TOOLBAG TUESDAY

Sometimes a year seems like it was just a day ago. 

This is especially the case with Christmas, Mardi Gras, your friends' birthdays (it's been a YEAR since we went to that bowling alley?!!?) and (cue dramatic voice) my late 20s.

AND HOW IS IT PRACTICALLY SUMMER ALREADY?? 

Maybe you have a whacked out internal clock, too, where you think that it's still early in 2013 when it's definitely the halfway point.  

And then you remember that your friend who announced that she was pregnant last year on July 4 weekend has already given birth. (Yikes. Definitely not just a day ago.)

Clearly...even though something may feel like yesterday, it's not, OK????

Someone should give that memo to Ryan, this guy who my friend Alicia dated for a few weeks…A YEAR AGO. 

Apparently, Ryan doesn't think a year is too long to reach out to a past hook-up, even though they ended things on account of him being a D-bag. 

(Time does not heal all toolbags.)

Ryan and Alicia met while both on vacation last year and things ended when Ryan told her that he didn't want to be in a long-distance relationship AFTER they had engaged in a month-long, long-distance flirtation and slept together, typical.

"Sorry babe, I'm not ready for a long distance relationship, but thanks for the overnight!"

Ugh.

Ryan was a hard nut to crack. 

He seemed super into Alicia despite their 3-hour distance. He sent flowers to her work (swoon), video chatted her all the time, even discussed relocating to be with her. 

On their second face-to-face meeting after the beach, he drove to her town, took her out to the nicest restaurant in town, properly wine-ing and dining her like they do in romantic movies. 

Ryan then spent the night and promptly left the next day with a "I can't do long-distance" attitude.

So Alicia was basically the most expensive one-night stand ever. 

Alicia said she was confused and hurt when Ryan visibly pulled away after his trip to see her.

It was her birthday the following week and Ryan could only muster a "Happy birthday" text. (UHHH WHERE ARE THE FLOWERS RYAN)

Alicia called him out a week later, and when he repeated he didn't want long-distance, she said,  "You knew from day one that we didn't live in the same place and it didn't bother you, but now after you came here and got some you don't want long-distance??"

He had no response, so she called him a dick. 

Ryan didn't respond to that either, which was fine with everyone. 

We all forgot about him, with his different area code and all.

That is until this past weekend. 

Alicia returned to the beach for our annual girls' weekend vacation, the same vacation where she had met Ryan. 

Since it had been A YEAR, Alicia was now off the market and properly dating someone who lived less than five miles from her house.

As all of us were all winding down from the day, trying to figure out dinner plans, Alicia's phone buzzed. It was Ryan.

"Ryan who??" we asked. 

"Ryan, from last year!" Alicia said.

WHAT?? THAT GUY??  

What does he want??

Alicia looked at her phone: "Hey baby, you around the beach this weekend? I am, let's meet up."

!!!!!

It takes a special kind of guy to write to a girl like nothing's wrong when during their last conversation, she called him a dick. 

Was she supposed to repeat her mistakes of 2012!!!!!!???

Speaking of, this text was the first communication they had in a year. 

A YEAR!!!  365 whole days. 

Who knows what she's been up to! She could have given birth in that time!! (And the kid could be crawling.) 

I tried to point out that wow, he's desperate, grasping at last year's straws for a hook-up and/or companionship. (Silver lining?)

As we all laughed at the situation, Alicia wrote back saying she was actually seeing someone serious, ThankYouVeryMuch and not to text her anymore.

On any day, in any year.

-Jenny

TOOLBAG TUESDAY

My dad says there's a lifestyle among some people in New Orleans where they don't work that hard or often, because they don't have to.

"This is a city where you can do the absolute minimum and still survive," he says.  

It's not hard to accomplish. In New Orleans, rent is cheap (if you're not picky), beer is even cheaper and there's a free outdoor party every single weekend that requires no money. 

I know several people in New Orleans who fit into this "only do the minimum" stereotype. I'm sure they exist in other cities, too. 

These are people who don't need to make a lot of money in order to cover living expenses, and have no real additional aspirations other than getting drunk. 

Good for them. They usually post hilarious Facebook pictures.

There's nothing wrong with that lifestyle I suppose, but there is something wrong with insulting people who…uh…maybe don't want to be your girlfriend because of it. 

Joe, this guy my friend Maria dated, was one of those people. 

He unapologetically worked twice a week at a casino and made enough money to drink.

Maria, on the other hand, was getting her Masters and had an office job.

Despite their different life goals, they had a connection and went out together, had sleepovers and watched football.  

