TOOLBAG TUESDAY!! The least sexiest hair-pulling in a relationship

Have you dated a frustrating guy?

Are you surprised that you still have hair on your head from all the pulling out this person made you do?

There are a hundred million ways someone can frustrate you (on days that end in Y, anyway, LOL) but the worst of the worst—the one everyone can agree upon is when someone F*CKS up and can’t admit to it.

Or, to be fair:

When someone perceives things so incorrectly about something they did—even though that thing is universally agreed upon as being wrong—and can’t admit to it.

Meet Barry.

Barry is this guy my friend Betty went out with, and yes, we are surprised Betty still has her hair.

Barry and Betty met at a bar near her house in early November and he was immediately interested in her.

He wined her, he dined her, he made her breakfast.

…and then he ghosted her for three weeks.

Ghosted! Disappeared!

The last thing he told her is that he’d see her in a couple of hours at her apartment after taking a nap.

Then NOTHING for three weeks.


It wasn’t some “maybe I’ll see you this weekend” or anything. It was a specific time in the near future that she was to expect him.

After it wasn’t reported that he died in a fiery crash, AND HIS SNAPCHAT ACCOUNT WAS BEING USED, EVEN THOUGH HE HADN’T RETURNED HER MANY PHONE CALLS, Betty accepted that she got dumped.

But three weeks later, Barry resurfaced.

At 4 a.m.

His claim? He “lost” his phone, Snapchat and all.

And didn’t have her number or any way to get in touch with her on any of her many social media accounts.


And…well…the frustrating part was that he was sort of expecting HER to come find HIM and he’s disappointed about it.



This guy is serious.

He disappears for 3 weeks and then tells her that she didn’t make an effort to scour the Earth to find him!

And texts this at 4 a.m.!!!!


Hilariously frustrating!


This goes on and on, with him pretending like he did nothing wrong, like he’s a victim of having no phone.

And then he really goes overboard:



Oh Jesus Christ!

In addition to suggesting that his “ghosting” should have prompted a missing person’s report, the most obvious frustrating point was…shouldn’t he be apologizing???

What was his excuse for not facebooking her, snapchating her, Instagraming her…googling her?

And who “loses” a phone for three weeks? Was it under the bed?


Betty was the forgiving type and after about ten messages back and forth with exact directions to her house, her email address (LOL no seriously) and more, Barry said he’d DEFINITELY be over that night.

…And disappeared.

Betty didn’t even bother to text, asking what was going on.

Two days later, he reached out…at 2 a.m.


And again, it was her problem. (With a grammar check ED note)





“I am not kissing your ass!”


I want to pull my own hair out.



My friend who’s a teacher said there’s an age-old trick going on where teenagers attempt to make teachers feel bad by challenging their popularity.

“I wish I still had Ms. Jackson!” they’ll say after being assigned extra work, making their overworked educator compare themselves to others.

But then, when their current teacher brings in candy or donuts, they change their tune: “You’re so much cooler than Ms. Jackson!”



It’s a similar situation to what my friend Eliza went through on her one and only date with this guy she met on Tinder named Pierre.

Pierre is from France, but a language barrier is NO EXCUSE for his age-old trick.

He began to butter her up almost immediately.

“Why are you still single? In Paris you’d be hit on all the time, by everyone!”

“You’re so much cooler than the other girls!” he said.

They had a nice time but then, after dinner and drinks, Pierre decided to put his foreign hands all over her and begged to sleep over at her place.

(Obviously Tinder is the same in EU and is it is in the US)

“My Airbnb is too far away!” Pierre whined. “I don’t want to have to take Le Uber!”

“I don’t think so….we just met and I’m tired,” Liza responded, throwing in the unnecessary I’m tired line.

And that’s when Pierre changed his tune.

“You are no fun at all! You’d NEVER get any dates in Paris!” he said.


“Paris girls aren’t stuck up like you!”




Thankfully, Liza didn’t fall for it and told Pierre precisely where to shove a baguette.

(No translation needed.)



Here’s a story about my friend Emily, who came home from work one day to find a single, raggedy shoe on her doorstep filled with crumpled up cash.

