The GOYA Club

One of the strange alien lifeforms  existing on Planet Post-40 I soon discovered in the Dating District of this new world is the life form that feels no need to divorce before they begin dating.  For some, the act of simply moving out of the house is reason enough to start dating others. These peculiar dating-but-not-divorced beings create problems for the divorced person who has their past baggage fairly well packed with no claim tickets at hand. I bumped into several of them while visiting the Divorce District of Planet Post-40, and each time the experience was not unlike being blindfolded at a haunted house and sticking your hand into some slimy, gooey slop.  My instant reaction was to jerk my hand back, scream “Ewww!,” throw off the blindfold, and beat feet out of the place.

The first incident was the very first person I ended up dating after my divorce. We dated for just over a month before he decided to dump me via email, something that intensely aggravated me back then, and which now would merely garner the response, “Eh, good to know.”   He was attractive, employed, owned his home, and had custody of his children.  He was even fairly honest with me about his marital status. He was separated, and his divorce was in progress.  This was four years ago, and I’m betting his divorce is still in progress today, never mind that since parting ways, I’ve seen him around with at least one other person that was not his wife.  This man was just not emotionally ready to leave his wife.  It came out in the way he talked about her…angrily…resentfully…bitterly…and all.the.time.  Naive as I was, I didn’t see this as a problem early enough to do something about it…like end the situation.  The inevitable happened; I experienced another strange reality to this World:  digital dismissal of relationship.

The most bizarre and humorous incident was the guy who I met through friends from work. I did not meet him online.  I never exchanged an email with him.  This alien appeared completely out of the Face-to-Face (F2F) quadrant of Planet Post-40.  Each year one of my friends hosts an elaborate Christmas party where nearly a hundred people end up attending her beautiful craftsman home tucked cozily away in the beautiful hills surrounding this valley where I live. This was an invitation only event.  I met this man the second year I attended this party.

He was attractive, employed, intelligent, and exceptionally courteous. He was, as many of these aliens are, the stereotypical feminine ideal for a perspective first date. He’d noticed me the year before at the same party, but was unable to find a way to introduce himself to me before he discovered I left.  The next year, he watched and the minute he saw me preparing to leave, he pounced.  He offered to escort me to my car.  It was -as he pointed out to his strategic advantage- snowing outside; I took the bait.

We ended up dating for about two months.  Then my hand was figuratively dumped into goo, and I threw off the proverbial blindfold and saw the light.

I was introduced to the GOYA club.

It was now after Valentine’s Day, and we’d all met up at a small little pub to listen and dance to a fun band the hosts of the elite party knew. The band was good, the libations delish, and the ambiance of the place was warm as it glowed with a soft light that only happens in quirky little dive pubs in winter.  It was all very romantic.  As people tend to do when the situation is such, the talk and laughter became much more open than it might have otherwise.  It was at this time that my friend brought up the topic of The GOYA Club.

“The what?” I asked, thinking I must be showing my supreme ignorance for not knowing what this club was they were talking about.

“The GOYA Club, “ they repeated laughing hysterically, “The Get Off Your Ass and file the papers club.”

And that’s how I learned that my date was separated (not divorced), had been for two years, but was nowhere near filing the divorce papers even though he had good income and was financially able.  Then came that feeling again – slimy relational goo… me screaming, “Ew!” in a mixture of shock and anger…suddenly the blindfold is off and I’m running for the nearest exit.  Well, that’s what the inner me did.

Very calmly and with a completely straight face I turned to him and said, “I’d like to go home now.”  I hear that three months later he divorced his wife and less than six months after that he remarried. Bizarre.  Guess he just wasn’t that into me. Better her than me.