I’m on one of the free online dating sites, but rarely look at it due to my disenchantment with 15 years(!) of referring to it between relationships (and not one of those relationships was borne of a computer). Every once in a while when my pants aren’t too tight and I’m feeling euphoric, I write someone back on the site. I made that mistake this week.
The guy writes and says something like, he noticed me a while ago, but got into a relationship so he never got back to me when I “favorited” him. He also says he’s getting re-assigned back east soon (from HI), so he understands if I’m not interested. I suppose I should translate this as, “you were a second choice and the first didn’t work out, so I am resorting to you for lack of something better as I am leaving soon anyway”. I truly cannot remember if I “favorited” him because nothing about him or his profile makes me even think of splooshing, so I’m unsure why I ever took notice, but I take the bait and reply. I send a standard reply which involves my phone number as I like to get it over with as soon as possible without any carpal tunnel forming.
I don’t put enough stock in online dating that someone leaving in a month would be a deal breaker for me. I don’t want to tell him I set my goals very low in this realm – mutual desire for a second date is as lofty and as long-term as it gets.
Anyhow, he emails back that he’s off-island and will call after he is back on the weekend. Alas, my phone rings the next day (Tuesday). He is calling me from DC. He establishes that he is a colonel in the Army with a mandatory retirement in 3 yrs, something about private sector… blady, blah, blah. He says they want to give him a star but he is not interested. I stop him there and say, “A star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame?” A hush falls, then a serious, “No, I’m a colonel and they want to make me a general. You’re probably wondering why I don’t want the promotion.” I’m thinking, actually no, not at all, I would really wonder if you didn’t want to be on the Walk of Fame.
I mention that my dad was in the Air force. He says, “So you’re an Air Force brat.” Me: “Not really. My dad retired when I was 7.” What I don’t say is my dad’s time in the AF and his regimented ways formed my complete disdain for authority. Don’t get me wrong, God bless those that serve our country. I personally just have no desire to wear a uniform (unless it was designed by Tommy Bahama), be commanded to do things (unless it was like, “go to the beach now!!”) or aspire to be the one that gets to do the yelling (unless it’s shouting poses to queens at a drag show). Thank Buddha the world is not just made up with people that have my worldview or we’d settle our battles on a runway out-werqing one another.
Not only that, let’s not kid ourselves, no matter how far we’ve come with gender equality, women are tuned out and belittled in the work force daily. Those of us with ovaries have all experienced it at our jobs. Can you imagine what that’s like in the testosterone-soaked army? In my delusional mind, I’m way too special for that.
Okay, so going in, I’m aware there are fundamental differences with this (probably right-wing) guy. But, I did date a major in the Marines that was not some rabid flag-waver he-man, so my mind is open (although my ears are wishing they could close) during the rather inane conversation. None of my smart-ass comments get a laugh, so I’m guessing he needs to feel like he is the funny one (I already can’t live that lie). Oh yeah, the red flags are flying like checkered ones at a Nascar finish line.
He mentions sending me a text but didn’t dare until he talked to me (I say something in my profile about texting instead of calling is the coward’s way). He wants to send me a pic and I’m assuming it’s of the cherry blossoms because he mentioned allergies and how they were in bloom (and that is what I would prefer to see). I say, he can text me a pic, but better to send to my smarter phone that has a higher IQ. I say I’ll text him the other number. Why I am encouraging this, pledge of allegiance I don’t know.
We get off the phone as he is in the car and he’s about to go underwater or whatever. I’m just relieved it’s over. A while later, I text him the other cell number for the photo. In reply (to the same number I said not to send pics to) I get a photo of him in uniform. Um, okay, I do nothing and hope we are done.
The next morning he sends a pic of his cold-looking A-frame in W. Virginia (still to the wrong phone — heed orders from a girl much, colonel?). I can’t help but reply, “where is the pool and the sun? Oh wait, they’re here.” All right, I kind of lied, I said “their here” and immediately send a follow up text that said “Oops, they’re — don’t want to have bad grammar in my texts.” Now who’s regimented?
He replies back and says, “No, but I have these”. I swear to the Society of the Humane, he has sent me a picture of a bulge-eyed dead mouse in a trap. A few minutes later when he has had no response, I get, “Sorry! Not for the weak of heart”. I mentioned to him I used to walk dogs and I own a cat. Apparently, I should have mentioned that I save bugs (ants, bees, who ever is struggling) in the pool too. If you’ve shot any deer, West Virginia, I’m SO not the girl to tell or show it to.
I am officially done. Plus I’m thinking, don’t freaking text me every day like we have a connection of some sort. We have not even met. Do not waste my time I’m not doing anything with anyway. I’m also thinking the colonel needs to feel that someone is in his life way more than I do – and this comes from a woman that chases the cat around trying to get a kiss.
I’m hoping this is over, but today I get another text. This time it is of his mantel showing an iron eagle and the flag on display. (Ironically, this is on the day the background check amendment on the gun control bill got shot down in Congress. He probably sees that as a personal victory. ) Has he confused me with Betsy Ross?
To take inventory, these texts say: here is me in my glorious uniform, here is my backwoods dwelling, here are my kills of the innocent and here is my unwavering patriotism. I wonder if John Hinckley had texting capabilities back in the day, would he have sent the same sort of photos to Jodie Foster?
Should I rival him and send a picture of me in my current Hawaiian garb (a style I call “migrant worker’s day at the beach”), a picture of my latest unemployment check and one of my “F*ck That” bumper sticker? Seriously, my cats names have been “Booger” and “Poop” (and I look forward to the day I own “Douche Bag”), it’s a pretty safe bet I’m not the serious/mature/reverent woman he is looking for.