Boulder 2021 Dreaming

I want to feel the way I did in Boulder, the Summer of 2021.

Life was pregnant with promise then and I was fully alive. I was hopeful. I had peace. I believed the Universe (and my Mom) was leading me and guiding me. The presence of Goodness and Mercy was nearly tangible.

I was falling for a woman I met there. She was 10 years my junior, a single mother of two girls. Her girls were the same ages as my own. That meant that in a couple of years, our youngest daughters would graduate, albeit from different high schools in the county.

I only spent 11 months in that mile-high-plus city, but it was a year of adventure that I'll never forget.

Recently, I was thinking back to the time I was planning my move out there. I had stalled out at my Dad's house in Indiana for longer than I had anticipated. He was reluctant to help me with my passage to Colorado and the foothills of the Rockies. He wanted to know my intentions--my plans for work, where I would stay, if I would be a burden to my ex-wife and daughters. Dad meant well, but he was misguided. For a minute, he forgot one of the things he was proudest about my character--my parental relationship with my children.

There were nights of pure anxiety when I faced the reality of arriving in winter, a Rocky Mountain Winter, no less. I imagined myself isolated, alone and freezing. I did not know the lay of the land aside from Google maps and some Internet sleuthing. But even the best laid plans, as they say, and I had none. It was just important for me to be there, so that I could continue my engagement in the girls' lives. Beyond that, little mattered. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared of the unknown...and the cold. I hate cold winters. It was a sacrifice I was making for my kids.

Some nights on Dad's couch took calming videos on YouTube, while others took intense concentration on the positive and meditating or envisioning my beach. These practices, plus trying to remain rooted in the present--I knew what projecting forward and forecasting did--are what got me through the worst of it. On the flip side, though, was the excitement of our reunion. I hadn't seen them since early August 2020. I didn't board a train until late November.

Another bittersweet moment from my adventure was saying goodbye to my dad on the Amtrak platform in Indianapolis. He got all misty eyed when he hugged me and said that he loved me. I knew that he did. I knew that he was secretly proud of me for moving out there, even if he didn't understand my lack of a real plan. I knew in my heart that it was the last time I'd see him. For one, I was never planning to go back to Indiana. And second, it just seemed like he'd lost the will to live. That coupled with his age and health issues just did not bode well for a long future. I knew that his time was short. He hoped that it was, as well, as he'd spent the last five years pining for Mom.

So back to the good part. I got COVID in December 2020, and being that I was living in the homeless shelter, I was forced into a FEMA-funded COVID shelter to ride it out the requisite 7-10 days. Thankfully, I was out in just seven and the worst of my symptoms was one day of serious abdominal pain and diarrhea. I never lost my taste or sense of smell. But we're focusing on the good part, right? Sorry.

Fast forward through the Spring and my getting acclimated to a brand new city I'd never even set eyes on in person before. I soon got the lay of the land and made friends. It was easy to make friends there when I spent most of my time in group settings, mostly at Central Park. But the most interesting friend I made worked in a non-profit setting that I won't divulge at this time. If she ever read this (doubtful), she might not like my sharing details, so we'll leave it at that.

First off, she was one of the friendliest people I met in Boulder and an absolute knock-out, even though her face was covered with the requisite blue mask. She had shoulder-length, dark brown hair that accented her gorgeous khaki eyes that seemed to alternate between light green and a golden-tinged hazel and her fair complexion. There was light behind her eyes that I could see immediately. And I tried not to take her friendliness too personal considering her capacity in a service role.

That all changed the more time we interacted, sometimes in very short conversations and others in quality, one-on-one time that might last 30 minutes or so. I was smitten with her wit and charm, as well as her dazzling eyes. The more we interacted, the more they seemed to dazzle and come to life when she saw me. I was fairly certain that we were making a connection and that feelings were mutual.

When I happened to run into her one day in the Spring 2021, she confided in me that I was one of her two most favorite clients. That was after offering me breakfast and other commodities. Score one for the home team. That made my whole week, just knowing that I was most definitely on her radar.

