The Mad Texter Found Me

Is anyone else sick and tired of texting?  What is so freaking hard about holding a phone up to your ear and talking into it?  Is it too heavy?  Did you lose your voice along with your car keys and glasses?  Texting has become a life style.  I refuse to devote my waking hours to answering text messages.  I hate engaging in entire conversations via my thumbs.  Aside from all the typos and the fact that I can hardly see the teeny tiny keys (which almost makes my brain explode), I want to look up, not stare down at the key board.  Use voice texting you say?  Whoever is in my phone makes more errors than I do and is not a good listener.

Ironically, or via my bad date karma I met someone on Match.com that brought texting to a whole new level.  A level which only exists in the matrix or hell.  After reading his profile I thought he might be someone worth pursuing.  We picked a time and place to meet for coffee and exchanged phone numbers in case one of us was late or had to cancel at the last minute.  Reasonable planning if you're not "The Profligate Texter."  It was as if I said "ready, set, text!" Non-stop all day and most of the night I heard ping, ping, ping from my phone.  Words, pictures and links bombarded me.  Every thought he had or movement he made generated a text.  At first I was polite and answered, which was a very bad idea as then the texts came faster and faster.  Is this normal now? Or was I living in the techno dark ages?  I thought about throwing my phone at the wall or giving it to a priest to perform an exorcism. Finally I texted him that I was spent, exhausted, practically unconscious and could not keep up with his warp speed.  I desperately needed a time-out, a moment to remember verbalizing. 

 After one cup of coffee I realized we were as mismatched in person as in text messages.  I texted him good-bye, got up and left.

                  Ass Kickin’ Women

These women kick ass!  Kickin’ some ass to join the Marine Corps. Holy moly what they have to go through on Paris Island South Carolina brings tears to my eyes…tears of fear. It is the only place in the country where women become Marines who can serve in combat.  I think they have special genes as mine would be screaming “Stop, turn back, go to Neimans.”  The training is not for the faint of heart, or needing their therapist on speed dial.  One call home and that’s it, poof(!) cut off from the outside world until the day before graduation.  I would hold my breath and turn blue right after that call.  No email access which gives me a rash just thinking about it.  I need to text, Instagram, FB, Snap Chat, Tweet, and change my profile picture!   There is one piece of good news, I could pass the initial physical fitness test.  Yes siree all those gym days have paid off: 15 push-ups, or one pull up (that’s still a little iffy), 44 crunches (?) 1.5 mile in under 15:00 (if my left leg doesn’t fall off).  There is hope on the dating front as there are 750-1000 women and 2,850 men.  Better odds than on Match.com I’d say. 

The typical day is a real downer for me however as it starts at 4 a.m. What is 4 a.m.?  There is no mention of your own bathroom which is really a “must have” on my planet. None of those nasty haircuts for the women which is a big relief but do they have a good colorist I wonder?  Uh oh trouble is on the horizon no matter what my hair looks like.

“The Crucible” looms large – a 54 hour marathon of physical and emotional endurance that tests every cell in your body.  I am dripping in sweat writing about it.  The test of all the training and I cannot even remember my name at this point.   Here goes so be strong :  long hikes day and night, climbing ropes, figuring out how to get the last person over a plywood wall and crawling through thick mud while pushing boxes of ammunition under barbed wire as they blast battle sounds.  Is anyone thinking they can do this no problema because there is MORE.

“Noonan’s Evacuation” a mock rescue based on a real evacuation that took place in Vietnam.  The recruits have to tend to and evacuate their wounded and dead while receiving simulated rounds of sniper fire.  I think I just fainted. 

Exhausted and blistered (no pedicure, or big spa day) they receive the coveted Eagle, Globe and Anchor insignia.  I admit I am dehydrated, hallucinating, covered in hives and terrified reading about these women and yet want to thank every last one of them. 

You kick some serious ass!