"She Seemed To Care. She Wanted To Play With My C*ck."
The immediate realities of when "forever" ends.
You may generally be familiar with the concept of John Mayer calling Jessica Simpson “sexual napalm,” which I believe was maybe 12–14 years ago at this point. She was apparently “floored” by it, but I mean, do the mental math here. Apparently they had “loud monkey sex” in a hotel in Rome once. Cool. Everyone deserves that shit, ya know?
So, roughly seven years ago today my first marriage ended. If you want to learn a little bit about that arc, here’s a post for you.
I used to work with a woman at a place called Virtuoso named Melisa Lunt. I think it’s Melisa Wight now. Not sure. We haven’t talked in 3–4 years. Here’s the rest of that whole arc.
My ex-wife and I broke up on a Saturday morning, officially, although I guess it began on that Friday night. (Most of it was on me.) This began a weird period whereby we were still living together because she (us?) didn’t have the money to move out immediately, but we were basically non-legally divorced as we lived together. This is March 2017. Hell of a month.
As you might imagine, both of us spent a decent amount of time away from the home, because being there was a bit awkward.
Now, this was a weird-as-fuck time in general, because I was gradually realizing during this month that I had very few friends and wasn’t sure what support network I was going to lean upon. I had been in Texas for roughly two years at this point. I had a few friends and some bar friends, but aside from 2–3 people, I wouldn’t say I had anything fucking amazing. I was mostly just a broken drunk, ya heard?
The job I had moved to Texas for, I had gotten laid off a year prior. I was actually doing pretty well as a freelance/contractor money-wise, so I guess that was good. But now with this divorce pending, I started thinking to myself: Do I really need to stay here? I entertained that discussion for maybe six days. I’m from NYC, but I utterly lack the earning potential to live there. That seemed “out.” I contemplated Denver (also expensive), Charlotte, etc. Eventually I stayed. I’m still here. I got remarried. Life is OK.
This part is hard, but stuff is good:
Anyway, let’s go back to roughly March 5 or so, 2017.
I think this was a Sunday. My wife (ex-wife already?) was meeting up with some people for brunch. I had no plans. I went down to Woodshed, which was the bar by my apartment. I was eating a breakfast taco (maybe 3) and drinking an IPA. It was a Sunday morning at maybe 10am. The main thing that stands out to me about this particular Sunday is that it was dark and overcast and I had no idea what the fuck I was doing with my life anymore. Plus, these two girls I knew (call ’em women), Brie and Nicole, were in there drinking mimosas and giggling. The Nicole lady would eventually sleep with my friend Adam. He got drunk one night and told me, “Chick likes it from the back.” Don’t they all?
So I’m broken as shit eating this taco, OK? It’s a Sunday post-Super Bowl, pre-March Madness, and I have no clue what I’m doing with my life. Three weeks later I’d go to Tucson to let her move out. That ended poorly.
I decided to text this ex-coworker of mine, Lunt, because she used to be a good source of comedy and connection and BS’ing about marriage. She responded semi-quick. Turned out her marriage was on the rocks at that point. They’d be divorced a few months later.
Long story short, me and her had a little fling before I met my wife and she met her husband. I’d say maybe 2–3 times max. I think Seattle, Portland, Fort Worth, maybe one other place. Shit feels hazy now. Sexual napalm? Sure. She helped me understand this:
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