Shoots and Lighters

From time to time, I get a few interesting tenant phone calls. One of our Houston tenants called last week to complain about a series of unfortunate events at his apartment. Now, I appreciate great customer service, so I think it’s important to deliver the same kind of service I would expect as a customer. But sometimes the customers make it so hard to hold in all of the smart-ass comments  (shown in blue) that jingle-jangle in my brain.

Here’s what transpired:

Ring, ring …

“[Blah blue blee blue], how may I help you?”

“Yeah, hai. Ah’m eeun apartment eighteen-nahnteen. Ah wanted taooo make a complaint.”

You know how all you hear when Charlie Brown’s teacher speaks is “womp, womp, womp, wah womp womp?” Well, I didn’t hear that, but all I could hear was “Lieutenant Da-un, I brought some ice cream for ya, Lieutenant Da-un” and “I love you Jen-nay.” Lock it up, Marcy.

“Okay, sir. Which property are you at?”

“Eighteen-nahnteen.”

“Okay, but which property ... what is the name of the complex?”

“Uhh, the one in Houston.”

Oh, jeez. Here we go.

“Okay, sir, we have 7 properties in the Greater Houston area. Are you at *starting at the top of my list* [Blah Blah]?”

“No, the one in Houston.”

Sir, do you know where you live? I understand you’re in #1819 … in Houston … but I’m gonna need you to be a little more specific. We’re not in Kansas anymore, kapeesh?

“Okay, how about [Blah Blah]?”

“No! In HOUSTON!”

Listen, buddy. Houston is the 4th largest city in America. Regardless of whether or not you live inside the actual city limits, if you’re close, most people just say Houston. So forgive me for including these, but unless you can give me a little more direction, spare me the ‘tude dude. I’m just going to keep playing Go Fish. HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE?!?

“Sir, which part of Houston?”

“On the Beltway.”

……………………….. I realize we only have one property just off the Beltway, but can I show you why this response irritated me?

“Ok, so [Blah Blah]?”

“Yeah. That’s it.”

Oh, good. Glad we took 5 minutes to knock that out.

“Ok, sir. Shoot – how can I help you?”

 “Yeah, someone’s been stealin’ mah lat[mumbling]s.”

“…Your lights?”

“No, my laiiighters.”

“…Your ladders?”

“Yeah, I’ve had three laiiiighters stolen. I think it’s every time the lawn crew comes. But I’ve had 2 Zippos and a Bic stolen.”

“Oooh, your lighters. As in cigarette lighters.”

That sounds like an emergency. Maybe you should hang up and call the police.*

“Ok, sir, have you talked to the leasing office there?”

“No, this was the only number I could find. But I’m pretty sure it’s the lawn crew stealing my laiiighters off my patio.”

Here’s a thought, PUT YOUR LAIIIGHTERS INSIDE. Who’da thunk it?

“That’s strange.”

“No, it’s not straaaynge. Someone’s just stealin’ mah laiiighters.”

“It’s uh….just a personal opinion, sir. Let’s try the leasing office there. I’m sure someone will be happy to assist you.”

Seriously? You’re absolutely right, sir. It’s not strange; it’s not strange at all that someone swipes your lighter when you leave it out in the open. Strange would be your lighter growing a pair of legs and walking off after you told him to stay. Day-own Laiiighter. Good boy.

*Additional commentary brought to you by this funny lady.

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Ditch Bums, Lobotomies, and Singing in the Rain

Howdy, dear friends and strangers, I’m baaaaack! I’m sorry for the neglect, but I seemed to have lost my mind.  Where does your mind go when you lose it? I’m not really sure where mine went, but it must have been nice wherever it was! I’m thinking it was lying on a nice sandy beach somewhere on a breezy tropical island (similar to the one I have on my desktop background at work with a little hammock) … or somewhere really cold since lately it’s been hotter than blue blazes in the sauna we call Houston.  

Let’s see, what’s been going on around here? I’ll give you a quick update.