Maria noted that their "going out" lifestyle was just as casual as their relationship.

Joe didn't take her out to fancy dinners or buy her elaborate things. …because he barely worked part-time.

Maria didn't care. She's on the compete opposite end of being high-maintenance and/or needing nice things. 

So for those couple of months, she happily went to neighborhood bars and drank cheap beer, didn't say anything when Joe would show up at her house in a different friend's car each week. 

The carefree relationship ended when Joe told Maria one day that he loved her.

It was out of left field, she said, and not at all indicative of the casual nature of their relationship. 

Did she like him? Yes. 

But did she want to invest in someone who had moved twice in the past four months because of "rent issues?" 

Who only worked twice a week? And who just celebrated his 35th birthday? Not really.

Maria admitted she could have blurted out a more polite reaction to him saying that he loved her. But she could only muster up responding, "Get your shit together."

Hahahahaha 

Sign up for a 401K!

Joe flipped out, even as Maria said she tried to explain, "that the next person I'm letting myself fall in love with is someone I may want to marry, and your life is currently too unstable for that."

"...So get your shit together."

Maria thought for a second that the ultimatum might have been what Joe needed to change his lifestyle - a kick in the ass reality check - and he'd at least pick up additional shifts, maybe move out of the Worst Neighborhood In The World.

You know, something to impress her, the woman he was in love with. 

But he didn't. 

Instead, Joe told her that she was shallow and only cared about money (ed note: HAHAHAHAHAHAA)  and they broke up.

…and then he went to the bar for his $2 beers.

(YOU CAN'T FIX MINIMUM!!!)

Now, it's a common rule that you don't talk to your ex's friends about the details of your breakup, because:

1.) they will undoubtedly be on their FRIEND'S side (duh) and 

2.) they don't care.

It's even worse when you not only talk about, but insult your ex to her friends. 

But that's exactly what Joe did. He couldn't consider any truth in Maria's response to him, and decided to unleash on one of her friends who was at the bar.

"Well, isn't your friend Maria just a GOD DAMN PRINCESS?" Joe said.

Hahahahahaha 

Leave it to Joe to make calling someone a princess an insult. He should never visit…uh, Tulane University. 

"No, she's not," her friend replied. "She's actually the opposite of that."

"Well, she acts like she's too GOOD for everybody," Joe said. "All she cares about is MONEY." 

And then OMG, he mocked Maria to her friend, pretending as if he were her, a snotty princess waving a scepter over everyone.

It was hysterical.

Joe couldn't even for a second get his head out of his ass and realize that maybe he could stand to make some lifestyle changes if he wanted someone to take him seriously.

I told Maria her new rule should be to only date people who treat her like royalty. 

At minimum.

-Jenny

Another order of Jazz Fest, please

Whenever my family eats at this Thai place in New Orleans, my twin sister Joy always orders the wrong thing. Haha.

She's a picky vegetarian, and therefore uninterested in fish with any sort of head still attached to it, or shrimp with legs still on, or cold seafood in general. 

"Just order the noodles," we keep saying, but she doesn't listen. 

She always orders an exotic-sounding appetizer from the Tolstoy novel of a menu and it remains cold on the table while we give her little plates of our noodle dishes.

"They should tell you that the shrimp are going to be COLD…" she said at our most recent outing there, enthusiatically suggesting we all get dessert because she's still starving.

Haha.

I know how she feels. I've ordered the wrong thing before. 

Take last year, when I ordered the wrong thing at a fancy restaurant with my best friend Meredith. 

I chose the duck because nom nom nom nom ILoveBirds, but Meredith's fish dish with its crystal hot sauce "beurre-blanc" was hands down way more tasty than my duck, especially when I found out that foie gras was not French for figs.

Anyway. 

It's hard to figure out what to order all the time. Figuring out the absolute best option when you're presented with a million of them. 

This was the challenge for Jazz Fest, and any music festival, really, where there are literally hundreds of options in terms of food, music, art, stages, modes of transportation, type of alcohol you plan to sneak into the fairgrounds ….

(uh, for example.)

AND GUESS WHAT??? I ORDERED ALL THE RIGHT THINGS THIS YEAR!!!!  (No heads on shrimp)

(haha sorry joy)

For those who don't know, the food at Jazz Fest is a close second to the music. 

I don't know if this is the case at other big music festivals, but probably not. This is New Orleans. We must offer good food options or else no one would show up.

(What do they serve at Coachella? Kale smoothies? Twig peppermints?!??)

