TOOLBAG TUESDAY – Halloween creeps

This Halloween, I found an even scarier person than a creepy effing clown!!!!

It’s someone’s husband, wearing his “I’m single” outfit.


My friend Hillary came to visit me in New Orleans this weekend and we went to a place where dancing was required.

It was a dance party at a cheesy bar on Bourbon Street, and it was loud and obnoxious but oh so fun when the Saints football team just won.


There we were, front and center dancing together, when a guy came up to Hillary and started dancing behind her, grinding on her butt.

He wasn’t at all cute, and looked at least a decade older than us.

“Oh, sorry, I have a boyfriend,” Hillary lied to him.

“Well, is he here?” the man said, not listening to the hint to stop grinding.

“No, but his friends are,” Hillary lied again, and stepped away from him.

This gross man not only didn’t care about the words she was saying, but he put his hands on her stomach and PULLED HER INTO HIS GRINDING LOWER HALF.

“STOP!” Hillary said shaking away from him. “I already told you I have a boyfriend.”

“So?” he said. “I have a WIFE.”

Then he put his finger over his mouth like A SHHHH

His wedding ring flickered in the strobe light.

(Really dude????? SHHH?)

“Well, I don’t want to dance with a man who has a wife, that’s really disrespectful to her and to me,” Hillary said.

“Well, she’s not here so who cares?” the man said, still moving to the beat. “Hey, can I buy you a shot?”

That’s when Hillary and I walked away from the horny, married man.

We then walked out of the bar into the costumed streets of New Orleans and I realized at that moment that zombies and psychos with chainsaws are a hell of a lot less creepy than that asshole.

…who, unfortunately, is in costume year round.

No ifs, ands or SHHHHHs about it.



TOOLBAG TUESDAY…A wrong turn down memory lane

It can be nice to reminisce with your ex if you happen to run into him or her at a neutral place, and you don’t hate each other (anymore).

It could be a good way to catch up and see if their DJ business ever took off (LOL) how their mom is doing, or to ask if their super hot best friend still lives in town.

Um, for example.


But there’s a point where there’s just too much reminiscing, and I don’t mean bringing up your past love life or cute stories.

I mean reminiscing about how that person dumped you.


This happened to me recently…LOL…and up until that moment, I could have sworn that I had broken up with John.

(Ignorance is bliss!!!)

But it shouldn’t have mattered anyway, because who brings up a breakup???

John and I went out for a few months, and it wasn’t super serious, but we both remembered a lot about each other all these years later, so that means we must have spent a decent amount of time together, right???

“Well, it was great talking to you,” John said after about 15 minutes of pleasantries.

“Yea you too!” I said. “Maybe I’ll catch your DJ set sometime.”


The conversation should have ended right there, and I wish it would have. But John thought it would be cool to go further down memory lane.

“Well,” he said. “I’d tell you to hit me up on Facebook, but I’m pretty sure you deleted me.”

I laughed uncomfortably. “Yea,” I said. “That sounds like something I’d do.”

Again, the conversation should have ended right there, and I wish it would have. But John kept driving down memory lane.

“Man…you were SO MAD at me,” he said.

I paused.

When I realized what he was implying, I said, “Wait…YOU broke up with ME?”


(Seriously, I could have sworn I ended it.)

(And, yes, seriously, I said that to him.)

“Yea,” he said. “When you were on a layover in the Charlotte airport.”

I paused.

“You broke up with me over the phone when I was at the airport?” I asked.

No doubt, I was impressed that my brain had blocked out this specific memory.

I had no recollection of this, but I did fly through Charlotte a lot, so those pieces added up.

“Yea…you were super mad at me. I’m not surprised you deleted me from Facebook.”

“Well, OK,” I said. And then I walked away.

POP QUIZ: What’s worse than breaking up with someone over the phone when they are stuck on a layover???

ANSWER: Reminding that person five years later that you broke up with them when they were stuck on a layover!!

I couldn’t think about anything else for the next hour, feeling bad for my past self who got dumped at an airport.


I liked it better when I thought I had dumped him.


Effing Memory Lane.







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.


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.


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.


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.


(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.




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.


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.


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


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.


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 helpedyou??” 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!



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.



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.


Pussy CONTROL!!!

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


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 Germanyto 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.


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 Georgiadoing research on Blah Blah!!”



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.




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.




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.


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 Georgiawas 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.



I’ve never seen Mad Men, but I’m pretty sure this dickhead who interviewed my twin sister for a job would fit right in.

…but just to be sure…that’s the TV show where men don’t respect women or view them as equal in the workplace, right?


My twin sister, Joy, went on a job interview a few years ago for a graphic designer position, thinking that the company was looking to hire a graphic designer.

The job posting saidgraphic designer. Joy submitted all of her materials, resume, etc. that said “GRAPHIC DESIGNER” all over it.

But the man behind the desk didn’t read that part.

He somehow re-arranged the words “graphic designer” to say “verbal punching bag.” (I know, that’s too many letters. But, he’s an idiot).

…And then he tried out his new punching bag.

Because he was never actually considering her for the job, he really just wanted to yell at her.

At someone.

I think he was literally trying to extinguish joy.

His opening line was pretty killer, too, and a thoughtful reminder to everyone in the post-1960s 1970s 1980s 1990s 2000s2010- world that sexism is still alive and well.

“Do you CRY when you get yelled at?” he asked immediately, and angrily.




His opening line.


(Ed note: Ten bucks says the male candidates were NOT asked that question.)

“Do…you…yell at your employees at lot?” Joy responded, snarkily.

Of course he ignored her.

“You know, EVERYONE WANTS THIS JOB,” he said. It was a little surprising because Joy had never heard of the company before applying.

Then, completely out of left field, he continued, “…and I don’t want to hire you just so you can leave after six months to be a nanny in Italy!”





(Ed note: Ten bucks says that the male candidates were not given the Italian nanny scenario.)

Joy looked around the room for hidden TV cameras.

The man then explained how the job posting was NOT for a graphic designer, but for a manufacturing person who knows specs about printing and affixing labels on makeup bottles per government regulations.

(The job description never mentioned any of this.)

“So…you don’t need someone to actually design the labels…” Joy clarified.




You don’t know how to do anything.

(jab-jab-jab-punch -uppercut)

This man just met her. He had no idea what she was capable of doing.

“I mean, I don’t have TIME to train you, anyway,” he said, as Joy sat there wide-eyed.

(Joy later looked back at the job description which said, “industry experience preferred.”)

Without being asked, the man then explained to Joy why she wasted HIS time showing up at his office.

“We already have the PERFECT candidate,” he said. “And we’re going to hire him.”



Of course it’s totally appropriate to tell someone who took time out of their day to go to your job interview that you already hired someone else.

And of course it’s a “him.”

A him who won’t flee to Italy to become a nanny.

(seriously WTF??)

“Well, it looks like you found the right candidate then,” Joy said and snatched back her portfolio.

“A WORD OF ADVICE?” he said to her on the way out. “YOU REALLY NEED TO INCREASE YOUR SKILLS!”


Joy didn’t mention that HE needed to increase his job description skills.

My God.

Is Mad Men hiring???

Because Joy is looking.

Skills: doesn’t cry when getting yelled at.