Being the romantic that I am, I made sure to stay closely on her radar the ensuing weeks. I even snuck her a card at work that basically told her she was seen and appreciated. I didn't lay it on too thick. It was a kind gesture, as much as an intended romantic one. It landed perfectly. Before I even realized it, she'd snuck a peak at the card and immediately tracked me down to say thanks and to give me a hug (at that point this was taboo since I was a client).

Score two for the home team. I was flying high after that and my friends were taking notice. One of my buddies in whom I had confided studied us for a bit, whenever he was around for our casual flirtation. He definitely noted our chemistry and told me he could feel her energy laser focused on me. That was very affirming. Then he got a little drunk and a little ahead of himself and blurted out to her that I was totally digging her vibe. When he admitted this to me, drunk and proud of himself, I asked him if we were in grade school. That wasn't cool.

Finally, after my reaching out through DM, she responded in May. She was going through a thing with her ex and needed a shoulder to lean on. I was there for her and she reciprocated with a surprise picnic lunch in a local park. She brought food and liquor as a way to thank me for my friendship and encouragement. She was very nervous the entire time of being discovered and potentially putting her job at risk.

But that day in mid-May 2021 is one that I'll never forget. I was sitting on a hillside overlooking a South Boulder neighborhood when my phone notified me that she'd sent a reply in my DMs. I was thrilled. By the end of the conversation, when she mentioned that she might "run into me" if I was still at the park, I was floating in the clouds just above Flatiron! When she asked if she could bring us lunch and the brand of bourbon I drank, I literally hollered my excitement and gratitude to the Universe. I probably looked crazy, but I didn't care. I was overjoyed.

Things did not work out the way I planned. I won't go into specifics, but my time there was cut short. My dad died due to COVID-related illness in early October and I left Boulder forever. Fast forward to today and my daughters don't even live there anymore. I really have no reason to go back. And I may have done or said some things to put the lid on any burgeoning romance with that beautiful woman. As of the end of 2021, I had no intentions of ever going back.

After getting into another entanglement with an old flame, I took the step of deleting all photos I had of the Boulder woman. I deleted them from the Cloud, from my phone, from my Google account, just to appease my partner and to put the past to bed.

Late last year (2025), those photos all reappeared in my Google account. I felt as if I'd seen an apparition. I took great delight in reviewing them and I kept them there. In fact, I remade the album they once held on that platform. I talked to a friend and to my therapist about it. Is it a sign from the Universe? Who knows, crazier things have happened.

Last night, as I was trying to find sleep, I found myself dreaming of her again. I tried hard as I could to conjure up all those feelings from that wonderful summer. And while the memory has faded around the edges, and the emotion lost it's significant power, I still want to hold onto what is left of her in my mind. I don't know if I'll ever see her again. But I miss the euphoria of falling in love, and of the adventure that Boulder held for me during a very significant period of growth and awakening.

Thanks for letting me ramble. I'm a dreamer and a hopeless romantic, if you didn't already know. To be continued...maybe.

Their Trump Cards

Paul Weyrich, founder of the notorious Heritage Foundation, coined the term ‘moral majority’ in the 1970s. Looking for a hot button political issue that would stir up a conservative Christian base, he turned to the Supreme Court Case Green v Connally (1971) which challenged racial discrimination in private school admissions. So in 1973, his buddy Joseph Coors, the Colorado beer magnet, ponied up money to start the foundation.

Their big moment came when Jimmy Carter’s IRS threatened to rescind Bob Jones University’s tax exempt status over this issue. Weyrich and his cronies framed it as church v state and cried that the government was breaching this rock solid divide.

How ironic that four decades later, the Heritage Foundation is trying to wreck that divide and force religion and the Ten Commandments down public institution’s throat. But I digress…

The abuse of white privilege and scaring Christians with the boogie man is nothing new. The Patriarchy started with The Prince of Darkness millennia ago and today the conservative right is still scaring them with people of darker skin. These simpletons are quite easy to scare, as it turns out.

Weyrich admitted years later that other conservative hot buttons, like abortion, were not a strong enough rallying cry in the mid-1970’s, so they played their racism card. Only Catholics carried strong anti-abortion convictions back then.

Enter the 1980s and the birth of black entertainment. Rap music burst onto the scene just when shows like Cosby’s and comics like Eddie Murphy ruled network and cable television. The world became a little less white and racist views were publicly shunned, though never buried far beneath the surface.