You’d think this would be an amazing surprise, some fairy godmother from Foot Locker, perhaps.

But no. The discovery was immediately followed by a text from her ex-boyfriend:

“The money is in a shoe on your porch and fuck you!”



Reading an angry text that starts with, “THE MONEY IS IN A SHOE ON YOUR PORCH” is Toolbag gold.

But let’s start from the beginning.

Emily and Peter had been dating for almost a year.

Peter (Pan), was a perpetual couch hopper and had moved into Emily’s house with dreams of opening his own record store.



(Ed note: He’d be better off buying a Foot Locker.)

But with the promise of millennials flocking to vintage anything, he made a convincing argument.

There was an old shack nearby for rent and Peter said could sell his current collection of vinyls and all he needed was $3,000 for start-up costs.


Emily had a good job and had the money. She believed in him and against the better judgment of everyone she asked, she decided to give Peter the loan.

But she didn’t just outright give him her cold, hard cash; she did what any responsible professional would do: She wrote out a contract and they both signed it.

There are few things in life that are as black-and-white as a WRITTEN CONTRACT WITH TERMS AND CONDITIONS.

The terms: He’d repay her the $3,000 within two years, plus $1,000 in interest.

Those rates really kill you!


These were the terms that Peter and Emily both signed and to make it official, they even went to a notary (who I’m sure was shaking her head the whole time.)

No matter! Emily felt accomplished and empowered to be able to help her boyfriend as an investor in what could be a successful business.

But soon after she transferred Peter the money, he broke up with her and moved out of her house, claiming he didn’t want to be “a burden.”


I don’t want to be a burden, but I’ll take your $3K and run!!!

Peter moved into the shack that was to be his super successful record business.

Six months later, Emily got a text from Peter saying that things were going GREAT but that he didn’t think it was “fair” to have to pay interest on the loan.



Emily recalls, “I asked if he’s trying to renegotiate and told him ‘tough shit’ and to follow the contract already signed.”


Peter pitched a fit about the contract—you know, THE ONE THAT HE SIGNED—still crying about the $1,000 interest he agreed to.

He insisted that he had the original $3,000 to give back (which was actually quite shocking) but didn’t want to have to pay extra.

“Tough shit,” Emily repeated.

And that’s what brought her to her doorstep that day.

The day Peter the genius thinks it’s appropriate and professional to repay a $3,000 loan plus interest in cash, stuffed in an empty shoe left on a front porch.

(Jesus, how big was this shoe???)

As if the story couldn’t get any more hilarious, Emily noted that the original $3,000 was in crisp $100 bills at the bottom of the shoe.

But, the “interest?”

The $1,000 interest was a deliberately dirty, crumply, mess of $20s and $5 bills.


(Must have been a clown shoe.)

I think it’s very big of her to confirm she even received the money in the shoe.

Especially after, “The money is in a shoe on your porch and fuck you!” text.


Right. F HER.

The one who gave him a loan, only to get dumped the next day.

Definitely a clown shoe.



We’re now living in magical world where we pee with our phones and I KNOW you do, because we all know where everyone is located, at all times.

…or do we?

It’s a known fact that if there’s a way to scheme, someone will do it, and that someone is Jack, my friend Hillary’s husband.

Jack quickly realized that you don’t actually have to be in a location in order to “check in” to that location on Facebook.

It’s true!

Check into Italy right now!

It’s so easy!

This “check-in” trick came in handy during Jack’s business trips out of town.


Hillary and Jack were married for one year, and he was a total sleaze ball.

Jack had a very active presence on Facebook and shared all kinds of things and checked into all kinds of places.

…Such as the airport, during his business trips out of town.

Ya’ll…the poor Dulles International Airport in Washington, D.C.!

That airport has SO MANY CANCELLATIONS, according to Jack’s Facebook page, it’s amazing they get any business travelers at all.

 “Another cancelled flight, hate this place”—at Dulles International Airport.

“Well, I guess I’ll just drink for the next four hours”—at Dulles International Airport.

“Thought for once I’d board on time.. nope—at Dulles International Airport.


These “airline delays” would buy him another day, often a weekend day.

It didn’t seem odd at all.

