Cowboys and Indians

Have you ever felt that the universe is trying to send you a message?

Lately it seems that the universe is trying to tell me to date a cowboy. Cowboys are now trendy.  You now hear country music on pop stations, flannel is apparently the new black, and worst of all; last week, my favorite dance club went county. While I am not averse to dating a cowboy; it is a rather new concept for me.  Furthermore, I don’t eat dead mammals; that seems like it could be an issue.

Looking back at the westerns that I have watched over the years (admittedly, not many), whether the antagonist or the protagonist when it came to the stereotypical “cowboys vs. Indians” storyline, I would typically root for the Native American.  Even when the depiction of the Indians was of cruel savages I assumed they had good reason to be - having gotten the wrong end of the shaft- I overlooked their savagery and rooted for the cowboy’s demise (mostly because the Indians were half naked, hairless and hot, but I digress). Granted, I am a big “rooter for the underdog”.  I mean how fair is it that a cowboy simply sauntered into Oleson’s Mercantile (Little House in the Prairie throwback! Holla!), purchased his premanufactured gun and bullets and was hereby armed?  How lazy!  On the other hand, the Native American spent hours making their weapons (while shirtless, bronzed, and glistening in the sun) from the unused part of the animal they killed for food! I LOVE a man that recycles.  Furthermore, cowboys always looked filthy.  They were dirty and dusty, bearded from their long days in the woods or on the trail or wherever, and they needed a bath.  Native Americans looked quite clean with their hairless faces and chests and their shiny long black hair, freshly bathed from the local river… (Excuse me for a second, will you?).

Lately, however, due to the lack of Native American’s in Pennsylvania, I have been forced to see cowboys in somewhat of a new light.  As it is now “in” to be country, (and I am nothing if not trendy) is it as if the universe is cramming cowboys down my throat (heh, heh, heh).

It all started when my daughter turned country.  One day it was Lil Wayne and black eyeliner and shortly thereafter it was camouflage and Miranda Lambert.  My next stop in “countryville” was the University of Oklahoma.  Oklahoma seems to have an abundance of cowboys and while I looked high and low I did not see an Indian in the bunch (at least none that was readily apparent in fringed leather pants, hair feathers, and little else).  On a side note, although it has always been one of my fantasies, I have never had the opportunity to bed a Native American.  I imagine, in my mind, that it will be fucking phenomenal in a very organic kind of way with waterfalls, waving fields of grain and rhythmic guttural chants.  That being said and with my “it’s never too late attitude”, it is on my bucket list (or in this case: my Fuck-It list). 

Back to the cowboys:  If I am going to date one he can’t be a pseudo-cowboy (I draw the line at posers).  He needs to be a full-blow honkytonk, bareback ridin’ (uh huh) cowboy with a ranch, in full cowboy garb (minus the dirt, thank you very much).

As you all know by now, this important decision requires a pros and cons list:

Pros:

1.       Fresh eggs for breakfast.  
2.     I get to pet the pretty horsies (and if I grow a pair, I may even ride one).
3.     I get to see if it’s true that a cowboy only takes his hat off for sex.
4.     The thought of “wranglin” with a cowboy peaks my curiosity.
5.      I can yell “Ride ‘em, Cowboy!” and it actually means something.
6.      If he is a rich cowboy I can quit my job and twirl in fields of poppies (see blog dated January 2, 2012).

 Cons:

1.     Not only do I NOT eat dead mammals, I would probably befriend the animals on the farm and give them names only to find out that he has cut their throats and is eating them for dinner.
2.      Cowboys are renowned for being dirty and I don’t like dirty men (unless it’s minded).
3.       I need to be able to understand them and if they are too twang-y that might be an issue.
4.       I am not sure I can endure the hard-core country music songs that will make me want to shoot myself in the head with a 12 gauge (shut up, I’m sure I could figure it out).
5.       If I have to attend a rodeo with him I will probably feel sorry for the animals that are being treated cruelly and try to set them free. He might frown upon such action.
6.       I am guessing most cowboys do not allow the woman to wear the pants/chaps in the relationship. That might be a major issue.

Well, it seems to be even.  I guess if a hot cowboy came knocking on my door, I might try him on for size.  In the meantime, if any of you run into Tonto, have him call me. 

And I Thought I Had Issues...

 So after the immense success of the free dating site, I decided that perhaps going with a site that required money might find better results (and literacy).

I had been the on the pay site for a short time when I met a local guy that seemed really cool.  He did not approach me in an overtly pushy way with an immediate need to get my number or go on a date.  Instead he started with something short and witty that had nothing to do with us dating.  I replied with something witty and back and forth we went for a while.  Smart guy.  He didn’t immediately try to saddle the wild mare and get kicked in the head for it.

