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.


Tuesday, March 3, 2015


It’s always nice when someone realizes exactly what they did wrong in a relationship and makes meaningful strides to be a better person in their next relationship.

Just kidding.


Seriously. Is there anything more annoying than barf-knowing your ex has changed dramatically???

Yes, yes there is.


Why do people do this? Why on Earth does anyone think their newfound decent-ness is something that their EX needs to know?

(These are usually accompanied by a pointless self-serving “apology." Know the signs.)

My friend Dee had the misfortune of being on the receiving end of this fuckery by her ex-husband, Brian.

Brian was engaged to be married again. The engagement announcement was annoyingly close to the time he and Dee finalized their own divorce, but to be fair, no one ever accused Brian of being tactful.

Dee, of course, already heard about his engagement because nothing is a secret on Facebook, even if you BlockABitch.

And yes, she had spent the last several days drinking a barrel of wine, ThankYouVeryMuch.

But then on day three, she looked at her phone and saw a text from Brian. 

He hadn’t texted her in months.

Ummm....was there a problem with their LEGALZOOM.COM divorce??


He just had to get something off of his chest.

“I’m getting remarried...” he wrote.



“and I’m really sorry about how our relationship crumbled and I pray to God that I can be a better husband this time around.”



Uhhhhh.....What the hell was she supposed to do with that???

That's something you tell your NEW wife, not your ex-wife.

I mean, was Dee supposed to be glad that he’s interested in being a better person "this time around??"

Glad that some random chick gets the reflective, praying Brian instead of selfish A-hole Brian???

A-hole Brian was reserved just for YOU, babe!!!
That’s not who I am anymore!!! 


This information helps no one.

Why can’t people just leave their exes alone with their barrel of wine????


In my opinion, he would have done better to have put all of this information into a hand-written letter.

And then bury it.

And then barf all over it.


Thursday, February 26, 2015

Banging it out in Austin, TX

A photo posted by Genevieve (@jennyjenny504) on

Yes, banging it out is the perfect description of the weekend I spent Austin, Texas for a bachelorette party last month, even though no one actually got banged (in the biblical sense) in our shared suite at the famed Austin Motel.

We certainly banged out our tolerance for Mexican food (there really should be a competition for most tacos eaten in consecutive meals), we banged out our livers (of course) and banged out Austin’s Sixth Street with our various tests to see how many drink shakers we could take home as “souvenirs.”

Moving on.

Four bridesmaids plus Angela, the bride-to-be, traveled to Austin from various places: South Carolina (me), Colorado (Amy) and New Orleans (Angela, Kristen and Kasie) because Austin is where Angela moved following Hurricane Katrina and she wanted to say HAAAAAAY (or, I guess, howdy) one more time before she leaves singlehood.

And she wanted all of us to see how wonderfully weird Austin was.

Case in point: I caught up with Angela for the first time that weekend in a train car...which was the women’s room at a country bar.

I had no idea that the entire "building” was actually a train car until I walked through the door to the women’s bathroom, turned around and saw that the wall was the side of an actual train.

A train, train.

Like the ones hobos jump on.

Once I realized this, of course I had to climb the nearby pole to the nook where the conductor would normally sit and yell various versions of CHOO-CHOO!!! even though I was nowhere near drunk.

For about 20 minutes, Angela and I sat the in the red crushed velvet conductor seat area, just two of us, hilariously talking about life, her wedding, South Carolina and New Orleans.

And even though I can’t remember the last time I even saw Angela, we picked up right where we left off

It was just like high school in New Orleans, laugh-snorting right there in the conductor’s box.

Choo Choo!

After we climbed down the pole and went back into the bar, I was immediately swept up by a man in his 70s named Gene who taught me how to do the “two-step” to the most talented band I’ve ever heard play inside a train car.

The other bridesmaids all clapped and cheered as Gene swept me across the floor, despite our two-foot height difference.

Over the next three days, I learned some fantastic things about Austin. 

First: You can’t get a bad meal there if you tried. 

Not that I tried to get a bad meal, but everything I ate—even a stop at a random hut to get out of the rain one afternoon—I had a tastier taco than most restaurants in South Carolina.

I even remembered how to properly say FRIJOLES!! 

I can’t stress enough how every meal was delicious.

Really. I mean, look at this:

A photo posted by Genevieve (@jennyjenny504) on

(Insert Homer Simpson drooling face.)

Announcement: I would like to give the honor of the Best Queso I’ve Ever Eaten (and I'm cuckoo for queso, y'all) to Polvos, this amazing restaurant in Austin that everyone knows about because there was an hour-long wait.

