We’ve all had those things, where we’re sleeping with someone of the opposite gender, or maybe of the same gender, or somewhere in between. And I don’t mean sleeping with people with the intent of regretting it before, during and after the various stages of mounting. The types of things where you’re sleeping with someone in addition to spending time with them. Going out, and doing things that don’t involve each others genitals. These things usually start out pretty great, but after a while, they get less great.

When they first start out, it’s like you’re about to launch in the Space Shuttle. You think ‘holy shit, my whole life I’ve been training for this! This is it, this is where it’s all been leading!’. There’s a countdown, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, and lift off! There’s an explosion of rocket fuel and sexual tension. It’s dramatic, intense, and it’s all very mystifying. People around you are freaking out, ‘Holy shit they’re going into space MOTHERFUCKER YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND THEY ARE GOING INTO SPACE!’, and it’s great. You orbit the Earth a thousand times at a billion miles an hour, then fling yourself to the moon, and you’re thinking ‘Holy shit I’m going to the moon, this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, THE MOTHERFUCKING MOON! I AM ON A SPACE SHUTTLE THIS IS AMAZING!’, and it is. It’s fucking awesome, it’s the best shit that’s ever happened to you, and you think it’s going to get better.


Then you keep riding this shuttle, you’re on your 14th mission, and you’re starting to notice all it’s faults. This once majestic and amazing machine is starting to show it’s wear. A toggle switch that doesn’t like to stay put, buttons that like to stick down when you press them, or ones you have to press a few times before you make them work. After a while, you get accustomed to being on the Space Shuttle, then it just sort of turns into a ride on a commercial jet.


Your first trip on a jet is sort of cool, you look out the window and go ‘Oh hey, I’m flying, we’re so high up!’. It’s no space shuttle, but it’s still exciting. Then it becomes apparent that you’re just flying on a bus with wings, and it loses it’s allure.

After a while it’s like a cheap as dirt flight on a microjet from the seventies with eight other people and seats from an actual bus. The pilot comes on over the PA, but he doesn’t need to on account of the fact that he’s six feet away from you, and the only thing that separates the cockpit from the passengers is what appears to a table linen hanging from a shower curtain rod. His unenthusiastic voice drones; ‘Uhhhhhhhhhh…we’ll be uhhhhhhh…going on a uhhhhhhhh flight’, he sighs, and carries on, ‘it should take uhhhhhhhhhhhhh about uhhhhhhhh three hours, enjoy your flight’. And you’re like ‘God damn it, three hours of this shit! Sigh’.


Then you start thinking about what you’d rather be doing with that three hours, and end up playing your DS, or if you don’t have a DS, some games on your phone. But if you’re like me, you don’t have a DS, and your phone is older than about a half dozen of your family members, so you open your phones stopwatch, and try to stop it as close to the exact second as you can. You get pretty good at it, and all this time, you’re thinking ‘God damn it, I’ve been to the moon, when did it come down to playing stopwatch on a microjet from Columbus to Lansing? Fuck my life’.

And that’s why it’s hard to start dating again.