Jerry Falwell took Weyrich’s idea of a moral majority and ran with it. Religious leaders like he and James Dobson (Focus on the Family) pivoted from the race card to the sex card. They championed the cause they deftly named ‘pro-life.’ It became the new hot button rallying point, and folks like Heritage Foundation couldn’t have been more pleased.

These crusades to deny women and minorities equal rights and equal access were sold in churches and across America’s airwaves. Packaged as they were as an assault on “family values” and the Christian faith, it was easy for the right to gain traction in the church.

Fast forward to 2016 and DJTs first presidential run. The Heritage Foundation was quietly running that ship from the shadows. Their leadership basically served as his transition team. This is well documented. They also began secretly crafting their Christian Manifesto that they would unleash under the title Project 2025. This go-round they would openly run DJT’s campaign and administration, despite his desperate claims to the contrary.

Again, black and brown people (i.e. immigrants) figured prominently into the platform as did their disdain for Roe v Wade (i.e. women’s rights). They attacked both right out of the gate. It’s like they have no other cards in their deck. It’s always racism and sexism that riles their religious base. And of course this is all fueled by the fear that non-Christian, non-whites are quickly becoming the majority. White privilege is on shaky ground for the first time in recent history. Christianity is slowly losing its stranglehold on the West. And stupid people would rather give oligarchs and the super rich more control thinking this will stop the bleeding. It’s the reason our country is flirting with fascism. It’s also why people can’t leave the church fast enough.

My Pioneer Ancestors Owe a Debt to Indigenous Peoples

 

In trying to decide what to write for this important day of remembrance, it occurred to me, just write what's been on your mind lately. And that centers around my families migration to my home state, the state that bears the name we used to call Native Americans: INDIANA.

In these maps, you'll see a list of treaties made with the Native Peoples of Indiana and the boundaries that once existed, albeit not for very long. Because as is consistent with our history, every treaty the U.S. Government signed was an incognito declaration of war. Thanks to the European-bred idea of Manifest Destiny, we believed these so-called treaties could be disregarded anytime God ordained that we move westward. But I'll leave the broader topics of white imperialism, extremism and colonialism alone for now.

This ideal drove my family westward into the barely tamed wilderness called the Indian Territory (the Northwest Territory until May 7, 1800). The James Mills family vacated the confines of western Maine to conquer the wilds of Southwest Indiana. Several factors came into play, including the dividing of the territory which I noted above, which came by Act of Congress, the Louisiana Purchase of 1803 and the great expedition that was to commence the following year, led by Lewis & Clark. That same year, 1804, Governor Harrison helped guide treaty talks with Natives in the southern portion of Indiana, along the Ohio Valley, resulting in the Treaty of Vincennes (note the green-shaded area on the map, above left).

So it was the opening of the Indiana Territory by early settlers (pre-1800), many from Southern States, along with new treaties to calm fears of "Indian attacks," and the exploration of new American soil West of the Mississippi, that made my homestate a destination for intrepid New England pioneers, like my Mills and Husseys (note the Hussey name on the map, above right, in Section 12). The Mills are said to have landed at Smith's Landing (present day Evansville) on New Years Day 1811. To the left of the Hussey name in Sec 12 on the map above, to the left you'll notice the Olds family in Sec 11. That was land originally settled by James Mills and family from Kennebec, Maine, circa 1811-12. Note the existence of an Indian Boundary just to the south of that. The area we are talking about is the Fairview Community near Francisco, IN, less than a mile downhill from the current-day church that bears that name. This is the church whose cemetery holds the remains of several generations of my family.

At the time, there was a nearby Indian reservation opposite the conjunction of Indian Creek (to the south) and the Patoka River. They were holdouts from the earlier 1804 Treaty and were probably Miami or Kickapoo or Potowami (the European names for these native peoples). My family was friendly with them. In fact, I had an aunt who became a teacher on their small reservation in central Gibson County.

But the point of this blog post is not to praise the white expansion into native lands, just to point out what had to be sacrificed for my pioneer ancestors to claim rights to this land, soon to be named Indiana.

