Aug 31

Written by: michaela renee
8/31/2009 2:08 PM

 

Therapy Sessions of an Online Dating Addict: Hi-Tech Redneck


Me: His profile contained a picture of him hiking in the wilderness, and he looked quite dashing.

Therapist: Really? You don’t strike me as the wilderness type.

Me: Oh sure I am…I really enjoy a hike now and again…you know, on a paved path and stuff…or if there’s gravel or whatever. Plus I love REI, they have lots of cute stuff in there.

Therapist: Right, exactly. Not the wilderness type.

Me: So, I‘m reading through his page and it says, “I am fond of the great outdoors and I just love all of God‘s creatures.”

Therapist: Seems like a down-home boy.

Me: Oh, totally. I’ve been reading about all these country boys lately in the news and stuff…you know, tough economic times and these guys really know how to survive.

Therapist: And since when are you the damsel in distress?

Me: Well, since…never. But I just wanted to see what all the hype was about. The only thing that had me a little worried is that his profile name is “HiTech Redneck.”

Therapist: HiTech Redneck?! What an excellent change of pace from the typical San Diego guys you date!

Me: Exactly! So right out the gate he tells me it’s not going to be a “traditional” date. That he prefers to meet up at this local spot for some coffee and then head out of town to the place where the pavement turns into dirt road.

Therapist: What?

Me: Yeah, he says there’s this great little fishing hole, a few miles out of town. Short little hike and then viola, there’s this beautiful river bank, a really relaxing spot to read and enjoy the sun.

Therapist: I’m still unsure of someone you just met driving you out past the paved road...

Me: Well, I guess that was what the coffee was supposed to be for…to make me feel more comfortable.

Therapist: Figures.

Me: So it’s the morning of our date, and I’m up at the butt crack of dawn…

Therapist: (laughing) Sorry to interrupt but your language choice has dramatically changed…

Me: Y’all think I sound diff-ernt? (laughing)

Therapist: It happens to the best of us.

Me: So the alarm goes off and the sun is definitely not up. So I jump out of bed and do the whole “cockadoodledoo” to make myself feel better and start to get ready for our peaceful hike to the fishing hole.

Therapist: Fishing can be kinda wet and muddy…

Me: Oh, I had this perfect little pair of waterproof Merrell hiking boots that have vibram soles and Gortex and everything. Plus I had bought this super cute hat from REI that says, “I HEART FISHING” with like this adorable little Nemo cartoon on it…

Therapist: You lucked out, I’d have been banging on the door to REI, begging them to let me in and give me something plastic that wouldn’t get fish guts on me.

Me: I didn’t plan on catching anything, more…supervising…admiring the view of my country boy.

Therapist: Nice!

Me: So I pull up to our meeting spot and not even kidding, it’s like Billybob’s Bar, Tackle & Coffee.

I sat in the car for about three minutes before deciding that it couldn’t be that different from any other dive bar I’ve ever been to.

Therapist: Courage! Excellent!

Me: So I whip open the door. Then I stood up really tall, threw my shoulders back, stuffed my hands in my pockets, kicked my legs out a little and started struttin to the bar. I got about three steps in…when all seven old farts turned and looked at me.

Therapist: Oh no.
Me: Yep. Cue the dueling banjos.

From the back of the bar I hear, “Hey ski-bunny, the slopes are about 160 miles from here and you’ll have to wait until December, this is fishin country.”

Therapist: (clutching her mouth).

Me: My eyes scanned the bar for HiTech Redneck and when I didn’t see him I hollered back, “Really because word on the street is if I came to these parts dressed like YOU I’d never catch anything.”

Therapist: Oh my God.

Me: Then, all of a sudden I hear, “That’s my girl!”

And I squint, like a lot, and realize that HiTech Redneck WAS in fact there, in the back of the bar. And to my complete and utter chagrin, he was dressed from head to toe in camouflage.

Therapist: Oh nuh-uh!

Me: Oh ya! So much so that he blended right into the wood plank flooring of the 1920’s bar. Imagine that!

Therapist: Horrific!