I took a weekend road trip to San Antonio to visit one of my best friends Frances and her family (one of my many bonus families). It’s always great to see them! Her little brother Jacob graduated from high school (congrats Broham!). Tons of family and friends showed up to celebrate and have some of Papa Driffill’s awesome brisket. We were sitting around the table with a few of Fran’s family members, including her Grandma and Tia, when they mentioned they read the obituaries in the paper every day. We talked about how it’s kind of depressing, but a lot of people browse this section of the newspaper. Grandma then said “Hey, that’s how we keep up with our friends!” and Jacob just started laughing … “The obituaries are like Facebook for y’all!” So true.


I stopped at Buc-ee’s on the way home. That was interesting … as always. For those of you who don’t know, Buc-ee’s is known for their glorious and pristine bathrooms. Now, I’ve seen my more than fair share of dark and sketchy, creepy, axe-murderish bathrooms at numerous gas stations in Podunk towns because I couldn’t hold it ‘til the next major city. When I was in elementary school, we drove with another family to Colorado and pulled over at sundown for some fresh peaches at a fruit stand, I asked the nice lady if I could use her restroom. She pointed me to an outhouse off in the distance between some trees … I’ve reluctantly used plenty of Porta-Potties, but this was a dark and all wooden outhouse … now that’s Podunk. I hesitated a little, but since I didn’t think I could hold it any longer, I took off running, “I think I can, I think I can.” Well, I think even God hates outhouses, because the second I took off, it got very dark, started pouring down rain (which didn’t help my situation), and when I opened the door and took one look inside the dark abyss, the thunder let loose, and I flew like a bat out of hell back to the car. (Sidenote- someone at camp many years ago told me things live in Porta-Potties. And even though I had never witnessed this tall tale, I was certain that using an OUTHOUSE in the middle of freaking nowhere that night would result in my demise. To this day, I have this irrational fear that some snake or nasty creature is going to crawl out of the hole and bite me.) Luckily, there was a Dairy Queen a few miles down the road. Dad peeled out and I’m pretty sure I was doing what appeared to be some sort of tribal potty-dance in the back seat to avoid the embarrassing. I ran inside the DQ and past an old lady headed to the bathroom. (Sorry!)

So, all of that to tell you if you’re like me with a tiny bladder, and can hardly ever make it on a road trip without at least one pit stop, Buc-ee’s bathrooms are heaven sent. No, really. Choirs of angels sing when you walk in. Just be sure you know which side of the parking lot to park on so that you are as close as possible to the restrooms or else you will find yourself running the 100 meter dash through a throng of slow people, clothing, food, and random knick-knacks to get to the Great Hall of Thrones on the complete opposite side of the not-so-convenient-convenient-store. Luckily, once you get in, their doors have the little green “vacant” or red “occupied” door signs that change when the door is locked,  so you don’t have to play the Bend-Over-and-Look-for-Feet Game which becomes increasingly difficult if you just potty-danced your way through the last leg of the race. Don’t let their funny billboards mislead you; if you see one that says “You can hold it. Buc-ee’s 70 miles” and you don’t know if you can, go with your gut instinct and pull in to the next available stop. 70 miles is deceiving when you have to go.

Aside from the great bathrooms (Beaver Nuggets (lol), Buc-ee’s ice, and fudge … so I’ve been told)., Buc-ee’s is also a fantastic place for people watching. For instance, I followed a guy in the parking lot on a motorcycle, holding his beard down so it wouldn’t fly up his nose. I also saw all kinds of interestingly dressed people. But not only this, but when I got back to my car to hit the road again, I saw a police car drive up behind me. Whatever it was, I didn’t do it. I swear! He got out and started walking around in the grass ahead of me, looking down into the ditch down below. He started talking into his radio, and an older lady walked up to him. I’m assuming she was the one who called for the police. I was getting a little uneasy, so I decided to back out and go. As I put the car in reverse, a homeless man appeared from the ditch. For any of you hard core SNL fans, there’s a “deleted sketch” on The Best of Will Ferrell DVD where his character is the crazy Old Prospector, Gus Chiggins. This homeless man looked exactly like him, minus the pick axe and lantern. As I made it out to the street, I looked back to see Old Prospector getting cuffed and put into the back of a squad car. What a pit stop! So, next time you pull into a gas station to go potty, watch out for the ditch bums.