At the time of their arrival, by flatboat along the Ohio River, General Harrison was organizing troops to advance north against the nations who had rallied around Tecumseh and his brother, The Prophet. The Battle of Tippecanoe occurred in northern Indiana Territory in November 1811. That infamous battle would push the native peoples further north (Tecumseh was finally defeated by U.S. forces in Detroit the following year) and launch William Henry Harrison's presidential campaign. He ran as a Whig under the slogan, "Tippecanoe and Tyler, Too!" But think of all the carnage, from Tippecanoe in 1811 and the Battle of 1812, that was fought not only against the British Empire, but the Native people of America, as well. A lot of native blood had to be shed to give my family the right to claim this land, which James Mills made official at the Land Office in Vincennes in the 1820's and 30's.

That land was not ours to take. We were an enemy invader.

And that is why, on this day formerly claimed as Columbus Day, I choose to celebrate Indigenous Peoples Day. Because even though my pioneer ancestors seemed to live peaceably alongside the native inhabitants of Indiana Territory, their stories are much grimmer. They were either killed or violently forced off of land, homesteads, farms and hunting grounds, their ancestors had claimed many generations earlier. Those Indigenous People lived off the land but were also one with it in their spiritual practice. Tecumseh's brother, The Prophet, was merely trying to save and uphold ancient practices and beliefs before he was murdered at Tippecanoe. Harrison, as it turns out, was the shortest term president in history, dying within a month of taking up residence in our White House. A curse, perhaps? Karma?

I'm thankful for my pioneer ancestry and being given the opportunity to grow up in the Heartland of America. I don't appreciate being indoctrinated by white privilege and the idea that this land was our's by God's design. So today, I stand with Native Americans who had no reason to be tortured, enslaved or killed by white Europeans when all they wanted was to live peaceably on their native lands.

A Father's Love

I love you more than what I can convey by text or even mere words.

As soon as I typed those words and hit send, it made me ponder some deep things. Will she ever be able to fully weigh the sentiments I just poured out? The words were heavy with meaning. Will she ever understand that, or the depth from whence they came? Maybe if she raises a child and loves it proper. I don't know. I pondered if she truly loves herself. If she fully grasps the concept. Probably not. I was well into my adult years.

One thing I know of sure, she doesn't know the profound impact that loving her has had on me as a person, and as a man.

I know I wasn't fully rooted in the concept when I adopted her. I wouldn't begin the practice of self-love until the summer of her 11th birthday, once she and her mom and sister were getting reacclimated with life in Tallahassee...without me.

But as cliche as it sounds, I didn't even know I had enough love inside to love two other human beings, such as I did those two. Would I have ever cracked the code on loving myself without them? It's hard to imagine. So I cannot possibly overstate the impact that they've both had on my life, my adopted daughters, but primarily Merikathryn, because she was my first.

The text at top is more than sentimentality. It is not the sappy, syrupy derivative of a lonely empty-nester father, though I do miss her dearly (both of them). I miss being a daily presence in their life and them in mine. No, it wasn't just saccharine sentimentality. It came from a depth in me I've only begun to realize and explore, a deep well inside that 2012 untaped.

I'm struggling with words, now. They just don't do the depth of feeling any justice. It really is deep and abiding, a father's love. Mine is no different for my oldest than if she'd been created from my rib, "bone of my bone or flesh of my flesh," as the saying goes. No, I couldn't quite imagine going much deeper. I feel it in my marrow. But how to convey that by text? In words?

I did my best today with what I wrote (this was actually yesterday, when I texted then wrote this post). Words are all I really have. And if texting is technically an action, then I'm loving her actively, as well. But will it hit it's mark? Hard to say. I'm not there to gauge her reaction (and she hasn't texted back in two days...not that unusual...she'll get around to it eventually).

I don't know that her brain is fully developed at 24. What about her sense of who she is? Yes, I shared a part in shaping that person. And I did my best to love her! But I'm imperfect, as a human and a parent. I didn't always display fatherly love. There were missteps, for sure. Heck, there was separation and a divorce. That surely didn't help. But I did to the best of my ability at that time. But does she love herself, I wonder. Can she accept love fully?

These are the questions I cannot answer.

But I can certainly keep letting her know.

