Haa,
Not nearly.
Many dates have wrecked off this Blonde's shore over the past three decades—so many, in fact, that I have built a blog of all the ships that have sailed. So many, that this damsel gets tired of writing about them and comes up with other stories to amuse herself while on this isolated island.
This last one was a psychiatrist with a successful family mental health practice.
His kid is 17, quit school because he does not like it, and Daddy said OK.
Daddy Psychologist is a pot head. He deals with other people's shit all day, that he has no time to deal with his own kid. His kid is also a pothead. Duh
But I jumped ahead.
We chose a date and time to meet, I called Lyft-because Uber is a dick- and just as I texted him, I am on my way, he asks if we can delay the date because his fucking football game is in over-time.
OK
I get it, this is Texas..I am not a bitch and get the passion. So I say, fuck the restaurant, and will meet you at the bar.
I meet him at the sports bar, and he is loaded to the gills. He had been vaping since 4:20 my friends.
Still cool about the shit, because I wanted to see the Turnpike Troubadours, and it was a sold out show.
I know, fuck you...if you heard the Turnpike Troubadors live, you would put up with a little shit too.
Well, I was cool until Dr. Psych started baa-ing like a sheep really loudly. I think he was trying to shout "YEAH"", but it came out "BAHHH".
At that point, I had to leave.
A shit load of cowboys were looking his way and I didn't need to be in the way.
The Blonde went home with a Lyft.
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