After all, there are hundreds of cancellations every day.

And everyone checks into the airport on Facebook.


No one assumes they’re lying.

It was quite genius.

After about a month, however, Jack’s cover was blown.

By the very platform that let him lie so wonderfully.

Apparently, he had been cheating on Hillary with a girl in D.C. who picked up on something fishy.

“I just want to let you know that Jack has been cheating on you for the past month,” she wrote to Hillary VIA FACEBOOK MESSAGE one late Friday night.



Hillary tried to play it cool.

“Who is this? I don’t know you, what are you talking about?”

The girl gave irrefutable evidence.

She and Jack had been in a relationship every Monday-Friday/Saturday for the exact month he had been out of town for business. She said she didn’t know he was married.

She thought he was just a bachelor in town for work.

But she had a suspicion he was hiding something.

So, she checked his phone when he was asleep (LOL) and peeked at his Facebook page that had the profile picture of him and Hillary.

Then she scrolled down and saw his most recent post about being DELAYED at the airport, around the same time he was taking her to dinner.

“Have him show you his credit card bill you’ll see a charge for a restaurant named Quill,” she wrote.

And then the kicker: “He’s still asleep. I’ll leave the phone ringer on high if you want to call him right now.”



Hillary could hardly move, she was so shocked and disgusted.

She waited until Jack got back to town to confront him with this information, and demanded he show her statements for all of his credit cards.

He should have had multiple $9 airport beers on his tab right?




“That was a business meeting!” Jack said.



I think she should go ahead and actually check in to Italy.

…while filing for divorce.


Toolbag Tuesday…Chuck Norris’ tears cure cancer. Too bad he’s never cried.

This guy Matt has such a big ego, he’s a walking Chuck Norris joke.

Like, “When Chuck Norris does push-ups, he doesn’t push off the Earth…the Earth pushes off of him.”

“Chuck Norris won a staring contest…with the sun.”

In this case, Matt is Chuck Norris.

And Matt doesn’t hook up with a girl, a girl is blessed to be chosen to hook up with him.


Unfortunately, my friend Mary was one of these “chosen ones.”

Matt decided to grace her with his attention one night when they were both in college.

Mary and Matt had mutual friends and went to the same parties.

As Mary describes it, Matt was obnoxious and cocky and she wasn’t interested in him.

So Mary turned down Chuck Norris.




It all started when Matt and Mary were at a bar near where Mary lived, and he started hitting on her.

Mary told him no and went home solo.

About a half an hour later, as Mary was getting into bed, there was a knock on her front door.

Matt had no luck at the bar and was looking for a booty call.

“I’m going to bed,” Mary said without even opening the door, cursing the fact that having the same circle or friends meant he knew were she lived.

He kept knocking.

“Not interested!” Mary yelled through the door.

Matt, still not accepting that someone would turn him down, continued to knock on the door, almost violently.

“GO AWAY!” Mary yelled.

She threatened to call the cops.

Thankfully, Chuck Norris Matt didn’t roundhouse kick his way in, and staggered home.

They soon graduated, and went their separate ways.

Fast-forward 20 years, and no surprise, Matt’s ego is still playing reruns of Walker, Texas Ranger.

About a month ago, Mary logged in to Facebook to find more notifications than usual.

Apparently, Matt had begun commenting on one of her statuses with horrible, political bile, insulting her and insulting everyone else who dared to comment against him.

The thread was 30 comments deep with direct insults at all her friends because he’s right and everyone else is beneath him.

Chuck Norris once played Russian roulette with a fully loaded gun and won!

Mary took matters into her own hands.

“Don’t worry guys, Matt really hates when he doesn’t get his way, he once banged on my door violently when I wouldn’t sleep with him,” Mary wrote, for everyone to see.


Ten minutes later, she received a text message from a number from her past.

How was it possible neither had changed their numbers in all that time??

“Didn’t realize ya were angry at me for wanting to f**k you one drunken night in college,” he texted. “Your loss.”



Her loss!


It was an amazing interpretation of past events.

This is how psychopaths get through life.

She’s angry that he wanted to sleep with her.



He cleverly ignored the fact that he violently banged on her door.