Old Prospector Gus Chiggins

 

In other news, Elle had sinus surgery. I had a few sympathetical pre-ops jitters, but I'm happy to report the surgery went relatively well.  She asked me if I would still be her friend with all of the swelling, bruising, and bandages/packing, and if I could compliment on how well the colors in her outfits match said bruising. Of course I’ll still be your friend, but I can’t say I didn’t just gag a little thinking about all the packing (and removal thereof).

I need to practice some of my compliments.

• That shade of blue really complements your eyes.
• The black in this bruise really slims the swelling down.
• I tinted the mirrors yellow to offset that purple.
• Thanks for not being scary on Vicodin after surgery, unlike someone else we know after she broke her foot. (Love you, Fran.)

Speaking of surgery, even though I know good and well that a lobotomy is a neurological procedure where they remove connections in the frontal lobe of your brain (yikes!) and is only spelled with one ‘t’, I can’t help but giggle because it’s got the word “bottom” in it. I think we should double the ‘t’ so it can be the name of a surgery on your bottom – like maybe the J. Lobottomy, a procedure to enhance the lacking of the badonkadonk, no?. I know, I’m 23 years old, but I still laugh at immature things … life’s too short. I couldn’t get through a news story about Representative Weiner (lol) without snickering every time they said his name.


Ok, so the real lobotomy procedure (according to the 1970 Psychiatric Dictionary) was used to treat different kinds of psychological disorders, namely OCD and different versions of schizophrenia. Here are a few procedural nuggets that caught my attention:

• Good results are obtained in about 40 percent of cases, fair results in some 35 percent and poor results in 25 percent. The mortality rate probably does not exceed 3 percent.
• These odds would not have convinced me back in the day ... so you're saying I don't even have a 50/50 shot at ending up with good results? I noticed "great results" was not included on this scale.
• Greatest improvement is seen in patients whose premorbid personalities were 'normal', cyclothymic (bipolar), or obsessive compulsive; in patients with superior intelligence and good education; in psychoses with sudden onset and a clinical picture of affective symptoms of depression or anxiety, and with behaviouristic changes such as refusal of food, overactivity, and delusional ideas of a paranoid nature.
• Ok, wait. Why are 'normal' people partaking in these surgeries? Furthermore, why are you removing cranial matter in the patients with superior intelligence and good education? You know you can't transplant intelligence, right? You either have it, or you don't ... and I pray for your soul if you don't.
• The removal of these aberrant and fixed pathological brain circuits, therefore, might lead to some improvement in mental symptoms. 
• ...might? ...some? Again, if you're going to be snipping my circuits, I'd like a little more confidence in the outcome please.
• Because nearly all psychosurgical procedures have undesirable side effects, they are ordinarily resorted to only after all other methods have failed. The less disorganized the personality of the patient, the more obvious are post-operative side effects. (Side effects include convulsive seizures, blunting of the personality, apathy, irresponsibility, distractibility, childishness, facetiousness, lack of tact or discipline, and post-operative incontinence.)
• These side effects are pretty intense, therefore it seems pretty OBVIOUS that if you have a less disorganized personality (read: normal) going into the procedure, then these outlandish post-op side effects will be more obvious.
• Basically, if Dr. Freeman went in looking like this, but came out of surgery looking like this, the side effects will be more noticeable than if he went into surgery already looking like one flew over the cuckoo's nest. Duh!

Anyway … Elle, I'm glad you're out of surgery, wish you a speedy and relatively painless recovery, and most of all, I hope you don't get any more sinus infections!

I still owe you guys a ditty on my Vegas trip – it’s just a matter of me sitting down and uploading pictures to my computer to accompany some stories. Las Vegas was awesome, until it was time to come home. After a long night out with my cousin and her friend (small world - they planned a trip to Sin City the same week we were there), I tripped and ate it. For any of you who play (or have played sports), I’m sure your coaches told you if you fall, don’t catch yourself because you’ll mess up your wrists on the impact. Well, you guessed it. I tried (keyword) to catch myself and wound up with a sprained wrist and missing half the skin on the back of my hand. I’ll revisit this incident with a dedicated Vegas post.


