Remember my pal, Miss Paris? When we last left off, I was about to fix her up with Dr. "Bland" (his new name that I've given him). Dr. Bland is a Mormon, which I did not know when I initiated the fix-up. He’s 32 and, in retrospect, seems to have a phobia about women, but oddly, doesn’t appear gay. If he were gay, I think he’d dress better and go for a look less goofy. That said, he is a cute guy in a white-bread, could-be-a-Mormon sort of way.
During the course of the fix-up, Dr. Bland spilled two mango daiquiris on Miss Paris. The boy can’t handle his liquor. Despite that, they went on a real date a week later. Making small talk over frozen fruity cocktails (the only thing he’ll drink), he asked what she liked to do. Miss Paris is a fun gal. She told him honestly, “go out drinking with my friends. We especially love wine and champagne.” He asked Miss Paris if she considered herself a heavy drinker. That’s an odd first date question, don’t you think? She said, “are you asking as a doctor or as someone asking their date if they have a drinking problem?” He said, “A little of both.” I would have left him sipping his umbrella drink.
This was Friday. He called on Sunday night, and got her voice mail. He left a message saying he had fun and would like to see her again, possibly, Friday. Miss Paris was sitting by the pool, drinking a bottle of wine with her friend. When she finally got the message, she decided she was too drunk to call him that night, given his aversion to winos.
She called him the next night and got his voice mail. She left a message. She never heard from him again.
To paraphrase a now famous book, he’s clearly just not that into her. Or maybe she's too much woman for him and scares the bejeez out of him. Still, he didn’t need to call her and say, “let’s go out again, how about Friday.” He could have just not called, or called and thanked her for the date and left it at that.
So Dr. Bland wins this week’s Person’s Behaving Blandly, I mean Badly. And if you are a woman living in the Las Vegas area and you have been fixed up with a blond Mormon doctor who is about 32 years old, email me and tell me his name. I’ll let you know if it’s our misbehaving doctor. (although, you’ll know when the goofball spills his apple martini all over you.)
