Monday, December 8, 2014

Bachelor Chris Soules: Some Guy Rates the Ladies

Hello, Readers.  Some Guy is officially back to rate this year's pool of possibilities vying for a chance at maybe possibly becoming an Iowa resident long enough to travel the country promoting the aforementioned possible Iowa residence long enough to collect a bunch of appearance fees before calling it off and going home to somewhere that's not Iowa.  

The following is my run down on the ladies based SOLELY on their bios and their head shots posted on  I'll, of course, revise these as the season begins.  Let's get to it.  

It's good to be back.  

Our "lucky" Bachelor gets a harem of 30 choices this season.  Let's see how they stack up.  

Alissa, 24, Flight Attendant who loves puppies.  Plunging neckline and all, she's attractive despite the iffy, un-confident smile.  If those boobs are fake, they're tastefully fake.  That's a lot more than I can say for some of the others.  Apparently, fake boobs are this season's statement necklace.  She's likely the only one of the bunch to have been in Iowa.  Granted, she flew over it at 30,000 feet, but for our purposes, that counts.  

Amanda, 24, Ballet Instructor who idolizes Alli from The Notebook (two people in and we're already to that stupid movie) and wants to pay off her student loans.  Note to Amanda:  "I'm in debt" is not the best way to reel in a husband.  I had no idea there was a plastic surgery place named "Student Loans."  She clearly went to school and didn't do well.  I know that because she left with a pair of D's.  Is she there for the right reasons?  We'll have to see how she reacts when they tell her where Iowa is.    

Amber, cough cough 29 cough cough, Bartender who would be a zookeeper for a day if she could.  She's attractive.  Nice smile and she has arms that imply she'd be good at farm work.  Based on that I'll say she sticks around awhile.  Then again, Chris is looking for a wife, not a farm hand.  

Ashley I., 26, Nanny who "tried being a cougar" on a date once.  She tells us that if she won the lottery she would buy Sephora's inventory.  Let's hope she wins the lottery because she's clearly run though Sally Beauty Supply's mascara inventory already.  What's up with the eyelashes?  Is that a thing now?  I'll have to see if it's on Pinterest. She's hot, though.  Nice smile and appears to have a bubbly personality.  She'll stick around.  Top 4

Ashley S., 24, Hair Stylist.  I know what you're saying:  TWO girls named Ashley?  In the SAME season of The Bachelor?  No way! Yes way.   She's a Clare look alike with the same occupation.  Frankly, I think it might be Clare vying for another shot at love or whatever.  I suppose the big giveaway will be if she (allegedly) bangs Chris in the ocean the first chance she gets.  I'm calling BS on the age too. At lease she's not packing 750 cc's worth of silicone up front.  It remains to be seen what she's packing between the ears.  If she's not hair dresser crazy, she'll stick around for a few shows.  

Becca, 26, Chiropractic Assistant.  Great bio.  Attractive.  No bling and an understated Coral shirt that hides the shoulders and is tastefully unbuttoned.  Real boobs, subtle makeup, and she's not bleach blond.  That's how you do a headshot, ladies.  Based on looks and bio alone, Top 4.  

Bo, 25, Plus-sized Model.  Alright, let's be fair.  Any model over 110 pounds fits the category.  You know what rhymes with "Bo"?  No.  Hear me out.  Based on her bio, she's athletic and active.  She's just a bigger girl.  She's got a good smile, is well proportioned, and would likely bear linebackers if Chris were to go that direction.  However, if you put her in a ponytail and a flannel shirt, she'd blend into the Iowa dating pool like a baby deer in the woods.  Plus (see what I did there?), she tells us that she'd have dinner with Beyonce, Rhianna, and Mother Theresa.  Between the plus sized model, Mrs. Bootylicious, and Rhianna having the marijuana munchies, ole Mother Theresa wouldn't get the last roll in the breadbasket.  Bo knows taxis.     

Britt, 27, Waitress with a penchant for helping kids and enjoying contemporary authors.  She's attractive and claims to have a college education.  We'll see if she can explain away the post-graduate waitressing career choice.  She has a Rapunzel thing going on there with the hair and she appears to be pushing a size zero.  She's basically the Anti-Bo.  There's no way she's throwing a hay bale off a flatbed in Iowa.  

Brittany, 26, WWE Diva in Training.  I wonder if she knows that Rated R A-hole that walked through the flowerbeds after he left his girlfriend a voicemail and got caught by Harrison.  Upside:  Iowa is a big wrestling state.  Downside:  not the fake kind.  She's cute and I'm sure she's athletic.  She's either clearly willing to take a chance--ergo, the WWE thing, or she's already run out of options in life--ergo The Bachelor thing after the WWE thing.  Top 10.  

