Tuesday, April 21, 2015


There are just some people that really need to turn their iPhones back in to society and get issued a carrier pigeon or something. 

For bat-shit crazy abuse of Instagram and social media. 


The toolbag  I wrote about a few weeks ago who kept sending his ex-girlfriend photos of Tinder girls or porn stars and pretending that he was hooking up with them should certainly be included in the confiscated phone group.

But Harrison, this guy my friend Shannon dated, would be the poster child. 

He’d be the face...no, the inspiration behind the “we need to take away your phone” movement.

It would be like the Rob Lowe Direct TV ads. 

“Don’t be like Harrison,” the posters would say, and then there would be an outline of his phone in his hand, like a dead body at a crime scene. 

And this is why:

Harrison and my friend Shannon dated for almost a year, until she found out that he was cheating on her and she promptly dumped him. 

It was one of those embarrassing revelations, where the “other woman”—a stranger—contacted her with the news and it all came tumbling down.

When Shannon told him that IT WAS OVER, Harrison wouldn’t stop harassing her through his iPhone. 

He’d text saying that he missed her, he’d text saying that he wanted to marry her (vom) and then he texted her this gem the other day:





I mean W.T.F.



That’s an abuse of texting AND Instagram.

(Also note to self: User Ecards_adulthumor is neither adult, nor humorous)

Shannon was supremely offended and mortified and responded brilliantly:

Then she went to bed that night feeling GROSS and woke up to THIS gem:




A “walking along the sand” photo and seemingly sweet message sent 12 hours after the last Instagram proposition of choking her from the back.




“Sorry for last night” 



What a freak.

After getting the morning text, Shannon cautiously opened Instagram and searched for his account. 

More abuse!

Five minutes after her sent her the stupid walking-in-the-sand photo telling her I love you, he had uploaded a photo of himself at the gym with the hashtags #singlelife #Ilovemyself

LOL single life.

LOL I love myself!!!!!!!!

Yea, right.



Don't be like Harrison.

Now, please place your iPhone in the box to the right.


Tuesday, April 14, 2015


There are several acceptable reasons why someone would use the phrase, “No one is going to marry you if....”

And here are some:

“...If you keep smoking crack.”

“...If you keep sleeping with your friend’s husband.”

“...If you keep telling people your favorite movie of all-time is Friday.”

(Um. For example.)

But the exceptions are very few and far between. 

There are very few cases where that line is acceptable. 

Because not ONLY is it a completely mean and rude thing to say, but no one knows EVERYONE in the world so they can’t even really MAKE that claim.

Like, SOME people don’t mind that the movie Friday has all the action, romance and comedy one needs in a 90-minute film.


But in all seriousness, that’s a shitty thing to hear from anyone. 

Especially someone you’re dating.

(Hearing that line from someone you’re dating is the moment where you realize that you’ve wasted all your time with a person.)

But WASTES of times happen, and in this case, the WASTE OF TIME was George, this guy my friend Sarah dated.

George and Sarah met in a small Georgia town where she was from, and they dated for almost a year when Sarah had an epiphany about her purpose in life: she wanted to be a lawyer. 

She was super smart (well, except the part about dating George) and she was good at English and writing. 

She made the decision to apply to an in-state law school when George decided that he had something to tell her.

“You know, no one is going to marry you if you become a lawyer,” he said.






I MEAN....WHAT????

Sarah was so taken aback she fell right into the 1950s, or maybe the 1850s.

“EXCUSE ME?” Sarah asked, ink on her face from her application.

“What does being a lawyer have to do with me not being marry-able?” she asked.

It was a chance for George to dig himself out of this sexist hole by maybe saying that law school takes a long time, and marriage would take a back seat and what about a family, blah blah blah 

(Like guys UNDER 35 even give a shit about that, outside of PODUNK Georgia.)

But instead of making his bullsh*t statement about them and their future, George responded with, “I’m just traditional.”



Like it’s traditional for women to NOT be rich and successful.

Female lawyers can’t very well be barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen, now can they????? 

Seriously. A 20-something guy honestly had these thoughts on the place of females in society. This century.

Oi Vey. 

Let’s blow up Georgia.