(Worth it.)

For that Friday evening, after a day of shopping and eating tacos at HUTS, we all changed into little black dresses and pearl necklaces (hehehe) and I learned another fantastic thing about Austin: Everyone I met was super cool, inside and out.

This includes the strangers I met who agreed to escort me across a dicey major intersection back to the motel, the manager of the motel who told them to go away (hahahahhahahahaaha since when did they hire my dad at the front desk?!?)

And of course, even more fantastic, all of Angela’s Austin’s friends.

I had such a great time meeting them all, who came out to eat The Best Queso In The World, who danced with us at a tasteful gay club, and one friend in particular, Christina, who drove us around town in her mom mini van (“Don’t steal those stuffed toys, my kids will be upset.”)

I spent quality time with everyone, laughing through the hangovers, feeding headaches with more tacos, trying out as many different preparations of tequila as possible.


We also banged out a proper vacation, which I’ve come to realize gets hard to do when people have things like jobs and lives and schedules (and kids who own stuffed animals.)

But we still all put forth the time and energy to plan a trip across the country, and the New Orleans bridesmaids planned a fantastic itinerary for when we got there (“dance the two-step...check.”)

I'd say the “bachelorette scavenger hunt” was even a success, if only for the inside joke of Angela awkwardly asking the Uber driver where he got 'dem shoes”



Amidst the tequila sunrises, there was a moment at Saturday brunch, a moment where we all went around the table and said how we met Angela and how happy we were that she was marrying the perfect person in the world for her (that was my speech anyway).  

Angela, my best friend since 1999!! So much love.

Then she went back around saying how much we each meant to her, and maybe it was the tequila but I thought about how of all the millions of people in the world, of all the millions of places in the world, the eight of us, from far and wide, were together at this exact moment for this momentous occasion, to celebrate our dear friend.

And I felt lucky to be in that number. 

...And then I don’t remember much more about Saturday. 

WHAT?!?!? I had to keep Austin weird.

(Sunday Jenny was not amused.)


So now, I have a big, fresh bag of memories from my Austin vacation and a bunch of new friends. 

And I can’t wait to be by Angela’s side when she gets married in one week.


It will be an awesome new chapter in our wonderful, wonderfully weird life.


Love ya girl.


P.S. I know where you get dem shoes...


Tuesday, February 24, 2015


I’ve been using the term LOL lately because apparently I’m retreating back into a 17-year old girl.

But LOL is the only thing I can say about this week’s Toolbag Tuesday—an ironic assessment because it’s about a guy who dumped someone my exact age (31) for being too old.


My friend Amanda was out at bar last week, the night of Mardi Gras to be exact, dancing the night away and saw a cute guy on the dance floor who looked like he was in his 30s.

His name was Grant and he sidled up to her and he started bumping butts, spinning her around and paying 100 percent attention to her. 

Amanda recognized him from a weekly social bike ride she does in New Orleans and recalled she had actually checked him out several times.


After a slow dance and another a round of drinks, Amanda said they...ummm....may have kissed right there on the dance floor to the brass band. 

Happy Mardi Gras!!


Grant and Amanda then walked to the bar together and he bought her another drink, got her number and they started talking about what they did, where they lived, where they were from, etc. etc.

She said they spent the entire night side by side, Grant glued to her, chatting her up in a surprisingly intellectual conversation despite the alcohol consumption.

But then they started talking about how old they were.

“Oh, I’m 12,” Amanda said jokingly. Grant responded with, “Oh, wait...hold on....this might not work. I’m 47.”


Then it was time to be serious. 

Grant, who Amanda said looked about 35 said he was 27 years old.

“And how old are you?” he asked, with his arm around her.

She gave him a playful look.

“30?” he asked.

She gave him another playful look.

"Just a tad older..." she said.

Then Grant made an ugly face.

Older? You’re OLDER than 30?” he asked, with this horrified, ugly face. 



“I’m…thirty…one,” Amanda said.

That’s when she said Grant pulled his arm away from around her and bolted.




“I…uh…gotta go find my jacket,” Grant said abruptly and then completely disappeared.

He never came back, even though he had just bought a fresh beer. Never said bye. Never called her or texted (the number HE asked her for) and didn’t show up to the bike club that week.


Quick! How to make a hot, happening 31-year-old girl feel old and decrepit.


So I guess being 31 didn’t matter when he was MAKING OUT WITH HER on the dance floor and making plans to see her again.



But, even if that was a deal breaker (four years, though?? Really???), there are much classier ways to handle it rather than Usain Bolt-ing out of there like he just found out she had the measles. 


Grow up Grant.


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