So I started seeing this girl.
Blog protocol demands that I come up with a cutesy acronymable stand-in label for her actual name. As it turns out, however, she is not in the witness protection program. Plus, as matter of course, I say fie to your rules. I'm not afraid to tell you that I have been spending time with Her Royal Highness Anne, Princess Royal of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.
For the sake of brevity and yes, as a sop to standard blog practice, I will in future shorten her name to HRHAPRUKGBNI. You people and your insistence on convenience. Let's all be slaves to convention! I hope you're happy with the compromise of my principles.
Technically, as my divorce is nowhere quite near final (the filing of the motion has yet to take place and California has a mandatory six month "cooling off" period in place to allow all parties to really consider their positions and for the gun permits to clear), seeing someone else in this fragile transitional period makes me and my crusty, blue-blooded paramour adulterers. Two points on that: A) her more than me seeing as she's still actively married, so I win! and B) I'm Catholic, which means no matter what I do short of an annulment, I'm bound by Jesus and Moses and all the bare-ass soft-focus angels to my soon-to-be-ex wife for all of forever and what comes after. And we're not even Mormon, so even though we're "sealed" we don't get to be the co-ruling gods of our own planet after the process of death transcends us all up into the celestial whatever. We're just stuck, she and I, bound for eternity in Eternity, locked into each other's company by decisions we made when we were 21 years old.
With that in mind, the only logical course of action? Get my hands (and various other appendages) on as much strange as I can before I die. It's an affront to the covenant I swore to uphold lo these many years ago, but I figure if I go to Hell, there's an off chance the soon-to-be-ex will be in the OTHER place. Eternal torment, in that respect, will bring a small measure of relief. Plus Hell is probably where all the hot loose chicks go, right?
Saturday, March 6, 2010
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
7 comments:
Hot loose chicks? Doesn't sound like Hell to me.
They keep them in a separate room accessible only by gay men.
Sounds more like Castle Anthrax.
As for your "other appendages", I hope you're putting something on that vestigial tail to keep it wholesome. So sad when porn directors use them for the money shot.
I bet she sucks at golf though. There's a much shorter name in there somewhere. Good for you, seeing someone and all. Fie to the rules. Semper fie. (wow, is that what that means?) All this time I never knew that motto meant, 'Move along, soon to be ex-wife. There is fucking to do.' I kinda like it.
Kay-Z: All good advice. I've been warned that the peril is too perilous.
SJ: The Marines can be deadly specific.
well, it's pretty obvious that I'm doing something (possibly many things) very wrong out here to be so...er...single. maybe i need to get married, then divorced, to increase my marketability?
or maybe i just need to stop meeting vaguely flirtatious behavior with antagonism, sarcasm and a flinty exterior.
I don't know. I'm sure there are dudes out there who are way into flinty.
Post a Comment