Most importantly, it rained yesterday for several hours. I did my part and got my car washed on Sunday. You’re welcome, Texas. This is most important because short of a few droplets here and there, it hasn’t really rained in the majority of Texas for 7 months. That’s a pretty severe drought.

That just looks hot, huh?

Here in Bayou City, we’ve only had 1.5 inches of rain from the last three months which is apparently only 15% of what we normally get around this time. So, here’s what I was thinking. We need to organize a flash mob (since everyone seems to be doing those now) and do one giant rain dance. That should at least get us the 10 inches we need to be on par for the season. Check this out – apparently even parts of the Sahara desert are getting more rain than we are! We could also make a Facebook event to have everyone wash their cars on the same day. Just a thought.

 Sheesh, after writing this post, I'm beginning to think I might be a candidate for a lobotomy.

 
Gotta give credit, where credit is due:
http://28.media.tumblr.com/X6pnpwdzPi3d3f1nppEZmgzio1_400.gif
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lobotomy
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/05/10/texas-drought-2011-record_n_859902.html
http://www.myfoxhouston.com/generic/weather/texas_drought_monitor_weather_subindex
http://www.cerebromente.org.br/n02/historia/freeman.gif
https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrmvDm8b1WvljFtLisouY21dCUFG1QSFHFRmvI9SVmv4nVvogt95WDGAupxbJYcanRI1mGIlUvqsSJtXZrhqbiU6FU_6ocXj6fffL6nNFjfCeP1cEmUmYLfCDUYi1cQAk3RyT3MLbj4nM/s1600/lobotomy.jpg

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Put That on Your Cup and Brew It

Dear Starbucks Barista (who bears an odd resemblance to Johnny Depp),

I was looking to you to jump start my day. I know it's Monday, but how 'bout not walking away (thrice, might I add) mid-order and let me know when you're ready so I don't have to repeat myself for the fourth time. I would greatly appreciate it. Also, contrary to your belief, I am not spitting out random letters when you ask me how to spell my name. Though maybe I'll start doing that.

Sincerely,
"Teryn"

P.W.
I do have to give you credit for a close attempt at spelling my name correctly. At least you didn't spell it T-i-f-f-a-n-y (No, really. Someone actually got Tiffany from Taryn.), T-y-r-o-n-e (even though this was my old nickname in basketball), or T-a-n-y-a, which leads me to believe people aren't really listening at all.

P.T.
Ok, fine. You caught me calling the kettle black, I'm not the best at remembering names either ... but I do remember faces.

P.T.T.
What if you did a quick sketch of my face instead of my name? Or, if I blurt out random sound effects, will you write it like they do in the old Batman series with little lightning bolts and such? How 'bout I do a quick little jig? Can you put that on my cup? To save time, you can use stick figures. Let's say I wanted to do "The Shopping Cart" dance. You could draw a little interpretive ditty like this to represent said dance.

This should be a trend.

And speaking of should-be-trends, here's my PSA for today:

Purchase a bottle of Ethos® Water from Starbucks, and they will donate 5¢ to support humanitarian programs in coffee-growing communities. Ethos® Water spreads awareness about the world water crisis and helps children around the world get clean water.

Contrary to my initial gripe this morning, tip of the imaginary top hat to Starbucks - I'll pay a little extra for a good cause.

*Shopping Cart Dance interpretive sketch is a Marcy Magoo original. Thanks and gig'em!

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The Bachelorette: Season Premiere

It’s that time of year again, folks. It’s time for another round of my favorite “reality” (let’s be honest, it’s not reality at all) show. The Bachelorette is a guilty pleasure that I will fully admit is both lame and cheesy and has zero intellectual value, but is hilarious to watch as the circus that is 25 people competing for the attention of one (THE one, or so they hope) bachelor or bachelorette unfold. Now, I’m not one for drama in my personal life, but it’s perfectly tolerable sitting in my queue of recorded shows when I can pause, rewind, and fast forward through all of the commercials and it stays on the screen. Although, that’d be kind of funny if real-time cat fights had media time-outs like football and basketball. *Ok ladies, commercial break is over – ready, go!*

Who’s the lucky bachelorette this time? Ashley Hebert, the super bubbly (possibly more than a bottle of Dom … but I’ll get to that later) blonde-turned-brunette (because brunettes have more fun) from the last season of The Bachelor. Brad dumped her in South Africa after spending one too many dates reassuring her of his feelings for her. I can’t say I blame the guy, that’d get pretty old.

