Saturday, January 24, 2009

Date 6: Sandy Blonde Mess


Whistle.

Sandy Blonde Mess strolls over with a very laid back surfer vibe. The only problem? He's not a surfer.

Okay, I lied, that is not the only problem... That is just the first in a string of problems.

- He's wearing track pants in a bar, not funny-guy-who-wears-track-pants track pants, I-thought-this-would-lend-credibility-to-what-I'm-about-to-tell-you track pants

- He's wearing them with a polo in a clashing color

- He claims he's a tennis pro ("really? where?" I ask mustering up fake interest. "just some place in Plano" thanks for being so vague)

This brings us to a little intermission in list of problems. When I ask someone a direct question and they don't give me a direct answer, I assume they are hiding something. So rather than tell me something I no doubt would have forgotten 2 seconds later, cause let's be honest, I couldn't have cared less, he get's all vague. Hey Sandy Blonde Mess D-Bag, this is speed dating, spill it. So I am forced to come home and run a little Google interferance on his criptic answer. So if anyone is interested in where they can find a Sandy Blonde Mess D-Bag in Plano (this specific one, I am aware there are a lot there), email me and I'll let you know. Back to the problem list...

- He claims he teaches at all ages (I'm sensing a piano man vibe with the teaching, please don't list the 50 states)

- He says there are no single people in Plano and he ought to have a wife and kids (like asap? yikes)

- The only thing about him that makes the tennis pro thing somewhat likely is his sun damaged skin

- Zero personality... "Hi! Brick wall? It's me, Lacey."

Whistle.

That actually seemed short. I must have blacked out for a minute or two.

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