Just before I set off for Amsterdam a month or two ago, or maybe three now, time do fly sometimes, that trip to see one of my lifetime male heroes of rock and roll and rhythm and blues and folk and revolution type music, I guess maybe I was getting kind of hot and bothered thinking about it, I decided to check into my Dating for Hippies email, one of those things I never do, but I decided to, and there he was, waiting for me, Prince Charming.
He was nice looking, a widower, just the right age, but didn’t look too decrepit.
He lived up in Maine, and I kind of like Maine, population density isn’t very high up there. The big semis don’t go up that far, they kind of peter out about Concord. Low population density is quite appealing to me.
He called himself a Shaman, and gosh oh gee, Shamans kind of rock in my world, although I’ve actually met a whole lot more Shamanettes along the Yellow Brick Road, that’s where one goes to pursue the Wizard, once one has gotten mostly passed the idea of Prince Charming, the Yellow Brick Road, but I’ve met a Shaman or two along the way there. In terms of Hippies to Date, I’m not much into Shamanettes, but Shamans, far out.
He’s an artist, into vintage cars, kind of like the old Janis Porsche that wasn’t a Mercedes, he had lots of artsy images on his profile. They were good art. I like good art, vintage things like he had there. A lot like my ex-husband in that sense.
He’s a grower of Medicinal Weed up there in Maine, where they have that, here too now, but more restrictive here I think. Well, gee, how far out is that?
He’s wearing a Purple and Blue and all shades between tie dyed suit in one image, and as I look down at the dye that’s staining my hands at that very moment as I set off to fly off to Amsterdam to see Prince Charming sing, he’s into crooning the oldies now, our parents’ generation stuff, and he does it quite well, it was good, but the guy was wearing a suit exactly like the stain on my hands and on my bed and I thought, far out. He seems to fit right in there, for sure.
So I emailed him. He was on the road, too, so I said hey, check out this Channel Surfing story, Shaman, and read the stuff on my web page, you’ll get a feel for who I am, where I’m at, and we can get acquainted when I get back from Amsterdam.
Note that my Dating for Hippies Profile is called “Bring Down the Machine”, and it, too, paints a pretty accurate portrait of who I am and where I’m at. A gentle flower, not.
We did go through the phone and Skype chat thing, in that I don’t do those things, either of them, didn’t feel the least bit compelled to, in that regard I’m kind of a no nonsense bitch, and no, I’m not going to do the phone thing because you want me to. Or maybe I even did download the app he was poking me with, a pokey kind of a guy, for sure, but Safari immediately rejected it, and I listen to Safari.
So anyway, he got over the phone thing and since he was on the road, too, and I was about to disappear into flight time, he started checking out my web page, the one no longer up at this point, the one being rebuilt.
After spending some time with the web page, a little of the story, which he said was great, after running around reading, he decided he was madly in love, and in the very first email correspondence I got from him, after landing in the Lowlands, kind of Sad Eyed, jumped right in all excitedly to the idea of Sexual Spankings. He called me Princess.
Over the next few days while running round the lowlands as Facebook friends I discovered that he was into things like killing large alligators because they could potentially be dangerous to human beings, all kinds of totally unenlightened shit, and no, I know, there’s no such thing as enlightened and right thinking, except where there is, and unenlightened thinking such as kill the gator because it is really big is just so not Shamanic, it’s painful.
So what the guy is is a grower of weed whose wife died. And he’s into profit, for sure, and the pain of his wife’s death, for sure. And not all that much into environment, other than speaking words about it, the idea of environment. He's pretty bigly machine And that he said he’d stop by my place and water the new seedlings I’d put in on his way home, he passed right by, and I mean a few meters from the fence out back, for sure, after I said if he didn’t want to or couldn’t I had other people who would do it, and he said no, he’d do it, but really, I thought he was a grower of plants and what he is is a hydroponics guy, so he doesn’t get things like water, how ironic, he didn’t stop and so half the spinach and greens crop was lost.
And so I think, ah well, not for me, just the whole interaction immediately made that clear, and so I beg off running up to Maine to hook up with him, I mean after he invited me for that and I said, gee how about you actually invite me to the f**king (and no, I didn’t say it that way) party you’re throwing before the hook up you think you’re scheduling, show me your son’s hydroponics store, I like barbecue, and you think I should just drive up to Maine and f**king sleep with you, particularly based on our interactions thus far? I’d kind of like to get acquainted, maybe have the option of driving back home if you turn out to be as much of a douchebag as I’m pretty sure you are, I’d intended to at least meet him and tell him so in person, but he was such a f**king douchebag online that it seemed not worth the six or seven hours of road time, even if I do like Maine.
Within three days he’s posting pictures of hairy high heels on my page in response to my rants, and gosh, every single piece on my web page was a rant, including the one about Sexual Spankings, but that one kind of turned him on.
Me, not so much. I liked Prince Charming’s crooning of the oldies a lot better.