Brandy thought was cute, didn’t have a problem reminiscing about the good old days.

Paul was Brandy’s co-worker’s brother and they started talking one day at happy hour.

Paul, as it turns out, was a traditionalist when it comes to men and women. Not traditionalist like he envisioned himself a sappy romantic like a John Hughes character.

Traditionalist in the way that he doesn’t think that …wait a minute, let me push my bulging eyeballs back in…doesn’t think that men and women are equal.

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

“Oh, absolutely not,” he said in all seriousness to Brandy when he found out she and his brother have the same job description.

“There are always going to be things he can do that you can’t,” Peter said.

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

(Uhhh they didn’t work at a lumber yard)

Susan B. Anthony come down here and puke all over this guy’s head!!!!

“Oh, really? Things he can do that I can’t?” Brandy laughed. “Ok, then what should a woman do for a job?”

He then said, HAHAHAHAHA, that his ideal woman - who, he said there aren’t enough of - is a kindergarten teacher.

HAHAHAHAHA, apron and bonnet not included.

Now, if he meant this for educational purposes or making a difference, or molding young minds, that would be fine.

But Peter didn’t mean it that way. He meant women should be kindergarten teachers like what he thinks kindergarten school teachers do all day, like read picture books and sing songs about a bus. And be soft-spoken and subservient.

HA

!!!!!

“So, you don’t think you’re equal to a kindergarten teacher?” Brandy concluded aloud, amusing herself. 

He was no longer cute.

Peter then backtracked and said she must not have understood.

“Ok, explain it,” she said.

Then she understood perfectly. Peter thought he was better than everyone else. 

A real f*cking mother superior.

He took an exasperated sigh.

“I mean, you don’t think you’re equal to a (insert opposite race) woman do you?”

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

Uh...so...I guess the racist bigots are still what they used to be.

UGH.

His face is what the wheels on the bus need to roll over.

'round and 'round...

-Jenny