OZZY OSBOURNE TRIBUTE

The world was rocked today with the news of his passing. Oddly enough, I'd had a premonition of sorts just two days ago. I was just about to go to sleep Sunday night and Oz popped into my thoughts and I said to myself, "I wonder how long before we are reading his obituary?" No lie.

It's hard to overstate the importance of Ozzy's music and his impact on popular culture. From his early days in Black Sabbath to his hit reality TV show on cable, "The Blizzard of Oz" has remained culturally relevant for decades, impacting generations of youth. I was one of those youth, when his breakout solo album (title above) debuted in the Spring of 1980. I was in the seventh grade.

I was familiar with Black Sabbath after hearing them fairly regularly in rotation on the Album Oriented Rock (now Classic Rock) station I grew up on in Indy, Q-95. I love the intro to "Iron Man" and Tony Iommi's memorable guitar riff! But once Blizzard came out and "Crazy Train" hit the airwaves all bets were off. I was a bonafide fan of his music. But it started almost as soon as the album came out. My friend and fellow misfit from the Junior High Group at Central Baptist, a kid named Owen, brought the vinyl to church one day. The cover, alone, got my attention. It seemed highly sacrilegious to have this in the basement of our church, let alone to be listening to it on the record player in the high school youth group room. I was blown away. I loved it, from the dark imagery to the music.

Of course, Owen loved Mr. Crowley and the dark theme of that classic tune. He had to explain to me who Aleister Crowley was and his connection to the dark side. By the end of that decade, Oz would be deemed the Prince of Darkness. I just loved the screeching guitars and fill-laiden heavy drums. Ozzy always featured the best guitarists, from the incomparable Randy Rhoades to Jake E. Lee to Zakk Wylde. And I loved everything those axemen brought to the metal table!

I don't know that I could pick a favorite Ozzy tune, but "No More Tears" and "Bark at the Moon" are in my top three, the latter coming out when I was in high school.

To highlight the multi-generational impact of the Godfather of Metal, let me share what happened just today as I learned of the news, around 12:30 PDT. I had just shared the sad news with a fellow musician on the bus who is in his 60's. He hadn't yet heard. Not ten minutes later, I'm standing outside a Ralph's Supermarket here in Venice, CA, and a guy pulls up blaring "Flying High Again" from his white SUV as he parked. The young dude steps out and is wearing an Ozzy t-shirt. We share our grief over his passing and he goes, "But we'll see him again one day." Another stranger walks up a few minutes later and in passing says, "Well, I guess he closed his eyes forever." Recognizing the Ozzy lyric, I share the same sentiments with him. He was my age or a couple of years older. The guy in the t-shirt before him was an early Millennial or late Gen Z-er, I'd say. Even my girls, now 24 and 21, know who Ozzy is.

I never got to see the legend perform live, to my dismay...never attended an OzFest. I anticipate we'll get a tribute album soon like we did in the wake of Ronnie James Dio's passing. Acts from Halestorm to Tenacious D lined up to record a track on that album. Can you imagine the line already forming for the Ozzy tribute?

And think about this...if Sabbath hadn't picked up on what Zeppelin was laying down at the beginning of the 1970's and going at it even harder and darker, would there even be a genre called Heavy Metal? "Crazy Train" has become a rock anthem played in nearly every sports stadium around the world. "ALLLLL ABOOOOARRRD!" Cue maniacal laugh. CLASSIC!

As I said, it's hard to overstate Oz's impact on the world at large, but more emphatically on the music world. Rest in peace, Ozzy.

That Time I Was Being Catfished

That time was a few days ago, you know over Memorial Day Weekend. Yeah, that time.

To preface this story, I was NEVER going to be one of those old people who fell for every marketing scam that came down the pike. My Yahoo! Spam folder is full of promises for the perfect over-50 body, testosterone level, soulmate, get rich investment scheme, you name it. I delete that folder almost daily. There are the sponsored ads for freebies on social media that I mostly ignore, though I have followed a couple of them down the endless survey rabbit hole only to get frustrated that I fell for it and wasted my time.

