Social Behavior of Men

So I promised you I'd tell you about the Pig Guy. He was a smart guy--had a degree, a good job, funny and witty via emails, and a bit of a Civil War buff. (Then again what guy isn't a Civil War buff? What is up with men who like that era anyway? It's either the Civil War or WWII--and it's always about the battles. Doesn't anyone care about the Revolutionary War? The politics? The way people behave--how we've always behaved? Sorry, that's a different rant.) He was rather normal for one of my dates, so I agree to meet him for coffee.

We meet. I'm running slightly late, as in I didn't show up before the 7:15 time. I showed up at 7:16. Yeah, I know that's rude. Sue me. "Hi, I'm Hellion." He shakes hands, "Hi, I'm Bob." Which is totally not his name--and he's obviously said to make me think I introduced myself to someone else entirely and made a jackass of myself. I smile. "Totally kidding, I'm Pig Guy." (Pig Guy isn't his name either, but names have been changed to protect the moronic.) I sit, already slightly put off. We talk for a couple minutes, about nothing--I admit, I wasn't exactly feeling particularly witty at the moment, but then I wasn't sure what to think. I put in my order for coffee, and then sit back down. He starts to fiddle with his phone. (Always a good sign, right?) He shows me pictures of his dogs. I'm amazed by the sheer memory on this phone, because he's got pictures of everything...and then, about after 10 minutes of looking at dog pictures, he says, "Oh, you have to see this." He chooses a video, gives me the phone, and I watch.

I see the back of someone, Pig Guy, I deduce and there is this grunting pig at his feet. Then there is a gun shot and the pig starts to squeal. Blood splatters or something...maybe it's mud from the pig hitting the ground. All I know is: Why in the fuck would you show someone a video of you shooting a pig within 10 minutes of meeting her--on a supposed date?

"Oh, you haven't seen the best part." He takes his phone back, flips a video, then puts it back in my hand. This time I have a clear view of the pig twitching on the ground, obviously in death throes. Huh. And I thought the moment couldn't get worse.

Then he lectured me about how people don't know where their meat comes from since they go to the store and it's behind plastic. I feel a slow burn--and I say, "My father was a cattle farmer. Every year he'd shoot one and hang it in our yard. Occasionally I'd come home to a cow head on the kitchen table and be informed we were having tongue for dinner."

"Oh, I thought you were kidding." He pauses. "You're not really Amish, though, right?"

"No."

"Oh, good."

I don't know. I'm beginning to think it might be shame I'm not Amish, since I'm pretty sure the guys there would know better than to show their prospective girlfriends videos of them shooting pigs. And I don't know where he gets off thinking he's all that cool. He didn't capture that pig. He didn't exactly hunt it or anything. Moron.

I'd like to say I left shortly after this, but I have masochistic tendencies and I stuck it out for another couple hours. He did not improve after this. He got worse. I know, I can't believe it either.

Moving on, my co-worker has an ex-boyfriend she is friends with. I keep saying she's deluding herself. Men and Women can't be friends--see: When Harry Met Sally. For a while they were good friends, but lately he's been acting...strange. This morning, she sends him a joke about a government snow plow. I assure you Bill Clinton couldn't have found the sex joke in this, and yet her ex emails back with "So does this mean you want to plow through a box of condoms?"

She wails to me, "How many times do I have to say no?" I pat her on the shoulder. "Every day. For the rest of your life." This did not comfort her. "I'm sorry, but it might be different if you guys had never dated. The problem is that at one time he tapped that." Yeah, that's the phrase I used. Get over it. She laughs at this statement. "And the problem is that he will continue to pester you because eventually he hopes you'll change your mind because at one time you DID have sex with him. It's like...it's like...a rat who goes to the pellet machine and keeps pushing the lever, even though there are no pellets. Yes, there will never be any more pellets, but the rat doesn't know that. The rat knows at one time pellets existed there and he hopes pellets will exist again. The rat can't help it."

I know. Who'da thought psychology would ever have been useful in my everyday life?