But as most former contestants claim, it seems (keyword) she’s learned from her mistakes. She’s reinvented herself and is ready to do it right – which is clearly dating 25 guys at once in La La Land and getting engaged after only a few short weeks of sexy-time getting-to-know-you-time in every exotic hot tub under the Aztec Sun with cameras in your face, all followed by a time of Siberian exile until the season finale airs. “Can you feel the love tonight?” (Thanks, Sir Elton for singing that song … it comes in handy.)

Two side notes –
SN 1: According to Elle, a seasoned anthropologist, the Aztec Sun covers a much more random assortment than the regular sun. I can neither confirm nor deny this statement at the moment, but I like it and will therefore endorse it. There will be no further comment.

SN 2: According to Mrs. H, our sorority’s chapter advisor (feared by pledges, loved by the initiated), STDs and other scary things ride around on jet skis in public hot tubs. Stay out. I’m convinced she had something to do with the episode of Glee when we found out how Quinn allegedly got pregnant.


Don’t get me wrong, I do hope these people get their shot at love, but I’m not convinced this is the most practical way to go about it. Look at the track record – the only bachelorette to get engaged on the show and become happily married (with children to follow) was Trista, a fellow Alpha Chi! That being said, let’s get to my reason for watching the show: the commentary. Yes, all the romantical moments on the show are nice, but the commentary on the show between the girls/guys living in the house and also from the bachelor/bachelorette is priceless. I also love the commentary between my friends and family. The only thing that would be better than that is a marathon of VH1-style commentary by the show’s host Chris Harris, the camera crew, and other members of the show. They’ve GOT to have the key to Pandora’s Box. They see all the action live, raw and unedited.

Back to the premeire. Last week, they introduced a buffet of 25 eligible bachelors to Ashley. Can we just talk about the word “eligible” for a minute? When one is considered eligible, it’s usually safe to assume they have met some set of requirements, right? In this case, eligible is single and available to potentially marry. Eligible could also mean fit or proper to be chosen; worthy of choice; desirable. 

… This is me laughing.

I guess like beauty, eligbility is in the eye of the beholder because WOW, some of these guys are an undesirable trip! (Ok, gentlemen readers, before you go getting your panties in a bunch, let the record show I am an Equal Opportunity Commentator; MANY of the girls seen on The Bachelor are just as insane. Crazy knows no gender.) 

Shall we meet a few of the bachelors?

Ames, 31
Portfolio Manager from NYC
Please check out his bio here so we can discuss.

1) I’m sorry, but even if that were my most embarrassing moment, I would not have that published on the WWW!

2) Of everything you could choose to bring on a deserted island, THOSE are the three things you’d bring? Hello, what if your deserted island is absolutely nothing but an island of sand? Some portfolio manager you are. You’ve just committed two of your three eggs to a broken basket. Whatcha gonna do with those tools on your sand island? I’m afraid to ask what you’d wish for if you were given three wishes.

3) And on the 7th day, he rested.

4) I’m sorry, but the question was “What do you wish we had asked you?” … as in your response should be Jeopardy-style in the form of a question, not “Pretend you’re Barney Stinson and toot your own horn here.” … THEN maybe you could tell us more about your amazing skills … Although it’s true that every girl is crazy ‘bout a sharp dressed man, and bow ties are making a comeback (just ask President Loftin), nobody likes a bragger, Ames.

He also tells us on the show that he has his undergrad from Yale, two masters from Columbia, a doctorate from Harvard, he’s been to 70 countries, and has run in 39 marathons. Oh…AND ultramarathons. What the hell is an ultramarathon? I’m sorry, my checklist requires that you have at minimum three masters and two doctorates, must have been to at least 80 countries AND Pluto AND provide a current shot record (hey, if you’ve been to that many parts of the world, you may have developed some super-bug worse than the Bubonic Plague), be a two-time Iron Man champion, have helped at least 10 elderly women cross the street without getting slammed by their purse, acquired tears from a gypsy, Merlyn is your homeboy and you’ve pulled the sword from the stone, collected one million gold coins and saved Princess Peach from the burning castle all while maintaining your fireball status. It sounds like you’ve been pretty successful in life, cheers to you, but no girl wants to be with a one-upper. Unless the girl is Penelope from SNL; she’s the ultimate one-upper.