How about, "No one is going to marry you if you don't get your HEAD OUT OF YOUR ASS?"


Obviously, we didn’t last very long after that,” Sarah THE LAWYER told me last week, before she went to a hearing where she was going to make $7,000 for one week of work.


Oh, and she’s been proposed to three times. 


...And that’s why, kids, you always always screw tradition.


Tuesday, April 7, 2015

Chasing Spring

Just like a car in a movie speeding away from a burning building, that’s what it was like for me and my best friend, Meredith, on our annual pilgrimage to Live Oak, Florida for the Suwannee Springfest bluegrass festival three weeks ago.

Only, the “burning building” wasn’t a building at all, it was rain and temperatures below 65 degrees in South Carolina.

(The horror!)

But there was sunshine ahead. For the five-and-a-half-hour journey, we literally chased after spring to Springfest.

Every 30 miles or so, Meredith looked at the temperature on her dashboard and announced, “It’s 70 degrees!”

And we’d fist pump.

then...“It’s 73 degrees!”

And we would perk up a little in our seats.

By the time we crossed the state line from Georgia to Florida, it was well on its way to 80 degrees and 100 percent sunny. 

We pulled up to the Spirit of Suwannee Music Park with windows down, sunglasses on, and breathed in the sweet, sweet pollen air.
It was so hot I had to change out of my jeans.


This was my 4th annual Springfest, one of my most beloved traditions, and aside from the beautiful park, oak trees, happy people and fantastic bluegrass music, my favorite part is how each year, it’s always the same.  

It’s like the summer vacation our family used to go on every year to a Mississippi state park where everything was almost frozen in timethe cabins, the lake, the beach area, the exact location of the Big Dipper and Orion’s Belt. 

That’s the same thing with Springfest: The stages are set the same, the hammocks that people hang between trees for community lounging are the same.

Fellow festival goers even look the same year after year, right down to the same hippie vendor who I always buy lasagna from.

(Also the hippie vendors who make a delightful “blood juice” with apples and beets which is a must when you wake up in a tent with a hangover.)

Those who camp, and camp often, know that each camping trip is always a unique adventure—remember the time it rained for 48 hours?—or, remember the time we bathed in that cold-ass river??? Or...the time we used the empty box of wine bag as an inflatable pillow?

(Um. For example.)

Springfest 2015’s adventure included the grand adventure of pickin’ around the campsite. More so than any of the previous years.

(Which reminds me that I need to learn how to play MY GOD DAMN FIDDLE ALREADY.)

Meredith and I were fortunate enough this year to camp with talented musician friends from both South Carolina and New Orleans who at first glance had just your average, unremarkable fingers, but holy S they can make the sweetest music come out of wooden things.

(Thank you Tanglers. New Orleans represent!)

Case-in-point: I was sleeping in our tent and woke up because the music around the campfire was so beautiful I had to see it in person. 

(If we had camped closer to the river, I’d probably think it was a mermaid.)

I’d also like to point out that I heard a lot more female singers this year, both at the campsite and on stage, and now I want to be one of them, because they command ALL the attention.

My favorite show on a stage was the legendary bluegrass singer Del McCoury (he's 76 years old!!!) who I have seen at all four Springfests, who has the great talent of making it impossible for me not to smile when I see him play.

With a busy 2015 already under my belt, it was a glorious change to have no phone, no one to check in with, no one to worry about—the only thing on the agenda was to mosey on through the Live Oak trees, deciding which hammock was the best one to nap in, which bands to see.

I've never been more aware of the arrival of spring than at this year’s Springfest. 

We chased it down to Florida (no rain! 80 degrees!) and then I caught it like a fish and reeled it into my brain for 72 hours straight.

I've never been more of a dork reflective of the spring symbolism.

I’d like to say I’m more revived now that I’m back to normal life in South Carolina, but that would be a lie.

I now have bona fide SPRING FEVER and want to be outside all the time.

I can't stop searching for bluegrass music online.

I get frustrated that it gets down to a chilly 61 degrees at night.

...And I can’t stop dreaming about singing mermaids.