For the four days I attended Jazz Fest, I had, in no particular order: Pecan Catfish, Crawfish Strudel, shrimp and grits, yakamein, Crawfish Monica and a mango freeze.

All good choices!!  And aside from the crawfish Monica, it was all food I had never eaten at Jazz Fest before, a big move for someone slightly less picky than my twin sister. 

A friend recommended the crawfish strudel, but everything else I ate was just by chance. Oh, look, I like pecans. Pecan Catfish it is!  And it was actually the most delicious thing I've ever eaten. Truth. 

I will dream about it for the next 365 days.

Several people I talked to didn't order the right thing.

An Australian guy I met said he ordered a fried pork chop po-boy and it was dry and gross. 

"WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU ORDER THAT???" I asked, imaging a bone-in pork resting on a bun. "BLECH!!!!!" 

(WHO APPROVED THAT ITEM???)

Another friend said he was disappointed with the soft shell crab poboy because the crabs were small and it cost $10 this year. Ain't nobody got time fa that! 

But aside from the food, I also ordered the right things in who I saw perform, too. (I know! I HATE ME TOO!)

The week leading up to the festival, I poured through all the artists on the schedule (YouTube-ing some even) and made a list of the ones I wanted to see. 

Being from New Orleans and living in New Orleans, I tried to choose artists I've never seen before and who I might never see again. 

As such, blues legend Taj Mahal beat out local Trombone Shorty to close out the fest for me. 

Local Kermit Ruffins I told myself  to catch later that weekend playing at the bowling alley and instead salsa danced at the Congo Square stage during his set.

Unlike years past, where I've watched artists while saying WTF to myself (Simon and Garfunkel minus Garfunkel's voice??? Wyclef, have you been using a voice double all these years?? Bruce Hornsby…wait, no, he was actually really good) 

I never once thought WTF this year, even though people did say The Black Keys dropped the ball. 

(I'm not a super fan, I couldn't tell.)

Walking into Jazz Fest is so nostalgic, like going to the same summer camp every year and you remember what all the bunk beds look like and the figuration of the paddle boats or whatever. 

I've been to more Jazz Fests in my life than not, and could walk to every stage with my eyes closed if I wanted to.  

I hopped around to almost every stage, certainly every tent and saw, in chronological order: Voices of The Wetlands, Lost Bayou Ramblers, Magary Lord of Bahia - Brazil, Mississippi Rail Company, Big Sam's Funky Nation, Juan Luis Guerra y 440, Dave Matthews Band, B.B. King (epic), Johnny Sketch and the Dirty Notes, Henry Butler and Friends, an African Dance Performance from kids through the non-profit I worked at, Theresa Andersson, Shamar Allen and the Underdawgs, a special reprise of a play One Mo' Time (went with my parents, cute), Val and Love at the gospel tent (with my mom, cute), The Pine Leaf Boys, The Black Keys and Taj Mahal.  

Ask me about them! They were all great.

But my favorite, favorite, favorite moment of jazz fest was on the "locals" Thursday. 

One band I'm particularly fond of -- uhhhhh to a point of being creepy groupie gagagagagaga -- is a band called Johnny Sketch and The Dirty Notes. 

I see them play almost every time they have a show, and they were one local act I was looking forward to hearing on the glorious Jazz Fest stage. 

On that Thursday, all of our friends descended upon that stage to hear them as a meeting place because that day served as a memorial and tribute to Meredith's dad, who passed away exactly one year ago on that day.  

(The Jazz Fest tribute to Mr. John had been decided months in advance. One big second line. We all took off work, Meredith's brother and his wife drove to town from Memphis.)

Members of Johnny Sketch know Meredith, and knew about our gathering. 

It was almost at the end of their set when they surprised everyone by dedicating a song to Meredith and her family. 

We all froze when we heard the name "Meredith" through the speakers and the words "special" and OMG the song was about sun coming through and shining down on special people and that was just a perfect metaphor for Meredith and her dad and no effing joke, the sun actually peeked out from the rain clouds when the song was played. 

It was magical. It was a magical Jazz Fest moment.

So yea. We totally ordered the right thing. 

I should have bought the whole band some pecan catfish.

:)

Until next year. 

Crawfish strudel!!!!

Taj Mahal and 10 tubas, blues tent 

Me and my mamma at Taj Mahal

xoxo Meredith

-Jenny

TOOLBAG TUESDAY

I've been reading the New York Times Magazine lately, and I'm particularly impressed with their one-sentence book reviews.

