January 21, 2011
Originally published October 13, 2002
I went down to Weisenbaker's Bar yesterday to watch the Dawgs on a big-screen TV and eat dead, burnt beef while young waitresses with red toenails provided me with frozen mugs full of beer. I don't drink beer often anymore, but the Killian's Red was delicious, especially when the bar was not crowded and the Dawgs kicked Tennessee's ass while I cheered and barked as if I were on the 50 yard-line at Sanford Stadium. One of the waitresses, named "Nichole," was very attentive and mentioned that her mama has been divorced for a year and NEVER goes out, and I am "perfect" for her, being the handsome and charming "older" man that I am. She gave me her MAMA'S PHONE NUMBER, too. Mama is named "Lisa."
I called Lisa last night and got an answering machine, so I left a message saying that I would call back. I didn't have to. She called ME back. I may have dinner with her AND Nichole tonight, just to prove that I'm not a crazed rapist and a sexual deviant. (I am NOT a crazed rapist... just crazed.) Lisa lives about two miles away, and I hope to meet her this evening.
I've never had a daughter set me up with her mama before. Is that strange?
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