Carly, ahem 29 ahem, Cruise Ship Singer.  She's a current cruise ship singer from Arlington, Texas.  Let me translate that for you:  She's a former pageant girl.  She knows every Connie Francis song by heart, came really close to the Miss Texas crown but botched the last verse of "Greatest Love of All" in the talent portion, and she sings "Proud to Be an American" at the Maypearl VFW every 4th of July.  Those of you from Dallas know exactly what I'm talking about.  You could throw a stick in any direction in Arlington and hit a Carly.  Props to her for pursuing her talent and props to her for having the balls to tell us she's 29.  Maybe she and the other "29" year olds can chat in the cab on the way to the airport.  

 Jade, 28, Cosmetics Developer.  Vague job description aside, she's smoking hot, (allegedly) has her own business, and said if she was an animal she'd be an elephant.  Again, some translation is in order.  She has confidence and no body issues.  Girls self-conscious about their bodies would never compare themselves to an elephant.  Top 3, if not the winner.  I'd bet a week of Harrison's pay that she's a hometown date.  Granted, this all presupposes she doesn't have a boyfriend she left behind and that she hasn't simply come on the show to promote her cosmetic development or whatever.  If she ever wants to be a stripper she won't have to change her name.   

Jillian, 28, News Producer.  Uh, let's see.  Incredibly attractive: Check.  Real job in a city where her real job is hard:  Check.  Normal bio: Check.  In other words, she's all wrong for the show.  Her biggest date fear is "a guy with bad intentions."  I've got news for you, Jillian.  We all have bad intentions.  It's really just a question of degree and timing. News producing is much more interesting in D.C. than it is in Iowa.  There's only so much production value you can add to a State Fair.  

Jordan, 24, Student.  Notwithstanding the fact that "student", by definition, is not an occupation, let's just go by Jordan's bio, shall we?  She jumped off a boat naked in the Virgin Islands, loves Brittany Spears enough to want to be her, and thinks a table dance is a great conversation starter.  All of those things are awesome--unless you're trying to land a husband.  She's the hottest blond in the bunch.  If he's into blonds, she'll stick around if she can hold her booze.  

Juelia, 30, Esthetician.  Let's start off by giving her credit for not lying about her age.  That's not why she'll get kicked off, though.  Her name and job title look like typographical errors and what guy wants to tell all of his buddies, "I'm engaged to an esthetician named Juelia but you don't spell Julia like you would normally spell Julia, you spell it with an 'e' in between the 'u' and the 'l'" all the time?  Can you imagine the third tier wedding guests that haven't talked to Chris in years trying to spell her name on the card with the wedding gift?  You know, like his Aunt's friend from church who only got an invite because mom nagged him into doing it in order to avoid an argument with the Aunt.  And what in the world to you give the Esthetician who has everything?  You get my point.  Juelia wiell bue gouing huome.

Kaitlyn, 30, Dance Instructor.  She's 30.  HOWEVER, she's Canadian, which means that with the exchange rate, she's 26.  Meh, she doesn't do a whole lot for me, but I'll reserve judgment until we figure oot what she's aboot. 

Kara, 25, High School Soccer Coach.  She apparently borrowed a shirt from either Sigfried or Roy.  I'm getting a little Lori Laughlin with blond hair vibe too.  She tells us that she would be herself and wear a sexy yet tasteful outfit to impress a guy.  We'll be waiting for either sexy or tasteful, Kara.  Step it up or you'll get kicked out of bounds.   

Kelsey, 28, Guidance Counselor.  She's from Austin, Texas.  I love her already.  Cute, but not exceptionally attractive in the headshot.  She's into the outdoors and likes to psychoanalyze people.  I'm going to go out on a limb and say that she gets bored with Chris.  She's smart enough to make it past the cocktail party and have a little fun and the headshot doesn't scream desperation.  He'll have to bring his A-game if he wants to pry her from Austin and get her to Iowa.  After all, we still don't know if he's more than a suit filler.  She can always go trolling for Womack at the gym on chest and arms day if she wants a guy who was on the Bachelor.  

Kimberly, 28, Yoga Instructor.  She's from Long Island, NY.  That means she'll look like Theresa Guiduce from Real Housewives of NJ in 20 years.  East Coast and Midwest don't mix.  Even if Chris likes her, his family won't.  I've been wrong before, however.  

