Sunday, January 31, 2016

The half-life of divorce

Today B asked me if I have "closure" from my divorce. The answer is "probably not" in the same way that Chernobyl is not exactly ready for tourism yet.

Getting over a divorce takes time because nuclear fission releases lots of nasty side effects. I know that and you know that and for damn sure every girl I've dated over the past year has had that forefront in the giant dating calculator girls are born with. Divorced guys be crazy, yo!

I got through most of my divorce by doing BJJ, which is where two men hug while wearing special pajamas.
Two, completely unrelated men, hugging out their divorce issues this Saturday at my gym.
But those hugs just get you through the heat and radiation - battling the ten foot tall carnivorous deer wandering your irradiated internal forests takes a different kind of hug. Specifically, you are going to do what all divorced people do, and date madly wrong people for a while, which is why the "right" people will avoid you.

But, as the ugly God of evolution tells me, "Sex is the ultimate validation!" Eventually it affects you less and less though - because everything has a half-life. A couple weeks ago, for example, a date blew me off and I found online the local dungeon was throwing a party, so I went to that, still in my work clothes.

If you've never been to your local dungeon (and I guarantee you have one) then you are missing out on some class-act examples of how far human behavior really goes. We live in a society that on one hand makes Logan And Veronica romance clip videos on YouTube (I've seen all of them, yes), but on the other hand can have a group of people get together every month to whip each other's private parts, in a room where a fake coffin dominates the decor and tens of thousands of dollars of leather whips line the walls.

I don't fit in with the denizens of any dungeon I've been to. I'm far too weird and I can't in any way suspend my super-power of disbelief. This time, with someone getting "figged" (look that shit up kids) a few feet away, I ended up talking about reptiles with a dominatrix.  She has a baby python. Not like, a mini-python, but a snake larger than her, which is going to get to be thirty feet long.

This is ALWAYS A BAD IDEA but who am I to talk about bad ideas for house-pets with someone who is five minutes from poking needles into a dude's penis in some sort of replica of snail sex? I was the divorced and fully dressed guy on a couch drinking Sprite and looking over the fence at midnight at the local mutants and wondering what they were looking back at.

Pictured: Snails spearing each other with 'love darts'. I'm not sure humans are much weirder than snails, or that we carry less baggage.



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