Tuesday, March 31, 2015


"When you've blocked your ex on EVERYTHING and he messages you through an old Words With Friends game:"



Tuesday, March 24, 2015


Since I’m not in high school anymore, I have no idea how people go from dating to being ohhhhh boyfriend/girlfriend (or boyfriend/boyfriend or girlfriend/girlfriend, whatever).

I mean, what’s the protocol these days? 

Do you just start introducing them as your boyfriend/girlfriend and cross your fingers that they don’t protest?

Maybe an official conversation: “Let’s both delete our Tinder accounts....together.”


But, I do know the WRONG way to approach the subject of calling someone your girlfriend: stealing her PHONE when she’s asleep and replying to a text from another guy with, “don’t text my girlfriend anymore.”



This happened to my friend Shelby last week, who had been dating this guy Trevor for, uh, THREE weeks very casually.

They had not had a conversation about being exclusive or boyfriend/girlfriend and had actually only seen each other a handful of times over the three weeks.

Shelby and Trevor met at the bar where she worked part-time and they hit it off immediately. But she noticed that he was always texting with other girls.

Shelby wasn’t really worried about it because they weren’t that serious but then, after a day of drinking all day and hanging out, Trevor I guess thought they were exclusive.

Shelby had passed out in his bed and her phone buzzed and Trevor saw that she had received a text from a guy. 

And then he lost it.

It doesn’t matter that the text was from a platonic guy friend who lived five states away.

Not that Trevor asked.

No, Trevor, in a mighty display of douche-ery, decided to TAKE SHELBY’S PHONE, TAKE A PICTURE OF HER PASSED OUT IN HIS BED, and send the photo to the guy with “stop texting my girlfriend.”




In addition to Trevor stealing her phone and taking a secret picture of her passed out, Shelby notes that they never had any conversation about being exclusive.


GUYS, TAKE NOTE: This is NOT how you have the “girlfriend” conversation.

You don’t refer to her as your girlfriend over text to her guy friend without her permission accompanied by a photo of her passed out drunk.

Just don't do it.

Someone make a T-shirt!!!!

Shelby recalls (fuzzily) Trevor waking her up to show her the text, furious, and they got into a fight about it and she left the next morning definitely NOT his girlfriend.

It was horrible; she had to apologize profusely to her PLATONIC guy friend and then Trevor continued to be bat-shit crazy.




Then, to prove his point, Trevor sent her PHOTOS OF OTHER GIRLS, body shot photos (no faces) of various girls in various bedrooms that obviously came from porn sites or Tinder because....duh.


(I saw the photos with my own eyes, ya'll!!!!)

The first picture was of a very, very skinny girl in a black lace thong. 

But rather than be sad about it, Shelby began to mess with him and that made him even more mad.

Shelby responded with something along the lines of “I guess...if you’re into that sort of body type.”


Then Trevor sent her another picture a few hours later of a busty, curvy girl (HAHAHAHAHAHA) another body shot, and Shelby responded with something else funny, which drove Trevor even more nuts.




One more time, all together: 


Did he think this was believable? Did he think this would make her jealous?

Where is he getting his dating advice from?

And...(I know, I need to stop trying to understand crazy)...why would one day you refer to someone as your girlfriend (albeit in a creepy, completely inappropriate way) and the next day send her pictures of other girls in their underwear?

I can just picture Trevor staring at his phone red in the face furiously trying to find more *super realistic* pictures to send to Shelby.

...While eating a frozen pizza.



Picture it.


Tuesday, March 17, 2015


Once upon a time, right after college, I dated someone who was a complete idiot (literally an idiot...like he’d fail an IQ test), and to prove my point, he ended things because I was too smart.

His words. He actually said: You’re too smart.

No, wait...the full quote was (earmuffs mom): Your boobs are too big to be so smart.



I mislead him with my bra size.

Up until that moment in 2007, I didn’t realize that, OUTSIDE OF NETWORK TELEVISION, having a large chest meant I was also not allowed to have a large brain, but Robert found my proportions (pun intended) a deal breaker.

Sure, we weren’t a match at all, even though he was the most attractive person I had laid eyes on in a long time.

We dated for about a month but I became suspicious when I found out he was on probation from pharmacy school because he FAILED A DRUG TEST. (uhhhh...idiot).

Also, I did all of his homework for him.

Hmm...maybe I’M the idiot...