Mackenzie, TWENTY-ONE, Dental Assistant.  Compared to the rest of the pack, she's a little short in both the age and the chest department.  Is this Michelle Money's daughter?  She's attractive and the picture screams confidence.  She has plenty of time to grow out of the training bra and get into dental school.  Then again, she's also young enough to pack up all of her bib clips and teeth scraping tools and move to Iowa.  I like her.  She could be a sleeper.  Unless she's emotionally unstable, there's no downside for someone her age.  Getting dumped at 21 isn't the same thing as getting dumped at "29".  She's my dark horse candidate.  

Megan, 24, Make-up Artist.  She says it's important when meeting a guy to "not put up a front."  Sorry, Megan, but a girl who looks like you should probably put up her front whenever she can.  Make-up Artist is a tad down the Crazy Ladder from Hair Dresser.  The blue onesie was an interesting choice for the head shot as well.  We'll see how she does.  

Michelle, 25, Wedding Cake Decorator.  She hates spiders, lives in Utah, and wants to make a guy feel interesting.  I'm going top 5 on this one.   Utah is close enough to Iowa and she has to be sick of wedding cake by now.  She's very pretty and provided she has a personality behind the Deep V-neck sweater, she'll stick around for a while.   

Nicole, 31, Real Estate Agent.  She's basically Kelly with two good eyes.  Her head shot looks like it was taken in a trick mirror.  She tells us that if she could be an animal she'd be a wolf.  Be careful, Chris.  Wolves are pack animals and they hunt together.   Nicole is likely too proper for the farm and the real estate market in Iowa can't be what it is in Scottsdale.  Then again, there's an opportunity to be a housewife.  

Nikki, 26, Former NY Jets Cheerleader.  She's basically Snooki if Snooki never took a drink.  FORMER Cheerleader means that she's CURRENTLY unemployed.  She's cute and she chose the right color shirt for her head shot.  Jury's out on her.  We'll see if she brings it.  B-E-A-G-G-R-E-S-S-I-V-E, Nikki.  Former cheerleaders everywhere are cheering for you--well, not technically cheering for you since that would make them current cheerleaders, but you know what I mean.  

Reegan, 28, Cadaver Tissue Salesperson.  Does she really have to sell dead tissue?  Is that a highly competitive market like the soft drink or bottled water market?  Who knew?  Alright, she scares me.  She looks like she'd be ready to cut off a certain part of Chris' anatomy and keep it in her purse.  Maybe she can sell some new eyelids to Neil Lane if she makes it to the final 2 this season.  The odd name and unusual spelling don't help.  She's terrifying.  

Samantha, 27, Fashion Designer.  Meh.  I'm undecided.  Decent, fence-riding, safe bio and a good head shot.  I'm not sure that the fashion industry considers Iowa as one of its hubs but this may present an opportunity for bright-eyed Samantha.  Pig sweaters may be the new skinny jean if Samantha has her way.  

Tandra, 30, Executive Assistant.  If he takes a blond to the final 4, she's it.  She listens to French Rock music for some reason.  She loves moments in music and says it has to build to a climax.  Her answer begs the question if she knew what question she was answering when she wrote that.  She seems fun.  Silly name aside, I like her.  

Tara, 26, Sport Fishing Enthusiast.  She's got a twin sister and doesn't go anywhere--and I didn't make this up--without her "stuffed beaver" which she's "had since birth."  Wow.  Thanks for the softball, Tara.  Allow me to hit it out of the park.  Gee, I find it comforting to know that if she doesn't take her stuffed beaver to the Fantasy Suite, Chris is likely to give her another one.  Boom.  I didn't even have to use the Red Snapper joke I had lined up.  

Tracy, 29, Fourth Grade Teacher.  Top 5.  Generic bio but Some Guy reads between the lines.  She'll go far if she can stand pig farms and corn.  I'm glad she wore her Baywatch costume for the head shot too.    

Trina, 33, Special Education Teacher.  Hey, Trina, dark roots and statement necklaces went out last season.  Read the packet you get upon check in.  She might be the one with the pregnancy scare.   

Whitney, 29, Fertility Nurse.  She can't go anywhere without her razor, will try anything once, and likes to pursue men.  Sounds like a hell of a night in the Fantasy Suite to me.  Then again, having a razor wielding fertility nurse who's desperate to get married chase after me is not very enticing.  

Well, there it is.  All 30, yes 30, of this year's crop of hopefuls.  It's an older crowd this year and it promises to be a good season.  Iowa, in my mind, is the big wildcard here.  Yes, true love is true love but Iowa is...well, Iowa.  