Anthony, 28

Butcher from Jersey

He’s not your fist pumping-GTL Guido from Jersey, but rather the unbutton-your-shirt-to-show-your-gold-chain-and-chest-hair, wave-your-hands-in-the-air-and-lay-it-on-thick Italian from Jersey. He makes a big stink at the end because she sent him home. “Oooooh solo mioooooo!”

Bentley, 28
“Businessman” from Tampa
Take a peek at his bio here so we can discuss.

1) If by outrageous you mean insane, then yes, driving 40 hours straight IS outrageous. Why would you want to do that?
2) That is pretty embarrassing, but try tripping at your 5th grade awards ceremony when they call your name to come get your certificates. I think that might be where the longstanding tradition of me falling in public places all started. I’m not embarrassed anymore; I’ve come to expect it.
3) “Baby, how did you know?! This view overlooking the water is beautiful AND it’s 75 and sunny with a gentle breeze coming from the Northwest at 5 mph. The temperature just made this the ultimate date.” Dude, your bio is as monotonous as your voice.

On the show, he confessed that he hoped Emily was the bachelorette (disappointed, are we?). We also learn he is recently divorced and has a daughter named Cozy … Cozy?! I’d leave him too if he named my kid Cozy. They obviously didn’t run their list of baby names by their friends. There are some different “progressive” names these days, but really? Cozy? What happened to giving a kid a good, #winning first name – one that defines character? To quote one of my favorite movies, “If we wanted wussies, we would have named them Dr. Quinn and Medicine Woman!” (Gold star if you know what movie that is from.)

Ashley also has some dirt on this Bentley dude prior to even meeting him. Turns out, one of her friends from the previous season of The Bachelor is best friends with Bentley’s ex-wife and they say he’s only on the show to promote his business (I’m having flashbacks to Ali’s season with the wrestler). Ashley is clearly skeptical and was hoping he didn’t step out of the limo lookin’ like Mr. Debonair, but … CALLED IT! … she’s attracted to him. Yeah, I don’t see it. Strategically edited previews also show Bentley going far in the competition and breaking her heart. We’ll see how that actually unravels. Oh yeah, did I mention “he’s not overly attracted to her, but is a good competitor” and “he’s gonna break Ashley’s heart, he just hopes his hair looks good”? Dirt bag.

Mickey, 31
Chef from NY

His intro was uncomfortable to watch. He tried to imitate Chantal’s intro from the last season of The Bachelor by saying he had something from all of the men in America. Ashley immediately flinched because Chantal’s “something” was a slap to Brad’s face. Then, Mickey goes in for a full on, eyes-closed kiss while Ashley pulls her best Matrix move. Being the gracious woman she is, Ashley laughs it off and dismisses him into the mansion. He of course comes walking in and tells the guys that he kissed her. Ummmm, no you didn’t. You TRIED to kiss her. Access denied. But anyway, the night goes on and he must have made up for it because he gets a rose. It just goes to show you that it’s all about the recovery. By the way, did anyone else want to sing “Hey, Mickey” when the camera would cut to him? … ‘cause he’s pretty fine!!

Jon, 26
E-commerce Exec from Washington
Read his bio here, and we’ll chat.

I wonder what he thinks of Schwarzenegger now! Jon Boy didn’t receive a rose from Ashley and was eliminated. After the rose ceremony, they show almost four different scenes of him walking through the mansion and courtyard as opposed to the normal one or two before they give their final words (why I notice these things, I have no clue). Jon finally makes his way outside and is pretty emotional about his dismissal. He goes on and on about how he knew so much about her and had so much in common, and it’s just so hard to walk away (because I’m lost in this giant mansion courtyard). Ok, look. What you “know” is just from watching her on a previous season (which was edited) and maybe a couple of hours at a cocktail party. Sure, maybe you thought you had a connection, but she wasn’t feelin’ it. You really don’t KNOW her like you think you do – no need to get emotional about it.