As a writer, I know how challenging it is to condense everything down to one sentence, and I read it in awe every week. 

(One sentence review of the one-sentence reviews: Commas are your friend.) Ha.

I even gave it a shot and tweeted a one-sentence review of the movie The American with George Clooney: "In an otherwise boring character study, you almost see George Clooney's bare ass."

mmmmmmmm

Anyway.

I was reminded of these one-sentence reviews when I was given my OWN one-sentence review by a guy I went on a blind date with last month. 

It was an UNWARRANTED one-sentence review, mind you. NOBODY ASKED HIM.

And…it wasn't flattering.

SO F him. 

Ha

And here I thought compliments were pretty easy. 

HELLO?? LET ME COUNT THE WAYS??? 

Apparently not. Looking back, I don't know why I was expecting anything more from George, since nothing he had done all evening was smooth. 

(George: The star of the upcoming How To Lose a Girl in 30 Seconds.)

The obnoxious date started out at literally one of the biggest shithole dive bars in New Orleans (his suggestion) where two beers and a shot cost $3. No joke. 

Normally this would be a fun place to pre-game before a music show, but it wasn't ideal on a Tuesday at 9 p.m. with no post-bar plans.

But I'm a team player, so I met him there. He wasn't ugly, but I wasn't exactly head over heels on the offset. 

He bought us cheap beers and we started talking about our jobs (he works at the zoo!! Everyone I know has been working at the zoo lately!) and I told him about my job as a newspaper editor and also my side job hosting bar trivia, which he found endlessly more fascinating. 

I then remembered that one of the trivia questions for that week asked how many teeth a snail can have. So I quizzed George, the ZOO guy. 

He failed miserably. 

"No, like THOUSANDS," I said in response to his "none" answer.

"IT'S NOT THOUSANDS!" he insisted. "I WORK with them, they don't HAVE teeth, they have radials, it's like a bone." 

He then pulled out his smartphone and began googling the "correct" answer.

"I'm sorry, I just don't like to be wrong," George said sliding his fingers over the screen. 

(I ordered another shot.)

After the snail fiasco (stalemate because they have teeth on top of radials…but really I win)…and we actually started talking about our lives and interests and he redeemed himself by being smart and talkative.

We were talking for a good 45 minutes about a number of things - Work! Travel! Music! - when I suggested we leave the shithole bar because a man who looked homeless kept interrupting us to flirt with me. (Side note: Happy Birthday New Orleans!!)

"Well, where do you want to go?" George asked. We both tried to think of a place in between where we each lived.

"What about Lucky's?" I asked. "That's kind of in the middle." 

"No, I can't go there," George said. "I have an ex-girlfriend who practically LIVES there, and I don't want to show up with someone else."

Uh, fair enough, I thought.

As I was racking my brain for another bar, he continued on about his ex-girlfriend.

"Do you know her? You'd actually get along with her," George said. 

Yea? How's that?? 

And then my one sentence review:

"Because you're short with a raspy voice and super intense."

What?

WHAT??

WHO IS??????

I just stood there, frozen, not daring to say anything more with my horrible, no good raspy voice. I was so insulted I wanted to cry. 

Forty-five minutes of talking to me and that's all he could come up with?? Forget smart  or funny or even blonde. 

NO!!! I'M SHORT AND INTENSE AND SOUND LIKE KIRSTE ALLEY!!!!

It was legit depressing.

I then focused on the last part of my review.

WHO ARE YOU CALLING INTENSE, BUDDY??? YOU'RE THE ONE WHO FREAKED OUT ABOUT THE SNAIL'S TEETH!!! 

All this was happening in my head, yet I had not yet responded.

"What's wrong?" George asked me a few seconds later.

"Um, well, none of that is really a compliment," I said in a whisper to hide my horrible, no good, raspy voice. Then I stood on my tip toes.

"SURE IT IS!" he said. "THAT'S MY TYPE!"

(Apparently I should have been flattered.)

"Well, nobody wants to be told that they're intense," I said, looking down. "Or have a terrible voice," I choked.

"Sorry," George said and I almost said "thanks" until he added, "I mean, I'm not sorry I said it, I'm sorry you took it the wrong way."

TOOK IT THE WRONG WAY!?!!?!?!

Um…how many other ways are there to take it?? (That's what she said) (See, I'm FUNNY)

I mean, sorry, George. My bad. You make me feel like a princess.

"You know," I said. "Maybe we shouldn't go to another bar. I'm…tired all of a sudden." 

And then I bolted. 

One sentence review: A snail would have been a better date. 

-Jenny