Post your comments below or on my @someguyinaustin twitter feed.  I'll be tweeting every Monday night during the show.  Have a wonderful Holiday Season.  Be safe, and tune in on January 5.  In the meantime, if you need me, I'll be looking for a stuffed beaver.  DP

Friday, September 26, 2014

Hungry Like the Wolf: Some Guy Hesitates

Hello, Readers.  Well, it’s the off season for The Bachelor and its progeny and that means that most of you are busy planning your fall decorations, getting your Christmas shopping lists in good order, and lamenting the fact that a brand spanking new episode of the show we love to hate is not waiting anxiously for you atop the Recorded Programs list on your DVR when you turn on the TV.  There’s always The Good Wife, I suppose. 

As I thought long and hard about this particular post, I realized two things:

A.              I haven’t revisited the folly of my youth in quite some time; and
B.              After watching Bachelor in Paradise for all of you, I’m entitled to a little self indulgence. 

Humor me, would you?

For those of you who care to read me in the off season, you’ll recall several stories involving the community pool in the town where I grew up.  Enjoy them again or for the first time below.  

The following story encompasses some of the themes in those stories but took place years later when Some Guy was an optimistic (and often drunk) college student in my beloved Austin, Texas struggling to pay bills and forge a path across that overgrown, craggy pasture known as life. 


When I was an undergraduate, I bartended my way through school.  As you can imagine, that is—to say the least—a target rich environment.  Everyone loves the person who pours the drinks and the person who pours the drinks loves everyone who stuffs an extra dollar in the jar on the counter. 

Like any other profession—yes, bartending is a ‘profession’—the universe tends to shrink upon itself as people quit, get fired, or go to work at some trendy hotspot in search of a bump in those coveted “extra dollars” we all needed to keep eviction notices off our dirty apartment doors and our phone service on so our mothers could call and make sure we’d made it home from the night before.  In short, in college there wasn’t a stranger behind any bar in town and I liked it that way. 

Incidentally, it was at that time that a certain Brad Womack and his brother Chad were introduced to me.  Both were “bar backs,” or the guys who kept the pint glasses clean and the ice bin filled in exchange for a cut of the tip money and a pat on the rear end at the end of the night.  Say what you want about the Brad Womack but there’s no doubt he’s never been afraid of hard work and he built what he has from the ground up.  Most of that took place before he refused to propose to DeAnna, by the way.  I digress, but I figured you’d enjoy the tie-in.   Annyyyyyhoo…

I lived with my twin brother for most of my college career.  The end of that little experiment is a blog post in and of itself.  However, when we parted ways I lived with the infamous Lenny, a guy named Scott, and the also infamous Ted (see A Friend Does His Duty link above).  Lenny bartended too and where I failed to have connections, he did. 

We spent a lot of time at the Chili’s next door to the restaurant where Lenny worked because Bruce, the manager, was always glad to see us.  How glad?  Glad enough to comp a few rounds of drinks which, after all, was the object of our little game.  I spent a lot of time talking to Bruce about everything from his hunting cabin to the bloomin’ onion. 

One of the places close to our house and filled with the aforementioned heavy pouring restaurant staff was a local Hooters.  I know, Hooters.  Look, to a 21 year old starving college student the prospect of heavily discounted drinks poured by a half-naked, nubile veterinary medicine major with a smile on her face was too much to resist.  We went there a lot. 

At that time, Hooters was the only Breastaurant in town and the staff warranted a little more attention than the slugs they hire these days.  It wasn’t exactly classy, but it wasn’t yet a weigh station on the way to the stripper pole either.  Our real friend there was a girl named (we’ll call her) Jenn. 

Jenn was a dead ringer for Jennifer Aniston except she didn’t smoke uncontrollably and never dated John Mayer.  She was cute, fun, and just a few months away from veterinary school.  Unlike some of the other professional junior college hangers on, Jenn “got it” and she was always glad when our bunch came in for a visit.  I had a small crush. 

Selfishly, we also loved the fact that she was an instant segue for us to meet the rest of the girls.  She was happy to play her part and thankful she didn’t have to wait on some fifty year old alcoholic who’d eventually ask her out after a few pops and a dozen hot wings.    

Jenn was friends with a girl named Amy and another girl named Elizabeth.  Amy was attractive and fun  as well.  She had a very pronounced Waco accent which meant that everything she uttered sounded either funny or dirty.  She had a very pleasant look about her but wasn’t the type to immediately turn heads when she entered a room.  Elizabeth, on the other hand, was quite special to us all.  She was absolutely drop dead gorgeous and the only thing greater than her attractiveness was her utter lack of a brain. 

I cannot impress upon you how dumb she was.  An example?  Sure. 

Ted spent a few months one summer living in Germany with his older brother who was a chef.  Every few years, his brother would move to a different part of the world to learn the cuisine and Ted would go and visit.  Elizabeth and Jenn were at our table one evening and we were discussing Ted’s summer stint in Germany. 