After a few weeks of back and forth banter, a date was made. We met at a local restaurant just blocks away from my mother and sisters' homes (safety first!).  This is a huge first step for me. If you haven’t figured it out yet, it is my nature to be cynical as hell and I had no idea what was going to walk through the door. I am well aware that people can post pictures from 10 years ago (or someone else), but I was actually pleasantly surprised.  He was my age and appeared to be showered, he had teeth and no noticeable nose hairs, that kind of thing. 

The first hour of our date we got the basics out of the way and somehow found ourselves in a discussion about evolution.  I know, I know, my friends thought that was nuts too. In my own defense, anyone who knows me knows that I love deep conversation (among other things) with a well-armed opponent.  Somehow the topic came up and he made a quick comment in passing that he didn’t believe “that life came from a speck of dirt” and kept right on talking.

Wait a minute…wait a minute…WHAT??

Now, I don’t profess to know everything about everything. Ok. I kind of do, but not about the big things.  In my opinion, when it comes to deep concepts like religion, no one religion is better than another; none of them are right while others are wrong (except for the ones that want to hurt people). It’s the same with the big concepts such as evolution.  That being said, in order for me to give someone's opinion any credence at all, they had better be able to back it up.  So, while I actually believe in a combination of evolution and creation (something had to start the Big Bang); I had no problem that he didn’t believe in evolution.  But, I needed to know more. 

“Sooooo….,” I started my question, trying to choose my words carefully, “You believe that God put a man and a woman and all of the animals on the earth at pretty much at the same time?” 

“Yes,” he replied.

“What about the dinosaurs? Do you believe that man roamed the earth dodging the dinosaurs? When did the dinosaurs come into play? Why did all of the dinosaurs die and man didn’t? And while I agree with your statement that life doesn’t come from a speck of dirt, it’s been proven that with water, light, currents, etc., you can get life”, I retorted, firing questions one after another without waiting for his answers (out of the machine gun that is my brain). 

He just looked at me.  Uh-oh.

He quickly stated that he didn’t know how all of that happened or when, but he still doesn’t believe in evolution because you can’t get life from a speck of dirt.  Alrighty then.

I decided that a first date was probably not the best time to have this conversation and the date continued and ended pleasantly enough with us making plans to get together again.

A week or so later, we went out again, this time for a full-blown dinner.  It was the longest hour and ½ of my life. I was actually ready to run out the door before my dinner was served but I was starving, so I stayed.

Prior to even ordering, I found out that he is a raging homophobe (me thinks thou doth protest too much) who thinks that gay people are a product of environment and are not born that way.  I could not disagree more and I cannot tolerate people that cannot tolerate people.  My response to that was “What about the kids that are raised with no gay people in their lives? Did they eat too many Fruity Pebbles as a kid and that ‘gave them the gay’?”  (Sarcasm: my go-to anger response.)  Amazingly enough, he didn’t have an answer for that (are we seeing a pattern here?).

As we go to order dinner, it got much, much worse.  Like a gentleman, he tells me to order first.  I do so and then he orders something that I had not seen on the menu and that sounded much better than what I had ordered.  I suggested that I might change my order and he said adamantly, “You can’t.”  I looked at him with my head cocked to the side as a puppy might look at someone that is making a strange noise.

“I’m sorry?” I asked a bit surprised.

“It is a pet peeve of mine when people order what I am ordering at a restaurant”, he elaborated.

My head cocked more.

He continued, “If you had ordered what I was going to order, I would have changed my order. I let everyone order first so that I can order what no one else is having.”

“Oh! So you can share,” I said smiling, giving him the benefit of the doubt.

“Oh No! I don’t share,”   he replied. (Hello? Selfish much??)

My response was quick and succinct: “You do realize I will never order first again, don’t you?”  

(Excuse me, waitress, can you please tell the chef to hurry the hell up with my dinner??!!)

So at this point, I already know there will be NO third date with Rainman and it was just a matter of wolfing down my food and getting the hell out of there.  And then, we had this little conversation:

Me: “So, do you like animals?”

Him: “I like dogs, but I don’t like yours.”

Let me think..…how do I put this kindly?   FUCK. YOU.  

Not only had he never met my dog, he assumed, (wrongly) based on a picture (in which she was NOT sitting on oversize chair) that she was a small dog.  She is a 60lb. dog!

CHECK PLEASE!!!

Amazingly enough he had no clue that he was DTM (Dead to Me) and was talking about what we might do on our third date.  I have an idea.  Let’s go to a pig flying competition.