Well, I've also watched the Catfish TV series that ran on MTV when my daughters were younger and living at home. We watched countless episodes together of socially awkward-to-inept teens and young adults pose as someone skinnier, healthier, funnier, prettier...in order to snag a fish. The saying goes there are "many fish in the sea," but these people can't rely on their own merit to catch one, apparently. This idea of catfishing has been going on for years. It snared a cousin of mine who lost his career over it. I was never going to be that gullible.

Right.

The bots are aplenty on all of the Meta platforms--Instagram, Threads and Facebook--that I've used. And I've had to utilize the block button more times than I care to count. I've even had replies to my comments on a post from bots that go to some length expressing how interesting of a person I am and would I please friend them or contact them so they can know me better. Some version of that has happened numerous times. My response is to either hide the comment, if I can't simply delete it, and to block that "user." I'm guessing most of them are Chinese hackers phishing for identities to steal.

But then a reply to a comment I made last week on a Vanity Fair article caught my attention. Of course, first gut instincts are always spot-on and as you'll note, I called out "BOT!" right away. But what struck me about this response is that it seemed a little more personal. It said they wouldn't get to know me unless I was "brave enough" to text them. Okay, now you've questioned my manhood (in a manner of speaking).

Initial exchange under an innocuous comment on a Vanity Fair post last week.

This Jennifer Williams, as she called herself, was just seeking conversation. That seemed reasonable AND HUMAN enough. So I took the bait...and here's what ensued over the weekend...

This Jennifer wanted photos immediately. I offered the one in my profile as it is only a month or two old. "Is that all I get?" And she sent me three photos with a quickness...you know, to sell herself as Jennifer, US Army Chaplain Corps, Idaho Falls, 53. Does she look 53 to you??

The photos I got almost instantly, like she had them on the ready

WOW, I thought, she's pretty attractive! What boosted that was her forwardness, confidence and the fact that she was a badass in the military, and a chaplain to boot, which meant that she was spiritual and invested in enriching others. And LOOK, it says "Williams" right on the uniform. I took that as a clue this was a real person. I mean, it is a real person, not named Jennifer, and not hot on the trail of her soulmate to share her golden years of military retirement with.

That's what I was sold over the weekend, alotta hooey about her pending retirement at age 53, and her being five years post-divorce, ready to find that special someone to settle down with.

After receiving the pictures and some discussion about Idaho--the cell phone number she gave is a Potlach, ID, number--she quickly updated her profile to Moscow, ID, the nearest town. But what was interesting is that no bases are anywhere in the vicinity except the US Naval Surface Command, and so I wondered if an Army Chaplain would be assigned there.

According to "Jennifer," she had no children, no siblings and her parents were both deceased. Convenient. She was on her last deployment (a story that quickly changed once things unraveled, but be patient, I'm getting there).

The conversation was hot and heavy that first day, Saturday, of this past weekend. I was shooting off rapid-fire, interview type questions to get to the heart of her story. And that story contained abuse at the hands of her eight-year husband, so bad that it left physical scars on her back. No counseling and no PTSD, at least not from domestic violence, just "time to heal" these last five years, with no potential suiters. A beauty like this and no men? Well, she is in BFE Idaho, I concluded (to myself).

She claimed to be 53 and enlisted since she was 28. She'd done her time and was looking forward to getting her pension, but not living off of it, as she had plans. They sounded good to me. ALL of her answers sounded quite good. She only evaded one of my questions, and she only spoke in broken English a couple of times (her shorter more spontaneous responses). At the time, I believed that was from her upbringing in Prague, Czech Republic. And I read all of her responses with a slightly Eastern European accent. But the more thoughtful responses, were quite intelligent, convincing and fluid. She was careful to repeat phrases back to me like "being present" and "meaningful."

Let me insert here that I now believe hackers, or some lonely Asian girl, was using AI to generate the near perfect responses. The one that stumped and surprised me, though, was when she read my mind. I had asked her to describe the perfect dinner date at her place. She came through with an A+ response even picking the exact movie title I had in mind. That was weirdly coincidental. That was Sunday afternoon, and by then, my suspicions had eased and my caution relaxed. I was starting to believe this was a real woman.