After pausing to absorb the story, Elizabeth looked skyward, took a deep breath, and said, “I think it would be so neat to live somewhere on a totally other continent.” 

“Oh yea, why is that,” I prodded, knowing I was teeing up a dead solid perfect ball for her to hit down the fairway. 

“I mean it would be so neat to see how they like celebrate Thanksgiving over there.”

Bless her orange shorts and tank top wearing heart.  It was on this same night that Elizabeth got the nickname that sticks with her memory to this day.  After she left the table, I said aloud to the group, “She’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer, is she.”  Scott, without either hesitating or taking his eyes off of her from across the restaurant said, “she can be a spoon for all I care.”  From that moment on Elizabeth was known as The Spoon. 

Cut to a few pitchers of beer past good judgment and the end of the shift.  Scott and Lenny had left an hour ago to go meet Lenny’s cousin at a bar Ted and I didn’t like.  Ted knew I had “a thing” for Jenn and he chose to stick around to try and assist me in trying to make that “thing” happen.  It didn’t hurt that Jenn promised to make sure that Amy and The Spoon would join us after their shifts.  

Ted and I waited patiently by playing shuffleboard across the closed restaurant floor with sugar caddies and gambling with the Hooters manager while the girls did their closing sidework. Ted ended up taking the guy for eighty bucks and to pay up he comped our entire bar and food tab.  Those were indeed “the days.” 

Around midnight, the girls got done and we all hopped in Ted’s car and headed for our oasis:  Sixth Street in downtown Austin.  On the way there, the girls pounded shots of Jaegermeister from a bottle that one of them (the classiest one, no doubt) had smuggled into her bag while simultaneously stripping off the Hooters uniforms in exchange for something more comfortable but not quite as tasteful as the orange shorts.  Man, I miss college.  

We parked, took a shot with the girls as they took turns in the passenger seat checking their hair and makeup in the visor mirror and we headed to our favorite bar in search of whatever the rest of the night had to offer.  The Spoon looked stunning but I reminded myself that my goal was to ask Jenn out on a real date before the night was over. 

Here’s where it gets interesting. 

It’s essential for me to provide some insight as to what it was like to go out on Sixth Street with a girl the caliber of The Spoon.  If horny guys were mosquitoes, going out with The Spoon was like walking through an African jungle covered in sugar without the benefit of bug spray.  One had to be very careful where he allowed The Spoon to be displayed.  

The Spoon was, of course, oblivious to the shower of testosterone-driven attention she would get and would say things like, “gosh, everyone is so nice here,” or “there’s not even a line at the bar.”  If ignorance is truly bliss then The Spoon was the happiest person in Austin, if not all of Texas. 

The next hour consisted of Ted, Amy, Jenn, and I sipping beers and watching The Spoon get hit on by every guy in the bar.  There were several times when Jenn and I were alone at the bar but the moment never seemed right for me to ask her out.  Each time I failed to swing, I told myself that the night was not over yet.  I vowed to push ahead. 

At 1:30 a.m. the bar lights flickered signaling almost last call and I ordered another drink hoping that it might provide the courage I lacked.  Ted did the same and before the drinks were served The Spoon announced that she would like to go dancing. 

Another history lesson is in order.  At that time what is now known as “Dirty Sixth” was the only game in town for bars, give or take some great dives peppered around town.  Everything closed at 2am with the exception of two places.  One was known as The Buffalo Club.  It was an after hours college bar that (thankfully) served cold water and played pop music at an obnoxious volume until 4am.  A visit there was inevitably followed by a trip to Denny’s or Taco Cabana before passing out in anticipation of waking up smelling like a hobo and praying it was your own bed (or at least your own residence) you passed out in. 

The other place was a gay bar.  You can guess where The Spoon wanted to go. 

Let me just say this before the politically correct ones in the bunch get all uppity about my gay bar protest.  My reticence stemmed not from the fact that I would either be recruited or converted but rather from the fact that a gay dance club did not serve my interest at the time.  I needed precious one-on-one time in a subdued environment, not Duran Duran and sangria. 

As we approached the club, one of the only bars on Congress Avenue at that time, I grabbed Jenn’s hand and said, “please don’t abandon me.”  She laughed, squeezed my hand, and gave me a kiss on the cheek.  “Don’t worry,” she said, “I’m sure there are plenty of cute guys in there who’d love to dance with you.”  “Maybe I’ll be The Spoon this time,” I said.  We laughed together as we entered the atrium of the bar. 