And then we have my two favorite tragedies:

Tim, 35
Liquor Distributor from NY (*Foreshadowing …DUN DUN DUNNNN!*)

This Slick Rick gets out of the limo and does this weird stammer/pause as he walks towards Ashley (and it didn’t look like it was because he was blown away by her beauty). Pretty sure Tim was pre-gaming too hard in the limo. Then he proceeds to guzzle his way into a drunken stupor on a pool-side bench and is startled when Ashley walks up to him. She tries to have a conversation with Tim but can’t understand anything and he admits that he is drunk. Later on in the evening, Ashley finds Tim PASSED OUT on a couch by the pool snoring like the 3:10 to Yuma. I mean, this guy was GONE! She repeatedly says his name and tries to nudge him awake, but he doesn’t budge. I would have pinched his nose ‘til he woke up, or given him a quick slap … just a lil love tap … to get him going. She then gets smart and recruits a few other gentlemen from inside to help her out, but once he wakes up (drunker than a skunk) she sits down in front of him. Move, sweetheart – you’re in the projectile zone! Needless to say, she sent him packin’ and had the guys help him out to the limo.

Now for his bio … read it here.

1) Procrastinates, wakes up grumpy (and drunk), and has a tendency to overspend (on alcohol).
2) The 3 things he would really bring – Jim, Jack, and Jose.
3) Passing out drunk at a Bachelorette cocktail party and getting sent home BEFORE the rose ceremony. Yikes, buddy!

Jeff The Mask Phantom ... Batman, 35
Entrepreneur from St. Louis Creepytown, USA
Here's his bio; take a peek.

If you’re waiting for his picture to load, don’t hold your breath. This guy stepped out of the limo in a black mask because he wants to take his face out of the game. In theory, that’s respectable … but really? This look worked for Michael Keaton and George Clooney, but please don’t try this at home. Maybe if you had picked a more festive mask and revealed yourself prior to the rose ceremony, you could pull it off, but it just came across kind of creepy. He gets a rose – surprise, surprise! I’m convinced the show pays to keep the “good-for-tv-drama” people around longer. Remember Kermit and Weather Boy? And Michelle and Fang Girl?

There was also a direct relationship between Tim and Batman- the drunker Tim got, the more Batman creeped him out. Good times.



I can’t wait to see what the rest of this season has in store. If you watch the show, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Who do you think will make it to the final two? Leave some commentary here, or become a fan of Marcy Monologues on Facebook and join the conversation Mondays at 7pm CST during The Bachelorette! You can also check out all of the bachelors and watch full episodes here.



P.W.
If Chris Harris hosted my blog, I would have him sign off like this:

… Serious moment music and dramatic pause. Cut to the last red rose remaining …

“Marcy … dear friends and strangers … this is the final rose tonight … Marcy … when you’re ready.”



All pictures in this post courtesy of ABC

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Pretty Moments

Sometimes, people say or do dumb things ...

Example:

Visitor: You know you guys aren't listed in the directory downstairs?
Me: Oh, really? No, I didn't. Thanks. I'll have that checked out.
Visitor: Yeah, so then I tried looking [him] up under Individuals, but I couldn't find anyone there either.
Me: Well, I would imagine if we aren't listed as a company in the directory downstairs, our employees wouldn't be individually listed either.
Visitor: Oh, yeah ... that's true.

(Of course it is.)

And sometimes it's so far beyond a blonde moment the only thing you can say is "you're pretty" - as in, "I'm not sure where your brain just ran off to, but at least you're pretty." You don't want to draw attention to their brain fart with mean insults, so you give them a "compliment".

Example:
I walked into the mail room and a co-worker was trying to run an envelope through the postage machine, saw me, and asked for help.

Co-worker: Oh, good! It's you! Can you show me how to work this?
Me: Sure, of course.

I walked over to a blank screen ... (Seriously. Seriously? Really? I know it all looks pretty vague and makes loud noises, but it's not THAT difficult!) ... and pressed the power button.

Me: You're pretty. It helps when you turn the machine on.

I can't make this up.

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