I even shared the story with two people by Monday/Tuesday, one of whom laughed and poo-poo'd it, while the other was hooked with line and sinker. She started planning our future, LOL! I was not at that level, but I was enjoying the conversation, especially since "Jennifer" was so cordial and complimentary. I'm a sucker for words that affirm me. Who isn't?

So Tuesday afternoon is when this farce all unraveled. We'd been speaking for four days, but three of them weren't nearly as intense as the first day, where we spent about four hours online going back and forth. She had immediately given me her Idaho phone number (that was suspicious behavior, especially for a woman living alone) AND moved our conversation to the Telegram app.

But I was online doing some family research and getting bored with it. I decided to try something I'd seen on the show Catfish. Also, there had been another red flag. A second Facebook account came up for this Jennifer person with a similar looking picture taken at fall/wintertme in a coat and blue knit cap. Well, she never responded when questioned about it, so I drug the photo into the search bar of Google. It identified the image as AMANDA DORIS WILLIAMS who had a TikTok account. I do not.

So I asked my sister who does, to look into it. See if she's posted videos of herself. I was told she never appears on camera but that her vids DO include some of her photos AND there are multiple accounts! So now, I'm researching the new name of my "future girlfriend," who had already asked me to come visit her. I still don't know what her END GAME was. But, lo and behold, there were at least four or five Amanda (Doris) Williams accounts on Facebook with similar photos and claims of being an Army Chaplain.

Some of those accounts from a Facebook search.

Now, I'm agitated and a little embarrassed.

The man who believes he's not that gullible has been duped by a Catfish. I waited for her next communication which came while I was en route to the grocery store. I paced the store waiting for her to respond to this text, "I have more questions. Big Surprise there. Can I call you?" Suddenly, at 4:30 Mountain Time, she was too tired for conversation and wanted to put me off until morning. I attempted to call but got only a generic voicemail using the phone number as the greeting.

Suddenly, she's spinning a new web that she's about to be deployed to Poland and her only means of communication would be through Telegram. She even sent me some very computerized sounding voice memo that was clearly the voice of a young Asian girl. When I asked who the Asian bot was, she just laughed. I told her I was deleting the app and that if she was really going overseas on deployment, she'd still have my number to reach me when she got back. I was promised a call the next day to explain everything, but she stuck to her story, said that Amanda Doris Williams was her real, legal name, and that her account had been hacked.

The only account being hacked was potentially mine!

I called her out online and found the LinkedIn account of the poor woman whose identity has been stolen and her likeness used on potentially HUNDREDS of fake accounts across platforms, like Telegram, Instagram, Threads, LinkedIn and Facebook. The real Amanda Williams, MDIV, did become a chaplain just a few short years ago and is a member of the Texas National Guard. From what I can tell, she has served over 20 years in some area of the US Army, but not in Idaho and the photo of her pinning shows her son proudly pinning his mom.

I doubt much of the backstory from Prague to Idaho to Poland was true. Oh, and you can find the real Army Chaplain, a Captain, now, I believe on YouTube. She doesn't have an Eastern European accent, nor does she sound like an Asian anime character. LOL! But I am sure she is a lovely person, as I believed her to be as Jennifer.

I reached out to her LinkedIn profile to say that I'd nearly been catfished by one of the fake accounts posing as her. She is well aware that many of them exist. Is it even legal to impersonate an officer in the US military? Seems like that would be a punishable, federal offense.

I'm sure I'm not the only one it's happened to. Some of those fake accounts on Facebook boast more than 150 ALL MEN friends and followers.

Yes, I remember too well that time I was being Catfished. It took a couple days for the shame and stinging embarrassment to wear off so that I could share my story.

Be careful out there folks. The internet is some sketchy territory. The end.

Better Than That

I did not deserve the abuse I endured on Oak Ridge Ave, Ft Myers Beach, but I’m working through it. I know I deserve better than that. And while not totally healed from it, I am happy to have escaped. I moved all the way to the other coast across the country to heal by distancing myself and going zero contact. It’s the only way to end narcissistic abuse (and the accompanying reactive abuse).

I didn’t enjoy leaving Scott at the liquor store in the lurch, but I hope he understands. My escape was necessary for my mental health.

Be well my friends. Value your mental wellbeing and prioritize yourself. Peace, love and healing.