Robert’s bizarre breakup speech followed an awkward dinner with his family where I “ruined” a joke by knowing the definition of something.

(I can’t really explain the joke because it DOESN’T MAKE SENSE.)

After I “ruined” the joke that wasn’t even really a joke, more like a play-on-words but NOT REALLY, BECAUSE IT DIDN’T MAKE SENSE, the tension was enough for Robert to announce to everyone, “See? I told you she was smart...” 

And then he trailed off, and no one gave him props for having a smart date. 

They all just sat there like I was handicapped or something and they were trying not to stare.

After the meal, Robert drove me home and I knew that I’d never see him again (BECAUSE I HAVE A BRAIN) and as he dropped me off I tried to be upbeat –dinner was *super fun* thanks—when he said, “You’re too smart.”

I thought he was being cute and complimentary and giggled a little but then realized he was completely serious.

He wasn't laughing.

“What do you mean ‘too smart?’” I asked. "You mean I'm 'too smart' to hang out with you and your family?"

It was confusing; he didn't say "you're a know-it-all" or "you're a smartass," which are legitimate complaints about a significant other. 

He just said, "You're too smart." 

Too smart, period.

Then came the kicker.

“You know...your boobs are too big to be so smart,” Robert finally said.


So this was an either/or situation???



But it was clear that my question didn't need an answer. 

Yes, I was "too smart" to hang out with him and his family.

Also, he only cared about boobs. No brain attached.

“My boobs are too big to be so smart, really Robert?" I said. "I...don’t even know where to start with that.” 

Then I got out of the car and never heard from him again.

Although I did hear that he failed out of pharmacy school soon after that.

I mean, obviously he did.

Because there isn’t a pill that can fix stupid.


Tuesday, March 10, 2015


If Toolbag Tuesday was a TV series, (uhh...Kickstarter??) then Marty, this guy my friend Lauren dated, would be cast first.

It makes sense, because Marty is a minor actor on TV. (And by minor, I mean the weekend weatherman is more well-known.)

But, Marty wouldn’t be cast just because he can read lines and is hilariously fake-tanned (Really...hilariously).

He’d be cast first because he IS the quintessential, cliché toolbag, the cheater-liar-who thinks he’s God’s gift, and that women are too dumb to find out about his cheating and lying. 

Case-in-point: While dating my friend Lauren...EXCLUSIVELY...and telling her he wanted to marry her, he was texting another woman, whose name he changed in his phone to “Richard.”



Yes, Marty thought he was fooling Lauren with his new “BFF Richard,”—no big deal, just texting my friend Richard!—but since when do guys text each other every second?

...After midnight?


Wait it gets better.

Marty sent a NAKED PICTURE of himself to “Richard.”




No, that’s not fishy at all.

Guys send naked pics to their guy friends all the time!!!!


The naked picture he sent to “Richard” was taken in LAUREN’S BATHROOM.


Yes, this dude took a naked selfie in his girlfriend’s bathroom to send to his side piece, who he renamed as “Richard” in his phone.

If Toolbag Tuesday had a mascot, Marty would be it.

(It would be his biggest role yet! LOL)

It’s possible Marty would have gotten away with this even longer had he known that his side piece “Richard” is all kinds of crazy.

When “Richard” found out that he had a girlfriend (maybe it was the tampons in the background of the bathroom selfie that gave him away, I don’t know) “Richard” tracked Lauren down and bombed her with texts about how Marty had been cheating on her for the past FOUR months.

...And that’s how Lauren ended up in the most TOOLBAGGY drama ever: A random, crazy girl texting her screen grab PICTURE TEXTS from Marty, of his naked body, posing in HER bathroom.

(Insert voice of TV show director): AAAANNND...CUT.


Of course, Marty lived up to expectations when confronted about this, and decided to use the justification that REALLY, HE WANTED TO MARRY LAUREN....but he wanted to have sex with “Richard.”


Such a romantic.

This episode of Toolbag Tuesday ends with both women dumping him, but then Marty goes for an Emmy award with his post-breakup text to Lauren asking if they could have one more “goodbye screw.”


AND he used the term "goodbye screw."


While the rest of us cancel our subscriptions.

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