Chuck Norris can slam revolving doors!

Matt went on:

“You certainly have nothing to worry about now as you lost what little good looks you once had some time ago…”





(Newsflash: Mary WASN’T worried…)

Imagine if Mary had changed her number and Matt texted this to a stranger:


No shame!

Let’s all get Chuck Norris another loaded gun.



It’s always flattering when a boyfriend asks you for help where you can use your unique skills.

(Well OK except your cleaning skills.)

But say you’re a graphic designer…it’s flattering if he asks you to design a logo for his new business.

Or if you are a writer, and he asks you to look over an email to his boss.

Or if you’re a black belt, and he asks you to beat someone up.

You know. The usual.

…But back to being a writer.

I’ve had lots of fellow writer friends get asked to use their unique writer skills to help out boyfriends.

College term papers, a business pitch, a short bio, a passive aggressive letter to a landlord (LOL), the aforementioned email to a boss.

You know. The usual.

But Dean takes the cake on his recent, bold ask of my friend Helen.

Helen is a writer for a health website and she met Dean on a dating app called Bumble.

He was cute and wore glasses and was seemingly normal—“actually rather intellectual” she describes—and they first met at a happy hour.

He texted her afterwards saying he had a great time and that he thought they really hit it off and he’d like to do something again.


They went out several more times after that.

Dinner one night, a proper movie date another night (Ed note: SWOON, FEED ME POPCORN).

Another time, they spent an entire day playing tourist doing historic tours.

Helen was having a great time.

They decided to cap off their day of tourist fun by watching an NBA playoff game at a sports bar.

That’s when Helen noticed that Dean was paying a lot more attention to his phone than the selection of wings flavors.

“Hey, you’re a writer,” he said casually, still staring at his phone. “How do you spell ‘bouquet?’”

Helen laughed. “Like a bouquet of flowers?”

“Yea,” he said, his face still in his phone.

“Why do you need to spell bouquet?” she asked.

And then she saw it—the reflection in his glasses.

The screen for Bumble, the dating app.






What a tool!!!

Suddenly his glasses weren’t so cute anymore.

“I told him that I saw the Bumble profile screen in the reflection of his glasses (HAHAHAHAHA), and called him out on it and he seems to think it’s no big deal,” Helen recalls.

She said Dean’s response was: “You’re really mad? WOW. OK, Helen.”


..As if SHE’S out of line.

Who does that?

Who messages someone else on a date and then has the nerve to ask a date for writing advice??


(How else could bouquet be used?? REALLY.)

Helen told Dean that he was super rude and that she was DONE hanging out with him.

Helen left him at the bar and called an Uber.

And, no, she never spelled “bouquet” for him.

But we wish him lots and lots of thorns all the same.



It’s a known fact that people who are actual geniuses don’t normally have super genius people skills.

I mean, just ask an engineer.






Colin, this guy my friend Lindsey met at a bar, certainly fell into ‘genius with no genius people skills’ box 3-D print cube.

After exchanging names and making small talk, he didn’t mince words about himself.

“I’m a genius,” he said.


He wasn’t joking.

But how exactly was Colin a genius?

Did he get a perfect score on the SAT?

Was he on Jeopardy?

Did he actually make money off of Bitcoin??

“I got into college at LSU at the age of 13,” he said.


“You applied to college at age 13?” Lindsey asked.


“No, I got in because I’m a genius,” he said.


“Were you homeschooled or something?” Lindsey asked.

“No, I just was really smart!” Colin said. “I mean, how many people do you know got into college at age 13!”

Lindsey had never thought about it before (obviously). And she wasn’t convinced.

Unless Colin was a 13-year-old genius with an 18-year-old football player’s body (“definitely not,” Lindsey reported), LSU wouldn’t have even bothered.


Colin noticed her skepticism, so with his genius people skills, he pulled out his iPhone.

“DO YOU WANT TO CALL MY MOM?” he asked. (Reminder: they were at a bar.)

“My mom will tell you that I got into college at age 13.”


“Um…no,” Lindsey said.

“She will back me up, I can call her right now!” Colin said.


Lindsey said that it was OK, she believed him.

Like she also believed that he was an engineer.