Just past the podium and cash register manned by a college girl and a guy in a skin-tight tank top and even tighter jeans blared “Hungry Like the Wolf” by Duran Duran and I could see literally hundreds of shirtless man dancing in unison to their anthem.  “Must they perpetuate the stereotype,” I wondered. 

Ted and I hung back a bit as the girls paid their cover and walked past Freddie Mercury after he stamped their hands and opened the magical copper clip on the velvet rope signifying the boundary between my world and a bunch of hungry wolves.  Oddly enough, no one approached The Spoon. 

The girls put their ID’s back in their clutch purses and looked back at Ted and me as if to ask, “now’s the time, boys, are you coming in or not?”  Ted knew I still had business to take care of and he never minded looking at The Spoon.  We looked each other in the eye, nodded, and simultaneously took our shirts off, paid our cover, and walked into the bar. 

Jenn grabbed my hand, Amy grabbed Ted’s, and The Spoon parted the sea of Jordache jeans and suntan lotion as we searched in the dark corners of the club for a table.   We found one and I quickly headed to the bar across the dance floor just in time for last call. 

As I sat there waiting to make eye contact with the bartender, I smiled.  I knew I’d be back sitting next to Jenn in no time and my spontaneous decision to remove my shirt and jump out of my comfort zone to be with her would provide the perfect background for me to ask her on a real date. 

It was at that moment I heard my name.  “Some Guy?”  “Some Guy, is that you?” 

As I turned to my left . . . shirtless and glistening in sweat . . . alone . . . with a twenty dollar bill in my hand, I saw Bruce.  Remember Bruce?  He was the manager at the Chili’s next door to where Lenny worked.  You know, the guy I spent hours talking to about his lonely hunting cabin in the woods.   Like me, Bruce was shirtless and in search of a drink . . . and I assumed more than some hunting cabin chatter. 

“I had no idea he was gay,” I thought.  

It occurred to me that Bruce was simultaneously having the same thought about me. 

“Who are you here with,” he asked. 

Nervous and searching for common ground (I mean aside from the fact that we were both trying to make last call before dancing the rest of the night away to Duran Duran), I stuck with what we had in common.

“I’m here with my roommate, Ted.”   

Not the answer I was searching for.  The funny part about that exchange is where my mind went at the time.  First, I was actually excited that Bruce thought I was a Friend of Dorothy because it would mean a few extra drinks at the bar next time we went in there.   Granted, it would probably mean a strawberry daiquiri, but I wasn’t going to scoff at free booze. 

After I “outed” myself by giving him the impression that I was on a date with Ted, I became concerned that I might no longer enjoy the type of attention that Bruce was accustomed to giving me.  I’d courted, dated, and broken up with Bruce in less than 90 seconds.   

After nodding to Bruce and getting my drink, I sauntered back across the dance floor and sat next to Jenn in the booth we’d secured earlier.  The Spoon was on the dance floor and Ted and Amy were getting friendly across the table. 

On the way out, Jenn hailed a cab for the three girls because their apartment complex was in the opposite direction of our place.  Ted and I got a kiss on the cheek from Jenn and Amy and we both got an enthusiastic hug from a drunken Spoon.  “This was so much fun,” she bubbled.  “We should totally go out on a Friday night again.” 

“Sounds great,” I said.  “How about tomorrow?” 

“Call us,” she said, as Jenn and Amy rolled their eyes laughing. 

God bless her orange short and tight t-shirt wearing heart. 

For the record, I never did ask Jenn out on that date.  So much of life is timing, especially when it comes to romance.  She and I remained friends for several years and then, like most things we hold dear in our youth, she simply faded away; her presence replaced by the fond memory of our brief friendship. 

Also for the record, Bruce never asked me out.

Well, there it is.  Long, convoluted, and self-indulgent.  Thanks for humoring me.  Enjoy the off-season and, if you’re inclined to ask someone out, don’t think about it.   Do it and see what happens.  I’ll write as soon as inspiration finds me.  In the mean time, I’ll be headed to Germany to celebrate Thanksgiving on a Friday.  DP 


Thursday, August 7, 2014

Off Season Post: Courtney Robertson Book Review.

Hello, Readers.  

Look, I know you're all willingly distracted by the Petri Dish that is the is the Bachelor in Paradise.  For you die hards, you'll know that I live Tweeted during that mess last week. I'll try and do it again this week but don't hold your collective breath.  @someguyinaustin  

Fortunately for you, my knee has been hurting lately and I decided to forego my individual run and make it home to watch.  Unfortunately, I think live tweeting is as far as I'm going to go with that show.  I'm already tired of Marcus, the guy who looks like Thor's brother has almost slept with the entire cast already (including the men), and if Lacy were any dumber she'd be seaweed.