Me: To say the LEAST. So I stroll past the jerk with the mouth and belly up to the bar. The bartender slides a mug of motor oil over to me. I glance down to make sure nothing’s floating and look back up at the bartender.

Very sheepishly I whisper, “Can I get some cream?”

He cocks his head as if I’m from a foreign country and just spoke German, then he walks down the bar a bit, picks up the Baileys and pours it in.

Therapist: Take the edge off.

Me: HiTech Redneck winks and then orders a shot of Crown, and adds “make it double.” And as I’m choking down my Irish Mint flavored elbow grease I managed to get out, “Make it two.”

He thumped me really hard on the back and goes, “Atta girl.”

Therapist: Charming.

Me: (with an extreme roll of the eyes) Oh, incredibly much so.

So we knock back our Crown and I wipe off my chin and say, “I may seem like the desk job type but believe it or not I can hold my own in the wilderness.”

“Yeah, I’ve been meanin to ask you about that. Aren’t you one of them bloggers?”

“Something like that.”

“That impresses the hell out of us hillbilly’s. We just whack stuff, pick it up to make sure it’s dead and then send it into town.”

After I removed my jaw from the bar I replied, “I wish I had a tape recorder to capture half of what you’re saying.”

Therapist: Git-r-Done (smiling).

Me: So he goes, “Well you got that fancy little iPhone doncha. It’s gotta voice recorders on it, you won’t miss a thing!”

I look down totally puzzled and realize I do have an app that says “Voice Recorder.”

Therapist: Oh yeah! I totally love that application for groceries and stuff!

Me: No shit! Who knew? So I say, “Now how in the hell did a hillbilly like yourself know that?”

And he flashes me this big ole grin and says, “Baby girl, that’s because I’m a HiTech Redneck.” Making sure to draw out all the wrong letters.

A HiTech Redneck who probably should not have been given access to Match.com but at this point I’ve decided I like him and sheer morbid curiosity has gotten the best of me.

Therapist: Good for you, he seems harmless.

Me: So we jump in his pick up truck and he asks me to scoot over to the middle…so I do. And he cranks up some country music, Waylon something I don’t even know.

Therapist: Jennings! Good taste in music!

Me: Yep, that’s it. All I could think of was that newer song, how’s it go… “now she’s sitting in the middle of his pick up truck, blaring Hank Jr. yelling TURN IT UP.”

Therapist: Trace Adkins, such a hottie.

Me: Total hottie!

So I’m asking him about this hike, and this and that and he’s totally playing it off as like this great little nature trail. When he suddenly slams the truck in park and jumps out, leaving me belted in the middle, staring into the middle of the road.

Therapist: What?

Me: Yeah,  he yells, “FISH CHECK!“

And I’m sitting there totally terrified that someone is going to come around the corner and plow into us and I’m going to die.

Then I hear him say, “Look at all them fish! I just counted 47! Babe, pull that pick up truck over to the side of the road and grab them poles.”

And I reply calmly, “WHAT? And who the hell are you calling Babe?”

He turns around and runs for the truck, jumps in the front seat, door still swinging wildly open, slams it in reverse and parks it, half on-half off the road.

Therapist: Let the fishing begin.

Me: So I tell him that I have to pee before we begin the hike, and he says, “That’s what God made a bush for, get your pretty little rear behind that truck and go.”

Therapist: Did you bring TP?

Me: WHO BRINGS TP ON A FIRST DATE? I left my purse locked firmly in the truck at PeggySues or whatever the hell it was called.

Therapist: Air dry.

Me: The dribble and shake on a first date. Gross. So I tell him forget it, I can hold it.

“Suit yourself. Here put these boots on,” he says.

I look at them and they are completely hideous.

I put my hand up and say, “Pass.”

“You’ll need them they’re waterproof.”

“So are mine.”

“Bullshit.”

“No look, seriously, see they say right here,” pointing at my Merrells, “Waterproof.”

“You just got sold a crock a horse shit little darlin, because those shoes have holes in them everywhere.”

“So?”

