Can You Spell 'P-S-Y-C-H-O'?

My girlfriend sent me a screen shot of her conversation with a man, she was talking to on an online dating website, and it reminded me how pathetic I was.

Let me share

 

Of course she had to remind me of Devin.

Now, I know it’s hard to believe that i am a romantic with all these stories but genetically i was wired to believe in a happy ending. The X chromosome is accompanied with a lot of disadvantages; PMS, pregnancy, high heels, and slightly inferior driving skills.

OK! Horrible driving skills – APRIL FOOLS!

With all the disadvantages of being a woman that i must live with the hardest one to accept is my brain’s ability to automatically be able to play the ending credits of “The Notebook” the second I meet a man I am interested in. and course the second those thoughts alter my behaviour the man’s brain plays the opening credits of “The Exorcist”.

Devin was a southern U.S marine stationed in Afghanistan. We met online.

I know, right after this introduction you’re already thinking ‘the end’ but no... I like to live dangerously. I jump into the shower before I turn the water on, I drink vodka with red bull, I pour more than half a cup of milk into my cereal, and I stick my hand in the biohazard basket at the walk in clinic. I live on the dangerous side of life.

He lured me in with his pictures and his sweet southern demeanour which translated through text.

Fine, it was solely his picture, holding a machine gun. Middle Eastern sun reflecting off his tan tight skin wrapped around his muscular body. I got my daily dose of vitamin D just staring at his picture. The time difference made it difficult because by the time i finished work it was already late into the night in Afghanistan, but i did what any reasonable woman would do, i put aside all my work and focused all my attention on him.

We spent hours talking about how he would assemble his guns and paint them (dear lord I hate myself) and shared funny stories about our past. The more i spoke to him the more he sounded like he was different than the pitiable roster of potential men in my life. Sometimes a 7 looks like a 10 when it’s surrounded by 3’s. I don’t know what it is about men living in metropolitan cities, they are all so... girly. They shave their arm pits for god’s sake, and live with their mothers until they are 30.   

Email turned into skype, and talking about guns turned into a private show case of his pistol, I mean pistols. I played with the camera settings on my lap top for 10 minutes until my face structure resembled that of Angelina Jolie’s and wore the most flattering shirt to my tits along with pink bunny pj pants – they didn’t fall into the frame of the image. As far as Devin was concerned i was a goddess. I never revealed any of my private body parts (not an April fool’s joke) because i knew that i wanted him to respect me. Electrical sparks were flying – then again it could have been just the drool dropping from my mouth and hitting the keyboard whenever he stood up. His pistol was SO big, no wonder Americans are considered bullies in third world countries. I was scared too.

The more we spoke the more i was drawn to him. I pictured him coming back from deployment and releasing all his tension in-between my legs. Perhaps I’ll leave sex to my thoughts only. All men are such good lays until we actually do it. Devin would be different I brain washed myself, unlike that man who fucked me on a bed sheet on the floor like a Mexican painter, I won’t have to finish his work with my vibrator.

As time passed, Devin and I wouldn’t go one day without talking.

Then it turned sour. Devin activated that genetic defect i was born with. He started teasing the romantic part of my brain. Instead of ignoring it like most men, Devin faced it and encouraged it to take over. He started talking about the future, not only his future, but OUR future.

Woah...

It was time to Google wedding dresses

OH?! That’s not the logical next step? I’m sorry, I cannot see clearly with this dirty dancing/notebook/titanic montage that is playing in my brain.

That is when I marked the end of this love story with Devin.

The second i started to get more enthusiastic and open to all his sweet offerings of a wonderful future; sipping sweet tea on a wraparound porch of our white painted farm house while watching our neighbor’s son marry his cousin in their backyard, I had to pull all stops on Devin and my sweet little fantasy.

I was youtubing “wedding songs” when my friend called me and told me Devin messaged her on that same online website I had met him.

He wanted to show her his pistol too.

Illiterate men can’t even spell pistol. I’ll stick to them.