Frankly, I'd rather spend my time reading thoughtful, beautifully crafted prose.  I read Courtney Robertson's book, I Didn't Come Here to Make Friends instead.  Why, you ask?  Good question.  Because I am a man of my word.  I also committed to a blog post on my thoughts regarding the book.    Here goes nothing.  

First off, I don't think it's too much to demand a bit of accuracy in the title of the book. War and Peace is, after all, about war and peace.  Allow me to elaborate. 

It took Courtney all of 3 pages to name drop and even fewer pages to bring up her vagina.  "Fine," I thought.  "It's her book.  Just keep reading."  

After another 10 pages of superfluous facts about her "giant bush," shaving her "giant bush," (sort of) losing her virginity in a swimming pool to some dude before shaving her giant bush, and then having another dude head south of the border before telling her to shave her giant bush, we finally get to stuff about The Bachelor.  I couldn't figure out if I was reading a landscaping book or a book about a reality show.    

The book should have been titled, I Didn't Come Here Before Shaving My Giant Bush.  At this point I began to become confused as to what the word "come" actually meant in the title.  

And another thing, when she does finally start discussing The Bachelor she lets us know that she isn't, "going to lie, she had a strategy going in."  

That strategy, you ask? On page, 76 she tells us,  "[m]y goal was to win the girls over, even if I didn't like them, AND MAKE FRIENDS WITH EVERYONE."  Notwithstanding the fact that the emphasis is mine, so much for the title of the damn book.  

The entire contradiction was frustrating to me.  I can't imagine she meant the title ironically, which means her editor sucks.  It reminded me of that chubby hack, Jason Aldean's video for his "country" song, Chillin' on a Dirt Road.  Look at a picture from the video.

First. Class. Douchebag.

It appears he's Chillin' Next to an Asphalt Road, doesn't it?  There's not even a dirt road in sight.  That fact alone makes him an idiot.  We won't even get to the pseudo-beard, colored bracelets, or the tough guy look-away-from-the-camera-for-effect gaze.  

If you're not actually going to chill on a dirt road, then don't name you're song Chillin' on a Dirt Road, dipshit.  If your strategy is to "make friends with everyone", then don't title your book I Didn't Come Here to Make Friends.  Apparently, she did.  


Look, I realize that this book isn't intended to be Pulitzer winning material.  However, my guess is that Courtney never heard of Freytag's Pyramid.  

Remember this from high school?    


From the content of this book, this is a more accurate representation of every date Courtney has ever been on rather than a representation of the plot line of some Greek or Shakespearean drama.  

The only changes I'd make to it based upon reading the book is that the Climax portion of the graph would be a plateau instead of a point and the Falling Action line would read "Post-Coital Regret."  Courtney seems to enjoy spending a great deal of time there but never seems to figure out how to stay away from Rising Action, if you know what I mean.  Other than that, it's completely accurate. 

Before I go any further, let me make a point that might surprise some of you.  I'm glad she wrote this book.  In fact, I think it was a genius move.  In 2012 (yes, 2012), I wrote this about Courtney's WTA apology. 

Courtney clearly realizes that the fun she had being the bad guy this season is coming back in a big way. Although she attempted to own what happened—and I’ll give her a bit of credit for at least trying to admit it—it appears she’s about to learn a couple of life’s toughest lessons. Unfortunately for most of us these lessons are not often learned without a steep price.

By the way, the “steep price” I’m referring to here doesn’t include ruining a chance to sort of marry Ben after a loose engagement period and a lot of public exposure. She’ll win that battle but whether she’ll win the one after her 15 minutes are long gone is still up for debate.

Courtney begins to understand that certain mistakes have permanent consequences. Put another way: some doors can’t be reopened once they’re closed no matter how much we apologize. Second chances are a gift, not a foregone conclusion and getting one should never be assumed. Short sightedness is a raging red flag of immaturity. For her sake, let’s hope her apology was sincere and let’s hope that whether she gets the big heave ho or not next week that she’s learned her lesson. I, for one, am not holding my breath. 

Prophetic, isn't it?  What's my point?  My point is that this book is indeed Courtney's second chance. Somehow, I think she realized that before hiring a ghost writer to write it.  I'll get to what I think is the "big takeaway" after I go through the book; however, by writing the book when she did Courtney accomplished a few things that no former contestant, much less any "villain" has heretofore accomplished. 

She got to tell her side of the story without being interrupted by Harrison, yelled at by alcohol-soaked former contestants with giant axes to grind, or being contradicted or condescended to by Ben. 

She got paid (well) to talk about herself.

She got to redefine who she was (is) to everyone who watched the show.  