“So how in the hell can they be waterproof with holes in them. Your feet are gonna get wet.”

“Because the MATERIAL is waterproof.”

“But your feet will get wet.”

“Duh. That’s why I didn’t wear socks.”

“I ain’t gonna argue with you, that’s horse shit. Those aren’t waterproof. Grab that pole, let’s go.”

And the next thing I know we’re straight booney-crashing down the mountain. I’m literally covered in mud.

He hears me complaining about the fact that I should have worn long jeans instead of Capri’s.

“No, you shoulda worn real boots that come to your knees and not that crap from the fancy store in San Diego.” He demands.

“Excuse me? These come from a very nice Sporting Good store, they have a lot of quality gear.”

“Were there dead animals on the walls?”

“No.”

“Then it’s not a real store.”

“Right because I always need Bambi’s mother looking over my shoulder while I check out.”

“Bambi’s mother would have warned you that you look like you belong on the front of the NorthFace for woosies camping trip magazine.”

“Shut up.”

“It won’t matter much in a minute little Miss cuz you’re gonna be up to your ass in water. It’s a salt chuck kinda day.”

Therapist: A what?

Me: I don’t think he was speaking English. I really don’t.

Therapist: Well you’re the one who brought Disney characters on the hiking trip. Sounds like communication skills would be something you’d have to work on.

Me: To say the least. I have a check list starting the removal of all camouflage from his wardrobe.

Therapist: (laughing) Good luck with that.

Me: So we finally make it to the bottom and my ankle is sprained, and I’m covered in weeds and bushes and mud. And then he hands me this fishing pole and tells me to get fishin.

I must say, I actually really got into the whole thing. It was so pretty out there, and peaceful and quiet and I’d toss the pole out and slowly reel it in.

Therapist: Fishing can be a really fun pass time, great American one actually.

Me: I like fishing. What I don’t like is catching.

Therapist: What?! That’s hilarious.

Me: Well let me tell you why…

So I’m sitting there, just minding my own business when all of a sudden a fish jumps onto my pole.

Therapist: Excellent!

Me: No. Not excellent.

HiTech Redneck comes bounding over like Tarzan screaming, “Pipe down Son! Calm down, let him get tired.”

“Let WHO get tired?”

I’m starting to get exhausted. The damn fish was all over the river. I mean, he was REALLY fighting for his life.

Therapist: That’s what they do.

Me: Well I started feeling really bad for the fish, “Please! Let’s just let him go, please!!” I beg him.

“What? Man up and reel that fish in!”

“Please, please just cut him loose. I feel so bad for the poor fish.”

“Poor fish? Daddy gotta eat girl!”

The pole finally stops violently trembling and he grabs the rod and pulls it close, he reaches in and pulls it to the river bank. All I could say was, “Thank God that’s over!“

But I see the fish is flopping everywhere, grasping for air. Trying to survive…the poor thing, it was dying a slow, painful, horrible death. Then it leaps up in the air and flops over on my feet, begging me to throw it back in the water.

I screamed at the top of my lungs and toppled over backwards and he jumps right over the top of me beer bottle in hand and scream, “BAR FIGHT!”

Therapist: Bar fight?

Me: The next thing I see his him whacking the fish over the top of the head with this big ole bottle of Schlitz Malt Liquor.

It’s like Cave Man grunts coming from his chest as he repeatedly cracked it on the head.

Therapist: Oh my…

Me: Then he whips out a buck knife and slices the fish right open and blood goes splurting everywhere! And I look down and there’s blood on me, and blood on the fishing rod and the fish makes one last little kiss …the kiss of death and then it stops moving.

Therapist: That is absolutely terrifying and disgusting.

Me: I started bawling hysterically.

Therapist: I would to.

Me: I started banging my head against my hands, thinking I’m the worst person on the face of the Earth for killing this fish when it was trying so hard to live…and then I remember what he’d put on his profile.

Through my tears I say, “I thought you said you love all of God’s creatures?“

He goes, “I sure do Hun, right next to my mashed taters and gravy.”

Copyright ©2009 Michaela Renee

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