Douchebag of the Week

Yes, I know the title of the feature is a misnomer. Get over it.

This "week", the honor goes to CrapBag, an, um, ah...associate*...of Maid Marian.

Maid Marian met CrapBag last fall, when he was moving into her apartment building. He was very cordial and friendly and stopped to chat with her every time he saw her in the parking lot or stairwell.

Not long after he moved in, CrapBag left a note on her door letting her know that he thought she was great and he wanted to take her to dinner sometime. Cool! They continued talking in the parking lot and stairwell and even sometimes by phone!

When Maid Marian and I were hanging out over Thanksgiving, she excitedly told me that she had a nice new neighbor who had asked her out. They had yet to go out, but she was looking forward to getting to know him better. They continued talking through the busy holiday times, and even spent some time together, baking cookies, wrapping gifts, etc.

In the following weeks, Maid Marian and CrapBag invited each other over for dinners, had long chats and even had some kissing time. Maid Marian found that she really enjoyed CrapBag's company and entertained the idea of being in a relationship with him. So they discuss this possibility and CrapBag shares his hesitation in getting into a RELATIONSHIP (cuz, they're like, SO scary and stuff) and Maid Marian agrees that they'll just continue getting to know one another, with no titles or pressure. **Keep in mind, at this point, they still have not been on a real date.**

In mid-May, Maid Marian comes to visit me. She had told CrapBag that she was planning a trip to the Packin-dubs (PacNW...Pacific Northwest...does it work?) but didnt share specifics. Despite the fact that she hadnt heard from him in the week before her trip, her second night here, she received a text message from CrapBag. At 7:53pm. Pacific Time. Which is 10:53pm in CrapBag's time zone. Fritha, Conan, Pie and I witnessed the text and in our expert opinion it was, in fact, a booty call. Clearly.

Over the course of her visit, Maid Marian ignores a total of 5 texts from CrapBag and finally responds to let him know she's out of town. Maybe it was his communication habits, maybe it was the accidental hike, the rain, the cocktails or my fabulous couch but Maid Marian decided she did not want to be in limbo with CrapBag. She either wanted a relationship (ooooh...scary) or a friendship, but she needed some definition.

She returns home, tells CrapBag this, to which he responds, "well,uh...uh...I mean...uh...I thought we didnt want a relationship (ooooh....scary)." Maid Marian says "yeah, well, now I do" and leaves.

Firm in her decision, she ignores his late night texts and begins exploring other dating options. The DAY AFTER she meets another eligible young man, CrapBag calls and says "I mean...maybe we could think about seeing where things could go....and maybe have a...you know...relationship (ooooh....scary)."

Now let's remember that it was in NOVEMBER that CrapBag left the note for Maid Marian suggesting they go to dinner. And in the 8 months since (Yes, 8 months...nearly long enough to grow a full-term baby. Or a Trans Am-worthy mullet.) he has yet to make good on his offer. So, why should she believe he would make good on his offer to "maybe think about seeing where things could go....and maybe have a...you know...relationship (ooooh....scary)."

Douchebag. Maid Marian is moving on.



*due to the fact that CrapBag never took Maid Marian on a real date, he can not be referred to as "boyfriend" or even "some douche she dated" but neither is he her "baby daddy" or "lurver" and is therefore an "associate".

Valuable Real Estate

"I'd been sittin' there a while and I forgot. D'you ever forget? Happened to me." - Ron White

I forget stuff. Like giving Rosie a check for football tix four times in a row. And that my license expired and required renewal before I could board the flight I just booked. Or that I need to email TCM. And whether Grandmother's birthday is April 4 or April 6.

But with all the stuff I forget, I manage to remember a shocking amount of crap. Like what I wore to work on May 12, 2008 (a black and white leaf print dress with red peep-toe flats). And all the words to Legally Blonde (seriously...all of them. ask Pickle).

I'm kinda fascinated by which pieces of info permanently lodge themselves in my brain. Why is it that I remember Maid Marian's parents' address but not the last time I watered the plant in my living room?

Most recently, I realized that I remember the coffee order of a former client.

Over the course of last summer, my team put together several events for our clients and through these events, I bought my clients a bit of coffee. Here's what I learned:
The Rouse likes a short americano, with two raw sugar packets
Derby Girl will usually have what I'm having, or a grande nonfat mocha
Montana and Conan also like the grande nonfat mocha

Trivia, for sure and that's all well and good. I also know Baconmeister's beverage (grande iced latte in a venti cup with extra ice and a splash of half and half) and that PattyCake recently switched to a tall skinny vanilla latte (from grande...fewer $$, fewer calories).

But the one that kinda bugs me is this: Ferris was a spokesperson I worked with very briefly last year. He is no longer employed by or affiliated with my client and therefore no longer affiliated with my team or me. And yet...if I ran into him in Starbucks, I'd be not at all surprised to hear him order a venti americano with sugar free vanilla syrup.

Can I please reclaim that space in my brain?