She got tons of exposure long after a time when the press was tired of her.

She got to make amends (in writing) in a very public format with the contestants who she actually liked but offended.  

Like I said, genius.  

The book is essentially a big Bounty picker upper for every spill she made on The Bachelor and during the press extravaganza afterward.  Let's not forget she also got to make her ex-fiance look like the bad guy and herself look like the victim who took the high road.  Whether her version is true or not, it's currently the only one out there, which makes it as good as the truth--or even better.  

The first half of the book--up to the obligatory color pictures for effect--is less contemplative and more disorganized than the post-Bachelor engagement portion of the book.  I found that telling.  Ironically, it's likely an appropriate metaphor for her life up to that point.  

There are gems such as her lament that she'd already dated a guy two weeks and they hadn't had sex yet.  Her mother once told her not to date a man with an ass smaller than hers or to marry a guy who won't pick up a check or has a horrible last name like Dick.  She can hem and haw all she wants about that but that's pretty solid advice if you ask me.  

There are strange contradictions throughout the book including that fact that she portrays herself (honestly, I think) as a loyal, loving person yet she seems willing to mount anything from Southern California to Arizona that is longer than it is wide.  She seems thoughtful and introspective, almost to the point of shyness but tells us she's never afraid to walk around naked and even less afraid to re-engage in destructive relationships with men she objectively knows are bad for her--even horrible.  

There is good gossip throughout despite the fact that she hated her life being plastered (often falsely) across gossip magazines from coast to coast; something on which she blames the failure of her engagement. 

We learn first hand how little interaction there actually is between the Bachelor and each woman leading up to the Fantasy Suite.  We learn that there's even less interaction between the "happy" couple in the four months subsequent to the "happiest day of their lives." 

I've said many times that Wes Hayden is the only person to ever go on this show and be honest.  Until now.  Sure, there are some embarrassing life regrets in the book--both before and after the Final Rose--and there's a bunch of stuff in there a lot of people would not put in an email much less in a book about themselves. 

The book is honest and I respect that.  She owns her faults and her strengths.  She doesn't hide from her mistakes, rationalize them away, or blame anyone else for them.  In fact, she forgives when she's not required to do so.  Can we say any of that about Ben or the vast majority of the former cast members, including the ones hurling insults at her from the safe confines of the WTA panel?  

My favorite part of the book was the brilliantly placed jab after jab after jab she was able to land squarely on Ben's jaw without coming across as bitter or bitchy.  I'll give the ghost writer credit for that.  Clearly, whoever footed the bill for this nonsense knew that in order to sell books, Courtney would have to remain in her post-villan, somewhat rehabilitated, cuckholded fiancĂ© persona.  

Ben was, and likely remains, a self-involved a-hole.  He peaked when he got dumped by Ashley but even then we got glimpses of his condescending nature, disdain for rejection, sense of entitlement and his unreasonably bitchy mother.  

Courtney simply states the facts without taking shots at the groin.  

"Ben had some pet peeves when it came to me . . . like I believed in luck, I shopped at Whole Foods excessively . . . and I was always complaining about being cold.  He didn't think I was sophisticated or smart.  He even told me I was naive once for not realizing that he'd done the show to promote his winery. . . --but for more about what he didn't like about me, he'll have to write his own book." 

What's that saying about the pen being mightier than a winery leasee (yes, he leases and doesn't own) with a bad haircut and a poor attitude?  

Ok, so my big take away?  Courtney did a lot of thinking sitting alone in her apartment while Ben was out cashing in on free stuff and cheating on her in public.  She got a lot of good advice too.  Is she perfect?  No, of course she isn't but she seems to have done something that the vast majority of the ex-contestants will never do:  grow a little as a person.  

On page 227 Courtney says, "It's funny how you repeat behavior, even when you know it's bad for you, because it's the only thing you know.  It's like a comfortable misery."  

Truer words have rarely ever been written in such a mediocre book.  Good for you, Courtney.  Congratulations on taking something really positive away from what became an all-encompassing negative time in your life.  Regardless of the situation, that's a tough thing to do.  You're now as free as you were wandering the beach in your yellow bikini prior to the show.  Remember that feeling and seek it in your life.  Oh, and stop returning Metcalf's texts.  

As for your quote on page 227, I think I speak for most of my readers and a large part of Bachelor Nation when I say we feel exactly the same way. . . about The Bachelor.  Comfortable misery, indeed.  

Well, there it is.  I've officially gone above and beyond for all of you.  You're welcome.  The truth is, I actually enjoyed it (a little).  Until next time, take care of yourselves.  In the meantime, if you need me, I'll in my front yard trimming my huge bush.  DP